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Two Days Ago, the Shores of Syria, Eastern Pillar Lands
Men walked, each step to the beat of a drum tap, stepping onto to the large landing craft beached before them. Of the 3 brigades loading up, the 51st was once its proudest member. The 51st has maintained combat readiness and active duty for close to 140 years, through ever advancement in Kafairian society in that time. Never has it broken in battle. Never has its standard, embellished on the shoulder of each of its men, been sullied in loss. Glory has been for them, through battles of which the brutality would wrench from a civilian disgust and nightmares. They have been the Royal Guard, the Vanguard, the Rearguard, and, for a time, Ah Yeladem Shel Sheket (the children of silence), protectors of the Royal Graves. Though, as many say, the higher one climbs, the further they fall.
In 1985, during a small uprising, the unit was shattered. 2/3s of its men defected, the rest turning and running, dooming the civilians they had been protecting to their death. By the end, 127 men of what had once been 5000 men remained. There has yet to be a moment for them to regain their honor in combat, to atone for the sins and the transgression of defeat upon the immaculate record. The new 5000 would right this wrong. Their vow would hold. Their hearts would shine. Their guns will bring peace to traitors and heretics, for that is what they have always done, and that is what the 51st will continue to do, for 137 years to the day, and for many more.
The landing craft doors raise slowly, the light becoming dimmer, until it is pitch black. Then, the electrical lights illuminate. They turn, looking to eachother. And so it is that the landing craft unbeach and turn, setting a wide arcing course for the little agean island of Rhodes, alongside a carrier and 5 destroyers.
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Today, 80 miles Off the shore of Karpathos, Local Kyavani Agean Radar Command
7:50am
Blips. First 1, then 4, then 9, then 16. The Sergeant gets up rapidly, striding from the radar room and down the hall towards the captain's office. He pushes open the door and salutes. "Sir. 16 blips, most likely hostile ships, en-rout to what is most likely Rhodes."
The captain lazily looks up. "Its probably a malfunction or something. This radar is always acting up."
"Sir, this is no malfunction. There are hostile ships en-rout to an important position!"
"Sergeant remember your place! Its a malfunction or something caught on the disk. Get back to your station, and get me once a real threat arises."
Reluctantly, the man salutes and sits back down. The blips pass from range, and he sighs.
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150 miles Off the shore of Rhodes
8:33am
The landing craft sit, bobbing in the waves. This first part was not entrusted to them. Satellites showed a rocket battery upon the island, threatening any landing. Outside, the destroyers guns turn towards the location of the battery. Rocket pods, their land attack missiles primed and awaiting firing, rotate and elevate, positioning themselves. They lock their position, awaiting orders. In the command deck of the Oasis Spirit, the carrier attached to the landing, Admiral Kuzkou speaks into his microphone.
"All rockets, fire at will. I want a smoking crater, and nothing less."
And with great bursts of light they tear into the sky.
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Kyavani Rocket Artillery Battery of the 60th Artillery Corp, Rhodes
8:35am
They were lounged around their great weapons, content. So far, the Agean Sea had been no combat; the Eastern Pillar was seemingly massing for a great assault on Turkey, and so they rested. One man looks off, and spies a little shape in the sky, trailing smoke. He thinks nothing of it, turning off and walking towards his comrades. It will be their doom.
18 rockets peak, and dip, arcing down. Only now do the men identify the threat, far too late. With a great shattering explosion visible even from sea, a ashen cloud of fire erupts, growing larger with each impact, before shrinking. The artillery is gone, a hole where it had been sitting. The men had been evaporated. To way to Rodos was open.
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Rodos
9:02am
The landing craft hit the docks, their decks falling and allowing the turbaned warriors to spill out. Gunfire slams into their vessels from the some 7 thousand 5 hundred defenders, professional and milita alike, pitted against the merciless return fire of the 51st and her two sister brigades, the 50th and the 52nd. Grenades flew like leaves in the wind, blood running into the ocean as the eastern and what loyal core troops were with them pushed deeper into the city, tanks leading the charge. The militia ran, the unwavering troops of the Order of the Splintered Lance dueled eastern troops.
One such mass duel was waging outside what had been a cafe and bakery on a quaint little side street in Rodos. The OSL faced troops of the 51st battalion, 5th battalion, 300 OSL men facing a thousand of the 5th in a bloody CQB battle, guns thrown down in favor of knives and swords. Unlike the troops of other nations, the OSL found not fear, but cold hard determination of troops fighting for their honor, and against the dishonor of their enemies. While master swordsmen, the OSL faced troops trained to battle not just with guns, but with blades as well, and so the men grappled and fought.
One slightly cut off duel was coming to a close at the end of the street, where two houses blocked the way forward. The two warriors, both officers of their respective units, clashed, swords grinding against eachother. The Order officer spun backwards, allowing his sword to cut the air where the Pillar officer had been a moment before, as the men slide backwards, and into the fight again. They repeated this back and forth for a minute or so, until the Order officer found a blade sticking through his neck, and fell back dead. The Order's 300 was pushed back, 170 or so lying dead compared to about 200 pillar troops. And so they again pushed forward, intent on their goal.
12:48pm
By the end of the first attack the outermost wall of Rodos sits firmly in the hands of the Eastern and core troops present, the milita and OSL men remaining protecting the second and third. The destroyers at sea did what they could, firing their guns, impacts slamming into the walls, some crumbling as others held up to the attacks. Though much more could be unleashed, the citizens who chose to avoid combat would ideally be spared the majority of misses if the command could spare it; they did nothing wrong, and did not raise arms for this false emperor. The troops regrouped, mustered, and prepared to once more launch an assault. Rodos would fall, they'd see to it. Traitors deserved no mercy, and in the Thronists they would find none.
Destructive Government Embassy Speaker, Vlamms Statt, New Imperial Britannia, Best rwanda, and 1 otherAlmadaria
Sligo.
It was a border city between the now-hostile nations of New Imperial Britannia and Droiden. The failed push to Cork had started here, and here is where it may all end. Either with a successful repelling of the Droidenean counterattack, or being pushed out of Ireland entirely.
The British First Army had been the first to retreat, and they began the defensive fortifications. The army would have a few days before the Droideneans arrived. They used that time to turn Sligo into a bastion, a defensive position to hold the Droideneans back from.
The following are excerpts from a soldier’s journal.
Battle of Sligo, Day 1, 0200 Hours.
The extra time had helped immensely. As the Second Army reached Sligo, the Droidenean assault had began. But with highly defensible positions, the attack was repelled with barely any losses.
0730 Hours.
The Droideneans regroup and assault the fortress and the defensive line once more. Though they are repelled, a total of 106 soldiers died defending the line. Next time, there may be more.
1400 Hours.
Reinforcements arrived. Armoured divisions as well, and help from the local garrison. With luck, we will withstand the Droideneans.
1700 Hours.
They’re screaming something. The officer told me it was their battle cry. Blood, blast, fire. Machine guns made quick work of the first ones. They almost broke through.
1900 Hours.
They’re back. Charged at us, managed to take out a part of the defensive line. We retook it, with minimal losses.
2100 Hours.
They tried three more charges, but none of them worked. Scared, though. God bless machine guns and heavy artillery.
2300 Hours.
Overheard the officers. The Droideneans have taken too many losses. They’re retreating, High Command thinks. Less than a thousand men lost. They say it’s a great success.
After the war is over, I’m retiring. There’s no way I’m holding the line against crazy vikings ever again.
The armies regrouped. The Droideneans were repelled. The conditions were perfect... for a second offensive. Perhaps it shall go better than the first?
North Western Anatolia, Kyavan
From Izmit to Urbeaureum the Russian lines stretched, one hundred-and-eighty thousand men and women. Hundreds of guns, thousands of armoured vehicles, and at Izmit, Feldmarschal Manya Pushkina completed her plans.
The first Division had centred on Urbeaureum, the second on Izmit, the third would be further south, and the fourth distributed to support the others.
Taken from the four divisions would be several regiments specially selected to ensure the assault on Rhodes failed. The Honourable Goygol Amphibious Regiment, The Chernoyarsky Mounted Rifles, The Kharabalinsky Drivers' Regiment, The Limansky Guns, The Loyal Shahbuz Guns, The Maykop Noble Engineers, The Voroshilovksy Bombardiers, The Gusar Fusiliers' Regiment.
They were already headed for the far south while their counterparts dug in, they would arrive easily within a day. They had one job, make the kafairian's lives as hard as possible, or crudely rendered, blow them to hell.
Using MRSI and shoot'n'scoot tactics they would harry kafairian supply ships, preparing to assault the rear of the Kafairian lines in the Rhodos city when they were ready.
Russo-Zentralian Border
Shells shot down across the Zentralian lines, striking the ground as hundreds of explosions deafen the sky. Men thrown through the air screaming, and structures crumble under the onslaught. Clods of earth thrown high in the air as others dive for cover under the rain of fire. Immediately, reserves were sent to the front line, expecting a frontal assault, but it never came.
A roaring in the distance, behind the russian lines, growing louder with every minute, then they came. Dozens upon dozens of planes, making straight for the Zentralian lines. They split off into groups, each heading for different assets.
Across the Zentralreich munitions dumps, fuel depots, and hundreds of vehicles, went up in smoke. The Zentralian war effort suffered deeply, it would be hard to mount any effective offensive without significant time to restock the lines, but for now they were vulnerable, time would tell how the Russians would exploit this weakness.
The order of the holy inquisitors, New Imperial Britannia, Yohaness, Rusliv, and 3 othersAlmadaria, Seattle autonomous zone, and Free america movement
OOC: Bit of a shameless plug, but for people that aren't on the regions discord that often here's my election information fact-book (also referred to as propaganda)
What can I tell you about for my intentions as president, beyond something you haven't already been told. I could tell you how the federation its a mess, a travesty and a powder keg, or perhaps I could tell you that there is opportunity, potential and progress that can be achieved. I could tell you anything and it wouldn't change a thing, as the only thing that would change is who starts an argument, or who leaves the region, or who goes to court over something trivial. All I will say, is that I have decided to creep out of the depths and from the shadows to bring change, change that I will perceiver and crusade for, change that will involve you, change that will see many divides within the region such as the OOC and IC divide drawn closer together. Change that will seek out your opinions and suggestions, to find the problems we face and remove them from our region. I have stood by for too long to see this region become nothing, I have seen us all at each others throats, when we forget that this is a game and nothing more.
We made this region to be our new home, our fun-house, our freedom and independence from tyranny. But in the time we have pondered and bickered over our identity, our organisation and ourselves, we have achieved nothing but the construction of our own prison, a prison in which we will demean and define each other on our political viewpoints, where we will cease the basic functions of our government once they prove unpopular, as well as retire the idea of improvement until it comes time for another constitutional change. However, in light of all this there are some such as myself who want change and need change. Therefore, I promise you that as president I will bring change by any means at my disposal, I will create a think tank to locate and find our problems, I will open up a conversation that involves you and your peers, finally I will simplify and organise our functions that allow us to change the region.
The Ruby Ranch Republic, MineLegotia and Equestria, Thakia, Best rwanda, and 2 othersAlmadaria, and Free america movement
Near Wiesbaden, 
The Ruby Ranch Republic
Rarely in a war that is not civil are two armies of the same national blood on different sides. The main military, the ProStar organized body, was pitted against a smaller group of elites from the Liberimarcatan PMCs David & Cowells and Sprocket. These companies had sided with the Golden Throne, mostly due to payment from the Throne or existing ties. The GT-supporter force was heavily outnumbered but still dealt a heavy physical and moral blow to the main military.
After the force was defeated, the bodies from both sides were prepared to be flown back to the homeland. The air around the Wiesbaden outpost was melancholy. Guns from the Statt rained on the buildings around the mobile base, and jets in the sky dodged ground-to-air shots to fire on the artillery.
"The situation is pretty neutral sir, we're giving as much as we're getting. Any loosening on the bombardment on your end?" the radio crackled.
General McAllister clicked the radio on. "Not noticeably, keep blasting those Statt guns."
"Yes, sir."
The order of the holy inquisitors, Thakia, and Best rwanda
Pingeth Alpes a septentrionali imperium
Sailing far around Iberia had been time consuming, but it had provided the necessary distance needed to not face what could have been certain doom along the shores of Southern Spain. Samuel stood on the deck of his carrier, looking eastward. An aide approached him.
“Elmirán, we’re within launching range. Shall we begin?”
“Yes,” Samuel replied. “Give the command. Airstrikes should be running on the fortifications until the Marines hit the beaches, then shift to the inland targets. I don’t want our enemy to reinforce easily or quickly.”
“And the C Force, sir?”
“Keep them in formation in the bay. Any military transports or warships they encounter should be brought down. If they encounter civilian ships carrying war equipment, either confiscate the arms or dump them into the ocean, but don’t sink the civilians.”
“Yes sir. We’ll get started right away.”
The landing craft hit the water, aircraft screaming overhead. The leading warship, Polaris, aimed its missile batteries at the shoreline, the other cruisers following suit. A hail of rockets passed over the marines making their mad dash to the mouth of the Loire River.
The cruiser had been running north for days now, only a single destroyer traveling alongside it. They had no time to lose, they had no time to waste. In and out. The cruiser reached its firing positions, and loosed over a dozen missiles, several seconds of pause between each one. Quickly surpassing the speed of sound, they raced towards their target: the Gates at Miraflores. The cruiser turned swiftly, cutting back south to safer waters.
The flames in the brazier burn softly. Lately they had brought mixed signals. Alexios couldn’t make sense of them. But, the figure sitting in front gazed anyways.
The thoughts and visions keep lingering. I can’t make anything of it, but I know I can’t stay here any longer.
In one stride the figure was out the door, flames vanishing from sight. The guards outside the door lie on the ground, clinging to life, albeit barely. The rage in the air is palpable. And the confusion. It’s blinding.
Where to go, where to go? Not home; I’d be punished for abandoning my post. But where?
Not home. Home.
He sprinted towards the water, the maroon hood barely staying over his head.
Jacob stood on the docks. Patrol was boring most days, but tonight was different. Uneasy. There were eyes peering at him. Into him.
“Who’s there.” He grips his rifle, his hands growing white from the feeling. And for but a second, the only answer was silence. Still, calm.
Then, a spray of flames. Erratic, untamed, easily pushed into the ground. The hooded figure dashes forwards, only narrowly avoiding Jacob’s strikes. He pivots to his attacker, and as he reached for the flames, ready to carry them, he froze. The burst of energy from his still outstretched arm faded, and Jacob looked ahead, frozen by fear.
No, not fear. By this phantom, whose outstretched arm still kept him in place. The figure’s hand reached Jacob’s forehead, and sleep came with it.
I am sorry, watchman.
A lone sail slinks out of port in the dead of night, due east.
New Imperial Britannia, Best rwanda, Rusliv, Almadaria, and 1 otherFree america movement
The Imperium Argentum of Kyavan gave the Liberimarcatan Republican Army 20 passenger jets as well as several dozen shipments of small arms in exchange for immunity from LRA attack on Kyavani territories.
The Kyavani loyalists paid ProStar Defender Company 75 million dollars and a shipment of small arms in exchange for the entirety of ProStar's force's devotion to fighting alongside the Loyalists. ProStar forces were immediately withdrawn from The Ruby Ranch Republic and flown to Urbeaurum to aid the loyalists.
August 16, 2020
5 million Bavarians bought for 2.5 trillion crown payment over 5 years, 1 million put to the Bavarian Battalion in the minarchist military. 3 million additional Bavarians bought for 200 billion crowns for the same purpose, 1 million to the military.
60 Ranchian orphanages worth of children were bought for 60k crowns.
Lyons, Alpes a septentrionali imperium
Some call the Liberimarcatan Republican Army insane terrorists, others ultranationalist extremists, still others a greedy, violent PMC. All these labels, or rather the people that give them, had one common aspect about the LRA.
They were willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goal.
So far, their involvement in the war between the WTC and the GT had been minimal, with only minor skirmishes in The Ruby Ranch Republic and Kyavan. But now, they were to thrust Liberimarcat into the spotlight.
30 passenger jets, 20 labelled as Kyavani, 10 stolen from Envoy Liberimarcat Airlines. All of them lined with various explosives and flammable material. They flew over Lyons like a flock of birds, nearly drowning out the sun. The radios on the jets crackled with voices, but the pilots tuned out the noise. They knew what was about to occur.
One plane suddenly jarred upwards, instantly killing the engines and forcing a stall, sending it shrieking down. The other pilots groaned with various expletives and words of confusion. Three other planes simply cut their power, and they, too fell. Five others followed.
A few planes impacted before the ground began shooting at the 21 planes left in the sky. The sky was filled with smoke and melting, steel debris as the other planes were gunned down. The fragments hurled down, causing even more chaos below. The pilots knew that this was not according to plan, but they were content with what had gone right, and what was still waiting to happen.
The order of the holy inquisitors, Russia major, Vlamms Statt, Alpes a septentrionali imperium, and 6 othersKafair, New Imperial Britannia, Best rwanda, Rusliv, Almadaria, and Free america movement
auf Ulea Line, Russo-Union border
It is a yet another calm afternoon at the front lines. Almost and about a month has passed since the war started. For now, it has been nothing but a phony war. If it will stay such is still a question unanswered, but there have been rumors about a peace negotiations starting sooner or later. Either it will be but hopeful cry for home or a leak from the High Staff, nothing is yet confirmed. What is more confirmed is the fallbacks in Zentralian lines against Russia Major. If nothing changes soon, it seems their defensive warfare will continue.
While the rumors are spreading, news from the clergy are spreading with them. The Temple Shamans, after many assemblies, now claim that the Winter will come earlier this year. This would be a radical change to what was last year, when almost no snow was seen for all of Winter. This would make the defensive campaign easier for them, as cold weather and hard terrain has been many times earlier seen perfect for repelling offensives.
Meanwhile, Mikko is not on his guarding turn, rather resting with Beaivi and their new friend, Aakko, a Karelian battle brother.
Aakko begins playing another melody with his Kantele. The Kantele is oddly small for such an instrument, yet Aakko is able to play it well.
When Aakko has ended his performance, Mikko asks. "So, Aakko, could you tell again, how did you learn to play Kantele?"
Aakko smiles and answers. "Ah yes, I haven't told that yet, have it? Well, my father is a woodsmith and my mother his housewife, naturally, but also, she knows how to play Kantele, and some other instruments. But Kantele is truly her favorite. Its sound is calming and beautiful, and so I was inspired by her to learn to play it too. She taught me how to play it, and I sort of became her apprentice. Then, this one here-"
Aakko shows more closely his Kantele. "When I turned 18, my parents decided to give me a gift. Crafted by my father, this instrument was made. I have yet to completely master using it, but I am getting better every time."
Mikko brushes his beard. "It is indeed a grand part of our culture. A fine day when I see people keeping the tradition of Kantele playing alive. What do you think, Beaivi?"
Beaivi sighs. "I can't speak for that. Kanteles are not common up in the north, Saamenia. We don't see them enough up there..."
Aakko thinks for a moment and snaps his fingers. "Well, Beaivi. Would you be interested in learning to play Kantele? Perhaps you could bring the art to there."
Beaivi beams. "Really? You would teach me? I wonder if many would be interested in it the way I am, but I would be glad to be your student!"
Aakko smiles reassuringly to Beaivi. "Of course! We can start already tomorrow, does that work?"
Beaivi nods excitedly. "Yes!"
Mikko looks at his wristwatch. "Glad to see you two finding a common interest, but the lunch is soon served, we should go."
Aakko and Beaivi nod in agreement and the trio starts moving to the cafeteria area.
Another pleasant day by the border...
Vlamms Statt, Best rwanda, and Rusliv
OOC:
As of today, July 23, 2020, I, Liberimarcat, am announcing my intention to run for Speaker of the Assembly in the upcoming election. I will construct a manifesto to reveal my stance in this election and why you should vote for DeLong. I wish the other candidates good luck and for a good race.
Update: My manifesto:
nation=liberimarcat/detail=factbook/id=1409180
Salcanceacy, Vlamms Statt, Kafair, Rusliv, and 1 otherFree america movement
In response to Russia:
First of all, I didn't "flee the region". I had to take a break as I was dealing with issues at home.
I'm a responsible candidate, I'm experienced, I oversaw legislation such as the formation of our foreign affairs policy.
I'm a trustworthy candidate and a large part of our region. Vote Tussia and you'll see the right legislation get passed and i will promise that we will have a factbook that will display our passed laws.
Tussia July 2020
The Ruby Ranch Republic, Salcanceacy, and Droiden
Nations of the Federation,
I have come together with a member of the Gryphon Party of Vaktaria to write the following dispatches, which detail our thoughts on Vaktaria, his proposed amendments to this region's constitution, and the dire situation this region finds itself in and may yet find itself in under his leadership.
Firstly, Liberimarcat has compiled the following dispatch on the Gryphon Party, the Party dedicated to establishing a Vaktarian Monarchy.
Member list:
Other snips:
Second, I myself have written the following dispatch on Vaktaria himself, and specifically his plans for the AWF, why I think they will not work, and why I must oppose them.
It is my firm belief that everyone should read these dispatches and attempt to understand what is being undertaken. If you are a member of the Gryphon Party, understand what you are giving away, and to whom you are giving it. If you are an independent, understand what is being done without your knowledge. If you are a democracy-loving individual, understand that other people intend to sign away your democracy without giving you a look in. Vaktaria and his Party must be opposed.
Post by Kyavan suppressed by a moderator.
While the posse of Vaktaria may have appropriated and unjustly abused the administrative powers that they found within their possession to thrust me out of the discord server for what they believe is permanence, I do understand that I still possess the full right to remain within this region. I am disappointed to note on my return the above [mildly homophobic] childish jab by Kyavan, whose juvenile manner still retains nothing but solid confirmation that they are not with an inkling of respect for this region, nor deserve any inkling of respect from its residents. Such a response betrays their lack of solid argument against what Russia major suggests.
Regardless, I have found the circumstances to dictate a certain degree of necessity in my imminent return, and as such I shall stand against the disgusting stranglehold a small clique of inexperienced and incompetent individuals hold over many positions in this region. Revelations to me have revealed that this group is of a genuinely malicious and worryingly manipulative disposition, something that has actually saddened me to an extent. To see people that once regarded as friends - and hopefully I still do - to stoop to such levels of emotional manipulation over a webgame is absolutely disgusting. Droiden has been especially malignant in this instance, something that surprised me; I consider these actions to be beyond their character.
I soon intend to make an appeal to the discord's administrative team to have the previous, unjust, ban be overturned. I then intend to fully involve myself in the politics of the region.
Post by Salcanceacy suppressed by a moderator.
Aalborg, Kingdom of Denmark, Droiden
27/7/2020
13:00 hours
Emperor Dan II sat at his desk, munching on a crisp apple, when a messenger came, bearing a message
"My liege, I have a message from the Kyavani. It is from Marcus the Second."
Dan takes the letter, confused. He reads it, a look of bewilderment growing ever-apparent on his face as he finished.
"The Great Emperor of the South has not yet perished, it seems. I will venture to the southern lands once again." Dan places the letter on his desk.
"But, my lord.. would you not rather send an envoy? You are getting old, travel might not be the best." The Messenger looks at the Emperor
"I am a capable ruler. Were I not, Brand would have taken the throne ages ago. Arrange transport with great haste." The Emperor grins, nodding
"Of course, Lord." The Messenger leaves, off to arrange a transport to Dubrovnik
OCC: Just going to pull a quick dab
The Ruby Ranch Republic, Vlamms Statt, Kyavan, Kafair, and 1 otherRusliv
Blacke Multimedia, Trucker Arson Tonight: Breaking News
"Hello, welcome back to Trucker Arson Tonight, I am your favorite moderate paleoconservative and convicted white collar criminal Trucker Arson! We have some breaking news, terror in Alpes a septentrionali imperium after the Liberimarcatan Republican Army rammed 9 passenger planes into the city of Lyons, with 21 more planes shot down above, spreading debris and smoke as well as causing hundreds of casualties. It is heavily believed most of the jets were supplied by the nation of Kyavan in an effort to coax the LRA into committing a terroristic act against the Golden Throne Pillar nation of Alpes. They definitely got something, unlike me tonight.
Our next story is the relocation of all ProStar troops from The Ruby Ranch Republic to loyalist Kyavan to fight the monarchist army. The board of ProStar released a statement saying they will work with Kyavan to help dissipate and push back the Golden Throne, as per their agreement.
Last story before I hand it over to token Nigerian progressive Heeba Deeba, private military company and research laboratory Nylon Risk announced the commission of a "Estradiol-Gaseous Dissipation Bombardment Projectile", for use in the Kyavani conflict, whatever that means! All I know is that shares have gone up, and boy, do I love me some shares! Well, that's all for now, folks. This has been Trucker Arson, see you tomorrow when I interview renowned author and convicted sex offender David Tubes and share his story. Take the floor, Heeba Deeba."
The Ruby Ranch Republic, Russia major, Vlamms Statt, New Imperial Britannia, and 3 othersBest rwanda, Rusliv, and Almadaria
“Buenos días, señor. Aquí están mis papeles y el manifiesto de carga--” The captain started, offering the papers for the customs officer to review. The seaman began to translate in a poor accent.
“Good morning. Here’s my papers-- and the manifest-- of cargo--”
“Y estamos aquí por negocios.”
“And we’re here for-- er, business.”
As Hoarau, the lead official, brought a flashlight to bear on the clipboard and flipped through the papers, Captain Garza shifted his weight impatiently and cast a glance at his ship. The Martí was just as rusted as it had been during the Hurricane, but the only changes were in its cargo; the Valverdian’s weapon stockpile had been hidden away, mostly in the engine room and in nooks and crannies no sensible person would look. In the holds and deck were industrial containers of furniture, nonperishable foods, sugar, what seemed to be large tents and other camping equipment, and supplies of clothing and textiles.
Hoarau was perplexed on what he saw on the manifest. Sugar, chairs, and specifically canned goods delivered by a shipping company with a fleet of one to a single destination: Dakar.
“Very well. Let us take a look at your cargo.” Hoarau said.
“Por aquí,” Garza replied, gesturing the trio aboard.
“Er- This way.”
Customs officers Hoarau, Keita, and Laurent set foot on the deck of the Martí before quickly setting to work. Bags of sugar were poked and prodded, explosives were searched for, and tents peeked under to ensure no contraband was present. Oddly enough, all seemed to be going well in the inspection.
That was until, of course, a certain Nacho Floria emerged from the accommodation superstructure bearing a partially disassembled MRC-2 rifle. Apparently, the rookie had wanted a smoke while performing ill-advised maintenance on his gun. Presently, he stood in a shock before Captain Garza, his translator, and three Alpeian customs officers who merely looked on at the guerilla with expressions of consternation.
Several things happened at once-- the drop of a lit cigarette by Nacho as he retreated back into the ship, a shout of “Arrêt!” from the inspection team, and the biting, disappointed curse of Captain Garza, which the translator had sense enough not to interpret for the Alpeians.
“What is the meaning of this?” Exclaimed Hoarau, unholstering his pistol. His comrades did the same, scanning the deck and watching the cargo containers on one side and the bridge on the other.
Garza didn’t know how to respond. Instead, he simply gestured calmly, opening his mouth as if to speak but didn’t make a sound. After much stammering, during which one of the officers left the ship with radio in hand, the captain finally said through his translator, “That weapon was for-- personal defense of this vessel. Don’t be alarmed if you see more-- we have plenty of defense, what with a war on and all.”
Garza tried his best to sell the lie, but only managed to concern the officials more.
“We’ll need to hold this vessel down for a complete search.”
“Eso no será necesario, señores.” Came a voice through the night. Cavillo, roused from belowdecks by one rather stressed Nacho Floria, stepped from a doorway and out onto the deck of the Martí, unarmed. Garza spun around with a shocked look on his face to this newcomer.
“Adelante, traduce.” The guerilla barked to the translator, stepping beside them and Captain Garza.
“We are-- sorry for the deception. It is necessary to elude our pursuers. The captain-- was following instrucciones-- instructions-- to conceal us. We are the Valverdian Popular Front. We mean-- no harm, and request safe haven in Dakar, and for an audience with a government representative.”
Russia major, Vlamms Statt, Alpes a septentrionali imperium, Best rwanda, and 1 otherRusliv
Post by Kyavan suppressed by a moderator.
Flavius found himself standing at the gates of the Imperial Gardens, entourage at his side. His blood frothed through his veins. He strode into the green space, towards a gathering of men in the center. Lysander was somewhere here, but Flavius couldn’t see him presently. In the center, an old man in uniform talking with what looked like generals. That was the pretender.
And then, a hand across his chest. Lysander.
“He’s no fake, Grandmaster.”
“But, he’s been dead. We fought a…”
“A war over his death, yes. But God works in mysterious ways sometimes. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
The two walked to the generals. Flavius extended his hand.
“Good afternoon, Lord Aelrich. I am Grandmaster Flavius of House Ianum, and hail from the Order.”
“I see you already know you I am, Grandmaster.”
“If we are being entirely honest, I expected to walk into these walls and leave with the corpse of a pretender.”
“I would not blame you. I hear things have been chaotic in my absence.”
“Quite. This is now the second time the Order is campaigning in Kyavani territory. I was lucky enough to serve alongside Constantine retaking Jadotgrad, though I will admit I never expected things to turn out quite this way.”
“Nor would I. Come now, Grandmaster. There are matters to discuss.”
Russia major, Vlamms Statt, Best rwanda, and Rusliv
Oh yeah
The Ruby Ranch Republic, Vlamms Statt, Kafair, Best rwanda, and 1 otherRusliv
this is hereby a bruh moment
The Ruby Ranch Republic, Vlamms Statt, Kafair, Droiden, and 1 otherBest rwanda
Dubrovnik, Kyavan
29/7/2020
1300 hours
The Dragon had made it to Dubrovnik. The elderly emperor walked with his retinue, made up of his son, Brand, the King of Norway, his grandson, Edgar, the Heir to the Kingdom of Denmark, and second in line to the throne, and three other soldiers. Dan made his way to the Imperial Gardens, where he noted several men. Grandmaster Flavius, High Marshal Lysander, and Emperor-Saint Marcus II. There was a cold atmosphere between Brand and Lysander, and as the men noted each other's presence, a tense feeling overcame the room. Brand almost went for his axe, but his father stopped him.
"Do you wish for peace, my son?"
"I indeed do, father."
"Then display so. Not with spoken word or sound, but with action. Stay your hand."
The ever-philosophical emperor was not much of a fighter. His age had proven him nearly worthless in combat. Nowadays, he spent the time he once put into training with axe or rifle into training with song and poem.
"I see you are as alive and well as ever, Emperor-Saint." Dan spoke to Marcus II
"God works in mysterious ways, Dragon." Marcus responded
"Is this all that is in attendance? Only the Grandmaster, Yourself, the Grand Marshal, and I and my sons?" Dan looked around the room.
"It would appear so." Flavius responded
"Quite unfortunate. It would appear that the painting of the grass and gravel with blood is of more concern than the hammering of an everlasting peace." The Droidenean sat, his sons beside him, and he awaited the beginnings of discussion.
Russia major, Vlamms Statt, Kyavan, New Imperial Britannia, and 2 othersBest rwanda, and Rusliv
The Channel.
Two battleships with gleaming cannons broke the waves on the Beaches of Normandy. Once again, troops would land here under the support of the battleships, hopefully neutralizing the Thronist presence in France.
The battleships, HMS Sovereign and HMS Imperial opened fire on the coastal defences. Behind them, the waves crashed on the dozen troop transports. The landings had begun.
Imperial Palace, London.
The Imperial Palace was the seat of the Royal Family and the residence of the King. Across the street was the convening place of the Cabinet in the old Parliament building.
Usually the palace bustled with activity, but today, there was almost a serene silence. It had been like this for weeks now, the King opting to reside in a more secure residence after the outbreak of the war. Today, however, he was breaking cover in order to hold a meeting with the Cabinet. They had heard of the Kyavani saint demanding a peace conference, and the Cabinet had opted to attend with a dignitary. Now it came down to who to send.
This was not the task for any mere diplomat. It was a meeting of Kings, or at least those who had the status and rank to represent them. The Cabinet itself was not particularly noble in composition, the aristocracy having lost its meaning quite some time ago, so while they all had their own formal titles, the Foreign Minister Ethan Marshall even being the Duke of Sussex, a mere duke would not be enough.
“It has been decided, then.”
“I must go to them.”
So the decision was made. The envoy would consist of the King and the Foreign Minister, as well as, of course, a small security retinue. They wouldn’t attend the conference, but would protect the King until then.
The Communist Enclave, Scotland.
Information travels extremely quickly. Hours after the envoy set its course towards Dubrovnik, the communists had received the course of travel and destination. They had planned to intercept such an envoy, either when the war ended or important officials travelled outside the relative security of London. Now was the perfect opportunity.
It was not impossible to breach the security. A strong enough attack on the jet could destroy it, but getting to that point would be incredibly hard. The plane would have already left the airport now, and setting up an AA gun in foreign territory would be ridiculous and unlikely to succeed. So rather than intercepting the departing plane, they decided on a better strategy: Sabotaging an arriving one.
The order of the holy inquisitors, Russia major, Vlamms Statt, Kyavan, and 2 othersBest rwanda, and Rusliv
Winderstren. The island and home of the burgers (and other foods).
Sentient burgers (and other foods).
No one knows how these foods became sentient. Cheese Historians are still trying to figure it out.
Anyway, Winderstren is governed by the five biggest, meatiest, and cheesiest burgers of all. The wisest and strongest. Each, of course, have their own respectable juicy burger partners, and have produced mass amounts of burgers, adding to the ever-growing population. Each had earned their spots rightfully through spicy fights of dominance. They governed the land nicely for thousands of years already. They had made sure all danger is erased and eaten. Food and drink is certainly enough for everyone. There is no problem whatsoever.
In Foodtopia, the capitol of Winderstren, Fries wandered across the streets that are made of the bodies of their fallen enemies, the Bacon. The sky is beautiful- clouds are made of fluffy whip cream, and the light blue sky itself is made out of slush. Shiny rainbows made out of Skittles are everywhere. Little ketchup packets and paper napkins cheeped, chirped, and flew through the air.
Truly, it is a paradise.
Of course...
One must not venture down to the slums, which is far away from the safe haven of Foodtopia. Not without being armed with a knife and a fork, or, even better, with an aSALT gun. For Capitalist Oranges and Dangerous Bottles of Western Sugar Water roam around in the dirty, moldy streets. It is common to find the scattered remains of green lettuce lying around. There were even a few times where a pathetic, poor McDonalds burger has been murdered and eaten by others.
Truly a shame.
Back to Foodtopia.
Recently, in the great building made out of gingerbread, the five great burgers have decided to send speedy gingerbread men to deliver invitations made out of Comrade Candy (the leaders greatly appreciated his tremendous sacrifice) to all nations:
Clearly written in big, elegant cursive made out of white frosting on the middle of the large candy invitation card-
"Come over to Winderstren for the great Feast!"
Small letters-
"P.S. Yes, you can eat the invitation. Please don't eat the gingerbread man as well."
(OOC: AN AVERAGE SIZE BURGER IN WINDERSTREN IS FIVE FEET TALL AND WIDE. THE BIG 5 BURGERS ARE 10 FT.)
MineLegotia and Equestria, The order of the holy inquisitors, Ukraniumstan, Russia major, and 7 othersVlamms Statt, Kafair, New Imperial Britannia, Droiden, Best rwanda, Rusliv, and Almadaria
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