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Shadow Over Gael [IC] [TWI]

Where nations come together and discuss matters of varying degrees of importance. [In character]
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Balnik
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Founded: Mar 10, 2015
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Shadow Over Gael [IC] [TWI]

Postby Balnik » Tue Mar 02, 2021 5:36 pm

Shadow over Gael

OOC|IC


IC


The once prosperous and peaceful region of Gael is now facing unrest of unseen heights in recent decades as well as a bleak and unsettling future. The nation of Roendavar has suffered a catastrophic terror attack while distrust of their government spreads. Several factions within struggle for power, including some militant and extremist factions. The nation of Balnik has recently awoken from its long slumber, mobilizing its forces to take the Faronna Islands, two strategically placed islands west of Gael. Balnik has also funded terrorist activity within Roendavar, using these groups to drop spies and agents within the country to destabilize the situation further while the nations of Gael anxiously look on towards two nations increasingly growing hostile with each other.

OOC


This RP is focused around espionage and spy thriller stuff, all centered around the recent actions of Roendavar and Balnik regarding the cult of the Arrangement and the Faronna islands territorial dispute. Balnik wishes to establish its presence over Gael and wants to use to use Roendavar's unrest to justify itself using military force over its neighbor.

The mission of this RP is quite open ended, and will involved agents accelerating or even preventing hostilities between the two nations as the waters slowly heat to a boil. Most RP will be done using agents and operatives, however other mediums can also be sued if they are appropriate to the storyline.

There is no end goal to this RP and it will be quite freeform and will be influenced by the writers and players involved, the only set goal will be a government change in Roendavar and Balnik exerting its control of the Faronna Islands. All nations of the isles are free to join, however the RP is primarily focused in Gael. Feel free to shoot us ideas in the thread and join in on the RP.

Nations Involved


Last edited by Balnik on Wed Mar 03, 2021 9:25 am, edited 1 time in total.
Literal Nationalist

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Balnik
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Postby Balnik » Tue Mar 02, 2021 7:23 pm

Dociara

Two men in blackened clothes would be walking down the gloomy streets of Dociara, snow falling ever so slightly onto the textured brick sidewalks that are indented with the crunch of footsteps from passersby. Down the ornamental and jovial buildings the two men would look, occasionally glancing behind and to the side as their route twists and turns and loops back on itself, seemingly random movement for these two unassuming figures. Krevic speaks up to the other, he would be shorter, with slick backed black hair and a trimmed beard, smiling at the other man he has a white toothy grin. "So where is this place anyways?" Talbot looks over unimpressed, pulling out a cigarette and lights it, drawing in deeply the smoke and letting out a long cigarette. "To the north." Talbot replies, scratching his short blonde hair and looking down at his partner. "Its underground, we are looking for a 'candy door' whatever that means." Krevic chimes back in, looking at the cigarettes that Talbot has now put in his breast pocket. "How are they, better than back home?" Talbot looks over and chuckles. "Damn good, but damn expensive, anyways, I think we are here." Krevic would stop with his partner in front of a fading pink door, pointing at it and looking at Talbot he asks. "Candy door?" Talbot looks back at him and smiles. "Candy door."

Opening the door the two step into a high tech base with monitors, advanced instruments of a large variety, living quarters, and large sums of Davari money. Talbot opens his arms and gestures with a large smile. "Welcome to Fortress Yaztin, or as you will be calling it, The Candy shop. I'm sure you have been briefed on this place and its purpose, you and your agents will be operating from here for all of your missions in the Capital, ill be here, guiding you all and ensuring operations run smoothly. All HUMINT and SIGINT operations will be conducted here. Your first mission will be meeting up with our contacts here, at the Sleepy Kitten Cafe." Krevic bursts out laughing. "Thats really the place that ill be meeting with?" Talbot looks unamused and looks towards a map of the city. "Be aware however, we have been warned that they are a little out of it, but they have powerful connections." Krevic stares with Talbot, looking at the map and the setting of a new global struggle.

Rustov

The lone figure of Andre Chernobog walks through a dark, humid corridor, flanked by cramped cells and red bricks. His footsteps would be the only sound echoing throughout the seemingly forgotten hallways with only the dull electric hum of the lights providing any other noise other than the dim, slow, methodical footsteps. Chernobog would soon approach a large iron door with heavily armed guards opening the door for the aging man and accompanying him to a barren, frozen courtyard. The facility would be flanked my tremendous frozen mountains with guards lining the walls, facing inwards towards a single wooden pole where a fully nude and beaten man would be tied, slowly freezing, already suffering from frostbite. Chernobog would approach the man, his fists clenched in silent fury as he spits on the man. "Commodore Gregor, no you do not even deserve to be titled, it is even under my compassion that I use your accursed name. You were one of my most trusted and now you seek to betray me? To betray the federation and her people? All this in such a pivotal moment that could secure us as the hegemons of Gael? What say you?" The beaten and naked man looks up towards Chernobog through two swollen eyes, curses him, spitting blood onto his face and coat, however leaving Chernobog unflinching. "You are getting weak and your reluctance to act is making you fine prey, you claim to look to our ancestors and great rulers but ignore the fact that the strong rule. You are meek and a coward, only making empty gestures towards the United Republics, how many of us have you killed now for wanting to accomplish the will of our God-King?" Chernobog scowls at the man, wiping the blood off of his face. "Your king is no god, he was a mortal man like you and died a mortal man, like you, I've tired of this conversation and I have gained enough satisfaction from your suffering. Goodbye Gregor." Chernobog nods to a guard as he retreats inside the aging facility, with faint gunshots being heard in the background, eventually being drowned out by the monotonous footsteps.
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Roendavar
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Postby Roendavar » Wed Mar 03, 2021 8:10 am

Chapter 1: The Tides of Spring


A gloomy darkness shadows the ancient city of Dociara, gray clouds spread across the sky dimming the weak sunlight that peaked through what little cracks it can find. The tides of Spring had begun its course, soft snow, despite present, is in scarcity as flowers and grass slowly regained their color. The ornamented and elaborate houses and structures of the city felt faded to one’s view, despite their bright and gilded colors and accents. The intricate brickwork streets and silver lamps that once brought a sense of direction and light became the observers of a silenced society. The Roendavari, as always, have buzzed around the city in a mad dash between work and play, but its past fervor has been replaced with a strained cadence. The music, the art, the poetry, it all remained in the Eternal City, but their meanings now amplified, one of sorrow and tension.

It was only two months ago when the once jovial and fair country was rattled by a terror attack on the peak of its most holy mountain. At the eve of their most holy day, an evil has taken root, silencing Roendavar and altering its very foundations. While it has not shaken the spirit and soul of its people, it has dampened the mood like the first spring winds, except that the life that it should have brought with it, it only brought despair.

Ioraelin held his purple coat tighter as another cold spring wind blew through the streets of the Old Dociara district. In contrast to the newer district “outside of the walls” as they call it, Old Dociara was a maze of cobblestone, pine wood, and gold accents painted with a faint brown. The buildings in Old Dociara were laid like boxes stacked on top of each other, a remnant of the old architecture that started since the dawn of their civilization. Everywhere, the buildings were overgrown with various flowering plants and vines, a trademark of the country itself. While there are some that profess the concern of fire or insects, the Roendavari seem to pay no mind. Not like the government could do much about the freedoms of its people.

Ioraelin was a tall man in his mid-20s, his short wavy hair cut close to his spectacled eyes. He was wearing a purple suede coat atop his long-sleeved black shirt and bluish gray pants. On his arms was a brown leather bag, tightly sealed by an intricate lock located on its front, though Ioraelin was sure any would-be robbers could just tear the leather apart. He stopped in front of a small building nestled among the tight streets of Old Dociara. i Stharali Cafe. One of the few hidden gems of Old Dociara. He checked his watch and read 9:30. Exactly when he and his boss have agreed to meet up. Yet, as he entered the cafe and scouted the room, his boss was nowhere to be found. I should have known. He sighed, quite used to this dilemma. He took a seat in one of the window tables and ordered one of the spiced teas, which was quickly served to him in a few minutes. He lazily took the spoon served alongside it and stirred it in contact with the sides, watching as a swirl formed on the center and the musky smell of spices wafted through. A comfort so lost in today's time.

“Apologies for my tardiness.”

He looked up from his steaming cup and came face to face with a bright grin, a stark contrast to his now ruined mood. The man in front of him was a little younger than him, sporting a suede black coat. His smooth long black hair fell beyond his shoulders in a lazy wave, with some strands tied in the back, held up by two thin wooden sticks called orcaen, a traditional hair ornament. His eyes were sharp and calculating, a reflection of a much deeper power he holds on Roendavar. Many say he is beautiful, but they do not know how dangerous the Snake of Roendavar truly is. A snake that has bared its poison throughout the region ever since he became the youngest appointed in such a position he holds. Some, even in the highest reaches of the Councils, know that even he has the protection of the King, and that no action can be brought against him without death welcoming those who try.

“Sylvanus.” Ioraelin acknowledged, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “While I do wish I can admonish you, I am not high enough in the administration to do that.”
“You know, Ioraelin, this is why I chose you to be the Iavilus of the Lilies. You’re always serious.” Sylvanus complimented in greeting.
“I am flattered. Please do spare me from your unabating remarks. Few already can stand it.”
“Granted, my Iavilus.” Sylvanus raised his hands in surrender as he took a seat. “You did not even order me something?” He said, eyeing the spiced tea enviously.
“Why would I? You have made me wait 16 minutes and 3 seconds and you come asking me for something free?”
“Calm down. Fine! Fine.” Sylvanus laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Now, for the matter at hand since you so prefer wasting my time here.” Ioraelin started as he pulled out a brown folder from his leather bag. “The matter of national security.”
“Fun. What do the reports say?”
“Roendavar is fragile. We are facing threats here in our very country. Lest, we forget the Massacre at Tharsos and the recent attack during the Erosithegon, that of which you were missing and did not give me any reports.”
“Yeah… tell me what I do not know.” Sylvanus tried to speed up the conversation, ignoring the last point given to him.
“Right.” Ioraelin frowned, knowing that he wasn’t going to get an answer for that. “While it is established knowledge that there was foreign involvement in both cases, what we just found out, is that it isn’t a new thing. The attack was coordinated not from outside as we have thought, but from inside this country. Worse, within the walls of this infernal city.” Ioraelin revealed as he slid the brown folder containing reports from the various agencies in the HEI.
“Yes. I assumed we would have rats in Roendavar a long time ago, I did not expect them to start interfering in Roendavar with such boldness.” Sylvanus pondered, skimming through the counter-intelligence reports. "And the position of the Roendavareil government on this?"
“Do what HEI has always done. Weed them out through whatever means. Even if that means diving into the deep end of Dociara.” Ioraelin declared. He made a gesture with his hand for Sylanus to turn the folder around, drawing his attention to the cover.

Sylvanus grunted, closing the folder and placing it back on the table, his eyes lingering on the words stamped upon its cover. RECOMMENDED BY THE ROENDAVAREIL GOVERNMENT. By recommended, Sylvanus knew that it was not much of a choice. HEI was well capable of facing spies from the most powerful countries in The Western Isles, moreso spies from the neighbor to their east. The government's patience has thinned with the Federation of Balnik, and for them to find out that certain elements from that country has made its way to our land is a thought that would bring about the end of this country.

“We will do it. We have no choice. However, you do realize that we answer to the monarch?” Sylvanus clarified.
“I do. And he has not approved it yet nor knows of this information. We, the Lilies, have just compiled it. That is why I ran it through you.” Ioraelin sipped his now luke-warm cup of tea. “Pardon my presumption but I believed you were the best choice to convince the monarch to take tougher actions.”
“And what do you mean I am the best choice to convince him?” Sylvanus raised his eyebrow.
“Oh please, you know what I mean. Just do what you can to have him authorize, and preferably, supervise this.” Ioraelin said, putting down his cup and shooting Sylvanus an annoyed glare.
"He will. I am sure of it." Sylvanus promised. "The government thinks that he is a hinderance to this country's plans, but I know that he have always stood for this country's safety. Faunus-"
"Alright." Ioraelin cut Sylvanus as he stood up, leaving a few bills on the table. "If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to back in the Golden House. I trust you will go straight ahead to the Palace after this."

Ioraelin walked away from Sylvanus as he made his way to the door. He spared the Thaeranacil one last glance, a worried emotion plastered on one of Roendavar's, if not, the Western Isles' most dangerous man, the leader of the Agents of the Rose himself. Ioraelin knew what Sylvanus was thinking, and he too felt the same thing. Every Roendavari has felt the same thing. It was a feeling that has left its mark on the nation as they watched the limp bodies hanging from the trees in Tharsos and the charred and mutilated corpses across the holy mount of Athalymos. A feeling that continues to haunt them, growing stronger and stronger each day. The feeling of change. The weight of a new tomorrow that is about to hit them all with a fury like no other. He stepped outside the cafe, the city of Dociara once more making its presence known. A beating, writhing, beast. A world of gray blanketing the ancient city like a shroud, refusing to let it go from its gloomy grasp. In that moment, Ioraelin felt cold. He hugged his coat tigher,

And the winds of Spring blew once more.
+
qoOop
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Roendavar, the Emerald of the North
"Oth roenar, oth lumarin!"
Proud Member of The Western Isles - SECRETARY OF ROLE-PLAY

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Dormill and Stiura
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Postby Dormill and Stiura » Wed Mar 03, 2021 9:10 am

Presidential Palace, Red Court, Cour Rouge
Cedar Dyson sat at the bench overlooking the palisade facing the Kapolder River, the cool late winter air nipped at him on occasion but today was relatively warm compared to last month. As he sat and meditated, focusing on the sounds of the capital around him, he felt at peace. Perhaps for the first time in his entire Presidency, he feels that things have finally calmed down for him. Although Faronna remained an issue, and tensions in the Southern Sea are growing at a steady pace once again, this ritual of his was helpful in clearing his mind of the troubles that plagued him. After a few moments, Cedar opened his eyes to find Sylvia Vilar on his right side, looking out to the Kapolder alongside him.

Good Morning, love.” Cedar said softly, holding Sylvia’s hand. “Good Morning, love.” she responded, taking his hand in hers but declining to turn her head to look at him. “It’s a nice day out, we could probably fly out to a trail for a hike.” “We could. But why fly out when we can have a hike through the city, like a normal couple.” Cedar strained a light chuckle at the thought, they both knew that their relationship was anything but normal simply by virtue of him being President, yet he did long for the return to a normal life once his Presidency is finally over. “Sounds like a plan, perhaps we can go over to the waterfront, I heard that they’re putting on some local bands later tonight.

As the pair continued to talk, an aide walked out from the nearby office and towards the President, white envelope in hand. “Mr. President.” he called out, walking at a slow pace so as to not annoy Cedar too greatly. His attention grabbed, Cedar let go of Sylvia’s hand and reached out to grab the envelope from the aide, then opened it to examine its contents. He spent a few moments skimming through, flipping a small collection of pages before handing it back and speaking to the aide - “Clearly it seems the situation isn’t improving fast enough. Make sure Shepherd knows that I want the community out there to be attentive of the situation on the ground. And keep me up to date on any developments, I can’t allow Roendavar to slip any further.

Sylvia, who had been silent for the exchange, finally chimed in, “Still on for today?” “Yeah, of course.” Cedar responded cheerfully, turning back to Sylvia and giving her a warm embrace.


United Republics Embassy, Roenar Avenue, Lascien District, Docaria
The Doraltic Embassy was commonly active throughout the year, mediating both the bilateral and multilateral relationships shared between the United Republics and the Utopian Kingdom. Recently, the Embassy’s activities have been dominated by responding to the recent attacks perpetrated by religious extremists on the common people of Roendavar. It was with great fortune that the attacks have slowed down in frequency and lessened in intensity ever since the attack at the Erosithegon, but that did not ease concerns relating to the many Cricenexinos that operate within Roendavar, especially among tourists or families of Dormill-Stiuraians working or learning within the nation.

Every so often, Kathlyn Mills, the present Ambassador to Roendavar, had passed in and out from the Chancery in order to conduct business, having only recently returned from a vacation to Nhoor over the last night. At the moment though, all was quiet in her office and she was using the free time to keep an eye on her emails while having a show open on another window. As she watched, the occasional email from her subordinates across the Embassy chimed in, updating her on ongoing projects such as upcoming cross-national events, breaking news, and the odd report on another pet project. Rarely did she get emails from her superiors that weren't preceded by a phone call, which is why the newest ping from Luther Van Buggenum caught her by surprise.

She paused her show on the opposite screen and opened the email, taking care to pay attention for once. It read:

Van Buggenum, Luther
Date: 02 March, 2021 11:59 AM
To: Mills, Kathlyn
Cc: Shepard, Kevyn
Subject: Pay Attn. to Docaria


Amb. Mills,

I am sending this to provide you an update on a call I left with your office the other night. The situation on the ground, according to what we know from the Bureau, is not progressing the way we need it to. Balnik has not been deterred from Faronna and there’s now a fear that they will use the chance to press a perceived advantage.

Mr. Dyson has asked us to keep a close eye on the situation, something I can trust you are capable of as you were before. Keep in contact under protocol Alfa-3. We will help coordinate local efforts where possible.

Best wishes,

Luther Van Buggenum, Director of the Office of Gael Relations
United Republics Ministry of Foreign Affairs
1 Ave. de France
Cour Rouge


Noticing for a second that she was leaning in rather close to the screen, Kathlyn jolted back into her chair and reset herself, internally musing on the implications of the email before she drafted a reply and sent it back to the group. Just before she pressed send, she picked up her office phone to listen in on the supposed call Van Buggenum left last night. Leaving the speaker on, she cycled through the most recent messages until the message box gave her what she wanted

New Message from - Luther Van Buggenum - Left at 28/2/21 05:36 - Begin Message


"Ambassador Mills, it's Director Van Buggenum. The chain of command has requested that the Embassy at Docaria be elevated to Condition Alfa-3 effective immediately. Now I know you should be able to handle this and you have my every confidence. Have a great morning."

Message end. You have One New Message.


Kathlyn ran her fingers through her dark hair and let out a deep sigh before she put the handset back down over the switch. After taking a moment to compose herself again, she finally sent her response email and stood up from her desk. She walked to one of the nearby filing cabinets and pulled a manila folder from a drawer and thumbed her way through before grabbing a small stack of papers and putting what was left back into the cabinet. Papers in hand, she walked out towards the window as she read through the contents, occasionally looking up to the morning sky of Docaria. The longer she looked out, the more she could feel the dread building up in her stomach, punctuated by the occasional shading provided by the local overcast. It felt like an ill omen, perhaps those Roendavarian myths about Valkrios were coming true.
Bureau of Special Information Operations Center, New Docaria District, Docaria
The streets of New Docaria gave little to the imagination, pure straight lines in a tightly packed grid dominated the youngest district of the Eternal City and it showed as the average age of people surrounding Thethron Tower was closer to twenty than older. In one of the many office buildings and skyscrapers that made this district up, in an office space all too similar to the others, was the center of Dormill and Stiura’s ongoing Bureau operations within Roendavar. Although not officially sanctioned by either the Roendavarian Monarch or the Government, the HEI has tacitly allowed their Doraltic counterparts to operate as part of the wider intelligence community of Gael. It is under this context that it is all too common to see as many Roses within the Bureau’s offices as there are Bureau agents, all working in concert to collect, analyze, and disseminate information across Gael for the further maintenance of international security and foreign policy aims.

Faelian Athereslion Calathriel Pitt and Cédric Roux walked through the front door of the office caught in a conversation, the slightly shorter blonde man recounting the details of his previous assignment[1] to his taller and broader counterpart. The pair continued into Pitt’s main office, which overlooked New Docaria and Thethron Tower, beckoning Roux to sit at a chair in front of the traditional-looking desk which dominated the floorspace. “It’s good to have you on this team, Mr. Roux.” he began, his characteristic Roendavarian accent punctuating his English deeper than even an Aruian would sound. “Your skillset, your training, your recommendations; it’s no wonder why Misty[2] selected you when we requested additional manpower.” “Actually,” Roux responded, stretching out the word for a second for added emphasis, “The decision to relocate me was made by Secretary Chevalier[3], but I suppose she would’ve had to sign this off as well so you’re not wrong.”

A second of awkward silence passed before Pitt resumed the conversation, “Anyways. Your work in New Leeuwarden was invaluable to us here, we’ve already been working with our Rose counterparts on using your strategies to track down Cricenexinosi on a local level. Which is why this afternoon, we’re going to the Embassy with it.”

“Guess that’s why you asked me to get a presentation on this matter.”

“Yeah, the Embassy is starting Alfa-3 integration, and I was specifically asked to present a report on keeping track of radical Cricenexinosi agents. Which is why you are the perfect person. I suppose you have your report ready for that?”

Roux brandishes a flash drive he has on his keychain, “Yes, sir. All set here.”

“Good, for now just take a but to relax and meet some of your fellow agents. We’ll leave just before noon.”


United Republics Embassy, Roenar Avenue, Lascien District, Docaria
1222

Roenar Avenue was frequently one of the busiest streets in Docaria and acted as one of the main avenues between the Hall of the Tree and the rest of the Eternal City. Roux and Pitt were side by side in one of the Bureau’s Lancet-Deckard SUVs, local Docaria radio was playing out of the speakers while the pair remained mostly silent on the brief drive to the Doraltic embassy. As the L-D pulled up to Block 21-4, it was met with a decently sized and surprisingly ornate office building, a feature shared with most other Gaeltic embassies in Roendavar. Past the golden gate that marked the entrance, they pulled around to the main door proper and unloaded behind a line of other SUVs of varying designs.

Once inside, they were directed by embassy staff to the appropriate location for the meeting, who additionally informed them that Ambassador Mills would be waiting for them before they got to the room. Within the Embassy was one of the largest displays of Doraltic and Roendavarian art around, matched only by the Grand Museum itself in the showcase of art from across history, from pieces depicting the Great Temple at the Republic of Temple, to an all too famous rendition of the Rush of Stelias Hill, representing the last time Denisian forces in Docaria held the advantage as they attempted to rush the defenses built at the summit of the very hill. Taking some time to admire the art for the first time, Roux lagged behind while Pitt soldiered on to the conference room where Ambassador Mills was waiting at the door.

“Agent Pitt, Agent Roux, thank you for getting out here” she began, shaking both of their hands while standing just in front of the doors, “We’ve got Osters, Roendavarians, Ahnslens, Verdonese in there, it’s a true multinational collection. So, we’re keeping this to English to avoid confusion but just keep things succinct and be ready to cover anything in there.” “Of course, ma’am”, Cédric replied with a smile as she opened the door to a crowd already caught up in cross-conversation that as soon as he heard it, it died. The entire room turned to the new guests as they walked in before returning to more hushed conversations. It would be a few moments for Cédric to set up his presentation in this presence, but everybody knew when it was done as he loudly exclaimed so. Now that the room was quiet, the proper presentation could begin.

“Good Afternoon everybody. I am Agent Roux of the Bureau of Special Intelligence, and this,” with a dramatic flair, he brought out the clicker and moved to the first slide, “Is our kind of target.” On the screen was four images of New Leeuwarden prisoner mugshots, “These four are allegedly agents of the Cricenexinosi cult known as the Valcriosi, study these photos well.”, he clicked in again and red circles surrounded the prominent piercings on each of the subjects, “If you need a shorthand to identify any Cricenexinosi, keep an eye open for garish jewelry. As opposed to our Roendavarian partners here today, Cricenexinosi wear more prominent pieces of jewelry, each are possibly distinguishable by cult or following.”

As the presentation went on, Pitt looked on with measured attention, watching both Roux and the other guests for their actions and reactions. At least from his measurement, things were going well, Roux was solidly identifying what his office was already confident in when it came to identifying the various Folk Protacists that existed across the Isles. The method of tracking them through all-aspect methods was new to him, however. The common theme of Cricenexinosi was a measure of luddism, so any assumption that they had access to mass communication was limited, but this case study was showing new information to everybody.

By the last slides, Roux had laid out a thorough plan to follow within Docaria; keep a close eye on social media feeds and non-traditional forums, use existing surveillance technology to search for and identify specific cultists, stake out common gathering grounds and gather information from them. While it sounds otherwise like a standard information gathering operation, the risk in this case came from the fact that these cultists were significantly more dangerous and organized than other organizations, and would be all too capable of directly attacking Docaria and, more importantly to Roux in the context of his work in New Leeuwarden, attacking indiscriminately.

One of the lingering questions left over from the briefing was one about their capabilities, especially regarding the attack on the Erosithegon. Very few criminal organizations across the Isles had the means to pull off an attack on the scale that these Cricenexinosi had. While discussions swirled around the usual suspects such as the Knights of Freedom or one of the Javierian cartels, the suggestion of state actors stepping in to this situation to destabilize Roendavar was brought up several times, even accusations that Roendavar’s allies in Gael were intending this to force them into militarization for their own profit. However, nobody managed to reach a clear conclusion on who or what, if any, was getting involved with the Cricenexinosi. It was this lack of clarity that was at the top of Faelian’s mind as he talked to Ioraelin in the halls of the Embassy.

1: See Oh Night Unholy Chapter 6
2: Trix Lovel, Director of the Bureau
3: Woodrow Chevalier, Secretary of the Department of HUMINT Operations Gael
Last edited by Dormill and Stiura on Sat Mar 06, 2021 6:50 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Roendavar
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Founded: Dec 21, 2016
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Roendavar » Wed Mar 10, 2021 7:31 am

CHAPTER TWO: INTO THE UNDERGROUND


A faint orange glow faded in the horizon as the city of Dociara was bathed in the sunset. Southeast of the city, on the shores of Lake Olemas, the district of Felamoren stood in its notoriety as the Center of Sin. In contrast to the districts of Dociara located on the eastern side, or the Old Half as the Dociarastai call it, it had taken on an appearance far wilder and chaotic than the surrounding districts. Here, the roads are narrower, flanked by buildings of no particular shape, taking forms that seek to occupy whatever space it can find. Bright lights hung from roof to roof and a faint smell of lavender was in the air. Here, in Felamoren, everything was available, all propped up in glass windows overlooking the streets, from wares to prostitutes, from food to recreational drugs. This, truly, is the Center of Sin.

Valeris was leaning on a lamppost somewhere near Alistarien Park, on the far side of Felamoren. His long, disorganized curly hair hung loosely to his side, covering half of his face in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to himself. Few know what he truly was, the Arveimeion of Valcrios, the God of Chaos and the Undoer. A head priest and the reincarnation of the thirteenth Arveim, as well as the leader of the Valcriosi, the Cricenexinos cult that has been notorious for being one of the most dangerous of the many cults that exist in the ancient religion of Protacism. Despite this known truth, here he was, subservient to masters that have bigger plans for Roendavar, plans that Valeris knew would only bring ruin to this country. But perhaps... there's more. He watched as a short-haired, fairly tall, burly man wearing a leather jacket started walking slowly towards him. No doubt this was the person that his higher-ups had tasked him to accompany with. A foreign mercenary from McHenry's Port, clearly an expensive hire.

“You must be our foreign guy from McHenry. Quite a long way from pirate home. Mason, correct?” Valeris greeted, his thick Roendavarian accent coming through his English. Roendavari hated English and they tried to avoid speaking it if they can, especially in their country.
“And you must be the offspring of whatever Chaos God you kind of people spout about. Valeris, isn’t it?” The mercenary asked back. "And yes, I just arrived in this old-timey country of yours just last week. Bosses told me I needed a guide for this. Told them it was fine if I was alone but they didn't listen. Got told it was dangerous. I mean, how bad can it be?" Mason chided.
“Not offspring. Reincarnation. Sharing one body, is more an appropriate term, perhaps.” Valeris corrected, which earned an immediate whatever from the brooding mercenary. “And it is dangerous, especially for one not accustomed to what we do in this country.”
"And how exactly is it dangerous, especially for one like me? I have seen everything you know."
"Everything but Roendavar." Valeris quipped as he began to walk forward. The mercenary followed in sync behind him, grumbling about matters Valeris could not hear.

From Alistarien Park, they continued down the stone path deeper into the thickly forested park. They could already hear music, bouncing off from somewhere in the distance. As the music got louder and louder, both of them could find more people. Some, in groups, were excited, obviously party-goers. Some have already had their fill, with one or two slumped over in some tree. As the trees thinned, The Oreis Ninth Club stood in a clearing the middle of the park. It was unlike any building in the eastern side of Dociara, even compared with Felamoren, more akin to the style of western Dociara. It was a sleek black cube of mostly glass and steel, reflecting even in the faint early moonlight. Red and purple lights accented the curves and sides of the building, giving it an alien look.

“Why the hell is it named Oreis Ninth Club? Is there like a one through eight?” Mason grumbled.
“It is the ninth iteration of the building. The first Oreis Club was a gathering place, an amphitheater or bath of sorts during the era of the city-states. The eighth Oreis Club was destroyed during the Second Hyacinth Cry by riots.”
“I didn’t need a history lesson. It was a joke.” Mason rolled his eyes as he walked towards the entrance. There were one or two guards standing by the triangular doorway, though they did not seem to care that much about who enters or exits. The pair easily made their way inside, passing through a long-mirrored hallway.

The interior was fairly modern, with tones of futuristic design. The main hall was triangular, with three large speakers blasting music on each corner. The club was packed, people brimming on the dance floor and on the two counters. From glass windows above, one can observe more affluent people on balconies and private rooms. Mason could even make out party drugs, tablets of different colors, being passed around and sold at a lightning pace, no doubt legal and common in these parts. People here were not shy either, with public displays of attention common everywhere you look. However, most jarring was the giant stone statue located in the middle of the main hall. It depicted a young-looking man, curly haired, with a crown of grape vines, and an overflowing cup in his hand. Several streams of cloth were lazily placed on him, serving as accents to his physique rather than clothing itself, which obviously was not provided by whoever etched the statue. Thankfully, only the upper half is visible.

“That’s the God of Festivities and Merriment, Alistio. The Oreis Ninth Club, well the first one that is, was built on top of the ancient temple because the Ariethosi, now the Dociarastai, believed that could contain the deity’s tumultuous power and concentrate his influence on this place alone.” Valeris explained.
“Seriously? You keep a million-year-old statue inside a night club? Well, at least it’s the god of partying. No judgement there.” Mason shrugged, still unnerved about the idea of a deity surrounded by a club. “Where are we meeting these agents?”
“Get closer to the statue and you’ll find out.”

Valeris followed closely behind as Mason walked towards stone colossus. The crowd got thinner as they approached the statue, as if something was keeping the crowd at bay. Mason would soon find out why as they were met with a metal railing, and beyond it, a circular pit upon which the statue extended further down. Covered with glass windows, the room below seemed to be past its age. A whole ancient temple was beneath the Oreis Ninth Club itself, its age apparent from moss and vines that crept across its cracked walls and a stone altar bearing numerous offerings of coins and god. What they were looking at below was older than the city of Dociara itself.

“The Last Temple of Alistio, the God of Festivities and the Herald of Pandemonium and Ecstasy. Also, one of three underground temples in Dociara.” Valeris explained, keeping his distance from the statue itself. Stories of Alistio range from visiting during feasts to bringing with him an ecstasy so potent that it ravages the minds of people.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re going to meet them in a temple?”
“No. This is just a taste. No one is allowed down there except the followers of Alistio himself. Below that are chambers separated from those who would not dare taste this city’s poison. That is where we are going.” Valeris pointed to a separate hallway to the side of the club. “The more… wild activities of the city are kept underground during times of normalcy.”

As they made their way to the hallway, they passed by the patrons of the club. Mason noted their appearance, half of them certainly drunk and under the influence of some type of drug. The other half seemed normal people, those who went to the club to unwind after a week’s work. A significant minority looked foreign, no doubt chasing the promise of Roendavar. It wasn’t unusual, nor did it represent the whispers about Roendavar in foreign places. Don’t they say that Roendavar is worse than this? They passed by other rooms separated by either glass doors or crimson curtains. Based on the sounds that could be heard, Mason and Valeris did not bother to look closely, instead keeping their eyes forward as they walked to a carpeted staircase leading down. They descended for a minute, to which Mason guessed they were probably six or seven floors down. Here, the air turned colder, the stone walls becoming more polished. In what seemed like forever, they finally reached the end of the stairs and was greeted by a crimson red door on the other side of a furnished hallway. Four guards stood by it, the other two armed with guns. Valeris approached one of them and whispered in his ear, followed by a glossy black guard being flashed briefly before being stuffed in his pocket once more.

The armed guard opened the red door, and they were welcomed by a high-ceiling, perhaps four-floored, circular chamber with stone floors, several passageways and openings cut from the walls. It was dark, with the occasional flashing of red from party lights. Deafening music reverberated and bounced in a frantic beat, rendering any conversation or sound hard to comprehend. As they enter more into the chamber, it was apparent that the laws of Dociara, most libertarian in itself, are looser beneath its earth. Recreational drugs, far harder and more dangerous than their counterparts often used above, were liberally bought, exchanged, and used. Bare escorts and maidens made their rounds across the room, and almost all patrons, regardless of their sexuality, were not shy to any such experience that await them, and they did not wait for a private encounter, some opting to take their sexual activity on full view of a crowd of people, some even in greater numbers synchronously. In some niche corners, there were those who were interested in the shedding of blood and the numbness of pain, their faces in ecstasy as blood dripped in, perhaps, survivable quantities. The crack of a whip, leather, white powder, leashes, collars, fur, alcohol, weed, blood, sex, as they danced to a wild cadence and hazily swayed in a delirious rhythm. The sensations and sights were overwhelming, indescribable, and overloading for those not accustomed to such proclivities. Compared to the mood above, the chambers below hold a sense of wrongness, a miasma of sin. Valeris was used to this sight, a frequent visitor to Dociara and a Roendavari, a people who regards such sinful displays as normal. He turned to Mason, and was not surprised that even for a mercenary who was not stranger to the sinister side of humanity, had a look of shock and disdain. An initial expression all too common in those who visit Roendavar for the first time, even for the most liberal. Here, in full view, the sinister side of Roendavar was in full view. The ancient utopia above, the free beast below.

“If you’re done gawking, we need to find a table. Unless you want to partake in what they’re doing over there.” Valeris tilted his head to a group of people on one corner.
“Take me to safety then.” Mason agreed, keeping his line of sight away from whatever Valeris pointed at.
“Hello, hello. You look new here. Care for a taste?” A person, indiscernible of what gender they may be, approached Mason, their eyes glistening with malice. Mason froze in place, unsure of what he needed to do. He couldn’t get angry, lest he draw more attention to himself. Luckily, Valeris immediately stepped in between them, his tall, slim height seemed more intimidating in the dim lighting.
Avieceilis. He is indeed but he will not partake.” Valeris quickly said, saving Mason from whatever activity they had in mind. This earned them a laugh as the person walked away, disappearing into the hazy lights. After a few minutes of walking around and Valeris having to approach one of the servers and request a VIP table, they finally got seated in a separate alcove one floor above the main area, with a massive window and a walkway separating them from the pandemonium below.
“Don’t look under your seat by the way. That’s where they put the toys for these private alcoves.”
“I knew Roendavar was a free place when I read or heard about it but I didn’t expect it to be like… this. It’s insane.” Mason perplexed.
“It has, ever since the dawn of time. Sin has its due, and sin is part of us, as we say in Roendavar. To suppress it, you create monsters. To let it go, once a while, you have a human.” Valeris gestured to the people below. “Of course, I would not expect those not of this place to understand it.”
“I don’t. No fucking way these people are actually thinking straight.”
“Still, here they are. Sinful and wild. When the sun comes up tomorrow, they become parents, students, scholars, workers, government officials… normal people. It’s a dichotomy we, as a nation embrace.”
“Not even going to respond to that. I’m here because I’m paid to do something. Not my place to care or engage in philosophical talk, especially with you lot. Fanatics, all of you.” Mason scoffed, disdain seething through his voice. “Now, for who we’re meeting. Balniki agents?”
“Yes. Balniki.” Valeris smiled, his fists tightening. “Them above wants to provide them with some sort of information even I am not privy about, which is the flash drive you have on your pocket."
"It's weird for some of your people to get in touch with elements from a country, at least from what I heard, is hated. They're trying to destroy Roendavar from the inside, and it still baffles me why some of your people would participate in it." Mason wondered, raising an eyebrow at the Roendavareil cult leader. Valeris' eyes took a solemn look, as he could not provide an answer to such, even if he wanted to.
"I have to nothing to say. I am just here to observe, however, so do not expect anything to come from me.”
“As you should. Don’t get in our way. I’ve already heard about you from those at Thersos.” Mason made clear, crossing his arms. “You did not join in Thersos, and you even tried to stop operations. It's not surprising that they didn't share whatever information it is. You, people, have questionable loyalties.” The mercenary took his eyes off Valeris. Judging by his expression, Mason didn’t want to continue the conversation anymore.

Valeris gave a polite smile, yet his long curly black hair hid a vengeful look in his eyes. If anything, Thersos was a mistake. One that They severely miscalculated. Valeris grimaced as he remembered that snowy night once more. The fires of Thersos. The hanging corpses. The brutality of the mercenaries. How, even his own followers, were corrupted. The Valcriosi, split between allegiances, a crisis befitting their titles of Harbinger of Chaos. They will have their payment in time. For now, the Cricenexinos shall play loyal. They both remained silent, choosing instead to surrender themselves to the heavily perfumed air and the beating music of the Dociara Underground.
+
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Roendavar, the Emerald of the North
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Balnik
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Founded: Mar 10, 2015
Father Knows Best State

Postby Balnik » Wed Mar 10, 2021 7:40 pm

Dociara


The music thumped loudly over the drug fueled haze of an intoxicated city, the night was young after all and many partygoers had the opportunity to enjoy the opulence of Roendavar's most prized attribute, its freedom to sin and debauchery. Over the rhythmic entrancement of the electronic beats of the Oreis Ninth Club two darkened figures masked by the darkness of a tight alleyway covered in foliage, muttered, discussed, and argued, producing muffled voices from an inconspicuous vehicle. Krevic, a Balniki operative laughs at the person beside him, a much younger woman with short blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a sharp face that one could describe as beautiful but "a resting bitch face". Krevic would chuckle while slicking back his now unkempt black hair and stroke his much longer beard, looking at the dazzling lights of the club and its degenerate occupants.
"Oh come on Novak, turn that frown upside down, maybe lighten up, we are in Roendavar after all, wouldn't you want a drink or two?" Krevic chimes in, taking a small swig from a silver flask and wincing, afterwards breathing into his hands and smiling, his eyes watering from the smell of stiff alchohol.
"We are spies after all, we have to at least have to look the part. A Rustov shill like you would stick out like a sore thumb here, especially in a place like this." Krevic smiles once more, his toothy grin reflecting off the windshield of the car as his face changes into pale colours, the lights of the street flashing and peering into the vehicle. In his hands would be a thick stack of Davari Areils, his thumb flicking over each bill as he quickly, but methodically counts out the money and places it into a leather briefcase, closing it and locking it, scrambling the combination.
"Look any more out of place in outfits like these?" Novak chides, gesturing to the pairs apparel which has Novak in a yellow ribbon trouser suit, exposing her midriff and back, only being cloaked in a patterned fur coat. Krevic on the other hand would wear brown suede boots, with beige corduroy pants to his ankles and a black turtleneck tucked into his pants, a grey wool coat would be worn over his outfit.
"Speaking of out of place" Novak speaks up, pointing to the indeed out of place leather briefcase. "What about that?"
Anticipating this, Krevic pulls out a small dime baggie with an unknown white powder substance. "We are simply traders peddling our merchandise". He says, a wide grin crossing his already smug face.
'Whatever, what are we getting for the money? Some kind of drive?" Novak inquires, looking back at the case and at the triangular doors at the club and the possibilities that lie inside.
"Correct, a USB with hopefully, juicy blackmail." Krevic replies, digging into a black duffel bag, sticking his tongue out as he reaches deep inside.
"And if we've been duped and the drive is a dud?" Novak says, prompting Krevic to raise his head and look at her with a stone cold face, with no alert or hesitation he places a machine pistol on her lap with three magazines. "We pull iron."
"I see." Novak responds, inspecting the weapon and placing it and its ammunition in her jacket. Looking back at Krevic the two exit the vehicle and tidy their appearance.
"Lets party." Krevic gleams as the two walk towards the club, briefcase in hand and the hope that the night runs smoothly and as planned.

Entering the palace of opulence and excess the pairs senses are immediately overwhelmed with the aroma of scent, alcohol, and drugs. Their vision is pierced by strobe and colour while their bodies thump along to the ensnaring beat of the speakers. The two approach the monumental and ancient statue of the god of festivities, peering into the old, decaying, and overgrown ruins. Despite being kilometers away from home the two still empathize with the temple, reminding them of the old frozen monolithic structures of the Skoll and Rustov empires, reminding them of times long gone.
"Lets get to it then." Krevic says, looking nervously at the statue, feeling an unnatural feeling of uneasiness. Walking past the influenced partygoers Novak looks at them with disdain, keeping her eyes front but not attempting to hide her already naturally unhappy face.
"Lighten up, why the long face?" Krevic chuckles, nudging Novak who gives him a death stare deep into the recesses of his very soul.
"These people are degenerates, they have no discipline, no purity of the soul, they know no hardship, pain, anger, suffering. This opulence and gluttony make a society and its people weak. What do you think Balnik would be like if the Skoll or the Rustov did not exist? If we were allowed to wallow in the false truth of complacency, if Voyachek did not become a martyr and a god for our people?" Novak harshly quips, looking towards an uninterested Krevic as the two walk down the polished hallway into an unknowing pit of sadism and debauchery.
"Well I'd definitely be drinking a lot more. Maybe be attending one of these parties." Krevic laughs as Novak sharply whips her head forward, trying her hardest not to say something she wouldnt regret.
"I've seen the Teklak have definitely done their job better, you must've been given a lot of bones, that's probably why you were let off the leash over here." Krevic smugly states reaching the end of the hallway after several flights of stares and approach the doors of the BDSM den that awaits.

"Enough of thi-" Novak states, looking back before entering the room, stumbling over her own words and being caught in the lucid haze like a deer in the headlights, absolutely entranced by the flesh, blood, drink, and narcotics that engulf the entire atmosphere of the room. Laughing, Krevic slaps her on the back to snap her out of it and looks up at the various floors that stagger the hall.
"Wanna join them? Could be fun, but work comes first, lets find those contacts." The two manage to traverse the nine circles of hell, avoiding the various fluids floating about while a disgusted Novak attempts her best to avoid looking at the various sexual acts occurring around her, although to no success as the excess of pleasure and pain engulf the entire scene of the room, turning the setting into a sinful backdrop for what may occur. The two climb the levels, eventually to fin the cultist and the merc already waiting for them. The Balniki agents held up their end of the deal, now they just hope the other two would uphold theirs.
Last edited by Balnik on Wed Mar 10, 2021 7:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Roendavar
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Founded: Dec 21, 2016
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Roendavar » Tue Mar 16, 2021 8:16 am

CHAPTER THREE: MEETING OF TWO WORLDS


Valeris heard the doorknob to their private alcove click, throwing him back to reality. Opposite of him, the foreign mercenary, Mason, clutched his concealed knife tighter, in case whoever entering was one of the unsatisfactory patrons of this underground club. Two figures entered, no doubt Balniki based on their appearances. At least they dressed properly for this place. Valeris appraised, looking at them from top to bottom. A bearded man stood to the right, nonchalant by the looks of it, and in stark contrast to the woman beside him, which was hard-set on a disdained frown. A tense chill settled on the room as the pair rose to greet the Balniki, with Valeris extending his arms out.

“Welcome to Roendavar, our neighbors.” Valeris greeted, a tense smile plastered on his face. “I hope that it has been easy for the both of you to have found this place nor have my fellow citizens have given you trouble.”
The woman was about to say something, her face shifting to a disgusted grimace. However, the man beside him interrupted her. “No, it hasn’t been a problem. Though my partner here seemed to detest what you have going on here.”
“No offense taken. It isn’t for everyone. Even my associate here would agree to such sentiments.” Valeris motioned to Mason, making a point. “My name is Valeris, though I assume you’ve already known about that from Them. This is Mason, mercenary.”
“First name basis? Have you people no sense of secrecy?” The woman quipped, forcing the Balniki man to answer for her. “Forgive her. My name is Krevic, and this is Novak. The Balniki visitors as you’ve already heard.”
“Great. Now that we’ve introduced each other, can we please get to the matter at hand?” Novak insisted. “Give us the flash drive.”
Valeris motioned for Mason to hand over the USB, handing it to the Balniki operatives who immediately produced a laptop. The tension was thick. Valeris knew that the Balniki are ruthless people, and while he knew how to tango, even to two, any fights erupting between them would not look good. However, Valeris noticed the Balniki operatives’ expressions change, from Novak’s anger to Krevic’s grin. Valeris knew something had went wrong.
“It’s a dud. Mostly empty and nothing of actual substance.” Novak growled, throwing the flash drive to the floor. “They’ve been wasting our time. Should have known we couldn’t trust these people.”
“Hold on. That’s none of our fault.” Mason made clear, a confused look on his face. “Blame Them. This is way out of our league.”
“We don’t care. You failed to deliver. We’re under orders to get this information and do you know what will happen if we return with nothing? You’ve doomed us, Roendavari scum.” Novak darkened as her eyes narrowed at the pair.
“Watch your tongue, barbarian. Do not imply anything about us. We merely done what we were told.” Valeris snarled back. “Here I thought you Balniki had knowledge of authority.”
“And we do. Unlike this degenerate hellhole you have.”
“How dare you!” Valeris got heated. Granted, he was one of the Arveimeion of this land and he wouldn’t stand any insults to his country. “We can give you nothing, you cannot give us anything. It’s fair. We were both tricked.”
“Yeah. Can’t we all just chill? We both got swide-swiped here.” Mason interrupted, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Better stop here before any fight erupt.”
“Then you have no use to us then? Me and Krevic had an agreement earlier that if we’re made fools…”
“This is going to be fun.” Krevic grinned maniacally. Valeris watched as Novak reached within her clothes, and immediately recognized the faint glint of a gun. In a brief moment of clarity, Valeris grabbed the mercenary by the shoulder and threw him in front, a hail of bullets descending upon them in a hellish fire. Within a few seconds, Krevic has closed the gap between them, a sharp metal pointed straight towards him. Valeris shifted to the left and freed his hands, letting go of the almost dead mercenary, and reached towards his own dagger. His reflexes must have been muddied by the sudden attack as he felt a sharp pain on his right shoulder.
“You got lucky with that, Roendavari, and I am about to do something worse.” Krevic taunted as he pointed to Mason’s slumped body. “Survived because you double-crossed your ally. If we weren’t enemies, I would have admired you.”
“We weren’t allies. Shame. I was beginning to like him.” He smirked. “Well, I am out of here!” Valeris flicked his dagger to Krevic, which was narrowly avoided by the man. Valeris dove and bolted to the other door and made his way down the metal stairs. He could hear the Balniki after him. As they made their way to the main hall, no one seemed to pay them any attention. They were occupied by their proclivities, and considering the number of crimes and fights underground, it’s no surprise that no one was interfering.

Vladiraca ianthorin!” He cursed as he quickly took cover behind another stone pillar, feeling the bullets whiz by him and the taunting of Krevic. He needs to get out of here and fast. He thought, calculating his odds of surviving. Maybe… there’s something I can exploit. While he could hold himself for a while, the longer this last, the less his chances of actually surviving. It doesn’t look like anyone from the crowd was going to help him either, and the soundproof doors and walls outside are probably not alerting the guards. Suddenly, he remembered something, a signature of Roendavari clubs.
Afathracai!” Valeris ordered, followed by a cheer of excitement from the crowd. Valeris needed a distraction, and this would get the crowd on his side. Though, it’s a more drastic opportunity right now and he preferred not to be in the middle of what was about to go down.
“Whatever you’re planning, we’ve got you cornered. You’re not getting out of this alive.” Valeris heard Krevic call out to him, which judging from the voice he was getting closer and closer. He could hear the faint click of a gun from Novak.
“You think we are degenerates, no?!” Valeris grinned to himself. “Then we’ll show you our worst!”

Suddenly, the lights went out and the sounds of different magnitude erupted all around. The music became louder, booming in the background as intense bright strobe lights descended on the main hall. A hazy mist descended, smelling of rose and lavender. All around them, the crowd began to undress, some howling in a malicious laugh. Their eyes hid an insanity, as if they were triggered into action and were waiting for this to happen. Now the Balniki will receive the full tour of Roendavar. The Balniki operatives were stunned as the strobe lights revealed a more nightmarish and garish version of the Underground. People around them began engaging in worse actions. They bit, they foamed at the mouths, they stood up and danced like there was no tomorrow. Some, as Valeris expected, even reaching out for the Balniki Operatives, with the foreigners dishing out punches and kicks whenever they can. The Word of Sin, as they call it.

Valeris saw this as an opportunity and immediately fled through one of the stone tunnels that extended across the Dociara Catacombs, weaving quickly through the crazed party-goers. If it weren’t for that distraction, he could have been dead by now. Two against one is hardly a fair fight, and he was lucky that he managed to evade the Balniki. However, he was more infuriated with their predicament right now. Why would They sell them out to the Balniki? Maybe they saw this as an opportunity to get rid of me? Valeris pondered, gliding silently through the catacombs of Dociara. This was the last straw. He needed allies, and fast. Turns out, he knew who just to approach. His older brother. The snake of Roendavar.
Last edited by Roendavar on Tue Mar 16, 2021 8:16 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Roendavar, the Emerald of the North
"Oth roenar, oth lumarin!"
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Dormill and Stiura
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Founded: Sep 19, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Dormill and Stiura » Fri Mar 26, 2021 6:33 am

The term “sleepless city” has been used for the collection of urban areas across the Isles that are known to be active late into the night, or even for full days as some have accomplished. Of all of them though, the Eternal City is without a doubt the winner for the most sleepless in all of the Western Isles. To some, it would seem as if the activity of the day never ceased as the sun went down, for others, this marked the start of a whole other city life; for Cédric Roux, this simply left him tossing and turning in his bed, hoping for a respite from all the noise. Compared to this, even New Leeuwarden was peaceful at night, European sensibilities precluded most people from doing much of anything that wasn’t a social gathering while the moon was out, and most businesses closed up not long after sunset. In downtown New Docaria, however, ‘sleepless’ felt like a euphemism. To Roux, it almost felt as if Docaria became even more active in the night as compared to the day, another celebration of their pagan gods he figured. He was barely conscious when his phone stand went off with the all-too-familiar sounds of a ringtone, which he snapped up to respond to, expecting an alarm but getting a soft voice, “Seòras , you’re needed at the Alistarien, a taxi will be at the door shortly for you.” Now entirely roused from his sleep and given a mission, Roux took a few moments to take a brief shower and get dressed up, remembering to take his Docaria Police badge and his new glasses just in case as he made his way to the door.

The trip in the taxi across Docaria was uneventful, the driver themselves didn’t appear interested in striking up a conversation and the dazzling night lights proved a valuable distraction from Roux’s personal exhaustion from his so far sleepless night. It took close to a quarter of an hour to go from New Docaria to Felmoren, during which he passed under the Lily Gate and by the still bustling Ahhlein Market. Soon enough, the car came to a rest at the sodium-colored park of Alistarien, adjacent to the glass-roofed Oeris Ninth Club. Roux would pay his driver with a small collection of Aerus and a small thanks in what Roendavarian he knew as he got out, his blonde hair getting caught in the lakeside wind. As he began to walk away from the taxi, his eyes were caught by his counterpart having a smoke under one of the street lamps nearby the club’s entrance. Pitt was surrounded by first responders as they ushered patrons out of the club in various states of injury, few were paying the tall Roendavarian-Doraltic any mind as he smoked in long drags. Pitt’s eyes met with Roux’s as he got closer, wrapping up the cigarette and putting it out under his heel before falling into a walk beside his shorter companion.

“Looks like a bomb went off in here.” Roux began, glancing around at the scene of carnage in front of him, “We’re lucky that it isn’t Seòras.” Pitt began, “Bomb squad left a few minutes ago, nothing was found inside that indicated an exploded or unexploded bomb.” The pair quickly flashed their Docaria Police IDs to a nearby officer as they walked past the police tape that guarded the entrance to the club. “What we know for now is that we certainly had a cultist come in with an escort, then come out alone in a rush. I tried to get information from Ioraelin about the suspect but I could barely get in the armory before he jumped from the stones.”1 “Wherever he’s gone now, he hasn’t gotten back in contact. That just leaves us to figure out why two cultists came to one of the most popular night spots in Docaria and shot it up.”, Pitt finished as the pair walked closer to the statue of Alistio, the dance hall still pulsed with music. In front of them now was yet another officer and another line of tape, guarding what appeared to be the base of the statue itself. Flashing their IDs again, Roux decides to try and ask the situation from somebody on the inside, in what Roendavarian he knew, “Would you know what happened here?”

The officer glanced at the two men before responding in a much clearer and faster Roendavarian, to the point where Roux completely lost track of the conversation. This would go on for near enough a minute before Pitt, who partially grew up in Roendavar, translated and summarized it back in English, “So four people walked in, three came out, and the fourth is down there?”, to which the officer inquisitively nodded in approval. “Sounds like the MO for the Valcriosi, what do you think Seòras?” Roux, still not entirely used to his Roendavarian name, was slower on the uptake than the other two men in the room, and responded to his name in a slight jump. He muttered to himself and vocalized a moment of contemplation before responding back to Pitt in English, “This seems to fit their MO, but I am not sure. The last attacks were a lot more deadly, many more bodies on the floor. This does not look like a normal attack from the Valcriosi.” He looked back to the officer standing in front of the statue before continuing, “Is there anything else we need to know? Like what’s by that statue?” The officer’s look went from confused to antagonistic in a moment, glaring into Roux before talking back to him in Roendavarian, “Look, that’s all I know. And nobody other than the Chief and Inspector is allowed downstairs.”

Before Roux could snap back, he felt Pitt’s forearm cross his chest to hold him back, allowing the taller man to defuse the situation, “That’s fine officer, we’ll be on our way now. Thank you for the information.”, as he finished, Pitt lowered his arm and gestured to turn and leave. As they left, Cédric caught the glint of a pistol casing in his glasses, and knelt to inspect it. In this interlude, Pitt noticed his partner had lagged behind yet again to stare at something local and called out to him, “Seòras, we don’t have time for this. We need to get back to the station.” “Just a second,” Roux replied, grabbing an empty and used dime bag from across the floor, he then took off his glasses for a brief moment and used the temple tip to lift the casing into the bag. Task complete, he stood back up and briskly walked back to Pitt, who by this point had brought his Horizon Atlas to his head and was caught in a conversation in French. He managed to just wrap up by the time Roux caught up with him, “You might be on the right track about this not being a Valcriosi attack. I just got word that we’ve identified people matching the description of two of the suspects somewhere in the city, we are heading over to meet the contact for more information.” “Where are we heading?” Roux replied, not used to being out of the loop, “Close, just get in the car.” Pitt replied, walking ever so slightly faster to reach his Lancet-Deckard SUV.
1: To “jump from the stones” is a Doraltic phrase to quickly escape a situation, used in connection with “get in the armory”. The phrase has its historical root in the rush on Arette Armory during the First Dormillian Revolution of 1791, when the defenders of the armory jumped from the stones on its roof rather than risk capture and execution by the mob.
Last edited by Dormill and Stiura on Mon Mar 29, 2021 3:11 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The United Republics of Dormill and Stiura
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"Interacting with Dormill and Stiura; violently." -Balnik, 2021
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Balnik
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Founded: Mar 10, 2015
Father Knows Best State

Postby Balnik » Tue Apr 06, 2021 6:48 pm

Dociara


Echoed steps that ring down the street are soon muffled by the blaring sirens of emergency vehicles and rushing first responders. The two figures that left the scene are now cloaked in black as their still figures are illuminated in the alleyways by the red sirens, as soon as they pass the figures rush off in a sprint through the labyrinthine city streets, a burning car all that is left of their presence at the scene.
"Holy shit what the hell did you just try to pull? You went after him." A clearly angered and shook Novak exclaims, catching up to Krevic as the two dash through cluttered alleyways and beneath overarching balconies and walkways.
"Hah, Rustov's best." Krevic chuckles heartily, completely unfazed by what has transpired. "Little tip from an old player, always tie up loose ends, they'll come back back to bite you in the end. See, that guy is probably gonna try to kill us now, he's a cultist and has tons of connections within the country, he's certainly gonna do the same thing I tried to do to him." After running for a little bit longer the two take a rest, a short distance from the candy shop.
"Well that obviously backfired, it would have been better if we just left him." Novak, says having calmed down but still alert and anxious, looking around the corner to see if they're being watched for followed. "Fuck! If only things went differently, maybe I should've gone after him, I'd probably have a better shot than an old man." Novak chuckles, smiling, prompting a dismissing laugh from Krevic.
"Maybe, hindsight is 2020, anyways we should head inside." Krevic sniffs and a faint tinge of chemicals and smoke, furrowing his brow and looking towards an unmarked packing van. "I have the feeling Talbot is busy."

Upon entering the two are faced with a preoccupied Talbot standing over a vat of harsh chemicals, dumping stacks of documents and info into it, all the while a smoldering fire rumbles in the background, with each crackle valuable information is burned away. The concrete room would be stripped of all its electronics and hardware, presumably being packed away in the cargo van. Talbot looks over, his face concealed by a respirator as he breathes heavily, displeased to see the presence of the two and obviously aware of the situation that occurred outside.
"I see you two got busy, didn't know we'd be busting caps this early on." He says with a condescending tone, smacking a bin of papers into the chemical vat, the papers bubbling away into the strong acid.
"Yeah well. there was some hiccups, the USB was a dud and the cultist was probably out to cross us." Krevic says, rubbing his neck, his easygoing and charismatic demeanor shrinking away in front of his clearly upset handler.
"Did you at least ice him?" Talbot says, prompting a quick and icy glare from Novak towards Krevic, who meekly chuckles and sighs. "I'll take that as a no then." Talbot says, stirring the vat and disposing of the last documents.
"Well what's done is done, lets get the hell out of here." Talbot says, removing his respirator and walking outside, the two following to the cargo van as Talbot steps inside, rummaging around the dashboard and pulling out a piece of paper. "Here's the address to the next site." Handing the paper to Krevic and gripping it tightly as his icy eyes meet Krevic's prompting a deep gulp from the latter. "Do not fuck it up this time. When you arrive state that 'you'd like a haircut and a close shave' at the intercom." Talbot stares down the two before driving away, the backside of his van illuminated in an orange haze from the streetlights.
"The barbershop." Krevic mutters as he looks down at the piece of paper before crumbling it and shoving it in his pocket. Looking at Novak he grimaces and nods his head. "Lets go."
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Dormill and Stiura
Diplomat
 
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Founded: Sep 19, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Dormill and Stiura » Thu Apr 15, 2021 5:12 pm

Alcelios Theater, Old Docaria District
03 March 2021, 0131


Roux wasn’t sure what was causing the sudden souring of his mood this night as he sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, he felt it was a mixture of being awake at this hour, the horror he had just witnessed moments earlier, and seemingly being pushed aside by Pitt just hours after he felt he made a good impression on the man. Whatever the cause, all he felt was a bubbling anger in his gut and despair at his position; fortunately he didn’t have much time to dwell on it as the car came to a sudden stop. “We’re here.”, Pitt blankly announced, already extracting the key from the ignition and opening the door.

In front of them was a man dressed in plain clothes, basically a late night jogging outfit as far as either Doraltic men were concerned. Pitt was the first to speak up again as they approached what Roux could only now assume was a local contact, “I am Agent Sore Crown and this is Agent Navy Volt, we are here because you offered us information.”, “I wasn’t expecting this much formality when I was on the phone with you.”, the third man replied, his French coming out almost impeccable to Roux’s ears, which was certainly a shock to add on with everything else the night has offered, “In that case,” he continued, “I am a representative of Her Majesty’s Foreign Intelligence Service, and I have come with information regarding the recent events across the lake.” As the Belantic agent finished the statement, he nodded his head up and past the two Doraltic agents, who turned to find the lights of Oeris Ninth Club still strobing on the other side of the lake from the ancient theater they stood in.

And what exactly is this information that you have?”, Pitt inquired, a notable twinge of annoyance in his voice that wasn’t around earlier in the night, “For as much as I am obliged to share it with our Doraltic partners,” the Belantic paused, stretching out the last word for ever so slightly longer than he should have, “Both I and my benefactors would prefer this to be more of a dialogue and less of a transaction. We are on the same side after all.” Pitt’s annoyance with the Belantic agent had almost become visible when he blurted out his response, “You’re making this dialogue a transaction by even bringing it up. But if it brings us that much closer to getting Docaria back under control then I’ll bring it up the chain of command.” “Well I am glad to hear that, Mr. Sore Crown,” the Belantic agent joyfully exclaimed, turning around to recover a folder from the stones behind the group, “To make things brief, two of the perps that ran out from the club came from a location we know has been used as a Balniki hideout. That there goes over everything else we know. I hope to work with you two more often.”

As the three parted ways, Pitt took a few moments to skim through the Belantic report, going over the details of what they know about Balniki operations in Docaria and the connection between them and past operations in Albany City, it all pointed to a very key observation. Ever since Balnik invaded Faronna, it has been intentionally expanding its human operations in Docaria, most likely to stoke tensions within Roendavar in an effort to distract and weaken the Roendavareil government enough to set a new status quo where Balnik comes out more powerful. The mere suggestion that Balnik is even in Docaria, while it shouldn’t be surprising, got under Pitt’s skin as he drove Roux back to his apartment, ranting to the younger agent about the Horseshoe War and how much a threat Balnik is to both Roendavar and Doraltia. As Roux finally got back to his bedroom, the whole night managed to catch up to him at once and left him doubled over the toilet for a few moments before he managed to finally get some much desired sleep.
The United Republics of Dormill and Stiura
Freedom, Unity, Democracy
Join The Western Isles and chart your own path!
"Interacting with Dormill and Stiura; violently." -Balnik, 2021
"DAZ CONGRATULATING SOMEONE FOR GETTING 60%! this is a highlight of my day!" Ainslie, 2021


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