Prelude
In history, there are sometimes Empires.
Some last many centuries - sometimes, such empires last weeks.
Such was the course of the Luxembourgish Empire to fall - at least, it would fall in the wartorn East African country of Somalia.
Although Luxembourg is nominally a Daevan protectorate - an ‘independent satrapy,’ not even Daevan support could stop the overwhelming weight of international forces - Socialist, Democratic, even Autocratic, from opposing the expansion of Luxembourg.
Drawing the ire of multiple super-alliances, and several of the world’s most powerful nations was simply not something the young Empire could afford - it left its colonies, leaving the Daeva humiliated on the world stage.
Between the Arakhkharan ambassador, and a Daevan one, in the InterCOM assembly - there was one statement uttered.
“Keep your pet leashed, or we will.”
Such represented the sentiment not only of Arakhkhar - but much of the world community.
It was, however, the work of Somalian rebels - ‘freedom fighters’ - and the subsequent Luxembourgish withdrawal, that would bring about an end to the short era of Luxembourgish domination in the east African country.
In the vacuum that followed, as any nation with a departing colonial power, civil war ensued.
Within this conflict, a number of warlords assumed their status. They played at war. A little rape and pillaging here, a little looting there.
Few among them could have predicted that they were being watched by powers magnitudes more powerful than their own - that they were being watched, studied, documented, as a man studies the organisms that reproduce and swarm in a drop of water.
Slowly, but surely, they drew their designs against them.
The Somalian Coastline
Daeva was no pushover, and certainly not a country that would suffer from the humiliations of a puppet incapable of defending its claims.
Thus - it was something of a happy coincidence that the Daevan Foreign Legion, which had been sent to quell the rebellion while one existed, would cross the Suez, sail through the Gulf of Aden, and land on the sandy shores of Somalia.
No one was surprised, really. It was not as if the Daeva would allow something so trivial as total governmental collapse and the breakdown of civil order get in the way of national pride.
Such… mere technicalities did not absolve the Daeva of their responsibility to their puppet.
The Daevan Foreign Legion would land on those godforsaken desert shores - stepping foot onto sun-scorched Earth, as they began to branch out and expand a beachhead.
Meanwhile, the Grigori sat in preparation - making note of minute changes in the situation, although for the moment, they remained ignorant of an imminent conspiracy.
One thing was clear - to both the Grigori, and to the foreign legion - there would be no further humiliation. Those Daevans would either die, or accomplish their task.
Novalira, the capital of Arakhkhar
The rapid withdrawal of the Luxembourg, and by extension, the CSL, represented a major opportunity for a power play.
Control over Somalia, in the right hands, could effectively dominate the Gulf of Aden - and with it, to effectively exert influence upon anyone attempting to use the vital Suez canal.
It was for these reasons that the International Security Directorate would grow involved.
Truth be told, it had been involved since the beginning. The ISD was among the organizations that had pressured the Luxembourgians to leave. Other nations involved included the European Federal Union, and Janpia - as well as countless others in the CSL.
It was this opposition to Luxembourgish imperialism that would present a golden opportunity for the young alliance - which was looking for opportunities to spread its influence.
In a secret meeting, it was decided among various members of the ISD - that they would begin to prepare and establish a shadow Empire in East Africa, using Jundlandi and Volkovogradian mercenaries, to be hired by local warlords - who could then be strung up, hollowed out, and filled with the Directorate’s ambition.
It would be the first major act of the ISD - and it would all be in the shadows, kept from prying eyes by layers upon layers of ISI security, carefully managed paper trails, and a robust system of plugging leaks.
One Warlord, among all the rest, had been identified as a suitable puppet by the Arakhkharan ISI. He was General Dhiid Taajir, of a small militia called the “Somali New Horizon Coalition.” Despite its lofty goals of reuniting Somalia after Luxembourgish occupation, it remained a small, inconsequential militia - one that did little more than loot the countryside.
He was a family man - 4 children, and a loving wife. It was this that made him considered ‘pliable’ enough.
The general’s compound
It was the dead of night. Two child soldiers stood at a door, their bodies trembling as they struggled to hold the AKM rifles in their hands.
Behind them, stood the compound of a general - general Dhiid Taajir. Neither could truly realize what horrors of war could be - although, they had been exposed to some of them, enough to rob them of childhood.
They tried to retain some innocence - after the last time one drew a picture on a wall, and was beaten for it, this promptly came to an end.
So the infantile sentinels remained - fearful, quivering, cold, and hungry.
A figure would shift in the night.
One of them would try to shout, but it came out more as a whimper.
“ من هو هناك؟!؟” (Who is out there!?!)
The voice that stirred from the night was deep, it seemed to reach out into their minds and touch every part of their souls. It was like the extinguishment of sunlight at the end of each day, with some horrible stipulation that the sun was never to rise again.
It was that of a woman’s… deep, perhaps somewhat sultry. She wore a dark cloak, one that utterly concealed her appearance.
She spoke in perfect Arabic, while handing the boys a few untraceable NSDs.
“Relax… buy yourself some bread.”
The child soldiers scampered off, dropping their rifles and thanking her profusely.
She merely pushed the steel door of the compound open, with a creak that seemed to pierce what little calm remained.
A step - then another. Such was her caution.
A militiaman descended down a few stairs, seeing this phantom - he tried to raise his rifle.
And the phantom became a poltergeist - a knife, thrown so quickly he had no time to react - burying itself in his skull, and nailing the man to the wall.
And so, she calmly progressed - unconcerned by her act of murder.
A few minutes, and a few corpses later, she would arrive at the ‘General’s room. He sat down, in his bed, reading a book - ignorant of what he was to become involved in.
He was a well-read man - having studied abroad, before the Luxembourgish colonization - and as such, he kept reading, blissfuly ignorant.
The phantom spoke again, this time in English.
“Dhiid Taajir.”
The general looked up, his expression souring, before he spoke in his lightly accented English.
“Who are yo-“
He paused.
“Aaah… you are here to kill me, yes?”
The Phantom spoke in a matter-of-fact way.
“If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
The General seemed confused.
“So. You want something from me?”
The phantom sat down, and drew a folder from her black robes - placing it on the desk.
“Open it.”
The general stared at her for a moment, before tentatively reaching for the folder, as if expecting such a mere object to be imbued with malice.
He opened it - making this process painfully slow.
Within it, was contained photographs of military equipment… huge crates filled with money… and covert photographs taken of him, his wife, and his 4 children.
The phantom spoke once more, as to break the cloak of silence that had fell upon the general.
“I have an offer for you, Mister Taajir. You need only accept.”
The general glanced at it, before looking back at the folder.
“And what does this offer entail?”
The phantom’s expression was unchanging, sealed behind that veil.
“You will never have to worry about your enemies again. Or resort to using child soldiers, or rusted equipment. Your family will live in prosperity. If you cooperate.”
The general spoke, albeit he was terrified.
“And… who is paying for all of thi-“
The phantom interrupted with words that were like lightning in both onset and delivery.
“That’s not the right question. There is only ‘Yes…’ and ‘No…’
The general spoke a last question.
“And if I refuse?”
The phantom spoke again.
“Refusal is… not recommended.”
…
……
………
……
…
Finally speaking, seeming to be nearly out of breath, he broke his wordless pensive gaze.
“Y-yes.”
With one stuttered phrase, a nation’s course was decided.
OOC
Hello, all.
This is my second time running an RP like this. The Daeva is to be considered a Co-OP.
This will be kept invite only, between members of the International Security Directorate, the Daeva, and anyone else who is invited to join.
Even if not invited, I freely encourage people - especially those in the CSL, to read along.
It is meant to be a somewhat short, but sweet RP - focusing on the emerging Cold War, in a proxy war setting.
Rules are straightforward.
1. No godmodding. It ruins the fun for all members.
2. Don’t send a death stack of super-duper overpowered fighter aircraft, or 400 ships. Even if you technically have this capability IC, this is meant to be a proxy war.
3. Try to keep posts relatively long - three sentences, at least. Dialogue can be excused from this rule.
