The Hole To Hide InBoard

The flicker of shutters could be heard almost instantly as the men stepped out of the door on the opposite sides of the hall. After years of war and conflict over a nation so vast, it was to conclude in a former conference hall in the small lakeside town of Mountasier. They walked up the velveted steps to the stage and approached the mahogany desk that had been haphazardly thrown in the middle, upon which lay a stack of paper. As the anthems of the 4 major parties blared over the ageing speakers what the signatories saw before them flashed in their memory once more. Karloff looked at the treaty with glee, a labour of half a decade that had cost him tens upon tens of thousands of men to the mountainous meat grinder that was The Gatisland, but for it the emperor had gained everything. The league now had an enthusiastic new member state ready and willing to become the heart of league power in Ortakar and had put down one of it’s most stubborn foes in the PAP, and for that he swelled with pride after stepping forward as his pen shot across the page. Marrast and Mesny gazed at the treaty with a mix of optimism and anticipation. They were just as satisfied with the treaty as Karloff was, but they both knew that once the treaty was signed, the guns would go away and the knives would come out. The alliance between the NRM and the RTG had been the bedrock by which the nationalists won the war, but only one could rule the nation in the end. And with elections being scheduled within a few months the amical relations that currently existed between them would inevitably sour. Marrast knew that this treaty secured all he had needed and now provided him with ample opportunity in the political dogfight to ensue in order to mold his vision into reality, after it’s signing, it was game on. The treaty for Mesny was more than just a declaration of victory, it was a certification of his legitimacy as president of the republic. He had toiled for years in Salis in exile and through the sum of those efforts and more he had restored himself to the seat of power, and it was one that he knew as he glanced over at Marrast as they both approached to sign, was his and his alone to keep. Belyea looked down at what he saw as no more than a well negotiated death warrant, he had done what he could, but in the face of total defeat was able to secure not much more than table scraps for his comrades of the PAP. Already he knew his fate in the history books, the sum of his career, his decades of service and dedication to his cause and his people will be forgone in favour of a focus on a tenure of less than a year to which he shall be portrayed as the perpetrator of the worst crime. A traitor. Someone who threw the pride and soul of the nation into the fires of hell without reason or care as he broke bread with the foreign invaders. Perhaps in due time they would understand. Perhaps they would come to know that it was the only action he could have taken. Perhaps those history books would change and would know it wasn’t his fault. But he knew that would be a long time away. So he stepped forward and quietly signed the page. And as the roar of clapping and cheers echoed throughout the chamber, he was led to the flag raising outside with the others..
(section involving General Karloff was cleared by Blayredeshia in advance)

Blanc!
Or!
Bleur!

The classic chant of the colours of the banner of nationalist cause, it is both a demand for restoration as well as a call to arms. Lucas Pretre had answered that call years ago, yelling the slogan at the genderarmie who chased him in retaliation around the Therveux streets and furiously debating the merits of the ideals by which it represented over the dinner table on long nights. So when the news broke of the first shots being fired in Moursier, he knew what he had to do. He scrawled the first location details that came out from a pirate radio station and stepped out into the cold night and never looked back. With the rifle pressed into his hands on a damp southern field he had brought himself back to where he had left. As the tristar slunk down the pole in shame as the band played in the background, he pulled the tricolour of the box and affixed it to the pole. With the triumphant high of the score of the new Republic of The Gatisland hitting its stride, the wind caught the flag and the banner stretched into the sky. Surely it was all worth it? Of course it was, yet even in the sea of pride there was a small ball of doubt as to if that was the truth. The memories of his home city burning amid the drone of bombers especially gave him pause, perhaps his brother was right when he said that it would cost much to bring about a future that wouldn’t be as he imagined. No, he was right. He had fought to see this day and he wouldn’t let that effort go to waste and the opportunity that had been given to him and his compatriots to rebuild their nation into a model for all the world to see, a prosperous and proud Gatisia. He couldn’t turn back now, and he would tell his brother that now if he could find him. He pushed that ounce of doubt back into the depths of his mind, and saluted the fluttering tricolour to greet the new dawn that was beginning to rise on all corners of their nation.

The storage house was an impressive sight, a repository of every pamphlet, book, and film that was meant to further their cause that they had ever produced here in Euskades and as the man looked upon it he couldn’t help but smile. It had been the sum of years of work of preparing for this moment, one that couldn’t have been done alone. The chaos had provided a steady stream of new recruits from fleeing bureaucrats ,scientists, economists as well as members of the security service who had aided in the project’s completion. And it was today that the rocket would leave the launchpad. He walked from the storage house down Euskades’ rickety avenues as the fresh snow crunched under his feet. For years he had been stuck here, unable to move affairs domestically while he watched in pain at the events that had transpired since he was forced to flee. He blamed the Nationalists, but he also blamed the Federationists, they were equally to blame in his eyes. Both of them had squandered their opportunity to lead The Gatisland down a nation’s proper path, and had suffered the consequences of their hubris. His project would be another one. He pushed open the solid oak door and entered into the welcoming warmth of the organizing centre. Normally it was used for planning of projects and discussions on policy but today, it had become a recording studio. At the end of the room, thanks to a few mechanics and engineers who had joined on last February, a hodgepodge of stolen Blayredeshian, Federationist and civilian equipment formed a workable (albeit crude) recording studio capable of reaching radios nationwide. The man gripped the microphone and waited for the signal from an assistant to begin speaking. The machine squealed and hummed to life before rapidly coming to complete silence. The assistant nodded, it was time to begin. He began his address by pushing the common concerns of the population, the results of war and of time before, before following it up with a simple question. “Who will be able to bring us solutions to these afflictions?” he asked, now it was time to attempt to posit an answer. He detailed how the sides at the treaty signing had no ideals nor policy which would see an improvement and lambasted their lack of ability to do so. Now for the conclusion, “We the people of Gatisia see your charlatan act and today our campaign begins to right the course of our future and to the nationalists signing the treaty today, this won’t be the last you hear from us, and don’t expect us to be able to be silenced”. The assistant switched the equipment off and the sounds grinded to a halt. They had just declared war, and as with all wars it was time to send the equipment to the front, the storage house was going to get a lot more empty.

The door opened and Amaury entered the room with a frustrated expression and a stack of papers nearly the height of his head.

“They gave it to them, the ex-PAP members will be able to vote” he said.

“Is he out of his mind!?”, exclaimed Martin, “did he also give Marrast the keys early? Maybe a head start in campaigning? If I’m supposed to be running the campaign for this thing i need to know things like these so i can stop Mesny from doing ridiculous things like this. Any reason given?”.

“None”, said Amaury who by now was rummaging through the stack

“We’ll barely have time to change strategies! There’s only have 1 month out to prepare for these elections and he just wants to give the NRM something they’ve been pushing for for years what happened to oppositi-”

“And we can’t spend that month complaining about his choices Martin or we’ll have our heads on pikes by the end of it. It was most likely some concession in exchange for something but we’ll never know”

Martin sighs and leans back in his chair

“Alright then, do we have any updated poll numbers?”

“We have a few but the sample size is pretty small, but they still indicate former PAP members up north will likely vote NRM in droves in the election”

“Do we know if they’ve committed any resources up north yet?”

“I don’t believe they have, they see these demographics as in the bag for them, and personally I don’t see any situation where they wouldn’t be”

“Well we just need to convince the NRM that they won’t be”

“Now how do you suppose you’ll do that?”

“Before I explain do we have any extra spending?”

Amaury pulls out a few pages from the stack and begins examining them

“We’ve used around 34% of our budget already for print and video ads to begin rolling out next week, and i think the national committee has apportioned most already”

“Any we can squeeze out?”

“Nothing official, but I could maybe get us a 4% allotment if I can call in some favours with the committee chair”

“Very well, take that 4% and spend it on radio ads in the most PAP-leaning provinces. We’ll accuse them of forgetting farmers. The demographic is so important to their success they’ll have to spread their resources thinner to defend against our attack.”

“If we do that we can pick up the swing areas in the center valley as well. It’s nothing compared to the original strategy but it’ll do. Get your boys working on those ads and i’ll call the chair”

“Very well, bon chance”

It was evening when the bell could be heard ringing throughout the camp. It was unusual as usually it signaled when food handouts would begin, but this time it was nearly 8:30, 4 hours later than it should be. “Important announcement in the center of the camp in 3 minutes!” a man bellowed in between the authoritative rings of the bell, this was certainly not normal. Julie quickly put on her boots and rushed out of the tent bloc towards the sharp ring of the bell. A crowd was quickly forming in the dusty dirt clearing in the middle of the Govin refugee camp as people attempted to find out what was going on. In the middle of the group, dressed in the plain green uniform of the aid workers, stood on top of a few boxes with a megaphone in hand. As he raised his hand, a slow calm took hold among the people. Drawing a pair of glasses and a single piece of paper, the man scanned the crowd and began reading. “As of today at 12:00am, the Treaty of Mountasier is due to come into effect between the parties of the Gatisian civil war. This treaty, which establishes the process for ending the conflict as well as systems for the future of the country also contains provisions relating to IDPs and refugees and assurances on the safety and well treatment of returnees. Because of this the Gatisian Aid Organisation has begun working with the government to begin the process of repatriation of willing members of the camp. The GAO is now classifying the following provinces as safe....” The man droned on and on as he listed the many southern provinces which have been under nationalist control for months. Harvagny, Paysanie, Guerdiot, the list went on. As the names of lands that many here had fled were spoken, a wave of celebration and relief washed over those who would now be able to return to the land they had left long ago and that their children barely remember. The provinces listed began to drift north and Julie stood there, waiting for when they inevitably said her northern home of Mauvire. But then the man speaking abruptly stopped talking. “The northern 6 provinces have been flagged for persistent insurgent activity and heavy environmental damage and the GAO will not classify them as safe for the time being, thank you and vive la gatisie”. Amid the jubilation of many in the camp, Julie felt nothing but a dreadful mix of disappointment and confusion in reaction to the announcement. As she trudged past those celebrating their return on her way back to her tent, the only question that remained in her mind was when she would know when it was her time to return home, but she knew that even for how much she tried to predict it was something that she wouldn’t know. The only thing she truly knew, was that for her and many others the war was not over yet.

This has been a lot of fun and I greatly enjoyed getting to RP this whole thing out, so I just wanted to quickly shoutout those who’ve made it that much enjoyable by handing out a few awards to reward their efforts.

The Best Interventionist Award goes to: Blayredeshia, for being committed the whole way through and helping contribute to interesting situations and a more interesting RP as well as putting up with my bad posting schedule.

The Negotiator Award goes to: Icewindia for their dedicated involvement and creating cool scenarios with the fall of the free zone and the troop defection.

The Food, Guns, And More! Award goes to: Schwypia for their generous support of the federal government and their later intervention which made the end state more interesting as well as their withdrawal which made for a fitting end to the whole thing.

The Top Comrade Award goes to: Kynthes for their long standing alliance of the federal government and continued support of them near to the very end (As well as putting the Internationale out of its misery)

To you all, thank you!