RCN 2021 Worldbuilding (MT, RCN Only)

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]
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Conservative Nations Roleplay
Posts: 11
Founded: May 27, 2020

RCN 2021 Worldbuilding (MT, RCN Only)

Postby Conservative Nations Roleplay » Mon Mar 01, 2021 4:22 pm

How to Apply:

  1. Fill out the application on the RCN RMB using the template found here.
  2. Create a map claim for yourself based on the political map. Don't claim any areas already occupied. Include a link to your map in your application.
  3. Make sure to tag the Minister of the Interior in your application post!
If your application is accepted, your country now exists on the map as something you can roleplay as. What happens in your country -- and to your country -- is your choice; you decide what country you will assume control of, and its future. There are some ground rules, however:

  • No godmodding (no overpowered technology, no roleplaying other nations, no deciding the casualties of others, etc.) If it involves details about another nation, ask their permission first.
  • The current date will always be the same as it is in real life. No skipping ahead of time. However, you are allowed to reference or describe past events in your posts to fill in background or history.
  • Stick to real-world technology. Near-future tech may be used with MinInt permission.
  • You may not possess nuclear weapons or other certain WMDs unless you contact the Minister of the Interior or this nation.
  • Have fun and be friendly towards other roleplayers. If you have a dispute that neither of you can solve, please contact MinInt or one of the referees either vie TG or on Discord.
  • Regarding celestial bodies, everything is the same as in real life, with the exception of our RL home, Earth. This has been replaced by our much-better conservative world.
  • Wars must be approved by the Minister of the Interior; to prevent absolute domination, each side must present basic military information and numbers before a war is approved. Please keep wars and the reasoning behind them as realistic as possible. Both sides of a war must be reasonably comfortable with the war's course.
  • All peace terms at the conclusion of a war must be agreed upon by all combatants, just like in real life. Additionally, the outcome of a war or battle should be mutually agreed upon by both sides OOC.

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Antarctic Circle States
Political Columnist
Posts: 3
Founded: Aug 26, 2020
New York Times Democracy

Postby Antarctic Circle States » Mon Mar 01, 2021 4:46 pm


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Posts: 64
Founded: May 01, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Attancia » Tue Mar 02, 2021 12:43 pm

Mankus, Northern Attancia
Morning, 28th of February, 2021

The great doors of a supermall in metropolitan Mankus opened once again, as they did every morning. Hundreds of residents flooded into the practically glowing white building, which fitted neatly with the glassy skyscrapers and blaring billboards in the rest of the enormous area. The streets outside were equally busy, with tens, if not hundreds of thousands of pedestrians commuting around the metropolitan area’s roads. Glass walkways suspended in the air were attached to the towering buildings, guiding walkers to various areas around the sprawling city. Tram lines followed the trend of being partially in the air, crossing over the streets. They connected to the national train station in the centre of the city, which connected northern dioceses via the Perell line – a large train line connecting several dioceses that was initially constructed in the 19th century. More importantly, they connected to the docks, where trade flourished. In construction were maglev railways, with the intent of connecting Mankus to other northern cities such as Viguille and Viganj. Below the tangled train lines and sky walkways, a bustle of cars chugged along through the crowds.

However, Mankus wasn’t always like this. During the 1950s, a campaign was made by the central government to rebuild the city after destructive Fluvannian bombing runs during the great war. In part, the campaign was funded by Fluvannia’s government. Before the raids, the city largely resembled older European-Balkan cities, such as Dubrovnik or Athens. During the rebuilding, the city still maintained the disorderly nature of its previous architecture, with winding alleyways and bending streets as opposed to neatly planned grids. During the late 50s and early 60s, younger, less traditional architects started weaving newer urban designs into the disorder of Attancia, This led to the creation of an “urban jungle”, as it was deemed by the Jetra Institute of Architecture. This questionable environment has been recognised around the nation, with other dioceses mocking it through memes on various social medias.

A vast highway paving through the city carried government officials to their residence in the centre of the city, around the Vatican. The Vatican itself rose above the rest of the enormous city, at least to the level of the skyscrapers. It was built into an outcrop, what remained of a long-dead volcano. It acted as a shining beacon that could be seen all around the city. A vast dome with the cross of Jesus jutting out behind it, lower in the mountain. Inside, the hallowed halls of the Papacy were untouched by outsiders. Per official declaration, no-one but the highest religious leaders are allowed inside. No photographs are allowed out. However, it still dominates the city. Below it, the houses of Parliament sit across from the Rokke canal. Since the unification of Attancia island in 1840, it has served as the official government headquarters, coincidentally falling on the canal. The canal’s creation date is unknown, but it is suspected that the diocese of Rokke built it in the eleventh century as a way to further trading between itself and Mankus.

The canal basked in the warm sun as small canal boats mulled across it, carrying wares from the docks or simply just passengers. It split into smaller capillaries that wound around the outskirts of the city. A small, forest-green canal boat slipped through the canal towards the docks, filled to the brim with passengers and tourists. Minute gondolas, controlled by energetic youths with striped tops, transported couples and excited tourists around the small alleyways of the canal. As the canal boat floated deeper into the city, the canal banks, normally covered in layers of ornately carved sandstone, began to be dominated by large buildings, both old and new. Occasionally, on the banks, small outcrops had been built. They housed parked gondolas, and larger ones held various private boats. While the boats weren’t of great use in the canal, the canal acted as a vessel for it them to reach the glimmering ocean. Later in the day, the boats would set out, and the small capillaries would be filled.
"If I had a nickel for every time Attancia attempted to use the media to get the Furbish public on his side but backfired miserably I'd have two nickels...Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice" -Furbish Islands

"Attancia proved last night that he isn't a clown" -Furbish Islands

"Attancia is slightly less retarded now" -I forgot the name someone in TL discord once

Also...Attancia types too well to be 13, if I'm honest. Something doesn't add up. -Fluvannia

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West Phoenicia
Posts: 1280
Founded: Jun 25, 2017
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby West Phoenicia » Wed Mar 03, 2021 4:19 am


WP||The West Phoenicia Times

Sports || Health || Technology || Gossip || Domestic Politics || International Politics || Entertainment || World || Religion || Weather


Melbourne-Haven, West Phoenicia

It was the grand reveal which citizens had been waiting, for the last three months.
It was mentioned in all the magazine's, talk shows and around the water coolers in the workplace.
In 2020 Emperor Glenton Gryphon-Bush II Philopator Philometor announced the construction of a 42 feet tall replica of deceased Queen Juno Gryphon-Bush, mother to the emperor, adorned in gold and precious gemstones. A fitting tribute to a queen struck down during her peaceful and prosperous reign.

Thousands of West Phoenician flocked to the capital city to be among the first to witness the wonderment.
The reveal began like many other royal appearances, full of pomp, colour and pageantry.
Members of the immediate royal family, senior members of government, high ranking military weighed down with medals and clergy in gaudy crocks sat on a large makeshift stage, as thousands gathered under the watchful eye of the police who were out in force to avoid anything which could spoil the moment.

A full-scale philharmonic orchestra seated on a half-circle stage and stood across from the guest stage. The late queen, a patron to the arts would often splash out large sums towards opera houses and orchestras believing their music reached into everyone's soul and pleased God.

The orchestra was a stunning sight, the musicians wore shades of gold, plum, and scarlet in their attire. They played for the crowds a soothing symphony by Declan O'Dey, a favourite composer of Queen Juno.
In attendance 16 1st violins, 16 2nd violins, 12 violas, 12 cellos, 8 double basses, 4 flutes, 4 oboes, 4 clarinets and 4 bassoons played towards the Heavens, hoping the late queen could hear them.
Furthermore, 5 horns, 4 trumpets, 4 trombones, 1 tuba, 1 kettledrum player, 3 percussionists, 2 harps and a keyboard player flanked the string and brass sections.
They resembled a musical army ready to go out and conquer as they sat in their regulated positions on the stage.

The music hypnotized the crowd, many stopped their chatter to inhale the musical scent that perfumed the air.

At 10 am, bell chimes rang from nearby churches in unison; the chimes erupted in Heavenly communication.
Doves, released from the four corners of the capital, flapped their wings spreading the incense smoke that billowed like a swirling mist from the massive stone incense burners, the incense perfumed the area with its sweet fragrance.

"The government of West Phoenicia is proud and honoured to be a part of this monumental event that will bring not only joy to the population but will bless the nation for years to come and will become an important day in our history. The grand reveal today is just the first step the government is in acting, over the next 12 months all city-states will be honouring their capital with such a blessed monument. I now introduce Emperor Glenton Gryphon-Bush II Philopator Philometor to the stage."
Prime Minister Tia High nodded to the emperor while waving to the crowds gathered.

A loud round of applause and cheering spread throughout the crowd as the Emperor walked to the microphone, dressed in royal garb.
The emperor stood basking in the applause until finally, he raised his hand calling for quiet.

"Warm Greetings to all citizens of West Phoenicia and the international press who join us today for this blessed moment. Many years ago my mother Queen Juno Gryphon-Bush life was cut short. She was beloved by her family and by the nation she swore to protect. Not only was she my mother, but she was your mother too!"

The emperor paused and held out his hands as the crowds began calling out words of praise and comfort.

"Over the years I have pondered ways to honour her. After many dreams, after consulting with the priesthood the pantheon of God's, Goddess and Animal deities that protect us, one of their oracles delivered a sign. Queen Juno Gryphon-Bush ascended into heaven the day she was taken from us, she took her place among the pantheon that guide and protect. She has been assigned to watch out and protect all citizens of West Phoenicia.

[i] "Finally today I unveil this statue in her honour. A Queen Juno Gryphon-Bush chapel will also be built alongside each statue that other city-states are constructing. Inside the chapel, citizens can pray and ask Queen Juno for guidance. There will be a sacred flame that will be attended by a priest or priestess of Queen Juno at all times. Sacred parchment paper will be on hand where one can write their prayers onto and add it to the sacred flame where the message will ascend to the new Goddess and if she finds favour with you and you are of a good heart, your prayers will be answered".

The emperor paused again as citizens showered the speech with calls of praise.

" My beloved sister, Princess Mariamne Gryphon-Bush-Dallas, Duchess of The Kingdom of Phontika has been chosen by our Mother due to her love and worthiness, to be the First High Priestess of The Cult of Queen Juno. She will hold this office for life and will lead the clergy of the Cult of Queen Juno, our newest Mother-Goddess.
It is this honour that she be the one to unveil this magnificent statue."

Princess Mariamne Gryphon-Bush-Dallas approached the stage in garments of people, Scarlet and gold. Her face was covered by a shimmering gold veil, as two attendants guided her to the microphone.

"Blessed Queen Juno, how I miss your smile, your face and your warm embrace. I was so upset when you passed and it took me a long time to realise your passing was just on this earthly plane, that the gods, goddesses and animal deities in the Heaven above held grander plans for you. I realised I was selfish wanting you for myself and my siblings when in reality you belonged to the whole nation. May you bless all West Phoenicians just as you have blessed your naturally born children. I now remove my veil to symbolise the grand unveiling of your new reign in the Heavens alongside our other deities. Love and prayers always to you."

Princess Mariamne Gryphon-Bush-Dallas lifts her veil, with a nod to the attendants waiting by the statue to remove it's covering for all to see, and worship the newest goddess in all her strength, wisdom and glory.

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Furbish Islands
Posts: 1248
Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Wed Mar 03, 2021 10:33 am

The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

A rooster flapped its wings, pushing itself into the air. It did not fly far but reached the top of the wooden fence. It began to crow as the sun rose in the east, waking up every animal and farmer in the area. Fields stretched from all directions. Some grew crops, others had space for free range animals. Far in some directions, giant trees marked the border with the Furbish jungle, separated by a metal fence. The small fence separates two completely different worlds. One one side is the wilderness untouched for the centuries humans have been on the islands, home to diverse wildlife, and many species which have not even been identified. On the other side are vast fields dotted with villages. Despite not having much suitable farmland, agriculture is still an important part of the Furbish economy, and much of the country’s food supply is still grown domestically, along with many different types of cash crops including sugarcane and spices. Other fields have grazing animals, some free range, some not, descended from domesticated animals imported from across the sea.

The rooster continued crowing, now joined by other chickens around the field. The sound of a high speed train moving across the tracks came out of nowhere and echoed across the landscape, waking up everyone and everything which the chickens did not wake up. The train could be glimpsed for a second before it and the noise it made left just as quickly as it arrived. The chickens, after scattering from the railroad, began crowing again as if nothing happened. On board the train, the conductor began an announcement over the intercom, beginning with a beep to wake up all the passengers, wishing the passengers a good morning, then announcing the train is arriving to Furby City, the capital and largest city of the United Provinces. As was standard in every airline and train arriving at its destination, the conductor gave the local time and the temperature. The announcement was repeated in Dutch, Spanish, and French, the major languages of the islands, by other conductors.

As the train continued along the track, the engineer began to pull the brakes upon receiving a signal from the signaler. A vast high speed rail network exists across the islands, connecting large and small cities by trains traveling at up to 350 kilometers an hour. All signaling and control across the lines is done at a single location, and send directly to the trains because traditional signals beside the railroad could be missed too easily at high speeds. Around major cities, high speed trains share tracks and stations with slower speed trains. The slowing train joined another track at a switch, passing another train on a parallel track and crossing more switches which have more tracks headed in all directions around the islands, some meant for slower speed trains and some high speed tracks. Far above the train, on either side, two airplanes were making a descent, one narrow body with two engines, and a much larger plane with four. Due to the geography of the islands, air travel has also been important. By air is the fastest way to travel between islands, and outside the Furbish Islands. Due to the remoteness of the islands, narrow body jets do not have the range to fly to any international location, except for some small islands.

Fields stretching in all directions turned to asphalt runways and taxiways, for a brief moment until concrete walls appeared around the train as it dipped underground. The tracks were splitting up, and switches set so a train waves between them as it slowed to a crawl, then pulled into the station. All around, some of the tracks had a train stopped, others stood empty. On the far end, multiple trains painted in the same color scheme stood, with red tops and blue bottoms and the middle painted white. This was the color scheme of the Furbish Railroad Company’s, or FSM’s, high speed trains. The company is state owned, and operates high quality rail service across the Furbish Islands without being constrained by the need to make a profit. Next to the trains were slower speed intercity FSM trains, mixed in with intercity trains run by private operators, painted in various different color schemes. On the far end were Furby City commuter trains, which do not travel far outside the city and its metropolitan area, and like the Furbish Railroad Company is not constrained by the need to make a profit.

People walked in and out of the stopped trains. The conductor of the high speed train announced the train has reached the airport, beginning with a welcome to the airport then some information about it, and ending with thanking the passengers for choosing FSM. The announcement was repeated in the other three major languages. Many passengers inside the train began picking up their bags and making their way to the door. Conductors standing at the doors helped out the passengers with larger bags. All made their way to the escalators along the platform, leading to ground level, which is filled with shops, a connection to the city metro, and a connection to the airport people mover. Some people stood on the platform and began to board the train. Despite being the most expensive way of getting to the city center, the train is faster than the others and has no other intermediate stops. Trains around pulled in and pulled away from the station, until after sitting for a few minutes at the platform the doors on the train closed and it once again began to move.

Tracks around merged once again and the asphalt was again replaced by endless fields. The train passed numerous other trains, all going in the opposite direction, including another city commuter train and the city metros, which stayed on separate tracks. Out of seemingly nowhere the endless fields changed to houses. Each one was a story or two tall, had a single garage, and small backyards, and were separated by thin two lane roads. Some cars were seen along the streets, with drivers who woke up early to avoid the morning rush hour. Most Furbish cars are small by international standards, due to the small size of most roads, most of which could not fit SUVs or pickup trucks, and ones that could are reserved for public transit vehicles only. Rows of small houses transformed into larger buildings, and garages moved underground. A few suburban rail stations were dotted around the tracks, some with a train stopped by the platform. The high speed train continued along a middle track, not held up behind the train stopped at the side.

A large viaduct stood over one section of track, and stretched far in both directions. Ramps leading from it to another road below and signs in it showed its purpose, a limited access freeway. The road travels around Furby City then east and west across the island. It never reaches far into the city center. Despite ambitious plans made decades ago, protests made sure no freeway would ever be built through the city center, in not just the capital but every city on the archipelago. Many, like the one around Furby City, are dotted with park and ride stations, and the government gives incentives to encourage less driving and more use public transport. Since their construction, freeways have almost never been extended or had more lanes added, and lower budgets have left all in poor quality and unable to get much needed repairs. Little political will existed to change the situation, since car ownership is low in the Furbish Islands compared to the rest of the world. Furbish cities being densely populated and having thin roads make driving impractical at best.

Some passengers were at the train’s cafe ordering food before they left. Multiple cafe cars existed on trains, depending on the size, serving food made on the train’s galleys. Even short distance trains have a large selection of food, for all meals and available all day and night for a snack in between, and accommodations for many diets, including vegetarian and gluten free, and many religious diets. Water fountains are on the end of every car, except for the restaurants, next to the restrooms. Other amenities on the trains include power outlets at every seat, both USB ports and sockets designed to accept almost every plug used in the world. Most passengers had a plug compatible with the Furbish standard, two round pins for class II appliances, compatible with type C which is used in most of the world. The plugs for class I appliances have a rectangular grounding pin between them. Seats are able to lean a little. Tray tables and footrests are on the seat in front. Above the seats there is a reading light, a button to call a conductor, and air conditioning, which is a necessity in the hot climate of the Furbish Islands.

The train once again went underground as it approached the city center, and the tracks again split. The conductors announced in four languages that the train was now approaching its last stop. All passengers gathered their bags, which some keep at their seats while others leave on racks located all over the train. Conductors walked through the train to make sure all passengers left, and checked the restaurant and the restrooms. Passengers poured out into the platform of a larger station, with more tracks and more trains than the airport. An announcement over the intercom notified all in the station of another train departing, in all four languages. The morning rush hour was beginning, and more trains departed from the station. Being one of the western termini for suburban and intercity rail, it was busy, especially then. At the peak trains pull in and out of the platforms seconds apart.

Stairs on the platforms lead to the ground level. The floor, and all floors above. was a mezzanine around the perimeter of the station, lined with entrances to stores, which varied in purpose. Some sold food to commuters on their way to the city center, others sold electronics or souvenirs to tourists arriving from the airport or other parts of the country. Across from the stores were benches, and behind the benches were glass barriers with a view of the trains below. On the ground floor, several walkways crossed the platforms, and had stairs leading to every one. More recently, escalators and elevators were added to the platforms to improve accessibility. The upper levels of the station did not have these walkways. Along with some office space, the upper floors are home to a hotel, used by many visitors including some tourists. To the side of the station, the logo of the Furby City metro hung above another set of stairs. Massive departure boards hung on either side of the station, adjusting constantly as trains begin leaving platforms and leaving room for new trains. Above, the sun shined through the large glass skylight into the station and on the platforms.

The station has several entrances, most being glass revolving doors marked with a large frame on the outside of the station. The headhouse is a large building built in the Beaux-Arts style, though it is now dwarfed by the larger skyscrapers which surround it. Above every entrance, the name of the station, Martijn van Riemsdijk Station, is carved into the marble. Its namesake was a mercenary commander and revolutionary when the Furbish Islands declared their independence from multiple colonial powers in 1805. He helped unite the former colonies and briefly lead the union, until being forced out of power for being Dutch. The station is on the site of a battle in Furby City between colonial forces and the militia lead by van Riemsdijk, which helped turn the tide of the invasion of Furby City and the establishment of a republic. A large statue of the commander stands in the center of a roundabout in front of the station, next to a monument to the victims of systematic Furbish racism throughout the early to mid nineteenth century.

A civil war not long after independence cemented the power of the white English majority over other groups in the newly formed United Provinces. Tensions existed for decades until boiling over after decades of mistreatment and democratic backsliding, beginning with a strike of railroad workers working for the army’s rail division of transportation corps, the predecessor to the current FSM, and a crackdown on the strike caused it to grow to a rebellion in the north. A period known as the Time of Troubles followed, where in the span of a year and a half, fourteen different people would become dictators after a coup d'état, until one, with support of the people, passed a new constitution and oversaw a democratic transition of power. Monuments were placed all over the country following the end of the Time of Troubles, and displayed prominently, describing what was done in great detail in a hope that future generations will learn from these mistakes and what happened will never happen again.

The station was built by a private company over a century and a half ago, like many railroads and stations in the islands. Competing railroads built these large stations to show off their wealth and attract more passengers. The army built their own railroads to transport soldiers and supplies, but they also carried paying passengers and freight due to its profitability. The army railroads were later transferred to the Ministry of Transportation, which created the Furbish Railroad Company. All tracks were later nationalized, but private railroads were still allowed to operate on the tracks, competing with FSM on many routes, or operating routes contracted out by FSM.

In front of the station was the logo of the Furby City metro above a set of stairs, with “Martijk van Riemsdijk Station” written in a sign over them. Being a large and densely populated city, Furby City has an extensive metro network, creating a spaghetti like pattern underground through the city center then branching outwards into the suburbs on ground level and elevated tracks. While the most used, it is only a part of the city public transport network. Commuter trains make few stops in the city center, but help connect the suburbs and other destinations far outside the core of the city. Trams and buses make up the largest part of the network, carrying passengers to their final destinations from train stations. Most of the time they travel on dedicated bus and tram lanes in the middle of streets, and are given priority in intersections, allowing them to avoid the traffic that plagues Furby City most of the day. At every stop is a bus shelter, a bench of two with a roof, ticketing machines, and a board listing all buses and trams which stop at the location, when the next is arriving, and its destination. Being a coastal city, ferry routes exist which are used by commuters from other coastal towns wishing to avoid the traffic.

Reducing pollution has been a large goal of many recent transit projects in the city. Besides heavy smog which has historically plagued many cities, the position of the islands on the equator and the low altitude of many large cities make the Furbish Islands vulnerable to a changing climate. Departure boards and ticketing machines in bus stops are solar powered. All trains going through the city must be electrified, and most buses are electric, powered by overhead wires which do not cover every street but exist in enough to keep buses powered in their whole trip, with the exception of buses in far out locations and express buses going to those locations then to city center with few or no stops in between, but they are all powered by biofuels. Cars driving to the city center must pay a twelve guilder congestion charge, and all cars are limited to parking in garages which are expensive. Some roads have been closed off to cars entirely. Some cities follow the example of Furby City, helped by generous grants from the federal government.

Though Furby City is considered to be the capital, officially it is the Capital District, an enclave in Furby City far outside the city center. Many federal government buildings are housed there. It was designated as a federal district, making it under the control of the federal government only, not the Furby City City-Province surrounding it, and the region of Van Riemsdijk which the city is a part of. Since the second constitution passed in 1815 following a civil war, the Furbish Islands were divided into six regions, to be coequal with the federal government, which were further divided into one hundred and three provinces, which were coequal with their respective regional governments. Some more outlying islands were designated as territories, the size of provinces but not part of a region, so governments had the powers of both. The only remaining federal district is the Capital District, but historically they were used land in the interior conquered from the indigenous population before becoming provinces.

Parliamentary lines are names people gave to public transport lines which go to the Capital District. These lines, often a bus, tram, or even underground metro extension to the district, or an express bus or tram between the district and elsewhere in the city. Despite running at very high frequencies, they have very low ridership and criticized constantly by most in the city, outside federal government officials. They were built because the federal government would only give grants for other transit projects if the parliamentary lines were also built. The express buses and trams are branded as the Capital Express, and have a C before their number. One such tram made a stop at Martijn van Riemsdijk station. The few passengers inside exited and a few more boarded. Over the intercom the familiar voice used in all public transport vehicles and stations said it was an express service stopping only there and the Capital District, repeating in the other three major languages then began to move past the roundabout and away from the station.

Along major streets buses and trams could be only seconds apart, and many have to pass each other since not all stop at every stop. Buses are equipped with bicycle racks in the front, and trams and metros have room on the inside for bicycles, as long as it is not during peak travel times. Furby City, like every city in the country, is very pedestrian and bicycle friendly, though many prefer to travel in air conditioned vehicles whenever possible. Wide sidewalks and no cars in many streets made room for more people to walk and many street vendors, who sell to both locals and tourists. Larger streets have bicycle lanes along the sides, painted green and lined with barriers to make sure cars do not go on them. Residents often joke that bicycles can go faster than cars during rush hour, which is not always true, but to many drivers feels true, especially as buses and trams move past them quickly in the congestion free bus lanes.

The tram winded along the thin streets, making no stops as traffic lights let it through at every intersection. Like many Furbish cities, the streets were difficult to navigate to those who have not lived in the city their whole lives. The original settlers in the area never intended for this to be one of the largest cities in the world, and planned the city accordingly. Large buildings, both residential and commercial, surrounded the tram. As a result of the mixed zoning, many buildings would have a business on the first floor and apartments on the rest, mixed in with entirely commercial buildings like a larger store or the headquarters to a multinational corporation, right next to a university campus and across the street from more apartments or a stadium. Every so often a logo of the metro would appear next to a set of stairs going into the sidewalk. The few passengers inside did not pay much attention to the surroundings, they found other things to preoccupy themselves, such as reading newspapers, texting or playing games on their smartphones, or writing posts for a roleplay in a nation simulation game.

As glass skyscrapers turned to older buildings dating from the colonial era, mixed in with other buildings built in different time periods and architectural styles, many more monuments detailing the country’s racist past have been displayed prominently, including of the native population. Treatment of the natives has been a controversy even since the colonial era. Many were forced out of their land as the first settlements were established. After the United Provinces declared their independence, they pushed to the interior, asserting Furbish control over all land and people who lived on the islands. The Furbish were motivated by two separate beliefs, that all land in the archipelago belonged to them, and that they were continuing the legacy of the Crusades by spreading Christianity to the natives. Many natives were massacred by soldiers, mercenaries, and militias, and many more were shipped to labor camps far from their homes. The survivors were forced to assimilate into the United Provinces and into Furbish culture. Many indigenous cultures were lost, and the only remaining records of many languages were translations of the Bible by more sympathetic missionaries. Starting the 20th century, the government began programs to revive languages and culture lost, but has yet to formally apologize.

Passengers inside the tram did not notice the tram speeding up as it approached a suspension bridge. Three lanes went in each direction, one of them being reserved for buses and trams, and sidewalks and bicycle lanes on either side. The bridge had a higher speed limit, the highest in any road in the city besides the freeways. It stretched across the mouth of a river, and tall enough for cruise ships and smaller cargo ships to fit underneath. The river is not the largest in the island, but is connected to others with a network of canals, connecting cities across the interior. The city’s location at the mouth of the river was one of the reasons why that location was settled, and due to being protected by a natural harbor. The Port of Furby City has always been one of the busiest in the country, being one of the main export points for the many natural resources found across the islands and the many crops grown on them. Some manufactured goods are exported as well, but less so as rising labor costs caused factories to move overseas. Many cruise ships stop at the port, almost all being from domestic locations, as the islands are too remote for cruises from other countries.

On the opposite bank the first building that stood out was a large cathedral, with “Church of the Furbish Islands” carved in the front. The church, headed officially by the king, but in practice by the Archbishop of Furby City, was founded not long after independence. It is the most popular religion, with a third of Furbishmen being part of the church. After passing more buildings, following a reminder that smoking is not allowed on board the tram, an announcement told passengers that the tram was nearing its only other stop. It slowed down and stopped at the platform, another set of benches and solar powered ticketing machines and a departure board, unimpressive as every other tram stop. People left the tram and the few on the bench boarded. The familiar beeping sound all residents were used to was heard not long after as the doors closed and the tram began another long trip to the train station in another part of the city.

The first building in front of the platform was one of the largest, the house of Parliament, the lower house of the bicameral Furbish legislature, made up of over a thousand members, half of which were elected in the provinces and territories by single transferable vote, and the other half elected proportionally. Members of Parliament, or MPs, are elected for a three year term unless they vote to dissolve the Parliament earlier. The upper house, the Senate, had its building next to the Parliament, and they had three senators elected by every provincial, regional, and territorial legislature, also elected by single transferable vote, but subject to confidence votes by the legislature which elected them. They are elected whenever their respective legislature is elected for a new term, usually three years unless they dissolve themselves. The Senate had little power, only being able to veto legislation written and passed by Parliament if it involves any internal affairs.

Behind their buildings were the even larger office buildings and residences for legislators and their aides. They are the same in size for all legislators, including ministers and the prime minister, who is the head of government, elected by an absolute majority of Parliament and able to be removed by an absolute majority through a vote of no confidence. The other ministers are MPs appointed and dismissed by the prime minister for the job freely. The stadtholder and the king, both considered the heads of state, get larger residences on the other side of the house of Parliament. The monarch, a hereditary position from a foreign noble family, has no political power, and could get impeached by two thirds of Parliament. The stadtholder is elected every four years by a ranked ballot and using the Copeland method, and has some powers, including being able to veto legislation and power in states of emergency, but in practice has not used these powers.

Near the residences and offices and across the street from the Senate and Parliament buildings are many offices for various ministries, and buildings for the Supreme Court and the Constitutional Court, the second highest and highest courts in the country, respectively. Each one is made up of a panel of judges, elected by the Judicial Council, a group of fifty MPs elected by Parliament, who also appoint all other federal justices. Some government agencies, including the Federal Security Agency, or FSA, the federal police force, has its headquarters in the area, and so does the military, and the Bank of the Furbish Islands, the central bank, which is in charge of the Furbish currency, the guilder. Like most central banks, it has smaller branches spread across major cities in the islands. While part of the government, and governors being appointed by Parliament, it is independent from the government in all other aspects. Foreign embassies and residences of ambassadors and staff are scattered around the district, though some prefer to be elsewhere in Furby City outside the Capital District.

Businesses such as restaurants and stores are spread around the district. Parliament is the only authority in charge of laws and regulations inside, enforced by the FSA. Unlike other capitals, the only people there are those who live there temporarily and commuters from Furby City and elsewhere. More commuters began to arrive as the sun rose, pouring out of trams and buses and out of the metro station every few minutes, while the streets were congested with traffic from cars. Later in the day less workers were coming in and instead tourists were, taking tours of government buildings and museums inside all of them. Beginning the early evening, as civil servants finished their day, buses and trams began to arrive, and the crowds on the platforms boarded the vehicles. Because many vehicles, especially the metro, are packed during peak times, some of the busiest stations employ people, usually students from the city’s many universities, to push people into trains.

Many of the bus, tram, and train routes operate twenty-four hours a day, although at reduced frequencies during the night, but many still heave headways short enough that a timetable is not needed, including all the Capital Express lines. MPs were the main users at this time, traveling to anywhere in the city in the fastest possible way. Furby City is just as busy at night as in the day, illuminated streetlights and by billboards and other lights on skyscrapers. Instead of the offices and stores, nightclubs and stadiums on game days were the busiest. This once again is not unique to Furby City, but being the largest city in the country it is the most famous. Some other businesses still remained open late at night, filled with employees wondering why they should stay when there are few if any customers inside.
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Tue Apr 13, 2021 5:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Wed Mar 10, 2021 6:07 pm

La Nouvelle-Lyon
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

March 2021

Multiple cruise ships sit docked at the port of La Nouvelle-Lyon. Crowds of passengers come in and out through the buildings in the port. Like most of the old city, while the buildings have been modernized, their exterior has changed little over the years, maintaining their colonial architecture. Tourism is a large part of the Furbish economy, including the large cruise ships traveling between islands, and sometimes from other parts of the world, though they are not frequent due to the islands’ remoteness. River cruise ships are also common, traveling along the networks of rivers and canals in the larger islands. Many ships dock at the port of larger cities like La Nouvelle-Lyon daily. As they do, people exit into the dock, some gathering in groups for tours from the company they booked long before, others exploring the city themselves. Many noticed a large bronze plaque close to the entrance of a building, some went up close to read it. On it was an engraving of a group of armed policemen and two men in gendarmerie uniforms arresting two men in front of the building, and a steamship in the background. Above words describing the event, and the plaque was titled “Sight of the Arrest of Dominic Drumpf and Adam O’Connor”.

A tram sped through the narrow streets of La Nouvelle-Lyon in front of the port. At an intersection, the light switched to red to all roads except for the one above the tram tracks, timed so the trams will never see a red light. Cars drove slowly on the congested roads beside. At the intersection, a car attempted to cut off another, resulting in all drivers around honking at it, including from the tram. The tram’s horn has a more distinct sound, louder and deeper, to attract more attention from drivers around. It is often the reason why trams typically win games of chicken with reckless drivers. Furbishmen have a reputation abroad for bad driving, especially constant honking and attempts to cut off anyone to get ahead. An articulated bus followed the tram closely, then turned at the intersection and stopped just after, picking up and dropping off more passengers. The tram slowed down as it approached its stop. Passengers gathered at the doors. The speaker said the name of the next stop, first in French, then in English, “Gare Jean de Flandre.”

Noorderstein Army Telegraph Office
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Wedneſday, 25 June 1873

The constant sounds of clicking were not new in the army telegraph office. Being in one of the largest cities in the country, and the only office between Furby City and the northwestern part of the largest island, it receives plenty of telegraph traffic. Since the current stadtholder came to power, larger telegraph offices like Noorderstein had another purpose. Every army and gendarmerie unit had to report to a regional office multiple times a day so the army command and stadtholder could keep track of them. Officers who do not would be tracked down by the gendarmerie and heavy penalties placed on them, unless they had a reason for why they could not. Telegraph offices tried to sort out all problems themselves rather than deal with the stadtholder, whose heavy handed approach was nearly universally hated among the entire military, but the Noorderstein office had a larger problem they knew they could not hide for much longer without his involvement.

First lieutenant Liam Corben, was the second in command of the office. Being one of the larger offices, it was lead by a captain and two lieutenants. Most offices, which were smaller, were lead by a single lieutenant or two. Corben went to each desk, asking every operator as they were clicking or writing frantically. While he is a commissioned officer trained to fight, all the operators were civilians hired by the army. The response from them was the same as the last few times he asked them that morning. Still nothing. “This is no use” he thought. He looked at the paper in his hand. Less than twenty words were on it, the name of a missing company, how much men are a part of it, the name of the commander, the last time there was contact with him, his location then, and what he said. He sighed, then decided to check on the others. His boots echoed against the wooden walls and floors of the building, heard by any operator who was not paying attention to the telegraphs. Corben reached for a door, which opened suddenly.

“Oh, good morning”. The commander, captain Madiſon Guildenſtern walked in carrying a cup of coffee. “Good morning, sir” said Corben, who then looked at his paper and back to the captain. He took a deep breath, knowing he will not be happy hearing the news. “Anything to report?” he asked, taking another sip from his mug.

“Yes sir” replied Corben. He took another deep breath. “A company went missing.”

Guildenſtern spit out his coffee, nearly missing Corben’s uniform. “We lost an entire fucking company?!” Corben could do nothing but nod. “What the fuck happened?!”

“We don’t know. It is a gendarmerie company commanded by captain Jean de Flandre, who we heard nothing from or about after a telegram from the colonel two days ago from La Nouvelle-Lyon.” Corben mispronounced both names terribly as he spoke no French.

“There is an army telegraph office in the city, is there not?”

“There is, but brownskins[1] cut the wire and it has yet to be repaired, so we had soldiers speak with a different company’s office.” Guildenſtern was about to say something but Corben interrupted, “The company told us the regiment simply disappeared from the city.”

Guildenſtern took another sip of coffee and looked down the hall. Sounds of clicking came from the offices on either side of him. He knew that if the colonel did not respond to any telegrams for two days there was little chance he would respond, even if he was in the city. Knowing there was not much else he could do he told Corben to meet with the rest of the officers. Second lieutenant Milton Holland, the third in command of the office was making his rounds on the other side of the building. Seeing the other two officers, he stopped them and began, “Sir, we have lost contact with Camp-”

“We have a bigger problem right now!” shouted Guildenſtern , “We are missing an entire company! We need to figure out what the fuck is going on or the stadtholder will personally hang us then put our heads on a pike-”

“Sir!” They heard another shout before Guildenſtern could go on. A soldier ran to them holding a paper with writing all over. “I contacted Furby City” the officers tensed up, knowing that any involvement from Furby City will end negatively. “Records office, not the commander or stadtholder” the officers all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Do they know anything about where they went?” Guildenſtern asked.

The soldier looked at his paper. “Gave me information about their commander, captain Jean de Flandre. Lives in Ville de Marchand. Gave me opinions of him by all of his commanders.” He looked up.

“Go on” said Guildenſtern .

“He was called a ‘loose cannon’ who ‘did not know what he was doing’ by one, another said he is ‘an imbecile, reckless, and needlessly endangered the lives of those under his command, the fact that he not only was not dishonorably discharged but placed in command in the first place amazes me’, another said he ‘gets into fights with my officers all the time and distracted at his posts constantly’, and one more said ‘when I was told he would be promoted to colonel and command a company I thought this was a joke, he was the least qualified for the job out of every officer who served under my command’.”

“There is only one officer who wrote something positive about the colonel”, said the soldier, “‘De Flandre is the best officer who I have ever worked with. He comes up with ideas none of the rest of us do which help us out greatly. I trust him with the most difficult tasks because he is always able to execute them perfectly.’”

“Who is that officer?” Guildenſtern asked.

“Colonel Philippe Bessette.”

“Of course the sharl[2] will say only good things the other sharl.” Guidenstern paused, “Anything else?”

“He received an order a couple of days before his disappearance, to storm every Dutch village and arrest anyone showing any signs of disloyalty-”

“He deserted.” interrupted Guildenſtern, “You can never trust anyone except white Anglo-Saxon Protestants because everyone else are scheming with each other on how to take down the republic. We work hard to get where they are then the sharls like that colonel, the brownskins, the sesters[3], the swarats[4], the frits[5], the slafs[6], the moes[7], the glicers[8], and all the other fucking mailders[9], they all come in to leech off what we created and contribute nothing. We would be so much better off with all of them gone.” Some soldiers looked up from their telegraphs as their captain shouted racial and ethnic slurs, some had a look of discomfort on their faces, but the officers did not notice any of them.

“We can try to find any available gendarmes to look for de Flandre.” Holland said.

“Do that” said Guildenſtern, turning to Corben, “tell your soldiers this sharl deserted from his post and to tell that to every gendarme in the area. Tell them to send him to Furby City where he will be shot at dawn at the town square for desertion. And tell someone about that sharl Phillip Besset who somehow lost a regiment in his own command. Then maybe they will reevaluate who they pick to promote.”

“Is he married?” Corben asked to the soldier holding the stack of papers, “Or anyone else he may be in contact with? The telegraph offices in the city said he was only in contact with us, but maybe he may have stopped by at the post office-”

“He is married and has-” began the soldier.

“They all live in Ville de Marchand?” Corben asked.

“They all do.”

“I’ll be sure to have some search mail from the next train to the city if it isn’t too late.”

“Sir” said Holland as the other three turned and began to walk back to the corridor, “we have also lost-”

“Sort this shit out yourself!” Guildenſtern shouted, “I told you we have bigger problems at the moment!”

Holland nodded. Guildenſtern turned back but the soldier who brought the papers stopped and turned to Holland. “Did someone else go missing to?”

“Yes” Holland replied, “Get some gendarmes to check out Camp III, we lost contact with them as well.”

“Yes sir.” said the soldier as he turned and walked back to his telegraph, following the two officers, all being unaware of how both disappearances are related.

[1] Indigenous Furbishmen
[2] French
[3] Spanish
[4] Dutch
[5] Germans
[6] Blacks
[7] Jews
[8] Catholics
[9] Immigrants or any non-English whites
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Sat May 29, 2021 10:13 am, edited 6 times in total.
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Dunferm » Sun Mar 14, 2021 12:57 pm


14.III.2021 A.D.

Sir My Cousin,

Thank you for your letter inviting me and my family to pay a state visit to the Federated Principality of Fluvannia in an upcoming month for the aim of strengthening relations between two realms. We were delighted to accept this kind invitation which we gladly accept.

We look forward with pleasure to meeting you, with hopes of furthering strengthening of friendly ties between our nations in governance, trade, industry, culture, and sciences. Let that days would be remembered with ardor and warmth.

Your Good Cousin,

His Serene Highness Crown Prince Michael of Fluvannia.
Last edited by Dunferm on Sun Mar 14, 2021 3:00 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem.
Natum videte regem angelorum.

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The Dodo Republic
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Founded: Feb 22, 2021
Moralistic Democracy

Postby The Dodo Republic » Sun Mar 14, 2021 6:27 pm

The rain and the swell is... dreadful. The ship bounces in the waves, barly able to control itself. Men dash around as the rain pours on the deck. Any hope for help in case of an accident will not.... be assisted with as the mission is in secret. The ship, a massive cargo vessel is carrying a very special cargo.... classified by the state under direct orders of the president.

Down below the atmosphere is hair raising. In dark closed cages are the cargo. Part of an experiment known as “The Colateive”, this cargo is very dangerous.... A possible weapon of war.... Down below the captain of the vessel is giving a pep talk to a new sailor. “Now... whatever you do.... the cages stay closed... WHATEVER YOU DO! DO NOT OPEN THE CAGE!” The sailor just stands there. His eyes full of sea sickness. To be honesty, the sailor probably lets the captains words wash over him. “You stand here. Guard the cages. Make sure nobody comes down to open them” the captain would continue, handing the sailor a rifle. The sailor weakly takes the weapon, not knowing what to do with it exactly. “Wha... what is in t...he the cage?” The sailor asks holding in vomit. “I wish I could tell you. However I am under direct orders not to reveal the cargo.” The captain says as his eyes dart to one cage that although held in by straps is shaking uncontrollably. The sailor does not respond. His sea sickness finally overwhelms him as a rush of the morning breakfast ends up on the floor. The captain is not at all phased, only responding with “I will send for someone to clean that”. Then as he turns to leave he says in a darker tone “May god bless you... you.... will need it”. He then walks up the stairs in the direction to his quarters.... the sailor follows the captain with his eyes as he leaves. However, that’s when a massive wave hits the ship... Bracing for impact against the walls the sailor uses his arms to protect himself. However his hands do not hit concrete. Instead they hit a massive red button. The sailor quickly takes his hands off... but.... it’s too late. The button was pressed. And now... the gates doors are rising.....

The sailor can only watch as the cargo exists the cage. Five in total leave there cages almost simultaneously. They step out... nervous at first, trying to get used too the bobbing of the sea. To the sailor, there fugues can barely be seen. The animals have heads of lizards but the bodies of birds. Covered in a layer of feathers going from the tip of their tails to there arms. Each of there three fingers covered in sharp long claws. There feet as well have massive claws. One claw... longer then the rest. The sailor fumbles for his gun that he laid against the wall. But his eyes do not wander from the creatures that now have escaped. They are as tall as men. And probably more then 10 feet long. For a second they are quiet. But then one sniffs the air an snarls. The creatures.... have spotted the sailor. The animals then make a series of strange clicks and sounds to eachother. Almost like they are speaking to eachother in an unrecognizable language. The sailor in a panic, all of a sudden breaks away from his curiosity stare and enters a run, picking up the phone while he bolts towards the exit.... however then the lights flicker.... The power... just went out. The animals notice the sailors change of position but they for a moment do not react. At least not in a sudden action. However one of the creatures would disappear.... at least. For the moment. The sailor begins to get a sickening feeling. These creatures.... they... are smarter.... cunning..... humanity is the prey now..... He reaches for his gun and hold it up. Four of the animals, all teeth and claws showing, move into position for the kill. The sailor clumsily grabs his gun and raises it up. Aiming right towards the largest of the four in view. Then BANG! The gun fires out of panic. However the shot is missed.... by.... a lot. And the sailor barely has time to look above as the 5th raptor jumps off of the above balcony and onto the poor man. His screams and agony go unheard as his internal organs become his outer organs.....

For the rest of the ship, all is normal. The captain and his first mate reside along the bridge watching the swell and the crew scrambles around the deck, doing a verity of tasks. The captain is the only one who knows what is truly on the ship.... Raptors.... Vendetta Raptors exactly. A secret project where raptor Dinos are brought back to life via cloning. However... these are different.... genetically modified raptors. There intelligence boosted and there overall ferociousness increased. Developed as a weapon of war to help fight terrorists... however the project is still new. These raptors were supposed to be traveling to a secret base on an offshore island for continued breeding. Meanwhile as the captain guides the ship through the storm, a crew member enters the lower deck where the raptors escaped. He finds.... a disturbing sight. As the crew member enters the room, he sees a trail of blood. Confused he presses further until he sees a sight that would haunt even the most sociopathic minds. A mutilated corpse, its face half torn, its right arm torn off, its leg a chewed off mess.... And then a slash across the belly lets the mans intestines fall out from the body... It was the sailor that was on guard. The sailor who let these beats lose. Facing nausea the crew member would grab the phone off the dead mans pocket and in a panic would ring the captain.
“Yes?” The captain would ask.
For a moment there is no sound. “What do you mean there gone?”
“Captain.... they killed the guard... the.........”
The conversation would abruptly end. Hearing a snarl the crew member would turn around.... right into the jaws... of another raptor.... At least this time the monster would make it quick.... With the bite of the throat, it is all over for yet another unfortunate soul.

Last contact would be made only a few hours later. The ship, offline. To the DR, this might be a catastrophe. A secret letter sent to nearby nations announces a plan to help find the ship before it reaches land and the creatures on board.... to disembark. And if a salvage is not possible, there might be another wreak on the sea floor soon enough. However that’s even if the ship is found....

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Attancia » Mon Mar 15, 2021 12:20 pm

Hopport, Hoppisat, Eastern Attancia
14th of March, 1530, HISTORICAL

Merchants bustled through the compact, cobbled streets of Hopport, eager to sell their wares. Pale-stone houses rose up two or three floors on either side of the streets, their rooves tiled with red clay. The streets wound around the relatively flat port area, dipping down towards the docks, curving around the bay, and rising up to the greater city. Carracks, loaded with wine, wool, and foreign spices drifted into the circular port. They were supervised by a watchtower at the Eastern end of the bay, which sat on a stone promenade that jutted out into the sea, covering the entrance. Opposite it was the shoreline, lined with houses and trees.

Marine merchants from the carracks slid wooden planks onto the docks from the ships, and used them to carry their wares below. One such merchant, a wool trader from Eccata, was in the process of disembarking from his ship when another trader approached him.
“Salve,” Said the second trader “Is that salt fish there for sale?”

“Salt fish?” Replied the wool merchant, looking up at him “what salt fish?”

“Why, that salt fish on your ship, of course. It’s in short supply these days.”

“How did you spot that? You must be keen-eyed.” Remarked the wool merchant. “Well, regardless, it’s not for sale. As you said, it’s hard to obtain. The Adernish blockade doesn’t make it any cheaper. From the beaches of Adern to its islands, there’s nowhere you can go where there isn’t ships. At least they keep pirates away…”

The trader looked back at him agreeably. “That’s fair. Did you have to come through it with your fine wool?”

“Yes, unfortunately. It’s the safest route from Eccata. Luckily they only care about stopping people fishing their fish, so I didn’t have to worry too much. The time taken to pass through does impact trade, unfortunately. It drives the prices up.” Answered the wool merchant.

“Unfortunate indeed. Well, goodbye. Good luck, too.”

“Thank you.” Finished the merchant. He continued unpacking his wares, eventually finishing and calling a teenage boy to take them to a local trading house – it had opened recently, as with many trading houses across Attancia Island. The boy started the process. The wool merchant started walking up the cobbled road, passing the picturesque houses of Hopport.

The Pontiff's Foreign Liaison Building, Mankus Governmental Zone, Northern Attancia
15th of March, 2021

Ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-click. A foreign officer clicked the "display message" option on his computer. Quickly, with the speed of an Attancian computer, the message blared into life. It was from the Dodo Republic, displaying a government-sponsored SOS from a ship somewhere in the South Dodo Sea. The officer wondered how it even got into his mail, or why it was government sponsored. He quickly checked through it and noticed that it was written hurriedly -- there were occasional spelling errors and grammatical mistakes. It also mentioned that the cargo was of particular importance and the ship should not be lost. Odd, he thought. The Foreign Office should see it. He quickly forwarded the message to an upper bureau of the office, and wrote a short reply -- addressed to the Dodo Republic's government.


Good day,

On behalf of the Attancian government, we wish to notify you that the "unusual" request regarding a cargo ship is being processed by the Foreign Office.

The Attancian Foreign Liaison Dep.
"If I had a nickel for every time Attancia attempted to use the media to get the Furbish public on his side but backfired miserably I'd have two nickels...Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice" -Furbish Islands

"Attancia proved last night that he isn't a clown" -Furbish Islands

"Attancia is slightly less retarded now" -I forgot the name someone in TL discord once

Also...Attancia types too well to be 13, if I'm honest. Something doesn't add up. -Fluvannia

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Furbish Islands
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Mon Mar 15, 2021 1:34 pm

“The truth of the matter is that you always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it.”
~Norman Schwarzkopf Jr.

La Nouvelle-Lyon
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Noon, Saturday, 21 June 1873

Colonel Jean de Flandre sat at his desk in his La Nouvelle-Lyon office, reading over some papers. He and the gendarmerie company he commanded were transferred to the city a month earlier, rotated in from another post, with the task of keeping order and defending against any possible rebels. The order seemed strange. While the gendarmerie being a law enforcement agency, has units stationed in cities, there was also not any group of rebels anywhere near La Nouvelle-Lyon. No gendarmes were sent to fight the rebels by the stadtholder, something which annoyed gendarmerie officers as much as residents of cities in the north. Gendarmes were stationed only to cities where they would have small engagements with rebels if at all, but the press exaggerated them significantly. La Nouvelle-Lyon saw only two attacks, if they could be called attacks, which saw no shots fired and the rebels withdrawing when confronted by a handful of gendarmes, which was what city newspaper reported, but national newspapers described great battles followed by warnings that any city could be next.

De Flandre concluded from hearing similar stories from other officers that the gendarmerie were being used in a propaganda campaign run by the stadtholder himself. Since the rebellion began he opened concentration camps which threw northerners in without trial, and later everyone except white English Protestants. His order, while not containing a name, is likely from him as well. The stadtholder likely ordered the gendarmerie to places where they will only seek minor engagements, to keep the keep the rebels strong enough to cause fear, but too weak to cause any real problems, and ordered the press to spin every engagement to cause more fear. The rebellion, which began in May against his rule, has given him every reason to give himself more power, and the parliament, controlled by his party, has all but enabled him. Rumors circulated around all the armed forces of some high ranking officers planning a coup, but as soon as any name is mentioned the officer resigns abruptly. Someday, de Flandre thought, he will do something about this, and the stadtholder will be overthrown, but for years he was waiting for an opportunity to do so.

Reading over more papers, de Flandre got bored and tossed them aside. He looked out a window while his hand floated to his side, mindlessly grabbing his saber. The sword was still standard issue to all soldiers in the army and to all gendarmes, even though they are hardly useful in modern combat. De Flandre looked carefully at his sword, then tossed it into the air while flicking his wrist, then watched it spin once and caught it by the handle on the way down. He threw it up again, not thinking about how dangerous it might be. De Flandre never cared if something is unsafe or could get him in trouble, he did whatever he felt like doing. He focused on the sword, not noticing the knocking on his door and his commanding officer, brigadier general Philippe Bessette, walking in. “De Flandre, what are you doing?!” he shouted as he quickly stepped back. “Paperwork, sir!” responded de Flandre, as he caught his saber with one hand and searched his desk for papers with the other.

“You could have gotten one of us hurt.” said Bessette, stepping back inside, “One more step and that sword would have landed on me.”

“It would have been your fault for walking in.”

Bessette sighs. “Sometimes I wonder how you have not gotten yourself killed. My second in command said he does not expect you to live past 35.”

“Well I made it to 29.” said de Flandre, smiling, “That means I still have six years.”

“Or fired. A gendarme told me he saw a man in an officer’s uniform throw trash outside a building and I said ‘Weird, I don’t know anyone who would do that’.”

“Hey, it was only a single newspaper.”, replied de Flandre, laughing. The most distinguishing feature of the uniforms of army and gendarmerie officers is gold stripes on the lower sleeves, which depend on an officer’s rank. Bessette said “For someone whose job it is to enforce the law, you break every rule in the book just for the hell of it.”

“Yeah, you don’t?” The captain paused. “Why did you come all the way here anyway? Anything I don’t already know?”

“There was an order I was told to give you.” Bessette took a letter from his pocket and handed it to de Flandre. “From the stadtholder, but you did not hear that from me.”. De Flandre looked at the letter, closed with the seal of the army telegraph office. He carefully opened it and gave it a quick glance. “English? Seriously?”

“Definitely the stadtholder.” replied Bessette while rolling his eyes. The Furbish Islands lacked an official language, and though English was spoken by most people, many did not know it well. Most who speak one of the country’s many minority languages knew several, but most of the English speaking majority knew only English, and the stadtholder is no exception. The stadtholder is the head of government of the Furbish Islands, elected by Parliament. The office is currently held by Dominic Drumpf, a billionaire hotel chain owner, from the National Republican Party, a party he founded to run for the office. He held dictatorial powers following decades of democratic backsliding which he played a large part in. He was resented by most of the country except the third which elected him, which gave his party a majority in Parliament due to country’s electoral system. It would need two thirds of parliament to remove him, or a military coup, which many have been planning.

Slowly reading the letter, the positive expression in de Flandre’s face slowly morphed to a more dumbfounded one. He put the letter down and looked at the window. He then turned to Bessette and said “I will not follow this order.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Bessette.

“Stadtholder Drumpf wants me to go around the north and arrest any northerners and put them into one of his camps. I refuse.”

“Are you mad?” asked Bessette, “You will get us both in trouble. It is an order.”

“Sir,” de Flandre responded calmly, “He wants our people behind bars without reason. I will not follow this order, I will storm the largest camp because anything less will make me complacent in the stadtholder’s war against the Republic.”

“This will not turn into another one of your-” Bessette trailed off, considering what de Flandre said and realizing that he is in the right.

“Sir”, said de Flandre, “This order goes against the very values the United Provinces were founded on. When you and I volunteered, we swore to protect the constitution not follow our superiors or the stadtholder.”, he took a breath, then continued, “Is it better to die fighting for freedom or die unable to stare the enemy in the face?”, de Flandre paraphrased a general who fought for freedom from a colonial power nearly seventy years earlier, after weeks of his soldiers fighting poorly. After another pause, he continued, “And you know Drumpf will come for us next when he is done with the northerners.”

Bessette looked at de Flandre, turned to the window, then back at de Flandre. “Jean, you are the bravest man I have ever met. Do what you must, I will make sure no one is in your way.” He held out his hand and de Flandre gave him the letter. Bessette ripped it up and threw it in the trash bin at his desk. “When will you be at the camp?”

“The letter says beginning Monday. I could have a train arrive Monday morning and arrive at Camp III that afternoon or evening. That is the largest, right?”

“It is to my knowledge. Any camp guards you take prisoner, keep them alive and send them to, uh, Noorderstein.”

“Why Noorderstein?”

“Close to Camp III and van Aarle’s headquarters is there. I will let him know about is happening and he will have all of them court-martialed.” replied Bessette. Gabriël van Aarle is a Dutch lieutenant general and war hero, who managed to work his way up the ranks despite Furbish racism, against attacks from many English officers, all while agitating for change in the country. If there was one officer who would support de Flandre, it would be van Aarle, which de Flandre and Bessette knew.

“I wish you the best of luck” said Bessette. He saluted then exited. De Flandre looked out the window again. He knew he will be attacked by a more loyal group of gendarmes as soon as he captures the camp, and he and his soldiers will spend a long time in prison, if not hanged. He brushed the thought aside, knowing if he does he can escape, and he knew his attack will inspire more like him, maybe even a coup to overthrow Drumpf. He definitely could not be the only one who wanted to overthrow the government, but the rest were waiting for an opportunity too fight or someone to lead the way.

La Nouvelle-Lyon
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Afternoon, Sunday, 22 June 1873

René Gauthier, the chief of police of La Nouvelle-Lyon, waited patiently outside a bar. The day in the city felt like any other, but he had a gut feeling that that fact will soon change. He tried to reassure himself it will not, but with the news of the stadtholder, Dominic Drumpf, taking more power for himself, it felt more likely. Something may have already happened, but with his control over the news many may not hear about it. Gauthier recalled two groups of rebels who came into the city then left without firing a single shot, but newspapers describing great battles. Despite him attempting to clear it up, he was called a liar and many called for his firing, one of the leading voices being stadtholder Drumpf himself, who accused him at failing at his job, and saying the gendarmerie could do better at protecting the city. Similar things happened to others who tried to clear up the lie, including the gendarmerie commander stationed at the city, who the stadtholder accused of incompetence and also called for his firing. What both amazed and annoyed Gauthier most was that many people blindly believed every lie spewed by Drumpf, as contradictory and obvious as many are and continued to support him fully.

“Good afternoon.”

Gauthier turned suddenly, seeing the gendarmerie captain Jean de Flandre. “Got held up a little. I ran out of ink and I needed to buy more.” said de Flandre. “Didn’t you buy a lot recently? What happened?” asked Gauthier.

“Don’t know.”, said de Flandre, “I swear I didn’t drink it.”

Gauthier burst out laughing for almost a minute. When he caught his breath, he began “I never would have” then burst out laughing again. After catching his breath again, and attempting to say the sentence again but laughing in the middle of it, he finally managed to say “never would have thought of that, but now that you tell me I don’t believe that you did not drink it.” and trailed off laughing.

The officers exchanged some more words before entering the bar. Since de Flandre’s company was sent to La Nouvelle-Lyon, he and Gauthier went out often, even when they were supposed to be on duty. The rest of the men under their command likely did the same, but being in a city overstaffed with law enforcement, they did not care. Walking into the bar, de Flandre grabbed his sword.

The bar was reasonably crowded for a Sunday afternoon. Some people turned to de Flandre and Gauthier, some looked worried, as the police chief and a gendarmerie officer walking into a bar in uniform was not a normal sight. De Flandre unsheathed his sword and threw and spun it in the air, then caught it by the handle, scaring some nearby, including Gauthier, even though he was to his left. “Want a try?” asked de Flandre, turning to him. Gauthier shook his head. One bartender looked at them then sighed, knowing no matter why they were at the bar it will not be a fun afternoon. If they were not a policeman and a gendarmerie officer, they would have been kicked out immediately. They sat down and ordered drinks. Conversations from people around shifted suddenly as they entered and sat down. Many were talking about the recent rebellion and voicing support for it, but did not in front of two law enforcement officers, who for all they knew were trying to catch potential sympathizers.

“Jean,” said Gauthier, “you seem different in the last two days. Do you miss la Nouvelle-Lyon that much?”. De Flandre told him the day before he was leaving the next day because his company was reassigned, but did not give any more details.

“I’ve been meaning to talk about this.” de Flandre replied. He took a sip from his bottle and said “Two days ago my colonel arrived here to give me an order from stadtholder Drumpf himself.”

“The Stadtholder? What was so important?”

“May his soul burn in hell.” he said. Some people turned, shocked to hear a gendarme officer say that about the Stadtholder. Some, including Gauthier, looked around. There were rumors that he had agents implanted in the north to find anyone disloyal and send them to one of his camps which were springing up all over the country. De Flandre continued, “You did not hear any of this from me.”

“What was the order?”

“I do not remember exactly as it was but my commander ripped up the letter not long after-”

“Your commander?” Gauthier interrupted, “What was in it?” Gauthier knew de Flandre’s opinion on Drumpf, they talked about him for too long and he was not arrested for what he said. People around them were more uneasy, sure it was a sting operation.

“Yes,” said de Flandre, “my commander. He agreed with my opinion on the order. It told me to send my regiment throughout the north and round up everyone and throw them in a camp. I told him I will not follow it.” Gauthier was speechless, and so were others who overheard what de Flandre said. He took another drink. “I told him I will storm the largest camp, release every person imprisoned there, and have all gendarmes operating it court-martialed for following an unconstitutional order.”. The entire bar went silent for several long seconds, broken by de Flandre asking for another drink which the bartender filled in his now empty cup.

“But if anything goes wrong? The stadtholder will hang you personally.” said Gauthier finally.

“I am sure I am not the only officer who wants the stadtholder gone and would fight for it.” said de Flandre, “More will rise up after me. The stadtholder will never catch me. If he does, will he really make me a martyr?”

“Jean,” said Gauthier, “you are the bravest man I met.”. More attention was turned to them, including from a bartender who looked away from a glass he was filling and spilled some wine over himself and a customer. “I wish you the best of luck in your battle” said Gauthier. He turned to de Flandre and saluted.
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Tue Apr 13, 2021 5:13 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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The Dodo Republic
Posts: 163
Founded: Feb 22, 2021
Moralistic Democracy

Postby The Dodo Republic » Fri Mar 19, 2021 11:07 am

June 7th, 1983. The Central Highlands

For three long bloody years the civil war has raged, Republicans v Loyalists for control of the land. Tens of thousands are already dead and everyone is suffering… This is something Ryan Vlkvric knows all too well. In his early 60s he probably should not be fighting, however he refuses to think that he is too old. Since the war started, Ryan has served in every major battle from the beaches of Golbaria to the swamps of East Kora and the siege of Fort Legion. For three years, the war has gone well for the forces of the Second Republican Congress, with the southern half of the Island fully under the control of the SRC. However the front has grinded to a screeching halt at the banks of the Colorian Mountains in the Central Highlands. On May 15th the province of North Yorget decided to switch sides from the Loyals to the SRC. However reserve troops from the Loyalists managed to retake the lands except for the city of West Pond that managed to hold out for several weeks until the front again stabilized. Now it is June, and the Colorian Mountains have become a killing field for both sides as forces entrenched themselves in the Highlands…
Over pouring rain, artillery bombardments and the faint sounds of bagpipes, Ryan sits in his foxhole. He knows he is going to die today. Going over the top is enough of a death sentence, and for an old man like Ryan, the probability for him living is the lowest it could be. The call is only a few minutes away, he calculates. Around him are other soldiers, much younger than he is. Anxiously waiting to die as well. Nobody speaks in the shivering cold trenches. The horrors of this war have given the soldiers a loss of words, the sights they see have knocked the sounds out of them. Ryan watches as fellow comrades almost have mental breakdowns. To his right, a young soldier curls up in the fetus position, trying to hide himself… But hiding is foolish. There is nowhere to hide and those who refuse to fight are executed without any remorse and their families shamed for raising such a weak willed man. Some men pray to themselves in silence, trying to hide their fear to themselves. To no use. Vlkvric is not afraid of death. He has lived long enough and after the things he has seen, he doesn't mind dying to forget them. However he too is afraid. Not for himself but for the others. They are all so young. The youngest is only around 14 years old. Ryan fixates his eyes on the trench walls, his hand clenched on his rifle. Water from the dugout ceiling drips onto Ryans faded and damaged hat…
With the whistle of the commander and the yelling of the hundreds of men, Ryan along with his comrades charge over the side of the trench, rifles in hand. A wall of men 1200 strong are running, running through the shelled remains of the Highlands. The roar and blasts of artlitary only get louder as the men race across no man's land and within minutes the wall of men becomes fractured with entire squadrons getting blown to 1000 pieces. Others die from the pits of mud that litter No Man's land, one fall could break a leg or a foot and therefore put them out of the fight. Even Ryan becomes a casualty with a bullet to the head, his body sits bleeding. It is unlikely that after the battle is over his body will be recovered. The final troops finally reach the enemy trench after the mass slaughter of No Man's Land. however this is where the true carnage begins. In the muddy, cold, damp enemy trenches the resistance is fierce. As soon as troops jump in there is no escape. In crowded trench always bloody hand to hand combat rages with soldiers on both sides punching each other with bare fists and even using their teeth to bite where guns can not be drawn. The puddles soon turn red as the blood of the fallen mix with the water. It is unlikely that any of the 1200 souls that day will make it alive.. Unless for a select few that are taken prisoner. However… Even those men cant be considered lucky. Not many see the light of freedom after their capture… However, it is in these fields in the Highlands where soldiers live up their highest honor. Even… If they can't live to see proper recognition.

Here in the Highlands
Where the wind blows so soft
The boots of the soldiers
Are said to be heard
As if they are finishing the fight
They never got to finish
Only here in the Highlands
Where the true men walked.

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Founded: May 05, 2017

Another Morning in Libervalley

Postby Libervalley » Sat Mar 20, 2021 12:25 pm

The sun rises on another great day in the nation of Libervalley. The fishermen up and down the coast have set out from their docks to find schools of fish. The coast of Libervalley is well known for great catches. Large cargo ships with containers move in and out of the harbor in the capital, importing manufactured goods from other nations and exporting mostly food, raw materials, and technological goods. A significant fraction of the countries population lives in the capital. They wake up for their daily commute to work and school. The downtown, identified by glistening skyscrapers, marks the financial hub of the nation. The government buildings are bustling as legislative sessions are only held for 120 days during the late winter and early spring months. In the north oil rigs float miles offshore while oil derricks can be found around the landscape exploiting and discovering new sources of oil. In the south, traffic slowly moves through the border with New Waldensia as it is the largest trading partner. More tourists are arriving at the international airport and cruise ship docks to see the pristine fjords, beaches, lakes, and water falls.

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

the hekk

Postby Logar » Thu Mar 25, 2021 6:23 am

boy wth is this and how did I miss this? lmao smh :o
The subtleties of being intelligent is being simple-minded to subdue your obscure traits.
— Logar, 18.08.21

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Furbish Islands
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Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Sun Mar 28, 2021 9:07 pm

The Dodo Republic wrote:-snip-

FES Tuur Beumer
South Dodo Sea

Morning, Sunday, 14 March 2021

The sun beat down on FES Tuur Beumer as she cut across the dark blue waters of the South Dodo Sea. The over three hundred sailors and twenty officers went about their tasks in what seemed like another normal day. Beumer was one of the many Furbish ships sent to conduct exercises off the coast of Attancia. Like all destroyers and frigates, she was named after a war hero. Tuur Beumer commanded the defense of the port city of Galway against a native attack and a subsequent war which lasted three years. Beumer, now nearly two decades old, is part of the navy’s newest class of destroyers, equipped with a variety of modern weapons and defense systems. Her design was not different from most modern destroyers. A gun sat on her front, usually facing forward though it can rotate in nearly all directions. Missile launchers were placed all over the ship. On top of and behind the bridge were sensors, and at the very back was a small helipad, and a hangar next to it, which usually holds up to two helicopters but may land and hold a VTOL aircraft.

Outside, all that could be heard was the sounds of waves gently hitting the sides of the ship, but the inside was a different story. In the radar room deep inside the ship, Julien Pleimelding, Beumer’s communications officer, alternated between exasperatingly pressing some buttons and speaking into the radio, scribbling on a pad of paper with his pen every so often. He had a single task, messaging every ship in the area. Then as he tried to radio one, there was silence. He repeated his message, but still silence. He repeated the message in French for good measure, then in Lombard, a language with a small community of speakers in the Furbish Islands, which remained thanks to efforts by the government to preserve all local languages, and by some people elsewhere, but of course there was nothing. He knew there would not be a response. Pleimelding looked at the papers, marking a few dozen ships he radioed, and immediately called the captain. In all but the largest ships in the Furbish navy, which were commanded by a captain, commander is the rank of the commanding officer, though is still referred to as the captain.

“Mam, I there is a large ship without a transponder which did not respond to my calls, I believe it is the ship we are looking for.” he said. Pleimelding recalled earlier receiving a message from the nearby Dodo Republic about a cargo ship which went missing in the South Dodo Sea. Captain Laura Sulzberger was quick to offer assistance, and sent Pleimelding to the radar room to radio ships in the area. The radar picked up nearby every object in the sea, and Pleimelding only bothered with the larger objects, and made sure they were moving. There was a common joke about an aircraft carrier ordering a ship to change its course, only to find out it was a lighthouse, and while it never happened, yet, officers were careful to not be the first to make it.

“When did you message it?” Sulzberger asked.

“Fifteen minutes ago, and no response. Every other ship responded immediately.”

“You sure it’s a ship?”

“It definitely is.”

“What are its coordinates?”

Pleimelding read off the coordinates of the dot on his radar. Sulzberger was likely on the bridge or somewhere looking at her own screen. After a few seconds, Sulzberger said she will send a helicopter to the ship, but told Pleimelding to continue messaging other ships in the area in case they find another one or it does respond. He sighed, but continued, as he felt the ship slowly turning to the direction of the ship on his radar.

On the flight deck, the crew were busy fueling and making final checks on the helicopter. It is flown by a crew of three, a commissioned pilot and co-pilot, and an enlisted gunner, sent ahead of the ship to look for the cargo ship. The three of them, while being part of the aviation branch of the navy, were under Sulzberger’s command as long as they were assigned to Beumer. The rotor started up as the flight deck officer gave a signal, slowly lifting the helicopter, into the air, then pushing it forward. It gained speed and was not long before it disappeared from the view of any sailor on board the ship. On the helicopter, Stanislav von Böhm, the pilot, pulled the throttle until the helicopter reached its top speed, headed to the direction of the ship. Frederiko Zavalo, the copilot, carefully tracked the runaway ship on the helicopter’s radar, while looking out into the sea. Andreas Sondheim, the gunner, tracked his own radar screen carefully. The crew were not expecting an attack, though they guessed the Dodo Republic cargo ship was seized by pirates, who may try to fight an approaching navy helicopter.

When it appeared from a distance, the crew knew the ship they found was the one they were looking for. Von Böhm slowed down the helicopter and Sondheim pointed a gun at the ship. No signs of life came from the ship, the pirates were likely all at the bridge. Zavalo was about to radio Beumer, until something caught his eye.

“Nope, nope, nope” Sondheim said to himself, in German, “I definitely forgot to take my meds this morn-”

He was interrupted by a roar. Zavalo cursed in Basque, then shouted in English “Anyone else see that thing?!”

“Yes sir!” replied Sondheim.

“What the fuck is that thing- wait, there’s more of them?!” said von Böhm.

“Looks like, a fucking dinosaur.” said Sondheim.

“But those went extinct millions of” said Zavalo, trailing off, “How the fuck do we explain this to Captain Sulzberger?”

“Show her fucking camera and let her see for herself.” said von Böhm. Zavalo looked at the helicopter’s camera, directing it at the dinosaurs on the ship, as the pilot flew the helicopter closer. They were a safe distance away, but close enough for a good view of them. The men all knew what happened to the unfortunate crew of the vessel, somehow those dinosaurs got out and killed them, and may have turned off the transponder which was how contact was lost. The ship was going to make landfall eventually which is why the Dodo Republic seemed so desperate to find it.

On Beumer, Pleimelding looked at his notes and back at the radar, again. The helicopter should be at the ship and hopefully radio him about what was going on with it. His radio suddenly made a beep and he picked it up. “This is FES Tuur Beumer, Lieutenant Julien Pleimelding sp-”

“Sir, this is Lieutenant Zavalo from the helicopter you sent out, is Captain Sulzberger anywhere nearby?”

“Calling her down immediately. What is the iss- What the fuck is that sound?!”

“So we found the ship but you are not going to believe us so we are sending footage from the camera.”

Pleimelding pressed some buttons and clicked a few times on a screen, which slowly loaded footage from the camera. A sailor walking by caught a glimpse of the screen and turned to Pleimelding, and seemed speechless. “Is that uh, that ship we are looking for?” he managed to ask in a heavy Dutch accent. In a country as linguistically diverse as the United Provinces, dozens of languages could be spoken even on a small ship as Beumer, and most could speak several and are good at understanding any accents. Pleimelding nodded to the soldier. “I have no idea what Captain Sulzberger wants to do with it, but I would sooner shoot myself than have any Furbishman board that.”

Sulzberger walked through in the middle of the sentence. “They found the ship” said Pleimelding.

“Captain, we are at the ship, and I believe we have found out how it got lost.” said Zavalo over the radio. “Is the camera working?” he asked.

Pleimelding motioned to his screen. “Are those, fucking-?!” asked Sulzberger, “This has to be a joke.”

“They are real, Captain.” said Zavalo. Sulzberger knew what was about to happen. The Dodo Republic would decide what to do from there, whether to attempt to board and kill these creatures and take control of the ship, or let it sink to the bottom of the ocean and hope they could not swim. The problem was she had to explain this to her admiral, who would also have to explain it to his own.

“Stay near the ship until we arrive, but not too close.” Sulzberger said to the radio, “And Pleimelding, you did well. Tell the Dodo Republic we found their ship and we are approaching it, but make it clear no Furbishman is boarding that.” She heard a “yes mam” from both lieutenants.

From: FES Tuur Beumer
To: Dodo Republic

To whom it may concern,
A Dodo Republic flagged cargo veſſel which has not reſponded to multiple radio calls has been located and FES Tuur Beumer will follow her and await further inſtructions. On board multiple creatures reſembling velociraptors have been ſpotted. Due to ſafety concerns regarding theſe creatures, no Furbiſhman ſhall board the veſſel.
Lieutenant Julien Pleimelding
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Tue Apr 13, 2021 1:34 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Founded: Feb 04, 2021


Postby Southdan » Tue Mar 30, 2021 4:06 pm

Southdan, the land of Kings and Commoners, MPs and Soldiers. Originally a vassal of The Empire of Dan, in 1067 the Confederate Kingdom of Southdan declared independence and over the next 300 years expanded their territory to almost the size of modern Southdan.

In the year 1869 the remains of the Empire of Dan declared war on Southdan, however this turned on them when they were conquered by the Kingdom, which quickly executed their king and his family.

Modern day Southdan has a population of 60 million, with a large military of 1,440,000 men, who run its large navy and man its many fortifications.

The fortifications are connected by a small underground military rail system, and the civilian population has a large rail system, above and below ground.

Cars are heavily regulated, with citizens having to apply for a license after a 2 year course on driving and road safety, with the minimum age for applying being 25, and cars being banned completely for non citizens.

For energy the nation relies heavily on Nuclear, geothermal and wind power, with oil and natural gas being regulated and taxed almost into oblivion.

The Parliament of Southdan is bicameral, with the House of Commons of 300 chosen by the commoners and the Senate of 50 chosen by the Nobles.
Last edited by Southdan on Tue Mar 30, 2021 4:07 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Founded: Dec 20, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

The Northern Palace

Postby Logar » Tue Mar 30, 2021 6:16 pm

Panoramic view of the palace and its terrains.

The Northern Palace (Logarian: Pakisnota; Portuguese: Palácio Nortenho; French: Palais du Nord) is one of the Logarian monarch's 12 estates within the Logarian imperial territory. The palace was built in the capital city of the northern province of Inoi — Matzuda. Unlike other palaces located more to the center of Logar and like palaces located more to the border of the country, the palace's exterior looks much more like a military fortress than an actual palace, as its commodities and luxuries are located underground. As it can still be used as a defense asset, it has a handful of howitzer artillery pieces located on its more elevated parts such as the central tower (the taller one, as displayed on the picture), smaller cannons that can be attached to windows, and an unknown number of grenade launcher turrets installed on its lower parts.

The palace, even though it is largely considered a castle, had its construction process initiated on May 1888, that was only made possible due to the effort of two private building companies plus a state company whose were commissioned by Emperor Christopher I. It was intended to be both a command center and a front defense position for the northern border, though this was later discarded and received new objectives of sheltering the Emperor and other important personnel. How many people it can hold is unknown, though it is known that there are five howitzer gunners and 100 imperial royal guards to protect His Imperial Majesty as fixed palace personnel, due to their important tasks, while there still are ten grenade launcher turret gunners and 180 Logarian army soldiers as unfixed personnel. In case of invasion, the palace has some underground tunnels that lead to nowhere and some who actually lead to imperial facilities in case the Emperor needs to run away from the structure. Common soldiers are able to utilize the window cannons and attachable medium machine guns.
The subtleties of being intelligent is being simple-minded to subdue your obscure traits.
— Logar, 18.08.21

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Founded: Dec 20, 2020
Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

National and/or major institutions of Logar

Postby Logar » Wed Mar 31, 2021 8:40 pm

Emperor's Office (August IV)
Courtmaster's Office (Michael Veers)
Deputy Courtmaster's Office (Sera Winston)
Economy (Firmus Maximus)
Defense (Gen. Matthew William)
Infraestructure (Martha Roberta)
Health (Dr. Winston Martyr)
Education (Richard Magnus)
Environment (Igor Guimarães)
Citizenship (Onyx Lorenzoni)
Culture (Luigi Mato)
Employment and Labor (Miranda Carmo)
Public Prosecutor's Office (Philip O'Hara)
Transports (César Mauro)
Agriculture (Maurício Marques)
Mining (Markus Ycaro)
Foreign Affairs (Richard Serum)
Justice (Lorena White)
Communications (Robert White)
Public Security (Tom Fagundes)
Civil Rights (Marina Lúcia)
Family, Woman and Elderly (Martha Lord)
Gender and Sexuality Equality (Theon Mar)
Tourism (Angela Kermell)
Science and Technology (Shinzo Uma)
Industry, Foreign Trade and Development (Marco António)
Power and Mines (Luísa Martinez)

Korai (Secret police; LtCol. Roger Sera)
Logar National Police (LtCol. Mathias Prive)
Territorial Police (LtCol. Arthur Gaï)
Special Operations Police (LtCol. Bruno Motta)
National Narcotics Police (LtCol. James Sato)
National Hospital Police (LtCol. Frederick Mino)
National Harbor Police (LtCol. Ramón Cardoso)
National Transit Police (LtCol. Brian Norrington)
National Guard (LtCol. Henry Salveta)

Imperial Army
1st Army (Gen. Mary Jay)
2nd Army (Gen. Harry Way)
3rd Army (Gen. Oliver Owens)
4th Army (Gen. Benjamin Ysa)
5th Army (Gen. Kira Guthrie)
6th Army (Gen. Alfie Irwin)
7th Army (Gen. Stewart Wainwright)
8th Army (Gen. Marnie Costa)
9th Army (Gen. Cobin Cottrell)
10th Army (Gen. Rizwan Farrington)
11th Army (Gen. Farrel Horn)
12nd Army (Gen. Olivia Marshall)
13th Army (Gen. Kendall Saints)
14th Army (Gen. Eryk Savage)
15th Army (Gen. Ellie Meyer)

Logarian Airforce
1st Air Group (GrCapt. Belle Smart)
2nd Air Group (GrCapt. Matei Haigh)
3rd Air Group (GrCapt. Nathalie Bate)
4th Air Group (GrCapt. Roxy Hilton)
5th Air Group (GrCapt. Karishma Hamton)
6th Air Group (GrCapt. Hailie Irving)
7th Air Group (GrCapt. Keely Lancaster)
8th Air Group (GrCapt. Humera Samspon)
9th Air Group (GrCapt. Mirza Hodge)
10th Air Group (GrCapt. Lois Mair)
11th Air Group (GrCapt. Aliesha Foley)
12th Air Group (GrCapt. Berat Whitehe)
13th Air Group (GrCapt. Jakob Conrad)
14th Air Group (GrCapt. Jude Mcbride)
15th Air Group (GrCapt. Fatma Mayo)

1st Fleet (Admiral Erick Oswell)
2nd Fleet (Admiral Herbert Harper)
3rd Fleet (Admiral Lilliana Smarts)
4th Fleet (Admiral Kiki Regan)
5th Fleet (Admiral Belinda Guest)
6th Fleet (Admiral Kian Bryan)
7th Fleet (Admiral Fariha Wang)
8th Fleet (Admiral Kaiser Bernard)
9th Fleet (Admiral Darsh Dupont)
10th Fleet (Admiral Kaitlyn Ponce)
11th Fleet (Admiral Sky Beech)
1st Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Kobi Huff)
2nd Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Eshan Would)
3rd Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Samya Sara)
4th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Cindy Norman)
5th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Hallam Raw)
6th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Noah Kelp)
7th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Milana Dunn)
8th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Tre Hammond)
9th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Inigo Knapp)
10th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Tonya Jakob)
11th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Evan Dom)
12th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Gabriel Coro)
13th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Anais King)
14th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Jacque Park)
15th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Marie Dixie)
16th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Lois Aldred)
17th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Thor Hendrix)
18th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Tala North)
19th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Wiktor Nori)
20th Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Nigel Fields)
21st Battlegroup (Rear Adml. Mary Mcdon)

Royal Imperial Guard
1st Team (Capt. Markus Mack)
2nd Team (Capt. Arian Holt)
3rd Team (Capt. Emily-Rose Bean)
4th Team (Capt. Roxanne Young)
5th Team (Capt. August Shaffer)
6th Team (Capt. Zi Summer)
7th Team (Capt. Dominic Saulo)
Last edited by Logar on Wed Mar 31, 2021 8:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The subtleties of being intelligent is being simple-minded to subdue your obscure traits.
— Logar, 18.08.21

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Postby Kevoria » Thu Apr 01, 2021 1:17 pm

Port Illgari, Illgari
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
March 31 2021

Another night of warm rain enveloped the city of Illgari. Thankfully it was only a light trickle, letting the city continue its restless routine as its lights reflected off nearby the coastal waters. While not as bustling as the larger cities of Kevoria like Boria or the metropolis of other nations, Illgari was still a growing city and its situation on the southernmost island of the Kevorian island chain was giving it all the major trade and industry it needed to eventually become a major port city for the nation.

And standing at one of the docks was Vasilisa Agapova, an Illgari Port Authority inspector as the back of her rain poncho would indicate, though she considered that a misnomer. As official as the title was, she was more of a lieutenant for the Vosdil family, a subsidiary of the Sozon family. And since the Sozon family were the top dogs of Kevorian politics, they could assign their subordinate factions like the Vosdil to their little fiefdom cities, like Illgari. There was barely a city official that wasn't getting either money or pressure from Vosdils.

Thus her appointment as Port Authority inspector was to make sure that what the family wanted got in and anything that the family didn't approve coming in became part of the family's product.

And a nice juicy tip of a freighter coming in was carrying some cargo that unapproved cargo was coming in. She and her wonderful team of heavily armed "volunteer inspectors" behind her were there to "inspect" the cargo and "question" the crew.

Within the hour, the expected ship, a large cargo ship with containers stacked on top, arrived at the dock. Vasilisa made sure the rest of Port Authority did little to hinder it. She wanted didn't want to spook the crew with bureaucracy yet. Once it was docked, the gangway came down almost if to welcome her and her compatriots.

Vasilisa put her phone in her pocket and made her way up to the deck of the ship, her entourage remained behind on the dock as she ascended. As she reached the top of the steps, she could see who she assumed was the captain shining a flashlight on her.

"You must be with DeFalchev, right?" The captain asked.

This caught Vasilisa's attention. The DeFalchevs were a family that had recently fallen from grace with the Donna herself. Illgari used to be theirs until they were caught planning to sway the Senate and usurp the Sozon's position as Don. To the public, it was a relatively calm affair of Mayor John DeFalchev bowing out of his bid for president after a round of unfortunate accidents for his staffers. Behind the scenes, it was Donna herself orchestrating a bloodbath as punishment for DeFalchev's plan and to remind the other family's that she was in control.

This was months ago. Either this ship didn't get the news or DeFalchev was using some of his old connection to get something into the city.

"Yeah, I'm with DeFalchev." Vasilisa lied. She wanted to see what was being brought in.

"Good. You have our pay?" The captain asked.

"Yeah, you'll get your pay. Show me where the goods are."

The captain raised a brow in suspicion. "That's not how we've done this before."

"Situation has changed. Not my choice but we can't take any chances." Vasilisa tried to maintain the lie. She needed to know what DeFalchev wanted. "Show me you got what we wanted and you'll get your payment."

The captain eyed before nodding and waving for her to follow. Glad about her results, she followed, getting her flashlight out as she walked. It was a short trip to a secluded container that the captain opened the door to. The labeling on the front made claimed medical supplies but the inside was lined bulky metal, all lined with various flags and military insignias. Vasilisa couldn't help but whistle at the sight. She stepped inside, opening up one of the crates to see a well-maintained rifle laying inside.

"Phew." She said, impressed by the mini armory that was here. "Quite the collection of medical supplies you got here. I didn't know vaccines came in gunmetal grey."

The clicking sound of a hammer being cocked back on a pistol caused her to look over and see down the barrel of the captain's revolver. "You're not with DeFalchev."

The jig was up, but that was okay. She had all the evidence she needed. The barrel of a rifle came into view and tapped the captain's head. The captain looked over to see one of Vasilisa's "helpers" clad in tactical military gear over a suit vest. "Drop the piece, pal." he said calmly.

The captain, realizing he was outclassed, knelt and laid his revolver on the deck before standing up with his hands on his head. Vasilisa reached into her pocket and pulled her phone, ending the call to her helpers. She stepped out of the container to see the rest of the ship's crew being led out to the deck by the rest of her helpers, hands on their heads and rifles pointed at them.

"Good job on the response there, sergeant." She said nonchalantly as she tapped on her phone. "Glad we still have professionals on the payroll."

"We aim to please, Miss." The sergeant said, prodding the captain with his rifle before escorting him over to the rest of the crew. "What's the plan now?"

"Send the captain to harbormaster's office, I have some questions for him. Then liquidate the rest of the crew." She said as if it was a simple chore. "After that, look for the manifest and prep to search. I'm sure our friends here a bringing in a lot more than firearms for our renegade friends." She began to make her way over to the gangway.

"As you wish, Miss." The sergeant said with a grin.

"Oh and one last thing." She stopped herself before she descended. "Keep the noise down on the liquidation part, I have some calls to make." She continued back down the stairs as she could hear the pleas of crew members above.

Ivory Mansion, Boria
The United Isles Republic of Kevoria
April 1, 2021

Atop of hill that stood over the capital city laid a mansion, its outside architecture still a holdover from the neoclassical era as a sign of respect to the older generations that lived in these lands. But the interior was updated to a more hedonistic art deco design by the whims of its current owner, the Don.

Or in Ayla Sozon's case, the Donna. On paper she was the president, it was obvious that the political game in Kevoria was much more than the facade of democracy that was put on. Powerful families both old and new played an eternal game of backroom dealings, backstabbing, and violent blood feuds that would spill into a small civil war. The only thing keeping the country from collapsing in a constant state of civil war and anarchy was the need for some level of a status quo enforced by the Senate of Kevoria, whose seats were filled with representatives from each family that wielded power in Kevoria, and the Don who could command the respect and fear of the most families in it.

As fancy as it sounded, Ayla saw it differently. It was more of babysitting a gaggle of over a hundred children, all armed with guns and looking for a reason to throw a hissy fight. It was tight rope act she knew she had to play as she knew everyone in the Senate didn't earn their seats without getting their hands dirty and were probably willing to dirty them again with her blood if given the chance.

And her policy-making wasn't helping much either. The world was evolving and advancing, and Kevoria was getting left behind. The industries were languishing, held down by outdated practices and lack of expansion. The economy had stagnated for decades from the constant infighting between families making investors and other money-movers uncertain with their cash. The military was growing more and more understaffed due to political differences and lack of funding. But every new proposal, act, or reform to bring Kevoria into the modern world was met with constant bickering and saber-rattling from some of the senators who clutched what power they had and were unwilling to compromise with each other.

Ayla sat in her office, reading over the morning reports from her various department heads. More cries for funding here, more calls to handle some squabble between subsidiary families there, another drink of Fluvannian coffee now to wash the constant complaints away.

As she flipped through the papers, three keywords stood as she skimmed through a report from one of her subsidiary families.: "Foreign","Guns","DeFalchev."

She nearly spat out her coffee as they caught her attention. She swallowed it down painfully as she read over the report. "That son of a bitch." She muttered. Out of all the people she wanted to deal with DeFalchev was the last one. Disgraced as he was, he had made some powerful friends with her enemies, and worse yet, he more than likely still has some pull with her allies.

And now he was having guns smuggled into the country from abroad. He was going international, and who knows what else he could have coming in. All that she knew was some traitorous bastard was gearing up for something and was looking out of the country for help.

Normally Kevorian politics stayed domestic, kept the rest of the world out of its affairs. And while locking down the country and routing out any traitors would've been the most effective measure, it would strangle the country she was trying to grow and would give her enemies the political ammo they needed to revolt.

Then an idea came across her mind, and a grin grew across her face. This was the opportunity she needed. If DeFalchev wanted to break conventions, she was willing to do the same. She reached for the phone on her desk, dialing her foreign minister.

"Ms. President-" The voice on the other line spoke before being cut off.

"Alceo." Ayla said as she looked over the newspaper for current events around the world. "Tell the world we're opening up for business. Sign some trade deals, make some offers too good to pass up. We're sitting on a major trade lane and we're not utilizing it for the growth it can bring us."

If DeFalchev wanted help from the outside for a civil war, she wanted to make sure the world would have her back when the bullets started to fly in the worst-case scenario.

"What about the Senate?"

She finished off her coffee stood up and walked over to the window, looking down on the capital as the plan grew in her head.

"I'll handle the senate."

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Attancia » Fri Apr 02, 2021 2:33 am

Attancian MH-65, South Dodo Sea
March 2021

Three crewmembers of the helicopter, an MH-65 Dolphin, stared down at the enormous Dodoian vessel while hovering above it. Despite being abandoned, it seemed to be relatively peaceful as it drifted through the water.

The co-pilot, Archeus Helment, spoke quickly into the radio, hoping to contact the Attancian convoy that had dispatched them. "Uh, yes, we've found the boat. It matches the description. No, there doesn't seem to be any crew on board. It's floating, though, like, totally fine. However, it isn't heading in any specific direction, so the likelihood of piracy is probably low. I imagine the Dodos would have at least sent crewmembers who could deal with pirates."

"Noted. We're dispatching a frigate from the convoy, ETA 10 minutes." Replied the Admiral aboard her personal destroyer, the AS Adern. The ship was named after the diocese of Adern, once the most formidable naval power on Attancia island. The name was used to signify the strength of the ship.

As the frigate speedily sliced through the water towards the cargo ship, the helicopter continued its observation. Archeus meticulously surveyed the deck of the ship until he found something. Something moving. "Hey, look at this." He was about to pass the other pilot his binoculars as the helicopter's on-board computer hovered it in the air. "See? There's something moving- yo what the fuck?"

"What is it?" Enquired the pilot.

"Nothing... Yeah, nothing." Archeus replied.

"Let me see." The pilot grabbed the binoculars. "Oh shit... Is that a velociraptor? Those things have been extinct for millions of years."

Archeus looked at him, bewildered. "You're seeing it too?"

"Yes. Unless someone is pumping some incapacitating gas into this helicopter." Affirmed the pilot.

"I doubt it. But... I thought that too -- millions of years. What were the Dodos thinking, sending them out like this? And without a transport? Good Lord." Archeus went to radio the frigate. "This is Archeus of the search and rescue team, we've made a discovery about the ship. Genuinely, it's hard to believe, but there are velociraptors... uh, yeah, velociraptors on board. The dinosaurs. We're currently taking photos of them." He motioned to the diver in the back of the aircraft to start taking photos. "Uh, yeah. We won't engage for now. I hate to imagine what happened to the crew."

12 Mezhedine Street, Mankus
March 2021

Prime Minister Cameron John sat before his cabinet in heated discussion in the early hours of the 19th of March. A maroon sun shone through the ageing windows casting a pinkish tinge across the room.

"I deem it unacceptable that Furbish ships should be sailing so close to our waters. May I remind you, the various powers on At'ostrykevo syllicanico'estravkatanok have been the dominant naval forces in this quarter of the globe since their establishment -- none so feared as Attancia. Projecting economic power through the current means -- get it, because we send electric currents? -- is not enough. A strong military is required to back up an economy, and vice versa. We must show other nations that this island is relevant. Relevant enough to be on their radar." Added Cameron to the discussion. The recent presence of Furbish ships in the South Dodo Sea was making the Attancian higher-ups uncomfortable, as the area had typically been considered a safe zone.

The defence minister, infamous for his determination, agreed. "I concur. We have yet to face a considerable opponent in this region, but there is a chance we were looking in the wrong place. The Furbishmen are obviously attempting to subvert our influence from the other side of the globe. By the way, judging by the recent loss of a government sponsored cargo ship, and a reliance on international allies to find it, we don't have to worry about the Dodos." He snickered. "Anyway, I would vouch for further projection of power. As the MoD, I will see to it that we won't face further issues."

The discussion continued for several hours.
"If I had a nickel for every time Attancia attempted to use the media to get the Furbish public on his side but backfired miserably I'd have two nickels...Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice" -Furbish Islands

"Attancia proved last night that he isn't a clown" -Furbish Islands

"Attancia is slightly less retarded now" -I forgot the name someone in TL discord once

Also...Attancia types too well to be 13, if I'm honest. Something doesn't add up. -Fluvannia

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Logar » Fri Apr 02, 2021 3:14 pm

Imperial Palace of Villanova, Villanova, Logar
April 2nd, 2021

On the morning of the second day of April, August IV, sovereign of the Logarian people and territory, can be encountered siting on a very special, golden, black and white table, located in the Cabinet Conference Room in the Imperial Palace of Villanova. His Majesty had called Logarian government members, courtiers, ministers, the Courtmaster and the Deputy Courtmaster, Michael Veers and Sera Winston respectively, to attend a meeting with His Majesty in order to discuss an extraordinary case. The Emperor was willing to contact other countries, nearby and away from Logar, so that the Empire may arise in the international business and diplomatic stage. The courtmasters are the first to arrive, followed by courtiers and ministers of Foreign Affairs, Economy, Employment and Labor and the minister of Public Security, and, as they sit in the room, now without the Emperor, all of them wait for His Majesty to enter the room again. Some minutes after all of them were in the room, August IV enters the Cabinet Conference Room and absolutely all of those who were sat immediately stand up before their Sovereign.

"You may sit, gentlemen." Said Emperor August IV as he sat, and so everyone there does as he tells. "I imagine that my assessors already cleared things up on why you're all here." He pauses and the officials present affirm. "Ok. Our great Fatherland needs to finally appear among nations, gentlemen. We need to commence diplomacy and economic procedures between Logar and other nations."

"And... Does Your Majesty knows on what to begin with?" Asks Courtmaster Veers. "Logar is a regional power, we have assets to provide the population welfare and good living..." He completes.

"Yes, my Emperor, Logar does not need to go further on foreign affairs as other nations do, we have plenty of land, oil, farm lands..." Says the relaxed Deputy Courtmaster Sera Winston as his superior finished his sayings.

"We have a strong and well budgeted military, strong enough to defend ourselves from any regional threat. We have a strong economy, strong enough to provide ourselves goods, giant buildings and national, well-built, business skyscrapers who are detachments internationally." August IV proudly says and completes: "We are imponent and tactically prominent ally to every country within and without the continent." He says, though continues: "Logar can be important and a pillar to any country who wants to side with us, and also can be an endeavor to any country who opposes us."

"We have local commerce and an enviable economic stability." Says minister of the Economy, Firmus Maximus, who completes: "Logar could expand itself if we decide to finally make contact with other countries' administrations, we could simply sign treaties which is not a problem since both the Monarchical and Conservative parties retains majority in the States General."

Foreign Affairs minister Richard Serum finally says: "I think we must wait." All officials present, including the Emperor, expressed confusion. "Don't you hear about the diplomatic 'chaos' involving Atttancia, the Dodos and the Furbish Islands?" He directly asks the Emperor, without much formality since Serum is the Emperor's protégé.

"Yes I have, minister. And deem necessary to act during this event, where they are... Diplomatically unstable." Answers August IV.

"Our actions as a regional power can be seen as a direct interference on their own regional affairs since Logar is very much away from all of that, exploiting their diplomatically unstable moments." Completes minister Richard, having all present in the room agreeing with him, including the Emperor.

The meeting, that had begun on the earlier hours of the day, was only finished five hours later, with the officials making plans on how to approach other nations during, or after, the Attantian Situation, and on how will Logar react if such thing occur with itself.
The subtleties of being intelligent is being simple-minded to subdue your obscure traits.
— Logar, 18.08.21

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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Postby Dunferm » Mon Apr 05, 2021 12:33 pm

The Bell of Ravenspire

Vol. 203, Issue № 87

The Ministry of War announces plans to draft Category B, with preference given to the Navy.
Gregers Dunn

Yesterday, the Press Office of the Ministry of War announced expansion of the national servicemen to be drafted starting from autumn of this year, with the men of Category B fitness losing exemption from the compulsory national service. The Press-Secretary officially stated that the increased number of conscripts ‘is necessary to further the rearmament programme’.
Under new provisions, the number of draftees will be doubled in the upcoming years, while still using a lottery system for draft. The priority would be given for servicemen to fill vacancies in the Royal Dunfermian Navy, as a report presented before the General Assembly in 2019 indicated serious shortages of cadres within the Naval branch.
“I believe this is a step towards progress” – remarked Press-Secretary Rickard Parish – “the Armed Forces lack numbers to sustain our defence scheme, and it will grant job opportunities for the rural unemployed. Not only we will find many amazing specialists for the Armed Forces, but the Ministry also provides grants for study after completion of national service, and we are willing to continue with this policy”.
This movement was adopted not without opposition – the Worshipful Collective of Non-Violence, leading Dunfermian anti-conscription pressure group, publicly called for the Ministry to scrap the plan, arguing that the draft of Category B will decrease the defence capabilities of Dunferm. Likewise, 3 Folksliberal MPs started collecting signatures for a petition to the Minister of War.
This announcement coincided with a similar announcement from the Department of Admiralty that declared that His Majesty’s Government will divert more funds to modernize the Navy, including construction of a new carrier.
The Committee for Fiscal Prudence, a libertarian pressure group, likewise criticized the plan, with its spokesman, Nicholas Wallestin, calling it “another waste of treasury funds on Admiralty’s ambitions of 18th century glory”, and called for anti-militarists to protest this decision.
Continue on Page 7

Vaccine requirements to stay – Board of Education.
Morris Alkema

The Board of Education today confirmed last year’s decision to require all schoolchildren to be vaccinated before being admitted into school.
This announcement was in response to a formal protest issued by various parents’ organizations, who feared that this new decision will breach the right of their children to education.
A controversial post in social media by a member of the Board criticized this statement, by stating that education is privilege, not right.
Continue on Page 14.
Adeste fideles laeti triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem.
Natum videte regem angelorum.

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The Dodo Republic
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Founded: Feb 22, 2021
Moralistic Democracy

Postby The Dodo Republic » Thu Apr 08, 2021 7:10 am

Fort Valkyrie, Presidential office.

With the lingering smell of coffee in the air, President of the Republic, Admiral Waldoon scans a letter that was mysteriously put on his desk overnight while sipping the almost pure caffeine of Dodoian black coffee. Every morning the president walks from his residence in the governmental district of the city to his office building across the street to take care of the daily events. However lately he has found himself to be on edge with the developments of the top secret dodoian cargo ship being lost at sea. However today he has finally got an answer from the Furbish that in the letter has stated they found the ship however they will not dare to board it. Who could blame them? 65 million years of predatory instincts has been brought from the dead only several years ago with many species being brought to the earth once again. Raptors have long been bred since for military needs with several different breeds being made. What exactly went wrong with the batch to the ship? The president wouldn't know that. That is up to the biologists to figure out. He scans the letter several times over the morning and preps his notes as he is waiting for a guest to show.

Around lunchtime Grand Admiral John Verg is escorted into the presidential office by the office secretary. "Good morning Mr President" the old admiral would say giving a navy salute. The President would return the salute and then would gesture Verg to sit. "The Furbish have given us the location of the ship." The president would start giving Verg the letter. "Looking by its trajectory its heading northbound and will reach landfall within three days. Are there any ships in the area that are available to intercept?" The President would ask. Taking out a government Ipad the admiral would hit several buttons before coming to a map with dots on it. "The dots are each navy ship that is currently traveling through regional waters. According to this the closest to our target is the 2nd fleet. I can form a task force but only with your approval." Verg would say closing his tablet. "You have my approval" Waldoon would say gesturing Verg to the door. "Shall I send a telegram stating we are on our way?" The admiral would ask. "Indeed. We should let them know we are on the chase as well". Verg would then give a final salute before leaving and the president would then give a sigh of relief before taking a massive swig of coffee.

The letter- "To all nations assisting in the finding of the SS West Hill, we are grateful for your help. The Dodo Republic second fleet is sending a task force under the flagship of the aircraft carrier Magnolia. We ask to still keep the ship within sight until our task force in case any new developments come up. The task force should be arriving in 21 hours."- Sincerely DR Grand Admiral John Verg

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Furbish Islands
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Founded: Oct 11, 2016
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Tue Apr 13, 2021 1:46 pm

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Sunday, 11 April 2021

A loud knock on the door echoed through their small Furby City apartment. “I’ll get it” said Vincent Koch. He looked at the clock on his microwave. It was around half past 8, and he walked to the door with a cup of coffee in hand, wondering who could be visiting that early. None of his family or friends said they planned on visiting today, so it likely was a neighbor with something important to discuss. There was more knocking until he reached the door. “Who is this?” said Vincent.

“This is the Gendarmerie. We wanted to ask a few questions. Are we allowed inside?” replied someone from the other side of the door, in a heavy Spanish accent. The reply caught Vincent off guard. He knew he did nothing that should result in the Gendarmerie visiting his apartment, and as far as he was aware neither did his wife or kids. Creaking the door open, he saw two men, wearing dress uniforms, and one of them was holding his smartphone. “Is this apartment number 13?” he asked.

“Uh, no”, replied Vincent, “This is 12. 13 is to your right.”

The gendarme’s face turned slightly red. “Oh, I am incredibly sorry.” he said,

“No, no, it’s fine. Happens all the time.” The three laughed. Numbers on the apartment were placed between doors, which was the cause of confusion many times previously, and it likely would not be the last.

“Who is at the door?” asked Vincent’s wife, Edna. He turned to see her at the door, holding a plate of pancakes.

“Two cops, they knocked on the wrong door by accident.”

“It happens.” she said, laughing, “You want to come in?” she asked to the gendarmes.

“They probably have a more important place to be at-” began Vincent.

“It’s fine” said one of the gendarmes. They came in, having breakfast which was just prepared. They had a small conversation with the couple and their kids, and sent money over an app until they left, and knocked on the correct door. With permission of the family, body camera footage of the event was released by the Gendarmerie on their social media accounts. While seeming strange to much of the world, events like these were quite common in the United Provinces. The video went viral, and many comments described it as the most Furbish thing to happen for a while. Some were curious, however, about where the gendarmes actually meant to go and why.

Gendarmerie Headquarters, Capital Diſtrict
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Thurſday, 8 April 2021

Hugo Roosenhaan typed, the name of an imageboard, into his browser then hit the enter key. The first thing appearing on his screen was pornographic advertisements. “I did not sign up for this shit” he thought as he dragged his cursor to the top right corner of his screen, clicked to turn on an adblocker, and hit the F5 key to refresh his screen, a process he did many times. This was not Roosenhaan’s first and likely not his last time on the site. Being in the Gendarmerie’s cyber crimes division, scanning sites like this across the internet, sitting in a cubicle in a Capital District office building, was his job. The imageboard was split into many smaller forums, each with their own topics and regulars. Roosenhaan clicked /p/, short for politics and began to scroll. These threads had discussions of politics of many countries all over the world, though Roosenhaan only focused on the ones relating to Furbish politics. Many times certain posts from uncareful users did result in criminal investigations if not arrests.

The first thread he clicked on was dedicated to pictures of various female politicians coupled with unnecessarily detailed descriptions of what users wanted to do to them. One person, in a post with a picture of a young member of Parliament, asked she was married. When Roosenhaan first started with this job, he would have thought “If she was not then why the fuck would some fat 3channer who hasn’t left his mother’s basement for years to take a shower think she would choose him”, but after with he saw on that site over the years he only rolled his eyes and moved on. The next post pointed out she was engaged, to another gendarme of all people, with a picture of them together from one of her own social media pages. He looked like one of the last people someone would want to get on the bad side of, which made Roosenhaan smile a little, especially the following replies from disappointing users, and some anger at her, and some at her fiancé, as if she would fall for one of them had he not been around. Clicking away after scrolling some more, Roosenhaan saw the usual threads, some discussing various recent speeches by politicians or various political issues.

One thread caught his eye. The user had the Furbish flag, which the site adds to every post to show the country of the user who made the post. The title was “Feds are running a child ſex trafficking ring in Furby City”. Roosenhaan immediately thought it was some kind of hoax, since as far as he was aware knew there was not a child sex trafficking ring in Furby City. Had there been one, with the resources the Gendarmerie has, independence of the Gendarmerie from other parts of the government, and independence which other Gendarmerie branches have from each other, had there really been one it would have been busted a long time ago and everyone involved would have been impeached and removed from office then sentenced to lengthy prison terms. There was nothing those people would have known that Roosenhaan and the rest of the Gendarmerie did not, so he clicked and began to scroll through and read through the posts.

“Anything to report, Roosenhaan?”

Roosenhaan jumped back slightly. He was too focused on his screen and his executive officer showed up out of nowhere. “Sir, I just read about the weirdest thing on this site. Some people are convinced we are running a child sex trafficking ring across the United Provinces. By we I mean the entire federal government, including the FSA, the military, every MP and Senator.”

“3chan? Of course they’d be the ones to come up with that type of obvious bullshit.” said the officer, rolling his eyes. “Any reasons for why they are saying this?”

“One guy has been a really active poster, making quite a few large posts with supposed evidence.” Roosenhaan scrolled through pointing out some of these posts. To the right of his screen a notepad was open with a lot written down. He continued, saying he entered all of these posts in a program which ran a stylometric analysis that confirmed they were all written by one person. “He never claimed to be anything other than a private citizen doing this in his spare time to help the public be aware, calling himself ‘The Detective’.” The officer nodded. The notes simply referred to him as DAnon, short for detective and anonymous, as all posters on 3chan besides moderators are labeled as anonymous. “He points out communications between various officials and claims that is code for child sex trafficking. Children are placed in the basements of buildings all over the Capital District, and some nearby, such as Comète, a bakery on the first floor of the Parliament building, which has been subject to the most discussions.” He shows an SMS conversation between two MPs agreeing to meet up at that bakery.

“How did he get a hold of that conversation?” asked the officer.

“Some hacker got it and uploaded it.” Roosenhaan clicked to a new tab to a different website, known for displaying illegally obtained content and keeping posters anonymous, which despite how controversial it is has not been shut down by Furbish authorities, as they are not the ones which obtain the content. Clicking back to the 3chan window, Roosenhaan said “Besides that and some locations all across the islands, with secret brothels in basements for the government’s use, this guy also claims to have figured out an entire supply chain, if you don’t think he’s spewing enough bullshit.”


“Begins with the trains. He mentioned that because traction motors work well on diesel and electric multiple units, such as Dubuisson’s trains, that all locomotive hauled trains are also multiple units, and the locomotives are actually where children are kept. He even has a convenient diagram.” Roosenhaan said as he clicked to a tab showing it. “He then cites multiple FSM aviation routes, showing ridership numbers on them, many of which he claims are too low to justify using the planes they use, so the reason why they use larger planes is to hide kids inside them”. He then clicks to a tab showing ridership statistics of various routes. “Someone asked him how kids are then moved from train or plane to elsewhere, so he responded by showing various pictures of station and airport staff escorting nervous looking kids.” Roosenhaan clicked to a different tab to show all of those.

“But kids being lost at airports and train stations are not unheard of-” the officer sighed, “there are reasonable non-sex trafficking explanations for all of his ‘evidence’”

“Someone did try to point that out.” replied Roosenhaan, looking for the post, “Ah, there it is. The response from DAnon is that he is one of the feds and attempting to cover it up.”

The officer facepalmed. “There is no winning with these clowns. Anyone attempting to reason with them is part of the plot. What confirms them is true and what contradicts is fabricated. God Himself can explain to them how bullshit this all is and all they will think is that the conspiracy goes higher up than they thought.” He paused. “So they think Furbish children are being kidnapped to be used as sex slaves by the government?”

“Not Furbish children. Kids are being smuggled from other ends of the world either by plane, by civilian and military aircraft, or by ship. The ships we are sending out, like the ones off the coast of Attancia, for example, are for that. All our foreign bases are fronts for smuggling, and he named many Furbish charities which he also claims are fronts for that. His evidence for that is the military does not publish what it does with the budget, and that these charities seem to have equipment they should not be able to afford with the donations they receive. Same goes for FSM and anyone else he claims is involved in this plot. Again, all have reasonable explanations which they apparently do not want to hear.”

“Excuse my interruption, but what the fuck did I just hear?” Both turned to see the commanding officer, who was making his rounds.

“Sir, I found a 3chan thread talking about something they call paſtrygate, a conspiracy that most of the federal government and others are involved in a child sex trafficking ring.” He showed all the notes.

“This is very obviously bullshit” said the executive officer after the commander spent some time reading over, “but our rules say we still have to investigate.”

The commander sighed. “And take resources from places that actually need them.” After the three looked at each other, the commander turned to Roosenhaan and asked “What do you know about DAnon’s whereabouts?”

“That is the best part” he replied, smiling. “He posted a few pictures implicating the MTA in this, some from what he said was his own apartment, and that with other information lead me to figure out his address very quickly.” He scrolled through his notes to an address of a Furby City apartment complex, as well as the floor and apartment number, and the name of the residents of the apartment, accessed through an FSA database. The one which Roosenhaan believed was DAnon was highlighted. He did have a roommate, something not uncommon for young adults in cities like Furby City with increasing rent, especially a building like that which was on a tram line.

Furby City
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Morning, Sunday, 11 April 2021

After a small meal and more coffee, the two gendarmes looked carefully, making sure they were at the correct door. Apartment number thirteen. The Spanish one knocked again, and said he was there for questioning. “Do you have a warrant?” said the man inside, after opening his door.

“We are not here to search anything. Only want to ask you a couple questions.” The man nodded. They began with some general ones, what was his name, occupation, and where he is from, to which he answered truthfully, verified by records on their smartphones, without any signs of nervousness, which the gendarmes were looking for. This was usually a sign someone was doing some illegal activity, or at the very least lying about something.

“Do you visit the website 3chan frequently?” asked the gendarme with a Furby City English accent.

“Shit”, thought the man. He knew they were questioning him because of his posts, after somehow finding out it was him. “I visit sometimes. You tracked me down because of my posts, haven’t you?”

“We have” responds the Spanish gendarme, “Are you aware of any child sex trafficking?”

“You should the answer to that question.”

“We know you claimed to have posted evidence, but have you witnessed anything first hand?”

“I have not” he replied, frustrated, “but that does not change the fact that it is happening and most of the government is complicit in this.”

The gendarmes nod. The English one asks “You have some private SMS conversations between some officials in your post, how did you get them?”

The man mentioned the name of a website that allows illegally obtained content to be uploaded. “Your courts said using anything from that website is not illegal, so I broke no law. I did not hack anyone.”

“That is all we wanted to ask. Thank you for your time.” said one gendarme. The other said “By the way, your neighbors made some really great breakfast.”

“I should visit them sometime.” he thought to himself.

After the gendarmes left, a post appeared on 3chan beginning with “Yooo, juſt got viſited by the feds becauſe of my poſts.” then talking about the interview. Someone was quickly able to connect the dots, realizing DAnon was the man the gendarmes who entered the wrong apartment wanted to visit in the beginning.
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Tue Apr 13, 2021 5:13 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Furbish Islands
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Furbish Islands » Sat Apr 17, 2021 8:14 pm

Fort Hillen
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Evening, Saturday, 17 April 2021

Trudging from the elevator to his studio apartment, Yuri Lenin was finally home after another long day in his minimum wage job at a grocery store. He hated every second of it, but this was the only job he was able to have after dropping out of college, twice, and failing an apprenticeship. For eight hours a day, five days a week, if he was not asked to stay longer, and usually later in the day or on weekends when the store was the busiest because no one else was working, Lenin had to deal with selfish customers leaving a mess in the store, and some who take their anger out on him over small mistakes or store policies he had no control over. Some went shopping with their kids, doing nothing to stop them from running everywhere and making an even bigger mess. His coworkers, though they hid it, obviously hated him too. The manager, while not worse than some customers, is very strict and yells whenever anyone makes a mistake, usually at Lenin who gets blamed for reasons he does not know. He needed a break.

This apartment was Lenin’s home for a few years after his parents kicked him out of their own apartment. He sat down on his desk, facing the window to a main street. The window gave a good view of some of the city’s trams speeding across the center lanes. These trams, like almost all built in the past few decades, were funded almost completely by Furby City, as part of their attempts to revitalize interior cities, mostly involving funding tram networks and high speed train stations. But to many, including Lenin, this was the daily reminder to how they were failed by Furby City, the shiny modern tram surrounded by run down buildings showed how the government was completely ignorant to their needs. After drinking a bottle of vodka, Lenin hit a browser on his computer, then dragged his mouse to his bookmarked sites, including some far right news websites and blogs, all with questionable accuracy, though he clicked 3chan this time, as he did every night. He clicked through a few boards, then eyed a bottle of hand lotion on his desk.

Lenin was covered in bodily fluids, but he no longer cared. Even though his apartment was a mess, it did not matter since no one but him will ever see it. He clicked around to get to /p/, to read about what was going on in Furbish politics, as he opened another bottle. “The elites are uſing high ſpeed trains to ſmuggle kids acroſs the UPT” was the name of the top thread there. Lenin started to remember reading something about this the night before. A user known as DAnon exposed a child sex trafficking ring, known on the site as paſtrygate, since discussions started over a bakery in the Capital District. This thread pointed out that since multiple unit trains essentially made locomotives obsolete, the locomotive hauled high speed trains used by the Furbish Railroad Company, or FSM, are also multiple units, and the locomotives are actually used to smuggle kids throughout the country. This was coupled with pictures and security camera footage of nervous looking kids being escorted by staff at train stations. Lenin was shocked seeing these images. “How could this have been happening and no one was caught?” he thought.

He clicked away from the thread. Paſtrygate seemed to be the only thing everyone was talking about, or the Furbish users at least. The next thread was even more shocking, this one from a gendarme based in Furby City who referred to himself as “the whiſtleblower”, but called GAnon, short for gendarme, by the rest of the site. GAnon claimed to have witnessed the plot unfold, saying he was ordered to guard many trains, planes, ships, and various buildings where kids were moved around, including Comète, the bakery that was the start of the conspiracy theory. He even listed the names of politicians, other government officials, including low level bureaucrats, and other wealthy individuals, which he claimed to have used the brothels when he was guarding them. Reading all of that made Lenin’s blood boil. The police, who were supposed to prevent this from happening, were instead taking part in this. GAnon even listed the top officials of Alternative for the Furbiſh Iſlands, a far right populist party which Lenin voted for in every election.

Camp III
The United Provinces and Territories of the Furbiſh Iſlands

Early evening, Monday, 23 June 1873

Below them is a small jungle wood platform, likely made from a tree which grew on the spot the platform now sits on. Around them is the Furbish jungle, filled with large trees at least thirty meters tall, and much more flora tangled in between them, making traversing the jungle outside existing paths difficult without a sword to cut it out of the way. As in all jungles, wildlife was very diverse. Hundreds if not more species coexist in small areas, and hundreds of meters may separate trees of the same species. In front of them is a railroad. Two steel beams held to the ground by wooden planks stretched to the horizon in one direction, through a clearing cut for it. Telegraph wires were above, held up by poles every few meters. To their side the track stops at a gate standing in the middle of a log fence. On the gate is the words “Camp III”.

All who arrive at the camp know its purpose, a concentration camp, officially for the rebels which sprang up in the north a month ago, but many knew it was for any northerners or critics of the stadtholder the Gendarmerie came across. The only way to arrive is by the railroad. If a train has prisoners, the gate would open, allowing the train in, then closing behind. Gendarmes guarding would get off the platform and enter through a door at the side. These types of camps existed for over half a century, originally for native prisoners of war, who would be put to work, often in a mine the camp was built on top of or a treadmill powering a nearby factory, but this camp had nothing but rows of barracks, to house as many prisoners as possible. Guards were placed all over the perimeter, though it did not matter if any escaped. With no way to get to the camp besides the railroad, escaping meant certain death in the Furbish jungle.

“With all due respect, sir, this is a bad idea.” said first lieutenant François Boudet, the second in command of the Gendarmerie company standing on the platform.

“Trust me, it is not.” replied Captain Jean de Flandre, the commander of the company.

“Last time I trusted you was last Christmas when I opened a pornographic book in front of my wife.” grumbled the lieutenant. Some of the gendarmes looked at him, confused, while others rolled their eyes or smirked, as they knew this was typical for their captain. “The soldiers at the camp can contact anyone and we are-”

The lieutenant stopped as de Flandre said nothing and unsheathed his saber, raised it, and cut the telegraph wires above the tracks. The sound of metal being cut echoed quietly around the gendarmes, followed by the wires hitting the ground. If no one from inside the camp saw the wires being cut, or was in the process of receiving a telegram, there was no way for anyone to realize for a while that it was. Boudet looked at de Flandre. They were at the point of no return now, and everyone knew that. “Fix your bayonets and make sure your guns are loaded!” the captain ordered.

That morning as they boarded a train, de Flandre told them the plan. They were ordered to travel around the north and arrest civilians and throw them into concentration camps, but instead would storm the largest camp, defying the stadtholder, and likely resulting in all being hanged or locked in prison for a long time, though the latter was a more common punishment as the stadtholder did not like to create martyrs. Though he was a democratically elected head of state who was supposed to share power with the legislature and courts, he behaved more like a dictator due to decades of democratic backsliding. The gendarmes were not going to last long if they did take the camp, and they knew that, but if word got out, they may be the start of a revolution, or at least that was the hope. With the size of the camp, word of its storming would spread sooner or later. They would release any prisoners kept inside, and court-martial the soldiers operating the camp, depending on how successfully the raid goes. Arrangements have been made with more disloyal elements of the army transport corps to send trains to the camp.

The wooden door at the front of the camp, beside the gate on the train tracks, creaked open, showing an angry looking non-commissioned officer with a revolver in his hand. He took one look at the wire then at de Flandre sheathing his saber. “Unfold yourselves!” he shouted.

“Put your gun down.” de Flandre shouted back, while picking up his own revolver. The rest of his officers did the same. The officer from the camp slowly lowered his revolver, as de Flandre walked towards him. “You are under arrest for operating an illegal camp. Take me to your leader.”

“Illegal? Says who?” the non-commissioned officer asked.

“Says the constitution. Take me to your leader.”

Looking around, the officer had no other choice but to follow orders from the captain who spoke with a heavy, almost incomprehensible French accent. An entire company of gendarmes were standing at the platform, probably dropped off by the train they heard arrive with no notice and which left as soon as it did. The captain will likely demand the surrender of the camp from the commander, and with less than a third of the soldiers in the camp as in the French officer’s company, if it comes down to a battle they will win easily. Most of the work in the camp such as cooking and cleaning was done by the prisoners, to reduce the staff needed at the camp. A few of the soldiers sat in guard towers, armed with Gatling guns, but they sat aimed at the prisoners in the camp, not through the corridors which the gendarmes will walk through. They could move the guns to aim in a different location, but unlike a mob of prisoners attempting to escape, gendarmes equipped with standard issue rifled muskets are able to shoot back.

“Any of you speak Dutch?” de Flandre asked when turned to the gendarmes. A few nodded their heads. “Tell them we are here to liberate them.” he said. He turned back to the non-commissioned officer and reached out his hand. The officer handed his revolver after a quick pause, and de Flandre put his in his holster and inspected the one he was just given. They were nearly identical, mass produced in a factory, maybe the same one. It was fully loaded, but de Flandre noticed the first was filled with a blank. He aimed to the side and fired, and reloaded it with a live round. He pointed to the door with the revolver, which was closed some time, and the officer from the camp opened it. Immediately two more gendarmes raised their muskets, alarmed by the gunshot they just heard. “Guns down!” commanded de Flandre, stepping away to make sure his company was in full view. They slowly lowered their guns until they hit the ground, then raised their hands up. He held three prisoners, not knowing how many others were left to guard the camp.

“Fire at the towers!”

“Shit.” thought de Flandre, realizing he forgot about the towers which were standing right there. This was one of the first things he was taught, to stay vigilant. Boudet remembered, fortunately for him, and his men arranged themselves into a row and took turns firing at the guard towers. He noticed they had Gatling guns, but quickly the soldiers were able to shoot the guards in the two closest before they were able to aim them. Knowing firing this many shots would have attracted the attention of every guard in the camp, de Flandre signaled and gendarmes moved to his front, loading their guns and pointing forward. The ran in front of him, pouring into the door, while de Flandre took out several sets of handcuffs for the three prisoners. More volleys of gunshots followed from the inside. “Someone, take them.” said de Flandre as he finished tying the last prisoner’s hands. He ran into the door just after Boudet, and second lieutenant Jordan Duverger, the third in command of the company, all three holding their revolvers, looking out and ready to shoot the first man they see in a different regiment’s uniform.

When they entered through the door, the first thing they saw made them stop in shock. Inside the log fence is a small clearing, filled with dead roots, stumps, and low growing plants. This clearing surrounds the camp, and inside that is a barbed wire fence, another clearing, and the space for the prisoners. Besides the strong stench from latrines, the first thing they noticed is the prisoners, who they got a very good view of. The camp was overcrowded, with people who were very emaciated, and wore old and torn up clothes. Corpses were piled in the innermost clearing. They had no time to be shocked. What they did not know is how badly overcrowded the camp is, five thousand people in one designed for two thousand, and only thirty gendarmes guarded. Most jobs inside were done by prisoners themselves, given extra rations in exchange for cooking or cleaning or otherwise making sure their fellow prisoners did as told. The gendarmes had no time to be shocked, for they were under attack and did not know how many more guards they had to fight off.

On one side of the officers, barbed wire fenced off the railroad, which past a second gate led to the camp itself, stopping dead in the middle of the barracks. To the other, gendarmes formed three rows, each taking turns firing at any rushing towards them, firing as the other reloaded. For centuries since the invention of firearms this was the standard tactic on the battlefield. Soldiers in the front row fired then knelt to reload, for soldiers in the second row to fire, and soldiers in the third stood between those in the second. Their guns loaded from the breach, making them much simpler to operate than muzzle loading guns, which had to be cleaned out between shots. Around them, some gendarmes stood guarding other positions, and some took shots at the remaining towers. Corpses dotted the clearing and blood stained the plants around them, some where in gendarme uniforms, others were not, and looked like they were there for days if not weeks.

“Where is your leader?” de Flandre shouted to the three prisoners he took.

“In a barracks you will reach if you follow the clearing.” replied one of them.

“If this is a trap, you three are the first to go.” said de Flandre. He turned back to his soldiers. “March forward, fire at anyone who resists, and make sure there’s no one hiding anywhere in here or those towers.”. They marched forward and de Flandre followed closely, trying to get a view of what was in front. Every few seconds they would all stop to take shots and reload. Other gendarmes trailed behind, making sure no one was hiding in any location around them. They soon hit a corner. Guided by their three junior officers, they managed to round the corner and continued forward, until they hit a wooden barracks sitting in the middle of the clearing.

“This is it?” Duverger asked.

“One way to find out.” said de Flandre. He knocked on the door with his left hand and held his revolver from his right, pointing it at the door.

“Did you figure out what the fuck is going on over there?” a voice came from inside, and a man opened the door then stopped facing de Flandre’s revolver. “Who the fuck are you?!” he shouted.

“Captain Jean de Flandre, Gendarmerie.” responded de Flandre, in French, as he fished out his badge from his bag to show it to the man in front of him. He was wearing a Gendarmerie officer uniform, and strips on his sleeves showing that he is a first lieutenant. In English, with a heavy accent, de Flandre said “You are under arrest for operating an illegal camp. Surrender immediately and there will be no harm.”

“This camp is illegal? Says who?” asked the lieutenant. He knew there was no use fighting the captain, his soldiers outnumbered the guards at the camp.

“Says the constitution.” de Flandre replied.

“Who ordered my arrest?”

“I ordered.”

“The stadtholder himself wanted this camp built and me to guard-”

“To hell with the stadtholder!” shouted the captain, “The constitution’s word is above the stadtholder’s, and the constitution says to not lock up men for no reason and especially not in these conditions!”. De Flandre pointed towards the people imprisoned behind the barbed wire. Gunshots were heard all around them, but he and the camp guard seemed to ignore them. “Surrender now and there will be no harm. Don’t bother asking for any help, I cut the telegraph wire before firing any shot.” the captain added.

The lieutenant, who was in charge of the camp, had no choice left but to surrender to the captain and hope for the best. There was no hope for a rescue anytime soon, at least until someone realizes they have lost contact with the camp, or the next supply train arrives. He reached for his handgun, trying to make it clear he did not have his finger on the trigger, and took his saber, presenting both to the captain. De Flandre took both and said “Now go around the camp telling the rest of your men to surrender. Duverger, make sure he does.”. A “Yes sir” came from Duverger, who took out his own revolver and went with their new prisoner. It did not take long for everyone to stop hearing gunshots, and within a few minutes Duverger returned with more gendarmes who all dropped their weapons in front of de Flandre. At the same time, one of his Dutch speaking gendarmes shouted to the prisoners in the camp that they were now liberated, causing cheers to go all around, even more when de Flandre sliced the barbed wire with his saber.

“There is a storehouse with not much supplies left, enough to last all of us maybe a couple days.” Boudet said, “when did you say the train was arriving?”

“Tomorrow morning. They will arrive with more supplies and we will give them these guys to be court-martialed.” replied de Flandre. One gendarme at the camp, who spoke French, immediately repeated the message in English to the rest of the guard, who all breathed a sigh of relief, thankful they will not be subject to the same conditions as the camp they guarded. Hearing this made de Flandre want to slap each and every one of them.
Last edited by Furbish Islands on Sun Apr 18, 2021 8:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Inoffensive Centrist Democracy

Letter to the Fluvannian Crown Prince

Postby Logar » Sun Apr 18, 2021 6:50 pm

Imperial Palace of Villanova, Villanova, Logar
April 18th, 2021

At the morning of April 18, the Emperor can be seen heading his way to his office being guarded by two imperial royal guards. His slow steps can be heard by anyone, his fancy, black shoes hitting against the palace's marble floors as he walks with his hands behind his back, very secure due to the imponent presence of his red-clothed, pike- and pistol-armed guards. August IV does not greet anyone, simply because he does not feels like it is as necessary to greet a palace servant as to greet a national leader, specially to whom he is about to handwrite a letter. During his way to his office, his son, Adrian I, Prince Heir of Logar, is the only one actually greeted by August IV with a warm hug, being the Emperor very happy to see his only, young adult son. As August Approaches his office, his steps can be noticed to become faster as the monarch willed to do what he must as fast as possible. As he enters his working chambers, "guards, stay here and one can only enter if really important..." he says and both guards affirm with their heads covered by their crimson helmets as the monarch closes both to doors who lead to his office. August IV walks to his workbench which is decorated with gold, silver, black and red rococo elements, and from a small drawer close to him he takes a piece of paper, decorated with his personal arms and the Greater Arms of Logar, and a fountain pen as he sits in his equally luxurious chair. His Imperial Majesty soon begins to write using the materials he had gathered.

“Your Royal Highness,

I am most impressed to see how Your Highness was able to conduct your country into stability and economical heavens, while maintaining your society under control. Logar is a very rich and welcoming country, who was able to succeed thankfully to the policies of mine and those of my predecessors, choosing to welcome corporations and the free initiative of several people, Logarian or not, who were able to build their own economical empires within this Country. Your Highness, I am tempted to invite you and your country to make the advances that, in this economical relationship, will be seen as key to its development and the construction of bonds between our Nations. Please, I insist. I am most sure that you, or an envoyé, will be warmly received by the Imperial Royal Guard and the cabinet members such as Courtmaster Veers and the Minister of Foreign Affairs, as Your Highness come to the magnum Imperial Palace of Villanova to have a formal meeting with me and the others who make up this government in order to find an agreement between our both ideologies, willing the good of the people and of the businessmen of tomorrow.

August IV, Emperor of Logar.”

As His Imperial Majesty ends his writing, from a drawer he grabs a gold-decorated envelope which has his personal arms, the Greater Arms of Logar and the government shield at the center of it, in which he puts the letter he had just wrote. With the envelope in hands, August IV get off his chair and walks directly to his office's doors, whose he opens slowly. As he fully get out of his office, aiming to reach the Postal Services Office in the palace, his guards rapidly walk with him, walking behind him with their stun pikes forming an "x". August, walking mildly faster than before, holds the envelope behind his back having his backs arched a little bit due to the tired feeling age gave him. As the monarch approaches the Postal Services Office, which is in the upper story, his steps cadency got faster. When he finally made his way to the Postal Services Office, he enters the room and is, at the same time, greeted by the officials working there, whose he greet also with a smile and a handshake. He then shows the envelope to the Postal Master, Rodrigo Alves, and says "this must arrive to the Fluvannian Crown Prince as fast as possible, and no one except me, you and these men here shall know that this is being sent" and as he ends talking he hands over the envelope to Alves, who then says "it will be done, Your Majesty". His guards had entered the room with him. "Do not fail me, Postal Master, or you will suffer the consequences of an ill-executed, secret task", as he finishes, his guards activated their stun pikes as a sign of warn, directing their lifeless black visors to Alves and, as the Emperor leaves the room, his guards deactivate their pikes and follow him. The Emperor decided to head back to his office to execute royal duties as aways.
Last edited by Logar on Tue Apr 20, 2021 1:13 pm, edited 2 times in total.
The subtleties of being intelligent is being simple-minded to subdue your obscure traits.
— Logar, 18.08.21



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