City of Kings (AMW)
Ghosts of the Incans
The world was changing for Manco Inca, and for his empire. For hundreds of years, the Incans had dominated South America, from the Carribean to the Pacific. Their vast armies were respected and feared. He was their Emperor, the most powerful man in the nation. Yet it had all fallen away, in the space of four short years since the arrival of the Conquisitors. He would assure his generals, and tell the populace that all was well, and the Spanish would be defeated, but in his heart and in his soul, he knew the time of the Inca was about to end. One month ago, he lead a rebellion to recapture Cuzco from the Spanish. Now his messengers had arrived with news from the North - The Spanish were preparing an attack on Cuzco, an overwhelming force armed with muskets and cannons, its ranks filled with traitors, Incans who had allied themselves with the white devils.
He knew what would happen afterwards, it had happened to every Emperor before himself. They were hung, drawn and quartered. Tried for heresy. Their descendants would serve those despicable colonists as puppet rulers, milking the land for them until they too succumbed to the same fate. This was his son's destiny. Even if he could somehow convince his son to flee with him, they would find him. There would be no one left to oppose the Spanish.
Manco Inca stepped back from the windowsill of his palace, stopping himself from thinking about the dark future that lay ahead. He had to make preparations for the Inca's future. It was time to batten down and wait for storm to pass. He journeyed down the staircase into the basement of the palace, holding a key to a secret door only he knew of. It was time to let someone know about the secret passed down the line of kings.
The door swung open, revealing a dark room filled with cobwebs. The humidity of the room was sickening - he was suddenly fearful for the condition of the manuscript written on the clothe inside the ceramic vase. Thankfully it was still safe. The writing was legible and clear after 300 years of storage. It was a miracle. This was the map to the lost city. A city hidden in a lush and fertile valley hidden deep inside the Andes, a refuge known only to Manco Inca's family line. The City of Kings.
He heard a faint puff coming from the outside, but to him it was the percussion of death. Could it be that the Spanish artillery had already arrived in the city? He hurried, opening another secret door in the terribly lit basement chamber. A sack of gold fell out. Pure gold. Another faint puff confirmed his suspicions. The Incas' last stand had begun. Soon the dreaded calvary would surround his palace. He needed to flee fast. As he emerged from the basement as quickly as his feet would carry him into the outside world, the stench of burning hit him like a cannonball, making him flinch. Manco Inca gasped at the sight of the Cuzco sky, dominated by a column of black smoke, to the backdrop of a red sunset, as red as blood. He mounted his chariot and rode through the city. His son and designated heir, Titu Cusi, would become the next puppet ruler and had accepted a crown pension from the King of Spain. He was not riding his horse towards his son's residence, but into a suburb that was more associated with commoners than royalty. Glancing for his target, the King finally stopped, stared at by onlookers surprised to see the panting King in their neighbourhood.
"Pachacuti, where is he? I need to find him. Now!" he bellowed, still panting from the pace of the horse ride. "Where is he? Where is Pachacuti?"
He breathed deeply again, in agony. "I...need to speak to him urgently."
An attractive woman in her mid forties saw him and gasped in shock before kneeling to Manco Inca in respect.
"My apologies my King. I did not recognise you. Pachacuti is in my home. He will come out now."
A young boy walked out of her house, no older than fifteen, walked diminutively out of his homestead, and was instantly given the bag of gold and the map by Manco Inca. The king had calmed a bit, and placed his arm on the boys' shoulder.
"Young Pachacuti, do you know how to ride a horse?"
"Yes your highness, I am well trained in the art of - "
The king interrupted him.
"Take this gold and these rations, and follow this map. All will be explained once you arrive there. Ride fast and hard. Run from the white man. Good Luck....my son."
While any other boy would have been utterly confused by the happenings, Pachacuti obeyed immediately and immediately rode off. It was the King's orders after all. The king's farewell also bothered his young mind slightly, although he couldn't work out what the problem was. What did he mean by "my son"?
[Tag through time and space. In April '03, BG only narrowly beat [unnamed Inca hideaway city] as my nation of choice for NS life (I finally decided that I just didn't know enough about the fellas), this is good to see! More interesting than the usual Aztec theme for native American nations.]
The Quinntonian government looks forward to seeing what is going to happen here. Hey, what about Neo-Achans? Isn't he in South America?
Ghosts of the Incans
Although the Incans fought valiantly, their hand-to-hand weapons were no match for the Spanish calvary and artillery. The slow burning of the city created a plume of black smoke, a stark contrast to the beauty of the sunset behind it. Manco Inca placed his hand on the woman's shoulder, perhaps in a sign of affection, only to have her brush it off.
"It's too late for that now. Twenty years too late."
Her voice was filled with a hint of anger, something that the Incan King would never have heard in an address directed at him. It was a timely reminder that the Conquisators would be the Kings of the land. Manco Inca was shaken, his voice quavering as he drew out his sword and handed it to the woman, who replied with a confused expression. Manco Inca then kneeled on the ground, his breathing noticeably faster than before. He tore a section out of his royal robes and tied it quickly around his eyes like a blindfold. The King addressed the woman by her Spanish name as he asked for one last favour.
"Chayenne. Let me die by Incan hands."
From behind his blindfold, Manco Inca saw Chayenne's figure lift the sword into the air. Like the tip of an arrow, it came down again, into his chest. Pain shot through his body, a crippling and fatal pain. The most painful thing he had ever experienced. Still better than being hung drawn and quartered.
And then all was silent as his breathe left the body.
Ghosts of the Incans
Pachacuti arrived at the location indicated on the map on foot, a day and a half after leaving Cuzco. He had travelled at breakneck pace from the city for almost 36 hours straight and his energy was now fading like a burnt out torch. The horse had died mid journey, forcing the young man to make the remainder of the journey on foot. He had journeyed across a continent. The lush forests that he had become accustomed to gave way to large expanses of grassland, finally becoming great sheets of sandy desert. The flat terrain that was well suited for horse travel were replaced by rocky outcrops that needed to be climbed over. Now he had arrived at last, to the middle of nowhere. There were no signs of civilisation here in this barren wilderness. Was the map correct? In frustration and exhaustion he collapsed into a panting heap onto the sand.
And then he heard it. The relieving sound of flowing water! It was coming from a point just a few hundred metres ahead of him, behind a large rockface. He took a deep breathe to make sure he was not hearing things, and climbed up the rockface with the last of his energy. What he saw caused him to grasp in awe. A lush valley in the midst of a mountainous desert. Stately marble buildings emerged from the green jungle like sheep in a field. He had found the City of Kings. Too exhausted to move any further, Pachacuti ate the remainder of his rations and fell into a sleep.
He felt himself being carried as he slept, and heard a sweet voice whisper in his ears.
"Dear King, we are most pleased at your safe arrival. You will command me and forty-nine other virgins to do your will..."
Ghosts of the Incans
British archeologist Jones sighed in frustration yet again over a glass of scotch in his hastily erected tent. It had been a decade since he and his team set foot in Peru after hearing the "Lost City" myth widely circulated amongst locals. His team was experienced and one of the best. He had tasted success in Egypt, in Babylon, in Palestine. Why not here? Had the Spanish done such a thorough job at destroying the whole continent? Or was it merely a children's bedtime story blown out of proportion? He flipped through the Oracle's account again, written on scrappy parchments he had notated whilst talking to a native "medicine man" in a tribe near the Andes. According to the legend passed down from the arrival of the Conquisadors, the son of the King was taken by the god of the sky to a mountain refuge, where he will stay for a time before returning to free the Incans from the Spanish.
But Jones was beginning to doubt the existance of this lost city. He had flown over most of the Andes using a Swordfish purchased from the RAF several times. The fact that this medicine man had organised a local "Cargo cult" didn't do wonders for his credibility.
One more month and he would cut his losses, Jones thought to himself. Then suddenly, he heard a loud shout from outside his tent. It was one of his team, Christine. She had just dug up a piece of pottery, exquisitely decorated, from the place where the palace basement room once stood. It was definitely of royal origin.
Ghosts of the Incans
Three short days ago Jones was questioning himself and his decision to study archaeology. Now he was driving along one of the clandestine roads built by lumberjacks to transport wood to and from the markets, and stood on the verge of making his biggest discovery since he dug up the Rosetta stone a decade ago. His team were also elated about the discovery of the Royal pottery a few days ago. Christine had taken hour to carefully dig it up with soft brushes. The Mathematical expert Brennan had made the crucial discovery : Faint lines inside the vase were in fact smudge lines from the map to the Lost City, and he was able to reconstruct the map with a fairly good accuracy. As the terrain gradually became stepper and most hostile, the model T could no carry the team. Jones, being the most physically able person among them, decided to leave Christine and Brennan to set up camp for nightfall. The vase would remain with them, being much too bulky to carry. The two of them waved Jones goodbye and waited for his return.
After trekking for an hour, Jones was initally skeptical. There were no landmarks here, no signs of life. It was barren. Thinking that a higher vantage point would be good for a lookout, Jones climbs the fifteen metre rockface. As he pushes himself over the top of the cliff face, he sees the glory of the City of Kings, marvelling at the beauty of the Incan architecture and scared at the group of surprised natives heading his way. Then he made the biggest mistake of his life.
The Incans were in panic. They were in complete shock and anger, and Jones heard angry voices yelling something in Incan. If he could understand, it meant "The Spanish have found us. Kill him!"
That unrecognisable bit of Incan was the last thing Jones heard.
With the NeoSuunists in Peru planning an expansion southwards, it could end up with the secular NeoSuunists going up against fundamentalist Quechua.
Ghosts of the Incans
The discovery of the City of Kings by the "Spaniard" reverberated through the city like jelly. Within an hour, the Emperor, Pachacuti VII, had summoned an "emergency meeting", which was in fact little more than instructions given out by the King, who had already made up his mind and completely rewritten Incan national strategy.
Firstly, the Incans would hunt down and ambush for any compatriots of the slain "Spaniard" to prevent any news of the city leaking to the outside world. King Pachacuti VII quickly dispatched a team of his bodyguards to deal with this. With their domesticated Pumas picking up Jones scent, the team headed by Chief bodyguard Amaru were able to quickly find their way to the location of the archaeologists camp. Being just past sunset, they stopped when they could see the dim glow of the campfire lit by the unsuspecting victims.
Taking a closer look was risky, so they used a pair of "viewing glasses" to spy on them from afar. They saw the two people, one woman and a man, drinking some sort of brown liquid in the warmth of the fire. Their movements were seemingly uncontrolled and incoherent. They were drunk on Scotch. No need for their bow and arrows, the Pumas (specially bred for purposes of defence) would do just fine. Amaru made some sort of click, and the five pumas sped off.
In the campsite, Christine and Brennan began singing "Waltzing Matilda" while drinking their Scotch. The two of them were slightly worried about Jones, but had no idea he would not be returning. On the second verse of "Waltzing Matilda", Brennan suddenly let out a huge scream of terror as out of nowhere, a puma dug it's fangs into his left shoulder, splintering bones. Two more pumas leapt into the air, one sinking its fangs into Brennan's neck, and another took hold of Christine by the neck and threw her half a dozen metres like a rag doll where the last two mauled her on the ground.
Amaru observed the scene from afar. Soon their corpses would be eaten clean, and the team would search their automobile for any sort of map that led them to this corner of the world. Surely enough, in the back of their automobile, was the original vase which held the map to the city. The vase was taken back to the city, and the automobile was thrown into a nearby river.
Back at the city, the King was going to make an important announcement, one that would stir up huge opposition from many quarters, but it was the right choice. He saw it as the best chance to rebuild Inca.
"We stay in here and we gradually wilt. Or we send our descendants out into the world and mold the world."
And so the first generations of Incans stepped into the world, keeping secret their ancestry and remaining loyal to the Lost City. They would be the disciples of Inca, gradually subverting the world to their cause.
Just over 70 years had passed since the sending out of the disciples and the risk taken had been successful beyond the King's wildest dreams. After a few inital tulmultous years in which the gold stockpiled by the Incans looked in danger of running out, the Incan disciples had become some of South America's most successful - all of them had gained university qualifications, and many of them had become attain high standing political or military positions. Every one of them would be considered successful by anyone's standards. The Incan stockmarket portfolio was managed by a secret contact situated in New York, and possessed some $10 billion USD in stocks, with countless billions more in cash and property all over the world. The profits returned to the City's control were over $2 billion a year.
Of course, this was at a price. The disciples who had chosen to marry and produce children were forbidden from passing any knowledge of the lost city to their children, lest the secret was to be spilled. A sleeper network concentrated in South America numbering in the hundreds was responsible for "keeping order".
From the security of the city, which had moved underground following the launch of Sputnik to avoid detection, the recently crowned King Pachacuti X listened with interest to the political upheavals in Bolivia. Perhaps now would be a good time to rebuild his ancestor's empire.
GotI, check your TGs.
Ghosts of the Incans
In La Paz, the MAS (Movement Towards Socialism) party was holding its annual conference, with the usual themes of increased indigenous governance, rural education, and reducing the gap between the rich and the poor. These themes were finding an increased resonance against the current tensions in the energy industry, with small but growing protests occuring almost daily outside the government buildings. The President was preparing a referedum, which many of the protesters had rejected. However, the main reason the party had gathered here was to swear in a new deputy - the previous deputy had just recently retired.
Francisco Inca was the man to be sworn in. From humble beginnings in rural Bolivia as a teacher and the head of an aid organisation, Francisco was popular among both the rural peasants and urban dwellers. He was considered somewhat right-wing within the party and had pushed through several conservative bills in Congress, such as the bills supporting the crackdown of coca. Evo Morales, the current leader shook his handed on the podium after Francisco was voted in without any objections, congratulating him and handing him a symbolic gift.
After the conference, in an email to his king, Francisco told him the days events.
The Incans now largely controlled the second-largest party in Bolivia.
[whoa, tag! Hadn't really noticed this before now]
Port Royal, Roycelandia
"Send someone to Peru to keep an eye on the situation there, Wiggles" His Imperial Majesty Emperor Royce I said after putting down his morning newspaper.
"Someone good this time. And preferably someone who actually speaks Spanish."
Wiggles nodded. "I'll get right on it."
In the meantime, His Majesty placed a phone call to Governor-General Philip J. Fry in Port Imperial, Roycelandian East Africa...
OOC: Nice to see someone else watches Oz... ;)
Lunatic Retard Robots
Ghosts of the Incans
(Brief background of Incan funded charities and finances)
Since 1994, when the Inca treasury finally recovered from earlier financial losses and began an unprecedented 11 years of consecutive double-digit profit growths, much of the surplus, after reinvestment, has been used for charitable purposes. Investments are mainly in equities in various listed companies around the world, although the fund owns a Hong Kong office building for rent, and had underwritten a failed record company in the 80s.
One of the main programmes run by Incan proxies is a rural education programme aimed at developing Quechuan and Spanish literacy amongst peasants unable to afford textbooks. Textbooks are given to them and a teacher stays in the village, whose job it is to educate the peasant youth. The content is slightly pro-Incan, and socialist. Another programme is a "knowledge based" farming workshop which helps farmers increase their productivity.
President Carlos Mesa pondered his options. The protesters were choking the nation with their road blockades and rolling strikes in the name of indigenous rights, self governance, and nationalisation of the country's oil resources. It was to be expected after four and a half years of economic recession which had destroyed thousands of jobs and livelihoods. He sat there and pondered some more. Only a President could be exposed to this sort of pressure. He took a pen and wrote in small writing on his desk a short sentence. It was preparations for a speech in which he would announce his (secret) decision to nationalise the nation's hydrocarbon resources.
As he wrote his speech, he did not notice a figure had broken into his presidential office. An intruder with a balaclava and a shotgun.
OOC: Hm, I wonder what the Incans think of all the Igovian volunteers wandering around South America, risking life and liberty to opine on the viability and benefits of pretty well ignoring governments and borders in favour of out-right socialism.
OOC: Is it just me, or is anyone else unsure how an Empire hiding in the Jungles is managing to make massive returns on investments, educate it's people to a level where they can overthrow a government, have function E-mail and Electricity and so on, without anyone noticing until now... did I miss something?
Ghosts of the Incans
OOC: Almost all of them live outside the city now, in an organisation similar to many cults around the world such as the Freemasons, the Yakuza, and with a degree of secrecy similar to the East German Stashi. The original city lies nearly empty. There are of course the enormous stockpiles of gold that were stockpiled in the city hundreds of years ago before the conquisidors arrive, and I've been deliberately vague about exact amounts.
It's not perfect and admittedly it is unrealistic but organisations like this have existed in RL right?
On the topic of Igovian volunteers, while their promotion of anarchy and lack of government doesn't ring much support and is lampooned as "completely unworkable", their socialist ideals are very popular. There could concievably be some Igovian guest speakers at the MAS conference.
Ghosts of the Incans
The conference had by now, gone onto the third hour and Evo Morales had begun delivering yet another speech, this time on affirmative action and reparations for the natives. Francisco Inca had been sitting for more than an hour and a half, and was no longer listening to his superior. A vibrating sensation from his mobile phone disturbed his monotony, and he found he had recieved a ominous text from another disciple, one in the Bolivian police force.
Military Police sent to MAS conference, warrant issued for Morales and your arrest. ETA: 1 minute. Get out now and leave the city.
Francisco Inca left his seat and headed into the toilets, where he had earlier seen a ventilation duct. The front door would be locked by now, and the arrival of the police was confirmed by a loud noise from the front door and the sudden failure of power in the building.
The protesters on the main road to La Paz were almost bowled over by the arrival of four buses that paid no attention to their presence, hitting quite a few of them on the way. They were filled with men in military uniform, and from appearance, looked fairly heavily armoured. One of them had a megaphone installed.
"Attention - return to your homes immediately. President Mesa has been relieved of his position. Return home and the situation will be sorted."
This understandably had no effect. Their main demands of power for the indigenous peoples and nationalisation of the hydrocarbon industry had not been meet. The riot squad leader whispered into his subordinates ear.
"Clear the road using anything neccesary."
The Imperial Communication Headquarters in Havana picked up news of the situation in Peru seconds after the text message was sent, and His Majesty was on the phone in seconds alerting the Imperial Intelligence Service, and placing a bet with his Bookmaker, as well...
Ghosts of the Incans
(Darn, this story is taking much too long. I might just skip to the bit where I can actually interact with others.)
As the days passed, the truth began to emerge : The President had been deposed by his most trusted, General Albeniz of Bolivia's Armed Forces, one who was most likely sponsored by foreigners eager to protect their investments in the Bolivian energy industry against nationalisation. They were seeking to re-creating the army's glory days, the days when military juntas ruled most of South America.
The decision to arrest the leaders of the MAS had backfired. The arrest and suspicious death of Evo Morales, along with the deaths of dozens of protesters on the main highway of the nation had inflamed national passions. Well-time Incan propaganda linking General Albeniz to Spaniards and Chileans destroyed any credibility he had. Elections were declared, and the MAS swept to power. The last days of Albeniz's life was spent in a death row cell, before he was executed for treason.
The charismatic Francisco Inca, now the President, had announced the nationalisation of the nation's energy supplies and affirmative action programmes for indigenous peoples, as well as increased aid for impoverished citizens. Other policies included a tax cut and free medical care for the poor.
But the revolution had just begun.
Quinntonina missionaries in the area start to contact their organisations at home, as the chaos becomes palpable, and a statement is made by the Council of Bishops, that states that humanitarian aid will be sent into the erea as soon as possibel, the Prime Minister is still investigating the situation before making a formal statement.
Ghosts of the Incans
(OOC: Link to next threads)
Conflict spreads north?
A brief statement porporting to "Thank You" is sent back to the council of Bishops in an address delivered to the state by President Fracisco Inca, in which he also outlined several key policies that would swing Bolivia to the left - taxation policies, immigration policies, education and welfare policies.
Immediate tax cut - first $1000 USD earnt is tax-free
Nationalisation of energy resources
Creation of 'People's Bank'
End to privatisation programmes in national infrastructure
Education recieves 15% extra funding and guaranteed CPI increases every year, emphasis on improving literacy amongst farmers to 90% in 10 years.
Possible currency peg against either yuan or USD
Tariffs on consumer goods increased to 25%
Tariffs on capital goods eliminated