Governor: 
The Democratic Republic of Temris
WA Delegate: None.
Founder: 
The Democratic Republic of Temris
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Tags: Medium.
The Celestial Empire contains 15 nations, the 1,302nd most in the world.
Today's World Census Report
The Largest Automobile Manufacturing Sector in The Celestial Empire
World Census analysts extensively tested concept muscle cars in empty parking lots in order to estimate which nations have the largest auto industries.
As a region, The Celestial Empire is ranked 11,801st in the world for Largest Automobile Manufacturing Sector.
 | Nation | WA Category | Motto | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1. |  The Free Land of Sartak | Corporate Police State | “Thunder of hooves, crack of rifles.” | |
| 2. |  The Principality of Celaguun | Compulsory Consumerist State | “Motto...” | |
| 3. |  The Protectorate of Erhani | Moralistic Democracy | “Kohakh e hri Alhritsa, a nashgusakh kash.” | |
| 4. |  The Free Land of Qaimong | Compulsory Consumerist State | “Justice, Piety, Loyalty” | |
| 5. |  The Principality of The Union of the Three Rivers | Father Knows Best State | “International Trade Never Hurt Anyone” | |
| 6. |  The Imperial Prefecture of Kidai | Inoffensive Centrist Democracy | “Long Live the Celestial Empire” | |
| 7. |  The People's Republic of Kalquen | Left-Leaning College State | “To the people goes the nation” | |
| 8. |  The Confederacy of Kushmire | Psychotic Dictatorship | “Die in a Blaze of Glory, or don't Die at All” | |
| 9. |  The Fiefdom of Kolch | Corrupt Dictatorship | “When the sun kisses the sand, a patriot's heart swells.” | |
| 10. |  The Republic of Hoydland | Corporate Bordello | “Progresiin Tov.” |
12»
Regional Happenings
- :
The Fiefdom of Kolch set the region's banner.
- : The Principality of The Union of the Three Rivers arrived from The Wellspring.
- :
The Principality of Celaguun arrived from Sora.
- :
The Republic of Hoydland arrived from The West Pacific.
- :
The People's Republic of Kalquen arrived from The North Pacific.
- :
The Free Land of Qaimong arrived from The West Pacific.
- :
The Confederacy of Kushmire arrived from The South Pacific.
- :
The Province of Razna arrived from Union of Allied States.
- :
The Dominion of Tangwen arrived from United Democratic Nations.
- :
The Imperial Prefecture of Kidai arrived from Balder.
The Celestial Empire Regional Message Board
Loading...A New Era
Khottar, Hoydland, January 19th, NL 15
Governor Chaguye Ayush smiled as he peeked around the corner. Thousands of Hoyds, a majority of them women, cheered in dresses of purple, red, and pink variety. Infants from as young as two to elders as old as ninety waved white handkerchiefs in unison in a dancing line of smiles. Today was a momentous day for the republic. After years of struggle, Hoydland would finally be seen as the beacon of liberty it truly is. Just one speech would make it official. All Governor Ayush had to do was step towards the podium.
Governor Ayush made his exit from the Navchny Gurtar, a grand palace made of pristine red brick, marble, and wooden accents that houses the Governor of the Republic of Hoydland, along with the High Office (where the Representative Diet of Hoydland meets) and the Hall of Justice (the highest level of judicial court in the province, which is controlled by the Hoydland military). Surrounding the elaborate series of these three segments is a beautiful lawn of olive green and a forest of the tallest trees in the republic. Behind the structure lies a small beach used privately for the Governor and his family and an open view of Od Lake, its waters still a glistening blue even with the constantly gray, gloomy weather. As Governor Ayush began on the winding path of red bricks, an applause began from the very front. With every step he took, the applause spread throughout the crowd until Governor Ayush found himself standing in front of a bronze microphone with thousands cheering his name.
With the flags of Hoydland and the Celestial Empire draped over the stage behind him, Governor Ayush tapped the microphone lightly. Seeing the sound as satisfactory (this was a new invention in the empire after all), he took a deep breath, and began.
“I am honored to see all of you here today to celebrate this momentous day in Hoydland’s history. For years, the fight for the right to vote has been a struggle for all of you today. The wait has been a long, arduous one, indeed. Those that have died in the crossfires of this debate will forever be remembered for giving their lives for this cause. It’s unfortunate that it had to come to that in the first place. The Hoyd dress will forever be a symbol of righteousness and justice throughout the empire as other provinces will no doubt recognize the evolution of our republic as one to look up to for peace, prosperity, and growth. Hoydland will inspire generations of women and young girls to no doubt fight for their right to have a say within their own governments. It is a treasured right of every Hoyd in this republic to have a say in the elections and decisions that shape our province today. The wait for suffrage is no more for all of you. I am pleased to announce the ratification of “The Women’s Act”, which enacts the right to vote for all Hoyd women throughout the province in every public election!”
At his word, white handkerchiefs flew into the air as the crowd rallied together in celebration. The fight was over. They had won. Governor Ayush couldn’t help but smile, lightly clapping his hands together in a subtle celebration of his own. A gentle breeze swept through the lawn as the flags behind him waved in light applause. A touch on the Governor’s shoulder took him smile away, as he turned to see his lead diplomatic advisor, Erchim Zorigtyn, with a grave look on his face.
“Governor, we need to talk. Now.” Erchim grabbed Chaguye’s arm. Startled, he took a step back. However, realizing the weight of the unknown situation, he nodded. The two quickly marched amongst the deafening celebrations along the red brick road, entering the closest conference room. Erchim nearly pushed the Governor into the room before shutting the wooden entrance. It was silent.
“What is the meaning of this, Erchim?” Governor Ayush asked, regaining his composure. Erchim nervously adjusted his suit.
“I received word from Imperial Representative Rai Chinzorig. He explained that at the last convention of the Imperial Diet, the Emperor was declared dead.” Governor Ayush looked to the ground, realization striking him in the face.
“I see-” He was cut off.
“That’s not all. Rai detailed that after a vote to move the Diet outside the capital, which passed, a man named Admiral Gong attacked the representatives. As they tried to escape, some were killed among the chaos. Rai said he managed to escape the city by hiding until nightfall and running in the darkness. Traversing the countryside, he ended by telling me that he had made it to Erhani and was planning to find his way back with a group of merchants. His writing seemed awfully shaky. Perhaps he has not fully recovered from the attack…” As Erchim finished, Governor Ayush stroked his chin, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke.
“Thank you, Erchim. Send a message to the north to expect Rai’s arrival. I’m sure he will find his way. We need to get him here as soon as possible so that we can plan our next move. We need to regain order to the empire. Prepare messengers to be sent to the provinces of Erhani, Kalquen, Temris, Kidai, and Kolch. We need to learn their plans for this relocation of the Diet. Let’s act fast before our enemies hear about this. We don’t need our fallen empire to be attacked among this chaos…”
Of Dynasties and Destiny
Chasewater, Democratic Republic of Temris
January 16, New Life 15
Marcy MacDarcy clenched her teeth against the fire that raged in her bosom. Again the midwife urged her to push, and again Marcy did. Veins pulsed against her forehead. Capillaries burst like fireworks across her body. Her hand, clenched like a lion’s paw against its prey, dug into her husband’s arm. Spencer MacDarcy, a man of 26, could only coo sweet nothings into her sweat-soaked ear as her nails dug deeper into his flesh.
Agony pierced the early morning hours. Marcy pushed again, her screams filling the mansion Spencer’s father had built for them as a wedding present only a year before. Laying her head down against her pillow, Marcy gasped for breath. “Gods,” she said, “have mercy.”
“Just a couple more pushes, Mrs. MacDarcy,” the midwife said. “I can see the baby’s head poking through.”
Marcy took a deep breath and pushed.
As her scream faded another, shriller, cry took up the empty space. “The head’s through!” The midwife smiled at Spencer. Whispering more encouragement, Spencer urged his wife to keep going. Marcy squeezed her eyes shut. Her tongue stuck like peanut butter to the roof of her mouth. How much more of this would she have to endure? Hearing her baby cry, Marcy mustered one final push.
“It’s a boy!” The midwife said, rushing to wrap the newborn in a clean blanket. “The MacDarcys have a baby boy.”
Spencer’s face lit up, his smile beaming through the early morning gloom like a radiant sun. “Congratulations, momma,” Spencer said, kissing his wife’s forehead. Marcy offered a silent nod. After several agonizing moments, the midwife handed the newborn boy to Marcy.
“Spencer,” Marcy said, her eyes drifting between the baby and its father, “I can’t…” Spencer took the child as Marcy’s strength waned. “Kayden,” she said, her voice hardly a whisper. A tear slipped down her eye, her trembling hand reaching out to touch the baby’s cheek. “Our little Kayden.”
“Marcy,” Spender said, his face contorting with a confused amalgamation of joy and grief. “Marcy, you can’t do this. Not to Kayden.” Marcy smiled, her eyes growing dim.
A beam of soft light crept through the windows. Piercing the white curtains, it traveled over the baby’s head to touch the pale cheeks of its mother. As Kayden cooed in his father’s arms, Marcy MacDarcy breathed her last.
______________________________________________________________________________
January 17, New Life 15
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Colin,” Dean Higgins said, his hand in his vest pocket. “I will remember the boy and his father in my prayers.” Clicking the button on the top of his pocket watch, he fought the urge to withdraw the gilded item to check the time.
Colin MacDarcy’s iron gaze never wavered. From beneath a tall, dark hat, his green eyes searched Higgins for any sign of weakness. “Marcy will be missed,” he said at last, casting a sideways glance at a third man. “Kayden will grow up without ever knowing the love a mother can offer.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “It will make him a stronger man.”
The third man scoffed. Clearing his throat, Higgins finally allowed himself a glance at his watch. It was almost noon, thank the gods. “I trust you’ll set him a fine example,” Higgins said after a long moment. Rising from his seat, Higgins motioned for the two men to do the same. Ridiculous, he thought, that he should have to prompt them. Their rise should be automatic.
MacDarcy was slow to stand, but once he was on his feet he towered over the other two. Higgins cast the third man a glance. MacDarcy wore the tall hat for a reason. Striding for the door, Higgins could feel the relief building in his chest as he reached for the knob. An hour with these two felt like an eternity.
“Mr. Murphy,” MacDarcy said, offering the man his hand, “a pleasure as always. Just remember our little deal.”
Murphy nodded. Shaking MacDarcy’s hand stiffly, he then turned to offer Higgins the same hand. “Lord Lieutenant.”
Higgins moved to shake his hand when the door to his office suddenly burst open. Narrowly managing to jump out of the way, Higgins opened his mouth to scold the newcomer.
“My apologies, Lord Lieutenant,” the newcomer swiftly said. “I’ve just received an urgent message from Jesse O’Rourke in Cigallo.”
Higgins’ eyes narrowed. “Cigallo?” Searching the other two men for answers, Murphy shrugged while MacDarcy leaned ominously forward. Higgins swallowed. O’Rourke was supposed to be in Nhasa. “Why in the blazes is Delegate O’Rourke in Cigallo?”
“Sir,” the newcomer said, presenting a series of telegrams. Higgins took them, his mouth puckering under a raised eyebrow. The man’s intrusion would need to be dealt with. His eyes fell to the telegrams.
“My Lord Lieutenant,” Higgins began, “I regret to inform you that His Exalted Majesty, Ren Osarrus XXIV, has died.” Murphy gasped. MacDarcy leaned backwards slightly, only to swing his body forward again. “Admiral Gong has seized control of the Capital and attempted to dissolve the Diet. After a fierce debate, he resolved to slaughter its members. I was one of about two dozen survivors.”
“Gods…” Murphy whispered. The man’s hand rose to his forehead where, under the scrutiny of MacDarcy, he brushed his hair back. “A coup?”
“It would appear so,” MacDarcy said. “Continue, Lord Lieutenant.”
Higgins cleared his throat, his mind hardly able to keep up with the developments. “Outside the walls, the survivors voted to move the Diet to Cigallo. There, we intend to rebuild the exiled government, search for Ren’s reincarnation, and build an army to challenge Gong. Let Maggie know I’m alive, and that my thoughts and prayers are with her and the children. Yours, Jesse O’Rourke.”
Deafening silence filled the office. For a moment no one dared look at each other, then slowly, the four men exchanged fearful glances. Everyone except MacDarcy. Colin MacDarcy stood unreadable; his towering presence like that of the dark side of the moon.
“Lord Lieutenant,” Murphy said, his voice barely audible. “What are we going to do?”
Higgins put his hand back in his pocket, his fingers finding his engraved pocket watch given to him on the day of his election. His eyes weaved through the spaces between the three men who now looked to him for guidance. Temris had found itself in an extraordinary circumstance. An unprecedented circumstance.
“We will carry on,” MacDarcy said, answering Murphy’s question. “I see no reason to halt normal operations. The people will want to know that Temris is secure and that the Diet is doing all it can to ensure a peaceful transfer of power.”
“How can we continue on as normal while a madman commands the Capital and the Empire’s troops?” Murphy’s pale face slowly reclaimed its color. “From the sound of it, most of the Diet is dead. We can’t sit back and pretend.”
“We can’t cause an alarm either.” MacDarcy cast a dark look in the Lord Lieutenant’s direction. “What will it be, Lord Lieutenant?”
Higgins withdrew his hand from his pocket. His heart beat in his ears. Had someone spoken? MacDarcy repeated his question, his tone borderline insubordinate. “We will wait for further information from Jesse,” Higgins finally said. “I don’t want to act a couple of telegrams alone. Perhaps I’ll contact the Capital myself and see what’s really going on.”
MacDarcy pursed his lips. “Wisdom and patience have always been your virtues.”
A chill shot down Higgins’ spine. “Let’s hope for the best, shall we?”
Trouble in Celagia
Winter, Celagia City, Celaguun
It was a brisk Winter day. I was trotting through the sparse streets of lower Celagia, the bakery my destination. The grand harbour was covered in a thin sheet of ice, scattering the flaming colours of the rising sun across the small fishing huts, making this Winter day feel a little more warm than any other. I advanced through the street, until the sound of conflict caught my attention. I turned my eyes towards the source, an alleyway next to the grocer, but could not identify any danger. The noises kept getting louder, however. At last, the source of my worries came barging into the street. There were three men; two dressed very neatly, in black and blue uniforms, and the other in garments of what looked like burlap. A struggle seemed to be taking place, with the two gentlemen at the upper hand. After a few minutes, they were able to pick up the third by his shoulders. Curious, I followed them closely while noting down everything I saw in my leather-lined notebook.
The man in burlap cried the weirdest things. I could not hear exactly what he was trying to say, but the words “revolution” and “swines” seemed to be prevalent. Possibly a scientist, who had just discovered a new way to cultivate pork. The two gentlemen seemed to prefer the quieter alleyways, although the populous didn’t seem concerned when they were walking through denser crowds. Their destination appeared to be quite a ways away. I followed them through at least five-and-twenty alleyways, before one of them pointed out a tower in the distance. It reminded me of something, but I could not put my finger on it. In the meantime, I kept following the company. Four alleyways later, I could get a clear sight of the building. It was thinner than I was expecting, its height alluded to a building at least twice its width. It looked very organic, almost no straight lines were present. The stained glass depicted scenes with boats and the sea, typical for Celagian culture. I once again looked at the building in its entirety, and I finally recognised it. It was the building depicted on the first Celagian Sol I’d received.
The two gentlemen made their way through the dense crowds, still carrying the third by his shoulders. They stopped in front of the steps leading up to the gate, and said something to the four guards, which I could not hear as I was too far away. I thought about following them inside the building, but decided against it. I was probably not permitted to enter. I walked around the square looking for more inspiration for my book. My father had been a writer, and his father too. They were fairly unknown, and mainly made a living off of copying documents. After walking around for a few minutes, I found a small stone statue guarding the entrance to a garden of some sorts. It looked like a quiet spot to sit down, away from the crowds, so I entered.
It was smaller than I’d originally expected, around the size of the park in the city I grew up in. The trees were big enough to block out the sun near the edges of the garden. Remarkably, they had not yet lost their leaves, in spite of the cold. A few people were sitting on the frozen benches, reading newspapers or eating bread. I chose an empty bench near a statue of a mermaid, and sat down. I took out my notebook and started sketching the garden.
I had finished a rough sketch and was about to start adding the details, when a man wearing an overcoat approached. He tried to sit down, so I moved a little to the side. I continued drawing, and glanced at him now and again. He appeared to be writing something, and judging from the pot of ink next to him, it was probably a letter of some sorts. He didn’t look Celagian to me, but I’m not the best at determining ethnicity. I added the final details to my drawing just as he had finished writing. He put the letter in an off-white envelope, and wrote the final words on the back. Probably the address. He took the envelope and tucked it in his coat. He turned to me and said: “You don’t look Celegian. Where are you from?”
I turned the page in my notebook and wrote down what he said, all while answering him. “Well spotted, sir. I moved here from Nhasa. You don’t look like you’re from around here either. Where are you from, if I may ask?”
He paused for just long enough to make it sound suspicious. “My great-grandfather was from… Temris. But I was born in this city. What’s your name?”
“My name’s Gado, sir. I’m a writer.”
He chuckled. “I can tell. My name’s Liabotele.”
I flipped a couple of pages back in my notebook. “I don’t believe it is, good sir. “Ele” is not a correct suffix.”
He started turning a little red, and murmured something in a language I could not understand. “That’s… uh… because it’s a common name in Temris.”
I frowned. “Well here it says…”
“I… uh… have to post this letter urgently. Pleasure talking to ya.” He sprang up from the bench and hurriedly left the garden.
“What a strange man”, I remarked as I wrote down the last words he said. “I guess I should get a move on too. I still need to go to the bakery.” I closed my notebook and stood up from the bench. I strolled out the garden and entered the busy crowds of the street.
“Peculiar Movement” — Meeting of masters
January 11 1910,
Hanyou Imperial Naval Base.
The sun floats above the sky, above the turquoise waters of the South Celesia Sea, spreading long shadows across the port's brand-new piers. It was a spot where the line between the land of life and the majestic sea drew thin, and sailors spoke of pirates and forgotten mythical creatures. The air smelt of salt and adventure, and the cracking of ship hulls rang through the polished boards. It was here, at the crossroads of fate, that two great people met—one a governor of the imperial province, the other a seasoned admiral who had sailed the furthest borders and fought many wars and battles of the known globe.
The governor of the province of Karakez, Master-Principal Gi'an Stitura, stood beneath the majestic banner of the province, his red uniform robes decorated with shiny metals that shimmered like trapped starlight. His eyes gazed at the horizon, as old as the mountains that embraced the nation. The naval base officer, who had seen too much and wished he hadn't shifted anxiously next to him, fixing his cap. The man who managed the base was called Yuel; he was a scrawny man with pepper-and-salt hair who was always squinting but kept his figure as the leader of the base.
"Master-Principal," Yuel stammered, "Master-Admiral Chouyo Nanan approaches."
Gi'an nodded, his gaze unwavering. Chouyo Nanan—a man of storms and thunders—strode toward them, his uniform full of medals that he had accomplished for the past years of his service. His eyes, sharp as the saber at his side, bore witness to countless battles, mostly with pirates. The KIN Nagasura, his ship, was docked nearby, its white sails furled against the wind. Chouyo's first lieutenant, Zhenguo, a man with a scar across his left cheek, stood guard at the top, his hand never far from the hilt of his dagger.
"Gi'an," Chouyo said, clasping the governor's hand. "It's been too long."
"Indeed," Gi'an replied. "Your patrols take you far from the beauty of the mainland." Chouyo grinned, revealing teeth as white as the moon. "The mainland is obviously a beauty, my friend. But the seas are restless, yet full with thousands of stories." They both laughed.
The light dappled their way as they strolled along the pier. Gi'an's staff pattered in time with the stones, each one resonating with a tune. Chouyo's boots created a pattern across the walk. The naval base was alive with bustle, with cadets and officers, even though it was pretty much abandoned for the past years by the Imperial Navy. Who knows why.
"You've notice it too, haven't you?" Chouyo asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. Gi'an glanced at him. "The strange behaviour of the imperial navy? Yes. Ships seem to sailing to Nhasa as if drawn by some unseen force—was it from any official orders?." Chouyo's jaw tightened. "I’m afraid there’s no official orders. No explanations. And at the heart of it all, Grand Admiral James Gong." Gi'an's mind raced. To even think that Chouyo, the head of the Southwestern fleet didn’t even know anything particular. And yet there’s Gong—a name whispered in the darkest corners of the empire. A man of shadows and allegiances, his loyalty is doubted by various admirals. Was he a patriot or a rebel? The fate of the empire hung in the balance like a pendulum poised to swing.
"Chouyo," Gi'an said, his voice barely audible above the lapping waves, "what do your sailors say? What rumours have they carried from distant shores?" Chouyo's gaze hardened. "They speak of a gathering—an assembly of captains and admirals. A clandestine council, convened by Gong himself. They say it was His Majesty’s order, something forbidden to know. What secrets could it be?"
Gi'an's pulse quickened. "That sounded suspicious," he whispered. "I believe he has a hidden motive. But I can’t say much, we haven’t heard any full story yet.” Chouyo nodded. "Couldn’t agree more” Chouyo turned to Gi'an, his eyes unyielding. "Gi'an," he said, "we must uncover the truth. If Gong is a rebel, we'll expose him. If he's a patriot, we'll aid him.” Chouyo glanced toward the KIN Nagasura, its rigging swaying in anticipation. "What game does he play?"
Gi'an's gaze shifted to the north—where the capital, Nhasa is located. "The imperial capital," he murmured. "I believe we shouldn’t act rashly as of right now. Master-Delegate Enka is already there. It seems a diet will soon be hosted. We’ll hear from him then"
As if summoned by their words, Zhenguo approached. "Master-Admiral," he said, "Isn’t this somewhat similar to what our Great Sage has said? In the pure book." Chouyo clenched his fists. "Great Sage? You mean Sir Mahee, the Great Sage?" Zhenguo nodded. "He predicted something about the empire, soon to fall."
Gi'an's mind raced. "The empire will fall? Nonsense," he said. "But it was his excellency's word" Chouyo drew his sabre its blade etched with ancient texts. "We will wait for Enka to return," he declared. "I’m sure the truth will soon be revealed."
The naval officer approached, his voice trembling. "Masters," he said, "Let’s go inside. It seems like it will rain" Gi'an raised his staff, "Indeed, we should head inside," he replied.
The Siege of The Yan Fortress
North Western Tangwen
(1910)
On the field of battle the cannons had fallen silent. Olekov’s army, of both Tangwenmen and exiled Dayani, stood peering over their trenches. The dead lay before them, scores of Sword Saint Yan’s men, all lying in poses of frozen agony, reaching for the enemy line they’d never cross.
Several of Olekov’s soldiers shifted in the mud and watched the hanging smoke shift and warp. Some of the Tangwenmen muttered and pointed and claimed to see the spirits of the fallen move through the false mist. The Dayani laughed and then froze in fear as the D’yavod in their systems conjured demons instead.
Behind the line, Marshal Olekov was sitting in his tent feasting on roasted pork, a map of the battlefield serving him as a tablecloth. He wiped his mouth as one of his subordinates entered. The marshal’s piercing blue eyes were upon the man immediately.
“What?” Olekov asked.
“Sir,” the subordinate saluted. “The men are hesitant to attack. The gunsmoke isn’t moving and they’re afraid to charge headlong into what might be a wall of Yan machine guns.”
“They’re scared? Scared?! And they call themselves soldiers. Hah!” Olekov then took a small bag out of his pocket, licked his finger, dabbed it inside and then placed it on his tongue. “I’ll come out and whip the cowards into a march- no, a charge. Just go and tell them so.”
“Yes, sir.” The subordinate saluted and left.
***
Olekov came out of his tent dressed in the furs of animals he’d slain in the weeks prior, with a helmet atop his head that was horned and menacing. He mounted his horse and unsheathed two Shashka sabres, flourishing each of them as he rode towards the front. The sun glinted off those blades as he rode and he looked more akin to a Sartaki raider than a Dayani officer there, but he was pale and withered beneath his furs, like a corpse set in motion by dark magic.
He reached the line and swung his two swords wildly. They passed, whooshing, over the heads of the men in the trench and they looked up to see a great warhorse looming, with its pale rider staring at them with eyes that seemed ethereal.
Olekov rode up and down the back of the trench and spoke in a booming voice one would not expect from such a diminutive frame. The men turned around and watched him.
“Men,” He said. “Ye cowards, ye cut dogs! These are the serfs of a dead god, you have no right to fear them. Did they shoot off your manhood during the last attack? When they charged and died, like true warriors, at your feet? So far they seem braver than you.” He sheathed one of his swords and drew a great hulk of a revolver and cocked it. “Go through that smoke, shoot any peasant you see, run ‘em through, beat ‘em to a bloody pulp, take their trench or I’ll make sure you're unidentifiable for the coroner’s report.”
The shout that followed was one of terror, not courage, but all the same, the Tangwenmen and the Dayani flooded over the trench and out into the smoke. Whistles echoed and more and more ran forward with their guns at the ready.
Olekov holstered his gun, drew his sword again and galloped over the trench and ahead of his army with madness in his eyes, swinging both blades wildly and without care for friend or foe alike.
***
After the battle, the Tangwenmen and the Dayani waded through the dead and the dying to plunder or to kill; and Mashal Olekov stood watching with his arm around Sword Saint Yan’s shoulder. Olekov had ridden up to the Yan fortress gate, after decimating their army and demanded the sword saint step outside.
“Yan!" he'd said when Yan appeared atop the fortress walls. "You have been defeated. Now, I have no qualms with starving your sorry lot if you want to carry on being stubborn, but I would like to get back to the palace soon, because our gracious lord has promised me a bonus. So please, if you don’t mind, come out and pay his highness his due.”
Yan had not walked but a few steps out of the gate before being set upon by Olekov’s men. They killed his guards and tore at his bejewelled cloak, stole his hat, and beat him where he fell. Olekov watched on and, only after some notion of right punishment in him had been fulfilled, did he order his men away.
They now stood together, watching the gun smoke and the bloodstained mud and listening to the groans of the dying as they were run through and robbed. Yan bowed his head in submission as Olekov spoke to him.
“So, Sword Saint Yan, I hear you have fallen behind on your payments to Lord Wu Tseun.”
“It is not my fault. The harvests have been poor and the Dayani raid my borderlands nearly every-”
The mention of the Dayani seemed to anger Olekov. He slapped the Sword Saint. “Look at me, look at me. Do I look like a reasonable fellow? Do I look like a fellow you should be pleading innocence with?”
Yan tried to avoid the madman’s blazing eyes but he could not. Nevertheless, he stayed silent.
Olekov looked away to a small town on the horizon. “The lord wants your tribute, I’ll take whatever’s in that town over there. Understood.”
“That town? Why? It’s just a farming town, what could you possibly want with it?”
“Oh, I know a smuggler's den when I see one. There’s D’yavod in that there town and I want it.”
Yan only now looked horrified. “You’re a madman.”
“I know.” Olekov spat.
“You can’t take it. My guard will-”
Olekov looked around again, “Quite frankly, I don’t think your guard could run a fox off a chicken coop let alone us from that town.”
Yan, again, bowed his head.
“I’m glad we arrived at an understanding. Have the tributes in front of the gate in an hour.” He patted the sword saint on his back and walked over to one of his subordinate officers.
Just as he reached the man, he seemed to freeze. He heard what sounded like a sword unsheathe, a gasp, and the gargling of a man just killed. He was now turned around and watched, without expression, Sword Saint Yan collapse to the floor and die.
“Oh for God’s sake! I didn't-” Olekov mumbled.
“What just happened?” the officer asked.
“The Sword Saint’s dead,” he said.
“What now?”
Olekov looked at the fortress.
“Storm the fortress!” a voice called from behind.
“No!” Olekov whirled around and shook his fist. His subordinate drew back, afraid. “We have not been ordered to take the fortress. We have not been ordered to destroy the Yan clan. Are you mad? I say, are you a mad man?”
“N-no sir, I’d never suggest something like that,” his subordinate said.
Olekov looked at him. He looked at the town and sucked his teeth. “Have the Tangwenmen collect the tribute from the fortress. That town is ours. Find me the D’yavod.”
“Yes sir.” The subordinate saluted, gave one last concerned look at the marshal, and then walked away, barking orders in Dayani and then in Nhasan.
And so, the fortress city of the Yan clan was plundered of all tribute. The Tangwenmen left with what was expected of them and Olekov’s company followed shortly after with just one thing that was far more terrible, taken from a town nearby. Its streets were left silent and bloody. There was, indeed, a smuggling operation there, but it ceased to exist after their visit and would never return. The leadership of the Yan clan fell to the infant son of the dead Sword Saint.
Division
The wall rose out of the ground like a mountain. Towering above the road, watching, ensuring those on either side stayed where they were. The wall was part of a larger structure, colloquially known as “The Line” which separated the industrial heartlands, and the poverty stricken suburbs, from the more well off side of the country. The Line expands in both directions from the southern, to the northern coast. Most of the time the line is an electrified barbed wire fence standing 10 metres high with anti-climb equipment on either side. However, on roads and highways, The Line turns into giant walls watched by several armed guards under the Department of Border Control.
Originally meant to prevent the expansion of industry, The Line now represents poverty amongst the nation. Moving across involves taking one of three ways. The first is a PS (Permanent Shift Pass) which allows citizens to move across The Line permanently to start a new life, or a TS (Temporary Shift) which allows a citizen to move across for a few days to see family or do business. The third is taking a mountain road across the Kushmire Alps which the nation is named after. The fence that forms The Line ends at 5000 feet, as above that level are nothing but ravines, glaciers, sheer drops and freezing temperatures. The people who survive the dangerous trip illegally settle on the more developed side. They live knowing if they are caught they would be sent to a prison or worse.
A border guard raised his rifle as an automobile rattled up to the heavy iron gate. The gate in question was located at the Sparticus - Luggate highway. Spartacus was the largest city on the Industrial side of The Line. The car came to a stop and a captain from the Border Patrol stepped out. The guards nearby went into attention. The captain motioned for them to relax. The officer in charge, who was a Lieutenant, trudged through the snow. “Sir, what can I do for you?” The captain looked around the landscape. Winter had set in and the ground was covered in a sheet of undisturbed white. Masking the damaged and broken land underneath.
“Lieutenant, very shortly a very important member of parliament, coming directly from The Keystone Chamber, will pass through this gate.” The Keystone Chamber was the seat of parliament located in the capital of Barricus. “I’m just here to make sure everything runs smoothly. Another battalion of guards will arrive with more arms, motor vehicles and machine guns.” The Lieutenant looked around. The blanket of snow was left undisturbed. “Has the rebellion heard of this movement?”
“Most likely.” The captain replied. The Rebellion are a coalition of former criminal gangs and rebels who banded together to fight the authoritarian government. While not powerful, they still have a presence and an underground trading scene in the cities on the industrial side of The Line. They are also a constant thorn in the side of the central government, attacking convoys, military and civilian, blowing up bridges and planting bombs at government locations.
Lieutenant William Kinkaid and Captain Raymond Williams climbed to the top of the main gate. Five watchtowers were placed at equidistant points from the main gate on either side. William grabbed a sniper rifle and looked down the road that led to the capital. The road lay abandoned but clear of snow thanks to the efforts of inmates from a prison nearby. “Shall we head to the break room sir?” William asked. Rayomnd motioned him to go ahead. The two climbed down from the upper balcony and inside the main gate. The break room consisted of two tables separated by a central walkway and surrounded by wooden chairs. The floor was carpeted in with red wool with the emblem of the Kushmire, a cross with a red outline with swords intersecting below, embroidered in. Though the room was industrialist in nature, an oil heater kept the room toasty. The pair removed their coats as they entered. Four soldiers who had returned from a patrol stood to attention. “At ease gentlemen.”
Raymond made a coffee as William entered the commander’s office and made the announcement over the loudspeakers about the upcoming operation. Raymond entered shortly after. The office overlooked the industrial side of the wall and had a singular desk and chair. The desk had papers containing the expected passersby and a cracked photo depicting the construction of The Line. A cabinet contained documents of passings dating back to 1882 when the wall was first built.
A few hours later the reinforcements arrived, carrying with them, as promised, several machine guns, snipers, barbed wire and trucks. “Why the barbed wire?” William asked. “Temporary, it’ll be taken down once the convoy passes through.” It brought the number of guards stationed at the gate from 50 to 170. In the waning hours of the day the barbed wire was set up and the machine guns and sniper outposts were made.
William watched the sunset. Its orange glow made the undisturbed snow shimmer. He surveyed the soldiers that were scattered around the landscape in their dugouts and foxholes. A team of ten on either side controlled who was to be let in and out. Slowly, one by one as the sun set and the moon rose. The headlights of three motorcars drew closer to the gate and the guards raised their rifles. Lights were shone and lamps were lit. The cars arrived at the gate and the guards surrounded it.
One of the guards approached the vehicle at the front. The window slowly wound down to reveal a man in a dark suit. “Credentials.” The man reached into his glove box and showed the guard his credentials as well as the official papers stamped with the central government seal. “Thank you officer, we’ll do a search of the car now.” The guard whistled and two dogs were brought out.
Then began the lengthy process of checking the credentials of each of the twelve people in the motorcade. Weapons, credentials and IDs were checked. WIlliam and Raymond went down to meet the man that the motorcade was protecting. Minister for Science and Development Blake C Clearwater. “Sir.” William reached his hand out for a handshake. Blake returned it with a firm grip. “Welcome to the Kushmire District.” William said. The Kusmire district was a mostly mountainous area, barring the central road to the district capital of Halford.
“Thank you officer.” Blake replied.
“May I ask what you are doing here?” Blake looked around at the sparse landscape. “On the other side of this hill, when the snow melts there is no green grass. Animals won’t return to their grazing. Forests won’t regain their leaves. The other side of The Line is the closest thing The Celestial Empire will get to hell. The government for the past few years has only been sitting around twiddling their thumbs on the issue, as if doing nothing about it will make it go away.”
“The locals don’t exactly make it easy.” Raymond said as a smile creeped across William’s face. “Well, that is what you get when you, well, for a lack of a better word, violently oppress them. Not saying that fell on your shoulders. Our armed forces, police and border patrol are often unfairly given the blame for being too violent.”
“We’re just doing our jobs.” William said. “Exactly.” Blake said, pointing at William. A whistle blew from the other side of the gate. “Well, that’s your signal to go.” William held open the door as Blake climbed back in. William and Raymond went inside the main gate structure and watched as the first gate was opened. The three vehicles were let in and had to go bumper to fit in. The middle vehicle which carried Blake was a luxury vehicle made by the Empire’s best coachbuilders. “So what do you make of him?” William asked as they watched the second barrier creak open. “A people pleaser.” Said Raymond. “I don’t think he genuinely believes that the citizens on the Industrial side of The Line deserve what the Capital side has, nor does he believe that our servicemen are not violent individuals.” William nodded, as he did. The three cars exploded.
Almost 2 kilometres away. Several teams of Rebellion soldiers lay in the snow, covered in white ghillie suits hashed together with duct tape and sticks. They saw the explosion cloud and klaxons start around the gate. Soldiers spilled out from the gates and took their positions.
William ducked as shrapnel flew into the sky. The gates were rapidly closed and anti-blast barriers were dropped. William and Raymond ran inside with Willliam grabbing a sniper rifle and Raymond picked up a pistol and a regular rifle, which could fire 10 rounds in a single load. William climbed to the upper balcony and fired several flares. Using the light from the flares he scanned the surroundings. “Again!” He shouted. William looked down the sniper scope. He stopped when he saw a clump of what looked like small hills. One of them moved and stood up into a humanoid shape. He fired the sniper, the sudden gunshot scaring the rest of the guards as since the explosion, there has been nothing but silence.
William saw the figure suddenly fall down and several more standing up. Several gunshots pinged around the gate. “Fire several flares that way.” Most of the guards had already figured out the position of the rebels due to the gun flashes against the night sky. Machine guns and rifles fired in the direction. With flares providing light beyond the reaches of the gate.
The rest of the rebels stood up with their commander ordering them to stay down. Gunfire cut down most of the troops. “Move when their flares die out!” He shouted as bullets whizzed over his head. The first round of flares died out and he shouted “Move!” The survivors stood up and ran back to a small clump of dead trees where they had hidden their horses. Another round of flares were fired and they dropped back to the ground again.
The flashing stopped when the flares ran out. “Get more flares in the sky!” Raymond shouted as he fiddled with his jammed rifle. William ran down the steps and out the main gate. A second round of flares were fired. “Hold your fire!” He shouted. The gunfire stopped and the flares lit up nothing but a small clump of trees. “That’s where they will be heading.” He looked at the trucks and their thin wheels. “Will they be able to cut through the snow?” William asked one of the drivers. He shook his head. “Not snow this thick.”
Raymond ran down, the night air now still with silence. “I’ll take one of the trucks and look for them. You wait here for reinforcements.” William looked at the burning wrecks of the three vehicles. “They’re not going to like this one.”
A Clandestine Meeting
January 24th, NL15, 18:23
Port of Qaimong City
Amidst the darkness of the sun setting and the heavy rain that arrived in the city an hour prior, the docks had fallen mostly quiet. However, along the warehouses storing an abundance of cargo, things couldn’t be busier. Amidst the laborers manually hauling boxes, in an office above the floor of the warehouse, a young man, well suited and groomed and of foreign appearance, watched the laborers as they did their work. Suddenly the door opened from behind him. The man swung around towards the door and drew his hand gun from the holster on his waist before realizing it was Strutt who had entered the room.
“You treat all of your friends like that Jean?” Strutt asked as he closed the door behind him.
“You son of a b**** you scared me, you haven’t been the first to come barging in here unannounced,” Jean retorted as he holstered his weapon.
Strutt sighed. “Well, can't say I blame you, but you still haven't anything to fear my friend, I merely come bringing news.”
“News?”
“Yes, and I’m afraid it’s not good news. Governor Duan wishes for the ports to close for the foreseeable future beginning tomorrow. I'm afraid our operation has to… adapt. The ‘goods’ won’t move themselves after all.”
The young man scoffed. “‘Not good news?’ This is bad news!” The man sat down on his desk. “At least tell me you have a solution to this!”
“...And I do.” Strutt took a seat beside the desk. “You know… The great thing about being a man of such power is that you have… Connections. Through these connections I now have the local Navy in my pocket. Now I'm sure once we have a few men who are willing to accept a little kickback we will have the means to continue as before.”
Jean thought to himself. “That's not the problem, Strutt. The problem is that Governor Duan is a stubborn old ass who's more than willing to shut down our operation. You know how he feels about the drugs! Frankly I don't give a damn if D’yavod took the life of his nephew, I don't want him getting in the way of our operations any further.”
“I understand how you feel,” Strutt said. “But you know I can't do anything about him, at least not now.” Strutt looked out onto the floor. “I believe perhaps one day I will take the mantle of Governor and when that day comes I believe I shall appoint you as the Secretary of the Economy. I am very much… Delighted by your hard work Jean.”
Jean looked at Strutt. “How ambitious. You know Strutt, I do appreciate that you see me in such a way. I believe that we are both long due for a promotion.” Jean stood back up. “Very well, I suppose it’s best that we look to solving the situation at hand then, starting with your ‘connections.’”
Hidden Horror
Treinor City, Hoydland, February 24th, NL 15
Suvdan hopped off the large orange bus, planting her feet firmly into the ground. She turned to thank the driver, but he quickly speeded away down the narrow track. Disappointed and slightly embarrassed, she quickly lowered her hand and brushed off the small amount of dust on her long, thin, navy blue dress. The street was noticeably empty this morning, with only a small number of men making their way to work. Whenever she passed one of them, they always gave her a perplexed look before continuing their day. Not many women worked in the city, after all.
Making her way towards the hospital, Suvdan saw a bundle of traffic up ahead. Without skipping a beat, she turned down a narrow alleyway between a run-down tavern and a humble shop. Even this early, a few drunkards were leaning against the tavern’s wooden walls, chatting their worries away with glasses in hand. She quickened her pace, passing them eventually, but not before a few inappropriate remarks. The smell of cheap alcohol caused her nose to twitch. Making her way out of the darkness and onto a dusty street, Suvdan approached the small hospital she had known to be her home. Although she was only paid a thousand mongos a day, her job as a nurse provided her with two free meals and a shower. For a single Hoyd woman, that was the best she could do. Although no one had seemed to be near, Suvdan soon found herself hurtling towards the dirt below.
A soft thud can be heard as a middle aged man can be seen stamping his foot into the ground, arms flailing to keep his slender frame upright. The man, dressed in dark fabric in the style of an artisan, quickly steadied himself, turning to the woman whom he had just accidentally shoved onto the uneven surface of the street. The man's brown eyes were bloodshot, his eye bags a deep purple. It is clear the man had been up for several days. His face was otherwise average, patterned with the blemishes and scars of his trade. He spoke in a thick Kalquenan accent, his works quiet and shaky.
"M-my mistake m-madam!" The man shuffled forwards, awkwardly holding out a calloused hand, his mind clearly lost along with the missed hours of sleep.
Still reeling from the impact, Suvdan's sight recentered on the hand held out in front of her. Studying the man, he was like no one she had ever seen before. His strange eyes, mysterious scars, and thick accent. He was clearly not Hoyd, and he seemed so out of place on these rugged streets. Her head beginning to work once again, she realized they had been standing like this for nearly a minute. Swiftly taking his hand, she planted her feet in the dirt, but not before a shout could be heard across the street. It was one she knew very well.
"Stop right there, foreigner!" Doctor Ghonn called from across the street. He had been Suvdan's boss ever since she began working at the hospital. Being the only licensed professional and owner of the building, Ghonn nearly controlled her life. He was well known for charging insane amounts to struggling families, taking nearly their entire life savings in the process. However, that's the way it was, especially since this was the only hospital in the entire suburb.
At his call, several men made towards the pair, all eyes trained on the foreigner. Suvdan barely even noticed they were still holding one another's hands, and she quickly pulled away from him. The men, all obviously Hoyd, were of different shapes and sizes. Some looked more threatening than others, Ghonn being one of them. Mind racing, Suvdan quickly pieced together what was happening. After all, foreigners are not welcome in Treinor City.
The Kalquenan man recoiled quickly at the sight of the approaching mob, frantically, his eyes darted across the street to find any means of escape. After a quick moment, the man turned back to Suvdan, his face confused and frightened. He pointed a firm hand towards an alleyway, between two of the burly men closing in on the pair.
The man then turned back towards the Doctor, stammering as he began to slowly step closer to the alleyway.
"S-sir... I meant n-no harm! I m-mean it!" said the man, bowing his head slightly and showing his palms to the twisted man.
The man looked again to Suvdan, his tired and bloodshot eyes looking to her with a sincerity. This man was far more apologetic than most, putting his full faith in this stranger he had met just moments prior. He looked, hoping for any help that could be offered.
Suvdan stepped between Ghonn and the Kalquenan. "Please, sir, he didn't do anything!" Suvdan begged for the foreigner, but it was no use. The mob surrounded the man, before the first punch was thrown. Stripping him from all of his valuables, the brawl shifted into the alleyway. Cheers from passing pedestrians rang out as they watched the violence, slurs mixed amongst them.
Suvdan watched in horror. Although she had heard about these daily occurrences, she had never witnessed them herself. With the recent migration of immigrants to the province, groups such as the Hoyd Clan had grown exponentially in numbers. With minimal laws protecting them, Clan members have wreaked havoc on foreigners in the cities. This man was now just another victim. After minutes of shouting and cursing, the mob eventually dispersed, smiling to themselves as they returned to their daily lives. Suvdan rushed to the Kalquenan man's side, covered in even more scars and bruises than before. Luckier than most, he was still breathing at least. The only items he had left were the clothes on his back, which were soaked in blood and sweat.
The man shakily drew his breaths, his entire body moving in waves of pain and anguish. Between a blood stream above his brow, one of the man's eyes opened in a mere sliver, his other eye swollen shut from the beating.
The Kalquenan man reached to his sleeve, the motion causing him great pain. His calloused fingers found the weak seam of his artisan's shirt, the left sleeve's end bulging just a bit. The fingers pulled back the folded cloth.
Rip...
The Kalquenan man pulled something from the seam, a small metal object, nearly slipping between his bloodied, weakened fingers. After letting out a short cough, the man turned to Suvdan. He placed his rough hand on hers, letting go softly as he let the metal trinket fall into her open palm.
A quaint, yet beautifully made brooch, made of interlocking iron plates, polished to a mirror's finish. The man smiled, attempting to stand, yet falling back down to the ground before even reaching a crouch.
He spoke, through broken teeth, to Suvdan.
"You're... different... You... You can be... b-better....... I... I.... I think... I'll rest now..."
The man trailed off, falling unconscious yet again, his scarred face living to see another day.
The Activists
February 4, NL 15, 1910 (January 1832, Erhani Standard Calendar)
Chrukhari Palace, Punakhsa
"General Vorgen!" Came Governor Yuei's call. Vorgen sat in his room beside a small pile of powder D'yavod spread across the table, smoking the stuff out of a pipe.
"Yes?" Vorgen replied, looking over his shoulder. The ageing governor walked into the room shortly after.
"Your father's report is officially in. His majesty is truly dead and the Diet has installed the Temrisian delegate as its new Chief Lord."
Vorgen slowly turned, eyeing the governor.
"I see." He blew a long, thin stream of bluish smoke from his lips. "Should we prolong the gag order for the newspapers?"
"..No," Yuei said, scratching at his chin. "Release the news that the Emperor is dead and that Admiral Gong's staged a coup tomorrow. The military presence in the city should be enough to deter any would-be dissidents. You should get your soldiers in place overnight to prepare for whatever repercussions may follow tomorrow. I have the Soruk surveilling the city from the air," he pointed to an airship hovering above the rooftops, branded with the crescent of the Empire. "I've placed surveillance orders on some four hundred individuals across the city, all suspected dissidents."
"I see." Vorgen took another breath, pausing to scoop more D'yavod from the bowl into his pipe. "Where have you placed the detachment of Rephiks?"
"Chruying Square," Yuei said, eyes flitting over to the plaza down below. "They'll be ready tomorrow to disperse any rally there. I'm bringing in armoured cars from Baksumh too."
His hands brushed over the ornate Erhani mural mounted on the wall, framed in mahogany and jade. "Are there any other scenarios we need to prepare for? Tell me."
"A general revolt across the entire city," Vorgen replied, smirking. "I'll be having another ten thousand soldiers waiting on the periphery of the city if that happens."
"Good. Have a palanquin prepared. I'm going down to speak to the Chief Constable."
"As you wish." Vorgen stood and covered the bowl of D'yavod, setting his pipe down on his chair. The two left the room, proceeding down the halls of the palace.
As they passed the throne room, Yuei's eyes very briefly flitted to the empty throne, seat of the ancient Emperors of Erhani; nothing about it had been changed, except that the seal of Erhani above the throne had been ripped off and replaced with the sun of the Celestial Empire. He could still see the spots where countless generations of monarchs had worn down the seat and armrests.
Then a Rephik ushered a maid into the room, and as she began to dust the corners he pulled the screen doors shut, concealing the room from view. Vorgen parted ways at the offices of the armed forces, where he stepped inside; Yuei continued with his guards down the hall.
"..Keep an eye on General Cassius' usage of that cursed drug," he muttered to one of the Rephiks escorting him. "I don't want him using more than fifty grams a day. Go back to his chambers and search for hidden stashes- if there's anything more than fifty grams take it and dispose of it."
The man nodded, and hurried back towards the General's quarters. Then, a clerk met the procession, and bowed deep.
"Your excellency," he whispered, "A tip from the Constabulary. They have a list of names they want surveilled." His hands were still stained with ink, and he was holding a bundle of papers.
"Lieutenant," Yuei directed another one of his guards. "Deal with this matter. You have my authority."
The guard nodded and followed the clerk back to the offices of the imperial administration.
-
"Rephiks! Forward stance!"
"Hah!"
Some hours later, Yuei watched as two lines of Rephiks drew their training swords and spears swaddled in cloth, and approached in the traditional Erhani battle formation. When they met, the skirmish was brief but violent; a rapid flurry of blows and stabs ensued until one side, half their members winded by strikes to the solar plexus, hastily retreated and re-adopted their formation, a single-file line of swords. The two sides met again, and this clash was even fiercer yet shorter in length; in another few seconds all of the Rephiks in that group were groaning, rubbing bruises on the floor of the courtyard.
"Is this training really necessary?" Vorgen sighed, now thoroughly irritable after he had found almost all of his D'yavod stocks suspiciously missing. "Most of the army's well on their way to receiving rifles by now."
"Erhani has very limited industrial capability," Yuei said, unmoved. "I'd like to remind you that owing to procurement issues with Nhasa, half the army still uses bows or swords, or even old muskets."
The Chief Constable of Punakhsa, Yukamoso, stood behind the two uncertainly; the sparring rounds had lasted well over two hours by now. His constables had attempted to do their best in the sparring dictated by Yuei, but every time had been swiftly put down by the Rephiks.
"Chief Yukamoso," Yuei finally said, turning. "While I am concerned about the possibility of an uprising in Punakhsa, I am more concerned about grassroots movements arising in rural Erhani, where our troops cannot reach easily. Imperial power must be maintained at any cost. Have your men start heading out to smaller towns and villages and man their signal fires- the ones from the days of the Erhani Imperium; if any insurrections arise, light the signal fires."
"Yes, Your Excellency," Yukamoso bowed. "I'd also, uh-ah- like to request that my men be given the T03-model revolver for everyday use. We only have truncheons and the occasional firearm."
"That shall be arranged for," Yuei replied, turning away from the man. "See to it that the Constabulary is not overwhelmed by rioters tomorrow, or I shall have to reconsider its use."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
-
University of Punakhsa
Sunyang-Fawai district
"The papers haven't come out in five days," Kotof remarked as he washed down a mouthful of mutton with a shot of black coffee. The cafeteria was awash with the smell of coffee and sour greens, fried goat meat, and freshly-baked bread rolls. He was beginning to rue his decision to leave Ngara, as compared to the more temperate countryside the capital was positively frigid in winter, particularly at its worst in January. The spices in the coffee gave him a warm feeling inside, and temporarily made him stop shivering underneath the many layers of clothing he wore.
"Something's definitely wrong," Luten remarked, thoroughly unaffected by the cold, busy gorging himself on a dinner roll and grilled eel. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of tobacco, as the students finished with their meals produced cigarettes and began to smoke. "There are rumours that the Emperor's died. But the authorities won't say anything."
"By the way," Kotof said, reaching across the table for a mug of tea. "I heard some constables were murdered near Karghik. Eight of them.. or was it? I don't remember."
Luten paused and looked up.
"How do you know about that?" He said, in a tone that was almost casual, but not quite so. "Where'd you hear it from?"
"I-" Kotof fell silent, as a cook walked by, pushing a cart filled to the brim with used plates and mugs. The man paused, and reached over, refilling the flasks of coffee and tea on the table. Once the cook had walked away, Kotof continued. "I heard it from two constables who were smoking outside the university. When I went to buy cigarettes yesterday."
"..Oh." Luten slumped over and took another swig of tea. "I see. On that matter.." He paused, until the cafeteria had grown noisy again. "There's a... club I'd like you to join. It's held every Wednesday afternoon in one of the lecture theaters. We have a meeting today.. in three hours."
"What kind of club?" Kotof asked, thinking it would be another group of eccentrics dedicated to one of Luten's many bizarre interests.
"..A political one," was all he replied.
Without another word, he left the table, leaving behind only a card with the location of the "club" written on it.
Kotof had a sneaking feeling the group was somewhat suspicious, but ultimately his curiosity got the better of him, and that afternoon he found himself standing outside chemistry hall number four. A roughly-cut cardboard plaque reading "Chess League in Session" was pasted onto the door.
He knocked three times, but received no answer. As he turned the handle and pushed it open, he spied a large group sitting, seemingly playing various versions of chess, mostly playing at menkh, something unique to Erhani with its eccentric circular board.
Nothing seemed out of place until Kotof spied a large stack of placards piled in the corner, and massive boxes filled to the brim with armbands. And then he noticed the large stage, built from pallets, assembled at the front of the room.
"You came, Kotof." Luten waved him over from the corner of the room, where he was playing a round of menkh with another student. "Here's the thing. This is a sub-branch of the Society for Erhani Independence." He pointed to the badge he wore on his chest, the one he had seen on the train to Punakhsa; a five-pointed navy-blue star edged with white, and the initials S.E.I marked on them.
"...Are you part of an illegal group?" Kotof shook his head. "I'm surprised you haven't been caught yet."
"This university is a safe haven for all manner of wayward thinkers," Luten said. "Three-quarters of the faculty and students are in on this. The other quarter.. well, they see a chess league and think nothing of it."
He handed Kotof a placard. "We're organizing a protest march. It'll take place in two days. We'll gather at Chruying Square at ten in the morning, launch off fireworks to make some noise, and march around the City Circle after we do so." As he spoke, he ran his index finger along a map, tracing a near-circular route looping around the innermost belt of the capital, a route that would bring them past various important government offices. "This is the largest demonstration we'll ever stage. There're going to be massive strikes city-wide, and we'll join up with a group of students from the Ren Osarrus State University up east, along with.. what was it again? Twenty other smaller schools?"
"Thirty," the boy sitting opposite him corrected, moving a piece in towards the centre of the circular chess-board. "Also, checkmate. Your queen is blocked off from escape."
Luten grumbled something indistinct. "Thirty smaller schools along with two of Erhani's most prestigious universities. The number of people attending from those schools alone is expected to reach well over three thousand, and there'll be fifteen thousand marching. The Constabulary and Army... well, I doubt they can stop fifteen thousand people."
"Won't they open fire?"
"Not without fear of inciting a massive revolt," Luten shrugged. "We'll be out of the University's dress uniform, but we'll be wearing our badges or armbands. The former Imperial Diet delegate, Indra Ko? He's making a speech at the rally in Chruying Square."
Kotof's doubts were somewhat quashed- he now felt entirely confident that they could not be stopped, that the governor knew nothing of this planned march.
Nothing could stop the SEI, he thought. He was greatly excited by the prospect of marching for a cause so many others agreed with him on.
Nothing could stop them.
Revenge - Barricus - The Keystone Chamber
The Keystone Chamber was a large building that has housed the seat of parliament for over 100 years. First built during the 1740s the building that now houses the main entrance was initially built as the private residence for a military officer and his family as a gift from the government for his excellent service. In 1824 there was a military coup shortly after the completion of The Line. The coup led to a bloody 6-year-long civil war that ended when government-backed army forces flew the Kushimre flag over the house. What remained of the losing forces formed The Rebellion. After the war a new government was formed and an updated constitution was signed at the house. In the years forthcoming the palace was extended with a new senate, offices and residences for the nation’s president and prime minister were built.
The building now stood on the western end of the capital of Barricus and has housed the seat of parliament since then. Today flags around the building all flew at half mast to commemorate the passing of a minister. A passing that occurred through assassination. The Supreme Commander of the Kushmire Armed Forces, Fleet Admiral Albert V.N.M Hull watched from his chair as the cabinet members filled the round table. Beside him sat the Chief of Security Forces which included the police and its affiliated special task groups. The two surly men were only here to witness the course of action the parliament will take in response to the assassination of Blake Clearwater.
Albert grunted as he shifted in his chair and checked his watch. Any other time the cabinet met to discuss matters on The Rebellion, Albert didn’t bother to attend as the decision would be telegrammed to his office. Most of the time that action involved dispatching several army units to raze a small village or town, and then a tightening of security around government departments in Maplewood and Ironwood districts. However, that was often in response to minor activities by rebel forces such as attacking the army and Department of Border Control patrols or capturing small farming communities. Today the parliament was meeting to discuss the death of one of their colleagues. Albert imagined the course of action today was going to be different.
The President. An unfortunately short man with balding hair and wrinkles stood. “Gentlemen I am sure you have heard the terrible news that Right Honourable Blake Clearwater, the minister for Science and Development was assassinated by Rebel forces last week. The Rebel Forces ambushed the convoy escorting Blake at the Main Millstone Maplewood gate on the road to Halford City. Blake, along with all 11 members of his convoy were killed. The death of one our most senior ministers is nothing short of a disaster. Our thoughts are with his family as this cabinet meets today to discuss our course of action. Gentlemen, if you have any thoughts please say them now.”
The table lay silent. Every man in that room knew what they wanted to do. It was what they were doing for the nearly 50 years since The Line had been completed. Raze some farmland and kill some villages. President Frederick Baldwin was about to lean forward and regurgitate the same order that had been passed to military command when Albert raised his hand. “Gentlemen, may I propose.” He stopped to take a breath, “A new plan of action.” Frederick leant back in his chair, “Go ahead Admiral.” Albert stood from his chair and began walking around the table, his rows of medals clinking and with hand on sword handle he began. “Gentlemen for the past decades the government and its affiliate powers have had a similar reaction to The Rebellion. A group of ragtag factory workers, socialists, has-beens and terrorists.” Albert paused to look at a map of Kushmire. It depicted the districts, their capitals, Mt Kushmire, several large lakes and most importantly The Line. “It is common knowledge that this map of Kushmire is not true. The map that is posted up on the Armed Forces headquarters commits The Badlands. The Badlands is the colloquial name given to a desert with almost no fertile land but plenty of natural resources, that is currently controlled by rebel forces.
“Now this territory, while still under our jurisdiction, thanks to Rebel efforts, is no longer under our control. We have known for years now that this is where rebel command lies right in the heart of The Badlands. Our frontline soldiers, including police and border patrol have been bearing the brunt of the rebel forces. Only one member of parliament was killed compared to around 1000 soldiers over the last ten years.”
“But haven’t they just killed one of us?” Albert raised his finger, “Astute observation my good friend and I admire your desire for safety, 1000 young men have died under your watch and the moment your precious life is threatened you panic.”
“Well this clearly indicates that the rebels are getting braver and more confident.” Said Frederick. Albert smiled, “Yes, indeed, and that is exactly where I am going, only ten years ago they went after four man patrols, that quickly escalated to motorised patrols, then to small training camps and then battalion headquarters and so on. Now they have just killed a member of parliament and his security detail, if we don’t deal with them now, in the next ten years they will be attacking entire army camps, and perhaps even The Keystone Chamber itself.”
Albert let the last line hang. “Well then, Albert, what do you suggest?” Albert leant forward on the table covering the view of Frederick. “I propose a military-led operation spanning an unknown amount of time, however I predict a minimum operation schedule of one year. I want intelligence, access to all government documents,”
“Whatever would you need that for?” The Minister of Finance said.
The Minister of Internal Security, Leon Allen, spoke up. “The only people who knew about Blake’s movement are the people sitting in this room, the Chief of Police, Chief of Border Control. Somehow, The Rebellion found out, which means there are leakages either in this room itself, or within our offices.” Albert nodded towards him.
“Carrying on, we will start with intelligence operations led by the KFP.” KFP stands for Kushmire Federal Police and is the primary undercover investigation organisation headquartered in a depressing square block 10 kilometres away from Barricus. “Then once information on suspects have been gathered we will start a military operation to retake the badlands.” Albert stopped and turned. “Any questions.”
“How concrete is this plan?” Leon asked. Albert sighed. “This is what we hope to do. Specific details might change if we run into challenges, or come up with new ideas.” Albert returned to his chair and sat back down, The Chief of Security Forces was smiling and nodding.
Frederick leant forward from his chair and looked around the rest of the cabinet. “If anyone has anything to say, now is your time.” The Minister for Finance once again spoke up. “The opposition is not going to like that we passed an order as large as this without consulting the senate first. What if they try pushing for a vote of no confidence for the order?”
“The opposition are a bunch of cowards who are scared of losing their non-existent power, the only reason they oppose it is so they can say something. Do you really believe that the Liberal - National coalition, who benefits off the impoverished areas of Ironwood and Maplewood, would like to see their factories stop being attacked and bombed by rebels. I believe bringing it up would be a mistake on their part.” Said Albert. “As for the vote of confidence, trust me, they won’t be able to get that far.”
The Minister of Finance leant back furring his eyebrows. He was the newest addition to the cabinet only joining a few months ago after the previous minister tragically passed away after suffering a heart attack. “Very well then,” Said Frederick, “If no one else has anything to say, then I say we should go ahead with the operation. Albert is indeed correct, the government has been sitting, twiddling their thumbs for too long on The Rebellion. We should go and take back what is rightfully ours. Leon.” Frederick turned to face the minister, “While this shouldn’t fall onto the hands of a single minister seeing as you are also the minister responsible for the KFP I don’t see why it shouldn’t.” Frederick looked at Albert, who nodded. “Thank you gentlemen, this emergency meeting is convened.”
Albert and Leon left the main building. They reached a handrail at the other end of the plaza and turned around to admire the architecture. The Kushmiran flag flew on a flag post on the main dome. “Remind me, the name of the financial fellow.”
“Al Harrison. Former CEO of South Harbourview Shipping and Logistics Co. He left the company to his brother when he became a politician.” Albert grunted, “He’s a strange fellow, I don’t like him.”
“He’s a good friend of Frederick, chosen because of his history of working with large corporations. He’s also the only person in that whole room that actually has a university diploma related to his portfolio.” Albert grunted again. “Is he going to be a problem?”
“I doubt it, he’s just one of those people who are in the interesting position that want to develop Ironwood and Maplewood districts, but find themselves fighting The Rebellion.” Leon turned to face Albert. “Anyways, that’s not our concern, if there is indeed a leak within our government or dare I say the armed forces it's only going to be a matter of time before The Rebellion finds out.”
“The Rebellion aren’t in a position to topple the government, our light infantry alone could stop them. We have manpower, technology and commitment over them.” Leon raised an eyebrow, “Commitment, what does that mean?”
Albert looked around, “One of the KFPs goals should be to find out the general publics’ view on The Rebellion, especially in the Ironwood and Maplewood districts. Not just those in the big cities but in towns and villages. I imagine the central government isn’t that popular but,” Albert leaned in closer to Leon. “What I want to know is, if they hate us so much, we raze their villages, violently murder their people under the guise of law, and yet, they choose to stay under our bracket. If they hate us so much why not support The Rebellion. Ironwood and Maplewood account for almost 60% of our population and nearly 30% of our economy, if they sided with The Rebellion and formed their own government.” Albert shrugged, “Hell, the armed forces still get good recruitment numbers from the other side of The Line, and it's only been going up over the last ten years.”
“Which lines up with the intensity of attacks from The Rebellion.” Leon finished Albert’s train of thought, “Exactly, whenever The Rebellion attacks a government facility, we notice a surge in enlistments from beyond The Line.” Albert said.
“So you believe the citizens of Ironwood and Maplewood don’t necessarily support The Rebellion?”
“I don’t believe they support us or The Rebellion. They are just stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Albert looked out over the extravagant gardens and buildings that completed The Keystone Chamber. “They are forced to choose between two evils.” Leon smiled and shook his head, “So you are doing all this to…?”
“To prevent The Rebellion getting too strong, If we can restore our flag and anthem into the hearts of Ironwood and Maplewood, that’s a bonus.”
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