Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
“It’s fucking breezy out there now, Governor!†Frank Montgomery, the Commander of the Torrington Islands Defence Force, announced as he forced the door of Government House shut to exclude the howling wind. “I should imagine so,†Governor Hart began without looking up from his newspaper, “it’d be a cold day in hell before it wasn’t windy here, Mr Montgomery.†Without another word Frank strolled casually across the Governor’s office and seated himself in a plush velvet armchair near to the fireplace, only the sounds of the log fire crackling and a solemn clock ticking rose above the din of the wind outside. Once seated he began fiddling with a loose thread on the arm of the chair, looking vacantly around the room and occasionally glancing at the Island’s Governor who continued to leaf idly through The Torrington Standard without any regard for the gentleman who had so inexplicably chosen to visit him on a particularly blustery December afternoon.
Eventually, satisfied that every possible scrap of information of any interest whatsoever had been absorbed, Governor Hart folded his newspaper and placed it neatly on the surface of his walnut-wood desk, “So, Frank, what can I do for you today?†he enquired. “Well, Governor, I was wondering if you’d seen the goings on down Jasonia way?†Frank replied, wringing his hands as he did so; although whether through nerves or cold the Governor couldn’t tell. “Yes, I had read about it, but it seems of little consequence to us, does it not?†the reply came briskly. “Well, Sir, a few of the folk in the town have family down there, it being an old Britannic area an’ all you see, and they’re a bit worried is all.†Frank explained in his thick accent. “I see,†Governor Hart began thoughtfully, “well perhaps we could persuade the St Charles’ Medical Corps to send a team down there to establish what exactly is going on?†“That’d be mighty good of ‘em, Governor.†Frank responded, happy that such an agreeable suggestion had arisen so promptly.
The decision having been made news travelled rapidly across the windswept marshland of Grand Torrington until it reached the port of Ruhrdean where the SCMC St Helena was stationed. The vessel, an Endurance Class hospital ship, was kept in a constant state of readiness for events such as these and so within 24 hours the ship was loaded up with its medical team and ready to set-sail. The St Charles’ Medical Core team, part of an international charity with no links to any particular nation, flew the Red Cross on a white field as the anchor was raised and the St Helena set off towards the open ocean. The waters in the straights between the islands of the group are infamously choppy, and so the ship rose and fell as it crested waves; sending spray high into the air as it did so and drowning out the howling of the wind with the roar of water.
Summary: The SCMC St Helena, an aid ship operated by the St Charles’ Medical Corps (a neutral international aid charity) has been commissioned by the Governor of the Torrington Islands to travel to the disputed area to try and establish the whereabouts of residents of Britannic decent. The ship carries no soldiers or weaponry, a claim which can be verified by searches should a nation which to do so, and is willing to treat injured persons of any nationality. Should any Britannic persons be discovered upon the islands, and should they desire it, they will be repatriated by the St Helena to the Torrington Islands.
Eventually, satisfied that every possible scrap of information of any interest whatsoever had been absorbed, Governor Hart folded his newspaper and placed it neatly on the surface of his walnut-wood desk, “So, Frank, what can I do for you today?†he enquired. “Well, Governor, I was wondering if you’d seen the goings on down Jasonia way?†Frank replied, wringing his hands as he did so; although whether through nerves or cold the Governor couldn’t tell. “Yes, I had read about it, but it seems of little consequence to us, does it not?†the reply came briskly. “Well, Sir, a few of the folk in the town have family down there, it being an old Britannic area an’ all you see, and they’re a bit worried is all.†Frank explained in his thick accent. “I see,†Governor Hart began thoughtfully, “well perhaps we could persuade the St Charles’ Medical Corps to send a team down there to establish what exactly is going on?†“That’d be mighty good of ‘em, Governor.†Frank responded, happy that such an agreeable suggestion had arisen so promptly.
The decision having been made news travelled rapidly across the windswept marshland of Grand Torrington until it reached the port of Ruhrdean where the SCMC St Helena was stationed. The vessel, an Endurance Class hospital ship, was kept in a constant state of readiness for events such as these and so within 24 hours the ship was loaded up with its medical team and ready to set-sail. The St Charles’ Medical Core team, part of an international charity with no links to any particular nation, flew the Red Cross on a white field as the anchor was raised and the St Helena set off towards the open ocean. The waters in the straights between the islands of the group are infamously choppy, and so the ship rose and fell as it crested waves; sending spray high into the air as it did so and drowning out the howling of the wind with the roar of water.
Summary: The SCMC St Helena, an aid ship operated by the St Charles’ Medical Corps (a neutral international aid charity) has been commissioned by the Governor of the Torrington Islands to travel to the disputed area to try and establish the whereabouts of residents of Britannic decent. The ship carries no soldiers or weaponry, a claim which can be verified by searches should a nation which to do so, and is willing to treat injured persons of any nationality. Should any Britannic persons be discovered upon the islands, and should they desire it, they will be repatriated by the St Helena to the Torrington Islands.
- pawelabrams
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Later...- Mr Governeur, Mr Governeur...
- Um?
- You'd better look at your personal communicator...
- Shit.
Summary: Interland has its own problems. The only thing which changed on our side of Redoubt Island is that police patrols are seen more often.- Shall we join...
- Nope. That's a very bad idea. We might screw up this...
Pavel' Abramovic:, the President of Interland
IRL just a random guy from Poland. Still learning English.
IRL just a random guy from Poland. Still learning English.
- Lord_Montague
- Posts: 913
- Joined: Tue Sep 18, 2007 2:39 pm
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
OOC: Do you need a judge for this, Andreas? If so, I'm here to help.
If not, I'll gladly stir all this up further with an intervention of my own
If not, I'll gladly stir all this up further with an intervention of my own
In Battle; Unbeatable.
In Victory; Unbearable.
In Victory; Unbearable.
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
OOC: We will in fact need judges, but I think it'll be pretty easy to find people willing to sit out and critique. By all means, if you want to join in, go ahead and stir the pot further.
FIoJ Fist Omen-class Gravship, north of Apollo City
A young man in what almost passed for a military uniform was saying, “The lighting has failed through the entirety of floors 9 and 10, plus the port sections of floors 11 through 14. We’re pretty confident we know what’s wrong with floors 13 and 14 and can restore them with minimal hassle, but something major seems wrong with the rest of it. We haven’t had time to fully investigate. We’re using flashlights at the moment in the darkened areas.â€
“Mmm hmm,†muttered Harvey.
“All docking bays are unserviceable except for bay 4. All Epoch and Dio-class fighters kept on board are a total loss. We’re planning to drop the fighters from bay 4 once we’re over the water in order to free it for docking our own shuttles.â€
Nickleson, leader of the Omen engineers trained by the stolen Menelmacari plans to know as much as any one man could know about the workings of an Omen gravship, was reading off a list of the most major mechanical problems. It was not a short list. He was approaching the end but by now Harvey was growing a bit restless. The view from the bridge almost 1000 feet into the air was extremely distracting as the Omen made its slow way south. No doubt the people of Apollo City could already see them coming. What an awe-inspiring and terrible sight they must be.
Nickleson continued, “Almost all exterior equipment on the bottom two levels, the ones that have been buried underground for the past few millennia, are malfunctioning or outright broken. Most problematic are the sensors; many of them ripped off when we ascended, and the few we do have are almost entirely clogged with mud, dirt, and plant roots. We have no way to clean them off from the inside.â€
“So we’re blind to what’s below us?â€
“Not exactly. We can triangulate what sensors work from the upper levels to render imaging below us, but it will always be a bit dodgy and lag a bit behind the rest of our viewpoints. It would be hard to target something fast that’s moving underneath us.â€
“Hmm†Harvey hmmed. “Well, do what you can do.â€
“Very little without the proper tools and parts can be done on that one, I’m afraid.†Nicholson said flatly. “And finally, it seems that the wiring for the so-called ‘world devastation’ ultra-powered bottom-mounted city-leveling laser emission system, commonly referred to as the ‘big gun,’ has been drastically tampered with. None of it is recorded in the plans, and we’re totally at a loss as to how to approach this one. Until we figure it off, the big gun is offline, possibly permanently.â€
Harvey frowned. “That’s bad,†he said. “Any sort of leads at all?â€
Nicholson said, “A control console was installed that’s newer than the rest of the original Omen’s equipment, but still far older than anything the Apollo Foundation has brought on board. One of the guys came up with the idea that someone tampered with it around the time of the Battle of Airosamente, when the FIoJ Fist fought and destroyed the Ragnarok gravship. It was supposed to be something of the battle of the titans. He said that, in the stories, the Omen fired a powerful blast from the top of the spire that shattered the Ragnarok. That definitely doesn’t conform with the original design specs and our inspection of the spire’s hyperlasers showed that no such new superweapon has been installed there, so we don’t know how truthful that is.â€
“Huh,†huhed Harvey.
“Sir, may I speak freely?†Nicholson asked.
“Of course, of course.â€
“Piloting this thing into a war zone is nothing but folly,†he blurted out. “We’re flying yes, and about half the weapon systems still work, but we have no real idea how deep the damage goes. This thing has been held together – badly – with nothing but band-aid fixes by the Apollo Foundation. A lot of the circuitry is fried or extremely close to it. We won’t truly know our own weaknesses until we enter combat, and that’s exactly the wrong time to find out. Not to mention what actual combat damage may do to what’s left of the subsystems. Frankly, I’m scared for my safety, sir, and for yours.â€
Harvey let a small pause pass. He then said, “Thank you, Nicholson, for your truthfulness. However, your orders stand. You and your team are to continue the inspection and do whatever repairs you can until further notice.â€
Nicholson gave a sharp salute and left the bridge.
“He’s right, you know,†Areuhat said. She had been there the whole time, gazing absently out one of the panoramic bridge windows, but had said nothing while Harvey was meeting with one of his underlings as usual.
“I know,†Harvey said a bit irritably.
“And yet, we persist?â€
It took Harvey a moment to respond. Clearly, she was concerned; else she wouldn’t have pushed the point. Cautiously, he said, “Did you ever read Asimov’s Foundation series?â€
“No.â€
“No? Damn. That would have helped,†Harvey said as he tried to regroup his thoughts. “Well, anyway, the point was going to be that we’re far too weak to challenge any of the modern powers even with the Omen and our militia. The Omen is too unwieldy and obvious of a target, and the militia, bless their hearts, have more idealism than courage and military training. But it never mattered if we had one man or one million. This is our time, ordained not by destiny or prophecy but by the march of past events. We will succeed in our efforts to establish the Nelaga Territories simply because the political climate of Micras is not such that, no matter what we do, we cannot fail.â€
If Areuhat was skeptical, it didn’t show on her face. She simply said, “If you believe that is true, then why do we need this Omen if we can win with but one man?â€
“Because I’m not sure how much I believe my own theory,†Harvey said with a little grin. “Besides, it was easy for us to just walk in here and steal it. They haven’t guarded this thing properly for ages. It may be that using the Omen was part of the political climate – that stealing it was such a path of least resistance that it’s necessarily to our cause. I can’t be sure. It seemed like the right thing to do, so I did it. So far, so good.â€
“And, if it is destroyed in combat, won’t the people despair?â€
“Meh. Then it goes down, and we get our butts off in a hurry,†Harvey said dismissively. “The old Jasonians may have despaired at its loss; this was their pride and joy. To us, it’s just a relic of an old age. It can be a tool, but it is not the tool that matters, but what we build with it. You can’t build a house without breaking a few hammers.†Suddenly doubt crossed his face. “Actually, I don’t know about that one. I’ve never really broken a hammer. But it doesn’t matter. Pretend that made sense.â€
“I have grown quite adept at that,†Areuhat said, letting a faint smile show on her otherwise expressionless face. “We’ll be out of Shirerothian Audentior soon. What course shall we set?â€
“The ruins of Jasonia Palace. We’ll hover over the old capital city until we assess the situation on the islands.â€
“We will be visible for miles upon miles. The sun will flash off the hull, like a Christmas tree of doom,†Areuhat mused. “At our current rate of travel, we’ll even arrive there by the 25th. How fitting. Reports from the base say that many nations are gathering in the archipelago for war. With hope, none of them will have early presents for us.â€
Summary: the Omen is en route from Apolytown to the ruins of Jasoina Palace and is to arrive there in a few days. The extent of the damage is only beginning to be accessed but is clearly quite considerable. Most of the crew is worried about how well it will hold up.
FIoJ Fist Omen-class Gravship, north of Apollo City
A young man in what almost passed for a military uniform was saying, “The lighting has failed through the entirety of floors 9 and 10, plus the port sections of floors 11 through 14. We’re pretty confident we know what’s wrong with floors 13 and 14 and can restore them with minimal hassle, but something major seems wrong with the rest of it. We haven’t had time to fully investigate. We’re using flashlights at the moment in the darkened areas.â€
“Mmm hmm,†muttered Harvey.
“All docking bays are unserviceable except for bay 4. All Epoch and Dio-class fighters kept on board are a total loss. We’re planning to drop the fighters from bay 4 once we’re over the water in order to free it for docking our own shuttles.â€
Nickleson, leader of the Omen engineers trained by the stolen Menelmacari plans to know as much as any one man could know about the workings of an Omen gravship, was reading off a list of the most major mechanical problems. It was not a short list. He was approaching the end but by now Harvey was growing a bit restless. The view from the bridge almost 1000 feet into the air was extremely distracting as the Omen made its slow way south. No doubt the people of Apollo City could already see them coming. What an awe-inspiring and terrible sight they must be.
Nickleson continued, “Almost all exterior equipment on the bottom two levels, the ones that have been buried underground for the past few millennia, are malfunctioning or outright broken. Most problematic are the sensors; many of them ripped off when we ascended, and the few we do have are almost entirely clogged with mud, dirt, and plant roots. We have no way to clean them off from the inside.â€
“So we’re blind to what’s below us?â€
“Not exactly. We can triangulate what sensors work from the upper levels to render imaging below us, but it will always be a bit dodgy and lag a bit behind the rest of our viewpoints. It would be hard to target something fast that’s moving underneath us.â€
“Hmm†Harvey hmmed. “Well, do what you can do.â€
“Very little without the proper tools and parts can be done on that one, I’m afraid.†Nicholson said flatly. “And finally, it seems that the wiring for the so-called ‘world devastation’ ultra-powered bottom-mounted city-leveling laser emission system, commonly referred to as the ‘big gun,’ has been drastically tampered with. None of it is recorded in the plans, and we’re totally at a loss as to how to approach this one. Until we figure it off, the big gun is offline, possibly permanently.â€
Harvey frowned. “That’s bad,†he said. “Any sort of leads at all?â€
Nicholson said, “A control console was installed that’s newer than the rest of the original Omen’s equipment, but still far older than anything the Apollo Foundation has brought on board. One of the guys came up with the idea that someone tampered with it around the time of the Battle of Airosamente, when the FIoJ Fist fought and destroyed the Ragnarok gravship. It was supposed to be something of the battle of the titans. He said that, in the stories, the Omen fired a powerful blast from the top of the spire that shattered the Ragnarok. That definitely doesn’t conform with the original design specs and our inspection of the spire’s hyperlasers showed that no such new superweapon has been installed there, so we don’t know how truthful that is.â€
“Huh,†huhed Harvey.
“Sir, may I speak freely?†Nicholson asked.
“Of course, of course.â€
“Piloting this thing into a war zone is nothing but folly,†he blurted out. “We’re flying yes, and about half the weapon systems still work, but we have no real idea how deep the damage goes. This thing has been held together – badly – with nothing but band-aid fixes by the Apollo Foundation. A lot of the circuitry is fried or extremely close to it. We won’t truly know our own weaknesses until we enter combat, and that’s exactly the wrong time to find out. Not to mention what actual combat damage may do to what’s left of the subsystems. Frankly, I’m scared for my safety, sir, and for yours.â€
Harvey let a small pause pass. He then said, “Thank you, Nicholson, for your truthfulness. However, your orders stand. You and your team are to continue the inspection and do whatever repairs you can until further notice.â€
Nicholson gave a sharp salute and left the bridge.
“He’s right, you know,†Areuhat said. She had been there the whole time, gazing absently out one of the panoramic bridge windows, but had said nothing while Harvey was meeting with one of his underlings as usual.
“I know,†Harvey said a bit irritably.
“And yet, we persist?â€
It took Harvey a moment to respond. Clearly, she was concerned; else she wouldn’t have pushed the point. Cautiously, he said, “Did you ever read Asimov’s Foundation series?â€
“No.â€
“No? Damn. That would have helped,†Harvey said as he tried to regroup his thoughts. “Well, anyway, the point was going to be that we’re far too weak to challenge any of the modern powers even with the Omen and our militia. The Omen is too unwieldy and obvious of a target, and the militia, bless their hearts, have more idealism than courage and military training. But it never mattered if we had one man or one million. This is our time, ordained not by destiny or prophecy but by the march of past events. We will succeed in our efforts to establish the Nelaga Territories simply because the political climate of Micras is not such that, no matter what we do, we cannot fail.â€
If Areuhat was skeptical, it didn’t show on her face. She simply said, “If you believe that is true, then why do we need this Omen if we can win with but one man?â€
“Because I’m not sure how much I believe my own theory,†Harvey said with a little grin. “Besides, it was easy for us to just walk in here and steal it. They haven’t guarded this thing properly for ages. It may be that using the Omen was part of the political climate – that stealing it was such a path of least resistance that it’s necessarily to our cause. I can’t be sure. It seemed like the right thing to do, so I did it. So far, so good.â€
“And, if it is destroyed in combat, won’t the people despair?â€
“Meh. Then it goes down, and we get our butts off in a hurry,†Harvey said dismissively. “The old Jasonians may have despaired at its loss; this was their pride and joy. To us, it’s just a relic of an old age. It can be a tool, but it is not the tool that matters, but what we build with it. You can’t build a house without breaking a few hammers.†Suddenly doubt crossed his face. “Actually, I don’t know about that one. I’ve never really broken a hammer. But it doesn’t matter. Pretend that made sense.â€
“I have grown quite adept at that,†Areuhat said, letting a faint smile show on her otherwise expressionless face. “We’ll be out of Shirerothian Audentior soon. What course shall we set?â€
“The ruins of Jasonia Palace. We’ll hover over the old capital city until we assess the situation on the islands.â€
“We will be visible for miles upon miles. The sun will flash off the hull, like a Christmas tree of doom,†Areuhat mused. “At our current rate of travel, we’ll even arrive there by the 25th. How fitting. Reports from the base say that many nations are gathering in the archipelago for war. With hope, none of them will have early presents for us.â€
Summary: the Omen is en route from Apolytown to the ruins of Jasoina Palace and is to arrive there in a few days. The extent of the damage is only beginning to be accessed but is clearly quite considerable. Most of the crew is worried about how well it will hold up.
- dr-spangle
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Considering the number of players, trying to constrain the whole war into one thread would be madness (and sparta). A forum would be most helpful.
- Guido Zambelis
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Spangle - a prep and a battle forum, like normal, would be lovely
Andreas
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Do you have a point?Guido Zambelis wrote:KingJeremy wrote:...fucking breezy...
Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Rivkin and Abramov were sitting in Hanokem Sholem Tower with the rest of the Ashkenatzi General Staff enjoying a fine Hannukah meal, yet just as General Molochnikov was halfway through chewing a well-cooked Latke, the red phone underneath the National Flag and portrait of the Nohsi rang out. It was probably one of Rozenthal's prank calls to the tower again, but this time it was different. The voice was grave and stern, and on the special control line between the Knesset's chambers and the Hanokem Sholem Tower. Rivkin answered. It was one of the Nohsi's aides, commanding the entire General Staff post haste to a briefing in the special bunkers beneath the Knesset with the Nohsi and Foreign Minister.
From the positioning of the Latkes and Dreidels- symbolising allied and potential enemy forces respectively- laid out on the map of Micras, Rivkin and Abramov looked at eachother furtively. The Goyim were at it again!
The tea lady, a nattering Yenta from White Litovina, came in with a trolley of Samovar and some Sufganiyot, complaing loudly about her wage. A sharp retort from Molochnikov didn't shut her up, and she just toddled away, gesticulating wildly, interspersed with an 'Oy' every few seconds. Molochnikov glared back, spilling tea and jelly from the Sufganiyot all over his dress uniform. Everyone knew the tea lady had been his former mistress- and the hidden laughter from around the table didn't hide the fact. Rivkin and Abramov, unaware that the Cigar smoke obscuring them had drifted away and of the uncanny silence which had befallen the room, found Molochnikov's round red face glaring at them in a grimace of unparalleled vengeance, his grinding teeth revealing the sticky jam coating them from the tea lady's plate of Hannukah delights.
He thrust a briefing in their arms and had them escorted back to Hanokem Sholem Tower in disgrace, whilst the tea lady laughed hard from behind one of the colums of the chambers.
The Ashkenatzi Observer Force was to deploy to Maraguo post-haste, to report back on the situation and maintain a presence there, should intervention be deemed necessary.
Rivkin and Abramov looked at the regimental roster:
SUMMARY: Ashkenatzi forces as outlined above in the roster sail for the seas of Maraguo this evening under cover of dark- despite it being Hannukah- to observe the deteriorating situation in the Southern Seas of Micras.
From the positioning of the Latkes and Dreidels- symbolising allied and potential enemy forces respectively- laid out on the map of Micras, Rivkin and Abramov looked at eachother furtively. The Goyim were at it again!
The tea lady, a nattering Yenta from White Litovina, came in with a trolley of Samovar and some Sufganiyot, complaing loudly about her wage. A sharp retort from Molochnikov didn't shut her up, and she just toddled away, gesticulating wildly, interspersed with an 'Oy' every few seconds. Molochnikov glared back, spilling tea and jelly from the Sufganiyot all over his dress uniform. Everyone knew the tea lady had been his former mistress- and the hidden laughter from around the table didn't hide the fact. Rivkin and Abramov, unaware that the Cigar smoke obscuring them had drifted away and of the uncanny silence which had befallen the room, found Molochnikov's round red face glaring at them in a grimace of unparalleled vengeance, his grinding teeth revealing the sticky jam coating them from the tea lady's plate of Hannukah delights.
He thrust a briefing in their arms and had them escorted back to Hanokem Sholem Tower in disgrace, whilst the tea lady laughed hard from behind one of the colums of the chambers.
The Ashkenatzi Observer Force was to deploy to Maraguo post-haste, to report back on the situation and maintain a presence there, should intervention be deemed necessary.
Rivkin and Abramov looked at the regimental roster:
The Markish and Peretz were their old ships from their days in the nation's naval forces. The Zeppelins would make an interesting addition too. The weather over Kolmenitzkiy that day was foul, and taking one of Ashkenatza's many armoured trains to the port at Klymenburg, the pair of war-weary commanders made their way to the port in the rain to sail for Maraguo under cover of nightfall that evening.Detached Task-Force 01, Ashkenatzisher Shlakhter Yamteyl-ASPS Shturem (Storm)
-ASPS Blits- (Lightning)
-ASPS Markish
-ASPS Peretz
Kampfgruppe Rozenthal
- 4th Landvekhnerner Teyl 'Tunkel' (inf) *Lead Element*
+ Teyl fun Bregmeyletzen personnel as 'Naval Infantry'
+ 'B' Squadron, 1st Onfaler Teyl 'Nokem Schwartzbard'
+ 9 Platoon, 1st Onfaler Teyl 'Nokem Schwartzbard'
+ 10 Platoon, 1st Onfaler Teyl 'Nokem Schwartzbard'
Expeditionary Aviation Detatchment, Militerisher-Fliik Teyl- x5 Combat Ready Zeppelins
SUMMARY: Ashkenatzi forces as outlined above in the roster sail for the seas of Maraguo this evening under cover of dark- despite it being Hannukah- to observe the deteriorating situation in the Southern Seas of Micras.
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Yasmin Rakesh: Doorood and salaam. I am Yasmin Rakesh your host and you are watching "Salaam Babkha" the daily news show dedicated to giving you all the Babkhan Truth, which is the only truth you will ever need to live and prosper in Babkha today.
Coming up on tonight's show.
Unity and Continutiy. The glorious Babkhan nation rallies spontaniously to celebrate the re-emergence of a long lost heir to the Imperial House of Kapav whilst simultaneously applauding the inspired and uplifitng leadership of Our Lord the Radiant Sun, His Imperial Majesty, Hesam Shahanshah - long may he reign with Zurvan's blessing - and celebrating his inspired decision to overthrow the decadent Tudeh inspired and crypto-democratic Constitution of 1386.
Later in the Lifestyle section we will be investigating whether nanite-engineered Istvanistani androids have rendered our present Mondesian workforce of indentured domestic servants obsolete around the house and what the ethical solution for disposing of so many now useless mouths might ultimately be.
Finally in Sport we will be catching up on the latest results from the controversial off-shore camel racing that has been organised by the Satrap of Kelestan.
For now however, our thoughts turn to the darkening war-clouds hanging over Micras.
The Jasonian Isles, liberated in part for Shireroth by that strategic genius and saviour, none other than Our Lord the Radiant Sun, during the War of Jeremy's Nose, have been partitioned between the Shirerithian proxy state of Maraguo and the kuffars of Novatainia. Tensions have been rising between the two territories, which both so signs of being reluctant to come to terms with the innevitability of their eventual reunification into the Greater Babkhan Realm, who both harbour ambitions to dominate the entire Archipelago. This situation has been further complicated by the emergence of a new and hitherto entirely unknown militant group - the Golden Eagle Society.
For more on this we now go live to our VDE and SAVAK accredited security correspondent Sarhang Rustam Ackbar, who is joining us over the telephone from a secure undisclosed location.
Salaam Rustam.
Rustam Ackbar: Salaam Yasmin. Now very little is known about the Golden Eagle Society except that it may perhaps have its origins in a Hyperborean mercenary company and that its militants utilise contraptions that have been described for the most part as 'flying bicycles'. It is currently believed to be active in the Jasonian Isles destabilising both the Maraguo and Novatanian occupied islands at the behest of both sides. As far as a modus operandi can be discerned theirs appears to be fairly unique.
YR: Fascinating and is it possible to discern why they are doing this, or why both parties might be interested in hiring them?
RA: Well Yasmin as far as SAVAK has been able to work out it is because they are cheap. As to why two formerly friendly governments might suddenly have decided to turn on each other it is important to remember the history of these islands. Nearly three thousand years ago, before even the Tymarian Dark Age, there existed a vibrant and relatively sophisticated culture on the Jasonian Isles. In the ancient past these island were renowned for their, naturally mythical, levetational propeties. Shireroth considers itself to be the natural heir to what is loosely termed as the 'Apollo Sector' of ancient cultures - although this is certainly contested in what passes for an intellectual circle up in Shirekeep, certainly those close to the Cedarist priesthood reject it with an almost psychotic level of vehemence - while Novatania is greedy for any artefacts that may suggest a link to a mythical pre-human civilisation...
YR: A pre-human civilisation? How ridiculous...
RA: Well Yasmin we do not rule them so it is not our place to judge their beliefs. For now. But anyway, this hypothetical, Micron, civilisation enjoyed - so they believe, a high level of technological sophistication, so much so that they were able to wage an, evidently unsuccessful, battle for the control of farr ... or I believe they call it destiny. Yes a battle for the Control of Destiny. The story, although insane, has had a deep cultural resonance through out the ages, even inspiring a series of dubious video games. Now Novatania wishes to harvest anything even remotely suggestive of this lost technology while Marungo wishes to unify the Isles so as to lay claim to the ancient glory of a fallen empire. Which sets the scene for the present conflict.
RA: Complicating matters is the rumoured activities of another militant group which may or may not have links to the Golden Eagle Group, this time in Audentior where, if the rumours are true this is simply incredible, they have reactivated an ancient spaceship capable of a low-Micras orbit, and are attempting to make off with it to parts unknown though a betting man would surely have their objective down as being the Jasonian Isles where such a structure could shift significantly the balance of power. If this can be verified it does remain to be said. You can, incidentally, see a depiction of what is reputed to be a 'Omen Gravship' taken from an ancient source - my apologies for the hideous background colour.
YR: Fascinating, and what is the scale of this gravity ship supposed to be?
RA: Approximately two miles in length.
YR: Two miles?
RA: Yes as I said previously this is all yet to be verified and collegues in the VDE are extremely sceptical about the veracity of these claims that we are receiving.
YR: So where are these claims coming from and who is making them?
RA: I'm afraid I am not at liberty to divulge that information.
YR: Well thank you Agha Ackbar that was certainly enlightening. Turning now to other news related to the crisis we have been notified that the Anticans are preparing the dispatch of a peacekeeping force while the Britannic Empire is making ready a hospital ship to sail to the conflict zone with the intention of rescuing any Britannic nationals who may be trapped on the Isles.
However we must now break out of our scheduled coverage to go live to Norasht where the Vizier for Babkhan Truth has just authorised the releasing of a pre-recorded statement he has made on how Babkha is uniquely placed to weather the downturn and the impending global apocalypse...
- Scott Alexander
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Summary: Tef, a blind Bjorngarder guided by his young daughter Nele, has arrived in Nang from Tala to clean up the mess Raiki has caused. He has relieved Raiki of all command, a decision Raiki promises to resist, and grudgingly offered Raiki's soldiers a place in his forces.The old cliche among Bjorngarders said the highest virtue was ability to fight. Raiki Volanion disagreed. It was times like these, with the blood burning in his veins, that he knew the highest virtue was ability to command.
His men listened, enrapt, as he described his escape from his jail cell in Thassala Bone. How he'd made the trek up Mt. Sai'Por in the mid-winter weather to evade pursuit. How he'd come across a hidden valley where the secretive Gold Eagle Society had been training a militia to sweep over the plains. How he'd found Konstan Ifrosdik, Snowfox Lot's other prisoner, and tried to break him free. How Konstan had already been so brainwashed by the Novatainians and their Nelagan allies that he'd rudely rejected Raiki, and how Raiki had left him there to die while descending the last few miles of Sai'Por alone. How he'd confabulated a story about a lost tourist desperate to catch his flight out of Nang, and fooled the Novatainian soldiers who guarded the bridge over Lake Urojea.
Oh, they loved it, but it wasn't out of egotism alone that Raiki spoke to them that night in the barracks. He knew that a mercenary captain's hold over his soldiers was only as good as his legend. If the men didn't think their commander could get them out of anything, they'd turn tail as soon as the danger outweighed the profitability. And then half the Elw probably hated him because he was a Hyperborean who could beat them up (Konstan, he suspected, was one of these), and half the Hyperboreans probably dreamed of starting off on their own without him weighing them down. It was moments like these that held the troop together.
"More importantly," he said, flashing his men a grin, "I've already got a promise from the Vryheer of Maraguo to add some hazard pay to our bounty for last week's mission. And I have a letter here offering us top dollar to stay on for the next two months. I've been so busy for the last month I didn't realize just how many forces were converging on these islands. We seem to have gotten ourselves into the start of a world war here. Soon the whole Shirerithian army will be behind us, and the other side is gathering their troops as well. I have a factory in Nang repairing the flycycles, and by next week we should be..."
He stopped with a sudden jerk. No one was looking at him. All eyes were on the door.
Two guards had just walked in, wearing the uniform of the Paladins of Hyperborea. The true Paladins, not any of the Bjorngarder copycat groups or spinoffs. That would have been shock enough, but it was the man who followed who sent chills up Raiki's spine.
He was old, though it was hard to tell exactly how old. His long hair was so white it was almost blue, a distinctly Hyperborean color, but streaked with strands of Elw gold in places. His robe was a deep blue, with a many colored border and semi-precious stones fringing the neckline, intricate silver knotwork, and other signs of high status. He wore a grey blindfold over his eyes, and he was guided entirely by the seven year old girl who held his hand and gave it an occasional squeeze now and then to guide his motions. The sigil he wore around his neck was a blue and gold stylized eye, which seemed to meet the gaze of those staring at him.
The young girl tapped his hand, and the blind old man turned to Raiki, placed his hands together, and bowed. "Truth and Beauty warm, Raiki Volanion."
"Get out," said Raiki. The interruption of his speech had given the edge to his anger, but it was like an iceberg: there was far more beneath the surface. He knew what Tef's appearance here foreshadowed, and he wouldn't stand for it.
Led by the young girl, Tephi Akra Gal Sekion came right up to Raiki and stared at him, blindfold to eyes. "You've caught the attention of Powers That Be, Raiki-yai. They've sent me here to untangle what you've knotted up. I request you voluntarily catch the next flight to Hyfrost, return home, and live a peaceful life ending with a peaceful death of natural causes at an advanced age. Yyiji-nomai has ordered me to tell your men they may either join you or meet me aboard the Luminescence and join my forces. If it were up to me, I would request they do the former. That is all." Tef bowed his head, and the young girl stuck her tongue out at the mercenary leader.
"You have no authority over me!" shouted Raiki.
"Aph melliokuem satkiokuem," replied Tef. There was a flurry of whispers as the speakers of Kalasperelin among Snowfox Lot tried translating the proverb for their neighbors My only authority is my dignity, tried one. The only authority is nobility, said another. True authority is earned authority, whispered a third.
Bukhariuz, the lot's lone Brookshirerithian member, had enough of being confused. "With al' due respect," he said in his Laqi drawl, "Who are ya?"
The girl's washed-out-grey eyes suddenly fixed on Bukhariuz, and he felt profoundly uncomfortable.
"Ah, sorry," said Tef. "I've let the direness of the hour get the better of me, and put business before politeness. I'm Tephi Akra Gal Sekion. Most people call me Tef, which is my name from my childhood in Bjorngard. I am the personal representative of Yyiji Tonkothion-nomai, Prince-Elder of Hyperborea, who despite his age is still alive. This is my daughter Nele, who serves as my eyes and when necessary my conscience.
I am here because Yyiji-nomai does not want the Hyperboreans going down in history" (and here he tilted his head toward Raiki) "as starting a world war. And if we do, he wants us to also go down in history as ending it. And if we can't, he wants us to at least go down in history as winning it."
"This is not Tala's business!" objected Raiki.
"The Oracle of Yaanek says otherwise," Tef said softly.
For the first time Raiki was caught off-balance. Then, "What did the Oracle say?"
Another Paladin ran in and took Tef's hand. "Tephi, it's on all the news channels! That old flying super-battleship, the one the Apollo Foundation keeps in north Audentior! It's airborne! It's broadcasting some kind of message about the rebirth of a Jasonian nation in Nelaga! It's coming this way."
Tef nodded as if he'd been told lunch was ready. "Call a general alert, but take no other actions. I will be there in a moment. Come on, Nele, let's go to the Luminescence"
"Dinner-time?" asked the girl.
"Soon enough, said Tef, and he began to follow her out.
"Listen!" yelled Raiki. "Don't think you've heard the last of me! This is my lot, and I'm not going anywhere! And I'm not going to run off to Bjorngard! And I'm not," he spat "going to 'go die a peaceful death'".
"No. You won't," agreed Tef. "So said the Oracle. But I had to make you the offer."
For the second time that afternoon, Raiki didn't know what to say.
OOC: Jeremy, Ardashir, good to see you in the story. Ardashir, I love those newscast pictures, and you would definitely get a gold star for them if I were a judge and people ever gave out gold stars like they were supposed to. BUT - I don't know whether it's you ooc or your newscaster ic who is confused about this, but the Hyperborean mercenaries under Raiki aren't allied with the Jasonians, they're attacking the Jasonians. Chris, again, good to see you in the story. However, by ASC reckoning this is set about a hundred years after the Bosworth war. I won't say you can't have the same characters, because we've had worse violations of continuity all the time, but it might make it easier for you to say they're descendants or something.
Scott Alexander | Autokrator of Archipelago (What is Archipelago?)
Illustrious Founder of the MCS, and sometime Special Cartographer
Illustrious Founder of the MCS, and sometime Special Cartographer
- chrimigules
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
Time must flow differently in Antica. Just as time flows differently whenever a recwar takes place.
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
OOC: Scott, this is why I've long said time flows differently in different parts of Micras. In Novatainia, it's been less than a year since the last war - probably the same in Antica
Andreas
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
"He showed up three or four years ago and accidentally took over the micronational world by being way more competent and enthusiastic than everyone else. Now he sort of rules us all, but it's a benevolent sort of thing, as far as we know."
~Scott Alexander
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Re: Day of the Eagle (Part 1)
OOC:
[quote="Ardashir Khan]while the Britannic Empire is making ready a hospital ship to sail to the conflict zone with the intention of rescuing any Britannic nationals who may be trapped on the Isles.[/quote]
I'm affraid the Britannic Empire is gone and i'm operating on behalf of Nova England, who for some crazy reason don't appreciate me scuttling things all over the place
[quote="Ardashir Khan]while the Britannic Empire is making ready a hospital ship to sail to the conflict zone with the intention of rescuing any Britannic nationals who may be trapped on the Isles.[/quote]
I'm affraid the Britannic Empire is gone and i'm operating on behalf of Nova England, who for some crazy reason don't appreciate me scuttling things all over the place