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The National Socialist Empire of Hadian

A day in Hadian life... Look inside the Empire

Outside Cheldian City roughly 55km away lays a town name Otto. A peaceful town that houses a large Hospital facility. Unusual to this hospital is the four chimney stack system. Every Monday the four chimneys are in full swing pumping out ash.

The children that know no better play in the ash as if it was snow coming down. The children laugh and play making ash angles and throwing it around, however, the adults know the truth. Every Monday is liquidation of those deemed a "Drain on the State". The adults largely ignore it and allow the children in their innocence to not know what actually is happening. The hospital cremates many victims alive and others that have been butchered by botched experiments.

**Look momma! It's snowing again! Yay, can I play with my friends outside?**

The Hadian mother looks outside and sees the ash falling. Really unsure how to reply she quickly says "Yes dear but afterwards you'll take a shower before dinner."

The Hadian child smiled and ran outside to join his friends in throwing ash at each other. The numb Hadian mother looks at her son from a window. She knows he has autism and eventually the Hadian National Socialists will come for her son for he is deemed defective. She counts the days away before they come..



The Dictatorship of Westbeech

As the forced stalemate continued, more and more Northerners defected to the South. Whenever someone would go to cross over to the other Westbeech, they would often see countless field hospitals absolutely stuffed with injured soldiers. Towns where the fighting would take place were empty when there was no firefight. Many would be stopped by military personnel patrolling the borders and brought somewhere safe. That is, if they had reached the South. Many of those who attempted to flee the North were shot on sight, others being arrested and brought back to their home town.

At a town not far from Pubsberg, a young Northern soldier, no older than 16, stopped a mother and her three children from going to the South. The woman begged the young man to let her go, as there truly was only one Westbeech, and the Westbeech under Lilie Korban was the only way forward. The young soldier's stoicism wavered for a moment. What if he had been brought to the wrong side? What truly gave Marlene any right to the dictatorship? The boy looked around him. There was no sign of other soldiers in the area. He then turned to the woman and said, "Then it is only right to flee."

The boy then put his rifle on his back and motioned for the family to follow him. They passed through a town that was destroyed by the Southern counter-batteries during the siege of Pubsberg. There was not a single peep from any house, no lights. Behind them, a Leopard 2 passed at the end of the town, quickly followed by running soldiers. Luckily, those men were not searching for defectors.

Outside the town, they ran up a hill and straight into a command tent. The young soldier who was running ahead had tripped over a wire that was running behind the tent from a generator, falling straight into the tent. Almost immediately, a soldier picked the boy up. He could hear the mother crying somewhere behind him. He couldn't see anything, as something had been placed over his head. The boy felt some pressure on his shoulders while a calm voice told him to sit down.

When sitting down, the blindfold put over his eyes was removed and he found himself next to a fire in a staff chair. Straight across from him was Lilie Korban, who was looking the boy over. She herself was barely older than him. How a young girl was able to lead a country was a spectacle to the elders of the region, but then again, almost every leader in Westbeech had taken over at a surprisingly young age. The boy asked, "Where is the mother and her children? They were crying. What happened to them?"

Lilie smiled and said, "They are going to be given a tent to stay the night. In the morning, they will be brought further South where they will be safe. We ran a quick background check and found out that the mother's husband had died fighting for the North and I'm glad to say I won't have to say the same thing for you." She reached into a bag next to her and brought out a picture of herself, her brother, and her cousins. Her smile faded as she looked at it herself, the memories of her happy, privileged childhood and of the great friendship between herself and her family. "Fratricide is all that is happening. We are killing our brothers and sisters for the sake of whatever Marlene has claimed. I know her well, and I feel that this war should not have happened. Something out of her control caused this, something that influences her greater than I know. I don't want this war to be more unnecessary deaths and I want you to be given this choice. Stay here in the South and be free, use your abilities to do whatever it is you wish to do here. You may also return to the North and face the consequences there. I do not want a man dead by my own volition, so please choose the former."

The boy had just been looking at Lilie in awe and the question had gone in one ear and out the other. After a moment of silence and Lilie's expression turning to a look of worry, the boy shook his head and started laughing. "I can't comprehend all of this. I must be dreaming. I shouldn't be speaking to the leader of Westbeech as a conscript."

Lilie placed her hand on top of the boy's and said softly, "This is real, it all is. Stay in the south, for sake of your own safety and future. Don't throw your livelihood away because reality seems a dream." Lilie motioned for an officer nearby. "Give this boy my tent for the night, I will be staying with the family that came with him."

With that, Lilie smiled, got up, and left to the command tent while the officer helped the boy up and to the large tent. Once inside, the officer left the boy alone. He couldn't comprehend what had just happened and much less where he was now. Exhausted from all that had happened and his attempt to process it all, he stumbled to the bed and quickly fell asleep.

The Holy Reisch of Collectivist Germania

"i attempt to write an rp post after a millennia of inactivity"
2021-02K.CE:3:28 | 1604h

There wasn't a whole lot in this world that Inspector Lothar Buchwald chose to worry about, which he believed stemmed back to his own upbringing, where sentimentality was swallowed by the yawning abyss of self-image. He always regarded himself in a valuable light, with olive eyes of a calm intensity that seemed to crush resolve wherever it travelled, and it all held exceptional fortitude to his appearance. The click-clacking of well-polished jackboots echoed against the pavement in the gentle March breeze, dressed in a snappy officer uniform reminiscent of the neighbouring DPRs kommissars, the peaked cap tucked in under his armpit once his footfalls fell silent on the footpath as he took in the sight of the lavish palace entrance in front of him:

"Ratzinger Estate."

He knew very little of His Grace, Gerwig Von Ratzinger himself other than he happened to be the Duke of Ansbach; an ambitious man who had not inherited his position for long, yet made no small name for himself amongst his peers and within Welthauptstadt Berlin itself, where his drive for innovation seemed counterbalanced by his tendencies to act out of line. It was not, however, the Inqusition itself which had sent Inspector Buchwald to the estate but having been invited at the Duke's pleasure -- even 'uncaring' Lothar was far too curious to pass up on this offer. In a time where scrutiny was in no short supply towards the hierarchy as it was to those below, it was only natural that due diligence would be mutually kept between the two; it was purely speculation, an unknown sum yet to be solved, but he figured he would have an answer soon. Bringing his fist up to the wooden door, he issued three vibrating bangs against its surface, the UGR-era RFID panel present to the side but long since having been out of functioning order. A short moment passed before a stocky man in a simple tuxedo appeared, his dark hair slicked back and the brim of his lip adorning a wispy moustache to complete the set.

"Inspector Buchwald, of His Imperial Majesty's Holy Inquisition. Here to see His Grace, Ratzinger of Ansbach."

The greeter seemed to make some absent form of acknowledge in the form of a little expulsion of breath as he checked over a small guestbook by the door. Pausing to retrieve his glasses from his breast pocket, he panned his finger over a list of as-of-yet unsigned names; people to be expected but had not arrived.

"And... is the Inspector here on official business or at His Grace's pleasure?"

"Is it any of your business?"

The greeter looked up briefly from the guestbook with a mildly apprehensive expression in his vacant gaze, as though a deer in the headlights in response to the Inspector's unusually straightforward stonewall of a reply. He perhaps wasn't used to this kind of resistance; maybe fishing for information on his own volition or for somebody else, or maybe it was just an innocent inquiry out of curiosity. But either way, Buchwald wasn't having it -- being invited to the house of one of the most corrupt officials in all of Imperial Christendom wasn't something you wanted advertised to the wider public. The Inspector issued a final icy glare to the vacant-faced man before then moving past him in a brisk stride, too spiteful to bother asking directions to where Ratzinger was. He thankfully didn't need to, the voice of a mildly heated dressing down being heard from a study room at the far end of the hallway.

"Listen to me closely, Lord Wilhelm -- your daughter, Lady Louise, was sent to the Spiritual Republic of Caryton to marry into the United Holy Party, to make connections with their financial backers and the purse strings of the Gospel Church. But now I hear she danced at the North-South Friendship Ball with Volkskommisar Lukas Mandl, became quite well-acquainted with him from what I've been told... and I'll not tolerate that, m'lord."

"Your Grace, you surely aren't of the opinion that I'm party to this."

There was a dry chuckle that echoed from behind the ajar door in response to this, just as Buchwald had approached and slipped inside discretely. Ratzinger himself was seated behind a wide office desk, his features saturnine and his hair a deep chocolate, beginning to grey at the sides. The blonde man seated across from him was in black breeches, boots and a loose black coat, coupled with a dress shirt and vest underneath, a single sleeve folded over to indicate a truncated arm; it was this distinct feature coupled with the overheard conversation that marked him unmistakably to Buchwald as Lord Aldo Wilhelm, Beichte War veteran and Earl of Völkdorf. A war hero by all accounts, though the narrative remains unclear whether an Orc had taken his arm in battle or he had hacked it off himself... and the fact that Ratzinger was willing to lecture him shamelessly spoke volumes to the presence he was now seated in front of.

"You would be amazed at the conclusions I can draw."

"Louise is aware that things can't proceed with the young Lukas Mandl, but he believes he's free to choose his own wife."

"Free to-- Free to choose? Did I hear those words correctly? He's not some common prole, he's a man who might very well have to disappear into Talarus on behalf of Germania someday... The noblest blood that ever came from Vienna, really. The Wilhelms came from, what, trade leagues?"

The Earl was silent for a moment at this scathing reproach, unwilling to speak out of line as he fiddled moodily with the golden wedding ring on his finger. The deafening silence in the room was broken by him after a short while as he piped up again.

"The problem is that my daughter and Lukas Mandl may have gone too far... pledging themselves before witnesses-"

"Ah, well you can forget all talk of 'pledges' and 'witnesses.' I'll speak to my people in Klagenfurt across the border... and if the prodigal defies me any further, he'll be tossed out of a job on his prodigal ass. Now-"

The Duke of Ansbach rested his palm against the varnished surface of the desk and leaned forward to accentuate the booming demands of his next words, his brows knitted together in stern frustration. He was not asking, he was ordering the Earl.

"-Get your daughter married into Caryton, is that understood? Before her intended hears any rumour of 'spoiled goods.'"

Maintaining his stare of displeasure on Aldo for a moment longer, the Duke rested back comfortably in his chair and then waved him off with a hand in dismissal, his focus already turning over to the new guest in his room. Wilhelm picked himself up from the seat and rounded on his heel, storming towards the exit with the tail of his coat fluttering behind him; an uncontained hiss of vitriol launched towards the Inquisitor on the way out of the room.

"No bones left to chase in Berlin? Inquisitor lapdog."

Both Lothar and Gerwig shared a private chuckle at this display of wounded pride once the man had left the room, the latter whistling the Inspector over like a dog from across the study as he went to retrieve a small black binder from his drawer, laying a file out on his desk. The latter approached in a quick marching stride and stood in front before taking a bow towards the Duke and then returning to attention. Only the tense ticking of the small clock sitting inside the background drinking cabinet interrupted the lack of dialogue as Ratzinger overlooked the small dossier before then returning his attention back to the well-uniformed man in front of him.

"So, Lady Steinbruch tells me that I might find a use for you, Inspector Buchwald. 'A man of many talents', she says. 'A remarkable memory.'"

"It's a technique, Your Grace... Picked it up living in Artarum."

"How long were you abroad?"

"Twenty years."

Ratzinger looked at him significantly from the file he'd been quoting from, weighing him up in his mind for a moment; a well-travelled man, it seemed to him.

"Twenty years? Why, you're practically Artarumen at this point; it's some wonder how you were still accepted into the Inquisition."

"Don't worry, they sweated me extensively, in the event that I had committed some private act of anathema against the Imperial Church... Or worse, been approached by the Stasi."

"Ah, well, I suppose it wouldn't have seemed unlikely for them to want you playing on their team, on account of your..."

"Discretion?"

"Yes, discretion; and from what Lady Steinbruch has also told me, you count yourself to be 'morally flexible' as well. Please."

The Duke motioned to the seat in front of him, whereupon the Inspector relaxed his posture and was about to seat himself down, before then turning back to look at the slightly open door behind him. Discretion indeed being of the essence in such remarkably paranoid times, he shuffled with a few bootsteps towards it and gently pushed it closed. Lord Wilhelm and the door greeter could only surmise what it was that the Duke of Ansbach wanted with an Inquisitor, but if seeing Buchwald again in the future was an indication of anything, it was that he had an offer far too good to refuse...

* * *

The Ecclesiastical Meritocracy of Spiritual Republic of Caryton

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5MzoUG0vYA

Collectivist Germania

The morning sun broke the cooing of the mourning doves on the Bethel Family Farm. The golden fields of oats swayed beautifully in the crisp early air with the yellowed sky giving an air of serenity to the rural area. The clucking of chickens joined the merry songs of the birds in their morning hail to their neighbors. The ocean blue farmhouse stood optimistically on the top of a straight dirt trail, a thin-planked white fence guarding the perimeter of lush green grass topped with the fluffy green and yellow clouds of the quaint oxalis stricta. A crimson barn contrasted the blue and white plank house, standing northwest of the residence on the border of an icy clear stream with a floor of pebbles. The water (clean enough to drink) wound down directly into the coops and troughs through manmade mini-canals, quenching the thirst of the poultry, cattle, and steeds.

The flat plains of Caryton laid on the horizon beyond the farm, wildflowers dotting golden and green sun-baked grasses like sprinkles of joy in a meal made with a labor of love. The scene was simple and beautiful- an idyllic dreamland of innocence and beauty. The urbanites of the foreign world might have found it 'boring', but many more had a subtle attraction to the countryside. Caryton was the personification of a fly-over country, but the residents called it home and wouldn't have it any other way. The Bethel Farm was a reasonable distance south of the small hamlet of Togethertown. It was a simple house, but the people it housed were not simple.

David Bethel was a striping twenty-seven year old man sporting a blonde buzzcut and glittering green eyes. Golden hair, ivory skin, green eyes- the pure Carytonic race that seemed to be a loose version of Artamen- a sister race who decided to frolic in oat fields. They were known as the "meadow people". He was fairly muscular, and always wore a brilliant spring green dress shirt with navy blue pants. Caryton was not the place to easily marry into power- especially for Lady Louise. When the entire country is run by excessively pious old grandmas who can't even fathom of the word 'corruption', a boy like David would have certainly been a snatch. The governor of the agrarian Judith County and high-ranking member of the coalition 'First United Holy Party', his life was a lot less boring when examined beyond first glance.

David's bedroom door swung closed, the whitewashed walls and retro wallpaper shimmering sterile in the Carytonic way. This was his farmhouse, but his elderly parents were getting too old to manage the farm by themselves. David's younger siblings have been bearing the most of the farmwork but with such little time left, a family visit was a must. Life in the Ecclesiastical Meritocracy might have been redundant and simple, but it was a life that the Lord loved and that was all.

The kitchen was alight with various homely smells. A fresh bowl piled high with bubbling hot strawberry oatmeal was placed onto the hand-weaved white tablecloth, with oat crackers and a hearty helping of pineapple bread on the side. A lovely old woman turned to face him, green eyes faded but still sparkling in that life-loving fashion. The tubes in her nose connected to the oxygen did not hinder her spirit. Her lovely blue victorian dress sparkled with the same modest beauty it did the day she bought it five years ago. The white bonnet in her white poofy locks rested like a blanket over a tucked in child.

"Bless your heart dearie, and eat! Enjoy your time home before you leave for Georgine."

The prospect of leaving the farm stung even David underneath the burdens of business. He helped himself to the staple breakfast. He was supposed to be courting some girl whom he had not seen, but the truth of the matter was that he had been so wrapped up in work that he had forgotten about the Germanian interests- and even the lives of his family. A particular sermon on behalf of the Gospel Church of Caryton had drawn him home. An empty bowl later, and he was pacing along the yellowed pathway, looking over the golden fields of oats only mere yards away, with several patches already harvested. The land had just been expanded after the young Ambers couple moved off to the city- and while that meant a more lucrative season for the siblings, it meant more stress on the parents. Maybe this industrialization thing was bogus.

He walked under the oak tree which his siblings infant children were swung on. Looking at the sunshine streaming through the softly swaying leaves, he remembered his mothers' advice.

"Don't ever forget where you come from."

He slid his thumb over the golden retriever tie pin with a soft internal chuckle. Still reminiscing, the humble jock of a male trailed to the black van that awaited him, the flag of Caryton softly fluttering on the dashboard.

The People's Republic of Olichi

hey . what happens here and are all rp posts that long?

The Republic of Vistulange

Olichi wrote:hey . what happens here and are all rp posts that long?

OOC: Hello, welcome to the region!

What happens here is, basically, roleplay. Sometimes it's on the character level, sometimes on the national level. We do tend to enjoy larger posts as they convey a lot of detail, but we naturally don't have any post limits.

Feel free to ask any questions you may have in mind!

The People's Republic of Olichi

Vistulange wrote:OOC: Hello, welcome to the region!

What happens here is, basically, roleplay. Sometimes it's on the character level, sometimes on the national level. We do tend to enjoy larger posts as they convey a lot of detail, but we naturally don't have any post limits.

Feel free to ask any questions you may have in mind!

OOC: well i was never really good at long or super detailed rmb / rp posts because that isnt what the region demanded. these are super cool posts and i think theis region would be enjoyable



The Technocratic Empire of Veradax

OOC: Hello, I may be working on a post or two, got a sh!tload of story lines. Gotta dust off some word docs and read some old posts first though. For now I'll be sticking to the bioweapons RP and my Mafia storyline, Church of Transcendental Hatred stuff will come later.

The Technocratic Empire of Veradax

Olichi wrote:hey . what happens here and are all rp posts that long?

OOC: They don't have to be, some of us just like writing. I've found the NS character limit for RMB posts several times before.

The ឵឵឵឵ of Island Zero

Veradax wrote:OOC: Hello, I may be working on a post or two, got a sh!tload of story lines. Gotta dust off some word docs and read some old posts first though. For now I'll be sticking to the bioweapons RP and my Mafia storyline, Church of Transcendental Hatred stuff will come later.

OOC: Nice Mongolian flag

The People's Republic of Olichi

Veradax wrote:OOC: They don't have to be, some of us just like writing. I've found the NS character limit for RMB posts several times before.

OOC: Im not a writer so this is super intimidating for me. maybe once i finish school that will be a thing

The Technocratic Empire of Veradax

Island Zero wrote:OOC: Nice Mongolian flag

OOC: It's just a stand in, I don't quite want to go digging around my hard drive just yet.

Olichi wrote:OOC: Im not a writer so this is super intimidating for me. maybe once i finish school that will be a thing

OOC: I wrote lots in my early days here, though it was always some pretty bad writing, so your apprehension is completely understandable.

The Armed Republic of North Dictoria

The Supreme Leader
Nobody had seen the supreme leader since the revolution. He had been in his palace, having his aides carry his orders to the outside. His people would wonder if he really existed or if it was all a big scheme by the higher-ups to gain power. Today, however, he emerged from the depths. He would stand on a balcony, overlooking hundreds of North Dictorians as a parade, a display of military might would proceed below. It was as much a show of power to his citizens as it was to his rivals. The tanks, armored cars, and even some rocket projectors. Followed by the men and women of the army. Marching in unison, their heads high, wearing the North Dictorian uniform with pride. The people below would cheer as they passed. Some would look up at the supreme leader, in a uniform of his own design, wearing dark sunglasses to hide his eyes. After the parade was done, the leader would go to speak. "People of this great nation. I have been absent from the public for so long. I have been working out issues with other things. Some criticize what I have done while within my palace. However, I have increased both police and military budgets. I've been working hard to defeat both drugs and smoking within North Dictoria. I would think that I've done much to increase your security. I work to bring this nation up. I will continue to work to bring us up as I have been doing. This time, however, have no doubts about whether or not I'm real, as I will be more frequently visible by the public." The crowd below erupted into applause, whether it was genuine, or because they feared the consequences of not clapping was unknown. One, however, would speak out. "You are not one we should applaud. You've hidden in your fancy palace while we have been listening to propaganda and following your strict laws. You emerged when your people began to doubt you and for no other reason. You're no better than the monarchs from before the revolution." The man who spoke out would spit towards the leader. Jong-Su Jong Choi's (The Supreme Leader) face would harden. "I shall discuss this with you later." Police would emerge from behind the man and lead him away to an unknown location. Jong-Su Jong Choi's face would brighten a bit again. "Enjoy the parade and eventually more of my appearances." The supreme leader would leave the area and return to his palace after that.

The Community of Ight ima head out

ight ima head out



The Technocratic Empire of Veradax

Unholy Division – Part 2
The Decision

Everyone had returned ten minutes early or more, the pause didn’t appear to have changed many minds, if anything it had just given time for opinions to solidify. The table indicated allegiances, the priests and priestesses in favor of the schism had positioned themselves closer to Opithar and Rynalandar. Two empty seats denoted the size of each camp, Beckintroh found that he had two allies to his name.

Hezgorvnia’s face betrayed little, especially since most of it was artificial, though what there was seemed to denote that this was the expected result. Of course he already knew the opinions of the Priests that were indisposed in this critical point in time. It was awhile until he spoke. “Then it is fifteen to three?”

No one objected, so Hezgorvnia continued. “Then we will go through with the schism, as per the ancient rites, I will lead the Veradacian Church from this cathedral as High Priest. Those that challenged me for this mantle in the past are free to do so again, as is anyone else at this table.”

There was no one who would take up the now High Priest Hezgorvnia on this offer.

The High Priest stood, he knew the priests he would have to keep an eye on. “Go back to your congregations, they will need you all in the coming weeks. The priests of this cathedral and myself can handle the development of an independent apparatus to govern our church with.” Now he had a title to fit the commands of his voice.

The priests stood in unison, and began filing out, leaving Hezgorvnia alone at the head of the table.

Later,
Meditation Chambers

Opithar sat in silence, having finished his daily meditation regiment, mulling over the possible consequences of the action they had taken, as he had done many times before where this manner was concerned. The only difference was now he knew who lay in opposition to the matter, and he knew of their personalities from previous encounters. The matter at hand was who would report to Starfall before the proper time? The intensity of the opposition certainly came from Beckintroh, a proud man by Hater standards who adhered rather rigidly to what he thought was right and the will of Starfall, both were seldom in conflict. But he was too obvious, and those that were on the fence couldn’t be discounted either.

There was a presence at the door. “Come in.” Opithar said rather blandly, opening his eyes. To no surprise it was Beckintroh. “I presume you have come to voice your disapproval that a mere Priest played a role in the decision.” Opithar was reminded again of Beckintroh’s status as a Warrior Priest.

“Hardly,” Beckintroh growled, clearly, he had time to nurse his anger to a rage. “You speak too liberally to your superiors and endanger our church over such small matters as the pilgrims.”

Opithar pushed himself to his feet, his figure was more imposing that that of the stocky Warrior Priest. Beckintroh was unmoved. “You do not make yourself difficult to read, Beckintroh. It is a challenge you seek to offer, the coils of your thoughts are plain to read.”

“Then let us tarry no longer, this afternoon at sunset you will face me in the Cathedral Arena.” Beckintroh’s mind was made up, there was no room for negotiation.

“To the death, or until one party yields?” Opithar inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Yield, we do not need to thin the priesthood in this time.” Beckintoh fumed, before he turned and left without a word.

The Arena, 30 minutes before Sunset

Opithar stood to the side of the large room, outside the colored light that poured onto the beige floor from the massive stained-glass window. This fight required no weaponry or armor, it would rely on skill in martial arts. Opithar’s chosen form was considered reserved by Hater standards, it showed in the moves he was performing before the fight.

The gallery held a few priests and church faithful, it was always a spectacle when Hater priests stopped talking and decided to settle differences by means of combat. Duels to the death where typically reserved for competitions for the highest offices in the church though.

The hour was approaching, and Beckintroh made his entrance. He was short and squat, his bare arms covered in religious iconography. His face was flat featured and fixed with the sort of determination that made it look to be cast of steel. Opithar knew his style, this was a competition of skill, not strictly strength. The Priest knew his opponent would fight quite aggressively, it could be used against him.

“Brave of you to challenge and arena regular.” Opithar opened, it was meant as a compliment to the Warrior Priest’s resolve.

Beckintroh advanced to the beige combat floor, bathing himself in amber light. “Beating arena trash does not make you a warrior.” He countered.

Opithar advanced onto the floor, taking the traditional step of escalation by assuming his opening stance. “We shall see.” He stated plainly. The thoughts of his opponent were not clear, they were coiling and twisting, a move to throw off his attempts to influence them.

Beckintroh just assumed his stance, an aggressive one. The audience in the gallery awaited the first blows. They did not have to wait long, the first few moments were dedicated largely to reading the opponent, probing attacks and such to gauge the reflexes and defense of the opposition. Though Beckintroh was the first to launch a proper assault, it was Opithar how scored the first blow. The next few seconds were a swift exchange that ended with Beckintroh succeeding in pinning one of Opithar’s arms. The Priest dislocated the arm to get the range of motion to counterattack, forcing the Warrior Priest to the opposite side of the arena.

Opithar popped the joint back into place. It was a trick he had learned from eldian martial artists, it had its uses and meshed well with Hater fighting provided the initial ability was present. It wasn’t long until Beckintroh was back on the offensive, Opithar was letting his opponent miss and blocking some blows. Though when the opening presented itself, he landed the blow.

Beckintroh collapsed to his knees, gasping. Both combatants were sweating profusely despite their training. “Yield, Warrior Priest.” Opithar offered. Beckintroh promptly attempted to remind Opithar what he thought of surrender, and was quickly sent back to the floor. “You fought well, yield. Do not force me to embarrass you.” Opithar warned.

Beckintroh yielded a broken response. “Very…., well… I…. yield.” He took the time to recompose himself, rising to his feet of his own accord. “Perhaps I should spend less time doing administrative work and more time fighting arena trash.” He said with a minor undertone of bitterness.

“If you can put aside our differences, I may be able to teach you a few moves. And besides, my wife is looking to keep me out of the arena.” Opithar remarked, saluting his opponent for a fight well fought.

“I’ll be sure to look for an opening.” Beckintroh responded, returning the salute.

The two combatants left the arena without another word. The eldians among the church faithful were left to consider the somewhat strange nature of politics within the church.

OOC: So I started with a CoTH post, sue me.

The Grand Duchy of Grossschwaben

Veradax wrote:OOC: So I started with a CoTH post, sue me.

OOC: Sued. We require compensation in the form of the entire Veradacian Bioweaponry arsenal. In small plastic bags.

The Despotic Dictatorship of Despoticania

Veradax wrote:Unholy Division – Part 2
The Decision

Everyone had returned ten minutes early or more, the pause didn’t appear to have changed many minds, if anything it had just given time for opinions to solidify. The table indicated allegiances, the priests and priestesses in favor of the schism had positioned themselves closer to Opithar and Rynalandar. Two empty seats denoted the size of each camp, Beckintroh found that he had two allies to his name.

Hezgorvnia’s face betrayed little, especially since most of it was artificial, though what there was seemed to denote that this was the expected result. Of course he already knew the opinions of the Priests that were indisposed in this critical point in time. It was awhile until he spoke. “Then it is fifteen to three?”

No one objected, so Hezgorvnia continued. “Then we will go through with the schism, as per the ancient rites, I will lead the Veradacian Church from this cathedral as High Priest. Those that challenged me for this mantle in the past are free to do so again, as is anyone else at this table.”

There was no one who would take up the now High Priest Hezgorvnia on this offer.

The High Priest stood, he knew the priests he would have to keep an eye on. “Go back to your congregations, they will need you all in the coming weeks. The priests of this cathedral and myself can handle the development of an independent apparatus to govern our church with.” Now he had a title to fit the commands of his voice.

The priests stood in unison, and began filing out, leaving Hezgorvnia alone at the head of the table.

Later,
Meditation Chambers

Opithar sat in silence, having finished his daily meditation regiment, mulling over the possible consequences of the action they had taken, as he had done many times before where this manner was concerned. The only difference was now he knew who lay in opposition to the matter, and he knew of their personalities from previous encounters. The matter at hand was who would report to Starfall before the proper time? The intensity of the opposition certainly came from Beckintroh, a proud man by Hater standards who adhered rather rigidly to what he thought was right and the will of Starfall, both were seldom in conflict. But he was too obvious, and those that were on the fence couldn’t be discounted either.

There was a presence at the door. “Come in.” Opithar said rather blandly, opening his eyes. To no surprise it was Beckintroh. “I presume you have come to voice your disapproval that a mere Priest played a role in the decision.” Opithar was reminded again of Beckintroh’s status as a Warrior Priest.

“Hardly,” Beckintroh growled, clearly, he had time to nurse his anger to a rage. “You speak too liberally to your superiors and endanger our church over such small matters as the pilgrims.”

Opithar pushed himself to his feet, his figure was more imposing that that of the stocky Warrior Priest. Beckintroh was unmoved. “You do not make yourself difficult to read, Beckintroh. It is a challenge you seek to offer, the coils of your thoughts are plain to read.”

“Then let us tarry no longer, this afternoon at sunset you will face me in the Cathedral Arena.” Beckintroh’s mind was made up, there was no room for negotiation.

“To the death, or until one party yields?” Opithar inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Yield, we do not need to thin the priesthood in this time.” Beckintoh fumed, before he turned and left without a word.

The Arena, 30 minutes before Sunset

Opithar stood to the side of the large room, outside the colored light that poured onto the beige floor from the massive stained-glass window. This fight required no weaponry or armor, it would rely on skill in martial arts. Opithar’s chosen form was considered reserved by Hater standards, it showed in the moves he was performing before the fight.

The gallery held a few priests and church faithful, it was always a spectacle when Hater priests stopped talking and decided to settle differences by means of combat. Duels to the death where typically reserved for competitions for the highest offices in the church though.

The hour was approaching, and Beckintroh made his entrance. He was short and squat, his bare arms covered in religious iconography. His face was flat featured and fixed with the sort of determination that made it look to be cast of steel. Opithar knew his style, this was a competition of skill, not strictly strength. The Priest knew his opponent would fight quite aggressively, it could be used against him.

“Brave of you to challenge and arena regular.” Opithar opened, it was meant as a compliment to the Warrior Priest’s resolve.

Beckintroh advanced to the beige combat floor, bathing himself in amber light. “Beating arena trash does not make you a warrior.” He countered.

Opithar advanced onto the floor, taking the traditional step of escalation by assuming his opening stance. “We shall see.” He stated plainly. The thoughts of his opponent were not clear, they were coiling and twisting, a move to throw off his attempts to influence them.

Beckintroh just assumed his stance, an aggressive one. The audience in the gallery awaited the first blows. They did not have to wait long, the first few moments were dedicated largely to reading the opponent, probing attacks and such to gauge the reflexes and defense of the opposition. Though Beckintroh was the first to launch a proper assault, it was Opithar how scored the first blow. The next few seconds were a swift exchange that ended with Beckintroh succeeding in pinning one of Opithar’s arms. The Priest dislocated the arm to get the range of motion to counterattack, forcing the Warrior Priest to the opposite side of the arena.

Opithar popped the joint back into place. It was a trick he had learned from eldian martial artists, it had its uses and meshed well with Hater fighting provided the initial ability was present. It wasn’t long until Beckintroh was back on the offensive, Opithar was letting his opponent miss and blocking some blows. Though when the opening presented itself, he landed the blow.

Beckintroh collapsed to his knees, gasping. Both combatants were sweating profusely despite their training. “Yield, Warrior Priest.” Opithar offered. Beckintroh promptly attempted to remind Opithar what he thought of surrender, and was quickly sent back to the floor. “You fought well, yield. Do not force me to embarrass you.” Opithar warned.

Beckintroh yielded a broken response. “Very…., well… I…. yield.” He took the time to recompose himself, rising to his feet of his own accord. “Perhaps I should spend less time doing administrative work and more time fighting arena trash.” He said with a minor undertone of bitterness.

“If you can put aside our differences, I may be able to teach you a few moves. And besides, my wife is looking to keep me out of the arena.” Opithar remarked, saluting his opponent for a fight well fought.

“I’ll be sure to look for an opening.” Beckintroh responded, returning the salute.

The two combatants left the arena without another word. The eldians among the church faithful were left to consider the somewhat strange nature of politics within the church.

OOC: So I started with a CoTH post, sue me.

OOC: When word of the schism reaches Starfall - whether through official or unofficial channels - someone is going to be very, very disappointed indeed at such a brazen betrayal...

The Armed Republic of North Dictoria

Rebellion Pt. 1
An explosion would rock the office of North Dictoria's chief of police before an officer bursts in

"What the hell was that?" The chief would ask

"An attack on a military checkpoint sir. The offenders tossed some sort of explosive." The officer would respond

"Surely they can't win against the North Dictorian military." The chief would say confidently as gunfire echoed in the background

"Well sir, the attack going on outside at the bridge checkpoint is being attacked by organized and trained soldiers. The downtown checkpoint is also under attack and even a few other places across the main island.

"I want as many officers as we have not on patrol sent to relieve the downtown checkpoint. Reroute the officers on patrol to help defend against the nearest attack."

"Yes sir." More gunshots could be heard outside, mixed with the noise of sirens and military officers giving orders.

The Chief of Police's phone would ring. The chief picks it up "Hello?"

"The Supreme Leader orders you to his palace for a meeting." A deep voice would answer

"Of course, I'll leave immediately" The Chief would go his car, which was far enough away from the bridge that the attackers didn't notice him. He would drive to the Supreme Leaders' palace and arrive in the meeting room, where the Supreme Leader, top army generals, the city's mayor, and a few others were waiting for him as he sat down.

"As you all know, there's been attacks on military checkpoints across the main island. In total, 7 were attacked at almost the same time. The rebels were organized. It seems that they had a clear chain of command and had a plan. this was no random attack. The chief of police has dispatched officers to assist the military in defending the checkpoints of course. Once the Chief's officers arrived, the outcome of the battle was obvious and the remaining rebels fled to an unknown location. I believe the necessary course of action is clear. The ministry of propaganda should make it seem as though everything is fine and the rebels are defeated, the police must beef up the checkpoints, and the army and police combined should start looking for the rebels." One of the generals would say

"7 checkpoints?!? How did we let this happen? How does a rebellion even have the manpower to pull this off? We need to crush it immediately. I think it's likely that they will have fled to the countryside to escape police patrols. I say that we should assemble a task force of our most capable police and soldiers to hunt down the rebels in the countryside. In the meantime, my police will be ordered to quash any support for the rebellion and increase surveillance to prevent this from happening again." The chief of police would say.

"I believe the chief of police is correct. We must quash this rebellion and any support for it. These rebels will reduce our glorious nation to anarchy and ruin. Don't make the crackdown open to the public, however. We need the people on our side. Have the propaganda ministry make the rebels look horrible when compared to the current government. Make the people believe that the rebels must be destroyed. If the public is against them, they can't increase in size or replace members that are KIA'd or captured. Supreme Leader Jong-Su Jong Choi would say.

Everyone at the table would nod in agreement with the Supreme Leader's proposal.

The meeting was adjourned and the chief of police would be the first to leave. He had work to do if he was to crush this rebellion.

The Technocratic Empire of Veradax

War Room, Classified Location

A heap of brass and a few politicians were huddled around the central display, the atmosphere was deadly serious. It was a matter of such importance that it had forced one of the top officers of the Foreign Intelligence Service out of the shadows.

“Are we certain the security breach was the Security Officer of the transfer team?” Inquired Odon Davou, Secretary of the Navy.

“Commander Konda reported it as such, the evidence at the site pointed to that as well, Sir.” Replied Drevlin Ahres, the general that had been in charge of the transfer of the virus.

The FIS Director – known only as Mr. Pike – was fiddling nervously with the sleeve of his ash grey uniform. “I had my people go back over the Officer’s files, we found nothing to indicate any vulnerability to bribery, and given the level of involvement of this officer, extortion or blackmail doesn’t quite fit. Though we did uncover a disposition towards brooding behavior, he may have been nursing these thoughts in private.”

While no one considered the director to be particularly trustworthy, but the situation and the demeanor of the director told them there was no sleight of hand to be concerned about. None of them had time for games anymore.

Huwe Nusu, Secretary of the Army brought her concerns to light. “It is troublesome that this man passed the checks special projects imposes on its recruits. But a matter for another time. Mr. Davou, has the navy turned up any additional leads?”

“Minor things, I’ll let the Admiral take over.” Davou responded.

Unir Ackushi laid out the state of affairs in short order. “The thieves were a well-armed special forces strike teams equipped with heavily armed automata and explosives. Their transport into their undetermined drop zone was a freighter, Puparisus registry, made to look like a hijacking. The escape vessel of the team is suspected to be a submersible craft, else it would’ve been discovered by our maritime patrol aircraft. The state of the ship as it was found in addition to the suspected escape vehicle seems to indicate that prior preparations were necessary.”

“In other words, it wasn’t a hijacking.” Ahres summarized curtly. “And what of the nations that operate ships with Puparisus registries?”

“Not many do.” The admiral responded. “Grossschwaben is known to operate such ships, and Vespergale does seem to be the only other nation with formal relations with the nation.”

“Could it be Despoticania meddling in our affairs again?” Nusu suggested. “A backwater nation is a good cover for these operations.

“To what end?” Ahres countered. “It would be contrary to their actions to mend relations between our nations, they would have no need to risk their progress by stealing something they don’t need – we know they got nastier weapons in their arsenals – and they would not embarrass themselves with such ungainly scrap heaps of machines. Besides, this strike was not in their style, it’s execution was less than optimal and almost went sideways. No, it was not Despoticania.”

“Vespergale?” Someone motioned, it was quickly silenced, the Vespergalian navy was using Veradacian shipyards for their planned expansion, they wouldn’t risk their contracts. Besides, the machines were not vespergalian design.

“The evidence is most in support of Grosschwaben being the culprit of this strike.” Ackushi pointed out. “The design of the machines betrays inexperience in the matter of mechanized soldiers, the strike aligns with their straight forward and brutal tactics, as does the slaughter of the freighter crew. We also know they pursue a WMD program.”

The only thing that was surprising was the audacity of the Swabians. “Then we have our target.” Pike said, his agency had drawn up a list of suspects the second they heard of the strike, they had come to the same conclusion. “With it in the hands of the Swabians this is more than a national emergency. The fools will likely murder themselves with it.”

“Under normal circumstances that would be something to celebrate, but not now.” Davou stated solemnly. “I’ll notify the Executor, she’ll issue the directive to the VIEF to increase orbital reconnaissance of Grosschwaben. We’ll have a site to send our special forces in to investigate.”

“We’ll be on the lookout for BSL-4 facilities.” Pike pointed out. “Though I would not put it past the Swabians to cheap out and put it in a BSL-3 facility.”

“We’ll level the whole place with thermobaric warheads if we have to.” Ahres was dead serious in that remark. Something indicated he would be willing to task bombers to level the site once confirmed, consequences be damned.

OOC: Grossschwaben

The Republic of Vistulange

OOC: Map updated.

The Armed Republic of North Dictoria

Rebellion Pt. 2

Gunfire could be heard all over the town as North Dictorian and Rebel forces clashed while a captain was giving his troops orders in a barn
"I want group A to try and flank the rebels. Draw their attention away from the main street so that groups B and C can launch an assault on where the enemy is positioned. Group D will wait for the possibility that the rebels repel the attacks of groups B, C, and A in which case I will lead Group D against the worn-out rebel soldiers. Understood?" The Captain would say.

"Yes Sir" The group of men would reply in unison

The rebels had used cars and debris to build a sort of barricade/fortress that they could defend from. Group A attacked the side of the rebel positions but were quickly repelled by the rebels. Groups B and C made their push and managed to kill a good amount of rebels and make some progress before being forced into a stalemate.

"Captain, enemy forces seem to have occupied several houses and have begun leaving their pile of cars and concrete chunks." A soldier would report to the Captain

"Good, order groups B and C to push forward while group A begins to sweep streets and houses. Let the police lead in storming the houses as they are probably more used to firefights in enclosed spaces than our soldiers." The Captain would respond

"Yes Sir."

"I'll personally lead group D in their own hunting." They Captain would add right before the soldier left

The Captain would lead group B into a house, clearing the kitchen, upstairs, and living room before moving into the basement.

"Captain we are moving into the basement of the house will radio when clear." One of the soldiers radioed the Captain, who was upstairs with 5 soldiers

a few moments would pass before gunfire was heard from the basement "NOT CLEAR NOT CLE-" The radio cut to static

"Move to the basement, you have permission to shoot on site." The Captain would say

They moved down two flights of stairs before reaching the basement door, which was closed. Soldiers took up position on either side of the door before the Captain kicked the door open and moved in. Gunfire lit up the dark basement as the soldiers cut down 6 rebels. Everything was quiet for a moment before 3 more shots were fired. One slammed into the Captain's shoulder and the other two hit him in the leg.

"Ack!" The Captain would yelp before falling to the ground. The remaining soldiers cleared the basement and the rest of the house before carrying the Captain back to the barn.

"We need a medic over here! The Captain was hit while we were clearing a house." A Soldier would say before two medics rushed over and started treating the Captain.

"Give me a report on the current situation." The Captain ordered, his voice a little weak

"A good amount of the houses have been cleared between us and group A. The rebel casualties are around 30-45 while our casualties sit around 9 dead and 15 wounded. The rebels are decently armed and we believe the remaining rebels are hiding in a farmhouse on the edge of the town. Groups A and C are moving to clear it and end this. I pulled up a report and it seems similar situations are happening in 4 different small towns around the country. I put in a request for armored support on our next assault as well as a possible fighter or two. However, multiple requests like this are coming in across the nation plus the increased military security on the Main Island make it unlikely we will receive armored or air support by the next battle." The Captain's second in command would support

"Well, the top generals and the Chief of Police will likely want to see me and the others who lead the first missions for our reports. I can put in a request while I'm there. For now, however, have people tend to the wounded, make sure the dead are treated properly, and bury the rebels instead of dumping them in a ditch." The Captain would reply

"Yes Sir."

The Equestrianic Imperium of Twilight Sparkle

Sanctuary Point wrote:The other Windigo banked hard to avoid catching its sister as it tumbled through the air, the pilot yanking the controls opposite the spin in an attempt to flatten out. It crashed into the ground, digging out a great gash through the earth and trees though the hardiness of the craft allowed the pilot and navigator to stumble away with few injuries between them and with none to their wings, also let the two to fly up onto the remaining gunship to crew the door guns as it followed the Tatzlewurm’s trail.

The leading Elysians were quick to switch to melee when forced to, rifles being stowed in favour of xiphe as they clashed with the larger Dogs that they referred to as mastiffs in their universe while their squad mates kept up the suppressing fire on the smaller dogs behind cover. The crack of the artillery could be heard even from this distance as the rear line took to the skies to escape the strike zone while those tangling with the enforcer Dogs worked to stop their opponents from fleeing, charging them with their clan’s epitaph. “For Equis!” The shells landed as the Elysians who hadn’t pulled back were digging their xiphe into the sides of the Dogs, ending that part of the battle in a flash of fire and ash.

-

“The Witch-Queen sends her monster to attack us, my brothers and sister.” The priest proclaimed as Major Black ducked his head down, trying to listen to the reports over the vox net. “We must pray to the Sisters for protection, for salvation!” A chant started amongst the parishioners with Pearlescent noticing that even the guards that had stayed with the Major and her joined in, their weapons hanging from their sides. “Solari Invulnus, Luna Domina, Occidet Belua. Solari Invulnus, Luna Domina, Occidet Belua…” As they said their hymn, Pearlescent could feel a sense of calm and warmth pass over her as the area within the cathedral seemed to brighten to those most in tune with what the novumequines called the Immaterium. The Tatzlewurm felt as though it were approaching a great fire as it drew closer to the cathedral, the faith of the transdimensional ponies projecting a field which pushed back against the malignant essence that had directed it here.

The giant worm slowed down its approach and began to circle around the cathedral instead of heading straight at it, shaking and damaging more buildings as it passed underneath them. Like most animals it was naturally cautious of fire or things that felt like fire. The mysterious glow radiating from the cathedral was not fire, but it burned like fire and became stronger and more unbearable the closer the worm got to the cathedral.

It didn't want to get any closer.

But its mind was not entirely its own. There was another presence in there just beyond the threshold of consciousness that urged it onwards and overruled its natural instincts to flee or turn away. There was something or somepony in the cathedral that the worm just had to get to. It felt like its life depended on it.

With a confused roar it emerged once again from the ground and began to approach the cathedral head on despite the mysterious force pushing back against it... and the presence at the back of its mind. It kept its head low and between the buildings it passed to avoid direct fire from the remaining gunship.

At 300 feet its advance became slower and it began to struggle more.

At 200 feet its natural instincts to flee, mixed with the radiance from the cathedral, briefly overpowered the presence at the back of its mind. The worm almost turned away and fled, but in response the presence became more intense and more... angry. It asserted more direct control over the Tatzlwurm and forced it to continue.

At 100 feet the radiance was almost unbearable, but presence, now increasingly desperate, took direct control over the worm's mind despite causing it irreparable mental damage in the process, and forced it to emerge fully and lunge itself at the cathedral like living battering ram in the shape of a huge monstrous worm.

Sanctuary Point wrote:“The machine spirits must be properly appeased in order to properly serve their purpose.” The crimson-garbed pony spoke with a reverberating stallion’s voice, disconnecting from the console and turning to face Alula’s groups while their arms douse the candles. “Though it is unsurprising that one uninitiated in the mysteries of the Omnessence cannot comprehend the complexity involved.” There was an undercurrent of disdain as the techpriest observed the Equestrians, gears whirring as their eyepiece scanned them. “Greeting Materfamilias.” They spoke to Alula with what warmth it could emulate. “Chaíre, Piston Kicker. You have my thanks for repairing the temperature regulator.”
“It was a simple enough matter, Mater. The Omnessense guides my tools.” Piston gathered the candles in Alula’s way as they started walking again. “Ah, wait. Magos Driveshaft tasked me with informing you of the completion of the Avenger factory. We will be able to produce local patterns within the month.” “Excellent news, convey my thanks.” Alula gave a rare smile as Piston bowed their head. “Of course, Mater.”

Rainbow's ears perked up unintentionally.

"The Avenger factory?" she repeated. "May I ask what that is?"

Of course she knew that the Novumequines probably wouldn't discuss any crucial military secrets in her presence, but this sounded important enough to warrant her full attention for now.

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