Nation's Name

Karanova

Government Forces Shell Refugee Camp

Another government campaign against the communist guerrillas; another slaughter for the foreign media’s cameras.

With the communists, led by Comrade Mirinov Galdovsky, gathering on the very frontier of the Karanovan government’s control, Supreme Commander Alexi Christophe ordered for the direct removal of the civilian population in and around the town of Orangal.

At first, the “evacuation”, or “relocation” as some are calling it, went smoothly; thousands were moved with little incident, and government infantry battalions deployed themselves around the town in preparation for a long-planned offensive.

However, the communist rebels soon found themselves a juicy opportunity, and attacked the government formations with a mixture of small arms and mortar fire. Though casualties ranked lightly in these attacks, Supreme Commander Alexi Christophe himself gave permission to the 6th Karanovan Artillery Regiment to open fire on the neighbouring refugee camp, just four miles west of the town.

Packed with thousands of women and children, it seems that the Supreme Commander paid little heed for the loss of innocent life resulting from the barrage. It is not known how many have died inside the camp, but the Nationalist Rebels have seized the opportunity to point out the government’s long line of criminal actions.

President Helga Rakonov, of the KNR (Karanvoan Nationalist Republic) party issued the following statement:

“This total disregard for civilian life is sadly a customary fact of life for the Karanovan common folk. Why the government, headed by that self-proclaimed ‘Supreme Commander’ butcher, would shell a densely packed and defenceless refugee camp escapes me; it is an outrage, and my heart goes out to those who were murdered illegally by those bastards.”

Meanwhile, the government hit back, and Jacob Trivan - the spokesman of the Security Ministry - claimed:

“…the camp is a well known, and well documented communist stronghold. Yes, it may look like a refugee camp, but we have evidence to suggest it is really an arms factory. Our intelligence services tracked the terrorists to the settlement, and so with this in mind, we opened fire with God’s Graces. We do not apologise for the deaths of traitors to the Great Karanovan Nation!”

The communists have declined to comment, stating only that they will seek revenge for the “savage attack”. Time will tell, however, if the peasant-soldiers have it in them to finally make themselves a recognised regional force.

Konstalinnos, Capital city of the Empire

Celebrations were abound as the start of the new year came. During the old pagan years of the Orminnian Empire, the new year had a special importance. The old pagan Gods would always look towards the new year as it would be a fresh start for them to improve their pantheons. The old Gods are believed to have celebrated the new year jesting and drinking and making wagers with each other as to how many followers they could amass. The followers of the Gods would dress themselves with different bits and pieces to show their support for their patrons. They would then go house to house to invite the residence to join their pantheon and spread the influence of their respective Gods.

The animal mask, brightly colored clothes and drunken revelry seemed to suggest that nothing had changed. This was of course in all keeping up with tradition. Flute players danced along with the crowds as a Elvish woman with a harp on top of a platform carried by several men played to their song. Men and women, mostly Humans and Elves, danced to the harmonious music. Several women who wore rabbit mask tapped their hands with their tambourines and men wearing brightly colored dresses with a goat's horn headpiece sang to the joyous tune. Several entertainers were among them. One placed some form of liquid in this mouth and blew it at a torch he was holding, making a huge plume of fire towards the sky. Another was juggling various fruits while riding a unicycle. Hearty laughter, joyous singing and all sorts of festive cheers can be heard in the air. This large mass indulged in all sorts of revelry was heading to one place within the city, the forums. The forums was the central square of the city that led to some of the most important buildings. The senate's house, the Imperial Palace, the Grand Cathedral of Saint Leun and the Grand lodges of the masonry guilds were to name but some. The forum would always be packed in times of celebrations, of victories of the Empire and in religious festivities.

The Grand Father of the Crassonian Patriarchy, the head of the church in the region, had a pleasant look on his face yet deep inside he was brooding. The priest knew that all the mask, and the music and the celebrations themselves was for nothing more than to keep old traditions alive but it is still rooted in the pagan past. Those ancient traditions should have been forgotten to allow the saving grace of their lord of bring their souls to his paradise. Yes along with the sins of mortals, the disbelief in their lord and the ever present temptations of the devil, this pagan fest only made the souls of thousands more that less likely to reach their salvation. A hand was placed on the priest's shoulder has he began to ponder on the subject too deeply.

"You seem to buried in your thoughts again. Can a man of God not enjoy a little festivities?" A familiar voice addressed him with a cheery tune. He turned his back immediately to greet an old friend.

"Jullia! I thought the traders had you hostage. How did you escape?" He had a smile on his face. His thoughts on the salvation of his flock gone as he now turned his attention to his familiar.

"Do not remind me of this fiends and scoundrels. They would not stop about the incident last night. How their ships were destroyed during the middle of the night. A large fleet of raiders got past our fleet and burned down their vessels. They left a note saying they wanted rightful retribution. It was the Ayrians no doubt. My father told those rats not to deal with people of questionable character. Yet they gambled their wealth and lost. Typical of the families wouldn't you say?" Jullianine V, the Emperor of the Accrossinate Empire responded. Jullianine was a foot or two taller than the priest. Not unlike him however, tyhey both had graying hair and weakening bodies. The emperor was guarded on either sides by four Imperial Guardsmen. They wore armor as ornate and tough as the ones a stratēgos would wear into battle. Like the legionaries, the guards are harshly trained to disciplined and efficient in their task. They all carried Halberds with them.

"Those menaces would kiss the foot of Sallus himself if it meant a profit. Wouldn't be surprise if they already sold their soul to him. Where are your children Jullia? Off on another one of their misadventures?" The priest asked with a jest.

"They're in Nordamark. Off with a group from the families. They along with the representatives of the families will try to get make a contract with the Nordamarkians to sell them coal from Durstweall. Another envoy is heading to Durstweall now." Jullianine said as he kept his eyes on the coming crowd.

"Your children as diplomats. I though I'd never see the day!" The priest jokingly remarked. Both men gave off a hearty laugh.

"Come then Varrin, the crowd gathers. It is time for joyous celebration. I hope you can still hold you drink as you have before." Jullianine remarked in good humor as the crowd came. The guards were set to protect the Emperor but they and the Jullianine both knew he would be relatively safe.

War is the continuation of policy...

The Air Marshal shifted papers over his desk without a word, barely glancing at the reports. Income statements, army audits, intelligence profiles, all crossed his wide steel desk daily. The tall rectangular window behind him reached from floor to ceiling. The tiny lead square panes criss-crossed tiny black lines over his hands as he worked. A knock at the reinforced double doors opposite his desk.

"Come," the Lord Air Marshal beckoned.

A man in starched Air Force greys entered carrying a brown folio under his arm. The Marshal saluted without enthusiasm. "My thanks Tek, you may leave it and go." The secretary turned quickly on his heels without a word and left. The Marshal shoved papers to the side and emptied the pouch's contents onto the desk. A few dozen cream colored letters fell onto the desk. A medium-sized leather bound journal landed with a clunk.

The Marshal sighed and unclasped the lock on the journal. On the inside cover a name and date had been written in felt tip pen, long since bleeding into the paper.

Field Journal of Marcos Vendikos, January-1708, northern Gurska

Marcos turned the page of his old journal, and traced the first few lines with his finger.

Weather-dreary. Rain incessant. The damned air force is grounded for the day. All glory to the artillery. I wonder how Jol is faring in Idvas? Never a desk job for me I swear it.

The old warrior smirked and turned a few more pages. Another line: War is the continuation of policy....by other means.

Vendikos snapped the journal shut and turned to look out the window. The Air Force had begun the daily fanfare, a fly-by of the top forces stationed around Idvas, the capital of The Iron Federation of Gurska. Fixed-balloon airships in groups of three and four, with the clawed-wing of Gurska emblazoned on the side drifted over the city. Uncountable numbers of much faster bi-wing aircraft buzzed the larger blimps, turning circles and emitting colored streams of smoke, black and yellow, and red for the nations colors.

The fanfare would begin until noon, when the Infantry would begin their own display of colors, a march from the out-city barracks, around the city and through the southern gate, (the most heavily defended); a reenactment of what had occurred some ten years ago, when Vendikos' forces blasted through the last holdout of the Confederacy. The morale boost for the population would, at least get them up for work in the morning.

State News

Workers in Palomas have increased the quarterly output of Iron 300%. The raw material will be shipped to the Gesk Industrial Yards. Minister Gesk has awarded several mining contractors the medal of Valiant Labor

The Anti-Aircraft Regiment in Zerki has reported completion of it's training for the season. The Regiment, commanded by Captain Tol Brek reports efficiency ratings of 98%. "Our soldiers are the finest in the world and their aim is impeccable," said the Captain. The Anti-Aircraft detachment protects important agricultural investments in and around the city.

Krankar Palace, Trondem, Principality of Krankar

Chancellor Michal Poloskan walked firmly through the halls of the palace, his shiny boots making a muffled noise as they hit the royal red carpet. He had walked this route every week for the last few months to meet with His Imperial Majesty, Prince Johan Ainwald-Brexeter II. The Chancellor liked to pretend these meetings were fun and they actually did things to change the country as opposed to getting slightly drunk and shouting at each other - but they weren't. Johan was a different beast to his father, much younger and more rash. There was quite an age difference between the two men and when Johan had been crowned shortly after his fathers death, Michal had hoped the young Prince would look to him as a father figure, one who he took advice from. One who could influence his decisions.

But Johan had other ideas. On more than one occasion had the Monarch and State butted heads over foreign policy and military size, with the more conservative Diet reluctant to increase the military size to Johans standards. The Prince had taken to instead hiring mercenaries and absorbing them into his army, increasing it by a few hundred men. A few hundred men who leeched off of the military budget. The Chancellor grimly stood beside the door, not looking forward to this weeks meeting. The guard, a heavily armoured man with a pike, nodded at him and opened the door wide. 'Chancellor Michal here to see you, your Majesty' he announced, stepping aside to let the Chancellor inside the Princes study.

Prince Johan looked up from his desk and smiled warmly. 'Chancellor, it is good to see you' the younger man stood from behind his desk, standing at his full height and reached out a hand, which Michal shook stiffly. 'And you, your Majesty' he replied, bowing slightly. 'Please, take a seat, I just have to finish this letter to my wife. It'll only be a minute' gestured Johan. Michal sat down across Johan as the Prince quickly continued his letter. As he glanced around the study, he stroked his grey whiskers in wearily. Prince Johan was very different to normal Krankarian aristocracy - as opposed to wearing the traditional military uniforms and growing a large beard, he had taken to modern suit-and-ties and keeping a clean shaven chin. With his hair neatly combed back and a pair of sparkling blue eyes, it made him look several years younger. The Prince was fast approaching his thirtieth birthday and his ninth year on the throne yet looked no different to the day he had been crowned all those years ago.

The Chancellor had opted for a more traditional look. He strode about in shiny boots, a Field Marshall's uniform and a chestful of medals on his breast. But he had never seen a day on the battlefield, merely having been born into the right family at the right time to be promoted straight to the the top. And at the top he had stayed for past forty years now, using a variety of tactics to keep his region happy enough to be re-elected every year. The Poloskan's were a classical Krankarian aristocratic political family, a member being in every government for the past one-hundred-and-fifty-years. He also grew a large moustache that fed into a grey beard, which once had been grand and intimidating but now looked wispy and pathetic.

'So, Michal, how has your week been since our last meeting?' asked Johan quietly, scribbling furiously onto a piece of parchment. 'Well, your Majesty' he replied gruffly, wondering if the Prince remembered the spat they had gotten into the week before over recruitment quotas. 'And you?' Johan glanced up momentarily, smiling. 'I was with my son and wife at the lakeside a day into our holiday and I was dragged back here for work. Not great, I'll admit but these things have to be done, I'm afraid'. Michal didn't reply but silently loathed his lord a little bit more. Small talk fell to silence until Johan carefully put the pot on his ink and placed the quill back into it's case. The letter was stamped by his royal seal and placed behind him for later. He bridged his hands and placed his head on them, his eyes darting across the Chancellors face for a few moments. He was waiting for him to begin.

Michal cleared his throat and took a piece of paper from his pocket. It was a military report, given to him just this morning. 'At your request, we have begun another recruitment drive with the hopes of an extra 2,000 troops to be drafted into the reserve by the end of this month. And well...it's not going very well' admitted Michal, passing the report to the Prince. 'The Diet is split on the decision of enlarging the army, with a sizeable minority claiming it is unnecessary. We began the recruitment drive with a slight majority and have drafted an extra two hundred men in the last three weeks, well below the quota. We predict at this rate we will have up to 900 men extra in reserve by the start of summer, well behind the quota of 2,000 men'. The Chancellor paused, gauging Johan's reaction. The Prince was scanning the military report in silence, his jaw clenched slightly.

'You understand why I ask the Diet to begin a recruitment drive? My thoughts have been explained to those common fools, yes?' said Johan quietly, a sharp edge of anger cutting the side of voice. 'Yes, your majesty' said the Chancellor, bowing his head in respect. All the formalities the Prince had held earlier were fast going down the drain. 'We are surrounded on all sides by a group of insane empires at each others throats. We can't choose a side without being smashed to pieces by the other one. Krankar needs to arm herself with a larger army or we become the warground of the world!' his voice was raising slightly.

The Chancellor put his face into one palm and massaged his eyeballs. 'You have to understand, Johan, we have not had war in over 70 years! We cannot just suddenly arm ourselves and expect no one to know about it. We cannot both prepare for and stop war. We have not been invaded yet and in fact, our relations with the neighbouring empires is rather polite. I do not think we shall be invaded any time soon' he blurted, feeling exasperated with the man he called Prince.

'I would feel much safer in my bed at night if I knew that neither the Virians or the Valmian's had a chance of reaching Trondem in the next week' growled Johan. 'But we both know that isn't possible because we're one of the smallest countries on the continent!'

'Your Majesty, relax yourself. We have thrown a rope of friendship to some neighbours outside of the three that surround us' said the Chancellor. Johan waved a hand in disgust. 'Fuck off' he said, an edge of malice in his voice. 'No one tells me to relax myself. I didn't assume the throne to take orders from some crusty old man. I want you out of my palace and back in the Diet. If the army isn't expanded by the next time we meet, I'm going to start refusing legislation'. The Chancellor stood, mumbling an apology before being rushed out the door by one of the Royal Guards.

The Prince sat back, sighing and put his feet up. It was good to be Prince but sometimes, when surrounded by idiots, one couldn't help but wish for a simpler life.

Ruumstumpf Commercial Airport

The zeppelin slowly rose into the air as the weights were thrown off one by one. The rising sun in the horizon cast a long shadow that slowly retreated as the zeppelin reached high into the sky. On board the commercial Zeppelin sat several Krankarian diplomats and a small unit of guards, including one Ambassador Heinrich. He was a tall, stooping man who wore a military uniform, although he had never fought in a war. His moustache was neatly plucked and his hair cut down to the scalp. A serious expression furrowed his face as watched the world slowly get smaller below him.

'Good morning, sirs, and welcome to Ruum Airways, Hunderhuss-class #25. Our destination is Segue Airstrip in Astoria and we shall be flying over the Velis Empire for the quickest route. In the unlikely case of emergency, parachutes are available under all your seats. You shall place the parachute onto your back and proceed to checkpoint 1 at the left hand side of the airship. There, you will receive further instructions. We'd like to thank you all for flying with Ruum and as you are VIPs, all your needs shall be served at no extra price. It is currently eight in the morning and we shall be arriving in Astoria in the late evening, perhaps 8-9pm. The weather is looking clear and sunny but we expect rain upon approaching the Segue Airstrip. We'd like to thank you for choosing Ruum Airways and we hope you enjoy your journey with us!' said the unusually happy stewardess, not taking a single breathe. The cabin was largely empty par from the diplomats and the guards, who all sat around a table smoking or talking quietly. Ambassador Heinrich stood at the window, sipping on a glass of water as he stared at the ground below. The engines hummed at his feet and in the ceiling.

'Ambassador, you have received your orders, yes?' came a voice at his ear. It was Stein, the mercenary captain of the small group of guards who surrounded him. Heinrich nodded and nudged the suitcase at his feet. 'Good' smiled Stein, placing a warm hand on the Ambassadors shoulder. 'This meeting with the Astorian's shall go to plan, I promise you'. Heinrich nodded, pursing his lips slightly.

His eyes stayed out the window as the airship crept above the clouds. The Astorian's were Krankar's final hope, according to Chancellor Michal. An alliance with them would help the Prince sleep soundly at night. An alliance with them would change the playing field.