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Azure Watester Federation RMB

WA Delegate (non-executive): The Gestalt Consciousness of Ukraniumstan (elected )

Founder: The Federation of AWF Governance Committee

Last WA Update:

Board Poll Activity History Admin Rank

Most World Assembly Endorsements: 42nd Most Nations: 206th Most Valuable International Artwork: 910th+12
Most Corrupt Governments: 1,166th Largest Black Market: 1,180th Largest Arms Manufacturing Sector: 1,231st Largest Manufacturing Sector: 1,374th Highest Wealthy Incomes: 1,380th Most Devout: 1,381st Most Advanced Defense Forces: 1,504th Most Advanced Law Enforcement: 1,954th Highest Average Incomes: 2,126th Largest Information Technology Sector: 2,218th Largest Retail Industry: 2,298th Most Subsidized Industry: 2,310th
World Factbook Entry



Democracy, determination, and dialogue. These are the values we hold dear; these are the values with which we shall strive forwards into the future.

Recent Happenings:

    Establishment of the Cabinet for the purposes of Constitutional Reform.

    Referendum on the New Constitution has passed!

    First administration under the New Constitution elected!

Please endorse Ukraniumstan, our World Assembly Delegate!


Embassies: Northern Ocean, Morover Puppet Storage, The Embassy, Lisseum, Codex Ylvus, The United Empires of Carson, OnyxRavens, Urana Firma, Dream Land, Gallic Entente, The Chuckle Playground of Fun and Games, Gypsy Lands, Fredonia, The Monarchy alliance, Greater Middle East, Friends of the Apocalypse, and 4 others.Teremara, Regionless, Valentine Day, and The Commonwealth of United Free Nations.

Tags: Anti-Fascist, Democratic, Large, Offsite Chat, Regional Government, Role Player, and Serious.

Regional Power: Moderate

Azure Watester Federation contains 83 nations, the 206th most in the world.

Today's World Census Report

The Lowest Crime Rates in Azure Watester Federation

World Census agents attempted to lure citizens into committing various crimes in order to test the reluctance of citizens to break the law.

As a region, Azure Watester Federation is ranked 2,394th in the world for Lowest Crime Rates.

NationWA CategoryMotto
1.The Legionary state of JamstownCorrupt Dictatorship“Through Victory my chains are Broken.”
2.The Dictatorial Kingdom of Vlamms StattIron Fist Consumerists“Work, Stability, Freedom”
3.The Imperium of Winter GulleyIron Fist Consumerists“Nova Hodie Melius Future”
4.The Multiversal Bureau Empire of MineLegotia and EquestriaInoffensive Centrist Democracy“Paperwork, paperwork sees all”
5.The Holy Commonwealth of New TussiaPsychotic Dictatorship“Náisiún amháin, faoi Dhia, saor in aisce.”
6.The Imperium Argentum of KyavanIron Fist Consumerists“Valor in Duty. Honor in Sacrifice!”
7.The Citizens Union of The Ruby Ranch RepublicIron Fist Consumerists“I have nothing to fear, absolutely nothing”
8.The Red Tsardom of GoodawesomenessIron Fist Consumerists“One death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic”
9.The North Atlantic Settlement of The Rapture RepublicIron Fist Consumerists“No Gods or Kings. Only Man!”
10.The Military Junta of The Fascist Waffle EmpireFather Knows Best State“The Emperor protects”
1234. . .89»

Regional Poll • Azure Assembly Vote: Confirmation of the Deputy Speaker of the Assembly

The Czardom of Russia Major wrote:The Speaker of the Assembly has nominated Kynor to the Office of the Deputy Speaker. Members of the Assembly please cast your votes, Aye or Nay, for the confirmation of Kynor as the Deputy Speaker of the Assembly.

Voting opened 13 hours ago and will close . Open to residents. You cannot vote as you are not logged in.

Regional Happenings


Azure Watester Federation Regional Message Board

Hamburg, The Ruby Ranch Republic
2 June, Year of Our Lord God and his Northern Saints 2020
06:00 hours

Grimwald Cadwallader, the Lord-Mayor of Hamburg awoke to the sound of gunfire. The Northmen had arrived.

"Piss, they're here."

The Lord-Mayor takes his shotgun, and awaits the breach of his palace.

--------------------10 minutes later--------------------

"Blood, Blast, and Fire!" Arjen bellows the Droidenean War Cry once more. His men had breached the city relatively easily.

"Forward men! We have a mayor to slay!" Tobian rallied his troops as a cheer rose within them while they rushed through the streets.

Arjen is shot in the arm causing him to stagger backwards. This triggers something within him, and he begins to feel a rage rise within him. The berserkergang was upon him.

"By the sword in my hand..." Arjen rose to a yell "WE SHALL CONQUER THIS LAND!"

The Droidenean rushed forward, towards a fortification. This had been giving the Droideneans trouble with the capture of the city. Arjen rushed forward, and with
a mighty swing, he crushed the machine gunner's skull in, the other two men behind the fortification aimed their rifles at the man, but it was too late for them. Arjen had taken his war axes and chopped into their heads with brutal force. The Droideneans advanced, with the berserkergang upon Arjen. A Ranchian soldier, out of ammo, rushed at the mighty Arjen, managing to stab him through the stomach with a combat knife. Arjen was not bothered by this, and took the knife from his stomach, and drove it into the Ranchian's throat. Arjen continued, blood slowly seeping from the wound.

As the Droideneans neared the palace, they found themselves nearly evenly matched. But, Tobian, finally, allowed himself and his men to enter the berserkergang. The Ruby Ranch's men stood little chance at defeating the Raging Norsemen, for every man they killed only stoked the fires of rage within them more and more.

"God and the Saints are with us!" Tobian yelled as he was shot in the chest several times. His armor, thankfully plated with Krudkalav, was too strong for the rounds to penetrate, and Tobian continued the charge. The Norsemen's axes and rifles easily broke the defense put forward by the Ranchians outside the palace. As the last defender fell, axed in the gut by a giant Droidenean, Tobian yelled out.

"Lord-Mayor! Come out now and face your death!" There was no response

"You will be given five seconds to comply before we enter and hang your head."







"Haugi, then, Lord-Mayor."

Tobian, Arjen, and 3 other Droideneans enter the Lord-Mayor's residence. They ransack the place, and eventually make their way to the Lord-Mayor's quarters. Arjen had since sat down, for he was losing strength from his wounds. Tobian chopped into the door, as a final warning to the Lord-Mayor, and kicked it in. The Lord-Mayor aimed his shotgun at Tobian, and fired. This time, the buckshot penetrated the armor. However, one of the Remaining Droideneans shot the mayor in the knee, knocking him to the ground. The Lord-Mayor's right arm was hacked off, and it was used to break his own jaw. The Droideneans then took the man's head. Tobian was badly injured, but survived, as did Arjen. The Droideneans raised the Banner of Droiden over the city. The Day was won.

The Ranch, 7 hours later

Valek is sitting with his generals, when a box arrives.

"I'm not expecting a package. What could this be?"

Valek opens the box, and the smell of rot assaults his nostrils. The head of Lord-Mayor Grimwald Cadwallader sat within the box

"By Cthulu... the Norsemen have infiltrated us..."

The Golden Throne Shall Fall.

The nation was at the brink of War once more. As Kyavani Loyalists clashed with Thronists, the Watester Concordat found itself at war with the Phalangite League.

New Imperial Britannia’s entry would have to be proposed by the Cabinet and approved by the King, though in this case it was but a rubber stamp. The King had decided on war; it was now up to the Cabinet to declare it. And declare it they shall, for in a few hours, a short message had been drafted and was now ready for broadcast.

It has come to our attention that the Kyavani Loyalists has begun their struggle for independence. As a member of the Watester Concordat, and a member of its Security Council, The Cabinet, on this First of July, with the approval of the King, do declare that:
- New Imperial Britannia shall be in a state of war with the Phalangite League.
- The British Armed Forces are to be deployed in accordance with the Order of Battle as published by the Ministry of War.

An undisclosed location on the countryside.

Thomas Carter had escaped from the Military Police, for now. It would be some time before they caught on to his trail once again, and he could use that time to hide once more.

Thomas was driving his truck, since re-painted and disguised, listening to the radio when he heard the news. The nation was once again going to war.

Though he hated the constant wars of Imperialism and generally the constant warfare, it was a good opportunity. If the war effort failed, he could incite a mass rebellion...

It was the stuff of daydreams, Thomas reminded himself. The Massacre at London’s Square laid fresh in his mind, the screams of the workers reminding him of his foolishness. Thomas knew he would not be so lucky next time, if he were to be caught he would surely be executed.

He knew of hidden Communists in the Empire. Scotland, mostly, as it was a land far away from the economic and political centre of the nation. The plan was to go up and get some help. He could not do this alone.

Was it treason to do so, especially during wartime? Yes, but in Thomas’s mind a charge of Treason against a government soon to cease to exist was not an issue. What was, however, was the distant blaring of the sirens. The Military Police had come for him again.

London Naval Base.
The invasion would start here, with the fleet splitting in two. One heading for Droiden, the other to patrol and defend the English Channel. The goal was to destroy their navy, and prepare for a landing of Droiden. At the very least the Navy and Air Force was to destroy the Droidenean naval bases and neutralize their navy.

The Army would take Ireland as soon as possible, then Greenland and Canada. That would be the first stage: Secure the British Isles and other territories.

Gibraltar had given the High Command a lesson that was well worth learning. With coastal defences around the Strait, crossing into the Mediterranean would be dangerous and likely to fail. So until full naval superiority was achieved, there would be no landing in mainland Kyavan, nor an attempt to cross the Straits of Gibraltar.

The Free America Movement rises in the American colonies of New Tussia. A free state that will rid itself of the theocratic, oppressive regime of King David.
From this day forth, the colonies are free.
Sic semper tyrannis.

“Elmirant Alexios, the landings have progressed as planned. Shall we prepare to march forwards?”

“Marching will come soon enough Commander, but you’ll recall the terrain we’re working in isn’t the most welcoming to foreign invasion. We’ll bring in more resources here, as our enemy will be doing the same.”

“Good choice sir. Shall we send for the 1st Grand Army?”

“I already did, they should arrive soon.”

“Ah, even better. Anything else we can do, sir?”

“Not presently, though I’ll be taking a brief walk. I’d like to remain undisturbed if possible.”

Alexios stepped out of the war room, onto the still hot streets.

He walked, not to find somewhere.

Rather, to find himself somewhere.

In the end, it was a small church tucked away in a back alley that caught his eye. Alexios found himself walking to the altar, not entirely sure why. He began to search. For what, he didn’t quite know. Throwing open cabinet doors, overturning tables, until his eyes settled on a small compartment. His hand moved not for the hosts, but the wine.

Seating himself at the base of the altar, Alexios poured the wine into a small bowl. With one fluid motion, he pulled flames from the wine. He stood in silence. Watching. Waiting.



And nothing came of it.

In a scream of anguish, he slammed down, and the bowl shattered, scattering flames across the room. Alexios stormed out.

“Eden? Where are you?”

A servant poked his head in. “Good morning, Isaac. She’s in the garden.”

“Thank you.”

Isaac walked to see his sister seated on a stone in the pond. Eyes closed, she sat breathing, letting the scented candles around her dim and glow.

“Eden, I just found out -“

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. My uncle, he’s-“

“Dead. I know.”

He paused. “How? Nobody else has been told.”

“You cannot feel his absence? Unfortunate.”

“And you do know that Alexios has already been selected for our Uncle’s place?”

“Yes. Unlike you, I actually care a bit about what the Council does.”

“Not like it’ll get you anywhere. They’re still not the most open-minded people, those old husks.”

She smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

“Now, if you’re almost done here, we’ve got duties to tend to. House Cysaren is now without clear leadership.”

Eden turned back to the candles. She began the movements, and the sparks seemed to dance around her.

Gaseby Sea, Droiden
July 2, Year of Our Lord God and his Northern Saints 2020
21:45 hours

The lifeless body of Edgar III lay motionless upon the pyre. The families had gathered at the pyre, as well as the most respected Jarls, Generals, and Aristocrats of the Kongurreich. Fiedri stood, black robes adorning his body. He looks around at the men and women in his company, and rose his voice in song.

"The Song of the Goose
Carries my soul to God and the Saints
When I raise my sword against the Haugbui
The tears of my kinfolk are of joy
For their knowledge of my victories is great

When I long for the skies of my home
I sing the song of my people
And the deepest longing within me
Fades as I raise my sword
In defense of the Saints and of God

Everything I hold
Belongs to the Natural Realm
It shall now be reunited

Dies Father
Dies Coin
But that which does not die is Word
And he who speaketh such words

Ash to Ash, Dust to Dust
Hvil i fred"

The last paragraph is repeated by everyone. Those carrying blades kneel, driving their blades into the sand. Fiedri stands.

"Kinsmen. Comrades. We gather at this sea. At this loss..."

"We weep" The Family and Comrades speak in unison

"At this Ancient Flame..."

"We Grieve."

"For the Fallen..."

"We shout."

"His spirit departs. The flame shall be lit." Fiedri takes a torch, and lights the pyre.

"If you wish to remain, do so. If not, go in peace." Fiedri looks to the Oberjarls

"My Uncles, remain. We have much to discuss."

"Of course, Nephew" The men reply in unison. Fiedri walks with his uncles down the beach

"Alright, Uncles. We must choose a Kongur."

"You, Fiedri." Gilles speaks

"Aye" Andreis confirms

"Me? Why so?"

"Skard is anti throne, Tobian is anti throne. We dislike them." Gilles speaks

"Well, I suppose I shall vote for myself then. That is a majority." Fiedri nods

House Aurea Estate, Western Pillar, Golden Throne

Three members of the noble house Io sit at one of the more secluded areas in Marcus III's dining hall. The sounds of music and casual conversation fill the massive room. Seleucus, the head of the house has gathered his two sons Hadrian and Gaius to decide which side they will throw their weight behind. While Seleucus has remained Consul of the Golden Throne's senate, he has become disillusioned with Marcus III and seeks the opinions of his sons on the matter,

"Hadrian! It is so good to see you again. When did we last speak, the battle for Jadotgrad?" Gaius forces Hadrian into a spine-crunching bear hug while Seleucus looks on in amusement.

"It is...truly good to see... you too. please!" Hadrian gasps and Gaius lets go,

"Now." Seleucus claps his hands, "I haven't invited you two here to enjoy the Emperor's feast. I need your opinions on how our house proceeds from here."

"To be honest father, neutrality seems the best course of action here. Each side is trying to remake Kyavan in its image, it is best to remain impartial. Perhaps we will be spared?" Gaius says. Seleucus nods and turns his gaze to Hadrian,

"I think not brother. Personally I'd throw in with Regent Lysander and his armies. They're better equipped, better trained, and in a better position." Seleucus tugs at his beard in thought while Gaius and Hadrian scan the crowd for their young Emperor. Hadrian points him out among a group of Western generals in his uniform from Paris. Gaius snorts in disgust and turns back to his father,

"You see? Marcus Aurea is more Alpine than Kyavani! He wears their colors and not that of his own country? He is not even speaking latin." Hadrian raised an eyebrow at Gaius but their father nodded,

"Indeed. I will agree that Marcus III is an Alpine Emperor, the boy has forgotten his roots. But perhaps he might one day remember them. What do you have to say, Hadrian?"

"Nothing, father. It seems I was wrong about our young Emperor's appreciation for his roots. I say we commit our resources to aid Lysander."

All three men of house Io nod and join the party. Gaius meets with his childhood friend, Cicero Lazarus for drinks at the bar while Hadrian dances with his wife. Seleucus simply broods at the table, mulling over the potential consequences for this act,

"I will either be a hero or a traitor." He mutters to himself.


    The siege of Dubrovnik enters a new phase as Thronist shells destroyed Marcus II's villa. Loyalist propaganda is in overdrive and the thronist general responsible resigned in shame.

    Elements of the 91st Loyalist Armored Division punched through Thronist positions in the Carpathians. Rumors of en masse Thronist retreat from the basin run rampant.

    The siege of Belgrade ended in a Thronist victory with almost 5,000 of the 10k-man garrison taken captive.


    Loyalist forces have dug into the Apennine mountains and have retreated from Rome.

    House Marcelus, lords of Sicily, have declared for Marcus III and attempt to trap the Loyalists in their mountain strongholds.

    Loyalist general Titus Valerius died at the age of 89, leaving Lord Colonel Titus Valerius II in command of the Italian Army.


    "Mad Dog" Marius Aelrich continues to fire upon both Loyalist and Thronist forces who trespass in his territory.

    He's declined to reply to the Kafairian ultimatum and answered the demand with an artillery barrage.

    Rumors say that he received a letter from Lysander earlier in the week. Its content is unknown but many worry it will end Marius' neutrality in favor of Evangeline.

Updates will continue to be posted as the war progresses.

Days of fierce combat between the Royalist and Partisan troops ensued in Northern Spain, the 3rd Armoured Corp made a successful push for Leon in an attempt to disrupt the enemy supply lines while the partisan forces struggle to maintain their positions due to their severe lack of aerial superiority and disorganized leadership.

In Southern Spain, the luck of the partisans had not been much different, the lack of foreign support and the reluctance of the Spanish administration to involve itself directly in the ongoing war put a dent in their plans and now all Partisan efforts were concentrated on slowing down the Monarchist war effort.

To achieve said goal the partisan forces coordinated a strike (with equipment proportioned by a foreign force) in the strait of Gibraltar, Anti-Ship missile batteries set undercover on the Moroccan coast rained hellfire on any ship present in the Strait of Gibraltar.

A speech from King Rodrigo IV is broadcasted across the nation.

"To all the honest citizens of this great nation that is Spain”

“I talk to you in this moment of need to assure you that traitorous communists and their moors do not stand a chance against the valorous forces of the Kingdom”

“We live in a moment of great moral need where men spit at their values and traditions, some with false promises of free equality and others with delusions of greatness”

“In moments like these is our responsibility to ensure that our nation remains as a beacon of virtue in this world”

“These so called partisans will be defeated shortly and there is no doubt about it but as them there are many in the world who would see our values burned to the ground and the return of barbarism”

“for that we must show the world not only who we are but what are we will do to put an end to those false gods and saviours that declare themselves to be prophets in times of need only to take advantage of the populace”

“With the mighty blade of Spain, I will make sure to right their wrongs”

First battle of the liberation: battle of Havana
Green Army vs Loyalists
Green Army:
50,000 militia
250 PMCs
50 technicals (Fords with machine guns)
5,000 police
500 National Guards
50 APCs

Day 1: Havana, Cuba

Across the city, gunfire is heard. Explosions across as police and national guard fight rebel forces. Streets turn into crude barricades and are riddled with bullet shells overnight. More troops are called in to reinforce the Loyalist forces as Green Army (Libertarian) militia and PMC fight the police.

The city hall and police precincts are the main targets of the revolution as protests turn violent. Molotovs thrown at riot police as tear gas is fired back. An estimated 60 civilians are caught in cross fire as Green Army rebels fire MI16s at the police.
As of the first day, there were 100 arrests, 7 dead officers, 3 injured officers, and 25 dead militants.

Deputy Gervasio Tolentino was the model self-made Almadarian man. Before he could even speak as a child, his father left the family to pursue a job on a merchant vessel to help support the family of five, but no paychecks were ever received from him. His mother, overcome by grief, fell back on her dues and the family lost their home in Las Mangas. They were forced to move to the interior of the country and work in sugar and tobacco plantations, as mere part-time hired hands. From this, he understood the value of hard work-- and, after he made a conviction to never succumb future children of his own to poverty, toiled to get himself through secondary education alongside his fellow dirt-poor friends. While they managed to pass the tests to get into military academies, Gervasio instead joined the National Police. From almost no background at all, Tolentino made himself a reputation at his garrison for being reliable, smart as a whip, and a no-nonsense man.

However, such an introduction is unwarranted as Gerasio Tolentino was shot through the left eye by a guerilla while breaking cover. His waterlogged body was brought into the town morgue hours after he had fallen, long after the storm passed.
Against the receding cumulonimbus of Hurricane Rafael, a barely discernable pillar of smoke rose from the police garrison in the outskirts of La Esmeralda, the only evidence of battle from afar. Five kilometers from the city proper, the road was blocked by an advancing column of the Ejército Almadaríano; light utility vehicles ferried infantry clad in kevlar and C-148 standard camouflage patterns down the roadway.

Meanwhile, the streets of La Esmeralda were bleak-- loose debris, leaves, and branches, and snapped power lines blocked the way sporadically. The forests looked as if in upheaval: saplings were flung about, branches snapped, and entire trees uprooted and strewn haphazardly on the forest floors, which were spongy from being saturated with rain.

Stomping through the undergrowth merely a handful of klicks away, a small party of Valverdian irregulars, no more than fifteen, retreated from La Esmeralda to one of the many small villages nearby where they could lay low. They were led by Cabo Primero Desi Amparan, who acted as an officer of sorts. Under his command, he had a sergeant and even a lieutenant, but the only reason Amparan was in charge was because of his veteran status in the Valverdian party.

Seven-odd years I’ve been in. Seven-odd years I’ve waited for an operation like this. Amparan had thought.

Soon, the collective humming of Vehículo Utilitario Ligeros gave away their pursuers.

¡Bajar!” Came a cry from the Valverdians.

Amparan dived to the muddy ground, wrenching himself through the drenched grass until a discarded branch provided him enough cover. The rest of the group found cover, behind trees, ditches, or likewise behind fallen leafy branches. But within spitting distance from Amparan’s position was Cristián; a fellow fighter, but green behind the ears and far younger than his countenance claimed. As the sounds of a dreaded convoy grew louder, Cristián was in no position to hide, stuck lying prone in the open with the road merely twenty meters away.

“Cristián, get the mud-- the mud!” Amparan hissed, motioning to him discreetly. The boy froze in confusion, before rolling the back of his hands in the muck, then roughing up his hair and face with the same mud. Cristián had just enough time to finish this and lie like a cat, with his hands tucked underneath him and his dirtied pale face straight down.

Out of just the top of Amparan’s vision, the Almadarian Army rode past. With the grey skies and the rain coming down, largely the aftershocks of the hurricane, it seemed as if the windshields of the cars were totally opaque as the water built up and was brushed off. The angular and clean cars cruised past the hidden guerillas, one by one, until they were replaced with troop trucks. After eight minutes, the 34th Motorized Infantry Battalion had passed them by.

Desi Amparan raised his arm to signal a silent break from hiding. Relief was visible on each face of the rebels.

Amparan whistled shrilly and waved northward, and they continued on their course.

“Amparan, jefe, those federales were heading in the same direction as we were. They might be heading to Villarruel County, at which point, they could be waiting for us!” Bajardo Tome said. Tome almost had a perpetually nervous disposition, and foolishly sought to vent that anxiety playing with the trigger of his rifle.

“They could also be taking on the on-ramp to San Arredondo, amigo.” Amparan said, remembering to reinforce his patience as they walked on.

“Yes, but why would they be going to San Arredondo? That place apesta. And two-- why there? I don’t recall a massive op in San Arredondo, do you? Not even we want to associate with that dump!”

Escucha-- we have orders. We need to ditch these guns and sit out the heat. We can’t just pollo and go to another town and bury our stuff there-- that’d screw someone else’s day up as well as our own. We’ll go to Villarruel County because that is where we are assigned, and because I don’t feel like using a GPS to find our guns in a jiffy. Understood?” Amparan said, putting on a stern voice to discourage Tome from asking any more questions.

Reluctantly, Bajardo yielded. “Sí, jefe.
Villarruel County was as sparse as the Valverdians could ever have hoped for. The hamlet-- not really a town by any standard-- of Villarruel consisted of one major street, Calle Ezequiel Galdamez, enclosed by no more than a dozen wooden frames and occasionally stone buildings. The town-- hamlet, as it should be called-- itself was bordered on all sides by the Soberana National Park, whose green mountains loomed over the microbial settlement. The sky had been cotton-colored before but now returned to an oppressive grey as one of the last arms of Hurricane Rafael lashed at the earth. The rain continued to pour.

¡Mire!” Whispered Cristián, pointing down towards Villarruel from their position atop the hill overlooking the hamlet. Occupying the town, although not hard to do, was an Army company, a mere subunit of the force that passed them earlier. Soldiers were posted in front of what looked to be a general store, no doubt where a headquarters unit was posted. Along the rather short stretch of Ezequiel Galdamez Street were the irregularly parked CCM-53 trucks and VULs.

“I told you. I told you. Te lo dije jodidamente pero no escuchas.” Bajardo muttered from somewhere nearby.

“Quiet. We’re going to need to fall back. Maybe work our way around to a safe location.” Amparan said. “Vamanos.”

The two perched on the crest of the hill crawled back to the rest of the group.

“Listen up. We’re heading east from this position, into the park. We don’t have many options, so we’re going to have to hide away until things cool down.” Amparan said.

“If things cool down,” snorted Tome quietly enough so that only he heard the remark.

“Stay low,” Desi added.

They moved on in the rain, their jackets and hair glistening with wet. Cristián, who had taken point, readied his rifle and swept its sights through the jungle as they advanced.

A deep boom that shook the bones, a flare-up of fiery reds and oranges, and a painful flash of light emerged from the front of the fifteen-man group. Chunks of dirt sewn together with roots-- no, not dirt but flesh, that were hurled up returned to the ground. Where Cristián was Cristián was no longer-- at least not in one piece.

¡Mierda! Cristián!”

“We need to get lost!” Amparan called.

There’s no way the rain covered up that sound.

The fourteen rushed through the jungle, the leaves whipping at their faces and twigs scratching their legs.

Another boom and Desi Amparan was knocked from his feet and landed face first in the grass. All he could hear was ringing, and his sight was blurrier than a dream. Blood and dirt stung at his mouth as he struggled to correct any of his ailments.
“¡Oh, Dios!” Amparan murmured in horror as the arm he lifted to push himself up was missing two fingers and a knuckle.

Amparan frantically took inventory of his situation, ignoring all else. It hurt to breathe, like a needle through the back of his ribcage was being pressed into his heart.
The landmines must’ve been set as a perimeter. Came a flash of lucid but off-topic thought.

He could see now, but all he could see was an empty jungle as the side of his face was pressed against the mud. Hearing wasn’t so great.

Where are my comrades?

Desi tried getting up, relying on his unmaimed hand and legs. He managed to lift himself up with his arm for what seemed like a mile then lifted his knees to stand off only to receive the most excruciating pain jolted up his leg. He gasped as he hurried to resume his original position, but the pain only spread. His stomach felt as if it were burning.

My feet.

He tried squeezing his toes or wiggling his ankles, but he could not feel the movement. Amparan took very quick breaths before rolling himself over. Pain was in his hand, his stomach, and what was left of his legs. Eventually, that pain knocked him out, with his last thoughts being not on his stubs and mutilations but on how the rain had finally stopped.

Hurricane Rafael has been reduced to a Tropical Storm again, and will likely travel up the eastern coasts of North America until it dissipates as a mild storm over New Imperial Britannia. The Civil Defense has been dispatched to aid heavily impacted areas, and by order of President Arbelaez, will likely stay in your area until cleanup is done. That's all we have for you in this eventful week...

Arbelaez shuffled through the state dining room as staffers swept up leaves and debris from the storm. The grandiose open-air patio had doomed the rest of the room to the disorder, allowing palm leaves and debris to infiltrate the National Capitol Building. The morning sun shone, for the first time in days, unimpeded by cloud cover. The blue skies of Almadaria had returned once again.

The President took a seat at one of the chairs around the dining table.
How could we have been so helpless? Within a matter of hours, a Major-- [i]former Major-- had shot down a foreign country's jet airliner, unsuccessfully seek asylum, escape in transit to a prison facility in a coordinated ambush, and then incite one of the first armed rebellions in years in the Democratic Republic. And then, just as he arrived, he disappears. Major Basilio Cavillo-- former Paramilitary and Civil Defense officer, now ringleader of the so-called Valverdian Popular Front, which apparently only existed since a month ago. We've been left vulnerable, and I won't have it.[/i]

Soon, Arbelaez was joined by Teniente General Andujar, a greying middle-aged gentleman.

"Jefe, what is it you wanted to see me about?" Andujar asked politely, his hat in his hands.

"I want you to ensure that Basilio Cavillo and his irregular army are crushed. Find him, no matter which embassy that cobarde steps foot in."

"Sí, jefe. But what about the Operation?"

"Leave the operation in the Ministry of Defense's capable hands. They'll work on it, and if you aren't done with Cavillo and band of coños, they'll execute it without you, by my order. It'll go on without you, but that's hardly important right now. Right now, you bring Cavillo to the scaffolds. Understood?"

"Sí, jefe. I understand."

Andujar turned and left the dining room with his characteristic composure. Arbelaez sighed as custodians with brooms swept dirt and dust behind him.

Cavillo will burn, thought the Jefe.

The Ranch, The Ruby Ranch Republic
July 3, YOLGNS 2020
23:50 hours

The Droideneans marched towards the city, their goal in mind: capture the King. But, as the troops readied a charge, a barrage of gunfire erupted from the city. Droideneans fell left, right, and centre.

"Charge! Charge!" Lord-Major-General Rian Fhearghail ordered his men forward

As the Droideneans charged forwards, many men would fall. The first charge would be the bloodiest of the battle. The Droideneans charged the gates, only just cracking at the weight of the Norsemen. However, the fall of the gates did not do much good for the Droideneans. The Ranchians continue their massacre, as the Droideneans continue theirs. Many Ranchians fall to the Berserkers, as many of the Berserkers fell to the Ranchians. The troops in The Ranch had been severely underestimated. Rian leads a charge, a successful one, but the small victory soon would prove Pyrrhic. The Droideneans turn on their heels and rush to the city's exit. The Ranchians followed close behind, but did not expect the Northmen to turn and rush them. The feigned retreat was a success, and gave the Droideneans time to actually retreat. From there, the Droideneans dug in and prepared for a siege.

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