International News

-Moves in the Great Game!
"...the Federation has announced that it is currently in tense negotiations with representatives of the Continental Union and Free States over the specifics of the 'Noravean Question'. Federation spokesperson Natalia Poklonskaya has already confirmed that some military actions will be needed to solve the crisis but political experts are hesitant to say what actions will be undertaken..." The nations of the Free World have already anounced their determination on ending the strife in Noravea and no one is even considering the possibility of a diplomatic solution anymore save for a few Kingdoms and Dominion statesmen through a last minute deal of Lord Penwood. The form and shape of the 'Or Else' in the ultimatum however is slow to take place.

-International Aid waiting!
Gray continues to refuse the aid of help workers, pretending that it is a trick to smuggle illegal goods, especially ammunitions and weapons in the country. In Crosswater, Northland and Morcoa, Laurentia, aid personal and supplies are massing next to the military ones. On the Laurentian border, doctors without border are moving in Unterberg to help the refugees due to how porous the border has become while on the Northlander border, a significant increase of medical goods available on the black market of Aiona is reported, causing a much needed price drop across the country.

-Wilhelmsland calls on the ethnic Losnians!
"Join me and you shall never starve or be oppressed again!" Physically, that this traduces itself is in Oberhof getting a record amount of weapons of all types, especially assault rifles and rocket launchers through the border, completely crashing the prices as the army struggles to find and destroy all the equipment, managing to find roughly 70% of them but still allowing a massive amount through their net.

National News

-Four weeks of Janus!
Janus has gotten what he wanted, a contingent of snipers from the Oakdale Ranger Academy and they are being deployed in Varisso. Anyone is fair game and the bastards are known for their use of land mines to cover their back while they gun down innocents. Expect even more heavy attrition from operating in this area for now on.

-Disappearances!
A rise in disappearances has been noted first around Aiona but now increases across the country, international watchmen suspect human slave trade as just another despicable activities going on in Aiona. Young and healthy people are of course prioritized, but even the elderly are vulnerable to being ransomed to their families in exchange for valuables.

-The Aristocrat in Concordia hardly stressed!
"We are all reasonable gentlemen here..." Lord Penwood seen waiting with his bodyguards all day long in the yard of the GBU embassy, ordering tea from a coffee shop across the embassy 'encouraging the local economy through his generous patronage' as he still awaits someone to negotiate with to be dispatched to him. His presence gives hope that there is still a possibility of a de-escalation, although some wonder if he's looking to make last minute deals with other people than the government.

Local News

-The Arsenal over capacity! SOUTHWICH, EASTWOOD
-With the recent influx of Wilhelmslander weapons and ammunition to arm rebels, captured goods have been sent to the Southwich arsenal, the courtyard of the old Cathedral now being filled as well. The number of guards have increased accordingly, but they complained about a lack of search lights for night surveillance, and have filled an order to Concordia asking for such.

-Trucks for guns, trucks for food! VARISSO, POMORUM
The Varisso's People Liberation Army (VPLA), the most active liberator group of the country, still holds control of the automotive factory, a dent in the front that Janus uses to mow down as many people as he can, and they have now decided to provide trucks for anyone who can provide much needed supplies.

-Everything is normal, glory to Noravea! CONCORDIA
In Concordia, food from Vandalia sees its price artificially controlled to more affordable levels even if it bankrupts those selling it as the Red Guard watches vigilantly for trouble maker. Everything is fine. Everything.

-Another Party! TIVARFELL, CONCORDIA
Florence Gray is to hold another of her exquisite diner party with everyone who's someone invited. No one knows of her husband will be present but General Janus, Manik and Vladiclaw have already declined with all the governors but Sejic accepting (Sejic told she wasn't invited in the first place!).

-An offer for peace! KINDALE, KINGSLAND
Governor Belgrass sent an offer to the unions of the city from a civilian representative with a white flag. His offer is 16h work weeks for all the workers to reopen the prints for a slow production, insisting that there is currently no more work and that even this is something he had to rip from Gray himself. He understands the situation is difficult but emphasis it will provide basic needs for their families.

-Gunship Island! EASTPORT, EASTWOOD
One more ship has been ordered to be built, one with no engines which is to be towed outside of the port to be anchored there, 'To defend the homeland', but no doubt from its own people as this would provide an excellent way to rain down hell on rebellious parts of the town.

-Makeshift heliport! KIRHALL, SYLVANIA
The soldiers in the town hardly leave it now, knowing that they've lost the control of the woods. They have hired the lumberjacks of the town, always looking for work, to cut swats of wood right outside the town to provide a workable flat ground to be used by helicopters and also a firing zone to shot at approaching enemies.

-Waste depot? KELDMOOR, POMORUM
The engineers stationed in the town are getting nervous as they've forbidden anyone from approaching the dam and have begun to stock up on stinky and no doubt highly toxic industrial wastes from the region. It is extremely suspicious that some of General Janus's personal troops along with one of his most trusted Majors have arrived and are held up in the dam as well.

-Air raids! UNTERBURG, AVALONIA
The few shoulder anti-air missiles provided by the Laurentians do little against fighter jets, their domain of expertise being taking down helicopters. The regime has begun bombing buildings with heavy collateral damages, uncaring about the presence of media across the border. Still, another thing across the border is helping: While unwilling to go pass the border with fighters of their own to protect the city, Laurentia has set up air warning sirens right next to the city, using their own radars to warn from incoming strikes. Another thing is quite unsettling for the royalists however: The strikes are targeted. Somewhere among the refugees there are spies giving out information about where they are holding up.

Joe's right arm swung in an arc and his left followed obediently, the blade of his hatchet sent chunks of bark and pale wood flying into the sluggish but cool air He stood wide legged and steady, his black and green checkered top strained in places as his arms came down abruptly once more, another lump of tree flesh flashing past his face. Four long tree corpses lay beside the one he was cutting apart, all of them ready for today's action.

Behind him Joe could hear Charlie and Alpha setting up the wire and clamping down the holding bars, he would help them after he pulled down the current and the next sorry pine, they didn't know this dark wood and the rough bark like he did. The platforms for these trees of death were already set up and the wedges ready, Joe didn't want to see the bodies that were unlucky enough to catch these as they fell.

---

Rich stood by the road side with his rifle in front of him, leaning against a tree, he kicked a pine cone - his boot just clipped it and the grenade looking thing rolled a meager few feet. Frustratingly but subtly he pushed off the tree and pulled his leg back, plummeting his foot down his toes lifted the cone into the air and he heard it crash through the leaves and needles on the other side of the road. Relaxing back onto the tall tree he heard the boys behind him being taught a lesson by the woodsmen, who seemed to prefer trees to actually human beings, but Rich didn't mind that.

The adrenaline had begun to rise steadily through his body a few minutes ago, it was only an hour until the convoy was expected and he was ready for the fight.

---

Captain Furus on falling woods.

' Intel suggest the convoy will be composed of one BMP and four trucks. Aiming to maintaining supplies we will not use a mine, instead attempt to entangle the tracks of the BMP leading the convoy with a steel cable, stopping it in its tracks. Following this the trees will fall on the trucks and our men will eliminate all resistance'

---

It wasn't a BMP. They had tracks, this thing had wheels, eight of the fucking things. Tucked up against the foliage Rich held his rifle close to his chest and felt the ground shift as the BTR crashed into the Steel cable stretched across the road, pulling trees from their massive roots its wheels twisted and it skidded into the road side, crashing violently into the trees there.

Rushing forward with the others they tucked into the BTR's blind side and killed the driver of the truck in front of them, two of the trucks were already crushed, rich heard gunfire further into the convoy, and he thought he saw Franklin hit the floor. One trooper stepped out of a truck and sent a barrage of bullets flying in all directions, clipping one of Richs squad mates.

Rich shot him in the head, a burst of crimson decorated the crack windscreen behind him, he fell limply.

The BTR fired wildly but its area of fire was no where near the squads. A lone trooper stumbled from another truck screaming in agony, steam rose from his red fleshy body, a yellow stain in his blood as it pooled beneath him. Leiutenant Rose put the man out of his misery.

Orders were to pull back, the BTR was radioing in reinforcements, and Rich was left as scout to assess the heat. After around 15 minutes the hazy sound of a chopped crashed over the forest and he called it in, the rest of bravo wasn't far behind him.

He saw rockets being fired from his side and the stuck BTR's turret erupted from its body, burrowing into the soil not a few feet away from him, the heli evaded the high rise RPGs fired from within the woods, unleashing a burst of rage upon those that had fired them and then flew away at some speed. Looking up and brushing the dirt from his face, Rich saw three more BTR's rolling in and around 20 troops on foot.
“Pull back to Echo line, Alpha, Bravo and Charlie, bunker down in 4 to 13 burrows, all troops lay low” Captain Furus' voice came across the Radio.

[color=f7976aFalling back Rich ran to his squad, and joined them in 6th burrow underground, once he had caught his breath, he heard footsteps above.[/color]

Camp Legion

10 Miles out of Eastport

2:00 AM

Joseph sat with his four fellow advisors around a campfire, with an AK-47 in hand. The camp was hard at work. Jeep’s being prepped, drills being done and information being retrieved from the two active cells. “Concordia reported in, same with PEACEFOR” stated Anastasia. “Good, very well get Moe in place.” Joseph stated. Moe, roughly 6’3 in height, while holding onto an AK-47 like it was a toy gun and having bandoliers of ammunition on him looked to Joseph. “Boss?” asked Moe. “Status” replied Joseph in a cold voice. “Scouts reported in, city seems decently guarded, but with a long firefight and careful planning we can take them out.” Moe stated. “Call in Vladmir!” shouted Moe. An pale man, seen holding an FN Fal in his hands bowed to Moe and Joseph. “You know the area well?” asked Joseph, looking to Vladmir. “Yes sir” replied Vladmir, in an calm yet affirmative voice. “Timmy, paper and pen.. map making paper” Joseph uttered, as he stared Vladmir down with a look, almost to test how he reacts.

Vladmir stood tall. Timmy, with Moe’s help prepped a table and two foldable chairs. Joseph sat on one of them, while he directed Vladmir to sit on the other. “Explain, while you draw.” stated Joseph. Vladmir then went on.. “There are two roads leading into the town, with two checkposts. Two men, one of them armed with an assault rifle, couldn’t get the make.. the other armed with a pistol. They check on most cars, expect Military. As the two is seen, two watch towers with one sniper and one assault rifle. Sniper seemed bored, and reading a magazine, while Assault Rifle generally doozes off in the day and the night guard listens to the radio. The town has some military presence, with roughly 20-40 guards patrolling the streets at any given time. Interesting points include… Agency for workers, located near to the docks. Docks have an Military patrol boat, an frigate in needs of repairs and a few other boats in needs of repairs and some jetski’s with some fishing boats. The locals prefer a few places in the city, one a tavern down by the mayor’s office.. an huge get together spot for the unemployed people..” observed Vladmir as he mapped it all while talking with Joseph. More spots of importance were mentioned untill.. “...the barracks are roughly behind city hall, 7.5 Inch high walls, with barb wire. Medium building, probably capable of housing 70-80 men. My guess is the town runs in three rotation periods.. 6AM to 2 PM, 2PM to 11 PM and 11 PM to 6 AM… moral shifts between shifts, morning shift guards are more tired, but greater numbers… roughly 35 around the town. Afternoon shift has roughly 15 Men, lowest but these guys care about what they do, and have the gear to show for it… the night shift then gets 25 men. Mostly middle aged vets, who are doing this gig by the looks of it for extra cash.. that leads us to roughly..75 men.. and.. overall 80 men in the town by the looks of it, but no more then 100..” Vladmir stated, after being done the map. “Alot of men, and the town’s locals have unrest due to the lack of unemployment in the town… yet an gunship is seen being made in the city, the shell jus got laid down a few weeks ago..” Vladmir stated. “Good work, get a good night’s sleep..” Joseph commanded.

“So what’s our next move?” asked Moe, taking Vlads spot. Joseph pointed to both checkpoints, on the entrance and exit of the towns. “Obtain the Military supplies schedule/manifest, since there making a gunship they need supplies for it, but also any food or anything else of value, of course hidden in the night and from a angle that fits your purpose” stated Joseph. “The Operation shall be named “Operation Sightseer, once we get control of the checkpoints we slowly go for the towers, sneaking into the town… we slowly incite protests for unemployment at key locations, such as the tavern, city hall with the town locals, the military will then have their hands filled. We target and then attack them there and then” Joseph planned. Moe nodded, and without a word preparations were in place..

Taking a step forward, Aalamgeer slammed his fists onto the table in a fit of rage. He looked to the five men who stood before him, anger burning in his eyes. The paladins were no stranger to this type of behavior as the Tskar was a man of passion and could never seem to shut off such feelings.

"For too long we've sat on our hands while Gray has held us under his boot! We left his army for a reason, gentleman... and it's about time we make good on our word", the Tskar exclaimed to his round table of soldiers, "with the main military force distracted by the oncoming foreign invaders, we strike! Tonight, we make our first moves in the start of a glorious campaign". Aalamgeer cleared his throat as he read the reactions of his brothers with a scrutinizing gaze. "I read your reports on the area. I've come to a conclusion as to how we'll go about this accordingly. Tonight, we send out the third Bhaalkars to Kinbeck and the first Bhaalkars to Portswitch..."



Kaing knew that it was a foolish mistake to make such bold moves so early. PEACEFOR operations hadn't even began yet, Gray's army was all over Noravea in full force. If they made themselves known so soon, they'd be taken out within the week. Yet, without so much as a shake of the head from the other four knights, Kaing was in the silent minority and couldn't do a damned thing about it. He left the Tskar's tent in disgust, genuinely fearful for the lives of the men under his command. Yet he would still do as he was told.

Camp Weskerhill was a hive of activity. Troops moved about, some hustling supplies or gear from one tent to another and others vigorously working out or practicing on the range. Large tents were set up across the grassy flatland, organized around the central tent which he had just left. Upon exit, he was greeted by an idol of the Goddess herself, crafted years ago and transported here as both a place to direct worship and a symbol of the Holy Kingdom. The camp was surrounded by barbed wire, fencing, and four hastily constructed watch towers at each corner. It wouldn't stand a chance if it were to come under full threat and at the moment, it was open to being spotted by anything in the air. Kaing would have to see to that within the next few days, hopefully able to petition the Tskar to send a Bhaalkar squad in search of camouflage material. Kaing offered the statue of Awliya a quick bow before moving onward to his destination, the Officers' tent. On his way, he spotted a group of Bhaalkars sat at a table with scrap electronics whilst the officer of the Second Bhaalkars taught them the ins and outs of making improvised explosives.

After entering the Officers' tent, the paladin immediatly spotted the man he was looking for, Officer Falki. He approached the man, putting a hand on his shoulder and gesturing for the two to head to take a seat. Kaing began to explain the details of the upcoming mission.

"Your squad goes to Kinbeck tonight under the cover of darkness, you'll all be given paladin equipment instead of that black market shit you're used to. The Tskar wants you to plant explosives on the train tracks and cut a hole in the crossroads. This isn't a mission to destroy infrastructure, though. After you plant the explosives, find a spot far enough that you won't be noticed... but close enough that you can observe with binoculars. The goal is to get a good judgement on the reaction time of Gray's men and if possible, ambush them and take their equipment". The officer gave a curt nod, a small grin on his face.

Kaing continued, "Take enough food to last a day or two and a couple of tents. We don't know how long it'll take, considering what's going on in the capital. If you need more supplies, send a runner to us and we'll send him back with what ever you need", Kaing paused for a moment to think something over, "...and for the sake of the Goddess, if the people that Gray sends are too much to handle, back off! You have nothing to prove, Kalimdor".



The sun was starting to set when Nathan's squad got the orders from their officer and now that they were on the road it was nearly pitch black. The Bhaalkars were a tough group of men, all of them were normal citizens before being hardened by the underground in which they served for many years. It wasn't until now that they were a true military force but Nathan could hardly tell, given how they handled themselves.

Their orders were simple and Nathan hated that. He came to Noravea to serve his Goddess in glorious battle and instead was saddled with missionary work. His squad was sent to Portswitch to call upon civilians to join the fray. He only hoped that one of Gray's patrols came across them so he could put a bullet in the head of one of the infidels.

The lights of civilization glowed in the distance. They were close. The plan was to split up and go to various local sites such as bars and churches, announcing to the people that the Holy Kingdom offered claims to ethnic Noraveans on Laurentian and Cartanian property. As the group approached the city, Nathan rehearsed the words in his head. In the name of the Goddess, the Holy Kingdom beckons you...



"Hurry the fuck up! Do you want a patrol to see us!?", Falki barked at one of his men who was lagging behind as the squad ran past a stationary spotlight toward the tracks. Falki kept a strong hand on the grip of his assault rifle, ready to whip it up and begin firing rounds into any Fascist that might come across them. As the group fell upon a set of track that sprawled northward, they came to a stop. Falki spun on his heel and pulled his rifle up, aiming into the darkness before them and searching for signs of life.

One of the squad members fell to their knees at the track and threw a duffle bag down. He dug in the bag, removing scrap metal, bags of powder, and electronic wires. The man got to work, focusing on the task at hand while uttering prayers loud enough for the others to hear. Falki and the rest of the squad kept a semi circle around the trapper, keeping a watchful eye for enemy activity.



The bar was full of patrons going about their routine. Most looked sullen and tired, likely finishing off their day with a relaxing drink before calling it a night. Some of the patrons were merry, however, dancing and singing to old folk songs on the radio. There was a sign on the wall that indicated a huge price increase on the beverages but it looked as if these drinkers were throwing little more than change at the bartender. Nathan approached the counter, taking a seat on an empty stool before flagging down the bartender.

"Hello, my friend! Some beer for you today?", The bartender asked. This man was also extremely livid considering the turmoil that their country was plunged into. Nathan couldn't help but smile at this.

"Ah, yes, one please. How much will that be?" The bartender nodded, taking a glass and moving to fill it at a tap. He looked Nathan over while doing so.

"Just a few coins, my friend! No more after tonight, might as well share it with good people, yes?", the bartender explained after handing Nathan a mug of beer. The foreigner placed a few coins on the counter top, which the bartender swiped up. The bartender looked around at the other patrons before leaning in to speak to Nathan quietly. Nathan didn't touch his drink, using it as more of a conversation tool. Awliyans were proud to abstain, after all.

"You... are not from here, no? You look like a Northlander". Nathan, again, smiled. He nodded.

"Aye, I'm from Northland. I couldn't sit back and be cozy while the Goddess' children were under plight, eh?"

"I wouldn't speak those words, friend! If a soldier heard you-..."

"If I die... if I am tortured for Awliya, then I will suffer proudly". With that, Nathan stood and turned to the patrons who were joyous. Instead of taking a tactful approach, he knew what he would do. He would prey upon pride. He would bring up emotion.

"What about the rest of you!? You sit here, drinking yourselves to death while followers of the Goddess are put down! You go about your lives, waiting for everything to fix itself! How dare you, Her own children, ignore the cries of your brothers!? We can be idle no more! There are those who fight for Awliya! Those who would ram against the Laurentians, driving our people into slaughterhouses! Those who would end the Cartanians, haters of the rightful heirs of the Holy Land! I may not be a child of our Goddess but I urge you to join me in the Exodus!"

It was like time froze. The barflies, the drunks, the fishermen enjoying themselves at the end of the day. They stared at Nathan in awe. He couldn't tell what they were thinking but he was afraid that this would be a worthless attempt. He hoped the others had found success in recruitment if he should fail.



The explosion didn't do much but it did it's job. Kalimdor would make sure that the sapper would train on creating improvised explosives later, considering the device he made should have rocked the earth itself. Instead, the tracks were wrecked enough to cause a train to derail but it was nothing that couldn't be fixed within half a day, maybe even less time than that. The officer called for his men to run, the sound likely to call the attention of anyone nearby.

They had already set up camp a ways back. Far enough that they couldn't be spotted without a search but they would still be able to observe any activity on the railway. They would ambush the investigators as soon as they arrived, assuming that they could make it back to camp first.

Branka Vasun was a name that had become infamous in Westland. The young woman—young girl, really, just barely an adult—was responsible for almost as many headaches in the regime's leadership as she was missing heads among its footsoldiers. Her face was plastered all over town, wanted posters pasted over top of the plentiful Kingsmen recruitment posters by Crimson Grey's men, offering lethal warning to any civilians that might be sheltering her and a hefty reward to anyone with good eyes who might spot her and inform their local guard unit. The image of Branka's frown had ultimately only helped the Kingsmen's efforts in Westland; as calming and reassuring as King Amrend III's smiling mug was on the original Kingsmen posters, in these times, strength is respected more so than right. And strength was something Branka, and her growing legend, possessed in abundance.

Squeezing the trigger from atop the hillside, Branka listened and watched as her shot rang out across the hills, finding its mark after about two seconds of travel time. This target was a soldier of Wilhelmsland, standing guard at that province's northern border, very near to Aquaegard. As soon as PEACEFOR's invasion of Rothland began, the Wilhelmslanders could be relied upon to move into Westland, and Aquaegard was the obvious first target. They'd be marching awfully cautiously through these hills once it started happening, though. The fools probably took Branka's presence here for the past few weeks, practising her range shots, for the activities of a whole crew of government snipers. If Crimson Grey knew just how much death Miss Vasun was actually responsible for, the bounty on her head would be a hell of a lot more than a year's supply of food. Maybe the crotchety old fuck would invite whoever tipped his men off to one of his wife's fancy parties. Branka sure would've loved to attend one of those. All of those important people all huddled together in one place, practically begging to be killed all at once. Alas, the Greys didn't give invitations to enemy combatants, no matter how many of a mutual enemy's men they deheaded. With that disappointment in mind, Branka disassembled her rifle and packed up her long range equipment into its case, preparing to gingerly descend the hill and head back to her cabin, a few kilometres to the north-west. Maybe she'd take a pot shot at a cop in Aquaegard after she'd dropped off her ghillie suit in her quarters. Who knew? The day was young, and there was always another republican in need of a bulletectomy.



General Gale Brown first down angrily, making the table shake and sending a cup of coffee falling down to the floor on Ferren Quartz's shoes. The General sneered, taking a quick glance at the product of his anger, and then stormed into his quarters and slammed the door behind him, apparently determined to only destroy his own things with the remainder of his violent rage. Ferren just sighed; the Laurentians had given the Kingsmen plenty of shoes, so he didn't care much about those, but he had really needed that coffee. Hell, with how these past few days had been going, he needed some Aiona product; the coffee was just the next best thing.

Lieutenant-General Anastasia Sas grumbled under her breath as she sat at the table next to Ferren, unimpressed by her commanding officer's childishness. The government's air raids in Unterburg had been a thorn in both of their sides, but you didn't see her storming off to her bedroom like an angst-ridden pre-teen. She remained, calm, cool, collected: and, of course, cruel. The attacks had been too precise and too close to accurate for there to be any question that there was a spy somewhere in the organization, and specifically in the Avalonian Crown Militia. It couldn't be in the Royal Guard; Sas had vetted them all personally, and the raids hadn't hit the Royal Guard Compound yet. The Crown militias weren't even supposed to know the location of any Kingsmen sites, but Avalonia was sort of the exception. The closeness with which the Royal Guard and the Crown militia in that province operated necessitated a strong degree of inter-communication. One of the long time Avalonia Crown militiamen must have blabbed about the location of the HQ to some new blood, and that new blood turned out to be a spy. The response was clear, but naturally took some time. It needed to be ensured that the spy didn't run off and tell Crimson Grey the location of the Royal Guard compound as soon as he was told to report there for his training, so each of the five likeliest spy candidates had to be picked up a in a secondary location, and sent to the compound individually. This was more time intensive than Sas would've liked, but it seemed luck was on her side. Ferren had only just bent down to clean the caffeine off of his boots when Sas heard hollering towards the entrance of the compound. She looked out over the balcony next to the officer's table, where the supervisor had resided before the mill was shut down, and saw about big group of sixteen men walk in through the emergency exit, five of them in some level of bondage and wearing blindfolds. The sight was nearly enough to make her smile—nearly.

Ferren followed behind Sas closely, one other member of the Royal Guard that had been seated at the officer's table following behind him in turn as they descended the mill's stairs down to the factory level. By the time the three of them reached the group of new arrivals, the five bound men had already been brought down to her knees, facing the passageway Ferren and Sas walked out of. Sas wasted absolutely no time at all. Staring in utter contempt at those assembled, all of whom bore expressions as if they were completely terrified and had no idea what was going on, she muttered, "Are these them?".

"Yup", one of the newly arrived Royal Guardsmen responded simply. He was in civilian wear, and had no (openly carried) weapons. "Five most likely candidates. All of them had either been to the HQ at least once or had been spending a lot of time chatting with someone who did. That one of the left there, far le-".

Before the soldier could finish his sentence, Sas pulled out her revolver and emptied a round into the left-most captive's skull. Ferren balked, and opened his mouth agape when Sas followed suit by sticking a knife into the gut of the next prisoner, heading right. The stabbed man screamed in agony, his intestines starting to pour out of his wound, and his dead compatriot's blood already pooling to wet his knees. The man on the far right stood up and tried to run, which pulled Ferren out of his shock. He drew his own handgun and fired at the fleeing man's arm, hitting him and sending him falling to the floor, screaming in pain. The guards standing behind the prisoners grabbed a tight hold of the remaining two, expecting Sas to want to kill them. She paused, though, merely wiping one side of her bloody knife off on either of their cheeks. "The one who ran", she began, setting her weapons away again. "It was him. Dress his wound and take him to the interrogation room, I'll deal with him myself, later. Bury the dead, and tell their families they were blown apart in the air raids. As for these two..." Sas planted a kiss on the bloodied cheeks of the two surviving Crown militiamen. "You picked them up under the guise of recruiting them into the Royal Guard, correct? Well, congratulations fellas. You're in. Training begins today. You won't be seeing your families for awhile. Don't worry, we'll send someone to give them the good news. And if you try to leave this compound, your deaths will be so unpleasant that you will find yourselves praying to the Lord above that you'd been the one whose intestines I removed. That'll be all, gentlemen".

With that, Sas calmly walked back towards the stairs, heading up to her quarters. Ferren chuckled a little, for a moment, then stopped when he realized he was laughing about two people being murdered. Turning to the two bound Avalonians, he removed their blind-folds and spoke. "I, uhh. I guess it's nice to meet you two. That was Sas. She's your new boss. Don't fuck up". The two men stared into Ferren's eyes in disbelief, breathing and sweating heavily, overcome with a combination of joy at being alive and terror at the prospect of what being alive might mean for them now. Ferren recognized the look. It made him laugh again, and this time he didn't stop himself. He leaned down, stole the nice, clean boots off of the man writhing in pain that he'd just shot, and then gave one last nod to his new brothers in arms before heading upstairs. "Name's Ferren Quartz, by the way. You two best help your new partners clean up the dead. Don't want this place reeking tomorrow". With a salute, made awkward by the pair of boots in his hands, Ferren loudly called out "God save the King!" and then turned away to walk over to the barracks at the other end of the mill. Hopefully there was some coffee left.

Jethro Dunbar

Jethro sat at the head of the table, looking down at his four lieutenants. Two sat on each side. All five in the room were in their late 30s, who had spent their lives working on the ports or in the printing presses within Kingsland. That, coincidentally, was the reason why they were sat together. Brought together by their hatred of Governor Belgrass and their wish to oust him, by any means necessary. And for that, they looked to Jethro, their former union leader-turned-warlord. He had gained notoriety among Belgrass' security forces, but not really any outside of Kingsland, at least not to his knowledge.

"Gentlemen, I trust we are doing well," Jethro began. "We cannot meet for too long for I fear Belgrass' men will be nearby. So I will make it short."

He took a deep breath.

"Non-stop, for the past month, we have been attacking outposts, convoys, headquarters, anywhere he thinks he can hide his devious plans from us. But, fear not, we will find every last hiding spot and purge them from it. And soon, brothers, we will take Kingston, by any means necessary."

Orson Stein

Orson lay in the brush, cradling his AK-47. In front of him was the dirt road the military convoy was going to be rolling down in under three minutes. He was told that this particular convoy would be carrying weaponry that would be beneficial to the cause. The nine other fighters were dotted along the road, armed with similar weapons. At the first shot, the attack would begin. Orson was steeling his nerves, bracing himself. He made sure his weapon was fully loaded, and nothing was jammed. The last thing he wanted was to be caught out by a highly trained force of heavily armed soldiers.

It's just like all the other times, he thought to himself. They stand for what you hate. They drove you out of a job. They drove you to this.

As he closed his eyes and prepared himself, he heard the engines humming in the distance. Orson opened his eyes and saw the headlights slowly coming towards him. There looked to be about three vehicles. Two jeeps sporting turrets, both manned, and a truck. Orson assumed that was where he was going to find the items he'd been sent for. He pulled the balaclava further down over his face, and waited. It felt like an eternity, but, in reality, the convoy was soon to be upon Orson and his comrades. And the shooting was about to begin.

Jethro Dunbar

Jethro looked among his men, smiling reassuringly. The last thing he needed was for them to get cold feet just as they were getting the advantage over Belgrass' forces. He opened his mouth to speak again, but as he did so, a young member of his militia burst in, panting.

"Sir, sir," he said. "Our scouts are reporting that Belgrass has sent an emissary to discuss terms!"

"Well then," Jethro answered. "Bring him to me and we shall discuss... terms."

Thomas Kaufman

Thomas watched as the first jeep slowed to a halt, after seeing the deer that had been dragged in the way to act as a roadblock. Obviously, it was going to raise some suspicion, but it was almost midnight, and Thomas and his fellow fighters were almost invisible due to the poor visibility. Thomas' men were not to fire until he did, and Thomas was seconds from doing so until he saw the four extra soldiers hop out the back of the truck and go to try and move the deer.

Thomas lay in the ditch, waited for them to go past and took aim at the driver of the truck. He exhaled, making sure he'd got the perfect shot lined up. One wrong shot could get everybody killed. He put the thought out of his mind. As long as the truck stayed still, his payload was secure. And that's what drove him to do it. Thomas pulled the trigger and fired around six shots at the driver's side of the cab. One was bound to hit the driver.

His fellow NDF members got the idea and opened fire as well. The soldiers grouped around the deer were dropped almost instantly, but Thomas wasn't paying attention to that. As soon as he got the truck driver, he focused his aim on the first turret, and emptied the rest of the clip in the gunner's direction. He smiled as the gunner fell off the back and into a heap on the dirt. Thomas reloaded and advanced towards the truck, keeping an aim at the passenger side. He wasn't sure if the passenger had got out or not.

He watched as the men who had attacked the back jeep headed in the truck's direction too. They began to unload the back and carry the boxes containing the weapons in the direction of their own truck they'd stashed in the general location hours before the attack.

As Thomas rounded the corner, he saw a pair of legs stretched out. Once fully around, he saw they belonged to a bleeding soldier who had an obvious gunshot wound to the abdomen. Thomas took aim, and put him out his misery with a simple bullet to the head. As the corpse slid over onto it's side, Thomas peeked inside the cab. It's was a bloodbath. The blood coated almost every bit of the cab. Thomas looked away and joined his brothers in stealing the boxes.

5 Days since Defection of the 12th Mechanized Infantry Company
Captain Monroe, Base Camp

Hidden within the shadows of oak trees, a formation of tents are made up in a clearing of the ancient trees. Lined in an orderly and precise fashion, that could only bring to mind that of military organisation, that is of-course, if the armed guards patrolling the perimeter or seeing past the camouflage netting over said tents didn't give it away first. The camp's inhabitants have certainly dug in, ditches dot the perimeter where defenders have cover and set up firing arcs, and shrubbery has been moved to provide basic camouflage to hide the camp somewhat from prying eyes and the 3 BTRs currently parked up. The camp is situated along an old logging road, long since unused, the crude dirt road allowing the BTRs easy access, but deep enough into the woods that they wouldn't be heard from the main roads or nearby town of Kirhall.

The command tent, the largest of the array of tents across the clearing, was a constant source of activity as information was relayed and sent. Captain Monroe sat at his makeshift, fold-able table, a spread of sheets before him. He didn't consider himself a desk jockey, and now that his unit had gone rogue he technically didn't have to do any of this, however it still required logistics and information to keep them out of hot water, and updates via radio from those out on missions had to be logged and read. Right now, however Lieutenant Salazar sat across from him, the man was cold and professional, however the fact that he'd joined the 12th in their departure was a testament to his morals, indeed of anyone at this camp. Good men all.

"First platoon are in position. As we speak, Sergeant Kohl and his team have set up and are keeping tabs on the enemy position within Kirhall, I imagine we'll be receiving a report soon... Meanwhile, the rest of my platoon have set up a blockade on one of the main roads leading into Kirhall accompanied by a BTR. Any military personnel and vehicles are to be captured if possible as ordered." He spoke smoothly, unburdened by emotion but one, duty.
"Execellent work Lieutenant, keep me updated." Captain Monroe responded with a similar cool, that only a veteran could match.

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Sergeant Kohl, Treeline around Kirhall

"Always scouting duty..." The muttered words came out to Sergeant Kohl's left. As he gazed through a pair of binoculars at the town of Kirhall from the cover provided by the dense greenery and overgrowth of the Sylvanian woodlands.
" Knock it off, Private." Was his sharp reply as he gave a glance at the private against a nearby tree bearing a large radio on his back. Before once more looking into the binoculars, A rather unremarkable town it was.
"Listen here Private, I want you to repeat everything I say to base camp... A moderate sized force of hostiles occupy the town, Several vehicles present. The general population are treated poorly, something akin to prisoners in their own home. Lumberjacks in the area are cutting down trees around the town in a 1 kilometer perimeter which is overseen by the military. In the event of an assault, this will provide a no cover zone, to be in effective range we would have to reveal ourselves. It is in my tactical opinion that we remove this possibility." The sergeant spoke, only to be echoed by the Private seconds later as he spoke into the long range radio on a previously unused frequency of the military.

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Private Mullen, Road blockade leading into Kirhall

Private Mullen found himself silently regretting volunteering for this particular mission. With hindsight, he probably should have asked what it would entail, but with Lieutenant Salazar's 'no shit' attitude he found it hard to say no to the man. Instead, he found himself standing in the middle of one of the major roads leading into Sylvania, waving down military vehicles for assistance in regards to the large BTR practically blocking the one-way road for all but the smallest civilian vehicles. Any military vehicle that stopped would be surprised by the 2 squads of armed infantrymen appearing out of the brush on their flanks. At-least that was the plan...

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A few hours later
Captain Monroe, Base Camp

"Very good Private. Tell Sergeant Kohl to stay in position and report any more activity, should it occur." Monroe finished speaking as the flap to his tent parted, revealing a grinning Lieutenant Salazar.
"The plan paid off Sir. 1st Platoon has managed to secure four military trucks and several prisoners. Two supply trucks and two fuel trucks were captured. One carrying machinegun ammunition, the other food. Enough to last us a few more weeks with our current size I imagine. Now, more interestingly. Of the two fuel trucks, one was carrying helicopter fuel. We don't know where they was headed but a helicopter on our side would certainly even the odds, we just need a helicopter..." Salazar spoke. Monroe found himself grinning. Finally some good news, perhaps things were looking up...
"There is of-course, problems with these new acquisitions, that being transport. Taking these trucks whilst their cargo is invaluable to us, will double our convoy size and we will require much more fuel to keep us going. But i'll leave that to your digression, Captain."
"And the prisoners? Any potential recruits?" The Captain asked as he stood up from his seat and joined the Lieutenant outside. The air was warm, summer that it was.

"Perhaps, Sir... We had them blindfolded on the journey here, they've been detained and questioned, unaware of our location and intentions. Only one resists, the others refuse any involvement in the war crimes running rampant across the country, in particular during the four weeks of Crimson, and seem receptive to our cause. They claim to be in the Logistics division."
"Those that approve of our cause, give them a choice, either join us or do not. Those that join will be cut free from their bonds but placed under watch, those that refuse. I want escorted to the main road with blindfolds and left to their own devices. We don't always have a choice for who we work for... The one that resisted, I wish to see him." The Captain spoke as the pair watched the two supply trucks having their resources unloaded, grins on the soldiers faces were evident, as something other than rations would be on the menu tonight.

More hours pass

Monroe wiped his face, removing the spit as he glanced at the soldier, kneeling on the hard earth before him with hands tied.
"Filthy rebellious scum like you will be the ruin of this country!" The man shouted.
With an unsettling calmness, the Captain stood, brandishing his colt before pointing it at the man before him and pulling the trigger. The gunshot echoing throughout the empty woods.

As the Captain emerged from the bristle, the grim deed done. A man in full battle gear rushed towards him. Recognizing him as Private Sekoni, Sekoni called out.
" Captain!.. The new recruits... Half of them are trying to flee!"

"How many of you are unemployed?" A chorus of angry shouting and raised fists answered the question. "Brothers and sisters, you were promised employment when moving to Northport. The big oil industry has lied to you, private corporations spurting slander about how great they are for the country. Well, the CEOs spend their nights eating imported caviar and attending the parties of Florence Gray, the witch that personifies the bourgeoisie. Tell me, how many of you enjoy such fine luxuries?" Once more the cries of outrage and raised fists of the mass were the answer. "I thought as much. It seems very unfair, that they receive the benefits of all the hard work of the proletariat. Whilst at the same time disempowering a majority of those they promised to raise up. The one criminal you may have heard of, Governor Nuncio, is the worst of the sort. He attempts to break us through violence and further cutting what the minority have. I tell you this people, we will march on Nuncio, we will hold him accountable, and we will spill his riches on the floor for you to each take a share. But we cannot do this alone, when we march it cannot be Joseph Sullam's march, or Maria Truskov's march. It must be the People's March. The People will lead and the people will break of the oppressive shackles of despotic capitalist bullshit!"

"Brothers, sisters, will you march with me?" The crowd let its blood roar of approval ring around the small square. The small wooden plinth, that had been hurriedly erected, vibrated as the crowd took up the cry of 'People's March'. Thomas stepped down and was smiling and cheering with the men and women of rags who blindly looked to him to help them out of squalor. He shook the hands of a number of supporters before the two bears he called body guards, Trevor and Trevor, lightly tapped his shoulder. They wore matching trench coats and flat caps on top of they greyish trousers. Their shoes were army surplus and held steel toes. Finally each man wore a bright red armband emblazoned with the People's March flag. In contrast thomas was a much thinner man than them, however his arms were thick from time spent in the refineries. Thomas also didn't cover his face, but his outfit matched their, if the colour scheme was slightly brighter. The two bodyguards hurriedly pushed their way through the cheering crowd, angling to take their charge out through one of the side alleys.

Suddenly a loud whistle blew and everybody turned to see the familiar face of the police, preparing to disperse the crowd as swiftly as possible. A man in uniform stood above the grunts and used a megaphone to speak. But before he could ay a word Thomas stepped forward and picked up a sharp stone from the floor. Reaching back he hurled the missile as the man, the grey arching in the rising sunlight. The stone collided with the man's forehead and there was a wild cheer from the mass as the red of blood could be seen. The man reeled back clutching for only a second before shouting orders and allowing his men to run rampant. As the bodyguards grabbed Thomas he preached quickly to the supporters. "They make to break our bones with force, but stand strong. The day of judgement is coming, and when it does we will break ten bones for every one they snap. Disperse friends and spread the word."

With that Thomas was running as well and his bodyguards released him. The three men were the main target but the police were now randomly arresting everybody they could. The trio made their way through the crowd, careful to try and be unnoticeable, into what appeared to be an abandoned house in a basement, running down the stairs into the basement they made their way to a hidden door behind a dresser. The door lead to the next house along where a member of the People's March secret police held a change of clothes. Throwing off their coats and covering their armbands, but not removing them, they made their way further into the house where another secret door led to a different road. Coming out they could hear the sound of the futile resistance pittering out. Counting from the shadows Thomas reckoned they had arrested ten people at most. And with a crowd that size that meant a majority had got away. Their message should spread. Pulling his hat down, Thomas turned and followed his protectors as they moved him to a new safe house to prepare another speech.

---

There was a loud gunshot and a curse as the bottle remained intact and standing on the gate post. A quick drag of the bolt and then another round fired off. Again followed by a curse as the mocking bottle was unmoved. Crunching steps grew louder as the bottle found itself face to face with the barrel of a pistol. "Die, green pig." There was a click and then the gun fired, spraying glass shards forwards. Smiling Joseph Sullam walked back to the mark on the makeshift range and grinned at Yuri. Yuri was a dark and swarthy man who almost never smiled, and he wasn't now. "Great comrade, if you are to lead a revolution, you need to be able to shoot. That is why we practice, so that when the day comes that we march on Northport, you can gun down the dogs with your comrades. Again." Jospeh sighed and picked the bolt action rifle back up. Dropping to a crouch he lifted up the gun and aimed at the second bottle, slightly further away than the first. Breathing out deeply he pulled on the trigger and laughed as the edge of the bottle was caught. Green rain spat out and the bottle was half obliterated, half knocked to the floor. Yuri merely nodded and walked away.

Joseph had been practicing for hours now and it was time to return to the more pressing duty of inspiring a nation. Walking back to the camp the pair nodded at every person they came across, all wearing the armband of the People's March, but all in an assortment of outdoor equipment. The camp was situated at the bottom of a small ridge and covered in some light trees. This allowed them to be quite camouflaged, at the same time nearby guards could easily see far around in case of attack. The main tent was the most well hidden and had been dug in to provide a minimum of protection from any sort of light shelling. Inside a large war table was set up and around it The Party stood, staring at the radio in the centre of the table. They greeted each other with the People's March salute, a closed fist slapped against the chest. "Party, tell me we have at least got an idea as to who we will contact, the days are counting down for our march and still we used outdated weopans and don't have anywhere near enough or those working in the city, definately not including the masses that will join us." Sitting, Joseph listened to his brother speak.

"Brother, we need allies that is for sure. But our message may simply be too strong to garner aid from other countries. At the same time we are the most organised Communist faction in the country. I doubt we have many friends, at least none with the arms we need."

"Then we look for support from a group that doesn't fight due to political ideology, but due to a simple desire to change the regime. And only one such group really fits this bill." There was mutterings and some arguing over what this meant as people tried to hash out whom Joseph meant. Quickly Jospeh slammed his fist down and spoke in the sudden silence. "I want to contact the Iron Legion. They are a professional group, that whilst tied up with their own battles, must surely have connections and reserves of arms. That's who we will contact.

Stars glittered faintly in the sky, drowned out partially by man-made lights in the region; with the siege of Varisso, however, many of those lights had ceased to exist for the moment, allowing more stars than usual to appear in the sky. As it was, the scene was breathtaking in comparison to the sky under normal conditions.

Underneath this sky, sequestered in a shaded glen, a group of sixteen people met once again. Reunited for the first time in over two years, the men and women of the group knew each other well, as their mothers and fathers had known each other. Seated inside a large canvas tent, some recounted their tales and the tales of their predecessors, while others simply waited, sometimes eating or drinking small amounts before listening once again.

A lanky man with a sharp, thin face stood up suddenly. He wore a fine suit of grey and white, fashioned of high quality cotton, with his shimmering black hair tied at the nape of his neck. Clearing his throat, he began to speak, "Friends, thank you for attending this meeting. Too long has it been since we last saw each other. Some of you may not recognize me by sight, and as such allow me to introduce myself. I am Feldrick Jethro, elected to the position of First Councilor almost three years ago. I won't waste your time with explaining who we are and what we aim to accomplish since being here is proof of your knowledge. However, I will tell you that the time has come to act lest we lose the initiative. With much of Noravea in turmoil, now will be our best opportunity to grow. Dierks can explain what he has devised better than me. Dierks."

With a nod towards Feldrick, Dierks rose. A stout, swarthy man whose hair was sprinkled with grey and silver, he began to lay out the plans which he, along with the Second Marshall, Stewards, and Councilors, had devised. It would be almost three hours before the meeting ended, all informed of the state of affairs and what their parts of the plan were. That night, encrypted radio messages would be sent out across Noravea, although primarily to other groups in Pomorum. The return had begun.

---

Verin cursed at the car as she trundled along the road. Headlights illuminated out to fifty feet, but they would flicker every once in a while, sometimes dying for several seconds before restarting. Whoever had "fixed" the car obviously hadn't known what they were doing. Or they expected Verin to come back and pay even more money to fix the headlights. Maybe both. Greedy mechanic bastards.

Checking the map in the front passenger seat and then glancing at a nearby sign, Verin sighed in relief. "I thought I would never find this place for a moment. Though it is a fairly large town," she muttered quietly, maneuvering through the dirty streets towards the lights of the central factory. It was fairly common knowledge that the Lichterhoff factory produced a good amount of explosives, many going to the miners out in the mountains to expedite the excavation process. Though she had received no direct orders as of yet, she believed that explosives always made a good present to your superiors. Thinking through that thread further, she laughed. Yes, good presents indeed.

Halting in front of the factory complex, she put her car into park before extracting the keys, dropping them into the left pocket of her brown duster. Walking into the fenced area through the main gate, she admired the red of the sky before stepping into the administration building. Spotting a receptionist, she stalked up to the dusty man. Pulling out a set of documents indicating her position as a contractor for one of the companies in Avalonia, she said, "I need to see your boss about some supplies." Bored and obviously used to being treated in a brusque manner, he gave a cursory inspection of the papers, eyes glazed over, before motioning her through the back.

Inside sat a tired-looking man, shadows pooling under his eyes. Closing the door, Verin sat in a tattered chair before drawing out a sheet of paper work. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour," she started. "But I need to requisition some mining explosives." The man sighed heavily before reaching over to take the information forms, rubbing his eyes quickly before reading the pertinent information.

"And why would I be letting you have these? Usually the explosives are paid for beforehand. Although Lord knows I've had to deal with this quite often."

Thinking quickly, she took ahold of an excuse. "We're excavating a new tunnel which may strike a rich vein of ores, but can't divert enough of our current stock of explosives to dig it effectively."

"As long as you bring it back. I'll have Richard bring half a crate of mining dynamite to your vehicle," he finished, seemingly dismissing her. Standing up, she gathered up the papers, some of them forged, and returned to her car to discover a man waiting with the promised explosives. Unlocking the truck, she instructed him to place it there. After he had left, she secured the crate with a rope and fire-resistant cloth before climbing into the cab. Now what to do with half a crate of explosives? she pondered as she drove off.

---

Karls stalked through the bushes, accompanied by fifteen others armed with various rifles and improvised camouflage. Having left a stolen vehicle about a mile back, the group advanced slowly upon the encampment at Presford. Home to thousands of reservists, it had fallen to Bentley's camarilla to investigate the staging ground further. Looking behind, he motioned Mora Haj forward before indicating a finger towards the pseudo train station. A train sat dark on the rails, stretching back quite a distance, but it was the central area which interested Karls.

Pulling out a pair of binoculars while Mora peered through a sniper scope, Karls examined the large number of vehicles. Dozens of trucks, many unarmored troop transports, waited in groups, attended by numerous mechanics. Guards patrolled persistently yet apart from them...no one seemed to carry weapons. Sighting a prefabricated building, his eyes strained to make out the shape of a pad lock guarded by two men. One of the guards walked up to a desk of sorts outside before turning in his weapons. A brief glimpse inside showed a large supply of firearms.

Inspecting the camp swiftly, it showed various signs of a group preparing to move, especially when one considered what appeared to be a command center of sorts, people moving in and out quickly, dispersing to all areas of the camp. Backing up and remaining prone, he quietly ordered the camarilla to move back towards the vehicles. The army of reservists was preparing for something. But what?

---

Darkness covered most of the land yet, though the tinges of morning could be seen on the horizon, a slight lightening of the sky. Behind him, the rest of his camarilla stood quietly around two minivans, conducting quiet conversations from time to time. Turning around he said, "I want four of you in the second minivan, two with me in the first. The rest of you, advance to the predetermined observation positions. I want this recon to go quick and clean so don't mess up."

As eight people scurried off to set up with binoculars or some sort of scoped weapon, Joakim hopped into the driver's seat of the front minivan, a small, beige contraption showing signs of wear. Shifting gears, the car slowly advanced through the trees, Joakim mindful of not damaging or trapping the car in any manner. Popping out onto the road, the second minivan followed shortly after. He pressed down the accelerator and began to head up towards the dam. Each person in the van carried a pistol on their persons but those were meant to be last ditch weapons.

The town of Keldmoor rested as the two vehicles traveled through it, although some signs of activity could be seen. Turning up the road towards the dam, a sign greeted them declaring the road on the dam off limits to all civilian travel. Continuing forward, Joakim took a turn near the dam, slowing down in order to observe the blockage. Resting on the road were several tank traps, machine gun nests occupying the side of the road. A few soldiers stood in a huddle in one of the nests, conversing among themselves. A building then stole line of sight, and Joakim pondered the situation.

half an hour later

Dismounting from the minivan, Joakim ensured that all members of the camarilla were present before continuing. "Those of you that took up the observation posts, anything of note to report."

A middle-aged man with brown hair stepped forward. "Some kind of net seems to be draped across the river underneath the damn. I couldn't make much of it out, but it seems to be attached to buildings on the side of the river." Two other corraborated his report.

"And the other entrance to the road on the dam?" Joakim asked.

"Blocked as well," answered one.

Shaking his head, Joakim opened the back of one of the minivans to access the encrypted radio hidden there. The Council would not like his report.

Teodor

Teodor Grenzer's own reflection stared him somberly in the face as Annesport passed through his bus window. Grey blue eyes flitted here and there as the city went by, occasionally returning to regard the mirage reflection looking back at him. Teodor's was a thin, mousey visage; a short, upturned nose and mouth framed with short, thin lips lent to him a demure appearance. With every pothole-induced jolt of the bus, a modest suitcase bounced about on his lap. Scuffed and worn from use, it was stuffed with several changes of the outfit he wore now: a navy blue button-up and matching slacks, with a black short-sleeve undershirt and beret-style sailor's cap embossed with the Noravean coat positioned before a golden anchor.

The bus continued its crawl out of Annesport's residential districts, block after identical block of drab, brutalistic concrete high-rises. These tenement buildings formed a ring around the taller, more developed downtown core of the city situated neatly on the coast. Nearly all of the city's residents lived in a tenement flat housed within one of these structures. Products of Grey's planned government, these housing complexes were all constructed in a uniformly shoddy and drab fashion. Teodor's wife did what she could to spruce their flat up. Soft, richly colored rugs on the cold tile floors did much to make the entry and bedrooms more inviting spaces, velveteen curtains around the windows somehow made their 8th story view of the tenement forest more inviting and less dystopian. Framed prints of Laurentian impressionist works drew the eye away from the white cinderblock walls and the government-issued portrait of Crimson Grey that Teodor insisted be displayed prominently in the entry room. Each time he went on deployments, his wife would take down the printed painting of a young, handsome Grey clad in full military regalia and hide it behind a dresser, only for Teodor to replace it within an hour of returning home. Teodor wasn't sure if she did this because she truly found the portrait ugly and out of place, or if it was her way of protesting against the Regime for taking Teodor from her and the children for months at a time.

Teodor watched a street cleaner brush refuse off the sidewalks into a filthy gutter running alongside the street, clearing the streets in preparation for the rush of morning commuters. Surely there were worse means of employment, could his wife not see that? To be sure, six-month deployments were brutal to a family man. He had missed many anniversaries, birthdays, and milestones in the line of duty. While his daughter Yulia was being delivered, Teador was somewhere under the Eastern Sea, monitoring the reactor gauges, aware that his child was due to be born any day. But for the difficulties, the Regime had rewarded him and his family well. He could afford to house, feed, and clothe the family on his salary alone, allowing his wife to maintain the home and care for Ulrich and Yulia. With the country's current situation, that was work enough.

Cars and trucks skirted about and weaved around the bus as it trundled out of the residential neighborhoods into the fringes of downtown Annesport, many more than were typically on the road at quarter to six. The city architecture here had more character, red brick high rises housed department stores and offices, arcades of century-old beech trees shaded the streets, the weathered spires of a gothic-style church peered over its neighbors. This was Old Annesport, what remained after Grey's Regime had mowed down much of the original city to build a modern city worthy of serving as the headquarters of the Noravean Armada.

In the shade of the beech trees, vagrants nestled around the trunks in clusters, some panhandling the pedestrians, others still laying asleep on bedrolls, strips of cardboard, and whatever else they could find to keep themselves off the cold concrete. These were refugees, thousands of them had been converging upon Annesport. In the past four weeks, as the country's situation sharply worsened, the towns and countryside had become dangerous, and people were seeking safety in the cities where the Regime still exercised control. At dinner, after the children had excused themselves, Teodor's wife would often recount rumors she had heard from his neighbor's wives. She'd report on paramilitaries and rebels going openly about the countryside, how police were being shot in broad daylight - As the crackdown wore on, and their dinners become more and more meager, his wife began voicing her desire to leave the country.

"I'll write my cousin in Neukirchen," she'd suggest. "The children and I can stay with her, then we can move to the West once we get our papers in order. Her daughter did that and cleans hotel rooms now. She makes nearly as much as you do! Why, she even saved up and bought a cellular telephone!" Teodor would have no more of such talk. He would not have his dear wife scrubbing foreigner shit out of hotel commodes - not for any amount of money.

At least not until Ulrich fell sick.

As food prices went up during the situation, Teodor's salary bought less and less food. Yulia and Ulrich both had been losing weight for the past two months. Two weeks into the crackdown, Ulrich came down with a severe case of influenza. And if food had become scarce, medicine was almost impossible to get. When his wife came home late one night with a bottle of pills clutched in white-knuckled fists and a deep purple black eye, Teodor at last realized the gravity of the political situation. No amount of state television figures or regime propaganda could allow him to return a blind eye to the crisis at hand. This was not just another cycle of turbulence that came once every ten or so years. The days of the Grey Regime were numbered, and multitudes would die with him.

"I want you to go to your cousin in Wilhelmsland," Teodor asked of his wife as he packed the suitcase that morning. "Don't wait for a letter to return, just take the children and go." She nodded in tacit, solemn agreement, fully aware of the gravity of his request. The family of a military member fleeing the country would be a grave disgrace to Teador's character. The Red Guard had "erased" people for less than that. But if half of the rumors his wife had told were true, then it could very well be that there would not be a Red Guard for much longer.

A pair of camouflage-painted military trucks drove by on Teodor's side, each carrying six armed soldiers standing in the truck bed. They seemed to be patrolling the refugees, keeping them from passing the threshold between Old Annesport and the harbor district. The bus passed through a series of intersections that marked the boundary between the two districts and the massive, concrete edifices returned. Smokestacks, radiotowers, and shipping cranes dominated the skyline of the waterfront districts of the city. Blocky factories and plants that should have been spewing pillowy clouds of exhaust high into the crisp morning air through towering smokestacks were idle, wharves that could unload massive cargo ships in the space of an hour were all but vacant. The allied sanctions had induced cardiac arrest upon Annesport's industrial heart.

Jutting out of a coast of wharves and jetties, a massive edifice build upon a concrete peninsula constructed in the brutal, blocky motif of the Regime overlooked an enclosed harbor ringed by seawalls and concrete wavebreakers. Tall fences crowned in barbwire composed the inland-facing perimeter. This was the Anchorage of the Noravean Armada, the bus stopped on the waterfront road just in front of the perimeter fencing, Teodor stood up from his seat and disembarked the bus with his battered old suitcase bouncing and clicking with each step. This was his stop.

His bus had to swerve around a crowd of people that had gathered around the perimeter gatehouse and extended beyond the sidewalk well into the road, much to the chagrin of irritated motorists who vocalized their annoyance in bursts of honks. Some of these people appeared to the same rural refugees he had seen camped in the old city, many others had a tougher, more muscular appearance - stevedores and dockworkers who had been let go by their employers.

"C'mon, just for a day. I'll do whatever needs done. I got kids to feed." One pleaded.

"Scrub the floors? Chip paint off the boats? You name it, I'll do it."

"Hey! No cutting, motherfucker!"

Teodor shoved his way through the teeming crowd of unemployed, slinking through the masses until he reached a pair of armed guards guarding the turnstile gate.

"The Armada has no hiring process, leave!" One of the guards recited to Teodor as he approached, ready to bear a baton against his head. Before the cudgel could reach his head, Teodor produced a laminated identification card from his pocket and presented it to the guards.

"Let him in," the guard crowed, failing to apologize for nearly clubbing Teador in the head. Teador pressed his weight against the heavy mass of revolving metal and proceeded down the way to the anchorage once inside the perimeter. Angry yelling flared up from the crowd as he made his way to his post.

The crisis was getting out of hand, people were getting desperate indeed to try to solicit the Armada for work. Teodor had heard of mobs of famished citizens in other parts of the country rushing police forces. Some versions of the stories said the police were guarding a grocery store, another retelling held that the rioters were simply annoyed with the police's indifference and took their anger out on them. In such a volatile environment, it would take only a spark to instigate a crackdown worse still than what his peers had been calling the "Crimson Weeks". Little wonder then that the order to mobilize for deployment had been made; what made Teodor wonder was how suddenly the order had come down. The bellicose rhetoric of the Allied Nations notwithstanding, a snap mobilization for a submarine crew was a startling development. Had the Armada finally decided to prepare itself for the possibility that the allies' ultimatum was not actually a bluff?

In any case, Teodor Grenzer fell into line with the other deckhands gathering at a metal gangplank bridging the gulf between a concrete pier jutting into the harbor and the smooth, black form of the ANS Lupine. There, he and his countrymen stood in rigid silence, preparing mentally for what could very well be a combat tour.

It is dinner time in household Jeszevic. The food presented before the impoverished Novarean nationals is nothing unusual: expired brown beans and gruel with some watered-down vodka. Yum yum. Such is life of the hardworking Noravean! Mihajlo stares down sombrely at the pot of gruel presented before him, illuminated by a shallow light of their little lamp. The young man is anxious to swallow that stuff down his throat again. He dares not speak up, of course, as he hears his senior’s ominous footsteps already dawning unto the living room.

Indeed; Sir Jeszevic’s formidable presence alone keeps his otherwise quarrelling sons in line, who instantly fall silent at the mere sight of the man. …Too afraid to speak up.
‘’Hrh. More outbreaks in the countryside.’’ Sir Jeszevic snorts. Not even making eye contact as he sits down on the largest chair, readied for him at the head of the table.
‘’Back in my day I’d have clobbered those rats with my left hand, while disabling the head instigator with my right. That I would.’’ A smirk appears beneath his sizeably bushy stache… before taking a gulp of vodka. And it was quiet for the longest time.

Quiet. Until mother spoke up and turned to Mihajlo.
‘’I heard from your brother that you’ve been seeing those people again.’’
‘’People?’’
Mother’s eyes are sternly fixed on Mihajlo, and without another word her stare alone is enough to paralyze him.
‘’Oh! People! Those people! They’re just.. some associates. Not actual friends, mother. Honest.’’
‘’Associates…’’ A concerned frown appears on the elder woman’s face, while Mihajlo’s mischievous brother grins deviously. He would surely spit about one obscene mockery or another, had the sir Jeszevic not interrupted with his thundering hoarse voice.
‘’Hmpf. Those street losers. They’re no concern to be taken serious. No true officers. No true soldiers. No true Noraveans. If Mihajlo wants to present himself with the rodents – by all means. Don’t identify yourself as a Jeszevic when you do. ‘’
After taking another solemn gulp of vodka, the bitter man continues:
‘’…Not that it matters. The Losnians are petty. The real enemy is gathering outside these borders. The puny Westerlings and their planned invasion of Noravean union lands. PEACEFOR? Something ludicrous like that. If they’re looking for an easy victory; they’ve challenged the wrong faction. They could never understand us and our ways. Even if they manage to claim these lands by force, the Noravean common man is not simply swayed by foreign powers or pretty talk. Mark my words ; a strong leader always finds its way to govern this land. It is the only way to keep the masses under one authority. An authority like Gray.’’
The man proceeds to nod at a state portrait hanging on the wall, just across the living room and right above the fireplace. It is a portrait of Gray, glorious leader of Noravea. Sir Jeszevic makes sure the frame is properly wiped clean of dust every day. Because who knows when there is an unexpected police inspection?



‘’Annihilate the pestilence of Noravea! Join the Black Vulture Fighters of the NDA!
Losnians are in league with the enemy, using the chaos to defile our lands, mock our traditions and abduct young Noraveans to pluck out and sell their intestines to Laurentians. And sodomizing our women! They think we are weak and won’t retaliate. They are wrong.’’

Speeches and demagoguery of anything amongst these lines are now frequent occurrences in this part of Noravea. The NDA leadership are organizing rallies in and around the city to prepare everyone for the impending invasion.
The streets and Ilwell’s alleyways are tainted with the smear of vile posters, mostly depicting crude drawings of ape-like Losnians and goat-humping Awliyans wiping their derrieres with the Noravean flag.
Armed Black Vulture thugs with their signature black berets walk these streets freely. Busying themselves with drawing in more recruits, while chasing away ‘false Noraveans’.

The man responsible? Dragoclaw. An ex-government military officer turned rogue, and who is technically still on a government hit-list. Hell, the regime know of his whereabouts, but let him go on his merry way unmolested… so long it means suppressing would-be-hostiles. And he does. Oh that he does.

‘’We’ve scored 21 new recruits in these last 3 days. With many more still flowing in before the attack.’’
Ratko, a sleazy little man, does his report.
‘’Our young comrades also got rid of the remaining locals from Ilwell’s Losnian neighbourhood. Some, we were compelled’ to flash a metallic demonstration too. They shall trouble us no longer.’’
He rubs his hands gleefully.
‘’They show promise already, those wild young ‘uns! We’ve pretty much completely cleaned Ilwell up of Losnians by now. Though our friends in the south report encounters with those Awliyan cultist bimbos.’’