Another day begins in the nation of the Yahupi Confederacy. There's a general feeling of that another war with the neighboring tribes and smaller nations might erupt, as the usual feeling is. Cheif Tutanabo has ordered that some of the more rebellious slaves be executed and burned at the stake. Quite recently, ideas were in the works about making better muskets and rifles. Cheif Tutanabo has given the word to allow these ideas to be put into action immediately. Prayers to the sun begin at Noon.
1 Guest
viewing this page
[IC] World of Nations - A freestyle Nation RP
- Large Group
- Fantasy
- Nation
- Steampunk
- Military
- Sci-Fi
- Free
- GM jorcool
Join Status:
Apply
Carnelian Viscountess
Member
Seen
3 mos ago
CmdrAlfieq
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
The newly established Alfieq's Army have begun their recovering from the Militarian civil war and also managing to cream their revolutionary influences from the mainland through the east, impressed their Militarian commoners by now a fractured Empire of Militarian-Veilletes on that date. The Commander of Alfieq's Army has decided to relocate their capital from the western point of a large island lake to the east, and thus the capital will now be named as the 'Regional HQ of the Northern Continent' (RHQ-NC) for the officials and the military commands to take some administrative ordeals of the faction.
The seafaring military sailors of AA has stumbled across an unknown coast from the east of their homeland with a few undefined structures in sight and thus decided to investigate the area by disembarking their ships and seeking contact for exploration of unexplained visitors.
The seafaring military sailors of AA has stumbled across an unknown coast from the east of their homeland with a few undefined structures in sight and thus decided to investigate the area by disembarking their ships and seeking contact for exploration of unexplained visitors.
Dinh AaronMk my beloved (french coded)
Member
Seen
6 days ago
The road conformed tight to the curves of the hillside. A solid paved path, a low stone wall the only barrier between the safety of the road and the tumultuous spill over the hillside. In the late evening sunlight the lights from the farmhouses and vineyards that covered the country hills in a blanket glimmered among the twilight darkness of olive and orange groves. The sunflowers faced west, the brilliance of their golden dials fading as they began closing their faces for the night. Somewhere distantly cocks crowed a last song in the late night and further off on the other side of a black inky river the brilliant silver lights of a town shone in reflection against the river-water and thrown a gentle haze into the sky. The lights of traffic along the major highways traveled like the stars plucked from the coal dark sky above as they traversed the motorways into and out of town.
To the racers, this road was perfect. Empty at night, and perilous enough that it made the heart beat in the chest. The flush of adrenaline would send a man into a powerful high, stronger and more exciting than most drugs to them. The effects of which would become the subject of many poems if any one were so inclined or survived. It sometimes often, in fact often enough that it was not unheard of for one of the drivers to make a poorly timed turn and crash into the low-lying moss-covered walls and fly head over heals from the seat of their bike to the blunt pulverizing boulders below, or to be tangled and torn in the branches of trees down below. Not even the softness of a meadow or moss-covered earth or tilled soil would protect the upended rider from serious injury if not death. For this reason it was not unsurprising that the police kept an eye on the road, though not always.
“Noel, the road again is clear!” a man shouted as he thundered down along the road on a cheap four-banger motorcycle. It was not a racing bike by any means but the slow moving chopper that was comfortable in the city and moved at grandmother's speed in the hills outside of town.
The men at the road-side overlook turned and smiled at him. Here was the collection of racing bikes. Fiber glass rockets on two wheels, their engines large. Their front faces and windshield reached out ahead and molded into the head ornaments of ancient wooden hulks that long ago terrorized the coast but had entered into the realm of folklore from the Kingdom of Brosmon to the north or of the federations and confederations of the Vandwëllerian of the northern border. They were not so much any longer a source of terror, but of inspiration in the popular culture. Ancient dragons, cockrels, and panthers formed great stylistic headpieces to the modern horse. Some were black, others read, some had ancient ducal seals painted onto the saddle bags of the motorbikes. The headlights were the eyes of the ancient beasts, great white gold beams that illuminated the road ahead for just shy of a kilometer ahead.
“That's good to know.” a tall towering man said with a dark complexion. He sat up off the wall and headed towards a midnight blue and kicked up the chrome stand.
“We know the rules.” the man on the cheap city-bike said, “Or was one of us new here?”
“The spit is.” someone said, referring to the small skinny kid glued nervously, but excited to the seat of his bike. It was new, used but new. It was two model years older than many of the racing bikes here and was no doubt a gift. The kid looked no younger than seventeen. The sides of his head were shaved clean and the hair left atop it was still wild and messy from a still young and virgin attachment to the helmet. The brave among many of the racers did not wear a helmet, they knew they had a high risk of dying if they failed and took a spill down the road or even along it, there was not a lot of chances to react if one spilled at the head of the pack for anyone to avoid it. It was blood sport, though everyone wanted to avoid it.
“Alright than, kid.” the man on the cheap bike said, “Rules are simple, you don't drive off the road, you stick to Monjuer road. Taking any other road from this will take you off the track, you'll end up in San Clemens if you head off down Rouboun, or down to the river if you head the other way. If you do, you might as well go home. If you see anyone crash, you tell us by the end of the race. We'll send someone down to see to the body and call an ambulance if need be, or take them to the hospital ourselves if we have to. No punching or kicking the other riders, we're civilized out here. The finish line is the Treifon scenic overlook, Clements is already there with a blue light. We have a bottle of wine in it for you. Second place buys us all cognac. Are we understood?”
The youth nodded.
“Then we're good to go. I'll be taking up the tail.”
At those words the men began to move to their bikes. Patting the first time on the shoulder an older man in his mid-twenties gave him a brief affirmation and mounted his bike. This man, stepping ahead felt no tension or anxiety. Simply an indifference, a practiced feel for what was about to happen. He had won his bottle of wine, generally always cheap. And he had also bought everyone the round of cognac. He was looking forward more to the celebration at the bar after, where everyone would cheer and celebrate the lack of death or injury on the track that night. Never once in his seven years on the country hill roads had he had to suffer through the injuries or fatalities said to be so common here. The worst he had witnessed was a road rash, when a rider at the finish line jerked his bike too hard to the side in stopping, and was thrown across the gravel peeling the skin of his forearms and scratching his face as he tumbled and slid. That man still wore his scars.
Mounting his bike he tossed the throttle and revved the engine. It grumbled underneath him, the stammering rumble of the engineering vibrating from his groin through his spine. There was a primitive joy he felt in it, almost sensual as he leaned into the bike and it hummed smoothly into place at the starting line. The scout rider took up a position on the road side, climbing atop a boulder with a snub-nosed revolver in his hands. Raising his hand into the air, the man fired a single blank that lit up the night as shred of burning tissue paper shot forth. The sharp piercing bang of the gun signaled the start, and was soon eclipsed by the roar of the engines as all the racers sped off.
The twenty-something sped off with the head of the pack. He leaned low, squinting to look passed the windshield as the warm night air rushed passed his head, stinging his eyes and filling his ears with not just the sound of motorbikes but of the rush of the air as he accelerated through. As he rushed along the road, leaning into each turn. The combination of acceleration and the momentum into each turn provided a sensation like flying, he felt himself pulled ever which way as he went. The faster he went too, the shorter the beam of his headlights appeared shorter. Only the red tail-lights of the bikes ahead retained any consistency.
Winning wasn't necessarily the objective here. Not any more. He had won enough that he didn't see the point. He was in it for the thrill, something to do on a weekend. He had proved himself a man early, riding aggressive. But since retired from it. Now he kept up with the flock. If he went any further than third everyone else was riding weak. He just no longer cared. Beyond that it was a competition over who would or would not be buying cognac and he would rather surrender that obligation.
Ahead the familiar blue light of the finish line shone in the darkness. The sun had fully set and now the world was cloaked in darkness. The finishing light shone like a lone star plucked from the empty sky and put on Earth, and all bikers were headed towards it. He saw it, but did not gaze on it. He glanced up at it on the distant rise and returned his attention to the road. He looked in the side-view mirror and saw someone riding too close on his tail, he could not see whose bike it was. Even racing, he felt uncomfortable with the man so close and edged aside as if it to make a pass into the third place position, as if caught in the draft of the leading bikes. As he abandoned his place the following bike filled in the empty spot and the two raced along side-by side, tightly hugging the curves. He looked at the new rider in the side of his vision. He had a helmet on, he was the new rider. He could have gunned the bike faster, but held his position and kept pace with the new comer, matching him tire-to-tire as they held the line.
A quick glance to the side of the helmeted new comer told the man he wanted to try and pass. He eased up, giving him an opening the virgin took cautiously and went on ahead. The man took his old position.
He finished the race fourth, and with a skid slid across the sand of the scenic overlook and joined in the fanning spread of riders as they came to rest at the end of the track. There was cheers from the first bike as he hollered in pride for having won. The second place winner got laughter, and the man stepped forward to congratulation the young driver for a race well done. For him, he was happy enough to have gotten fourth. He didn't need to prove perfection.
“Nice race.” the man said, walking up to the youth with an hand outreached.
“Oh, uh. Thank you, moseur.” the young boy said, “Um, if I may. What is your name?”
“Hox. Hox Lisseur.” the man said.
“Alec, DeCrase.” the young boy said, taking the handshake, “Were you the one that let me pass?”
Hox nodded, “I don't have any reason to win.” he said.
“Oh? Really? I thought that's why people, ah- race?” he sounded nervous. But his voice also rattled and stressed in excitement. Hox knew that feeling. The racing heart, the strong thudding of adrenaline. The post-race jitters had to be making him feel as high as a kite by now.
Hox laughed, smiling, “At a certain point it stops mattering. Besides, what is there to win but the cheapest wine there is.”
As the last racer's settled in they began to gather around the winner offering their congratulations, and jokingly hailing the second place man. There was casual, jovial offerings of remorse for his positions. An expression shared mutually. In the night some put out their requests for their favorite cognac. Baron Dè Moore's, Montrôusè, San Tôui.
In the celebration the race's proprietor caught up. His bike the loudest and the slowest of the group. But he was in no race to win. Catching up he shouted, “Who won?”
“Sebastian!” one in the crowd declared.
“And who was second?” the proprietor asked
“Carli!” someone else shouted.
“Well then, I like a good Trifaulgur.” the proprietor said, laughing, “Seems we all owe ourselves a round on Carli's expense and a bottle for Sebastian. Are we in for celebration at the Red Crayfish?”
There were cheers and celebrations. Everyone began mounting their bikes. Hox though, did not intend to go. Waiting idly at his bike, he watched the bulk of the others leave, Alec among them. The proprietor remained. “Are you joining us tonight, master Hox?” he asked.
Hox starred off down the night road after the riders and shook his head. “No, I don't think so.” he said. The man with the blue light joined them.
“If I didn't know better I'd say you're coming passed your prime.” he said, jokingly.
Hox laughed with him, “Sure I am.”
The man with the blue light scoffed, “Pitash. You can do well, I know that much. How about you try winning the next one. I would love to buy you a celebratory bottle.”
“Will it be San Grisio?” Hox asked.
“Don't play around, it'll be Blue Foot as always.”
“I wouldn't give that to my cat.” Hox commented.
“Well it's good enough for the winner.” the man with the blue light commented, thumbing Hox on the shoulder and walking to the four banger.
“Well if you're not coming I'm tell Carli to save some cognac from tonight.” the proprietor said, “I'll come over to your flat sometime tomorrow and leave it for you.”
“I appreciate the gesture.” Hox said.
“What are your hours, tomorrow?” the proprietor said, turning away.
“I don't know. It could go either way. Call me before you do drop anything else. If all else I'll tell you where to meet me.”
“I'll go with that. Love to life, my friend.” he said, with a final salute and rode away, with the man with the blue light.
To the racers, this road was perfect. Empty at night, and perilous enough that it made the heart beat in the chest. The flush of adrenaline would send a man into a powerful high, stronger and more exciting than most drugs to them. The effects of which would become the subject of many poems if any one were so inclined or survived. It sometimes often, in fact often enough that it was not unheard of for one of the drivers to make a poorly timed turn and crash into the low-lying moss-covered walls and fly head over heals from the seat of their bike to the blunt pulverizing boulders below, or to be tangled and torn in the branches of trees down below. Not even the softness of a meadow or moss-covered earth or tilled soil would protect the upended rider from serious injury if not death. For this reason it was not unsurprising that the police kept an eye on the road, though not always.
“Noel, the road again is clear!” a man shouted as he thundered down along the road on a cheap four-banger motorcycle. It was not a racing bike by any means but the slow moving chopper that was comfortable in the city and moved at grandmother's speed in the hills outside of town.
The men at the road-side overlook turned and smiled at him. Here was the collection of racing bikes. Fiber glass rockets on two wheels, their engines large. Their front faces and windshield reached out ahead and molded into the head ornaments of ancient wooden hulks that long ago terrorized the coast but had entered into the realm of folklore from the Kingdom of Brosmon to the north or of the federations and confederations of the Vandwëllerian of the northern border. They were not so much any longer a source of terror, but of inspiration in the popular culture. Ancient dragons, cockrels, and panthers formed great stylistic headpieces to the modern horse. Some were black, others read, some had ancient ducal seals painted onto the saddle bags of the motorbikes. The headlights were the eyes of the ancient beasts, great white gold beams that illuminated the road ahead for just shy of a kilometer ahead.
“That's good to know.” a tall towering man said with a dark complexion. He sat up off the wall and headed towards a midnight blue and kicked up the chrome stand.
“We know the rules.” the man on the cheap city-bike said, “Or was one of us new here?”
“The spit is.” someone said, referring to the small skinny kid glued nervously, but excited to the seat of his bike. It was new, used but new. It was two model years older than many of the racing bikes here and was no doubt a gift. The kid looked no younger than seventeen. The sides of his head were shaved clean and the hair left atop it was still wild and messy from a still young and virgin attachment to the helmet. The brave among many of the racers did not wear a helmet, they knew they had a high risk of dying if they failed and took a spill down the road or even along it, there was not a lot of chances to react if one spilled at the head of the pack for anyone to avoid it. It was blood sport, though everyone wanted to avoid it.
“Alright than, kid.” the man on the cheap bike said, “Rules are simple, you don't drive off the road, you stick to Monjuer road. Taking any other road from this will take you off the track, you'll end up in San Clemens if you head off down Rouboun, or down to the river if you head the other way. If you do, you might as well go home. If you see anyone crash, you tell us by the end of the race. We'll send someone down to see to the body and call an ambulance if need be, or take them to the hospital ourselves if we have to. No punching or kicking the other riders, we're civilized out here. The finish line is the Treifon scenic overlook, Clements is already there with a blue light. We have a bottle of wine in it for you. Second place buys us all cognac. Are we understood?”
The youth nodded.
“Then we're good to go. I'll be taking up the tail.”
At those words the men began to move to their bikes. Patting the first time on the shoulder an older man in his mid-twenties gave him a brief affirmation and mounted his bike. This man, stepping ahead felt no tension or anxiety. Simply an indifference, a practiced feel for what was about to happen. He had won his bottle of wine, generally always cheap. And he had also bought everyone the round of cognac. He was looking forward more to the celebration at the bar after, where everyone would cheer and celebrate the lack of death or injury on the track that night. Never once in his seven years on the country hill roads had he had to suffer through the injuries or fatalities said to be so common here. The worst he had witnessed was a road rash, when a rider at the finish line jerked his bike too hard to the side in stopping, and was thrown across the gravel peeling the skin of his forearms and scratching his face as he tumbled and slid. That man still wore his scars.
Mounting his bike he tossed the throttle and revved the engine. It grumbled underneath him, the stammering rumble of the engineering vibrating from his groin through his spine. There was a primitive joy he felt in it, almost sensual as he leaned into the bike and it hummed smoothly into place at the starting line. The scout rider took up a position on the road side, climbing atop a boulder with a snub-nosed revolver in his hands. Raising his hand into the air, the man fired a single blank that lit up the night as shred of burning tissue paper shot forth. The sharp piercing bang of the gun signaled the start, and was soon eclipsed by the roar of the engines as all the racers sped off.
The twenty-something sped off with the head of the pack. He leaned low, squinting to look passed the windshield as the warm night air rushed passed his head, stinging his eyes and filling his ears with not just the sound of motorbikes but of the rush of the air as he accelerated through. As he rushed along the road, leaning into each turn. The combination of acceleration and the momentum into each turn provided a sensation like flying, he felt himself pulled ever which way as he went. The faster he went too, the shorter the beam of his headlights appeared shorter. Only the red tail-lights of the bikes ahead retained any consistency.
Winning wasn't necessarily the objective here. Not any more. He had won enough that he didn't see the point. He was in it for the thrill, something to do on a weekend. He had proved himself a man early, riding aggressive. But since retired from it. Now he kept up with the flock. If he went any further than third everyone else was riding weak. He just no longer cared. Beyond that it was a competition over who would or would not be buying cognac and he would rather surrender that obligation.
Ahead the familiar blue light of the finish line shone in the darkness. The sun had fully set and now the world was cloaked in darkness. The finishing light shone like a lone star plucked from the empty sky and put on Earth, and all bikers were headed towards it. He saw it, but did not gaze on it. He glanced up at it on the distant rise and returned his attention to the road. He looked in the side-view mirror and saw someone riding too close on his tail, he could not see whose bike it was. Even racing, he felt uncomfortable with the man so close and edged aside as if it to make a pass into the third place position, as if caught in the draft of the leading bikes. As he abandoned his place the following bike filled in the empty spot and the two raced along side-by side, tightly hugging the curves. He looked at the new rider in the side of his vision. He had a helmet on, he was the new rider. He could have gunned the bike faster, but held his position and kept pace with the new comer, matching him tire-to-tire as they held the line.
A quick glance to the side of the helmeted new comer told the man he wanted to try and pass. He eased up, giving him an opening the virgin took cautiously and went on ahead. The man took his old position.
He finished the race fourth, and with a skid slid across the sand of the scenic overlook and joined in the fanning spread of riders as they came to rest at the end of the track. There was cheers from the first bike as he hollered in pride for having won. The second place winner got laughter, and the man stepped forward to congratulation the young driver for a race well done. For him, he was happy enough to have gotten fourth. He didn't need to prove perfection.
“Nice race.” the man said, walking up to the youth with an hand outreached.
“Oh, uh. Thank you, moseur.” the young boy said, “Um, if I may. What is your name?”
“Hox. Hox Lisseur.” the man said.
“Alec, DeCrase.” the young boy said, taking the handshake, “Were you the one that let me pass?”
Hox nodded, “I don't have any reason to win.” he said.
“Oh? Really? I thought that's why people, ah- race?” he sounded nervous. But his voice also rattled and stressed in excitement. Hox knew that feeling. The racing heart, the strong thudding of adrenaline. The post-race jitters had to be making him feel as high as a kite by now.
Hox laughed, smiling, “At a certain point it stops mattering. Besides, what is there to win but the cheapest wine there is.”
As the last racer's settled in they began to gather around the winner offering their congratulations, and jokingly hailing the second place man. There was casual, jovial offerings of remorse for his positions. An expression shared mutually. In the night some put out their requests for their favorite cognac. Baron Dè Moore's, Montrôusè, San Tôui.
In the celebration the race's proprietor caught up. His bike the loudest and the slowest of the group. But he was in no race to win. Catching up he shouted, “Who won?”
“Sebastian!” one in the crowd declared.
“And who was second?” the proprietor asked
“Carli!” someone else shouted.
“Well then, I like a good Trifaulgur.” the proprietor said, laughing, “Seems we all owe ourselves a round on Carli's expense and a bottle for Sebastian. Are we in for celebration at the Red Crayfish?”
There were cheers and celebrations. Everyone began mounting their bikes. Hox though, did not intend to go. Waiting idly at his bike, he watched the bulk of the others leave, Alec among them. The proprietor remained. “Are you joining us tonight, master Hox?” he asked.
Hox starred off down the night road after the riders and shook his head. “No, I don't think so.” he said. The man with the blue light joined them.
“If I didn't know better I'd say you're coming passed your prime.” he said, jokingly.
Hox laughed with him, “Sure I am.”
The man with the blue light scoffed, “Pitash. You can do well, I know that much. How about you try winning the next one. I would love to buy you a celebratory bottle.”
“Will it be San Grisio?” Hox asked.
“Don't play around, it'll be Blue Foot as always.”
“I wouldn't give that to my cat.” Hox commented.
“Well it's good enough for the winner.” the man with the blue light commented, thumbing Hox on the shoulder and walking to the four banger.
“Well if you're not coming I'm tell Carli to save some cognac from tonight.” the proprietor said, “I'll come over to your flat sometime tomorrow and leave it for you.”
“I appreciate the gesture.” Hox said.
“What are your hours, tomorrow?” the proprietor said, turning away.
“I don't know. It could go either way. Call me before you do drop anything else. If all else I'll tell you where to meet me.”
“I'll go with that. Love to life, my friend.” he said, with a final salute and rode away, with the man with the blue light.
GM
The newly established Alfieq's Army have begun their recovering from the Militarian civil war and also managing to cream their revolutionary influences from the mainland through the east, impressed their Militarian commoners by now a fractured Empire of Militarian-Veilletes on that date. The Commander of Alfieq's Army has decided to relocate their capital from the western point of a large island lake to the east, and thus the capital will now be named as the 'Regional HQ of the Northern Continent' (RHQ-NC) for the officials and the military commands to take some administrative ordeals of the faction.
The seafaring military sailors of AA has stumbled across an unknown coast from the east of their homeland with a few undefined structures in sight and thus decided to investigate the area by disembarking their ships and seeking contact for exploration of unexplained visitors.
It was late in the afternoon, and the smell of freshly cut grass lingered in the building of the Kurultai as the last man entered the room and closed the door. He was late for the daily meeting of the Kurultai, the main advisory council to the Khan. Merely a few seconds after he had taken a seat, the man in front started talking.
"Greetings, members of the Kurultai" Khan Yuri Lanist said "As we all know, we have been here for a few months now, and I am very proud to announce to you that our first landship has nearly been completed and its ceremonial launching will be held next thursday." He paused for a second. The members of the Kurultai started clapping and cheering. The completion of such an enormous project was certainly no small feat, and the scale of the project was still astounding to most members of the Kurultai. The members of the Kurultai fell silent once again as the Khan continued speaking. "However, there is much to discuss," he said "Now that we have properly secured our nation after our landing on this planet a few months ago, it is time to start thinking about the future. I suggest we expand to the east, securing more resources for our nation, and start looking if there are others on this world, so we can properly assess the security measures we need to take against them. I would like to know what your thoughts on the matter are."
"I would suggest we expand to the northern pole, as the cold will make the generation of power and production of goods for the Khaganate more efficient." Said a humanoid, although not creepy, robot, the representative of the core.
"I disagree." Came from General Katie Anderson sitting on the other side of the table. "The technology used in the landship that has been recently constructed is at the moment not resistant to the extreme cold that has been measured in the polar region. We will have to design a new one that works better in that enviroment. I suggest we use this new landship to our advantage in expanding to the east, as we will certainly need a weapon of that size to exert influence on that area."
"I am with the Core representative on this one" a gruff voice said, although from General Anderson's side of the table. This voice belonged to Arman Nurzhan, an experienced general whose face seemed to be naturally stern. Yuri had colonized and conquered many different places with the help of this man, but wasn't sure if he could remember Arman ever smiling. "We can just construct more fortifications inside this new area, helping with defending the area and making sure the local population does not rise up."
"You can't just build forts for every problem" Anderson said "This new landship has the mobility to actually quash any uprisings rather than your forts, but we can't use it inside the arctic"
The Kurultai began arguing amongst themselves, the noise slowly growing louder as Yuri was deep in thought. He knew Katie was right, and he appreciated her opinion because he had seen her tactical genius on the field, even though she was at a young age for a general. However, he also knew Arman and the Core's representative were speaking the truth, as the extra resources and power from the arctic region would help in his future goals of colonizing the planet for the Khaganate. The noise coming from the Kurultai was now loud enough to distract him from his internal monologue, and he prepared to put an end to it, when a fourth voice spoke up. It was from the person that was most experienced in warfare from all the generals currently at the Kurultai, Xun Yun. "Ladies and gentlemen" he said, "There is a solution here you are not seeing. We can simply expand to the east using our landship and can let the AIR build more factories there. At the same time we will only expand into the fringes of the polar region using our armies and build research stations there, so we can devise a way to protect our landships against the cold. Our construction efforts are better used elsewhere than in the east, which doesn't have as many tribes or natives as the south.
Yuri could agree with this compromise, and prepared to speak up, when a young man, perhaps not even twenty years old, burst into the room. "Unknown vessels near the western coast!" He shouted.
Arman Nurzhan immediately replied with "Tell our coastal cannons and forts to communicate with and fire upon those vessels.
"But Sir, they have already landed, as our coastal guns have done nothing." The young man replied as General Anderson shot Arman a look of amusement over the fact that the fortifications he spent so much time building had become useless.
"Alright, enough" Yuri said to everyone at the Kurultai. "This is a historical moment for our nation as it is the first time we have found people on this planet. I will be going there. Katie and Xun, you will be coming with me." "I will be coming as well," General Nurzhan said, "I need to talk to my officers about the fact that they're not doing anything when there are unknown forces on our shore."
The four went into an elevator taking them to the top floor of the building, where an old transport helicopter was already waiting. "To the west coast." Khan Yuri said to the pilot.
A few hours later the helicopter landed near one of the forts that had been constructed a month earlier. A squad of twelve heavily armed soldiers was already waiting for them and escorted the generals to the place where these new visitors had been spotted last.
1x Like
Carnelian Viscountess
Member
Seen
3 mos ago
A few days after these improved Musket designs are put into production, Cheif Tutanabo orders that the tribes to the north shall be conquered and enslaved. The various military generals and officers carry out these orders without question.
The Yahupi confederacy begins invading nearby nations. They march in, wearing their orange armour suits, and orange magical barriers formed infront of them. Muskets firing in between these barriers. They focus on expanding to the north, however these nations aren't like the other ones the Yahupi have fought, they are relatively organized, and they unite into a single nation shortly after the Yahupi started invading them: The Federation. The federation is mainly a democratic state, starkly contrasting the Yahupi confederacy. Much like Greece and Sparta in our ancient history.
They are more or less on the same tech level, however the Yahupi prefer more brute force. The federation prefers strategic planning and organize slave rebellions throughout the northern areas, however they are quickly put down brutally. Yet the Yahupi are weakened slightly. The federation uses various tactics that allow them to gain the upper hand in this conflict such as guerrilla warfare, organizing slave rebellions, precise tactics, etc.
Life on the battlefields is brutal for either side, the Yahupi not caring about their fallen comrades as they continue to rain hell on the federation with flaming cannonballs fired from cannons, and trebuchets. Marching Yahupi slaughter innocents brutally as they come across and burn the rest alive using flames from their hands. The federation won't give up so easily. Ships begin being built in the areas not affected by the war.
A few hours after this war begins with the federation, Cheif Tutanabo was in his throne room, looking at a map of the nation on the wall. "They will fall...all of them..they will all obey ME AND ONLY ME!" he shouts while running his fingers over this map.
The Yahupi confederacy begins invading nearby nations. They march in, wearing their orange armour suits, and orange magical barriers formed infront of them. Muskets firing in between these barriers. They focus on expanding to the north, however these nations aren't like the other ones the Yahupi have fought, they are relatively organized, and they unite into a single nation shortly after the Yahupi started invading them: The Federation. The federation is mainly a democratic state, starkly contrasting the Yahupi confederacy. Much like Greece and Sparta in our ancient history.
They are more or less on the same tech level, however the Yahupi prefer more brute force. The federation prefers strategic planning and organize slave rebellions throughout the northern areas, however they are quickly put down brutally. Yet the Yahupi are weakened slightly. The federation uses various tactics that allow them to gain the upper hand in this conflict such as guerrilla warfare, organizing slave rebellions, precise tactics, etc.
Life on the battlefields is brutal for either side, the Yahupi not caring about their fallen comrades as they continue to rain hell on the federation with flaming cannonballs fired from cannons, and trebuchets. Marching Yahupi slaughter innocents brutally as they come across and burn the rest alive using flames from their hands. The federation won't give up so easily. Ships begin being built in the areas not affected by the war.
A few hours after this war begins with the federation, Cheif Tutanabo was in his throne room, looking at a map of the nation on the wall. "They will fall...all of them..they will all obey ME AND ONLY ME!" he shouts while running his fingers over this map.
1x Like
CmdrAlfieq
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
--
The sailors wane of their exhaustion after delivering and unpacking their supplies offshore to prepare their inland expedition towards eastward far from their home region. Their current head of expedition of the east was under a guise named Kronfurter, Officer #11, the capitan of the AA's third expeditionary fleet to seek the new area for militarist colonization and reclaiming of the former Militarian-Veilletes territories as since of its peak. They have disembarked at least 1,000 average infantrymen onshore of a poorly charted land that are consisted of several basic military and reconnaissance equipment, as their current mission was relaying information back to their 'Regional HQ of the Northern Continent' for map chartering and intelligence.
Not noticing or realizing that they're stumbled across a foreign territory of some places, they've decided to setting up their encampment at the coast in a hope to rejuvenate their heavy fatigue of hauling the necessity supplies for their exploration mission. However, it is not long before the Kronfurter and his lesser commands have notified by their recon team that an undefined forces has begun marching towards to their position. At his first speculation, the Kronfurter thought it was a barbaric forces that usually happens a lot during the reign of the Militarian-Veilletes golden days of aggressive expansion, pursuing for vengeance or similar atrocities to what the former empire did to their people. However as once his recon team has given an accurate details of whatever they're likely to be faced on, the Kronfurter, the capitan of the third expeditionary fleet has ordered his men to begun setting up a rigid defenses around their encampment made out from compound soil, wood, stones and basically whatever they can muster at that moment, effectively turning a coastal beachhead into a forest-theme outpost at the coastal area.
While they're preparing for defenses, the small band of soldiers have begun setting up a communication line directly to the HQ if anything goes really dicey, giving awareness of their officials to know what the challenges of the eastern territories will be facing from a point on.
1x Like
Hokum The man in the moon
Member
Seen
6 mos ago
Two Years Earlier
She was locked away.
It had been a long time, so much longer than she was willing to further consider. In here there was no day, no night. Just one suspended moment in a stagnant reality, affirmed by an ever present musky odor. When she was first locked away, she still had a graspable sense of hope, and back then that musk was still fantasized about, conjuring images of cheese platters and exotic cuisines - But now, in the dying of such young esteem, the same pungent odor was nothing more to her than the piss it actually was. Still, the six inch hole in the corner of her cell was her only friend. In a way, that small dark void somehow kept kindled what dwindling hope she had left for freedom.
Directly above her empty friend was a tiny orange light embedded in the concrete of the ceiling, shedding just enough glow to illuminate the iron door and patches of mildew on all four stone walls of her cramped enclosure. She would have considered the light a friend too, had it not been watching her from the start. She could feel them watching. Always watching. It was an eye for sure, one bright little eye glaring down at her like some demented portal to the mind of hell where her unseen captors continued their undying surveillance.
“Fuck you….”
This wasn’t the first time she verbally abused the light while squinting into its glare, though she felt her nasty tone had lost a lot of exuberance over time. The second word of her abuse faded out while her eyes slowly dropped to her lap. She had long since forsaken any cordial demeanor toward her captors. Being polite and asking the light nicely for mercy had never proven productive, but then… cussing it hadn’t proven to help either.
“Your name is Camilla…. Camilla…. Cam….” She uttered to herself, as one finger listlessly scratching at the layered bloodstains in the crotch of her jeans. “Don’t forget… never forget… your name –”
With a sharp, metallic grind that used to make her jump and yet still never failed to make her wince, a slot in the base of the door opened and produced a small wooden tray of slop. It was always the same, a handful portion of meat and green beans sitting in a bed of water and doused in a brown gravy-like substance. Honestly, it didn’t taste so bad, a little on the salty side. Reminded her of pork, only a tad more gamy. Of course, eating the exact same thing for as long as she’d been a prisoner wasn’t exactly an enriching experience.
After the slot in the door slammed shut, Camilla stared at her rations, tucked a strand of her tangled brown hair behind her ear, and for the first time considered not eating. Sure, she was hungry. She was always hungry, and the intervals between meals seemed far longer than a day, but the time had finally come to make a stand. It was clear her captors wanted her alive, had they not, they would have long since let her starve to death, if not just killed her outright.
Extending one leg she overturned the food with a swift flick of her bare foot, before raising her sights to the glare of the light and announcing her protest.
“No.”
Eyes fixed on her nemesis, she pushed to her feet, forcing herself not to rest back against the wall as she teetered for a time gaining balance.
“No more. Nothing. Let me out…. I won’t be your victim. I will die…. I’d prefer to be dead than be your caged rabbit.” As Camilla continued to speak, her initiative gave birth to a new flood of emotion that sprung a tear from her eye, tumbling down her cheek in the rising vigor of her tone. “I swear to God, I’ll die in here – I’ll just fucking kill myself if you don’t let me out.” Her bottom lip began to quiver. Her voice began to tremble. “Just… please… let me go… home.”
Directly above her empty friend was a tiny orange light embedded in the concrete of the ceiling, shedding just enough glow to illuminate the iron door and patches of mildew on all four stone walls of her cramped enclosure. She would have considered the light a friend too, had it not been watching her from the start. She could feel them watching. Always watching. It was an eye for sure, one bright little eye glaring down at her like some demented portal to the mind of hell where her unseen captors continued their undying surveillance.
“Fuck you….”
This wasn’t the first time she verbally abused the light while squinting into its glare, though she felt her nasty tone had lost a lot of exuberance over time. The second word of her abuse faded out while her eyes slowly dropped to her lap. She had long since forsaken any cordial demeanor toward her captors. Being polite and asking the light nicely for mercy had never proven productive, but then… cussing it hadn’t proven to help either.
“Your name is Camilla…. Camilla…. Cam….” She uttered to herself, as one finger listlessly scratching at the layered bloodstains in the crotch of her jeans. “Don’t forget… never forget… your name –”
With a sharp, metallic grind that used to make her jump and yet still never failed to make her wince, a slot in the base of the door opened and produced a small wooden tray of slop. It was always the same, a handful portion of meat and green beans sitting in a bed of water and doused in a brown gravy-like substance. Honestly, it didn’t taste so bad, a little on the salty side. Reminded her of pork, only a tad more gamy. Of course, eating the exact same thing for as long as she’d been a prisoner wasn’t exactly an enriching experience.
After the slot in the door slammed shut, Camilla stared at her rations, tucked a strand of her tangled brown hair behind her ear, and for the first time considered not eating. Sure, she was hungry. She was always hungry, and the intervals between meals seemed far longer than a day, but the time had finally come to make a stand. It was clear her captors wanted her alive, had they not, they would have long since let her starve to death, if not just killed her outright.
Extending one leg she overturned the food with a swift flick of her bare foot, before raising her sights to the glare of the light and announcing her protest.
“No.”
Eyes fixed on her nemesis, she pushed to her feet, forcing herself not to rest back against the wall as she teetered for a time gaining balance.
“No more. Nothing. Let me out…. I won’t be your victim. I will die…. I’d prefer to be dead than be your caged rabbit.” As Camilla continued to speak, her initiative gave birth to a new flood of emotion that sprung a tear from her eye, tumbling down her cheek in the rising vigor of her tone. “I swear to God, I’ll die in here – I’ll just fucking kill myself if you don’t let me out.” Her bottom lip began to quiver. Her voice began to tremble. “Just… please… let me go… home.”
Three more overturned meals and an unbearable duration without sleep, finally resulted in the door being thrown open. Like the air itself had come alive, two barely visible figures stormed into Camilla’s cell and seized her by both arms. Before she even knew what was happening she was being dragged down an ill lit corridor at an alarming rate. She screamed to be released with legs scrambling in her wake while she frantically pleaded with her captors to let her walk, but she had neither the strength nor agility to break their hold or gain footing. Eventually she gave in and let herself be limply dragged to her next destination, wherever that may have been. What seemed like a mile long journey down a twisted arrangement of passageways, she found herself in a room where her arms and legs were bound to the cold steel of a metallic chair, her head strapped tight to its backrest.
The room was dark. Nothing could be seen, nor could anything be heard over the sound of her own exasperated breathing for several minutes, a period of time ruptured by her own screams of agony when, with the sound like that of nail guns, three hot objects pierced deep into the bones behind each ears.
“Go to hell, you bastards!” She yelled out while the pain in her head dissipated, leaving her once again in moment of stark silence.
“Taska-ast-heak” said a masculine voice, though it was broken and grated, causing her to squirm in her seat as it overpowered her auditory nerves like the static sound of a two way radio tuning into a new frequency. Another moment of silence ensued, intermittently broken by high pitched static, and ending with the return of the voice now speaking with clarity: “Do you understand?”
Camilla had a white-knuckle grip on the arms of her chair, which loosened considerably at the sound of the man’s words. His voice was surprisingly calm, soothing, even to the point of relaxing her like she’d been injected by a small dose morphine. Her eyes darted about in the darkness, attempting to place face to the voice.
“Do you understand?” He asked again, sounding even more lenitive than he previous had.
“Who the hell….” Her eyes continued searching the darkness. “…Who are you?”
“Do you understa – “
“YES, I UNDERSTAND YOU – FUCK!” She shrunk in her seat, somehow feeling rude for interrupting his third attempt with such an outburst. She allowed her nerves to relax a while longer, her flickering eyes easing to a still and settling on the darkness ahead. “Who are you…?” She swallowed the dry lump that had formed in her throat. “What do you want with me?”
An oddly comforting quite resumed to take hold of the darkness once more, seemingly perfect in its timing before subtly broken by the man’s reply; “We are Kradam.” He Paused. “We have a request of you.”
“I don’t do requests,” She responded, though no immediate thought was given to her words. “What the hell is going on here?”
“We have a request of you.”
Camilla sighed and released a long whine of exhaustion. “…I know that already. Please… I just don’t understand what’s happening – me and my friends, we were exploring the ash lands. We found some… something. The next thing I know I’m locked away in some small room for what seems like years. Please, just tell me why this is happening to me.”
“Your friends are dead.”
Camilla’s heart sunk, eyes narrows and turned as if she could see the man she was speaking with. “What?”
“Your friends are dead.” He informed her again, just as matter-of-fact as the first time.
“No….” A tear broke from her eye, yet she didn’t otherwise react. She already knew they were dead, however, and receiving confirmation of the fact served as closure, providing a strange sense of comfort while recalling the faded images of her friends faces.
“You and your fellow man trespassed on our land," He told her, "This we can not tolerate. You were punished according to our laws of transgression. In time your friends died, however their bodies were not set to waste. You will be comforted to know they served as nutrients to your survival here. Your friends have become one with you.”
Fortunately, Camilla didn’t hear that part. She had known those friends since school years. They were inseparable. They did everything together. A faint smile formed on her face as her mind streamed back recounting many of the great times they had spent together.
“We have found peculiar interest in you alone.” He continued; “You are not like the others. We have studied you. Our observation of you has concluded you are worthy to serve our cause....”
Her mind started drifting to the present, once again listening to the soothing words transmitted through the devices piercing her temporal bone.
“…For this reason we have kept you alive. You will serve our cause. You will address our developing needs. Do you understand?”
“No.” She said, eyes shifting uneasy through the darkness again. “Not a chance. You need to tell me. What happened to my parents? Where’s my family?”
“Your kin are of no concern to us. We have no knowledge of their whereabouts. It is pointless to concern yourself with such things. You will conform to serve our needs.”
“No, I won’t.” She said, wrestling with the braces that held her arms and legs. “You’re going to let me go. I want to leave now.”
“You will not leave.” The man’s voice was changing, remaining steady, yet lacking the soothing quality it previously delivered. “You will conform to serve our needs.”
Camilla became anxious, every muscle in her body tense, fists clenched as she strained to bust through her restraints. “No.” She said, curtly. “You killed my friends. I’ll do nothing for you!”
“You will conform to serve our needs.”
“I will not conform to serve your needs!” She raised her voice, twisting and jerking to free herself. “I’m getting the fuck out of this place even if I have kill every last one of you fuckers to do it!”
“You will conform to serve our needs.”
“I will do no such thing!” She screamed, convulsing and surging with every ounce of strength she could muster. “Just let me go! I just wanna go home – JUST LET ME GO HOME!”
“You will conform to serve our needs.”
The room was dark. Nothing could be seen, nor could anything be heard over the sound of her own exasperated breathing for several minutes, a period of time ruptured by her own screams of agony when, with the sound like that of nail guns, three hot objects pierced deep into the bones behind each ears.
“Go to hell, you bastards!” She yelled out while the pain in her head dissipated, leaving her once again in moment of stark silence.
“Taska-ast-heak” said a masculine voice, though it was broken and grated, causing her to squirm in her seat as it overpowered her auditory nerves like the static sound of a two way radio tuning into a new frequency. Another moment of silence ensued, intermittently broken by high pitched static, and ending with the return of the voice now speaking with clarity: “Do you understand?”
Camilla had a white-knuckle grip on the arms of her chair, which loosened considerably at the sound of the man’s words. His voice was surprisingly calm, soothing, even to the point of relaxing her like she’d been injected by a small dose morphine. Her eyes darted about in the darkness, attempting to place face to the voice.
“Do you understand?” He asked again, sounding even more lenitive than he previous had.
“Who the hell….” Her eyes continued searching the darkness. “…Who are you?”
“Do you understa – “
“YES, I UNDERSTAND YOU – FUCK!” She shrunk in her seat, somehow feeling rude for interrupting his third attempt with such an outburst. She allowed her nerves to relax a while longer, her flickering eyes easing to a still and settling on the darkness ahead. “Who are you…?” She swallowed the dry lump that had formed in her throat. “What do you want with me?”
An oddly comforting quite resumed to take hold of the darkness once more, seemingly perfect in its timing before subtly broken by the man’s reply; “We are Kradam.” He Paused. “We have a request of you.”
“I don’t do requests,” She responded, though no immediate thought was given to her words. “What the hell is going on here?”
“We have a request of you.”
Camilla sighed and released a long whine of exhaustion. “…I know that already. Please… I just don’t understand what’s happening – me and my friends, we were exploring the ash lands. We found some… something. The next thing I know I’m locked away in some small room for what seems like years. Please, just tell me why this is happening to me.”
“Your friends are dead.”
Camilla’s heart sunk, eyes narrows and turned as if she could see the man she was speaking with. “What?”
“Your friends are dead.” He informed her again, just as matter-of-fact as the first time.
“No….” A tear broke from her eye, yet she didn’t otherwise react. She already knew they were dead, however, and receiving confirmation of the fact served as closure, providing a strange sense of comfort while recalling the faded images of her friends faces.
“You and your fellow man trespassed on our land," He told her, "This we can not tolerate. You were punished according to our laws of transgression. In time your friends died, however their bodies were not set to waste. You will be comforted to know they served as nutrients to your survival here. Your friends have become one with you.”
Fortunately, Camilla didn’t hear that part. She had known those friends since school years. They were inseparable. They did everything together. A faint smile formed on her face as her mind streamed back recounting many of the great times they had spent together.
“We have found peculiar interest in you alone.” He continued; “You are not like the others. We have studied you. Our observation of you has concluded you are worthy to serve our cause....”
Her mind started drifting to the present, once again listening to the soothing words transmitted through the devices piercing her temporal bone.
“…For this reason we have kept you alive. You will serve our cause. You will address our developing needs. Do you understand?”
“No.” She said, eyes shifting uneasy through the darkness again. “Not a chance. You need to tell me. What happened to my parents? Where’s my family?”
“Your kin are of no concern to us. We have no knowledge of their whereabouts. It is pointless to concern yourself with such things. You will conform to serve our needs.”
“No, I won’t.” She said, wrestling with the braces that held her arms and legs. “You’re going to let me go. I want to leave now.”
“You will not leave.” The man’s voice was changing, remaining steady, yet lacking the soothing quality it previously delivered. “You will conform to serve our needs.”
Camilla became anxious, every muscle in her body tense, fists clenched as she strained to bust through her restraints. “No.” She said, curtly. “You killed my friends. I’ll do nothing for you!”
“You will conform to serve our needs.”
“I will not conform to serve your needs!” She raised her voice, twisting and jerking to free herself. “I’m getting the fuck out of this place even if I have kill every last one of you fuckers to do it!”
“You will conform to serve our needs.”
“I will do no such thing!” She screamed, convulsing and surging with every ounce of strength she could muster. “Just let me go! I just wanna go home – JUST LET ME GO HOME!”
“You will conform to serve our needs.”
3x Like
Apple Principality Observation
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
The nation plans to celebrate Kingdom Day in the next week. The celebrations will involve a national holiday, a military parade in all the state capitals and of course the center of power, the capital Tro City that will be personally viewed by her majesty Queen Freja.
Protests against the Kingdom are expected to happen particulary in the states of Roundheim and Trafal.
Protests against the Kingdom are expected to happen particulary in the states of Roundheim and Trafal.
1x Like
Dinh AaronMk my beloved (french coded)
Member
Seen
6 days ago
Auclairé
Deparmon fo Aubre, Celemsville
The alarm buzzed shrilly and stirring in his bed Hox rose to silence it. Dawn had barely broken outside his window and the orange fingers of day break were just beginning to spread her hand out from beyond the horizon. For now though, the light was still cool. On the street outside the silver glow of florescence shone in the thin river-born mist that had spread into the city and obscured the world beyond his bedroom window. It had been cool, but not unpleasantly outside and as Hox threw the sheets off of him he realized how much cooler it had gotten. Naked, he shivered in the nonseasonal summer's chill and shuffled across the dimly lit bedroom floor to his wardrobe and began picking through his clothes. He was dressed in a minute, spurred on by the insistence of the chill air.
Fully dressed, he moved on his heels to the bathroom and flicked on the light. A soft orange glow overtook the cool dark light that permeated the room and Hox leaned into his bathroom mirror. Looking back him was a broad-shouldered, square-shouldered young man. His dark brown hair curled every which way, made worse by his bed head. Most of it had been tamed by shaving it close along the side of head and making the sort of crown atop his head that had become fashionable. But after months of it being untended it had began to grow back out and was reclaiming its natural fullness. As he looked at his reflection he wondered briefly if he should get it all cut evenly, and let it grow back out naturally.
But he dispensed with the notion as quickly as it had come, instead going about his normal routine. He turned the water on, and the chrome faucet poured out cool water. His kitchen counter though was without a bowl, in instead flowed back towards the well as if guided gently and gurgled down a seam-thin drain along the back. He sighed as he splashed the cold water against his face and washed away the sleep from his eyes. He looked back up at himself in his mirror, his green eyes looked back in a dull expression.
Finally with a resigned expression he pulled on the mirror, opening his medicine cabinet and grabbed his brush and tamed his hair. Followed by his toothbrush and tooth paste.
Hox's home was a three-floor townhouse in the middle of town, and as he brushed he strolled out onto the narrow terrace, entered through a door alongside his bed and looked down on the garden courtyard shared in common between he and his neighbors. He had inherited the home from his grandparents, his own parents who lived across town had no need for it, and the arrangement had begun with him renting it out from him. But as he begun his career and advanced through it he was able to negotiate with them for it to be moved into his name. It was not a direct transfer by any means, but to say he had inherited it was an easy way to describe it.
The building was close to three-hundred years old, and parts of it were still surfaced it what had to be the original plaster. In his memory the terracotta shingles had been replaced once in his lifetime, if only after a sudden hailstorm. The windows and the terrace he leaned off of were framed in cast iron, painted a dark black, and in the case of the windows this cast-iron framework became a cage on the outside of the glass, on a warm day he could remove the windows entirely and not fear his home being invaded by the birds.
The neighbor on the other side of the square inhabited a house very much like his own. And while theirs was painted a bright blue, his was a lemon's yellow. But both stood like towers alongside the third between them, his roof had been flattened and was like a small garden, the vines and ivy he grew on his rooftop patio trailing over the stone railing into the courtyard behind. He had no door opening into their courtyard and was not thought in the same way a neighbor but Nox or his neighbor opposite. From behind the ivory though was an old fading, chipped fresco of some country scene.
Walking back inside, Nox walked back into his bathroom.
Interior wise, the home was not far different from what it was outside. The walls were plastered over, the yellow turning into a soft metallic blue framed and bordered from the yellow with white door and window frames. The wood floors were old, and no matter how much wax was applied still retained the many decades, centuries, or scuffs and marks from furniture and foot. His bed was big enough for two, though he was the only one that lived there, and on the top floor he had only three rooms, his bed room and another room that would have been one had he had a guest, but was converted into a study. The furniture that filled any room had a flea market quality, old and aged with burnishing shades off from one another.
Cleaned up he headed down stairs, running his hand along the smooth polish of the hand rail as he galloped down the rounding wooden stairwell to the bottom landing. The living room, a forest green of the spring afternoon variety lit up with morning light as the light switch was flicked and it came to light. The old wooden floors dark, moody, and cool under socked feet. The pale, off-white purple sofas and armchair covered in loose papers and magazines that had not found their way to the low coffee table. There was a card table under the stairs with the chairs pushed in, and a television set mounted to the wall opposite. A broad arched doorway opened into a dining room with much the same motif and around the corner the kitchen, its walls a flush rosy red.
As he moved along, he picked up a remote from the counter and pressed a button. From the living room, out of site the TV turned on and the news went on to play. Providing a background noise as he went about preparing breakfast. Hanging on the wall over the kitchen racks of pans and implements hung off hooks, and he grabbed what he needed, turning on the gas stove and setting everything up. From a ceramic container he scooped out a slice of butter from the soft golden block there, and from a basket nearby an egg. He cracked several into the pan.
The pans, spatulas, and large spoons and ladles were not the only thing to hang from the walls, and under the cupboards next to the oven hung bundles of dried herbs he pulled apart with his fingers and tossed into the frying pan. Turning down the gas, he let the eggs simmer as he stepped aside to the fridge and took out sausage and threw them in with the eggs. Using the spatula he chopped them up on the spot, and tossed them in with the breakfast already there until they had cooked enough.
All things cooked and lightly browned, he deposited the breakfast onto a plate and walked out into the living room, grabbing his cellphone next to where the remote was. Throwing aside loose sheets of paper he sat down, putting the plate onto the table and began to scroll through his messages. There was one in particular that caught his attention, it was from late last night. Probably when he was out on the track.
“From: P. Cormoda
“Lisseur, we got a case into the office after you left. I'm too busy as it is, so I'm passing it off to you. I put it on your desk for when you come in. I don't know what you got going on still, or if you've handled the Amillo file. Last I checked the courts are still looking for the final documents on your part but it's otherwise wrapped up, unless the guy wants to appeal a noise offense.”
Hox blinked down apathetically at him, but did not delete it like the rest. He marked it and left it as is. As he finished, he leaned back and caught up on the news.
The sun was catching up as Nox stepped outside. On the doorstep he stopped to lean over and adjusted his boots around his culottes. He made last adjustments to his pants legs, pulling at them to make sure they felt smooth in the breeches. Satisfied he pulled close the black leather vest and made his way across the garden square.
On the street side, his bike stood waiting. As he always had done he mounted it, and fired it up. The purr from the engine started loud, but tapering down assumed the tone of a purr. He walked it out onto the street, and drove off. The wheels bumped gently over cobblestones worn smooth by automobile and foot traffic. It carried him down the street as if being held over the shoulders of his father when he was young.
Still early, the streets were quiet and still. Not many were out to begin their day, and the only others out stood at the side-walk, sweeping up dust and dirt from the sidewalk. Women were opening the windows, and putting on the sill or hanging from iron hooks potted plants. The range of colors of the home and storm fronts passed Hox as he drove past. Rosy reds, soft blues, cream beige and eggshell whites. The street would sometimes split, heading down narrow alleys sheltered by mason archways, the earliest signs of life manifesting in the opening of doors to let out cats, or for the first walks of the day for the dogs.
As he drew closer to the city center, the residential rhythms ebbed. Though the warming morning air drew some from the second floor apartments who chose to eat a breakfast on the terraces and porches overhead many of the street level shops still stood empty. Though those that had become most essential, the doctors, hardware stores, and greengrocers were beginning to hum with the early life of day as their clerks and owners stepped in and threw on the light. The cafes and restaurants were by now well into preparing for the new day, and their sidewalks and porches cleaned the outside tables were mid-way through being set. The wide avenues and promenades that radiated out from the middle of the city were starting to hum with automotive traffic, and coming into this nexus Nox found himself opposite of the wide grass yard opposite of the city hall, the province's central offices off behind it with its triumphal columns and memorials rising up above the gently slopped rooftops and chimneys.
And here was where he brought his commute to an end. He parked the bike to the side, and dismounted onto the side-walk. Unassuming and old, the law offices of Pierre Cormoda rose up. Here he was, at work.
Stepping into the offices the musky smell of old pipe tobacco was the first sensation to hit the nose, the rustic smells intermingling with cheery to make something of a smell that was like whiskey. And the source of the continual refreshment of this essence was there in the lobby, addressing some matters for the morning with the secretary. At the sound of the door the fat, round faced, pipe-smoking gentlemen in the wide-brimmed hat and laced woolen vest turned to see Nox.
“Ah, Noxua!” he called, “You get my message?” he asked, leaning against the secretary's desk.
“I did.” Nox answered, “What's the details on the case?”
“Oh, some woman came in the other day looking for legal counsel for her boyfriend. Apparently the police arrested him on charges of murder!”
“Murder, isn't that something a little above my board?”
Pierre Cormoda scoffed dismissively, “I think you deserve it this once. Besides, Antoine has his hands tied up with the robbery case and he started up on a few other civil cases.”
“I see, but that's what we are, aren't we? Civil law, not criminal.” Nox pointed out as he walked further into the offices.
“Usually, but I'm not particularly worried. It'll probably be an open and shut case, from the police reports the kid isn't exactly denying it.”
“So why are we needed?” Nox asked.
“To lighten the sentence, perhaps. Just because the police have him doesn't mean it's all over for him. See what you can do, why don't you?”
“I will.” said Nox, headed up the stairs to his office.
1x Like
CmdrAlfieq
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
' Another new provinces of the south has successfully being integrated by the influences of the militarists. Lies at the unfathomably natural river representing as a semi large canal system, this segment is once a dubious project for the emperor to bring a whole navy outside of the lake in order to compete other naval superiority since the golden age of expansion. Unfortunately for our recent past, the great canal system was highly underfunded and also not even close to completion, and thus so ended the emperor opportunities to terrorize the rest of other coastal territories for riches and acquiring new lands from his profound navies.
Despite the works of a failed monarchists to pleased the emperor of his conquest, the commands have found far more uses than just bringing navies to the ocean. It can be use to open a new trade network for the ships to come into a lake, and also a strategic location of setting up new bases there as a formidable gateway to the capital. It may be bad to continue on what the emperor has provided his foundation for the future, may take lot of lucrative work and also highly resource extensive to complete, but the newly revolutionary people have determined to complete the great canal project to prove that they're far more capable than being under a failed rule of the empire, and so they did.
The completion of a canal linked to a lake and ocean will be done by several years if everything was smoothly as according to plan.'
Despite the works of a failed monarchists to pleased the emperor of his conquest, the commands have found far more uses than just bringing navies to the ocean. It can be use to open a new trade network for the ships to come into a lake, and also a strategic location of setting up new bases there as a formidable gateway to the capital. It may be bad to continue on what the emperor has provided his foundation for the future, may take lot of lucrative work and also highly resource extensive to complete, but the newly revolutionary people have determined to complete the great canal project to prove that they're far more capable than being under a failed rule of the empire, and so they did.
The completion of a canal linked to a lake and ocean will be done by several years if everything was smoothly as according to plan.'
1x Like
Fairyfloss Warning: Friendly
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Location: Yathonia, Arrae's Workshop
Time: Early Morning, just after breakfast
Time: Early Morning, just after breakfast
Arrae sat down in their chair and sighed, staring at the massive door on the other side of the room. Kept shut with an extreme amount of chains, girders and other things. Keeping it closed was a necessary evil, which Arrae didn't really like much. They much preferred having the door be opened so a little fun could be had. Unfortunately for Arrae, now wasn't the time for fun.
"Come on in, Stahl" Arrae says, taking a glass containing a pink liquid from their desk and taking a sip.
"What do you want today?"
"Ah, good morning Arrae, as observant as ever I see." Stahl says, grabbing a random chair from elsewhere and Arrae's messy workshop and sitting down in front of Arrae after navigating the huge amount of random objects strewn around the room.
Cleaning isn't one of Arrae's favourite parttimes, and that can easily be seen in the state of their workshop. A large pile of weapons 'decorates' one corner of the room while a (hopefully defused) Nuclear Warhead is balanced on top of several piles of books. A creature has made a pile of bones their home, while lots and lots of random notes lie all over the room.
"Good morning to you too I guess, I need to remember to get myself a clock sometime. It's hard to tell the time this deep underground, and the demons on the other side of the door don't really help much in trying to figure out if it's time for Lunch, Breakfast or Dinner."
"Ah, it must be nice being able to worry about the little things like clocks when your bedroom is right in front of a literal door to Hell."
"You get used to it eventually, at least I don't have to worry about being lonely." Arrae said, sighing as they takes another sip of their drink. "Anyway, you're here for a reason I assume? You're not the kind of person to come over to chat for no reason."
"Straight to the point I see? I can appreciate that. But yes, I have a question and you're the one most capable of answering it for me." Stahl says, grinning as he puts a document on the table. Arrae looks at it's title and sighs, opening the document.
"So you want info on these nations, huh?" Arrae says, staring at Stahl while reading through the document half-heartedly.
"Yes. I would quite like to know more about them, they seem fascinating from afar, but I would much prefer to know more about them. Maybe they'd make good trading partners." Stahl says, grinning.
"...give me an hour or two and I'll compile a document for you containing everything I can find." Arrae says, sighing as they put down the document again.
"Oh? Have your powers weakened? I don't remember it taking this long before." Stahl asks, writing something in a notebook.
"They haven't, I'm just really lazy and I want to finish my drink first. Plus I need to write everything I find down too."
"Very well." Stahl says, getting up and leaving the room. "I'll be back in two hours."
"Yeah whatever." Arrae says, taking another sip of their drink.
2 Hours Later
"Hmm. You've provided much less info than I thought." Stahl says, looking through the document Arrae has compiled. "Still though, good work. The information may be basic but this should be enough to determine which nations are worth trading with. Are there truly this few Sovereign Nations on this planet?"
"Appears so, yeah, most of the planet seems to be unclaimed land. If we actually were ambitious we could easily claim lots of territory with minimal effort."
"Are you saying we're lazy and lacking ambitions, Arrae?" Stahl says, looking slightly annoyed.
"Isn't that the truth? All we do is trade. We don't expand, and we rarely actually fight. Anyway, anything else you need?" Arrae says, grinning.
Stahl sighs and gets up, taking the document. "No, this will be all. See you later, Arrae." Stahl says, leaving the Workshop.
"Have fun, Stahl."
1x Like
CmdrAlfieq
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
' An unfortunate news today at The World of Nations. The chunk of the former territories under Militarian-Veilletes Empire from the south have decided to refused our proposal of the new integration! With a sign of their declaration, they are proclaiming themselves freed from the tyranny rule of the emperor and reestablished their rights to become independent as once the empire fell from its glory, now calling them The Veilletes Republic. This newly founded state will causes some significant problems, and I meant a lot as if we can let this state roaming around freely and became independent from their worth, anyone else of our people will likely to follow their pursuits.
We cannot let our recurring revolution to slowly turned and divided because of that, the Militarian Army need to find a retribution before all non-aligned, non-integrated Militarian-Veilletes territories will eventually become city states of themselves. Luckily, the Militarians at the Veilletes Republic rejected the idea of being independent, as they saw the higher class society were also mostly Veilletes people, and thus decided to revolt the cause for the Alfieq's Army to redistributed the means of wealth and power of their people.
With their revolting support, the Militarian Army will attempt to snitch and threatens the newly founded Veilletes Republic to an extend until a compromise or an integration were made.'
We cannot let our recurring revolution to slowly turned and divided because of that, the Militarian Army need to find a retribution before all non-aligned, non-integrated Militarian-Veilletes territories will eventually become city states of themselves. Luckily, the Militarians at the Veilletes Republic rejected the idea of being independent, as they saw the higher class society were also mostly Veilletes people, and thus decided to revolt the cause for the Alfieq's Army to redistributed the means of wealth and power of their people.
With their revolting support, the Militarian Army will attempt to snitch and threatens the newly founded Veilletes Republic to an extend until a compromise or an integration were made.'
GM
-snip
The moon was high in the sky when the group of men and women arrived at the last dune before the beach. The walk to the beach from the fortress further inland that their helicopter had landed near had taken a few hours, and it had slowly become darker as they advanced towards the beach. Their progress was further hampered by the Dune Defense Zone, the sandy hills where Arman had given orders to build bunkers and coastal batteries months earlier. Every fifteen minutes they arrived at a checkpoint, although most soldiers stationed there immediately let them as soon as they saw the party consisted of their Khan and some of his most important generals. A few asked some questions because they were suspicious that the Khan himself suddenly came by the checkpoint they were stationed at, but upon the needed reassurance that they would not be fired or demoted the generals and Khan together with their escorts were let through. With every checkpoint they passed however, the escort of soldiers that they had originally been placed with grew, as the leaders of the various checkpoints would risk losing some soldiers and having a slightly weaker outpost over the Khan and members of the Kurultai dying and them getting blamed for it.
General Anderson and General Nurzhan kept squabbling all the way to the shore. Even when they were all required to change into outfits more appropriate for possible combat while they were flying towards the inland fort, Gen. Anderson kept shouting to Nurzhan about "his extreme bluntness and stubborness" as she was changing into combat gear from a private area in the back of the aircraft. Nurzhan on the other hand, mostly just misunderstood what she was saying, due to his lack of understanding of both metaphors and social situations. General Yun stayed quiet as always, choosing not to interfere in the constant rivalry the other two generals seemed to be having. Yuri never really minded the constant arguments between the two ever since he had chosen them for his Kurultai. It was actually quite helpful that they were constantly trying to outdo each other, and it was funny to see as well. However, it did not help at the moment, as they were trying to not get seen by these potential new enemies, and he silenced them both with an angry look.
Finally, they arrived at the last dune before the beach, and they all crouched down to stay hidden. The original escort squad leader peeked over the hill and immediately pulled back his head with a shocked expression on his face.
"What is it?" Yuri and the generals asked in unison
"A fortified encampment, right there, on the shore." The squad leader replied.
The Khan requested the man's binoculars and did looked over the dune.
"There's at least a thousand people holed up in there, maybe even more. Tell your men to spread out around the dunes, and get them ready to shoot if needed. General Anderson, I want you to call in a few fighter planes from the nearest airbase, tell them to patrol around the area. General Nurzhan, contact the nearby forts and tell them to send more soldiers to our position. I also want our coastal guns online ASAP."
Both generals did so immediately. First to say anything was Katie "I contacted the airbase, but the quickest their planes can be here is in a few hours." "Our coastal guns are ready, but it will take a while for these new soldiers to get here." Arman said thereafter.
And so they waited for a while, all silent.
"You know, frankly I expected something like this to happen." General Yun said suddenly. "We have no navy at the moment."
"Yeah well, the Core hasn't build any ports here yet, and you know landships can't float." Yuri replied. The refusal of the Khaganate to have a proper navy was well known with other empires and nations they had contacted previously. Instead, when the Khaganate's armies needed any naval operations done, they would call in assistance from the Core, the AI reponsible for running the AIR. This AI controlled and built another branch of robots called the Naval Military Robots, which are based on various sea creatures the Khaganate found on ocean planets they had colonized and conquered.
"The Core should hurry up with this then, but they can't now with these people here."
The waiting continued.
After what felt like, and was in fact, hours, the backup they required had arrived. Several K-7 'Gopher' APCs arrived and stopped near the shore, and soldiers jumped out, going towards the soldiers already sitting on the dunes, while F-5 'Marauder' strike fighters flew overhead, ready for any command to attack. It was at that moment the Coastal guns activated, slowly rising up from their hidden positions in the dunes, and turned around.
A fifth man joined the members of the Kurultai. It was Stephan Michel, one of the best diplomats of the Khaganate. Yuri had requested his presence earlier as they had encountered unknown, but organized people and the man obliged, being transported all the way from the Lanist Khaganate's capital. The Khaganate's response was ready.
Carnelian Viscountess
Member
Seen
3 mos ago
Meanwhile in the warring nations of the Yahupi Confederacy and the Federation both of them have claimed more land to fund the war efforts. However both of them are largely even in the war efforts. More slave rebellions are putting much strain on the northern territories of the Yahupi, however they are still managing, barely though. Thousands have died in this war, and many more will die as there is no hope with organizing a treaty with the Yahupi, considering their nature.
In the federation, the national commander was sitting at his desk, filling out a few papers. His expression was one of annoyance, and one of worry. He wasn't to happy with this war, as many aren't. His office area was rather disorganized, however it was quite upkeep due to him being the leader and all. There was a knock on the door.
"Come in." the commander said breifly. The door opened, revealing a tall man in a white and green suit, 4 stars lining his neckpiece, indicating his rank of sub-commander. His name tag was "Charles Backhouse".
"Mr.Backhouse...brief me of the plan." the commander said, looking Mr.Backhouse in the eye, he looked him back in the eye. Those dull orange eyes, and that orange and white uniform was quite obvious. There lied 5 golden stars on his neckpiece, indicating his rank of commander. His name tag was "Jack Clements."
"The plan is going well, sir. We will have the new battleship finished soon. We have a good idea of the weaknesses of the enemy, we will plan accordlingly. I will have to meet with the advising staff." Mr.Backhouse stated evenly.
The commander nodded. "Good. We will win this war, and we will free those people who are under that horrible regime." he stated.
"I am in full agreement with you there." Mr.Backhouse replied.
The commander dismissed Mr.Backhouse, and continued on with his work. The battleship would be built soon after, and would secure many victories for the federation.
_
In the Yahupi Confederacy a clocktower sounded at noon. Massive droves of people made their way to the various solar temples throughout the nation, other than the soldiers who were off fighting in the war. The solar temples were buit like the Mayan Temples of our history, but made out of orange colored rock. At the top of the temple was a massive ornament, resembling a sun.
These people got down on their knees and bowed their heads. "Father sun..." they started out, and then they said their prayers to the large ornament at the top. This lasted on 30 minutes, before they then got back to their various duties and jobs of the day.
Cheif Tutanabo stayed in his temple, and prayed to the actual sun itself. As he is the only one allowed to do so, as the sun commands all, just like he does.
The various officers were briefed on plans of a new catapulting system, with triple flaming cannonballs. This was soon built, and secured many victories for the Yahupi. Still, these nations were at equal par.
_
Somewhere else...somewhere else entirely. Space to be exact, a green cylinder shape object entered orbit around the planet, being virtually undetectable of these various nations below except those who have technology to scan the skies for such objects, no or not many nations have these technologies.
This object redirect's it's orbital path to a sub orbital trajectory, aimed to land right nearby to the nation known as the Lanist Khanagate. A few hours later this object would come falling down through the sky at many many kilometers per hour. The sky started to form a burning effect around this object as it entered the atmosphere. An arc in the sky was left behind, being rather obvious to the Khanians below.
This object gradually slowed down, before landing with a big thunk outside of the Lanist Khanagate. This object melted away into a greenish liquid which after a minute orso, assumed human form. This human was a female human, wearing green boots, a simple green shirt, blonde to brown hair done in a bun of sorts. Translucent, aquamarine dragonfly wings laid on her back elegantly, with her eyes being just as Aquamarine. She was somewhat short, and Petite. She starts to lazily fly off to the Lanist Khanagate, taking in the various smells and sounds she encounters in the air on her way there, sometimes flying upside down or just floating without any regard to...physics. She's one of those types.
In the federation, the national commander was sitting at his desk, filling out a few papers. His expression was one of annoyance, and one of worry. He wasn't to happy with this war, as many aren't. His office area was rather disorganized, however it was quite upkeep due to him being the leader and all. There was a knock on the door.
"Come in." the commander said breifly. The door opened, revealing a tall man in a white and green suit, 4 stars lining his neckpiece, indicating his rank of sub-commander. His name tag was "Charles Backhouse".
"Mr.Backhouse...brief me of the plan." the commander said, looking Mr.Backhouse in the eye, he looked him back in the eye. Those dull orange eyes, and that orange and white uniform was quite obvious. There lied 5 golden stars on his neckpiece, indicating his rank of commander. His name tag was "Jack Clements."
"The plan is going well, sir. We will have the new battleship finished soon. We have a good idea of the weaknesses of the enemy, we will plan accordlingly. I will have to meet with the advising staff." Mr.Backhouse stated evenly.
The commander nodded. "Good. We will win this war, and we will free those people who are under that horrible regime." he stated.
"I am in full agreement with you there." Mr.Backhouse replied.
The commander dismissed Mr.Backhouse, and continued on with his work. The battleship would be built soon after, and would secure many victories for the federation.
_
In the Yahupi Confederacy a clocktower sounded at noon. Massive droves of people made their way to the various solar temples throughout the nation, other than the soldiers who were off fighting in the war. The solar temples were buit like the Mayan Temples of our history, but made out of orange colored rock. At the top of the temple was a massive ornament, resembling a sun.
These people got down on their knees and bowed their heads. "Father sun..." they started out, and then they said their prayers to the large ornament at the top. This lasted on 30 minutes, before they then got back to their various duties and jobs of the day.
Cheif Tutanabo stayed in his temple, and prayed to the actual sun itself. As he is the only one allowed to do so, as the sun commands all, just like he does.
The various officers were briefed on plans of a new catapulting system, with triple flaming cannonballs. This was soon built, and secured many victories for the Yahupi. Still, these nations were at equal par.
_
Somewhere else...somewhere else entirely. Space to be exact, a green cylinder shape object entered orbit around the planet, being virtually undetectable of these various nations below except those who have technology to scan the skies for such objects, no or not many nations have these technologies.
This object redirect's it's orbital path to a sub orbital trajectory, aimed to land right nearby to the nation known as the Lanist Khanagate. A few hours later this object would come falling down through the sky at many many kilometers per hour. The sky started to form a burning effect around this object as it entered the atmosphere. An arc in the sky was left behind, being rather obvious to the Khanians below.
This object gradually slowed down, before landing with a big thunk outside of the Lanist Khanagate. This object melted away into a greenish liquid which after a minute orso, assumed human form. This human was a female human, wearing green boots, a simple green shirt, blonde to brown hair done in a bun of sorts. Translucent, aquamarine dragonfly wings laid on her back elegantly, with her eyes being just as Aquamarine. She was somewhat short, and Petite. She starts to lazily fly off to the Lanist Khanagate, taking in the various smells and sounds she encounters in the air on her way there, sometimes flying upside down or just floating without any regard to...physics. She's one of those types.
CmdrAlfieq
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
The soldiers at their barricades are awaiting for malicious surge to happen at their stations. Intimidated by the forces of somewhat much different than the Militarian Army, the Kronfurter has ordered his few hundreds of patrolmen to stay on high alert and watches their current positions of some distant unknowns to make sure that will never getting themselves off-guard by them. Other tens of men were at the communication branch to rely and maintaining their current situations back at their headquarters. The rest of the remaining squads were on a reconnaissance duty, sneakily and further away from their fortified encampment to gather as much information as possible from outlying places before any evaluations at the Militarian High Command final decisions. If anything goes grim, there's a third expeditionary fleet awaiting for counter barrage as a last ditch counterattack before their expeditionary force can orderly a full retreat back at their ships.
Unfortunately for the third expeditionary force, their main goal was to scout ahead and return back with enough information, hence their forces that the unknown forces were facing are mostly under equipped to fight back with any reasonable numbers, but with their senses of fanaticism will serving much difficult to give up a battle (until death) without their commanding officer to hold them.
It is a matter of every small event on which two sides will instigate the conflict (or other means) at the unknown (Lanist) coastal area, either the AA's third expeditionary force, or the undefined force (Lanist). A single undeclared battle from there onward will be enough to start a long, unfriendly relations for a many years to come.
Fairyfloss Warning: Friendly
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Location: Yathonia, Laria's dining room
Time: Late Afternoon.
Time: Late Afternoon.
"DADDY. I WANT THIS MAN DEAD." Laria shouts, pointing at one of her servant, who instantly goes pale.
"Now now, my dear, what did he do this time?" Stahl says, grinning.
"He put the sugar cubes in my tea! I wanted to do it myself!" Laria says, pouting.
"Very well, my dear. Guards?" Stahl says, as two armed guards enter the room. "Seize this man, have him executed immediately."
"Hang him!" Laria says, grinning. "No wait, shoot him instead, it's faster!"
"Very well, Princess." The guards state as they grab the servant and drag him out of the building.
"Thank you daddy." Laria says, as she waves at one of her other servants to get her another cup of tea. "So, did Arrae tell you anything useful?"
"Ah, yes. Arrae has identified the nations and gave me some basic information on each of them." Stahl says, handing the document to his daughter, who excitedly starts reading it.
"So, which of these nations are our best bets for trade?"
"Well, of the Seven Nations, only six of these potentially have ports on our ocean. I've put them at the front based on their proximity." Stahl says, pointing at the index page.
"So... the nearest nations would be these..." Laria says, pointing in turn at the Trogo Kingdom, Auclaire, and the Yahupi Confederacy. "Do we have any other information about these nations?"
"Not much, Arrae was feeling lazy today." Stahl says, sighing as he takes a seat opposite of his daughter. "So what do you think we should do."
"We should open communications with these nations, maybe send Arrae to visit one of them, get them off their lazy rear."
"Sounds good. Should I send Diplomatic Vessels, Trade Vessels, or Military Vessels?"
"Trade to Trogo and Auclaire. Diplomatic to Yahupi and this 'Federation'. Military to the Veilletes and the so-called 'Alfieq's Army'." Laria says, taking a cookie from a nearby cookie tin.
"Very well, and where should we send Arrae too?"
"We'll wait and see how the other nations react to us before we send them off."
Several Hours later, off the coast of the Trogo Kingdom.
A small container ship, equipped with a single turret for self-defense, anchors off the coast of the Trogo Kingdom, and attempts to contact the nation. Using lamps to try and communicate in Morse Code, declaring themselves to be a trading vessel belonging to Yathon Corp, they state that they would like to establish peaceful trade relations with the Kingdom.
As the first ship arrives at Trogo, several other ships are still underway to the other nations. Heading towards Alfieq's Army and the Veilletes Republic are converted warships, the rear half of the ships converted to serve as cargo decks. If approached, they launch flares before attempting to communicate with Morse Code, declaring themselves to be Merchant-Warships belonging to Yathon Corp, announcing that they have no hostile intent and want to establish friendly relations with the nations..
Approaching Yahupi and the Federation are two large passenger ferries, equipped with two self-defense turrets each. If approached, they attempt to establish contact via radio. They declare themselves to be representatives of Yathonia and want to establish an embassy.
Another container ship, similar to the one approaching Trogo approaches Auclaire. If contacted, it tries to communicate in the same method as the ship that has arrived in Trogo, declaring that they wish to establish trading relations between the nations.
1x Like
CmdrAlfieq
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Location: Yathonia, Laria's dining room
Time: Late Afternoon.
As the first ship arrives at Trogo, several other ships are still underway to the other nations. Heading towards Alfieq's Army and the Veilletes Republic are converted warships, the rear half of the ships converted to serve as cargo decks. If approached, they launch flares before attempting to communicate with Morse Code, declaring themselves to be Merchant-Warships belonging to Yathon Corp, announcing that they have no hostile intent and want to establish friendly relations with the nations..
Both nations are 'pulling their thumbs up' and transmitted through their radio frequencies, publicly announced from the Veilletes Republic and secondary level, highly encrypted frequency from the Alfieq's Army.
= Veilletes International Radio Network =
"Good day traders, what do you offer for the majestic presides of the Veilletes Republic?" - Radioman of VR.
= Code E124816# - L2 Monitor Network ##### =
"Hail to the glory of our revolutionary army! What is your current mission to a crawling visit of our militarist people?" - Radioman of AA.
Carnelian Viscountess
Member
Seen
3 mos ago
Location: Yathonia, Laria's dining room
Time: Late Afternoon.
Approaching Yahupi and the Federation are two large passenger ferries, equipped with two self-defense turrets each. If approached, they attempt to establish contact via radio. They declare themselves to be representatives of Yathonia and want to establish an embassy.
There is no radio response to the message. Once these ferries reach the shores of the Yahupi nation, they can see the buildings are all made out of wood, and logs, there is no paved road, streetlights, anything like that. Each has a symbol of a sun carved into the wood. These ferries are spotted quickly by the Yahupi.
"LINE!!!" One of them shouts, they form a line of soldiers, with orange magical shields infront of them. Muskets in between these shields.
They wait in anticipation for something to happen, before firing. They have no clue what this ferrie is, or what it is for. The Yahupi are muscular, and wear minimal clothing. They look like a mix of Mongolians, and Native Americans from our history. On each of their faces is 2, red lines painted on their cheeks. Their chests have various designs of tatoos on them.
_
The ones that have approached the Federation get no response either. The federation's buildings seem to be much like the Yahupi's, minus the sun symbol. They seem to be more traditional. No 'modern' things here either. The people here look at the arriving ferries with curious looks, talking and muttering amongst the crowd. However, 2 men in blue, and white suits approach the ferries. Looking at them. They looked like your standard European. They seem to be...officers? Police?
"What is this?" one of them asked the other.
"We'll find out." the other said back. They waited for...something to happen.
Apple Principality Observation
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
[quote=@Fairyfloss]
A small container ship, equipped with a single turret for self-defense, anchors off the coast of the Trogo Kingdom, and attempts to contact the nation. Using lamps to try and communicate in Morse Code, declaring themselves to be a trading vessel belonging to Yathon Corp, they state that they would like to establish peaceful trade relations with the Kingdom.
A light patrol boat is speeding over the horizon full tilt, it looks to be armed but a lot smaller then the container ship.
2 seconds of high pitched computer sounds
"Yathon Corporation whiskey alpha romeo one. This is aTrogo Navy Seaboard Patrol. Prepare to be searched under the Foreign Intervention Act. Acts of aggression will be not tolerated."
The ship is a few klicks out, it will arrive in 5 or so minutes at it's current speed.
Several Hours later, off the coast of the Trogo Kingdom.
A small container ship, equipped with a single turret for self-defense, anchors off the coast of the Trogo Kingdom, and attempts to contact the nation. Using lamps to try and communicate in Morse Code, declaring themselves to be a trading vessel belonging to Yathon Corp, they state that they would like to establish peaceful trade relations with the Kingdom.
A light patrol boat is speeding over the horizon full tilt, it looks to be armed but a lot smaller then the container ship.
incoming radio transmission
2 seconds of high pitched computer sounds
"Yathon Corporation whiskey alpha romeo one. This is aTrogo Navy Seaboard Patrol. Prepare to be searched under the Foreign Intervention Act. Acts of aggression will be not tolerated."
The ship is a few klicks out, it will arrive in 5 or so minutes at it's current speed.
Fairyfloss Warning: Friendly
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
= Veilletes International Radio Network =
"Good day traders, what do you offer for the majestic presides of the Veilletes Republic?" - Radioman of VR.
The Veilletes Radio Network receives a response.
"This is the YMW S-38, representing the Yathon Corp. We wish to open direct relations between the Veilletes Republic and Yathon. Our company excels in the development and construction of Military Equipment, and we carry several containers worth of Firearms as a gift to the Veilletes Republic."
= Code E124816# - L2 Monitor Network ##### =
"Hail to the glory of our revolutionary army! What is your current mission to a crawling visit of our militarist people?" - Radioman of AA.
Alfieq's Army too receives a response.
"Greetings, this is S-48 of the Yathon Merchant Warfleet. We have no hostile intent and hope to open peaceful trade relations between Yathon and Alfieq's Army. We sell and produce weapons of war, and carry some Field Guns as a gift to Alfieq's Army as a sign of peace."
There is no radio response to the message. Once these ferries reach the shores of the Yahupi nation, they can see the buildings are all made out of wood, and logs, there is no paved road, streetlights, anything like that. Each has a symbol of a sun carved into the wood. These ferries are spotted quickly by the Yahupi.
"LINE!!!" One of them shouts, they form a line of soldiers, with orange magical shields infront of them. Muskets in between these shields.
They wait in anticipation for something to happen, before firing. They have no clue what this ferrie is, or what it is for. The Yahupi are muscular, and wear minimal clothing. They look like a mix of Mongolians, and Native Americans from our history. On each of their faces is 2, red lines painted on their cheeks. Their chests have various designs of tatoos on them.
As the ship receives no response, it anchors off the coast, observing the activity on the coast. Since there is no response, they sent out a crow, carrying a note to whoever looks as though they are in charge. The note reads:
'This is a message from Yathon. One of our ships has arrived at your coast but has not received a response from you. We come in peace and wish to trade. Our specialities are weapons and more weapons. Please respond when possible.'
The ones that have approached the Federation get no response either. The federation's buildings seem to be much like the Yahupi's, minus the sun symbol. They seem to be more traditional. No 'modern' things here either. The people here look at the arriving ferries with curious looks, talking and muttering amongst the crowd. However, 2 men in blue, and white suits approach the ferries. Looking at them. They looked like your standard European. They seem to be...officers? Police?
"What is this?" one of them asked the other.
"We'll find out." the other said back. They waited for...something to happen.
As the ferry receives no response, it decides to send a raven, carrying a note to one of the officers.
'Greetings, this is a pre-written message on behalf of Yathon Corp. We seek to open trade relations with your nation and are willing to sell weapons for you to use.'
A light patrol boat is speeding over the horizon full tilt, it looks to be armed but a lot smaller then the container ship.incoming radio transmission
2 seconds of high pitched computer sounds
"Yathon Corporation whiskey alpha romeo one. This is aTrogo Navy Seaboard Patrol. Prepare to be searched under the Foreign Intervention Act. Acts of aggression will be not tolerated."
The ship is a few klicks out, it will arrive in 5 or so minutes at it's current speed.
The ship's captain responds.
"Acknowledged. We will wait for your arrival and let you do a thorough search. Be aware that we carry five containers worth of Firearms and a single Infantry Fighting Vehicle, intended as a gift to your nation from Yathon, as we specialize in manufacturing and developing Military Equipment."
1 Guest
viewing this page
of
9
© 2007-2024