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RP Time: OST
Population: XX Nations Technology: Post/Modern
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![]() Founder: Dom | Prime Minister: Vacant| RP Ministers: Vacant ..:: YOUR NEWS : 16 OCT '14 ::.. ***Things That Happened, Did*** |
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| The March on Amor; because I accidentally deleted the last one >.> | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 6 2013, 04:13 PM (226 Views) | |
| Lines | Jun 6 2013, 04:13 PM Post #1 |
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Senior nation
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Halvadag Palace, Länlania 313, Autumber 15 “Times change, don’t they? Significantly so.” “Indeed. Just a decade ago, you were but a boy, and the Commonwealth was limited to the East Urocan coast. And now….” “And now we’re scattered throughout the Southern Hemisphere, our immediate rivals cutting us in half, and potential ones seeping into the region from every corner of the globe.” Soren signed, setting his tea cup onto the table. The sky was a little cloudy today, hiding the sun behind an array of massive, towering clouds; it would rain soon. Until then however, he’d enjoy the cool autumn breeze, watching the forest in the north slowly alter its skin. The air itself tasted clear—fresh, in fact… even liberating. Justin chuckled, setting his own cup down on the tea plate. The view from the roof of the Council Hall was indeed stunning. The forests of Lanlania took up the north, while the sea was this vast blue coat on the west. Halvadag had always only expanded southward—neither the Crown nor the Länlanian Riksdag wanted to lose the beautiful scenery that marked the heart of their country. “How’s it feel to be responsible for all of it, Prince?” Justin teased, running his eyes back to the young man across him. Soren had turned twenty-six this year, the last ten of them spent on the throne. Of course, the day-to-day tasks had been handled by the Councilors then—and still were; Soren was quite a hands-off leader, giving his Councilors the room to operate their offices as they saw fit. Only Count Harder and Duke Lien had constant meetings with His Majesty. Soren smirked, shaking his head. “It’s not as I wanted,” he sighed, “but it is as must be.” “Right,” Justin returned. “Glory everlasting—” “—the Commonwealth survives.” The two laughed. It was rare for them to have these retreats nowadays. Justin was often in his own offices, handling the administrative tasks for the Black Guild—the Svartskra. Soren was most often busy addressing ceremonial tasks for the Commonwealth members, cooperating with Harder on Foreign Affairs, or simply staying up-to-date on Commonwealth affairs. “Indeed,” Soren continued, recovering enough to take another sip of tea. “Our country must be strong, to survive the changing times.” Justin nodded in agreement. “Southerland allowed us uranium, access to that terrible weapon.” “Sabine gave us influence,” Soren added. “Nehda, manpower.” “And Habara, ores.” The two nodded, meeting one another’s gaze. Justin was Soren’s most trusted adviser—he had to be, really, as the Councilor of Intelligence—and at his side since early childhood; he’d been involved in many discussions, many planning sessions. “Zanaro,” Soren began cautiously, drifting into his mind. “Zanaro was quite a stumble,” Justin finished for him. “We’re still polishing that situation.” “Indeed,” Soren muttered. He grabbed a cookie from the tray between, sighing. “The Zanarites shall be proud members in time.” Justin nodded. “Have you considered the proposals?” “Somewhat… they’re quite drastic.” Justin snickered. “The times chance, my prince. The Commonwealth must change with them…” “…if she is to survive them,” Soren concluded. “Yes.” Soren chuckled, running his eyes over the country around them. Beautiful. Calm. Peaceful. Relaxing. Home. “This we protect,” Soren whispered, coming back to Justin. “The motto of the Commonwealth Army,” Justin returned. “And ours, recall?” Justin snickered. “I recall.” He and Soren had admired the Army in their youth. Soren smiled, sighed as he stood. “We should get back to work.” With a nod, Justin followed. “Indeed… I hear we march today.” Soren let out a breath, grabbing the tray of cookies from the table. Justin took the tea set, and the two made their way towards the doors. “We do… security is artificial, after all.” Justin laughed. 150 kilometers East of Camp Walloweep, Southerland 313. Autumber 15 Captain Kron preferred to lead from the front. Some thought it was his Zanarite blood and military upbringing—the son of a Zanarite nobleman—others simply said it suited him—the man seemed brutish, with large, broad shoulders and the weight to back his build up. He tended to shrug it off, however, citing that “it’s just easier to respond to situations when you’re neck-deep in it.” It was due to this school of thought that Kron was at the head of his formation when the natives struck. It’d come as a surprise, the mud-clad native suddenly pop up from the tall grass, Anti-tank rocket launcher over his shoulder. One of the drones—presently under user-guidance—responded instantly, and the stream of 7.62mm bullets came moments later. It was too late, however. The rocket burst out of the metal tube as the man recoiled in the bullets. Several of them struck him, knocking him onto his back. His death was in vain, however, as rocket erupted from the hull of the IFV. The second one intercepted the first, blowing it up midflight, several meters from the vehicle. Another rocket launched, as another mud-clad male surfaced from the earth. Then two more, from different angles; the attack force found itself assaulted all along the front. It was still a slaughter. The outdated rockets were easy picking for the Commonwealth armor’s active-protection systems; the ambushers meat to the Commonwealth machine guns. It didn’t last a minute, before the eight drone-tanks and four IFVs put down the surprise attack. From Kron’s flanks, gunfire erupted again—likely more ambushes against the rest of his company. His computer beeped madly, highlighting and zooming into a region on screen. Shadows were moving in the forest. The unmanned tanks rolled forward, to intercept the newcomers. Helicopter drones began to fly ahead of the formation, their machine guns contrasting heavily against their white frames. The plains would be Commonwealth. Edited by Lines, Jun 6 2013, 04:14 PM.
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| Lines | Jun 20 2013, 09:42 AM Post #2 |
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Senior nation
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West of Southerland 313, Autumber 22 There weren't many states out there that could hold back the Commonwealth Marines for any significant amount of time. The central Irenicalese had even worse chances, considering their disorganized nature. After the disastrous ambush, it'd been a madman's run to the west coast--only delayed by the Commonwealth's armor's need to refuel. Even then, however, Commonwealth air power kept the pressure, biting at the native's heels as they escaped the front, attempting to route them away from the Commonwealth's path. It wasn't necessary to gun them down, after all. At least, not unless they engaged Commonwealth troops. Amor was a large settlement along the coast. All the natives the Commonwealth displaced seemed to have gathered here, considering the makeshift mass of huts and wooden buildings. They'd began to farm on the outskirts, settling into their new homes. Livestock was roaming the open fields, between the farms and the forest, left behind as the people ran back to the city with the warriors. Captain Kron's IFV turned the forest edge then, circling around a line of pine trees. The cows ignored his force, as it edged towards the coastal settlement, through the fields of corn and wheat. Wooden tools were scattered throughout, as well as weapons, as the soldiers dropped their battered arms. "Holy Hadar," Kron muttered, staring at the screen. The city--Amor--looked like a shanty town, battered and dirty in it's cheap construction. No building rose over another, though they all seemed as if they'd collapse at the slightest earthquake. It was out of place, among the otherwise pristine Irenicalese nature. "Sweet fuck," his driver returned. "Are we gonna take that thing?" "No." Kron worked quickly, pressing a few keys on his computer screen. The machine reacted quickly, connecting him to his force. "All units, stand down. Repeat, all units, stand down. Do not enter the farmlands." The Captain let go of the communication array, turning his seat to glance at another station. "Contact the Major." Halvadag, Länlania “What is this?” Soren muttered, staring at images that slid across his tablet. Justin, and a military officer, was watching over his shoulder, studying they key’s hand movements. They couldn’t see his face, but Soren’s dominant hand had a habit of shaking when he was enraged or shocked. And, indeed, his voice obtained a slight tint of aggression. “Amor?” he questioned. “Castlian?” “No,” Justin answered, shaking his head. “This is in central Southerland, just west of our colony.” “Are these… the people that…” “Yes.” Soren bit his lower lip. “How long has the settlement been there? For how long have you known?” The man set the tablet aside, still glancing forward. Justin simply watched, as his king reached out for his tea cup, hesitating for a moment has he assured his control over his hand. “The settlement has been around for a year or two.” Soren nodded slowly, taking the drink. “And for how long have you know, James?” “Half of the time.” “And why is it only now being brought to my attention?” Justin stayed silent. “Dammit, James,” Soren barked, setting the cup back down. He spun in his seat, sitting up enough to meet Justin’s eyes. “We are responsible for this. This is a fucking atrocity.” “Indeed…” Justin turned away, glancing at the general a few feet away. The man had brought the intelligence forward. Word of the city had steadily made its way up the chain of command, after Captain Kron had reported it. Most of his superiors had been Zanarite. “You know now, Your Majesty,” Justin muttered, glancing back. Soren snickered, shaking his head as he sat back down. “General, relieve those people.” Edited by Lines, Jun 21 2013, 08:59 AM.
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| Lines | Jun 22 2013, 10:09 PM Post #3 |
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Senior nation
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Amor, Central Southerland 313, November 2 Captain Kron watched. It was a bright day, the sun high in its apogee as it dominated the summer sky. There were a towering clouds moving in from the west, about to hit the continent from the Landaran Sea. To the northeast reigned the Kathar Mountains, rising above the Southerland plains and serving as an almost romantic backdrop. Indeed, the area had potential as a retreat. The lush, wild plains here were wide, disappearing into the horizon both to the north and south. The forest that Kron had entered from lay to his back, relatively silent. The animals weren’t used to the loud motor hums of human vehicles. It was a shame, too. Before the bulk of the Länlanian forces arrived, Kron had had the honor of watching a pair of squirrels dance through a clearing in the forest, descending from their home and rushing to a stream a few meters away. It’d reminded him of the Kami, the Soriven nature spirits; the beauty of nature, in the smallest things, reminded him why he swore the Commonwealth oath. There was chaos in the world, after all. Corruption, evil, and wickedness. Nowhere was it more rampant than Southerland, where the people lived in heart-wrenching conditions. Though Amor had been founded as a refugee from the Länlanians in the east, he didn’t for a moment believe their previous lives were significantly better. Perhaps, they were balanced, in tune with the natural world… but did that mean they were appropriate? Although, what gave him the right to decide what was appropriate for them? He was a foreigner. He had shot their fathers, brothers, and sons. He had killed many, for a reason he didn’t even know. He had come as a conqueror, while they fought as guardians, protectors of their homes. Giving them an opportunity, however, wasn’t making a decision for them…. And it was this state of mind that allowed him to smile, as he passed a blanket across the desk, and watched another soldier fill a bowl with stew a few feet away. There was a certain gleam in the young woman’s eyes as she pressed the blanket to her chest and ran back to the town. The farms had been manned again, though there were a few extra men, standing by, watching the Commonwealth personnel intently. Yet, a group of children was further away, beyond the crowd that sat at fold-away tables, playing football with a few Commonwealth men. Kron smiled again, murmuring the Amori word for “my pleasure” as a boy accepted a blanket from him and disappeared into the crowd. |
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| Lines | Jun 24 2013, 08:57 PM Post #4 |
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Senior nation
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Amor, Central Southerland 313, December 15 “Have they always lived this way?” Soren asked, staring out the helicopter window. The metal beast was descending onto a helicopter pad near the aid camp, where countless Royal Guards were scattered around the field. The Amori were looking on with cautious from the camp, most gathered in the lunch area. “Not this deplorably,” Justin answered from across him. Despite the short distance, the two needed to use their headsets; the helicopter rotors were beating loudly above them. Soren nodded. The vehicle touched down and two Royal Guards ran to the door, sliding them open. His Majesty took an extended hand and hopped onto the dirt pad. Still, the Amori watched, though none recognized the shorts-clad, tee-wearing man. They understood respect however, which Soren seemed to earn his excess by simply walking away from the helicopter. They studied Soren as he their home. The shanty town still stood, though Soren could see lumber being piled not far from it. Chainsaws were lined on a table not far from the stockpile, and there was a buzzsaw standing silent a few feet further. They were to build their own homes. “When will they begin?” Soren questioned, shifting his attention to Kron. The Captain had been placed in charge of the operation. “Next week,” Kron answered. “Will you stick around?” Soren raised his eyebrows, before a sudden smirk broke across his lips. “Maybe.” Kron returned the gesture, before letting out a sigh and approaching his king. “It’s quite a mess, Your Majesty. Some of them were underfed and becoming malnourished when we arrived. It seems that too many gathered here, making it difficult for them to forge or hunt for food. Frankly, I’m surprised they even managed to grow these fields. These crops aren’t native to Southerland.” “Perhaps they obtained the seeds from Southerland?” Soren questioned, glancing over the farmland. “Maybe. I wouldn’t rule out smuggling.” Soren nodded, meeting Kron’s gaze. “You’ve done well here, Captain. I’m sure you’ve earned these people’s trust.” “More or less, Sire. A lot of the old and young come here daily for food. Some of the adults too, but most either hunt or tend to the fields.” “Can you communicate?” “We’re teaching them Länlan, though are picking up some of their language as well. It’s simple, but difficult to pronounce.” Soren smiled, looking back to the crowd. “How do you greet?” |
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| Lines | Jun 27 2013, 07:19 AM Post #5 |
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Amor, Central Southerland 313, December 17 “Are you enjoying your stay, Your Majesty?” Soren blinked, letting his eyes fall on the Zanarite Captain. The man, dressed only in his combat uniform, had brought a pot of tea to the table. As Kron served the tea, Soren’s gaze fell back skyward, where the stars dominated the night sky. It was quite a sight, a limitless sea of gleaming sparks. The lights of the city made it difficult to see them to such extent. “It’s an interesting place,” Soren answered. Kron passed him the tea, and he sat up on the table to the drink. “These are a peaceful people.” Kron took a seat beside him, sitting down to watch the camp and the town beyond it. The camp was empty this late at night, though there were a few soldiers standing watch, with more patrolling the outskirts. There were animals out there, after all. “Indeed,” the Captain replied. “And we killed some of them.” Soren snickered, shaking his head. “We all make mistakes, Captain,” he sighed. “It seems intelligence was faulty.” “Though accurate. They hit us with RPGs at the border.” The king’s eyes narrowed slightly, as he shifted in his seat to glance at the officer. He noticed the man’s attention was already focused on him, with a slight small spread across the man’s face. “RPGs?” Soren questioned. “These people aren’t supposed to have the technology.” “From what we heard, they obtained them from the Nehdans. Nehdan… resistors.” Soren scowled, nodding nonetheless. “Interesting.” “Indeed. It seems they haven’t come around for a while now, however. The army’s on watch and we haven’t detected anyone in the vicinity.” “No matter,” Soren returned. “The Nehdans will be pacified in due time.” Kron blinked once, finally taking his eyes off Soren and letting them run over the horizon. There was a breeze running east, which brought both a chill and the relaxing slight of crops swaying in the wind. Kron head Soren take a deep breath beside him, before letting it out in a similar sigh. Kron took his own, allowing the fresh, pristine air into his lungs. It smelled of pine. “And these people?” Kron asked at last, glancing back at his king. “We shall remain,” Soren answered. “I’ll be founding an aid fund soon, open to donations. We can’t keep it a military operation forever.” “So there’ll be civilians arriving soon?” “Yes. The Army will still provide security, but… most aid tasks will be handed over to the civilians.” Kron scowled. “And we’ll be deployed elsewhere?” “No…” Soren sighed, smiling as he looked back to the Captain. “The aid organization will need some experienced personnel to kick-start it. I can arrange for some of you to be honorably discharged, while others can serve as the security. The aid packages will simply start being civilian, rather than military… as would you pay checks.” They both snickered, shifting their attention back to the town. “Will the project expand, Majesty?” “Of course,” Soren answered. “Your main mission here will be to bring these people to date, so they’re capable of supporting themselves.” “What then? Leave?” “The organization will move on, while the Crown moves in. Protectorates, each group.” Kron scowled, as he quickly thought it through. “So it’s a ploy?” “It’s mutual progress, Captain,” Soren returned, glancing at him. “We help them, they help us. We need the plains, they can man them. They need protection and technology, we can bring it.” The Captain sighed, taking a sip of his tea. |
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| Lines | Jun 29 2013, 06:38 PM Post #6 |
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Senior nation
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Amor, Central Southerland 313, December 24 "And it is with extreme pleasure, hope, and trust that I declare the foundation of the Ciél Amarráde Organization,” Soren announced, staring directly into the camera standing across him. The man was dirty, his forehead glowing with what could only be sweat built up over an afternoon of labor. The sun in the background was setting, descending into the ocean behind the city. It gave the corn plants a romantic glow, an orange aura surrounding them as they brushed the open skies. Tools were still out in the background, pieces of lumber at various degrees of ruin lying around the skeleton of a wooden building; the rest of the laborers sat among it, drinking iced-water and enjoying warm meals. It was an interesting group—Amori, Länlanians, and Zanarites all gathered together. There were even a few Habarans—or were they Nehdan? It was difficult to tell. “I have spent the last two weeks out here,” Soren continued, shifting his eyes to the cameraman for a mere moment. They had arrived a few days earlier, with other civilian volunteers. They’d begun to record the day-to-day activities, ensuring that the people at home got a view of their king working with his people. Indeed, Soren had been treated—and had acted—as an equal out here, taking orders from the project leaders. “In Amori,” Soren finished. He patted the back of a child standing at his side, who could only be assumed to be Ciél Amarráde. “I have learned a bit of Ciél and his people. They have lived her for centuries—far long than we have. They have struggled for just as long, the children often forced to assist their parents and the community to hunt, or tend difficult fields. “In fact, only recently have his people even stumbled across farming—having watched and studied the techniques of our countrymen in Southerland to the east. “I find it a disturbing concept,” Soren sped up, “that there are people out in the world living like this”—he pointed behind him, allowing a moment for the camera to zoom into the makeshift settlement in the background—“while we waste our resources, while we drown ourselves in alcohol and drugs and celebrate our fortune late into the evening—fortune that could have very well fallen to any other people. “With just a chance in the fates, it could be we who live like this—in homes that could collapse at the remotest sign of an earthquake, in lands dominated by wildlife unafraid of us, as struggling to simply survive another day. “And yet, it was by the fates—and through His will—that we have stumbled here. That we have come across the Amori people and seen their plight. There are other people in their situation. In Irenical alone, it’s estimated that half a billion people live in these conditions. Cardohesia: another billion. Galaraese: a quarter. Eastern Adresia, southern Therion, the Heractian Isle—in Caprecia alone, nearly two billion people live in worse conditions than these. “I, for one, will not stand idly by. I have personally found the Ciél Amarráde Organization—named after this amazing boy who dreams of becoming a Commonwealth football player—and will match donation made to it, by both individuals and organizations, for the next five years. “This fund will serve a variety of roles, from providing humanitarian aid in cooperation with the Commonwealth Armed Forces to entering a region and assisting it into tomorrow. “And that is what we are after here. Captain Kron of the Commonwealth Army, leader of this operation and now a personal friend of mine, will work tirelessly to assist these people in entering the modern world. He has volunteered to resign from the Armed Forces to join the Fund as a project leader and remain in Amor until it can stand on its own feet. “My countrymen, my friends, I ask that you too help these people. I ask that you donate to the Fund. I ask that you volunteer. I ask that you do your piece in God’s plan to bring prosperity to his children. Even a single mark—from each of you—would greatly assist these people. “Think it through. Do your part. Help your brethren. Thank you.” Edited by Lines, Nov 23 2013, 01:26 PM.
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8:24 PM Jul 11
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8:24 PM Jul 11