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LodgedFromMessages
Meincertarg

The New Way

Since the the first centuries, no one liked Pradonia, appart from that, the only river that connect the Inland sea with the ocean only pass through Pradonia, that gave Pradonia a absurd level of power in the region.
And the pround empire of Meincertarg won't allow that situation to continue longer.
It cost hundreds of thousands of Manser, the sweat and blood of hundreds of citizens and the lives of a few dozen convicts but finally after 12 years of hard work, the canal was complete, a second way to connect the inland sea with the ocean was opened, the repercussions of this would come soon.

It was a sunny day, unusual for the time since it was in the middle of the rainy season, appropriate for this special day some would say. The sound of a orchestra and the shouts of joy from the people flooded the place, all this jubilation was due to one thing: His imperial majesty was here in the city of Zeritz from the province of Zurlitsmits. But what made this day so special? Appart from the appearance of the emperor, well it was the founding of the canal, the second way to go between the Green Sea and the ocean.
The day long celebration started with the open discourse of the Great Canciller Dein Lermen and a military parade consisted by the 2nd 3rd and 5ve royal guard battalion, then at sunset the acclaimed discourse of the emperor came, at the end of the discourse the emperor cut the the red strip and the firsts boats moved from the canal to the Green Sea and at night a valse took place to finally end at midnight with a fireworks show. The day was quite bright and lively, something rare in the reign of Emperor Revert II a cold and discipline rule, highly nationalist, some of the political opponents, the only ones who have evaded the police, claim that Revert II is a fervent follower of the fascist ideals, yet Revert has personally rejected these "verbiage" and proclaims that he will remain faithful to the empire and the nobility.

Wielbelkia

Wielbelkia

Egoia wrote:She looks down, "For the love of the gods, don't you people understand what they plan to do to the people there? They want a genocide, and it'll put them right on your doorstep!"

She sighs, "Whatever, she can fly well enough, just get me to the runway and I'll fly it around the capital in a designated flight path."

Frigide's expression turned more annoyed as she remembered the politicking.
"Well half of them only care about their own hides while the rest seem fine with the maps being redrawn. Somewhat ironic that the royalists your people expelled are the most ardent supporters of intervention." she said in response. "I suppose if you somehow convinced your fellow countrymen back home to revert to a more royalist friendly regime and convinced the expats to support your claim then it would be rather simple. As it is I've had to work around them."

She doesn't wait for a response, instead marching out. "I'll have a test runway cleared for you and send some of the staff to arrange the flight path with you."

Egoia

Egoia

Wielbelkia wrote:Frigide's expression turned more annoyed as she remembered the politicking.
"Well half of them only care about their own hides while the rest seem fine with the maps being redrawn. Somewhat ironic that the royalists your people expelled are the most ardent supporters of intervention." she said in response. "I suppose if you somehow convinced your fellow countrymen back home to revert to a more royalist friendly regime and convinced the expats to support your claim then it would be rather simple. As it is I've had to work around them."

She doesn't wait for a response, instead marching out. "I'll have a test runway cleared for you and send some of the staff to arrange the flight path with you."

She looked down and thought a minute, "I don't even know the first thing about being a Queen or Duchess or whatever monarchist type, but if it'll help the people, I'll do it I guess..." She climbed out of the plane. "Can you arrange for a meeting between me and some of those expats?"

She climbs down and hands a clipboard to a passing worker, "Get this and the plane to the runway Princess Frigide has prepared please."

Wielbelkia

Wielbelkia

Egoia wrote:She looked down and thought a minute, "I don't even know the first thing about being a Queen or Duchess or whatever monarchist type, but if it'll help the people, I'll do it I guess..." She climbed out of the plane. "Can you arrange for a meeting between me and some of those expats?"

She climbs down and hands a clipboard to a passing worker, "Get this and the plane to the runway Princess Frigide has prepared please."

Frigide hadn't actually expected Gertrude to reply to that, let alone to agree.

"I suppose..." she said, already considering which ones would be less likely to be accidentally (or intentionally) offended by Gertrude's outlook. "It will take a few days to arrange. In the mean time perhaps you should brush up on their etiquette, the library has some materials that can help."

Egoia



Egoia

Wielbelkia wrote:Frigide hadn't actually expected Gertrude to reply to that, let alone to agree.

"I suppose..." she said, already considering which ones would be less likely to be accidentally (or intentionally) offended by Gertrude's outlook. "It will take a few days to arrange. In the mean time perhaps you should brush up on their etiquette, the library has some materials that can help."

"I understand how to avoid a faux pas Frigide. I just usually don't because the courtly formalities are, in most respects, highly offensive to men and women alike so I avoid adhering to them. I'll alert you when the flight begins." A group of men come in and proceed to drag the plane out of the hanger, covered in a sheet of course, and proceed to drag it down towards a runway.

Wielbelkia

Egoia

Airfield in Dinsmark, Wielbelkia
The new fighter design (as of right now simply named Prototype-X5 Fighter) would be rolled out into the runway. Gertrude would be seated inside doing last minute checks on the safety features and controls as the hanger crews checked the landing gear. They had set up a flight path and sent it to Frigide and some higher ups to make sure Gertrude wouldn't try to run and in case something went wrong so rescue crews could be on the scene at a moment's notice. Always in the sight of an anti-aircraft turret, she would fly around Dinsmark, shoot at some targets set up, and land safely at the air field, all while hopefully not having to demonstrate it's ejection system and other safety features. The rig was designed in such a way that if for whatever reason the ejection system failed, the cockpit would remain intact in the event of a crash. This thereby would save lives but also money for the wielbelkians, something Gerty had to consider for the design as previously money wasn't a concern.

"Alright we have our pitch, we have our roll, we have our yaw, cannons are loaded and ready to fire, parachute loaded into ejection system, and oh almost forgot!" she climbed out of the cockpit and placed a sticker with a cat inside a flower in the hull and climbed back in, "there now we're good. Now a radio test... Test 123, test 123, do you copy?"

Wielbelkia



The Hojcÿngdomm of Helgryce

The Messengers
The forest, near the Vystland-Staalkastel border, Pradonia
1130 hours, 25 July 1920

Catrin Ness, a resistance fighter with the Vystland partisans, rode her horse at full gallop toward the border, her rifle bouncing against her back from the small amount of slack in its sling. Just a day ago, in the partisan camp she'd called home for the past several months, dire news had arrived from the scouts, of an unstoppable invasion force massing at the border in Fort Mÿn and Brymm, and a plan had been formulated: one that would most assuredly result in the deaths of the entirety of the partisan group, all to buy time for the egoist revolutionaries across the border to prepare. However, it was readily apparent that those egoists would need to be informed of this plan, and so a runner would have to be dispatched, delivering an encoded letter detailing the Pradian troop counts, their locations, their support, and other crucial information, along with the partisans' plan to delay them and, with the partisans most certainly marching to their deaths, the locations of all their equipment caches in the vast forests of Vystland, should the egoists ever manage to find their way to them.

Catrin had been the natural choice for the runner, and the subsequent camp vote confirmed that the young 19-year-old would be sent. The reasoning among the camp wasn't that she was particularly popular, though she certainly did get along with the camp's inhabitants well enough, and though she was a great shot and experienced on horseback, the partisans had better marksmen, and faster riders. What made her the natural choice, compared to anyone else, was the simple fact that it had been her birthday, and none in the camp were willing to sentence someone so young to their death on their birthday.

So, Catrin was given the message, a case of ammunition, rations for a week, and a black and red flag to show her allegiance so the egoists at the border will hopefully not shoot her, and sent on her way on horseback to race to the border after also being told the cypher. She'd rode through the night, passing through her home village of Brenna, now eerily silent and abandoned, on the way. Now near the border, she took the flag and hoisted it up over her head, it billowing out behind her.

Egoia

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, letters with very different origins arrived in the courts of Worklaw, Wielbelkia, Meincertarg, Arvug, and Czestowalskalia, delivered by couriers, the letters all sealed with the decade-out-of-use royal coat of arms of the Jölland-Cryssborg-Walce dynasty of Pradonia impressed in fine wax, and trimmed with gold leaf. Along with the letters, generous gifts of narwhal horn and amber jewelry, gemstones, and fine perfumes are provided.

--------------------------------------------------

Serdian republic wrote:

Above the Raven flies the Cormorant.

Meanwhile... flying high somewhere over the Pradian-Staalkastel border in the early morning hours of the the day as the sun slowly crept over the horizon... a single venerable Ex-Wielbelkian Cormorant D.9 biplane fighter would explore the wild blue yonder as many Serdian pilots called it, the description being fitting as the pilot was a young Serdian pilot who was discharged from the military post-war and had joined up with Colonel Cactus for promises of adventure and glory, and for the most part the adventure-part had been somewhat fulfilled as he and the rest of the men found the land of Egoia to be a rather... exotic-if-not totally bizarre place, however their thirst for glory was yet quenched.

In the cockpit of the lone aircraft, denoted by the red-and-white "13" written on the tail and the propeller-nose-cap of the aircraft being painted in a spiral manner would be young Lieutenant Evans F. Ridden, a New Austin native who'd served as a pilot in the Serdian Navy during the great war and joined up with Mr. Cactus a few months earlier, the young man would be flying a somewhat 'routine patrol' over the heavily contested border with only the roar of the plane's engine, his service revolver and a few hand grenades he took with himself to keep company, the rookie pilot would for the most part only really be interested in enjoying the feeling of the rush of the air as he flew though... as he looked down for any visual markers to check where he was going... something would catch his eye as he looked down... at first it was the glint of metal shining from down below, now this first didn't seem to be all that interesting of a sight until he looked again and realized that a great many seemingly armed sillhouetted black dots stippled the ground below followed by large sillhouetted machines... "Hello...? Now what do we have here?..." The pilot thought to himself as his curiosity got the better of him with Lt. Evans slowly banking the small fighter plane into a turn to circle back around and began to ever-so-gently descend down-wards closer to the ground in-order to get a better look of this strange group of what appeared to be soldiers...

"Now this is interesting..." The pilot thought to himself. Unwittingly bringing attention to himself to the Pradonian force down below...

Though the Cormorant is spotted by the Pradian forces, Pradian command makes the decision to allow the plane through, to witness the new weapon of Pradonia and spread the message in the hopes of inspiring fear in Pradonia's would-be enemies. However, anti-air guns are manned, in case the plane attempts any hostile actions.

Wielbelkia and Egoia



Wielbelkia

Egoia wrote:Airfield in Dinsmark, Wielbelkia
The new fighter design (as of right now simply named Prototype-X5 Fighter) would be rolled out into the runway. Gertrude would be seated inside doing last minute checks on the safety features and controls as the hanger crews checked the landing gear. They had set up a flight path and sent it to Frigide and some higher ups to make sure Gertrude wouldn't try to run and in case something went wrong so rescue crews could be on the scene at a moment's notice. Always in the sight of an anti-aircraft turret, she would fly around Dinsmark, shoot at some targets set up, and land safely at the air field, all while hopefully not having to demonstrate it's ejection system and other safety features. The rig was designed in such a way that if for whatever reason the ejection system failed, the cockpit would remain intact in the event of a crash. This thereby would save lives but also money for the wielbelkians, something Gerty had to consider for the design as previously money wasn't a concern.

"Alright we have our pitch, we have our roll, we have our yaw, cannons are loaded and ready to fire, parachute loaded into ejection system, and oh almost forgot!" she climbed out of the cockpit and placed a sticker with a cat inside a flower in the hull and climbed back in, "there now we're good. Now a radio test... Test 123, test 123, do you copy?"

"Hearing you loud and clear Red Queen." said the radio operator. Though he privately felt the choice of callsign a bit odd he wrote it off as simple eccentricity. "Runway's cleared for takeoff."
Down below, a group of Air Force officers was gathered to watch the test. A lot of them had doubts about this new aircraft but they were willing to at least humor it.

Egoia

Egoia

Wielbelkia wrote:"Hearing you loud and clear Red Queen." said the radio operator. Though he privately felt the choice of callsign a bit odd he wrote it off as simple eccentricity.
Down below, a group of Air Force officers was gathered to watch the test. A lot of them had doubts about this new aircraft but they were willing to at least humor it.

"Alrighty. Taxiing over now" She closed the cockpit, flipped a few switches and began taxiing over to the runway. The propeller began spinning slowly and soon into a whir. She slowly lined herself up and began flipping switches, "Beginning takeoff" The plane began to light up and the engines began to screech as the plane began to pick up speed and quickly began soaring.

She soon began to bank and stayed within the flight path, "Alright... let's see what this girl can do..." She pushed the throttle up and she jumped back a bit, "w-woah okay it's got some kick..." She reached the first of six checkpoints where a maneuver would be done and proceeded to perform a corkscrew maneuver, "WOOOOHOOHOO!" To the ground crew overall it seemed she was having waaaaay too much fun for a prototype but nonetheless she made her way to the subsequent checkpoints performing a barrel roll, a loop, and fired at ground targets.

"Alright all checkpoints complete now coming back to base" Soon enough she soon landed back on the runway, with quite a few bumps and once it was done she opened the cockpit breathing and a little loopy, "So note to self... very very strong G-Forces, pilots may need some training."

Wielbelkia

Egoia

Helgryce wrote:The Messengers
The forest, near the Vystland-Staalkastel border, Pradonia
1130 hours, 25 July 1920

Catrin Ness, a resistance fighter with the Vystland partisans, rode her horse at full gallop toward the border, her rifle bouncing against her back from the small amount of slack in its sling. Just a day ago, in the partisan camp she'd called home for the past several months, dire news had arrived from the scouts, of an unstoppable invasion force massing at the border in Fort Mÿn and Brymm, and a plan had been formulated: one that would most assuredly result in the deaths of the entirety of the partisan group, all to buy time for the egoist revolutionaries across the border to prepare. However, it was readily apparent that those egoists would need to be informed of this plan, and so a runner would have to be dispatched, delivering an encoded letter detailing the Pradian troop counts, their locations, their support, and other crucial information, along with the partisans' plan to delay them and, with the partisans most certainly marching to their deaths, the locations of all their equipment caches in the vast forests of Vystland, should the egoists ever manage to find their way to them.

Catrin had been the natural choice for the runner, and the subsequent camp vote confirmed that the young 19-year-old would be sent. The reasoning among the camp wasn't that she was particularly popular, though she certainly did get along with the camp's inhabitants well enough, and though she was a great shot and experienced on horseback, the partisans had better marksmen, and faster riders. What made her the natural choice, compared to anyone else, was the simple fact that it had been her birthday, and none in the camp were willing to sentence someone so young to their death on their birthday.

So, Catrin was given the message, a case of ammunition, rations for a week, and a black and red flag to show her allegiance so the egoists at the border will hopefully not shoot her, and sent on her way on horseback to race to the border after also being told the cypher. She'd rode through the night, passing through her home village of Brenna, now eerily silent and abandoned, on the way. Now near the border, she took the flag and hoisted it up over her head, it billowing out behind her.

Egoia

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, letters with very different origins arrived in the courts of Worklaw, Wielbelkia, Meincertarg, Arvug, and Czestowalskalia, delivered by couriers, the letters all sealed with the decade-out-of-use royal coat of arms of the Jölland-Cryssborg-Walce dynasty of Pradonia impressed in fine wax, and trimmed with gold leaf. Along with the letters, generous gifts of narwhal horn and amber jewelry, gemstones, and fine perfumes are provided.

--------------------------------------------------

Though the Cormorant is spotted by the Pradian forces, Pradian command makes the decision to allow the plane through, to witness the new weapon of Pradonia and spread the message in the hopes of inspiring fear in Pradonia's would-be enemies. However, anti-air guns are manned, in case the plane attempts any hostile actions.

A group of scouts along the border would have the scout in one of their rifle shots getting ready to blow their brains out before their partner stops them, "woah woah, hang on look at the banner and their clothes. They look to be a partisan...?"
The other scout looked at him, "There are no partisans in Pradonia. They were all wiped out."
The first scout looked at him apprehensively, "uh huh, and where did you hear that?"
"My uncle."
"Well you're uncle's an idiot and has never been to pradonia. Either way we better call it in and keep her in out sights." The scout pulled out a radio and began transmitting to the headquarters for the defense of Egoia along the border to one mr. Staalinov, "Individual Spotted, 10 km away. waving banner of pradonian partisans. Keeping in sights. Permission to have delta squad make contact?"

Mr. Staalinov listened to the message and pondered it for a moment before nodding, "Have Delta Squad intercept and collect the asset."

Soon enough a squad of 7 soldiers would, as if from the very trees and bushes appear all around the partisan in a clearing cutting her off, their rifles in hands with blades on their hips. One of the soldiers, wearing a bear-skin cap and covered in branches, paint and a long beard would approach her, "Are you the partisan disturbing our woods?"

Wielbelkia and Helgryce



The Hojcÿngdomm of Helgryce

Egoia wrote:A group of scouts along the border would have the scout in one of their rifle shots getting ready to blow their brains out before their partner stops them, "woah woah, hang on look at the banner and their clothes. They look to be a partisan...?"
The other scout looked at him, "There are no partisans in Pradonia. They were all wiped out."
The first scout looked at him apprehensively, "uh huh, and where did you hear that?"
"My uncle."
"Well you're uncle's an idiot and has never been to pradonia. Either way we better call it in and keep her in out sights." The scout pulled out a radio and began transmitting to the headquarters for the defense of Egoia along the border to one mr. Staalinov, "Individual Spotted, 10 km away. waving banner of pradonian partisans. Keeping in sights. Permission to have delta squad make contact?"

Mr. Staalinov listened to the message and pondered it for a moment before nodding, "Have Delta Squad intercept and collect the asset."

Soon enough a squad of 7 soldiers would, as if from the very trees and bushes appear all around the partisan in a clearing cutting her off, their rifles in hands with blades on their hips. One of the soldiers, wearing a bear-skin cap and covered in branches, paint and a long beard would approach her, "Are you the partisan disturbing our woods?"

Pulling on the horse's reins, the beast rearing up on its hind legs (and nearly throwing her off) before coming to an abrupt halt, Catrin gave a small shrug, placing her garrison cap on her head and gesturing toward the flag with a quick thumb motion, "I'm just a concerned local with antisocial tendencies. I prefer the term 'insurgent', personally. Or insurrectionist in a pinch. Makes me sound more intimidating. I'm supposed to deliver a message to your military strategists, it's urgent."

Wielbelkia

Rhodicia

Rhodicia wrote:The day was once again grey and listless. The clouds above were a little less offensive looking than what would be considered typical, but nonetheless gave off an air of moodiness.

Maximilian the 1st, High Prince of the Rhôdish Lands couldn't care less about the weather. With the recent renovations and additions to the Château de Vauncennes, it may have been one of the most bright, vibrant, and well lit places in the nation. The Prince would be leisurely strolling down one of the many purely decorative halls of the Chateau, flanked on both sides by several of his dukes, speaking to him in high spirited tones.

"With these labor acts you've put in place, the coal industry in Brasiens has been absolutely thriving your highness! It's really quite amazing!

"Our shipbuilding capabilities have been expanding by the day your highness. At this rate we'll have control over the seas across Argus!

"The Rhôdish nation is more prosperous than it's ever been thanks to your glorious leadership, truly a golden age for us and our people!

It was this kind of nonsense that had been echoing within the walls of the capitol for many years now. Sure, it was true that Rhodicia's industry was doing quite wonderfully for those in control. As long as you stayed inside of that sweet little box. For the actual people of Rhodicia, quality of life was in ruins. The vast majority of middle class workers were more and more becoming slaves to the High Prince, with discontent and exhaustion growing bloated like a long dead carcass.

Simply put, the people could take no more. For years now they had been plotting to put an end to this tyranny, various groups and individuals trying to figure out how to unite everyone against their common oppressors. One of the most successful individuals in this field was Vincent Mousseau, a lowly baker from the capital city who had been studying and spreading the words of Serdian philosopher Charles Marcus. He was notorious enough that eventually he was imprisoned, and eventually sent to a hospital for the mentally ill. Most of his followers and supporters would be mostly fractured as of now, many longing for the return of their leader. Nonetheless the particularly radical workers of Rhodicia would soon have their time to strike.

The less radical majority of the weary men and women of Rhodicia, would typically be considered Republicans. It was rather obvious that the people to the east in Serdia, were either a little or a lot less oppressed than themselves. Either way, any improvements would preferable to the way things were as they stood. The Prince and his authorities would time and time again, attempt to remind the people of how awful the Serdians were, commonly describing them with words like "imperialists, meddling, aggressors". The actual public perception of them however was quite unswayed, with most believing that Serdians were quite pleasant. In all actuality the typical Rhôdish likely envied their eastern neighbors ways of life, believing in some sort of idealized "Serdian Dream".

Weather a Republican, Marcusian, or anyone other Rhôdish person in between a chance to act would be drawing near. The workers of Rhodicia's ports had recently been seeing worse and worse treatment after the new labor laws, and had absolutely had it. A strike had quietly been arranged in several of Rhodicia's large ports, and was set to occur in the next couple of days essentially shutting down all of Rhodicia's trade by sea and shipbuilding for an indefinite period. There would be no anticipation of this by anyone except the workers involved.

The events of the coming days and months could have been predicted by no one and everyone. The inevitable crash as a result of the Royal subjugation, would soon come.

A thick fog had set across the Rheanassay Sound on another lackluster Rhodish morning. As the sun rose across the water, the industrial powerhouse of Rhodicia would begin to churn to life, in a way it had never before. It would start with the shipyard workers. A loud whistle would sound to start the beginning of the day, but the facilities would remain silent beyond that. These weary laborers had finally reached their limits. In fact, they had reached them long ago, and now today was the day to act. This Monday morning, was the beginning of their strike. A few members of the Royal Guard would appear only to observe. While this was a strange event, the Prince and his men believed that within a few days at most, they would simply go back to work.

The following day the news had made it to most corners of the Kingdom. One by one, worker by worker, and factory by factory, people would cease their work. As more and more of these tired and overworked men congregated on the streets, so did the presence of military men. The Prince still found little reason to take this seriously, and continued to observe along with most of the country. The sun would set on this day as well, few getting sleep in anticipation for the days to come.

On the morning of the third day, a scuffle would break out between several factory workers and soldiers. Soon, the first shots would begin to ring out. As this happened, more and more of the exhausted gathered to partake in these many strikes. In the capital a stone would strike the head of a member of the Royal Guard. No one is aware of who threw it, but immediately more shots begin to ring out. The hours march, as do the people of Rhodicia. The Prince would call for an end to the rapidly spreading violence, calling the defiance across his nation childish and unpatriotic. More of the Prince's armed men would amass on the outskirts of many of Rhodicia's great cities.

The fourth day was much more of the same. It was far too obvious by this point that this was much more than any of the typical Rhodish strike of the decades past. On day five, fractures would begin to form in various parts of the military. Discontent could be found everywhere one looked. Flags and fires would begin to stir in the winds of their adversity. Shouting could be heard in even the lowliest of counties.

All at once, Rhodicia had imploded. Most Rhodician's had found themselves associating with one of three major cliques. First, there were the men of the Prince. Great followers of Maximillian. A sizeable section of the Rhodish ground forces were with their ruler, along with many veterans and older men and women of the nation. It was their duty to be the rains that would put out these wretched fires their nation had been subjected to.

Then their was the opposition. The Republicans most often flew the flag of their Serdian neighbors, and were determined to bring an end to their own hardship, along with the monarchy. They had no clear cut leader, but their were several rising stars across the nation. The Republicans comprised a considerable amount of those who vowed to resist the Prince. As a consequence, they were extremely diverse, but were able to unite behind their desire for democracy in Rhodcia, however they may expect that to look.

One group was quite distinguished from the Republicans however. The Marcusian-Mousseauists were on of the most well define groups of rebels. They were fighting not only for their freedom, but for the economic equality of all who lived in a free Rhodicia. They refused to accept any oppression that might come out of a free market Rhodicia. While more centralized in ideas, they would still need a proper leader. Either they were to break Vincent Mousseau out of captivity, or someone else would need to step into the spotlight for them to secure themselves as a serious contender for power in Rhodicia.

With all the pieces in place, the days of Rhodish Revolution would have begun. Only time and blood could tell the outcome of the days ahead.

Wielbelkia, Serdian republic, and Arestalynia



Serdian republic

Rhodicia wrote:

A thick fog had set across the Rheanassay Sound on another lackluster Rhodish morning. As the sun rose across the water, the industrial powerhouse of Rhodicia would begin to churn to life, in a way it had never before. It would start with the shipyard workers. A loud whistle would sound to start the beginning of the day, but the facilities would remain silent beyond that. These weary laborers had finally reached their limits. In fact, they had reached them long ago, and now today was the day to act. This Monday morning, was the beginning of their strike. A few members of the Royal Guard would appear only to observe. While this was a strange event, the Prince and his men believed that within a few days at most, they would simply go back to work.

The following day the news had made it to most corners of the Kingdom. One by one, worker by worker, and factory by factory, people would cease their work. As more and more of these tired and overworked men congregated on the streets, so did the presence of military men. The Prince still found little reason to take this seriously, and continued to observe along with most of the country. The sun would set on this day as well, few getting sleep in anticipation for the days to come.

On the morning of the third day, a scuffle would break out between several factory workers and soldiers. Soon, the first shots would begin to ring out. As this happened, more and more of the exhausted gathered to partake in these many strikes. In the capital a stone would strike the head of a member of the Royal Guard. No one is aware of who threw it, but immediately more shots begin to ring out. The hours march, as do the people of Rhodicia. The Prince would call for an end to the rapidly spreading violence, calling the defiance across his nation childish and unpatriotic. More of the Prince's armed men would amass on the outskirts of many of Rhodicia's great cities.

The fourth day was much more of the same. It was far too obvious by this point that this was much more than any of the typical Rhodish strike of the decades past. On day five, fractures would begin to form in various parts of the military. Discontent could be found everywhere one looked. Flags and fires would begin to stir in the winds of their adversity. Shouting could be heard in even the lowliest of counties.

All at once, Rhodicia had imploded. Most Rhodician's had found themselves associating with one of three major cliques. First, there were the men of the Prince. Great followers of Maximillian. A sizeable section of the Rhodish ground forces were with their ruler, along with many veterans and older men and women of the nation. It was their duty to be the rains that would put out these wretched fires their nation had been subjected to.

Then their was the opposition. The Republicans most often flew the flag of their Serdian neighbors, and were determined to bring an end to their own hardship, along with the monarchy. They had no clear cut leader, but their were several rising stars across the nation. The Republicans comprised a considerable amount of those who vowed to resist the Prince. As a consequence, they were extremely diverse, but were able to unite behind their desire for democracy in Rhodcia, however they may expect that to look.

One group was quite distinguished from the Republicans however. The Marcusian-Mousseauists were on of the most well define groups of rebels. They were fighting not only for their freedom, but for the economic equality of all who lived in a free Rhodicia. They refused to accept any oppression that might come out of a free market Rhodicia. While more centralized in ideas, they would still need a proper leader. Either they were to break Vincent Mousseau out of captivity, or someone else would need to step into the spotlight for them to secure themselves as a serious contender for power in Rhodicia.

With all the pieces in place, the days of Rhodish Revolution would have begun. Only time and blood could tell the outcome of the days ahead.

For many in the Serdian Government who for many years had kept a close eye upon their northern neighbor for any signs of trouble... this was of little shock, whilst the Serdian Government had for the past two decades been attempting to mend labor issues with new laws for the protection of Serdia's workers, it appeared Rhodicia had ignored her southern neighbor's progress and more troublingly ignored the collapse of the Staalkestal's monarchy at the hands of "egoists" and other such rabble, with that noted if one were to look at Serdian military movements within the past few weeks as tensions rose within the Rhodish state, one would realize that the Bradley administration had very quietly taken precautions such as having National Guard and Reservist units activated or reactivated to beef up the Armed forces whilst the Serdian side of the Serd-Rhodish border was slowly and quietly fortified with these recently called up forces.

"Mr. President... it's finally happened, the Rhodish are in full revolt against their prince."
An aide said as he walked into the highest office within Serdian republic with stacks of papers in-hand and quickly setting them down onto the large oak desk, sitting in his office and at the ornate oak desk in deep contemplation and clad in his iconic blue Military uniform would sit the beloved president of the nation, his one blue eye narrowing in thought as he looked over the reports his aide gave him... Mr. Agusta Bradley was never a leader to shy away from the use of the "gunboat diplomacy" (I.E. flexing Serdia's military might) policy that his equally beloved predecessor Mr. Waxman had pioneered towards the middle of the 1900s and start of the 1910s but this, now this required a far less blunt action... deep in his thoughts Bradley would be interrupted by the arrival of another aide who brought him his morning coffee. "Mr. Bradley sir... I've brought you your coffee." the young man said politely, looking to avoid the President's infamous wrath before suddenly the bluecoated ruler broke from his deep thought and blinked, turning to the young man and offered a genial smile. "Oh sorry son, I was just thinking about the situation north of us..." He said scratching the back of his head, taking care not to mess with his eyepatch as he scratched. "Well now, *ahem*... besides the situation with those darned Rhodians, what's the news in the country." the Leader-Of-The-Free-World said as he grabbed his coffee mug carefully and taking a slow sip as the Aide began reciting the newspaper events from the international affairs such as the Egoist-Pradonian struggle to national affairs such as the launch of the Flying Westphalian express service, down to amusing local events such as a garden party being planned for the central Columbia Royal Park.

With his aide finished with the recap of the events of the month, the President would place down his Coffee mug and then let out an amused laugh with regards to the garden party. "Well... let's hope I'm invited then." He said before immediately turning to the more serious matters regarding Serdia's northern rival and it's recent revolution. "Hmnn..." Bradley said once again in deep contemplation with his hands clasped together against his chin. "Call a meeting of the Military's top brass in a couple hours... I think I've figured out what our course of action shall be." Bradley said with a serious tone suddenly in his voice. "Y-Yes Sir." The Aide said and set off with Bradley chuckling to himself.
"Heh... a police action against the monarchists..." he said to himself as he plotted the Serdian military's intervention into the volatile Rhodian concoction.

Wielbelkia and Arestalynia

Wielbelkia

Egoia wrote:"Alrighty. Taxiing over now" She closed the cockpit, flipped a few switches and began taxiing over to the runway. The propeller began spinning slowly and soon into a whir. She slowly lined herself up and began flipping switches, "Beginning takeoff" The plane began to light up and the engines began to screech as the plane began to pick up speed and quickly began soaring.

She soon began to bank and stayed within the flight path, "Alright... let's see what this girl can do..." She pushed the throttle up and she jumped back a bit, "w-woah okay it's got some kick..." She reached the first of six checkpoints where a maneuver would be done and proceeded to perform a corkscrew maneuver, "WOOOOHOOHOO!" To the ground crew overall it seemed she was having waaaaay too much fun for a prototype but nonetheless she made her way to the subsequent checkpoints performing a barrel roll, a loop, and fired at ground targets.

"Alright all checkpoints complete now coming back to base" Soon enough she soon landed back on the runway, with quite a few bumps and once it was done she opened the cockpit breathing and a little loopy, "So note to self... very very strong G-Forces, pilots may need some training."

While ground crews helped her out of the plane and started inspecting it for wear and tear, the officers were murmuring with each other. The plane showed promise in the performance department at least, though the pilot seemed to be having problems after the flight. Now it came down to if the air ministry thought this justified the costs of pursuing the idea further, as well which one of the two main aircraft manufacturers would get the contract to produce them.

Speaking of manufacturers, with the conflicts erupting in the south; "ghost guns" without manufacturer marks or serial numbers would start finding their way to Egoia along with similarly unmarked ammunition.

Egoia

Egoia

Helgryce wrote:Pulling on the horse's reins, the beast rearing up on its hind legs (and nearly throwing her off) before coming to an abrupt halt, Catrin gave a small shrug, placing her garrison cap on her head and gesturing toward the flag with a quick thumb motion, "I'm just a concerned local with antisocial tendencies. I prefer the term 'insurgent', personally. Or insurrectionist in a pinch. Makes me sound more intimidating. I'm supposed to deliver a message to your military strategists, it's urgent."

The leader holds his rifle up, "Very well. We'll take you to our main camp, but we'll be blindfolding you on the way there. Try anything and we won't hesitate to gut you like a fish." Sure enough a soldier came from behind and wrapped a blindfold around her eyes and after trudging through the woods for what seemed like an hour, they sat her down in a chair and removed the blindfold. In front of her would be Mr. Staalinov himself.

"Thank you Vlad. You and your men get some rest."

The officer from before saluted and left Staalinov alone with Catrin. He started with a sigh, "So my men tell me you're an insurgent. Part of a greater force from Pradonia. This true? Because if it isn't I'm gonna have to shoot you."

Wielbelkia

The Hojcÿngdomm of Helgryce

Egoia wrote:The leader holds his rifle up, "Very well. We'll take you to our main camp, but we'll be blindfolding you on the way there. Try anything and we won't hesitate to gut you like a fish." Sure enough a soldier came from behind and wrapped a blindfold around her eyes and after trudging through the woods for what seemed like an hour, they sat her down in a chair and removed the blindfold. In front of her would be Mr. Staalinov himself.

"Thank you Vlad. You and your men get some rest."

The officer from before saluted and left Staalinov alone with Catrin. He started with a sigh, "So my men tell me you're an insurgent. Part of a greater force from Pradonia. This true? Because if it isn't I'm gonna have to shoot you."

Catrin gave a nod, smirking and reclining in her seat, "'Fraid you're gonna have to get someone else for target practice today, then. Name's Catrin Ness, terrorist and extremist. But about that 'greater force' thing... That might be a bit inaccurate soon..." she slowly reached into her pouch, ensuring all in the room have a clear view that she is not pulling a weapon as she extracted the intel brief from the camp out and held it out, "This letter'll give the finer details and numbers and such, but broadly, we've got this plan, right? And, well, we ain't really expecting to be walking away after it."

Catrin gave the cypher for the letter as she handed it over, so the finer points of the plan and other information could be discerned by Staalinov et al.

Wielbelkia and Egoia

Egoia

Akrosford, Mechanic Department
Loria followed a group of scribes in robes to a training course where a series of soldiers, twice the size of normal men, would be running a course. Jumping over fences and even full walls with ease, some going so far as to simply smash into it, breaking the concrete. One of the scribes holding a flamethrower would wave one over, "alright just stand still,' with that he lit the man up and it began spewing fire, "feel anything?"

The soldier shook his head, "it's a little warm but It's not too unbearable. No worse than a tank"

"Be sure to keep your water intake levels nominal."

Loria nodded in approval, "Fire Squadron looks good. Now about that new SPG design."

The scribe led Loria to an artillery firing range where a flatbed truck with a series of rockets on the back of it would be, "Forgive us for the unorthodox design, some of the scientists wanted to try something similar to the turboprop engines on a small scale on projectiles so we let them have at it." The scribe handed loria and the other scribe earmuffs, "you'll want these..." after putting them on the scribe waved to a man in the truck. The rockets began to move up and down and soon they began firing rapidly with a screeching sound, smashing into the targets. After all shots were fired the scribe took the earmuffs of and turned to loria. "Their accuracy leaves something to be admired but we're working on that. And it has a terrifying psychological effect."

"how soon can we start development?" Loria asked.

"2 months."

"Get on it"

Wielbelkia and Helgryce

Egoia

Helgryce wrote:Catrin gave a nod, smirking and reclining in her seat, "'Fraid you're gonna have to get someone else for target practice today, then. Name's Catrin Ness, terrorist and extremist. But about that 'greater force' thing... That might be a bit inaccurate soon..." she slowly reached into her pouch, ensuring all in the room have a clear view that she is not pulling a weapon as she extracted the intel brief from the camp out and held it out, "This letter'll give the finer details and numbers and such, but broadly, we've got this plan, right? And, well, we ain't really expecting to be walking away after it."

Catrin gave the cypher for the letter as she handed it over, so the finer points of the plan and other information could be discerned by Staalinov et al.

He looks over the document with the cypher for a minute and then sighs, "you leftists and your fetishism of martyrdom. No possible way I could dissuade you of your plan or have you all flee into our lands after the battle?"

Wielbelkia and Helgryce



The Hojcÿngdomm of Helgryce

Egoia wrote:He looks over the document with the cypher for a minute and then sighs, "you leftists and your fetishism of martyrdom. No possible way I could dissuade you of your plan or have you all flee into our lands after the battle?"

Catrin paused, considering this for a while, before giving a solemn nod, clenching her hand into a fist, "I'll be honest here, as much as I'd love nothing more than to charge into a machine gun nest while singing the Internationale and get mowed down 'for the cause', you're right. There's no sense in dying like that. My friends'll be killed, my hometown bombed and burnt and turned into a warzone, my family gods-know-where, but at least I'll still have my life, and I'll still own wherever I'm standing. With that message delivered, I'm free anyway, no one expected me to come back after. The survivors from the initial attack'll probably launch a guerrilla campaign with whatever they've got left, set traps and ambushes throughout the forest. I suspect a few'll make their way here eventually, but don't expect any significant numbers. The camp was pretty dead-set on this being our best shot to win the war when I left, and they're a stubborn lot, to their own detriment a lot of the time. I hope they make it out, of course, I left a lot of good friends in that camp, they're an entire community. But I'm trying not to think about it too much, they've made their minds up, and I mine." She stared off at the ground for a few moments, trying to clear her head of the subject.

"It was my birthday... you know... Quite the present, to learn all your friends'll be killed and your camp overrun, your way of life stamped out. That's what got me the job of messenger, a final gift from the camp, a second lease on life. I'm extremely grateful for it, but, it just... Hasn't really sunk in yet, to be saved by some fluke of when I was born. I was as ready to die as any of the rest of them, but fate seems to have had other plans. I don't suppose you lot're looking for a new rebel from Vystland, are you? Because I don't really have anywhere else to go; I can't go back, I'd die, and I can't go elsewhere, no country wants an anarchist, nor I any country."

Wielbelkia and Egoia

Egoia

Helgryce wrote:Catrin paused, considering this for a while, before giving a solemn nod, clenching her hand into a fist, "I'll be honest here, as much as I'd love nothing more than to charge into a machine gun nest while singing the Internationale and get mowed down 'for the cause', you're right. There's no sense in dying like that. My friends'll be killed, my hometown bombed and burnt and turned into a warzone, my family gods-know-where, but at least I'll still have my life, and I'll still own wherever I'm standing. With that message delivered, I'm free anyway, no one expected me to come back after. The survivors from the initial attack'll probably launch a guerrilla campaign with whatever they've got left, set traps and ambushes throughout the forest. I suspect a few'll make their way here eventually, but don't expect any significant numbers. The camp was pretty dead-set on this being our best shot to win the war when I left, and they're a stubborn lot, to their own detriment a lot of the time. I hope they make it out, of course, I left a lot of good friends in that camp, they're an entire community. But I'm trying not to think about it too much, they've made their minds up, and I mine." She stared off at the ground for a few moments, trying to clear her head of the subject.

"It was my birthday... you know... Quite the present, to learn all your friends'll be killed and your camp overrun, your way of life stamped out. That's what got me the job of messenger, a final gift from the camp, a second lease on life. I'm extremely grateful for it, but, it just... Hasn't really sunk in yet, to be saved by some fluke of when I was born. I was as ready to die as any of the rest of them, but fate seems to have had other plans. I don't suppose you lot're looking for a new rebel from Vystland, are you? Because I don't really have anywhere else to go; I can't go back, I'd die, and I can't go elsewhere, no country wants an anarchist, nor I any country."

Staalinov put a hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I understand... really. Before the uprising in Staalkastel, my family's farm was blown up in mortar fire. I was the only survivor. I laid under the rubble covered in blood and splinters for who knows how long before a neighbor finally found me and took me in. Unsure who dropped the mortars on us, Wielbelkia or Pradonia, not that it really matter whose shooting at you. Funny enough that neighbor became something of an important figure in radical circles up until the uprising, one Mr. Adolphus Gregorson. Lead a militia straight into the royal palace and killed Duke Ahren in his bed. I was his aide. The point of all of this however is that I understand."

He pulled out a cheap piece of tin metal out of his pocket and handed it to her, "Here. It was given to me by Adolphus. He didn't like having things like this in a museum. Meant to be a medal for "Heroes of the Agrarian Socialist Movement" or something like that. What it really means is that I stayed alive long enough to be given a shiny cheap piece of medal. What makes it worth it though is that when he gave it to me he told me, 'well son, now everyone is going to take you as a hotshot military commander.' Lo and behold, I'm the commander of an operation that may be the difference between life and death for millions of people. No pressure." He waved down a soldier walking by, "Joker, you're with the syndicalist regiments, right?"

"Let me ask my general secretary and I'll get back with you." The soldier had black hair, green eyes, seemed to be in his mid to late twenties.

Staalinov turned back to Catrin, "Now you see why we call him joker. That also means he's either going to be the first or last person to die in this operation." he turned back to Joker, "This is Catrin Ness, I'm attaching her to your regiment. Get her equipped. If we get anymore Pradonian soldiers I want you to make sure Weller puts them under her command. Got it?"

"Aye aye cap'n. C'mon Miss."

With that he led her to a campsite in the trenches where a group of men and women in red and black uniforms would be smoking cigars, playing cards, listening to the radio and even one fellow playing old union songs on a piano, "Over there is our quartermaster. He'll get you suited up with a gasmask, rifle, firestorm gear, sidearm, and other materials. If you want a specific color for your rifle or decals let one of the quartermasters know and he can try and put something together. Unlike most armies, we have multiple armorers because we don't like the idea of having one man be stuck making sure over several thousand rifles are gauged in a year. Water is available at the pump there, commissary there, and once you are acquainted you can find Weller over at the piano."

Wielbelkia and Helgryce



Wielbelkia

La Gazette de Schayne
Serving proudly since 1835
August 16 1920

WAR IN THE SOUTH
As many citizens in the southern reaches of the Empire have already noticed, war has erupted in the disputed territories beyond the border. The regime in Pradonia has made its move and is now attempting to seize the former Staalkastel territories that call themselves "Egoia". While there's no official statement from the Emperor, the army has been mobilized to repel any attempted incursions into Wielbelkian territory. This isn't the only war in Argus though, in the southwest, the Rhodian state has collapsed into warring factions. Republicans tired of the Prince's mishandling of the nation, those loyal to the prince and even the followers of Vincent Mousseau are now all fighting to decide the future of Rhodia. Mouser and Rhenmetal stocks predicted to rise with increased arms production. (see page 2)

Mystery aircraft spotted
An unknown aircraft was spotted by citizens in Dinsmark. Witnesses claim it was faster than any they've seen before, leading some to speculate it's some new model of interceptor. Officials remain tightlipped for now.

Hunter claims to have seen man-sized creature
A hunter from Schirm reported to authorities that he spotted a large grey creature whose "eyes glowed red" when he shined a flashlight at it. He claims to have spotted it while out hunting pests, after farmers complained about livestock being attacked. Describing it as a "large flying bugman with 3 meter wings", he claims to have scared it off with a gunshot and that it was holding a dead goat in its "claws". This would be dismissed as the ravings of a lunatic were it not for the fact this is only the latest in many reported sightings of similar creatures, though experts remain unconvinced. Wildlife biologist Robert Schmidt told reporters that this "Mothman" is more likely to be an unknown relative of the radiant moth, potentially one to dethrone its relative as the largest moth species, rather than some bipedal insect beast. (see page 4)

Serdian republic, Egoia, and Arestalynia

Serdian republic

Helgryce wrote:The Messengers
The forest, near the Vystland-Staalkastel border, Pradonia
1130 hours, 25 July 1920

Catrin Ness, a resistance fighter with the Vystland partisans, rode her horse at full gallop toward the border, her rifle bouncing against her back from the small amount of slack in its sling. Just a day ago, in the partisan camp she'd called home for the past several months, dire news had arrived from the scouts, of an unstoppable invasion force massing at the border in Fort Mÿn and Brymm, and a plan had been formulated: one that would most assuredly result in the deaths of the entirety of the partisan group, all to buy time for the egoist revolutionaries across the border to prepare. However, it was readily apparent that those egoists would need to be informed of this plan, and so a runner would have to be dispatched, delivering an encoded letter detailing the Pradian troop counts, their locations, their support, and other crucial information, along with the partisans' plan to delay them and, with the partisans most certainly marching to their deaths, the locations of all their equipment caches in the vast forests of Vystland, should the egoists ever manage to find their way to them.

Catrin had been the natural choice for the runner, and the subsequent camp vote confirmed that the young 19-year-old would be sent. The reasoning among the camp wasn't that she was particularly popular, though she certainly did get along with the camp's inhabitants well enough, and though she was a great shot and experienced on horseback, the partisans had better marksmen, and faster riders. What made her the natural choice, compared to anyone else, was the simple fact that it had been her birthday, and none in the camp were willing to sentence someone so young to their death on their birthday.

So, Catrin was given the message, a case of ammunition, rations for a week, and a black and red flag to show her allegiance so the egoists at the border will hopefully not shoot her, and sent on her way on horseback to race to the border after also being told the cypher. She'd rode through the night, passing through her home village of Brenna, now eerily silent and abandoned, on the way. Now near the border, she took the flag and hoisted it up over her head, it billowing out behind her.

Egoia

--------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, letters with very different origins arrived in the courts of Worklaw, Wielbelkia, Meincertarg, Arvug, and Czestowalskalia, delivered by couriers, the letters all sealed with the decade-out-of-use royal coat of arms of the Jölland-Cryssborg-Walce dynasty of Pradonia impressed in fine wax, and trimmed with gold leaf. Along with the letters, generous gifts of narwhal horn and amber jewelry, gemstones, and fine perfumes are provided.

--------------------------------------------------

Though the Cormorant is spotted by the Pradian forces, Pradian command makes the decision to allow the plane through, to witness the new weapon of Pradonia and spread the message in the hopes of inspiring fear in Pradonia's would-be enemies. However, anti-air guns are manned, in case the plane attempts any hostile actions.

The Small Serdian piloted biplane would slowly circle back around to a lower altitude but maintaining just some space between himself and the gathered Pradonian forces. "Alright... let's see what you're up too..." Lieutenant Evans said to himself as he banked his plane slightly and eventually circling the area to keep an eye on the assembled Pradonians, curious as to see what all those new machines on the ground were going to do... all the while slowly moving his hands to the charging handle on one of the twin Spandaus on the nose, pulling the first one back before pulling the second back also, prepping both machine guns for use against the Pradonians as... insurance against any trouble they might cause.

Arvug, Wielbelkia, and Egoia



The Hojcÿngdomm of Helgryce

Egoia wrote:Staalinov put a hand on her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I understand... really. Before the uprising in Staalkastel, my family's farm was blown up in mortar fire. I was the only survivor. I laid under the rubble covered in blood and splinters for who knows how long before a neighbor finally found me and took me in. Unsure who dropped the mortars on us, Wielbelkia or Pradonia, not that it really matter whose shooting at you. Funny enough that neighbor became something of an important figure in radical circles up until the uprising, one Mr. Adolphus Gregorson. Lead a militia straight into the royal palace and killed Duke Ahren in his bed. I was his aide. The point of all of this however is that I understand."

He pulled out a cheap piece of tin metal out of his pocket and handed it to her, "Here. It was given to me by Adolphus. He didn't like having things like this in a museum. Meant to be a medal for "Heroes of the Agrarian Socialist Movement" or something like that. What it really means is that I stayed alive long enough to be given a shiny cheap piece of medal. What makes it worth it though is that when he gave it to me he told me, 'well son, now everyone is going to take you as a hotshot military commander.' Lo and behold, I'm the commander of an operation that may be the difference between life and death for millions of people. No pressure." He waved down a soldier walking by, "Joker, you're with the syndicalist regiments, right?"

"Let me ask my general secretary and I'll get back with you." The soldier had black hair, green eyes, seemed to be in his mid to late twenties.

Staalinov turned back to Catrin, "Now you see why we call him joker. That also means he's either going to be the first or last person to die in this operation." he turned back to Joker, "This is Catrin Ness, I'm attaching her to your regiment. Get her equipped. If we get anymore Pradonian soldiers I want you to make sure Weller puts them under her command. Got it?"

"Aye aye cap'n. C'mon Miss."

With that he led her to a campsite in the trenches where a group of men and women in red and black uniforms would be smoking cigars, playing cards, listening to the radio and even one fellow playing old union songs on a piano, "Over there is our quartermaster. He'll get you suited up with a gasmask, rifle, firestorm gear, sidearm, and other materials. If you want a specific color for your rifle or decals let one of the quartermasters know and he can try and put something together. Unlike most armies, we have multiple armorers because we don't like the idea of having one man be stuck making sure over several thousand rifles are gauged in a year. Water is available at the pump there, commissary there, and once you are acquainted you can find Weller over at the piano."

Following behind on her tour, she looked over the 'medal' she had been handed, turning it over in her hands and examining it closely. She wasn't really one for medals, herself, she found them to be somewhat vain and pointless, but one given as a gift took on an entirely different meaning, in a way. Not a show of that same vanity, but of trust. Slipping it into her own green uniform's pocket, she addressed her guide in her characteristic Westian accented, albeit fluent, Staalkastelian, "That's definitely better than we had. If you wanted your rifle customised, your only choices were to engrave the stock with a knife yourself, or to make your own dyes and tarnish out of foraged berries, flowers, and some foul-smelling substances we wished we had gas masks for. Joker, right? Thanks for showing me the lay of things, I think I can find my way around from here." As she said this, she had already began walking toward the commisary. "Haven't stopped to eat since I set out yesterday, I'm starving!"

After her brief lunch and a visit to the quartermaster, Catrin wandered through the camp and trenches for a bit, acquainting herself with the layout and committing it to memory as best she could. When she was satisfied she could navigate without getting too lost, she finally made her way to the piano, leaning arms-crossed against the nearest head-height solid object and waiting for the current song to end before interjecting, "Always loved that song. Yngfar used to play it for our unit on their guitar around the campfire, and we'd sit around stomping our feet for the percussion while singing along and drinking like a bunch of idiots. You're Weller, I presume? Name's Catrin Ness, the partisan from the Pradian side of the border, not sure if anyone notified you I was coming. I take it you're this unit's delegate, or something like that? I was told to speak to you, and if you have a moment, I've got a few questions about how things're organised around here."

Wielbelkia, Egoia, and Arestalynia

The Hojcÿngdomm of Helgryce

Serdian republic wrote:

The Small Serdian piloted biplane would slowly circle back around to a lower altitude but maintaining just some space between himself and the gathered Pradonian forces. "Alright... let's see what you're up too..." Lieutenant Evans said to himself as he banked his plane slightly and eventually circling the area to keep an eye on the assembled Pradonians, curious as to see what all those new machines on the ground were going to do... all the while slowly moving his hands to the charging handle on one of the twin Spandaus on the nose, pulling the first one back before pulling the second back also, prepping both machine guns for use against the Pradonians as... insurance against any trouble they might cause.

The Pradians continue to watch the plane carefully, but are ordered to begin to march out toward their waiting transports to travel upriver in preparation for the inevitable invasion. The river transports, loaded with mecha, armored vehicles, guns, ammo, artillery, and the likes, train their machine guns on the plane, but none yet fire. The airships, meanwhile, fly ahead, into the distance to some undisclosed airfield. Off the coast, scores of warships, all bristling with guns yet none seeming to exceed the treaty-imposed tonnage limitations on maritime vessels, line the harbour, flying strings of colourful flags and painted with great murals portraying scenes from Norse mythology along their hulls; a new maritime parade tradition started by the NSHAP. Numerous smaller vessels, river patrol craft, line the mouth of the river As, their own hulls free of the grandiose murals of their maritime counterparts, indicative of their intended upcoming use in the imminent invasion.

Wielbelkia and Serdian republic

Egoia

Helgryce wrote:Following behind on her tour, she looked over the 'medal' she had been handed, turning it over in her hands and examining it closely. She wasn't really one for medals, herself, she found them to be somewhat vain and pointless, but one given as a gift took on an entirely different meaning, in a way. Not a show of that same vanity, but of trust. Slipping it into her own green uniform's pocket, she addressed her guide in her characteristic Westian accented, albeit fluent, Staalkastelian, "That's definitely better than we had. If you wanted your rifle customised, your only choices were to engrave the stock with a knife yourself, or to make your own dyes and tarnish out of foraged berries, flowers, and some foul-smelling substances we wished we had gas masks for. Joker, right? Thanks for showing me the lay of things, I think I can find my way around from here." As she said this, she had already began walking toward the commisary. "Haven't stopped to eat since I set out yesterday, I'm starving!"

After her brief lunch and a visit to the quartermaster, Catrin wandered through the camp and trenches for a bit, acquainting herself with the layout and committing it to memory as best she could. When she was satisfied she could navigate without getting too lost, she finally made her way to the piano, leaning arms-crossed against the nearest head-height solid object and waiting for the current song to end before interjecting, "Always loved that song. Yngfar used to play it for our unit on their guitar around the campfire, and we'd sit around stomping our feet for the percussion while singing along and drinking like a bunch of idiots. You're Weller, I presume? Name's Catrin Ness, the partisan from the Pradian side of the border, not sure if anyone notified you I was coming. I take it you're this unit's delegate, or something like that? I was told to speak to you, and if you have a moment, I've got a few questions about how things're organised around here."

The man shrugs, "More or less. Our group is primarily engineering and recon. I suggest any questions you have be asked now as it won't matter when we're all dead. As it stands now the Pradian forces are stalled and it's likely an assault will be delayed. We have a mission coming up soon and I want you to go with them." He looks around, "What do you know of the old Staalkastel catacombs?"

Wielbelkia

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