«12. . .3,2393,2403,2413,2423,2433,2443,245. . .3,2683,269»
Spiral
Thump
Thump
..
THUMP
Suharto shot up in his chair. His eyes strained from all the light in the office. Loud angry thumps sounded at the thick wooden door again.
The PM pressed a button under his desk and with a loud click the door came open. Suharto surreptitiously wiped down the table and his nose with a small handkerchief as the door swung open.
“Raila!” The man who came through the door called. It was Victor Mwangi, a business associate and a very generous donor to Suharto’s campaign, a full and rotund man seemingly bound into a fitted designer suit like an overstuffed duck. Mwangi invited himself to the seat right in front of Suharto’s desk, looking especially red.
“Victor, on the whiskey already?”
Victor barely seemed to notice, his fists were clenched tight and his concerns were clearly some place else. “You heard, right?”
“Hear about what, old friend?”
“The god damned blockade, Raila. That’s what.”
“Yes I have.. I’ve released a very reasonable statement to the international community, if the Petroburgians refuse to take us up on the offer then they will very clearly-”
“I don’t give a sh*t about that, Suharto.” Victor growled. “I want to know when this will be over, because right now I’ve got a metric sh*t ton of beef rotting away on some goddamned port because YOU lead us into this mess.”
“I lead us into..? How exactly is any of this my fault Victor?”
“All this bullsh*t with Netyaawis, that’s what! You just had to keep your head down, if you had only kept quiet and kept us out of this god damned mess then we wouldn’t have any enemies! Now everyone that’s had any stake in anything that’s happened recently wants YOUR head, and WE’RE suffering for it!” Victor was furious, his Toupée was starting to slip off.
“Victor, that’s not what-”
“You remember Chege Matiwi?”
“Yes, of course. What does this have to do with anything?”
“He’s shot himself,” Victor related breathlessly. "He's dead."
“That was a stupid thing to do,” Suharto remarked lightly.
“It isn’t funny.”
“I barely knew the man. Why’d he do it?”
“His big project in Liwawa. His credit was all Polarean, and they called in the loans. He was ruined!"
“Ah, Victor. Not this again. You need to calm yourself.”
“You hear it more and more. The Polarean banks - ”
“You know how the Polareans are. In a few months, it’ll all pick up in Polaris and they’ll wonder what the fuss was about.”
Victor silenced him by grabbing his shoulder.
“It will never pick up again,” he insisted firmly. “They, are ruined and don’t even act like none of this is your fault. In fact, we’re ruined. This damned embargo of yours will f*ck all of us over and it’ll take us decades before we’re back to where we were a week ago if it doesn’t end right damn now.”
“You know that I’m trying everything I can to end this.”
“Try harder, send in the navy. Do MORE.”
“You know I can’t do that, Victor.”
“Then give us assurances. The stock market’s barely open nowadays and the banks refuse to lend to us. If we don’t get money somewhere and fast then we’re gonna have a real problem on our hands.” Victor stared at Suharto pointedly.
“..I’ll see what I can do about that then.”
IN CRITICISM OF AN UNLAWFUL INFRINGEMENT UPON THE RIGHT TO FREE TRADE BETWEEN NATION STATES:
The Paixân Confederation of Chaebols announces today, in the harshest terms possible, it's opposition to the blockade of Mandawai and Lower idginkers on grounds of the forced denial of the inalienable right to free trade of a nation state. The Confederation of Chaebols cites it's criticism with reference to an undeniable lack of published evidence over the declared casus obsidium and, with consideration to the undue economic and social collateral damage caused by the measures taken by the 
Soviet Petroburg, 
Servoth, Celoniae and Marossia declares all measures which pertain to the blockade of Mandawai and Lower idginkers to be unlawful.
Furthermore, the Confederation declares any and all measures preventing foreign ships without relation to the diplomatic incident at hand from conducting lawful trade in the affected nations to be an unforgivably gross infringement of other nation states' right to trade, appending that any declaration of a lawful blockade must be brought to and accepted in an international court of law and/or Paixân court of law before it will be considered legally valid.
To conclude: the Paixân Confederation of Chaebols makes no comment on restrictions of bi-lateral trade or freedom-of-movement between the nations involved in the current incident, considering these to be lawful uses of political and economic power. However, the Confederation decries the blockade of non-belligerent civilian ships and aircraft (including those of the blockading nations currently conducting trade with nations not included in this incident) as an illegal infringement upon the civilians and private entities of the affected nations, as well as of their relevant international trade partners.
We keenly await a response from the perpetrators of the blockading actions, and advocate for a peaceful resolution to the situation at hand.
Sincerely,
Yuls D'Amarŕan, President of the Paixân Chaebol Confederation.
Transference
A man sat at his desk in Polaris, watching the news report of a nearby spire burning. He would have deployed the army, but it had defected recently to rove the countryside, wreaking havoc wherever it went. The fire department was sometimes reliable, but even then they weren’t effective: the fire at the nearby spire should have been put out three days ago by Polarean standards. There was nothing that could be done.
“So far, in Nicelli Spire, the death toll has reached thirteen thousand, with fourty-five thousand injured. It is estimated that there are still one hundred people inside. The fire department has not made an official statement predicting when the fire will be put out. Instances like this across the country are becoming quite common as the populace loses faith in our failing government. Cries of “Fauxus, where are you now?” are becoming common outside closed courthouses amidst the silence of the government. We are still waiting for a statement from the President on the state of the nation. In other news, a transmission this morning revealed the location of Pask, but satellite imagery shows he has already been captured by Idginkerian forces to stand trial. It is unknown if-”
The man slammed his computer shut. For a moment, the office was a silent chamber of aluminum, graphene, and glass. Then the desk phone rang. Once. Twice. Three, four times. As it was about to go to voicemail, the man finally decided to pick it up.
“Tiberius Fauxus, Federal Republic of Polarisium. Hello?” he said.
“Quite formal, my friend.” said a female voice on the other side of the line.
“Ah, miss Violet. I hope you have good news for me, you’ve certainly seen the chaos ensuing here by now.” said Fauxus.
“As it happens, I have a solution- but not one you would like. When Decker transferred control of the PSN to our navy to relieve your communications infrastructure and finances, your ambassador talked about doing the same on a national scale. Of course, we can’t just claim your land, but what we can do is hold onto all your weapons of mass destruction, as well as some industrial resources. With your WMDs out of the country, there’s no worry of rebels finding a RAIN unit and causing even more problems than they already are. Polarean industry- or, at least the industry that can be transported- will be safe in the borders of Celoniae. I know you won’t like this solution, but I hope you at least consider it.” said Director Violet.
“You took my space navy, now you want my RAIN and my industry? You can go to hell.” said Fauxus, slamming the phone down.
Five minutes later, he picked it back up, dialing Centraelis.
“Director of the Interior Amy Violet, Councilship of Federated Celoniaen Republics. Good to hear back from you, Tiberius.” said Violet.
“I am President Fauxus, miss Violet. Now, for business, you’ll get RAIN and 3D graphene. I’ll expect everything back when we come out of this bit of anarchy.” said Fauxus.
“Thank you. It’ll be in a warehouse for you in a few years when you recover. As for now though, where should we pick it up?”
“I’ll send it to you on some cargo ships. They should arrive in a few days.”
“Good to hear. Best of luck to you and your country.”
“Oh, miss Violet? Don’t mess this up. I’m really trusting you here. And I want you to have Celoniaen forces ready to protect me, if need be.”
“You and I both know I don’t have the power to do that, but I’ll talk it over with Decker and see what he thinks.”
“Very well. Good day to you.” said Fauxus, setting the phone down once more.
Looking up from his desk, Fauxus saw a secretary standing in the door.
“That’s your plan? Ask for help from those gun-toting Celoniaens? I get it, our situation’s bad, but we’re civilized! We resolve things through discussion! How could you do this!”said the secretary, irate.
“The Celoniaens have stood by us ever since we gained our freedom. They still offer to stand by us in our darkest hour. You said it yourself, our situation is dire. We need all the help we can get.” said Fauxus.
“Can’t those resources go to Polarisium? Without our WMDs, the people won’t fear us! Without our graphene, we can’t rebuild our spires! What, other than becoming a vassal state, is your plan?” said the secretary.
“Dammit, if you’d let me think, I’d have one! I’m solving the issues as they come up. The political landscape is shifting too much for a reliable long-term strategy.”
“Is that so? I don’t see much solving going on.”
“Get out of my office.”
“Not until you solve this sh*t!”
Fauxus’ eye twitched. “GET OUT!” he roared.
The secretary blinked a few times, and then left.
“Finally, some peace and quiet, to figure out what’s wrong with my state…” muttered Fauxus.
“Your state is dead.” said a voice in Fauxus’ head. “Your country is in ruins, you’ve failed your people, and there’s nothing you can do.”
Fauxus’ vision blurred slightly at the bottom, as he thought of his once-proud nation.
“Your people are starving. Your cities are on fire. Your army is now a roving gang of brigands. It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.” said the voice, louder than before. “And relying on Celoniae as a crutch? The secretary’s right, that’s a horrible plan. What kind of strategist are you? No wonder TRAMEC dissolved. With you at her helm there’s no way it could have ended well.”
Fauxus wept.
“Maybe you should just resolve this once and for all. Cables are pretty strong, and already come from the ceiling. Get the penknife there and cut it so it hangs down. Make two loops, wrap it around…” said the voice. Fauxus found himself tying the noose, without even realizing it.
“Now, after you’ve done everything wrong as a politician, let’s see if you can finally do something right.” said the voice.
Fauxus pulled his chair over and slipped the cord around his neck. Kicking the chair out from under him, the cord tightened.
“You’re weak, you know that? You couldn’t even stay around to fix things. As soon as things got hard to handle, you took the easy way out. This just proves that you’re worthless.” said the voice.
A rushing sound filled Fauxus’ ears as his vision began to slowly fade to black.
“This isn’t what I want! No!” thought Fauxus, as he struggled against the cable. Reaching for the knife he used earlier, he flicked the handle. He gasped for air as his vision blurred even more. He could barely make out where the knife was. Finally, he managed to grasp it. He tried to cut the cable, making his way through the enamel…
THUD.
The cable snapped and he collapsed on the ground, finally free.
OOC: Polar and I have talked about this, he’s OK with it all.
The Speech
This is a message from the Ruzalkan Prime Directorate, conveyed with a rebuking tone.
The Directorate of Ruzalka is shocked and horrified as to Paixao's sudden break from neutrality. Such a peace loving nation, has already in fact laid itself to ruins, now that it has now suddenly inserted itself into a disaster. We are shocked, shocked and appalled, that they have in fact raised the international stakes of the current crisis, and in fact causing it to escalate.
After a meeting with the Ruzalkan High Command, Central Bureaucracy, and our Advanced Sciences Department, we must make it clear that the Ruzalkans shall also in fact get involved if the situation is to be made worse. We insist, that Paixao, lay neutral to the conflict, in so that its citizens can sleep at night.
While the Ruzalkan state has no dog in this fight, we have the best intentions in mind for the people of Lerodas, as we have always done, and will again, reiterate the call for Paxiao to maintain a neutral stance in the ongoing conflict, as to avoid the situation escalating.
As a final note, Ruzalka will now be increasing its naval drills, as well as air attack tests. Bombers will also be flying over long distances and must request that the denizens of Lerodas do not fear, as in the Ruzalkan state, there is peaceful intentions in mind.
The message is concluded.
The United Roman Reich, Krakheim, Celoniae, and Great ba
Official Declaration from the Paixân Foreign Office RE: Blockade Incident
Amidst some confusion the foreign office of Paixăo must clarify that the Confederation of Paixân Chaebols represents a conglomerate of private interests in Paixăo, and is not affiliated with the Paixân Foreign Office nor its national military. Paixăo's public interests remain staunchly neutral, and will refuse to mobilize troops in response to Ruzulka's military activities. Military action by Paixân national forces is absolutely off the table at this time, and is to be considered only if and when a distinct threat to Paixân sovereignty is considered, be it national waters or threats to it's EEZ.
The Paixân foreign office cordially invites representatives of Ruzulka to discuss and clarify the situation in the capitol at a time of their choosing.
In hopes of a brave and prosperous future,
Ledjeje Y'Breq, Senior Ambassador for the Paixân Foreign Office
=================================================
OOC: Brief factbook to come soon. There seems to be some (understandable) confusion.
De-Escalation
This is a message from the Ruzalkan Prime Directorate, conveyed with an understanding tone.
Amidst Paixao's confirmation that they are not in mobilising troops, the Ruzalkan Directorate wishes to extend the welcoming hand of friendship and will announce that we shall accept the invitation for talks. As a gesture of goodwill from the Unified Unitary Republic, and shall de-escalate its manoeuvres, and restrict it to its own territorial waters.
May peace and goodwill light the beacon which shall guide us towards an even brighter future, as the Ruzalkan People have lit a flame, that the ages cannot extinguish!
Glory to us all! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6RVTOYgdK4
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OOC For the record, these have been joke posts to parody Khalite, all a bit of fun Pax. Love you really <3 and I promise this was the last one XD
Ahaha, appropriately inflammatory ;) You did forget to reference your glorious leader though XP
Still, you've given me the opportunity to explain a few things and open up the can o' worms that is a country that's so corrupt it can say one thing with it's official government and military while the private side decides to go off and do completely the opposite - because it has the money to do whatever the f* it likes.
More to come!
Factbook! For context.
Paixăo's government declares itself staunchly neutral in all conflicts, and has not deployed troops outside of its borders for close to two centuries, disregarding minor contingents of peacekeepers. A minimalist Parliamentary government exists, largely controlled by an extensive lobbying faction and often plagued by minor corruption. Low taxation and even lower regulation have bred large family owned conglomerates, Chaebols, who will often own small ecosystems of businesses - from shipbuilding and engineering to fast food and fashion and all that's in between. Being family-owned and highly hereditary, these Chaebols compete extensively between themselves, often vying for political power in the form of control over ministers and government officials.
SOCIETAL STRUCTURE
The small island-nation of Paixăo has run out of space to expand long ago. Extensive engineering projects in the past half-decade have transformed an increasingly chaotic capitol into a tiered, highly layered mega-city, occupying almost the entirety of the island's area. Construction has been predominantly vertical, both above the surface and beneath it, with the higher prices of buildings above ground quickly leading to social stratification based on sub-surface and super-surface tiers, or levels. Initially coincidental, it has rapidly become a permanent facet of Paixân life and culture, with the largely middle and upper class super-surface levels becoming increasingly lavish, driven by lax legislation and a booming trade economy. Crime here is largely non-violent - occurring on the scale of billions in tax fraud and extensive corruption by private entities. By contrast, the lower levels have become a hive for black market trade and illegal contraband, with the lowest levels being run by little more than poorly organized gangs. Violence is a common, daily occurrence, often delt out in equal measure by criminals and automated law enforcement. Efforts to reduce social mobility powered largely by a concerned middle class have furthermore led to increasingly draconian laws and restrictions upon the lower levels, with poor results.
While vertical stratification is an important part of culture and life in Paixăo, the average tourist will see only the super-surface - an apparently gleaming bastion of capitalism. Permits for the lower levels are rarely issued to foreigners. Permits to the upper levels are even more rarely issued to those of the sub-surface.
THE CHAEBOLS: THE POWERHOUSE OF CORRUPTION
Competition between Paixân chaebol families occurs at several levels. Much of the time this manifests as legitimate economic competition through advertising and price wars. Occasionally, it devolves into far darker measures. Assassinations are not out of the ordinary, especially when there exist doubts on the direction of a given succession. Furthermore, the black market can and has been a significant source of revenue for many of these chaebols, with both of these activities leading to important financial and social connections between Chaebols and the world of organized crime of the sub-levels. With increasing ambition has come increasing demand for violence, and professionally executed violence. PMCs have sprouted as a result, often attempting to diversify the market by offering services at multiple levels. The most successful have fully diversified, offering everything from professional bodyguards and teams of ex-special forces soldiers able to secure a Chaebol or organized crime syndicate's international interests, to contract security officers and discretely paid hired thugs.
Recently, several of the most powerful Paixân Chaebol's have formed a coalition - the Paixân Confederation of Chaebols - with the goal of utilizing the wealth and military capabilities they can now field to influence foreign affairs outside of the jurisdiction of the Paixân foreign office.
Pardon the double post.
Post self-deleted by Mandawai.
Hi new, I'm Celoniae.
Congratulations!
Is it a boy or a girl? ;) XD
Oh my god you’re right. I knew something was off. *calls girlfriend* Honey, are you pregnant?
Ba to Participate in Blockade, help Netyaawis
Bánh Mě Thép
General Secretary Bię̉u Xuyen sighed, stroking his long, weathered face, looking at the insanity that was this month’s news briefings. It was raining in Bánh Mě Thép. It almost always was raining in Bánh Mě Thép. If God had created a wetter place, he would have called it the ocean. It was a testament to humanity’s perseverance and arrogance to build a city such as Bánh Mě Thép. Half the city was a canal network, with buildings placed on artificial islands raised from the riverbed. A lot of the rest had some of the greatest drainage systems the world had ever seen.
“Nồi. Now. This business of the Netyaawis,” Bię̉u said to the General Undersecretary Nồi Tanh Hoa.
“I humbly recommend we release an official statement giving support to Netyaawis against their former overlords. We must send help to their nation.”
Nồi Tanh Hoa was a little man, standing just five feet three inches tall. He more than made up for it by being incredibly stubborn.
“We’ve stayed removed from the situation so far. Why do we not merely wait? Surely meddling in the affairs of a far-off country will only bog us all down forever fighting guerrilla insurgents and other hell. That’s what we did during the Gravolic Wars.”
“Public relations, Bię̉u. Public relations. This will look fantastic optically. Your legacy will be helping a struggling, upstart nation!” Nồi exclaimed, opening his hands and making an arc.
“Just look at it this way. Netyaawis! A nation young AND a republic. They too were a former colony. See? Spin it so the Bahn people think about themselves when they hear about Netyaawis.”
“You’re forgetting we had less than nothing to do with this nation’s creation.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your legacy, right now, will be that you stood idly by while the people of Netyaawis struggled.”
Bię̉u chewed a fingernail and peered at one of his advisors, who so far had been quieter than an amoeba. He didn’t want school children fifty years from now reading about the lack of spirit.
“Very well. I shall bring it to the General Assembly!”
Nồi Tanh Hoa stood and applauded, paused, and raised a finger.
“And we are going ahead with the blockade of Mandawai and Idginkers, yes? Any civilized nation wouldn’t harbor Pax, so we must demonstrate our civility. Once again… optics?” Nồi Tanh Hoa said. He knew the General Secretary was very concerned, almost paranoid, about his image. All he needed to do do bend him was suggest with the barest layer of proof that an idea would benefit his ‘legacy.’
“Secretary Nyen. Do we have estimated economic losses due to the blockade?” Nồi said.
“Yes. The Economics Commission gave me the report. We have little trade with either nation. The economic losses are projected to be less than half a percent of GDP,” Nyen replied.
“Nothing to worry about, then.”
Lerodas Map Update June 10, 2018
Changes
It's a quiet week as:
•Vanhania names a sea and gets his capital on the map.
•No other changes
Egress
The night was dark in Fleuroviate Federal Penitentiary. Through the high barbed wire fences and thick, imposing concrete walls was the worst of the worst of Celoniae: only the most notorious of Celoniae’s serial killers, terrorists, and mob bosses ended up in F.F.P. In the harsh light of the occasional searchlight was illuminated the stark, empty yard, which seemed even more dead than it did during the day. Inside, rows and rows of cells sat beyond the guard posts. All the lights of the facility were off inside, save for the lighting in one room. A woman with dark hair in a bright orange uniform sat at the end of a table, her right hand cuffed down. At the other end, the warden of the prison paced back and forth in an intimidating manner, giving the four guards at the corners of the room occasional glances.
“I must say, I’m most flattered to have this privelege. It’s not every day that you’re given the infamous Amelia Elizabeth Vicethorpe. I’ll make sure that you feel most at home here in my prison, but first, why don’t we give you a little idea of how things are run around here?” said the warden, pausing between some words for effect.
“Lose the charade, baldie.” mumbled Amelia.
“Aha! There’s the spirit I was told about! I’m honestly surprised you haven’t made more trouble already. Now, Mr Charleston, if you would…” He waved his hand at the guard who had moved directly behind Amelia, who bashed her head with his baton.
“Now that we’re working on the same terms, why don’t we have a little chat about your time here? I have a proposition to make, shall we say.” said the warden, keeping his tone.
“I… I don’t plan to marry... and if I did... I’d want a man.” she said, occasionally spitting out blood.
“Mr Charleston?” said the warden, smiling.
The guard hit Amelia once more.
“You’ll soon see that the attitude will not serve you well here, Amelia. It’s time for you to grow up. Now, you really ought to hear me out.” said the warden.
“Go… ahead.” said Amelia, still spitting blood.
“I can see to it that you are paroled, but I would require a significant sum to look the other way. Furthermore, this cannot happen before the year 340. I trust you have not blown all your riches on dresses and jewelry in Derwent?” said the warden.
The guard behind Amelia shoved her towards the table, brushing her hand slightly.
“Sorry, Warden Buttface, but that doesn’t work for my timetable.” said Amelia, calmly.
Click
“I suppose you want me to believe that’s a bomb or something? Is that really your plan?” said the warden, suppressing laughter.
“No, not at all.” said Amelia, smiling darkly.
Her left hand, which now held a pistol, darted above the table. She expertly shot three of the guards in the room, bringing the pistol to a stop aiming at the warden’s forehead.
“Hm, not as much… personality… as my old revolver. But it will do for now. Mr Charleston?” said Amelia, still smiling.
The guard walked towards Amelia, shrugging off his uniform coat. He unlocked her right hand, and she tossed the pistol to her dominant hand confidently.
“Now, Warden High-And-Mighty, I have a proposition for you.” said Amelia, walking confidently to the warden. Kneeling over him, she continued. “You look the other way for my breakout tonight, and I’ll let you keep your face.”
The warden nodded, sweating profusely.
“Smart kid.” said Amelia, standing up. “Charleston, or whatever your name is, let’s get out of here.”
The guard nodded, pausing by the warden to smash his face a little. When he caught up with Amelia, she glanced back at the warden, slumped over in the corner of the room. Without thinking twice, she emptied the pistol into his head. The guard picked up the body and threw it in the middle of a hallway, where it would surely be found.
~Five Minutes Later~
Hopping into a Black Feast truck, Amelia told the driver to wait.
“If I remember correctly, this should work. Just hold on.” she said, opening a laptop.
She downloaded a program from a hidden website, entered in a keystroke, and threw the laptop out a window.
“Now, get us the hell out of here. And this offer had better be good, or you’ll end up no better than that poor sod back in the prison.” said Amelia, definitively.
~The Next Morning~
Centraelis Sentinel
High-Value Prisoner Reported Missing
The notorious Amelia Vicethorpe escaped from Fleuroviate Federal Penitentiary last night. This escape is likely related in some way to the brutal murder of Warden Eldershire, the warden of the prison. It is not yet known how she managed to escape, however upon inspection of the prison in the morning the body of Officer Charleston, a low-ranking correctional officer, was found without a uniform in a ditch. It is expected that the escape was performed using an inside agent or an external special forces team. Possibly related to this escape is the false launch order of a missile from New Auburn Air Force Base, prompting the Department of the Military to upgrade cybersecurity with new Polarean technology. Director Decker is yet to release a statement on any of the issues pertaining to the breakout. Vicethorpe is considered armed and dangerous. If encountered, seek shelter and do not engage. The Directoral Council posted a reward for the capture of Amelia Vicethorpe, dead or alive, of five million silver certificates. Be warned that… See ESCAPE, A2
I logged back in to 69 RMB notifications :3
Vanhania, Soviet Petroburg, Marossia, Aatelisia, and 2 othersNerokhori, and Nova canberra
i wish i could make a claim on the map without having to write a 600 word passage
600 words is a extremely easy goal. If you can’t be bothered to write that much then you will not be on the map.
Paixao, The United Roman Reich, Soviet Petroburg, Lower idginkers, and 2 othersAatelisia, and Great ba
alright, brb
I love these occasional quiet periods on the RMB. No disastrous wars, supervillain lite nations, or crisis of the month. Just another tranquil (no matter how fleeting) moment in Lerodas.
Vanhania, Paixao, The United Roman Reich, Celoniae, and 4 othersSoviet Petroburg, Lower idginkers, Great ba, and Nerokhori
Post self-deleted by New rhodinia.
New Flames, Old Ashes - The Foundation of Ancrath
Before I get into Ancrath's origin story, I would like to claim Hex 4232 as my nation's first. Thanks!
"Tonight, the whole nation gathers for the official declaration of sovereignty by our proud leader, King Jonathan of House Ancrath." Archibald Dunne hadn't even switched his television on, but already he had heard the media outlets preparing for the king’s big moment. Even the least patriotic of citizens were flying the Ancrath flag proudly from their windows and their vehicles. “The King has given his express thanks for all of the kind words of encouragement he has received leading up to tonight.” A slight curl appeared in the corner of Archie’s lips as he combed back his hair and straightened his tie – Jon may have been their leader, but he had never been one for big speeches, and tonight would be his biggest yet.
When they had fought alongside each other, only eighteen years ago, Jon had always been the first to rush into the combat, to disregard the well thought out plans of his comrades in favour of a far simpler option. It was a miracle he was still alive – more miraculous still that he had changed so much before being thrust into this seat of power.
“Good evening, sir. Everything ready?” Klara, the virtual assistant that ran his home, asked with an inquisitive tone – as inquisitive as one could hope for, coming from fairly old technology; nearly two decades of war had destroyed most of the high-tech labs across what was now Ancrath, and what little remained was decades behind any nearby nations. Still, the sorry excuse for a virtual intelligence asked, “Shall I alert the King for you, Prime Minister?”
“Please do,” Archie pulled on his coat and proceeded to straighten up the military badges which adjourned it. That one was for bravery, and this one was for agreeing to slaughter civilians. No, he hid that memory for now – he wouldn’t let it bring him down today. “and tell him I’m bringing wine.”
And so he left, hopping into a pristine limo, its layers of black paint glimmering in the moonlight. The radio continued its excited report, “In mere moments the King will take his place in the town plaza and be crowned at last. Fireworks shows all around the nation are scheduled, and the festivities will likely last into the early hours of the morning. Here comes the King! Long live the King!”
The applause was deafening, mad cheers and whistles dotting the sea of celebration. As the King’s bodyguard, the Lord Protector, placed the crown upon Jon’s head, the crowd went silent and awaited eagerly these next words.
“Friends, countrymen, proud men and women of Ancrath, lend me your ears; I stand here, celebrating on your behalf the vast efforts that have shaped our nation in these past thirty seven years. Thirty seven long years indeed. Thirty seven years of strife and war and unrest. Let it be known that those painful times end tonight! For we, ladies and gentlemen, are the people of Ancrath. We have surpassed many trials, we have stood the test of time, and though our neighbours dwarf us in size and power, none of them shall look down on us any longer. In the years to come, we will become stronger. We will expand beyond what we have now – we’ll go to the stars if we have to – we’ll do everything we can to secure a better, safer future for the Ancrathians of tomorrow!”
King Jon basked in another round of applause. He rather seemed to be enjoying it. But this time, the applause was not cut off by some majestic event, nor did it calm down to allow for this glorious moment. No, the next sound was a tremendous bang, an explosion, a great crash like nothing Archie had heard since the war. And then the infernal roar – “We will not bow!”
Archie clenched his fist and yelled to the driver, “Faster!”. This was the work of those damn terrorists, it must have been – the Children of Bumarie, natives to one of the many nations that Ancrath had conquered to get to where it was today. They weren’t going to get away with this, Archie was sure of that.
The limo screeched to a halt. “We’re here, Prime Minister.” The driver had a jovial tone in his voice, and Archie realised that he had been masking his accent up until now – he was a Bumarian; a Bumarian with a gun.
Atlexil and Aatelisia
Lerodas Map Update June 24, 2018
«12. . .3,2393,2403,2413,2423,2433,2443,245. . .3,2683,269»
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