Freitag, Capital City of Nusada, CTEC
17:48 - "Parlament von Korn" building of the CTECian Parliament
"...and 34% of the Votes go to Nestor Nellox, leader of the Union of CyberTechnologies."
The acting president of CTEC, a rather old neo-liberalist, finishes his public announcement to the full assembled plenum.
It's the final count of the third election round of this periods chancellor elections. Again it took three rounds to find a relative majority.
But that's fine, at least Nestor thinks that. It took him three rounds last time as well, four years ago...
As usual he daydreamed away as the first happy comrade tried to shake his hand overexcitedly. He promptly stood up and took 27 hands for 27 faction leaders in the parliament.
Following that, the parliament was his once again. Formally. It has not been not his for the last 8 years, and probably won't be not his for the next 4 either. At least.
After giving his speech half heartedly to the plenum, he closed the parliament for the day. There was more important things to do then protocols and formalities.
When his driver had delivered him to the chancellors residence Nestor still hadn't figured out who was going to get which ministries yet.
Unluckily for him the cabinet wasn't randomly selected amongst all inhabitants, like the parliament, which is chosen by the work lottery upon conclusion of the economy-four-year-plan.
He still had to choose it himself, all old fashioned, with party mandates, parliament agreement and judicial background check. Also a psychological interview was due, now, as last term a minister took his own life due to a crisis.
As if that was going to protect anyone, he thought to himself.
"Another four years of syndicalism? We can't stand you Nellox!" A man shouted to him over the barricades.
Nestor smiled at them. Not as provocative reaction, but geniunely. Nothing changed... even the capitalist action front hast assembled to greet me. As usual.
He nicely but bored followed the security briefing and secret service information conference the chancellor gets at the beginning of every term without hesitation.
Nothing happened, in the last three weeks... he thought to himself. What a surprise.
The usual Nymareg provocations at the border went on. Two cyber attacks on critical infrastructure were blocked. The military is not prepared as always...
At least his favorite secretary was still there. Lucky. That's a rare chance. Usually his state secretaries change every 4 years with the labour lottery. But Hector Wohlsteyn apparently kept his place as secretary of civilian information. That's roughly a 1/600.000 chance, Nestor calculated.
Alstin, United Republic.
"Good Morning Alstin!! This is Casey Ryan and I hope you all are having a wonderful day so far!! Unification Day Weekend is almost here, and I know that everyone has something planned, be it attending a cookout, or watching some fireworks go of-"
The radio ceased to broadcast as the car's driver turned it off as he neared a gate entrance, coming to a full stop as he pulled out his identification and handed it over to one of the guards on duty. The driver had the appearance of someone in his late 20s, with dark brown hair and hazel-green eyes, and wore a dark grey blazer with an off-white dress shirt tucked into a pair of dark denim jeans and a brown belt and matching dress shoes.
After a waiting for but a moment, the guard handed the young man back his identification and saluted him before allowing him to proceed through the gate towards the designated parking area of his destination: the Domus Regia, residence of the President of the United Republic. Upon parking his car in first available spot that he came across, he grabbed his briefcase from the passenger side, and proceeded towards the auxiliary entrance of the Domus Regia. As he went through another round of security checks shortly after entering, a well-dressed woman with dirty blonde hair approached from the other side of the security area and waited for the young man to be cleared.
"Good morning. I'm Victoria Daniels, assistant to the President," she said to him. "Are you by chance the representative from the Agency?"
"Indeed I am," the Agent replied. “I take he is in the Jade Garden at this very moment?”
“How did-.” Daniels said with a perplexed reaction. “Yes, yes he is. In fact, I’ve been instructed to take straight there.” With that, the Agent accompanied Daniels through the myriad of hallways covered in marble and decorated with art and historical objects from Alstin’s roughly two thousand year-long history.
Eventually, they reached the doors leading into the Jade Garden, and proceeded to go through them. As they made their way through past the vast myriad of plants and trees, they eventually reached the central structure of the Garden: A large well-furnished gazebo elevated two meters off the ground. As they approached, they noticed a team of about half a dozen guardsmen stationed outside the surrounding the gazebo, all the while a figure sat inside. Upon reaching the foot of the gazebo, Daniels beckoned for the Agent to wait whilst she informed the President of his arrival. A moment later, she returned and said to him: “You can go right on in.”
With that, the Agent proceeded up the stairs and into the gazebo. As soon as he entered, he stopped in front of the table inside, and simply said to the President: “Good morning Dad.”
President Benjamin Ryder, who was a man in his fifties and was wearing his three piece black suit minus the jacket, looked up with a mild sense of delightful surprise when he heard his son’s voice. “Ah Nate, what a pleasant surprise. Please sit down. I honestly thought your boss was coming here this morning.”
“Well, Director Kendig has a medical appointment this morning that he couldn’t reschedule,” the younger Ryder replied as he sat down across from the President. “So he sent he here in his place.”
Nate then placed briefcase on the table and opened it as the elder Ryder poured two cups of coffee, sliding one of them to Nate. “There has been has been some developments in Mierria…”
(To be continued…)
The Republic of Mierria announces Arctic Land Claim
The Grand Admiral's office announced today that they would be claiming land in Antarctica. (https://i.imgur.com/K8JIbg2.png)
A spokesman for Grand Admiral Gaetz elaborated:
"This expansion is natural, as many scientists have sought help from the Grand Admiral in the pursuit of scientific discovery. Having a great deal of knowledge in the subjects of meteorology and in fields of health, the Grand Admiral was eager to aid in the pursuit of science. This is part of a greater effort by the government to make Mierria an international leader in technology.
"The Department of Finance will fund the construction of two arctic labs and a naval port on the arctic island of Rendburg. The two medical labs will prioritize in studying the weather, biology, and animal science. We will also be sending a team to help establish a permanent settlement on the island of Connell in the western half of the claim. Mierria will be sending 5,000 people, from the Mierrian islands of Milosia and Rayver to inhabit Connell.
Thank you, and long live the Grand Admiral!"
Konstantin sighed deeply and contentedly as he walked beneath the marble portico that flanked the southern quarter of the royal gardens. Another quiet day, he thought to himself as he stopped to smell one of the many blossoming roses. It was a warm and sunny day, and with the heir to the throne being handed more and more of the daily management of the realm in preparation for his eventual succession, the tsar took the rare opportunity to sneak off and take a stroll. He had ruled his realm for nearly fifty years, an achievement not easily reached in Panaxurios, and by all accounts he was tired. He felt as though he needed this break, this small chance at blissful solitude. Unfortunately for Konstantin, he was not to be alone for long.
As he came up from smelling the fragrant, white rose one of his servants approached him and held out an unopened letter addressed to the tsar. The obvious look of disappointment and slight irritation which spread across the tsar’s face brought the servant to shame. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty,” the servant said as he bowed as low as he could to his tsar, “but His Highness refused to address this.”
Konstantin snatched the letter out of the servant’s hand and angrily ripped the letter open, nearly tearing its contents in half as he did so. “It’s from the president of Nordaxica.” Growled the tsar, still rather upset from being interrupted. “He is attempting to open up his borders and has invited leaders from across the world to join him in the presidential palace.” The tsar shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes and he handed the letter back to his servant. “I shall pen a response posthaste.” Then Konstantin took off in the direction of his private offices, his servant in toe.
To the esteemed President of Nodaxica,
Greetings and salutations,
Your letter was received warmly by His Majesty, Konstantin Paskalev II, by the Grace of God, Tsar and Autocrat of All Panaxurians. His Majesty applauds your efforts to open up your country to the world and wishes you success in your endeavors to win friends and gain allies. In response to your invitation His Majesty has elected to travel to Nordaxica personally with his son and heir, Tsarevich Aleksandar. We look forward to meeting you.
Your Humble Servant,
Konstantin Paskalev II, Tsar and Autocrat of All Panaxurians
Syl watched as 10 years of work blinked back at him from his screen. He thought of the implications. If he surpassed 100,000 followers, he would become the most-followed Mierrian on MeToob. His mind raced with all the work he had diligently pumped into his page- how much content he created weekly- the long nights editing short, 5-10 minute videos. The countless amount of Miers spent travelling across the country and beyond.
The count tipped up one more as his mind wandered further. All of that great, but what had he received in return? At most, ad revenue for even the biggest and most-popular videos only ever amounted to about seven-hundred Miers in total. And what had he sacrificed, for seven-hundred Miers? He remembered college, and then he remembered dropping out...
Those thoughts left his head as quickly as they had come as the clock ticked up one more, and as Syl jumped in the air, it ticked up again to 100,001. He let out a cheer- loud enough for even the Ronnelsons next door to hear. Finally! He had done it! All those that said he couldn't- all those who said his quirky travel videos just couldn't make it in such a crowded field. But they were wrong about one thing that Syl knew better than they. Mierrians craved the ability to travel. Yes, their islands were beautiful, but since the outgoing-tourism ban three years ago their interest in other cultures began to grow. And know, Syl was reaping the rewards.
Suddenly, a ping. From the bottom-left of his screen read a message:
"boat's ready... you here?"
Syl's heart began to pound. In all his excitement, he completely forgot that he would soon have to depart. He rushed out of his small room and to the kitchen. It was quaint and cozy.
"Sylvanus," a shrilled voice spoke out for him. it was that of his small grandmother's, speaking his full name. She was the only person who called him that, and also the only one who knew of his full name. He had been named after his late grandfather, who had died in a boating accident. Thinking of this left a pit in his stomach. After all, he usually traveled by plane; but where he was going there were certainly no air strips. "Sylvanus, I've packed you clothes and those chocolates you like, some bread, some milk, water and a pack of cigarettes."
"Grandma, I don't smoke..."
"Where are you going again?" She said, ignoring him.
His rush stopped. "The arctic."
She raised an eyebrow, and stroked her chin. "If God wanted us to be in the Arctic, he would've made it warmer."
"Okay Grandma." Syl said, the rush returning.
"Stay safe, dear." She said, as he shut the door.
"Hey guys! I'm here in... the ocean." Syl said, taking the camera away from his face and panning around. They stood on a rose-gold yacht, the ocean swerving around them.
"We're borrowing this bee-yutiful boat from rich Laura over-"
"From 'rich Laura's' dad!" a young female voice yelled out from the yacht's wheel. "We're pulling in to Tetla now."
"Oh!" Syl said, "Okay, well will see you guys later, we have a really special surprise for you on where we're going. Click here to see more videos." he said, point at nearby air, "See ya!"
Syl panned around once again, seeing as Dangefa came into view. He had been there before and he loved it. But he wasn't here for another blog, he was here to pick up a Panaxurian scientist, who he had asked to accompany him on the trip. He pulled his phone out and texted the scientist, typing "Here."
The ship pulled into port and Syl disembarked, taking in the nation's natural beauty for a second time.
David Albertine is in his office, doing his own work as the new Imperial Governor, practicing speeches, looking at projects paperworks, and sometimes glancing to the bustling town outside. He just finished looking and approving a charter for a new village in the Northern Territories when he heard a knock. "Sir, the big world map you ordered from overseas has arrived, Sir."
He opens the door, "Sure, come in and install it at the wall there." Upon installing it, David seems happy about the map, that he now knows the current nations around him, and also a good decoration for the Governor's office, until he spotted a major flaw in the map. "Wait, our territory is a bit bigger than this, right?"
His assistant noticed and looked into it. "Yeah.....the map just acknowledging about 4 of our prefectures, and disregarding the Northern Territories and the Eastern Prefectures. Should we sue the map maker?"
He chuckled. "I don't think so, don't. We are fast in expanding into the Northern Territories, this map is probably the old one that the world forgets to update it. It's not their fault, we are the ones that should inform the world about our expanding borders." He sits on the chair. "I still have time before I leave for Nordaxica, right?". His assistant nodded.
"Very well, I shall penned a statement, and I think you should publish it today. I don't want a neighbouring nation to have an inaccurate map and start taxing our citizens". The assistant replies, "Right away Sir."
Territory of Kaiganhana, Office of the Imperial Governor
Greetings fellow nations of the world.
It has been notified by me and some of my colleagues that our borders in the world map is inaccurate. The borders in the world map only accounts for only our 4 prefectures, whereas in reality we have expanded far from the prefectures. We are notified that the error is due to mapmakers using the old version of Kaiganhana's map, where its borders are still small and not expanding to what it is today.
On behalf of the Kaiganhanan Government, we wish to express our concern and our hope that this error will be fixed soon, as to not create confusion over the neighbouring nations as well as other nations in the world about our territory.
David Albertine Constantinakine, Imperial Governor of Kaiganhana
Petar Anev’s hand shot for his phone so fast that one could almost swear that it was a frog’s tongue or a viper’s head striking for prey for a split moment. The man was eager, too eager. To travel down to the arctic in the name of the tsar was all that Petar had been dreaming about since he was given permission by the tsar to travel the world in pursuit of knowledge. His Majesty endorsed, and even paid for, Petar’s trips around the globe: January in Zendavia, February in Alstin, March in Dangefa. An endorsement that he got after his rediscovery of the thought to be extinct Rostislavian Pygmy Elephant. His life was a dream, but one currently unfulfilled. The tsar would not endorse a trip to the arctic, no sir, as he thought that a journey there would prove to be frivolous and wasteful. In his mind there was nothing there, but Petar knew better. If the tsar wouldn’t pay for his journey, then he would. So Petar scraped up a few extra guilders to pay for his own way down to the arctic.
Petar’s heart lept for joy when he saw the text: “Here.” He quickly grabbed his suitcase, which had been sitting next to him on the bed, and dashed for the door. He made his way down to the hotel lobby where he checked out with incredible speed and made his way down to the docks. As he got closer to where his ride was located, he finally realized just who he was travelling with and what he was travelling on.
The realization stopped him dead in his tracks – an action that nearly launched his glasses off of his face. A rose-gold yacht? Really? He was a distinguished biologist, one who directly served the crown and its scientific interests. Travelling on rose-gold yachts was not something that he was willingly going to subject himself to. Then again, beggars cannot be choosers.
Resigning himself to his humiliating situation, Petar corrected his glasses and approached the boat. “Hello, you must be Syl,” he said with some feigned enthusiasm as he got closer. “I am Professor Petar Anev, royal biologist and servant of His Majesty, Tsar Konstantin II. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” Usually he would not pull out his title, but the… mental virginity of his host demanded it.
"'Aayy!" Syl shrieked an unintelligible shriek and threw his arms around Petar. Then, he retracted, pulling out his phone and pressing the record button, pointing the camera at his own face. "Hey friends, I'm here in Dangefa with my new pal, 'Peter Avnev'." He then swung the camera around to Petar. "He's our special guest and he'll be accompanying me to the Arctic! You heard me, the Arctic!" He waved his arms up as though what he was saying was very impressive. "He's a scientist who discovered the Dwarf Elephant, which must be one of my favorite animals. Here's a picture!" He then pointed to the air once again, imagining a visual of the Dwarf Elephant.
"It's really awesome that he decided to come with me, because I'm gonna need all the experience I can ge-"
"Hey, professor!" Laura yelled out from the yacht, causing Syl to move his camera to her. "No shoes on my Dad's boat. Throw them up before you come aboard."
Petar let out a sound of exasperation. His goals of reaching the arctic have brought him into the hands of children.
"It's Petar Anev, not Peter Avnev." The professor corrected as he brought his right hand up to his head so that he could massage away the disrespect - and stupid. He moved onto the boat, careful to remove his brown leather shoes before boarding, and greeted the "captain."
"I take it that you are the captain of this vessel?" He asked the woman at the helm. "Tell me, just how long have you been steering ships, and have you ever captained a journey of this length and importance" Ever the pessimist, Petar was certain that he had just signed his own death warrant by coming aboard a boat laden with over-excitable children.
"Oh, my bad!" Syl said after being corrected, before swiftly boarding the ship after Anev.
Laura looked at the quizzing scientist in disbelief. Sometimes she didn't know why she accompanied Syl on his voyages. He was fun to be around, yeah, and the fame was nice. She ran her fingers through her purple, dyed hair, before turning and spitting a wad of bubblegum out into the ocean. She was 19, she had her whole life ahead of her, and she was risking it all to help her weird friend and some rando sail to the arctic, and what did she get for it? Sass from some bigshot professor?
"My Dad taught me how to sail a month ago." You could hear the snark in her voice. "But I got in a fight with him yesterday and I'm kinda mad at him so he doesn't actually know I have it out right now."
"Yeah, Laura's crazy." Syl said, "Just don't worry about it, Pete, she sailed us here from Mierria just fine already."
"We're heading out now." Laura said, and returned to the wheel.
The Voyager 4 PM
Kiro adjusted his black two piece suit, fiddling with the blue and white tie. He looked at himself in the mirror, admiring his looks and physique. There was a knock at his cabin door. “Mr Takami, a visitor is here for you.” Kiro ran a comb through his hair “ Just a moment”.
As Kiro opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Tajiri in his finest clothing. He wore Leopard fur on his back with eagle feathers attached to a gold necklace. His dreadlocks were decorated with small skull shaped stones and beads. He wore buffalo skin on his legs.
Kiro appeared exasperated “Tajiri, your torso!”.
“What of it” he asked.
“Your bare chest is exposed! This is a meeting between diplomats!”
Tajiris body resembled that of Hercules, he took great care of his physique.
“And your tattoos..” Kiro was cut off.
“I will dress how I want. This is formal attire in my culture, if anyone has a problem with it so be it.”
“If that’s how you’re going to be about it fine. Shall we have a drink before the boat gets moving?” Kiro walked out of the cabin, inviting his friend.
“I can never turn those down.” Tajiri laughed
April, 4613 BTJ
Supay cursed to himself as the chilled wind bit into his skin. Despite wearing thick clothing and a scarf, he was still no match for the cold and unforgiving nights in the Dangefan desert. The sun was rising on the horizon, revealing the corpses of several dozen men across the field that lay in front of him. He shivered at the sight.
This was his first assignment as an officer in the Dangefan military. He was here to protect the city of Toltetaca, a prosperous diamond mining city in the northern reaches of Dangefan territory. Well, prosperous for the upper class anyways. The lower class - known as Zuma by the more well off - were nearly slaves, expected to spend their lives in the mines, and in the southern provinces, where land was more fertile, the fields. He could see why many of these people ran off to join the gangs which ravaged this part of the nation. He almost felt sympathetic for them - but the dead bodies of his men scattered across the dunes reminded him that sympathy had no place in war. He mounted his horse and began regrouping his men for a possible second encounter.
Panen carefully placed a cigarette between his dry lips, his hands shivering as he lit it. Nearly instant relief. He sighed as he lied against the desert floor. Last night had been horrifying - when he had left his hometown a week ago to join the Crystal Mambas, he knew he would be running from the law, but it never seemed so real as when he pulled the trigger to kill another a soldier last night. He almost puked when he saw him drop to the ground, and even so long after it seemed like a fever dream.
Another voice pierced through the sickening silence in the night. "First battle jitters?"
Panen recognized the voice as El-P's, the leader of the Crystal Mambas. He sat up, still shaking, though the fire warmed him. He simply shook his head up and down. The man stood and slapped him on the back, making him spit out his cigar. He chuckled. "You'll get used to it, we all do. Well that is, if you make it long enough to! Ha!"
Panen looked at him blankly.
"Not one for a little dark humor? That's alright." El-P mounted his horse. "Well you'll have to get used to it sooner or later. Because you can't just leave this life, you know. You're a criminal. They'll never take you back now." He said, his voice a bit quieter now. "There's no such thing as forgiveness on the frontier. Now hop on your horse. They'll be waiting for us."
Panen hopped onto his horse, his stomach in knots as El-P woke everyone else.
It was not long after Supay had regrouped his men that he saw a cloud of sand on the horizon. He cried out to his men to take up positions behind the sandbags. Soldiers gripped their rifles - relics from a century ago to most nations - preparing to fire on the oncoming horsemen. Several cannons were lined up alongside them.
The cavalry arrived over the hill in front of them suddenly, racing down as though their lives depended on it - and they did. The sounds of gunfire ripped through the air as the townspeople in the city behind raced to shelter. Horses crashed to the ground as cannon shells entered the ranks of the oncoming charge, but the gap between the sandbags and the charging horses was shrinking every moment. Supay began to sweat.
Soon the horses leaped over the shoddy fortifications, sabers slashed through the poorly armored federal soldiers garments, having them reeling on the ground. Supay fell over on the ground, dodging the sword of what seemed like a 13 year old boy on horseback. Supay leaped up on his feet, drawing his own saber to defend himself. He looked around frantically to assess the situation. He noticed an old man in rags leaning over a dead soldier, rummaging through his belongings. Clearly a Zuma taking advantage of the situation. Supay walked over with the saber in his hands, yelling at the man with intense passion in his voice. "Hey! What do you think you're doing! Leave him to rest!" The man looked over, fear in his eyes, and then anger. He drew the saber of the dead soldier and slashed it through Supay's neck without warning. Supay was taken aback. He noticed the old man had a vigor about him, like he wanted to do something like this his whole life. Like he was chained his whole life and in a moment of desperation took things into his own hands. Maybe he was on the wrong side all along? But he had no time to think any more, the next moment he was on the ground, choking for air frantically, as the man ripped his amethyst necklace off his bleeding neck. The clear blue sky faded out of vision.
I am the president of the Republic of Litowia.
The nation where our people are put higher than anything else. This is a nation with dreams, where people have dreams, dreams that can be real. Litowia - the nation with dreams.
Workers Are Loading Things Such As Computer Parts on a Ship The Halladale
Worker asks another worker "Hey Where Are All of these going?
His Other Replies to him "its heading to Mierria, We are gonna Sell these"
the Worker Asks him "Who Ordered This Shipment?"
The Other Worker Replies to Him "Well The Government But i wasn't told why
The Workers go back to working And A Long While Later The Halladale Heads off to Mierria
May 15th, 2018
The Crowned Republic of Mierria
On the second floor of the large, 93-room Jackobie Palace, George Razzuh laid on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling, gasping for any kind of purpose. Outside, the crowd hounded a sickening chant repeatedly; "Razzuh Resign! Razzuh Resign! Leave or die!"
The third chant struck deep within him. It whirred in his head over and over, until reality interrupted him again.
"President Razzuh," a loyalist said from the doorframe, "Admiral Gaetz is arriving."
He thought of the implications of those words. Razzuh was ashamed that he allowed the situation to get so bad that he would have to plea for help from the likes of Admiral Gaetz, a young lower-born Sloansman. It was bad when Razzuh's Conservatives lost the last election, it became worse when Razzuh just-narrowly won re-election by a plurality of just 19% of the vote, and became worst when the King decided to stand by him.
"... Yes, thank you." And then the door shut again. He pushed himself upward, and onto a pristine, centuries-old rug. He dusted off his suit and made his way to his raised balcony, which overlooked the entrance and front garden of the palace.
Below the crowd stirred harder as Razzuh rested his hands on the balcony's silver railing. But the crowd, stretching for seemingly miles, was not Razzuh's focus. His foucs was on the horizon, where Mierria's largest battleship, the recently-revived HMS Julian was docking into the Military Port of Dawsbury. A ramp lowered, and the crowd gawked as a man in a shining suit of silver descended upon them. Seeing Admiral Gaetz, both the rioters and Razzuh thought the same thing:
He didn't know it then, but that was the moment his presidency ended.
A troop of sailors followed him down that ramp and the crowd cleared a path to the palace. As he strode, mothers cried and men gazed in awe. As he approached the gate, he looked up at Razzuh, but the crowd's eyes remained on Gaetz. Razzuh had trouble deciphering his expression, but just as fast as the moment had come Gaetz nodded to the gatesman, and the gates departed, allowing him to enter, along with his sailors. As he made his way up the steps to a door, he waved to the crowd, his face remaining indifferent.
Razzuh hastened back into the drawing room and out into the foyer, then down some stairs into a posh lobby.
"Admiral, it's good to see you." Razzuh said going down, shaking hands with Gaetz.
"Yes, you as well, George." The use of Razzuh's first name should've immediately told him that something was wrong, but it didn't. His mind was still racing with thoughts of "Leave or die!" and 'We're saved.'
"So, you're going to disperse the crowd, as I ordered?" Razzuh forced himself to speak up, as the crowd outside was beginning again.
Gaetz shot a small smirk at Razzuh. "Yes. I am." He wheeled around to one of his sailors. "Williamson, have the gates opened." The soldier saluted and was off.
Razzuh froze with fear. All he could produce was a short whimper of "What?"
"I recommend you run, George. I recommend you run very, very far away and never look back. I can't guarantee your safety if you don't." Gaetz said indifferently, "Thank you for your service, Mr. President."
His face reddened with surprise and anger, but there was no time for that. Now was the time for running.
Somewhere in the countryside of Alstin, present day
And it had been the time for running for two years now. Constant, non-stop moving. Since then, a lot has changed in Mierria, or so he's been told. The Fall of Jackobie Palace, in turns out, was the beginning of something entirely new.
As Razzuh stared at himself back in the mirror, he saw an empty husk of what he once was. Since then, he had lost weight and his expression was sallow and cold. His brown tuft of hair was aging and shedding off, and his time spent silently sulking outweighed all other activity. The capture of Bill Mackey, Razzuh's longtime opposition, had changed things. It made Razzuh a potential target, and that, coupled with his age, were beginning to weigh on his mind.
The time for running was gone, but the time for changing was now. He had gotten Mierria into this mess, and now he needed to help get it out.
He scribbled a note and handed it off to an aide.
We need to speak.
Nordaxcia: A Field Study
The room had four scholars who showed interest on other nations. They presented their aim and goals for a field study in Nordaxcia to the Pantomath, the four of them had co written and short outline over goals and aims:
Study how it copes with dated technology
Ask about cultural norms and events
Investigate individuals who still voted against opening borders
"So you wish to look into the societal aspect of Nordaxcia, Dr Biancardi?" asked the Pantomath
"Yes, understanding how Nordaxica works on a societal level will help us avoid offending its public and mitigate the risk of making them dislike us. It would also prove interesting to see if anyone else thinks that this reform is good or bad for the future of Nodraxcia"
The Pantomath would read the outline again just to thorough "As the invitation allowd small groups of people, the four of you will be sent to the event to achieve these goals and aims to the best of your ability". He began to fill out the study permission paper
This field study of NORDAXCIAN SOCIETY, is approved by the Pantomath and given his permission. With understanding to reach goals as listed by the chief researcher Dr Sofana Biancardi. The chief researcher in question will be accompanied by Kyran Eynaud, Luke Manduca and Anton Vella. Signed Pantomath Vincenz Montanaro.
"Take this, down to research."
Sofana would take the paper and thank the Pantomath for approval as she and her team would leave.
To President Peters of the Federal Republic of Nordaxcia,
We thank you for your invitation and interest the Islands. We have accepted your invitation and will dispatch a diplomatic team comprised of four members to the "informal summit" you have kindly hosted.
We look forward to improving the relationship between the Islands and Nordaxia
Signed Pantomath Vincenz Montanaro
"She's only been captaining boats for a month." Petar whispered to himself in his native language - the urgency and fear sounding more real than he meant it to. He nearly fell over, and his heart skipped a beat as the boat began to leave the dock. He grabbed for one of the handlebars on the side of the yacht to steady himself, turning his gaze to the shore. All the while he stood next to Laura as the boat slipped silently out to sea, keeping his eyes on the shrinking shoreline until Dangefa disappeared from sight completely. His Majesty was right, he sulked as went to sit down at the stern of the boat.
A moment he spotted his host, remembering that Syl was the reason why he was here, why he was finally fulfilling one of his life's major goals. Anger rose and quickly faded within the depths of his heart. There was no need to blame the boy for his own shortsightedness, yet he could not help but to blame Syl's enthusiasm just a little bit.
"Life is just a matter of perspective", echoed the words of his dearly departed mother. "Life is what you make of it, how you perceive it, and what your attitude towards others is. You can choose to be miserable your whole life, or you can choose to be happy. Always be sure to make the right decision, Petar." He shook his head to remove the thoughts, sighing longingly as he did so. How he wished for her to be here now. "Alright," he whispered to himself as he hauled himself out of his self-made pit of despair. "Hey, Syl? Mind showing me how your camera works?"
As the Halladale docked in Rayver, its contents were unloaded swiftly. Soon, young men threw boxes of wine, cotton and unrefined oil into the Halladale. A merchant said "We're all finished here." And shook with the Zendavian.
"So, the Mierrian Navy managed to capture Mackey after shooting down his plane..." The President said as breakfast, which consisted of steak and eggs with a side of potatoes and toast, was being served to the two Ryders.
"Yes, and Reynolds is being treated for what they are calling a 'self-inflicted gunshot wound' in an undisclosed location," Nate added as he took a sip from his coffee. "If anything, they are most likely actually torturing him alongside Mackey in a dark hole somewhere."
"Frankly I'm not surprised," Ben said his he cut into the steak. "It may be the homeland of your grandmother, but Mierria hasn't been known for stability for the past two centuries; Even more so these past sixty years. That country has been subject to two civil wars, at least six government changes, a coup and subsequent tyrannical rule initiated by the Usurper, a crisis on the island of Geremo, the terror bought upon by the Aurelians, and now the institution of a military dictatorship by Gaetz in a coup against Razzuh-"
"Speaking of the former Mierrian President, we intercepted this letter addressed to you," Nate interjected as he pulled out a photo copy of a letter and handed it to the President. Ben read through the short letter before asking Nate: "Any idea where he is?"
"While the return address on the in obviously empty, the postage used puts the letter's origins in Bryceland," Nate replied. "If it truly is Razzuh, then he's probably hiding out somewhere in the farmlands."
"Find him, and bring him to secure location," Ben said to Nate. "Knowing Gaetz, he would want nothing more than Razzuh's head in bask-."
At that moment, Daniels entered the gazebo with a telephone in hand. "Pardon my intrusion, but there's a call for you from Deputy Director Cutter, Mister President."
What could Joe be calling Dad for? Nate thought to himself as Ben picked up the phone.
"Hello Joe," The President said into the phone. "What? How bad?" There was a momentary pause as Cutter was giving the information to Ben. "Alright. I'll let him know."
After hanging up the phone, the elder Ryder turned to Nate and said to him: "You better get down to Mercy General Hospital as soon as you can."
"What's the matter?" Nate asked.
"Kendig has just admitted into the hospital," Ben solemnly replied. "It appears that he may have cancer."
"Damn," Nate said in response. "I'll get there as soon as I can, but after I relay your order to Cutte-."
"No need to, he's on his way here as we speak. I'll tell him myself," Ben interjected. "Now get going."
With that, Nate quickly packed up his briefcase sans the copy of the letter and quickly made his way back through the myriad of hallways towards the exit from where he had entered. He then got into his car, and after exiting the premises of the Domus Regia, began to drive off towards the hospital...
Petar tried speaking with Syl, but he was still absorbed in his own self. He threw Petar a finger, as if to say hold on, and finished. "So, they sent some 5,000 people to Connell, and we'll be meeting them after we dock, and we'll see how life is for them. But for now, thank you for watching friends, I love you."
Syl looked over, surprised that Petar was speaking with him after their awkward first meeting. "Oh, uh yeah." He said, fiddling with the lens with his left hand and turning the record button off with his right. "I had to teach myself how to use it, so I don't know about specific terms. But she's an oldie and a goldie." Then, he thought of where he got it, and he blurted out; "this was my mom's but she gave it to me after she-"
Laura perked over from the wheel as he stopped himself. And Syl was reminded why he started making travel videos- not to entertain Mierrians starved of exposure to the outside world - but to take his mind off of the immense pain that came with losing both of his parents. And for all that they were worth (700 Miers), his MeToob channel accomplished that. He looked back over at Petar, and said "Honestly, I probably wouldn't be able to afford a new one if this broke." Laura wanted to chime in from the front and reassure him that she would help pay for a new camera if his broke, but she knew she wasn't one to give reassurance.
"Anyway, enough about me," his smile quickly returned, "how'd you discover that awesome elephant? And what's it like in Panaxurios?"
Grand Admiral announces alliance with Dangefa
The Grand Admiral's office announced today that the Republic of Mierria has created a military and economic alliance with the respected and powerful nation of Dangefa.
In return for the use of Dangefa's beautiful ports for the Mierrian navy and the peaceable exploitation of Dangefan oil, Mierria promises to protect all Dangefan trade and Dangefa in all military conflicts.
Grand Admiral Gaetz has called the pact a "binding of two great peoples" and looks forward with further cooperation with coastal nations of the Signora Sea.
THIS STATEMENT HAS BEEN APPROVED BY THE GRAND ADMIRAL'S OFFICE. ALL OTHER STATEMENTS ON THIS MATTER ARE FALSE.
Approx. 250 miles west of the coast of Panaxurios...
Striding across the great expanse that was the sea were 12 ships, all poised forward, guns loaded and ready for conflict. The young David Hart was an extreme loyalist to Gaetz. He admired the Grand Admiral more than any other living man. Gaetz had saved Mierria, and he was a savior Mierria didn't deserve. The Milosian people knew that better than anyone.
What the Milosian people also knew better than anyone was their own history. And their history was full of pirates.
From a young age, Milosians we're taught of pirates. They were virtuous to young children- going on amazing adventures through the Mierrian Sea, raiding foreign cities, fighting mythical ocean monsters and taking exotic women as they wives. Perhaps that fascination with the virtuous rogue was the reason Milosia was the most loyal island of the "main 5" in terms of their support for Gaetz, and why they were so fervently opposed to democracy back in the days of Razzuh and the Crown.
Ironically, despite the vast advancements in naval technology, much of the tactics used by those pirates we're still used today. As they came into Panaxurian water, Hart lost his identity, and so did his ship. He leaned into the intercom speakers, and said "Lower the ensign!" And David watched as Mierria's flag was drawn down.
Suddenly, a call.
It was a representative of the foreign power who had ordered this "hit" on Panaxurios.
"Yes, sir." Hart responded. "Your anonymity will be respected, you have my assurance."
They continued, seeming unwary. "Do not worry, your nation will not be implicated. You have my word."
As the peninsula of The Vranastrov came into view, Hart ordered the canons readied.
The Battle of the Vranastrov Concludes
David Hart watched on as the HMS Vidin took its final blow from a Mierrian (or, unaffiliated would be the better term) airstrike. "A shame," Hart said, his humanity glaring in his eyes as men flung themselves overboard only to be swallowed by the ocean.
Hart remembered his orders carefully- they came from the Grand Admiral himself - he was to raid the west coast of the Vranastrov on behalf of the bidder who had rented the Mierrian Eastern Fleet for their own purposes.
He gave the order, and 7 ships, the Kaser, Pluto, Octovane, Yennery, Lilly Paulsen, and the Isabella sailed inward toward the shore along with Hart's ship, the Blue Moon, began to unload their soldiers. Their goal was clear; steal anything valuable, wipe out small local militias, and cripple the region. But they had a specific direction; for whatever reason, the Grand Admiral had ordered that they not so much as touch the ample crops of Panaxurios's 'breadbasket'.
The sailors were clean and efficient, and by the next hour the Panaxurian towns of Pomorie, Radnevo, Kostinbrod, and Nesebar had been completely and utterly looted. No rock was left unturn, it seemed. Local banks were picked clean, and the contents of resource-rich mines loaded onto cargo vessels. Gas stations were slurped clean of oil, and local food food stores and stores were set ablaze.
The Vranasstrov wasn't the same place as the 'pirates' sailed away.
John Gaetz motioned his hand over his red telephone, a holdover of previous governments, which almost always relied on a direct line to Alstin for almost everything the nation needed. Since them, things had changed. Gaetz's mass internal industrialization programs had limited Alstin's use to Mierria to simple tourism. And it was no secret that the Ryders didn't like him. But at this moment he didn't care.
He picked up the phone, and talked to President Ryder.
"Yes, our intelligence agency has picked up intel on the nation that hired the pirates that raided the Vranastrov, and we'd like to share that with you..."
The Vranastrov. An awkward peninsula jutting out from the mainland of the continent in to the Sea of Estros. For years the peaceful towns of Pomorie, Radnevo, Kostinbrod, and Nesebar have traded and done business free of the fear of pirates, a feat achieved during the height of the fallen kingdom of Vestros. Now that it’s gone, and now that a newer, weaker, power has arisen from the ashes, pirates have returned.
Tsar Konstantin II sat on his rather uncomfortable and plain throne which rises about five been off the ground. The stone throne is not much to look at, just four slabs of rock throne together to give the monarch something to sit on. The seven stone steps to get up to the throne were no joy either, as the stone was well worn and chipped with millennia of use. All around him rose tall, blue marble pillars, reflected perfectly into the pristine white marble floor. Each pillar held up a patterned black and white arch which in turn held up a set of crystal-clear windows that arched their way up to the painted silver dome of the throne room. The room was completely circular, and absolutely beautiful, save for this confounded throne.
The sounds of rustling robes and a creaking door broke the king’s concentration on the uncomfortableness of his stone seat. He lifted his head up from his hand, which then slumped ungracefully between his legs, and gazed at the two fools who walked in. Barons Bakalov, and Kerzhakov hustled there way into the throne room from the east entrance directly on the tsar’s left. They reached the center of the room and bowed low to the ground. “Forgive us for the intrusion, Your Majesty, but this just came in from the HMS Vidin.” They then handed him a tightly rolled piece of paper tied up with a red ribbon. The tsar unraveled the ribbon and opened the message,
We are taking heavy fire from an unknown enemy. Most of the fleet is gone and our ship is severely damaged. Once we sink there will be nothing to stop the pirates from -
A look of grave concern crossed the tsar’s face. “Where is the rest of the message?” He asked quietly.
“That’s the thing, sir, the fleet is gone, and the towns are on fire. The Vranastrov has fallen.” They hurriedly replied.
Fallen. Tsar Konstantin thought to himself as he sunk into the stone throne. “There must be something that we can do.”
“The Council has advised that we send an immediate relief force – armed if necessary.”
“IT WILL BE NECESSARY!” Bellowed the tsar. His voice echoed and boomed within the pillared hall. “Send an armed fleet with supplies needed to relieve the affected townsfolk. When it is safe I will make a trip there so that the people will see that their tsar stands with them.”
“What about the upcoming summit?”
“If I cannot go then Aleksandar will be sent in my stead. They already know that he is coming. In the meantime, I need to begin making plans to ensure that this catastrophe never happens again.”