NationStates Jolt Archive

"Well?" Reinhart asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are we game? You saw them... and LRR is going the same way. We must move now. We already have socialists in the Imperial government..." He threw his dart, and sighed as it missed the target completely.

His Serene Highness, Prince Damien Alexander Black, nodded slowly. "Yes...what you say makes sense..." he said, unconfirmingly. "But I don't see the need..."

The National Front leader slammed his fist into his palm. "They've already begun allowing more unions! Breaking up the aristocracy! Weakening the army!...we rise, Damien... with, or without you as leader."

Damien smiled, a sharp cold smile. "When do we rise, my servant?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

Reinhart realised he had made a tactical error, and tried to backpeddle. "Um...that is to say, you... you would be...fairly close to the top...yes... but... I mean..." he found his feet dangling from the ground as Damien's eyes narrowed even further. "Within the week, my Ka..."

"Tsar," Damien growled. "If this is indeed the restoration you claim it to be, then I claim that title and role for my own..." He gave a curt signal with his hand, and sent Reinhart flying back to the wall. "Are we agreed?"

Reinhart gave his assurances. "And what does that leave for me?" he asked, trying to demonstrate a confidence he didn't feel, trying to reach for the ground beneath his feet.

Damien smiled. "Premier Reinhart... go to your men. Let there be an end to lies and mis-truths...an end to weakness and false humility..." his smile became predatory. "Purity through war."

"Purity through war, Your Imperial Majesty..."

Kaiserin Malissa Lucille Black looked up, sure that something was wrong. "Hello?" She asked, sliding to her feet and fingering for the pistol concealed on the underside of her desk.

A man in white armour burst through the doors, seemingly breathless. "My lady, Prince Damien has sent me to warn you... a revolution is in the streets, and the men are heading this way!"

Malissa gasped, but was relieved to see her son's tearburst on the man's cape-brooch and over his heart. "...I'm sure there must be some mistake. I'll go see what they want..." she swept past the soldier.

Behind her, the man smiled a thin little smile.

The Kaiserin didn't even notice the world around her suddenly turn black.

Damien inspected the work of his men, seeming to take an interminable amount of time. "I am..." everyone in the room froze, "satisfied." He stroked the cool marble before him, nodding in amusement. "...now! To business!" With a laugh, he strode across the floor to the immense throne, and sat down. "Get me a media hook-up, and... has anyone found my brother?"

The men, dressed in the white and red uniforms of the Purification Squads, shook their heads rapidly. "Most gracious lord, we will immediately seek him out..."

Damien nodded, a smile playing in the corners of his mouth. "Go...and find those revolutionaries that called themselves the Imperial Government... oh, and some real revolutionaries. The charge will be Lese Majeste."

The PS men nodded, and almost fled for the door of the throne room, none of them wanting to remain there with that statue...

the perfect marble likeness of Malissa Black.

*theme music plays*

Imperial Broadcast Service

Anna Harlyenoff Constantinoya: We interrupt this programme for a special announcement... Ivan?

*cut to a young reporter in the House of Nobles. Gunfire can be heard, and Legionnaires, Police and Purifiers rush about*

Ivan Tsalten: Thank you, Anya.

*he turns to face the camera*

A revolution has broken out in the Divine Imperium's capital. We are currently under siege inside the Imperial Palace, but the Prince-Regent says that we will be relieved shortly.

Ann: What's the current situation with the Imperial Family?

Ivan: It's all a bit confused right now, but from what I can make out Her Imperial Highness the Kaiserin and His Illuminated Highness Prince Damien have both vanished... Prince Damien Black wishes to address the media on the topic, so I'll...

Anna: We're sorry, we'll have to interrupt you there. We've just recieved word that anarchists are rioting in Tarnaqin, Port Agua, and Roslin...

*images flash of rioters under a black and red flag fighting in heavy combat with Imperial Soldiers*

Anna: It looks like this attempt at revolution will fail, though...on your end?

*back to Ivan*

Ivan: His Serene Highness is giving a speech...

*flash to the Dark Prince, dressed in a white suit with a red cape hanging over his shoulder. The suit has a red teardrop symbol over the heart, and the cape's clasp has the Imperial Firebird worked into it in gold*

Damien Alexander Black: Imperium! This is a sad day for us all! My beloved mother and brother have been kidnapped by the anarchists, and most likely assassinated!

*he reaches into a pocket, and withdraws a knife*

They are a plague upon this land! A cancer! And I will cut them out. They are not alone in this, though... the foreigners that pretend to be of the Imperium are in this as well...they would wish to see this Imperium go the way of our neighbours!

*he snaps his fingers. Two purifiers run forward, carrying between them a man dressed in the black and red of the anarchists.*

*It's James Grey.*

James: Most Gracious Lord...I beg of you, I had nothing to do with this...your men, they forced me...

*Damien backhands him*

Damien: Lies!

*turns back to the camera*

We see here how deep the cancer has spread... to a minister of the crown, no less... but when it comes to this government, can any be surprised? You are a cancer!

*with a sharp movement Damien slits James' throat open*

*James collapses to the floor, dying instantly*

I claim emergency powers. In memory of my blessed mother, though, I shall not take her title...instead, I shall call myself Tsar in the manner of the Aguans. And I will cut this cancer from the land.

*he turns to face the cameras again, and raises his two hands over his head, the knife dripping blood onto the floor*

Let none stand in the way of the purification! Of the Holy Crusade! Peace through Power!

*the camera pans. The crowd of men in the room, from nobles to soldiers, chants the same*

Crowd: Peace through power!

Damien: Joy through Strength!

*crowd repeats*

Damien: Purity through War!

*again*

Damien: Redemption through Death!

*as he says 'death', he throws the knife through the heart of the dead James*

*the lights in the House flash briefly, and when they open the flag above the throne has changed*

http://www.freewebs.com/slywolf2004/Blood%20flag.jpg

Ivan: Purity through war indeed... and it seems that the revolution is being put down, so over to you, Anya.

*flashes back to Anna*

Anna: Thank you, Ivan. We'll be giving you a full report with the normal news in half an hour. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

His Illuminated Highness Prince Daniel Black, Prince of Roan, paced inside his cell, trapped like a bird in a cage. 'How dare he... what is this madness that has taken my younger brother?' The Prince thought, trying to piece it together. He had heard from the guards that his brother was already transferring the capital back up to the Kremlin of the Archangel Michael up in Tarnaqin. He could guess why.

But he knew that he would be excess baggage to bring to the north. And Damien had always hated to expend more energy than was neccessary. It'd be a bullet to the back of the head, and burial as a martyr to the glorious revolution to safeguard the homeland, more likely th.

Daniel sighed, collapsing back against the wall. Next door, he could hear Clarissa Bencenoff, the deposed Prime Minister, try to choke back sobs. In the other cells were the members of his personal bodyguard and those of the government ministers not yet executed. He could only hope that his beloved Sarah had manag...

He could hear one of the guards in the central area. "Here ye are, Shieldian... our 'Imperial chamber'... haw haw haw!" Daniel's heart sunk as the door was thrust open and Sarah Caddick was forced inside, the guard deliberately twisting her arm as she was. The young woman rushed into Daniel's arms as the cell-door shut, tears running down her cheeks.

"Daniel..." she whispered, unable to speak. "I know you told me to get to the ports, and to the Shield...but I couldn't leave... I couldn't leave you, and I couldn't leave her if I couldn't take the people with me..." she started to cry further. "The things that I saw when I was trying to escape..."

Daniel couldn't say anything, just held her. He knew that the nightmare, for him and for his nation, was just beginning.

======

The guard was woken up by the sensation of someone stomping heavily upon his foot. He growled and grabbed his gun, but stuttered when he saw who it was. "La...Lady Finsternis!" He gasped, clutching his hand over his chest and sinking to the floor.

"Give me the keys, worm," the PA to His Divine Majesty ordered, putting out her hand. The guard quickly complied. "Now leave. I'm taking over this shift."

The guard ran for the stairs. However, before he could reach them he tumbled over, a bullet having passed soundlessly through his skull. Kathryn blew the smoke from the barrel of her pistol and returned it to its holster, before moving to unlock Daniel's cell. "Wake up, my lord..." she quietly murmured.

Daniel blinked when for the first time in days he saw the way out of his cell. Then he laughed. "What is this, Kat? Here to gloat at your master's success?" He asked, too tired even to put a sting in his words. In response, Kathryn disappeared, making the sound of Clarissa's cell his reply.

Daniel gently shook Sarah awake, and the two of them softly walked outside their cell, stretching as they entered the comparatively open air of the central dungeon. Around them, the guards and ministers were taking similar actions, embracing each other in silent celebration. Finally, Kathryn stopped at the last door and opened it, revealing a stairwell. She threw Daniel the keys. "The gardens are up there...you should be able to escape if you move quickly."

The men and women in the room muttered in surprised silence. Daniel checked the keys. They seemed real enough. "Why?" he finally asked.

Kathryn stepped back to the stairs that lead from the palace. "Because I draw the line at faking revolutions just to eliminate opponents...I draw the line at shedding buckets of blood in the name of a God who seems to have forsaken us, in the name of times which will never come again," she cryptically replied.

Sarah stepped forward. "Thank you..." she whispered, "and why not come with us?"

Kathryn smiled wanly. "Because I, unlike Him, also draw the line at abandoning those I love." She pointed to the other door. "Fly! Your guards should be able to find an armoury of some sort in the garden, and then you'd be able to escape this city."

Daniel took a step past Sarah. "Please, Kathryn...come with us. You'll be next, you know it..."

Kathryn, in response, pulled the alarm-circuit. The siren wailed. "Flea! The remaining Roanian Guardsmen are in the other wing, but they'll be here soon!"

The prisoners turned, and with regretful looks back, ran up the stairs except Daniel. "You won't come with us?" He asked her again.

Kathryn shook her head. "You're wrong about him, Daniel Black... I'm in no danger. And I can no more leave his side then stop breathing... please, go." She turned to run up the stairs, but stopped. "Oh, I think this might belong to you..." she handed an Imperial Captain's Machine Pistol over to him, and then flew back up to the palace.

Daniel briefly inspected the weapon, and then put it into his here-to-fore empty holster. Then, with a glance back up the stairs, up to his home, he followed the others into the gardens.

Across the capitol city, violence raged unchecked. Innocent blood was spilled, all in the name of revolution. The young man watched this all unfold on his small television, unsure of the reasons behind it but with a growing resolve that something, somewhere, was very wrong indeed.

Victor Bellize was not a warrior, nor was he a man of action: he was simply a young soul that could not stand by as innocent people...HIS people...lay slaughtered in the streets. When he saw the self-proclaimed Tsar kill that poor man on national tv, he realized that he could no longer stand by and do nothing. His whole life had been about nothing, and now, it would mean something.

He went into the basement, towards the door that had not been opened in several decades. This was his Fathers study, sealed upon his death, the secrets within remaining obscure and unknown. Vic reached under his tunic and removed a small key that fit perfectly into the lock. The door opened, and Vic entered the room that had been denied to him since birth.

He did not leave the room for two full days, and when he did, he had a plan: this "coup" was obviously the first salvo in a massive power-struggle that would soon engulf the whole planet, and only one man had the strength of will as well as the biological imperative to stop it from happening:

Victor had to find Prince Daniel Black.

The golden domes of Tarnaqin's Kremlin flashed in the setting sun. Around them, the city began to return to life as for the first time in a hundred years the Divine Government returned to the offices and buildings of the distant past. Damien looked out from a balcony, out at an imperial city. No more need for that desert wasteland. Let the provincial government take it over. They'd find an easy job of it, once he had appointed them. After all, his falsified revolution had done a good job of summoning forth most of the Anarchistic and Socialist scum. There would be no more threat from that quarter for a thousand years, if he didn't miss his guess.

He took a deep breath from the wind that blew from the direction of the Imperial Archives. Smiling, he turned to go inside. There was work to be done, after all. Rewards to grant, enemies to punish, that sort of thing.

And now that he was in Tarnaqin, he would be able to keep the Patriarch under his thumb. No resistance to his restoration would take place from the Church, he would ensure that...

============

Daniel collapsed against the wall, exhausted. He had no idea where they were any more. It seemed to be one of the poorer sections of the city, but what would he know of that? His men stood on point guard, but he didn't know if they would make it out of the Stronghold alive. "...he's won..." he murmured, seeing the full horror of this situation for the first time.

Sarah turned to look at him, stunned. "What was that?"

"Damien's won!" Daniel laughed, maniacally. "Goodbye, democracy! Goodbye, freedom! Hello, a new dark ages!" He laughed until the tears came, and laughed some more. "It's over...we can't win. He isn't even here any more...what the hell can we do about this?"

The soldiers muttered uneasily, looking around. Sarah stared up at the laughing Daniel, her eyes wide with terror. Then they narrowed as she delivered a ringing slap to his face.

((Heh, you go, Sarah! Just a tag for now, as I really need to sleepie sleepie. But tomorrow!))

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I tire of this every time I turn around. Let them rot."

"Milady?" Serendis peered at Sirithil, who was clearly more than a little irritated. "Roania's... continued cooperation is worth a trillion credits a year to Menelmacar, remember? We should at least try to intervene. Think of it as an investment."

"A valid point... but war?"

"A lot of people will suffer under Damien as well, remember that. And it doesn't necessarily mean open war - some careful covert work could do the job."

"All right," Sirithil mused. "I'll consider it. Talk to the Warlords and your strategy people, and get back to me with a few tactical options. But with this Kajal thing going on, it's the worst possible timing."

"I'm certain Damien considered that, Elentári. Even if most Roanians aren't that smart."

"Well, like I said. Come up with something and get back to me, and we'll decide what to do then. Kajal is over three hundred light years from here anyway - we could get there, but unless we jump in, we probably won't be dragged in. Just remember to keep enough fleets on hand to maintain a stout defense in the event that we are."

"Yes, milady."

The small radio was unlike any communication device that Vic had ever seen. It had no buttons, dials or input devices, just a headset. When he first put on the earphones, all he heard was a crackling static. Wondering idly if he could get the phaseball game on this toy, Vic was surprised when the static turned into the clear, crisp voice of Drey Dondel, color commentator for the local team. As he was trying to understand this, Vic heard a siren scream by his window, taking his attention. Immediately, the phaseball game was replaced with the sounds of a security officer, giving an update to his headquarters. Vic began to understand. His father had many interesting toys, it seemed...

Putting the image of Prince Daniel in his mind, Vic tried to urge the comm device to find him, with his mind. Voices cut in and out, finally settling on the a palace guard who was presently describing the escape of their royal prisoner. Vic was hearing this all in real-time, and realized that an opportunity was now at hand. Pulling on a long cloak that had been in his fathers study, Vic rushed out the door towards the palace. He ran through back-alleys and the darkened streets of the slums that were his home, dancing in the shadows. Approaching the palace, he stopped suddenly, the sound of hushed voices causing him to seek cover. He listened intently, hearing an exchange between a woman and...the Prince! Vic would recognize his regal voice anywhere.

This was his opportunity...or not. Vic was rooted to the spot, somewhat intimidated by the thought of the Prince standing less than a dozen feet away. He took a deep breath, reminded himself that this was for the good of his world, then stepped boldly from the shadows.

With a hesitant and ungainly bow, Vic introduced himself to the startled group.

"Deepest respect to you, my Liege: God bless your safety. Please...allow me to lead you somewhere safe..."

Vic raised his head slightly, and almost swallowed his tongue when he saw the Prince's loyal guards levelling their deadly weapons at him.

Across the Western Marches (or the White Sea, depending on where one lived), the wireless sets stopped playing their musical selections and instead crackled with a sudden burst of static. Before annoyed listeners could change the stations, a new voice was heard:

“Attention all citizens. Attention all citizens. Please stand by for an important announcement from the President of the Republic.” Another few seconds of dead air followed. Then, at last, Todd Andrews’ quiet, conversational voice came through.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m sorry to interrupt you like this, and I promise to take as little of your time as possible, but these are important words that I have to say.

“All of you are no doubt familiar with the land of Roania, a mere handful of miles west of us.”

Despite how annoyed Iansisleans got when people didn’t bother to differentiate between Gallaga, the Dominions, and the Shield, they still made no effort to differentiate between Roania and the other states of the Divine Imperium. A single catchall word was more convenient, if not more accurate.

“Just yestermorn, the Revolution spread to that great land. However, the reactionary forces in that country are strong! They have stomped on the people’s will and cleared the streets with gunfire and atrocity! The blood of the brave and the tears of the innocent water their streets.

“Eventually, the Revolution must succeed. No tyrannical regime can long stand against the will of a people united by the pursuit of liberty and freedom. But how long will that take? How many will have to perish? Can the Republic stand by while our ideological allies are slaughtered by a remorseless and unaccountable government?

“So it is that I have dispatched the Republic’s Navy to the Roanian coast, to provide their republicans and well-meaning revolutionaries with safe conduct back to the Shield, where they might continue their noble activities from a safe distance.

“Thank you for listening and good evening. Long Live the Republic!”

--------

“Here’s the transcript, sir,” said Benjamin Rinehart, flopping the sheet of paper down on Bradsworth’s desk and collapsing into a chair. “The Admiralty just called. One of their ships - the Adjutant - has confirmed that a squadron, flying the Bloody Lyre, sailed from Mansmouth twenty five minutes ago on the ebb tide.”

“The Republic’s assembled a fleet all ready?” asked Bradsworth in surprise.

“The Navy refused to call it that, sir. I have Sir Hunter’s report on its composition... one second...” Rinehart fiddled around in his pocket, then withdrew a crumpled sheet of paper. “Here we are. Erm, one frigate of 4.7” guns and eleven hundred tons - one of the old Delton, they say - six civilian ships of varying size, from trawlers to a good-sized East Gallagaman, and three revenue cutters. Hardly a force at all, sir.”

“But not inconsequential, either. What do you figure - a thousand Weshielders all told?”

“Probably,” shrugged Rinehart.

“If the Ronnies sink that, the Republic will start clamoring for war,” thought Bradsworth out loud. “Damn Andrews for gambling with the lives of his citizens like this!”

“What ought we to do?”

“There’s three options: one, we risk international embarrassment by having Vice Admiral Jones intercept Andrews’ ships and forcing them back to Mansmouth. Two, we let them go in guns blazing - and go down guns blazing.”

“Neither exactly palatable,” said Rinehart as Bradsworth paused.

“Agreed. Three - we support Andrews with the full might of the Royal Iansislean Navy.”

“I - I see. What about sending a message to Andrews - y’know, asking him to back down?”

“Do you think Andrews would back down? No, Ben, he’s supremely confident - or afraid of being shown weak. No, either way, we’ll have to support him.”

“Won’t that be rather like writing a blank cheque for Weshield to act belligerently in the future?”

“Do you have a better idea?” snapped Bradsworth. Rinehart was taken aback. He’d never seen the well composed, eloquent Bradsworth in a mood such as this. Did the reigns of power weigh that heavily upon those frail shoulders?

“I’m sorry, Ben,” sighed Bradsworth after a few moments had passed. “I don’t know what came over me. Please: I just want you to let Fort Jackson know what a bad idea we think this little venture of theirs is. And don’t let them know we’ll be backing it up anyway.”

“Of course, Premier,” replied RInehart quietly, rising to take his leave. As the Foreign Relations Director was walking out the door, he could hear Bradsworth asking to be put in touch directly with Admiral Lord Westergate.

The RIN wasn’t terribly concerned with violating the territorial waters of the Imperium. Throughout its history, the Navy had considered anywhere it could enforce the King’s laws to be fair game, be it in a neutral harbor or in international waters. Of course, her officers had always shown a singular concern for stepping on powerful toes, keeping international incidents to a minimum. Still, there had been a great hubbub a year or two back when an RIN ship had stopped an Effitian vessel crammed with slaves heading for the Golden Quarry, freed them, and had the captain and crew of the Effitian ship hanged after a naval tribunal. The slave trade was, according the James’ Law, piracy on the high seas and every pirate, like every mutineer, had to hang lest their poison should spread. Even if they were foreign nationals or captured in open water.

The Effitian government naturally put in a violently worded complaint, demanded that the RIN ship’s captain be handed over to them for trial and punishment, but the government had stalwartly defended the Navy and in effect told the Pater to go fly a kite.

OOC: Hey, Roania, hop on IRC, will you?

(OOC: Sure, one sec Miss Siri ma'am.)

The Divine Imperium's navy didn't bother to send out a comm. signal. Didn't bother to even send a radio message. The White Sea fleet stormed out from Novaya Archanghelgosk, massive turrets pointing towards the incoming Weshieldian 'fleet'. Above the waves, pocket-battleships crested and roared from the port, rockets and shells ready to launch as soon as the radar picked up. Destroyers and a motley assortment of cruisers followed, also ready to destroy the ships. And any survivors.

But the real threat was underneath the waves. The Drakharn class submarines were some of the finest on the earth. Each held several torpedo-bays, and were specifically designed to avoid most types of sonar. Sure, they weren't the fastest ships in the sea...but in the Imperium's own waters, they would work well.

At the same time, the Imperial Legion readied its own coastal defences. Bombers and fighters across the coast were put on instant alert, but the real defence was slightly inland. The Mikhail rocket system came fully online, and various sections of Weshield and the Grand Empire were picked.

The theory was, that even if they missed their targets there would still be lots of dead Shieldians. Always a bonus as far as the Imperium was concerned.

Damien, however, wasn't as discourteous as his servants in the armed forces. His communication to the United Kingdom and the Republic was blunt, but he did take the trouble.

Unless Weshieldian ships are withdrawn from the Divine Imperium's waters immediately, a state of war will exist between the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan and the Republic of Weshield. Requesting immediate explanation.

Oh, and if his Premiership would be so kind, I have some refuse I would like to ship out of my Imperium. Pickup will be at Whiteport, I will allow...two transports. Get as many of them as you can away from this pure land. They will be in the cages, like the animals they are.

His Divine Majesty, Tzar Damien Alexander Black of the Divine Imperium of Novar Ohan and the Sunset Isles, of Roan and Agua, of Altara and Derricks, of the Free Cities of Novaya Archgangelgosk, WhitePort and Tratorin. Emperor of Zemyla. Protector of the Micronesian People. Sharif of Somalia and Yemen.

==========

Daniel raised his hand, and the guards lowered their guns. Daniel narrowed his eyes. "Let's hear what you have to say, then." He replied, keeping his own gun close.

=========

Commissioner for Public Order Darnye Klynoff inspected the report. Finally, he gave his murmured acquiescense to Project Purity.

The industrial elimination/forced-emigration of all undesirables.

~Tagged

[Another tag, which does a little dance over here and distracts from a nervy redisposition of Walmingtonian African forces from distant Mauritania and Saharaland into Libya (which is, by the way, entirely free to continue being run by the Free Italian government on Sicily, and in no way under Walmingtonian influence, mind!)]

Squadrons of ships of the line! Vice Admiral of the White Sir Kenneth Jones had never heard of such things, not since the smoke cleared over Unsterbank shoal in the Dénian war! And yet here he was aboard the flag bridge of HIMS Prince of Shadoran at the head of Home Fleet’s Second Squadron of the Line, leading Behemoth and Goliath. Admiral Lord Westergate himself was ahead in Gargantuan, with Queen Consort and Titan following.

Six ships of the line, each more than 43,000 tons, plus two battlecruisers of 36,000 tons! Never before in Shieldian history had such a force been assembled, and that was just the highlights. Salvador, Galloquoi, Demeter, and Nike provided the aerial support needed and Home Fleet’s cruiser screen, made up of the latest Elementals, Duke of Dorchets, and Shields spread out around them, and the tiny destroyers even beyond that. Right now, all were cruising at a hasty twenty five knots in a loose formation. The destroyers advanced ASDIC would be worthless at that speed, but haste was the name of the game; they had to catch up with Weshield’s fleet before the Imperium did.

The Weshielders had more than forty five minutes head start on Home Fleet and had put out from Mansmouth rather than Harbor City, which gave them considerable placement advantage. The cruiser Mainwaring and the destroyers Adjutant, Cleisthenes, and Duncan had been shadowing the Weshieldian ships on their entire voyage so far, but not doing anything more than that. The Duncan herself, 1,600 tons and armed with 4.7”/52 guns of the latest design, was more than a match for the entire Weshieldian task force.

Meanwhile, His Divine Majesty’s communiqué was working its way back up through the ranks of the Department of Foreign Relations. Unlike the Ministry of Foreign Affairs which it replaced, the Department tried to pride itself on its organization and efficiency. For being only a little more than a month old, the DFR had all ready achieved something like efficiency; at least it was better than the Ministry, where important missives might sit on John IV MacIntyre’s desk (or Sir Archibald Hughes’, or Lord Inswick’s, for that matter) for ages before being read. Rinehart* received the note inside of fifteen minutes of its being received.

Time was of the essence, Rinehart knew. Every minute brought the Weshieldian fleet closer to the indescribable fate that might await it across the Western Marches. He picked up the telephone to call Bradsworth - and then set it down. The Premier had enough to deal with all ready, and Rinehart knew just how Bradsworth would solve this problem. He picked up the telephone again, and called Weshield’s embassy in Ianapalis.

Damien Alexander Black,

We have received your notice and, while I find your willingness to threaten war overtly appalling, we agree on the gravity of the situation. The Republic no more wants war than does the Divine Imperium, I am sure.

Therefore, I have given orders for my fleet to turn about. We will send the requisite two vessels to Whiteport under your word of safe conduct.

Be aware, however, that anyone who wants to leave shall be taken, regardless of the local authorities’ will. Any attempt to interfere with the orderly and safe evacuation of the willing will result in shots being fired and the immediate commencement of hostilities between the Imperium and the Republic.

Andrews

Out at sea, the majority of the Weshieldian ships - and the RIN vessels shadowing them hove-to and lay gently in the slight swells of the Western Marches. The mighty battlefleet that had issued from Harbor City turned about and made its way through the narrow straits into Troobodia Bay, every inch of the way under the watchful gaze of those enormous gun batteries that guarded the entrance to the Shieldian’s own sea.

((*Just noticed my Director of Foreign Relations’ name is only a few letters off your National Front leader’s...sorry about that; didn’t notice it when I was making up the character. Guess we’ll just have to be confused for a while. ;)))

The sound of the Prince's voice was more fearsome than the sight of the blasters pointing at him. Trembling on one knee, Vic kept his eyes to the ground and spoke hesitantntly in response to Daniels query:

"My liege...I uhmmm...well, I saw what happened at the palace and...uhmmm...well, its just not right, excellency! My pa always said that blood means power, but power don't always mean blood, y'know? Oh, and my radio told me where to find you, well not MY radio, my father's radio, which I really shouldn't play with but since he's dead.."

Vic was confusing himself. He had never been in the presence of such overwhelming power before. He stopped rambling long enough to say what he wanted.

"I know the streets and alleys where the wealthy fear to tread...I can give you safe shelter for tonight, and lead you anywhere you want tomorrow...your Majesty, I swear fealty to you, and pledge my life to you!"

Vic bowed even lower, fully expecting to hear the derisive laughter of the Prince, followed by the sound of his own head being chopped off. The young man wondered whether there would be any pain.

Governor Armin Shaif Haikedra of the Divine Territory of Great Somalia looked over the map of Africa in his office. He wanted to make sure that Libya was distant enough that neither the Free Italians or the blasted Anglo-Saxons would interfere with the righteous expansion of his mandate over the heathens of Abysinnia. He was only too glad to acquiesce in the current demands of the distant Tsar, unbeliever though that man was.

Armin was sure that, after the conquest of Ethiopia, he would be able to draw upon his fellow brothers in Islam to liberate Egypt and the Sudan, and create a new empire...

whether the so-called Anointed of God and his fellow heathens liked it, or not...

~~


The transport frigates were quietly escorted into Whiteport. Radio silence was maintained by both the harbour defences and the escort destroyers as preparations were made to place the 'passengers' upon the Weshieldian ships.

White uniformed Purifiers stood on the piers of the strangely empty port, machine pistols glistening in the light of the midday sun. With a curt signal, strange wooden cages were motored to a position nearby by strangely subdued dock-workers. All the life and conviviality that normally filled the Free Ports seemed to have been drained away.

No merchants dressed in flowing robes argued at the harbour, no dockhands joked and smoked in the shadows. The life of the city appeared to have been drained away.

A woman's sobbing voice could be heard in one of the boxes, crying over her murdered husband. A purifier pulled the box open and seemed to liberally engage in pistol-whipping its inhabitants, before gesturing back to the truck. The dock-workers quickly grabbed that box, and placed it gingerly on the bed of the transport. As the truck drove off, radio silence was broken by the harbour. "Captains, you may send your men down to carry away as many of those boxes as you wish."

===========

Daniel examined the boy, tilting his head on one side. Finally, he gave a nod. "Give the lad a gun." The boy was pulled up and handed a blaster. "All right, lad...show us where to go..."

"You're going, mother?" Maglor asked, blinking. "Personally?"

Sirithil nodded. "You're damn straight I'm going," she replied. "Mornahossë have intervened in Roania in the past, and so have fleets, and it never seems to be enough. Well, I'm going to give these people an intervention they won't soon forget. I should be back by tomorrow."

She pulled the door of the shuttlecraft shut, and lifted off, making for the Gilthoniel, which hovered low over the pinnacles of the palace.

OOC: Man, if Eurusea and the Reich weren't about to invade me I'd be so intervening...

God bless,

The Republic of Syskeyia

Captain Fellman of WRS Equality (once EGS Bahtapur, before being confiscated by the Mansmouth port authorities) couldn’t help but spit on the dock.

“Barbarians,” he growled while glaring in the general direction of any ‘Purifiers’ standing nearby. “Have they no shards of humanity left?”

“I doubt it, sir,” came the reply from behind his back.

Fellman’s skin was nearly as red as his burgundy uniform as he turned to his first lieutenant. “I want every one of those boxes taken, Mr Brown, is that understood? I don’t care if you have to dump everything not bolted to the deck overboard, we’re not leaving anyone. Clear, Mr Brown.”

“Aye aye, sir,” replied the lieutenant.

“Between them, Equality and Vigor can carry more than forty thousand long tons of cargo. I’d imagine that should nearly suffice, shouldn’t it, Mr Brown?”

“Aye, sir, it should.”

“You ought to organize teams to help those longshoremen. I want to cast off as soon as possible.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Brown saluted smartly and turned on his heel. He heard the captain bellow “absolutely disgusting!” one more time behind his back.

OOC: TAG
One can always count on Roania to keep things interesting...

Victor Bellize waited for the deathblow, and when he found that his head was still attached to his body, he breathed a sigh of relief and began listening to the voice of the Prince. Vic was shocked when the One True Ruler of the Divine Imperium not only agreed to follow him, but directed one of His guards to give Vic a gun. He reached out and took the big weapon in his hand. It was much heavier than he expected, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Bowing again at the Prince, he carefully slid the pistol into his belt, under his flowing cloak.

The young man suddenly realized the enormity of what just happened: the Prince trusted him!! Vic had been standing a few feet from Daniel, a street urchin with a large, loaded gun, and he could've shot the Prince right there! Feeling slightly intimidated by the reality of his responsibility, Vic bowed again to the Prince and his men:

"This way my Liege...follow quickly now!"

Vic darted off, the Prince and his guards in close pursuit. He led them through deserted alleys and darkened streets, stopping to hide in the shadows when needed. Eventually, Vic led them to his home, safely hidden amongst many other residences. He led them to the basement door, and indicated that they should descend.

"I'll be right down, Your Majesty...I'll see if I can scrape together some food and drink for you....I apologise for the crappy conditions..." Vic shut his mouth, to late to retract his words. He didn't think people usually said the word "crappy" in front of Royalty. He averted his eyes from the Prince, and hoped feverishly that he had some Dijon in the fridge.

The Emperor smiled as he heard about the revolution in Roania, he was perpetually amazed by the ineptitude of mortal rulers in such things. He knew that he himself would never be overthrown in such a slack manner, in no small part due to the immense difficulty of actually murdering him, but also due to the efficiencies of the redoubtable Internal Security Agency, who had been serving both his and the Empire’s interests for a very long time.

He looked over the table, “well, yes, I’m sure we do disapprove of another fool gaining power in Roania… But let’s be honest, if they get uppity, we can always crush them.”

“That is of course, a final resort…” she said, “perhaps the dispatching of an assassin would be in order?” she asked, referring to the recently redeployed “Divine Assassins,” who had proven rather effective.

“Perhaps, but for now, I think you should prepare a statement…”

Princeps Laudrina Frost nodded, “As you wish Sir.”
__________________________________________________

“It has come to our attention that there has been a change in leadership in Roania, once more. Such realms can be expected to change their heads of state from time to time, and this is not what concerns us. No. We are concerned by the manner of the change. A coup is not the time for a stable change in leadership. Putting down anarchists is one thing, however live summary executions on national broadcasts are not the sign of a stable leadership.

“We urge Prince Damien of Roania to reconsider this course of action, and these alarmingly xenophobic policies, in the near future. It would pain us greatly to have to act in Roania, though we have the means and the will to ensure the adoption of more stable and enlightened policies if we wish. We are sure that with the adoption of more moderate policies, Damien’s leadership will be long and just…”

Damien Black sat in the meditation chamber, his eyes half closed. He slowly extended his right hand towards an open window, high up in the wall. A grey bird soared through it and landed on his outstretched arm. Damien did nothing for a long while except breathe. Then his eyes shot open, and his lips curled in an unpleasant snarl. "She's coming..."

~~

The boxes were loaded on as the white-suits lounged by the wharf, making it clear that the sailors weren't worth their notice. "Pathetic. Scum such as this, escaping justice." One of them spat on the ground.

~~

On board ship, there was the sound of a young child crying for his parents from one of the boxes. He didn't know that that would be one response he could never have.

~~

Daniel Black closed his eyes in exasperation. 'Trapped like a rat in a whole...' he thought to himself, barely aware of what was going on around him. Sarah sat at his side, worried. "Daniel, what's wrong?" she asked, gently touching his hand.

The Prince sighed. "This entire thing... I should have seen this coming. Mother's dead, Rachel is in exile... I'm stuck here. Damien is free to do pretty much as he pleases... and what does he please?" Daniel broke down, burying his face in his hands. "It's an end to the family...win or lose, I can't allow such an event to occur again..."

~~

One of the guards stood on point outside, his pistol hanging loose. He rested his head on a wall and started to drift off to sleep.

At least, until a young woman coughed. "Excuse me, sir...but is Victor in? He isn't in any trouble, yes?" The guard nodded and then shook his head, returning back to his day-dreams.

The young woman's face suddenly snapped in half, becoming twisted and disjointed. The grey beast then leapt forward, grabbing at the guard...

~~

The Guard Captain blinked as he saw one of his men returning indoors, pistol at ready. "Your shift isn't over yet, Rodenov..."

The guard mimed drinking some water, and continued inside at the captain's nod.

Vic was pretty proud the way his cheese and salami sandwiches were going over with the Prince and his attendants. It was the best he could do, for Vic had been barely making ends meet and didn't have much in his battered fridge. He chanced a glance at the Prince, and saw the look of despair in his face. He wanted to help the young Royal, but felt helpless to. He also wanted to show the Prince his Fathers hidden room, with all the strange devices within. Surely the Prince would know what they were for.

At that moment, a muffled alarm came screaming from the room that Vic had just been thinking about. He walked quickly to the hidden door, and activating the latch, hurried in. On one of the tables sat a small box, with a number of buttons on it, one of which was flashing now. Vic pressed it, and the piercing wail shut off. He stepped back into the main room, smiling sheepishly to the Prince, showing him the small device.

"Apologies, your Majesty, my pa was into gadgets, and fer some reason, this one went off. Not sure what it's for, really..." he caressed the small buttons as he spoke, and activated one unknowingly. A green beam shot out, touching the Prince, with no damage at all. Vic jerked the beam into the air apologetically, and as he tried to find the button to turn off the light, the green beam danced along the wall, over the assorted soldiers and attendants. The beam came to rest on the soldier that had just appeared at the top of the stairs, and suddenly, the alarm began to scream again.

The guard slowly raised his pistol, and pointed it at the Prince. As he did, his features altered until he became a horrific shambling thing. The voice that spoke out was horrific, disgusting. "Time to die, Princey!" It burbled. "But I'll spare your friend here the agony of seeing you die..." it pointed the weapon at Sarah, and shot.

Daniel threw himself in front of Sarah, and felt the bullet push itself through his armour. Forcing himself up, he extended his hand and half-closed his eyes. "In the name of the Mother Church, begone!"

The Gheist shrieked and clawed at the air, but then vanished. Daniel collapsed back onto the chair, shaking. "He... he couldn't have...not there..."

“Blimey!” exclaimed one of the ratings, who had not been kept too well up on the situation, “There’s people in these things!” He gazed at the box in amazement as a child cried from within.

“Brilliant deduction, Jones,” called a nearby petty officer. “Keep at work, now! Captain wants these crates loaded as is, to save room.”

“Can they even breath, sir?” asked another rating.

“Of course, Peterson,” snapped the same petty officer. “Can’t you see the holes? Now hurry up, man!”

-----

“Last box’s aboard, sir,” reported Brown, snapping a salute at Fellman. “No help from the ruddy Ronnies, I might add, sir.”

“Very good,” replied Fellman. “Cast off our lines at once and let’s get under weigh. I want to make Mansmouth inside of three hours. Oh, and Brown, see that the surgeon goes around the hold doing what he can.”

“Aye aye, sir,” said the first lieutenant, saluting before walking off briskly to execute his orders.

The Purifiers watched, a pleased smile on their lips, as the ships took off for Mansmouth. "Well, that's an end to that rubbish..." the Captain snorted, fingering a large remote detonator very ostentatiously.

"Sir, I think that the Noddies might notice one of their ships being blown up."

The captain gave a thin smile. "They would, too... but this?" He pressed the detonator.

And an avalanche of rocks started to fall from the cliffs overlooking the harbour, sealing it off. The captain hoped he had also managed to at least crush one of the ships in the rockfall. "Now then...go around and inform the various 'Company' offices that their property is being revoked and repossessed. And do the same to the guildsmen..."

========

Daniel grunted as he pulled himself up. With an obscure look on his face, he turned to Vic. "Can that thing be made more portable?" He asked, in a hollow voice.

Daniel grunted as he pulled himself up. With an obscure look on his face, he turned to Vic. "Can that thing be made more portable?" He asked, in a hollow voice.

He heard the words of the Prince, but Vic was too stunned to move. He blinked a few times, not believing what he'd seen. When the guards face melted into that...thing, Vic had only stared. When the Prince had...banished the creature, the young man had fallen to his knees, cowering in fear. Vic reralized the Prince was now asking him about the box, the strange device he still held in his hand.

"Make it smaller? I..I don't know, yer Majesty. I don't even know what it is. See, this belonged to my pa, and I didn't find out about his hidden workshop until just recently. There's lots more of this kinda stuff in there...and weirder things too. It's all yours if you need it, your Majesty."

From the desk of the President of the United Republics of Tiburon

The Republic of Neo-Tiburon, as well as the United Republics of Tiburon as a whole, will officially remain neutral at the moment to the conflict between the Imperial Roanian government and the rebels who are campaigning for freedom. Despite our antagonistic relationship, conflict between the Roanian and Tiburonese governments is not desirable at this time. However, if any protester for human rights and democracy in the country requests asylum and safe haven, the United Republics shall always welcome the bastion of liberty.

“All reverse!” cried Captain Fellman, his eyes widening in shock. “Rudder hard a-port!”

Equality made a sound rather like a stricken animal as her turbines reversed suddenly. She lurched ungainly to port before the sea, which had been colored a boiling white by the cascading rocks. Fortunately, she had been making bare steerage way out of the harbor and was not a clumsy ore freighter, but rather a nimble East Gallagaman.

I hereby forgive the Company all their sins, thought Fellman as his ship turned and came to a slow stop. She was much more nimble than the average cargo ship, though a proper military vessel would run circles around her. And, like all East Gallagamen, she carried a small amount of guns; nothing too impressive beyond a single 3”/55, but enough to make a pirate think twice.

Poor Vigor, a much older, larger, and slower ship, was not quite so lucky. She had been leading the formation by a good degree, and her captain hardly had time to issue “all stop!” before she charged into the avalanche at five knots. Her hull was badly gashed on both sides, the bow, and the stern, and she filled quickly with water.

“How many people were on that ship?” asked Brown as the Vigor slipped beneath the water.

“I don’t know,” was his reply from the captain, who was busy trying not to imagine being in a locked box as a cargo hold filled with water.

“Engines report all stop, sir” reported the quartermaster solemnly.

“Put your rudder amidships, Collins,” said Fellman, snapping out of his brief reverie. “There’s much to be done. Mr Brown, have every boat, erm, except on cutter, put over. I want anyone in the water near Vigor to be picked up.”

“We’ve got a pretty full load as is, sir,” replied Brown. Fellman just coughed. “Erm, th - aye aye, sir.”

“Now, Robinson,” continued Fellman as Brown exited, “I want you to take that last cutter. Make soundings all along the harbor mouth. I want to know the moment you find somewhere deep enough to take us out. Understood?”

“Aye aye, sir. Erm, sir, what about the Ronnies?”

“Beg your pardon?” asked Fullman in some surprise.

“The Ronnies, sir. What ought we to do if they come?”

“Refuse any offers of help, unless it becomes clear that we’re fully blocked in, which I doubt. Now go, Robinson! There’s not a moment to lose!”

((Because my unfortunate disappearance ruined any chance I have of getting this back up within a reasonable time, I've decided to skip directly to the dramatic ending.

My sincere apologies, and thank you for your forebearance. If anyone has any major continuity problems, they can contact me for a suitable explanation.))

Daniel collapsed to the ground, clutching his side. He pulled his hand up, and found it to be sticky with blood. 'He's actually going to kill us...' the prince thought, shocked. He had on some level always known what Damien wanted, but he had never wanted to accept it. A strong hand lifted Daniel off his stomach by the neck and shook him.

"You know, brother... I sincerely regret having to do this to you..." Damien said, idly, before throwing his brother back to the ground. "Under better circumstances, you could have been one of my highest advisors... Prince of Roan, even. It's just a pity that you decided to cast your lot in with the Anglo-saxons, isn't it? Became a traitor to your own people..." The Tsar stretched, idly. "But now your rebellion is finished, Daniel. You may have killed my Premier, but all you did was save me some bullets. You're on your own, brother..."

Daniel realised, then, that Damien actually believed everything he was saying. He was no mere madman, as horrific as that might be to admit. But a zealot... "At least I haven't betrayed my species... how much did the void offer you?"

Damien didn't even deign to reply to Daniel's question, instead leaping onto the podium, gesticulating to his captive audience. "You're just the first, of course... the actual traitors to the Slavic ideal before we move onto those of inferior races who actually dwell within our glorious homeland. And it will be so easy, too..."

Daniel just looked up at Damien, hatred in his eyes. "Not content with murdering me and mother, you must also kill millions more?" The prince spat, offering all the defiance he could.

"Tsk. Murder is such a... foul word..." Damien strode over to the injured prince, and looked down. "Oh, don't worry... I'll send you to see mother soon enough..." He drew his pistol, and pointed it at Daniel. "Any last words, traitor?"

"I can only hope you die as you intend to kill me..." Daniel muttered, weakly. He closed his eyes, and heard a bullet fire.

Daniel opened his eyes, suddenly. He had heard the bullet fire, but he was still alive... and Damien never missed. "What happened, D..." the prince stopped, suddenly.

Damien was standing above him, clutching at a red patch spreading from over his heart. The men both turned to look, Damien's eyes slowly greying as vitality was sucked from him.

Kathryn stood at the door, tears in her eyes as she dropped her own gun to the ground. "...no more..." the young woman whispered, her voice dead. "I couldn't have taken any more... no more murders in the night... no more death camps... no more perversion of what we once stood for..." she took a step towards Damien, slowly. "Please... if you can't forgive me, my love... at least understand..."

Damien, slowly crumpled onto the ground. His last expression was one of utter anguish, of pain beyond the comprehension of any observers. "I... forgive you... everything..."

And Damien Alexander Black, Dark Tsar of the Divine Imperium and Master of one-fifteenth the world, went to his forefathers.

<<OOC: Nice finish, Ro. Glad to see Daniel ready to assume his rightful place...>>

<Continuance here: http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=363153 >