NationStates Jolt Archive

*Reichsburg, Reichskamphen: Cafe Fleur only a few minutes walk from the Golden Tower*

"He has to die. There is no other way around it." Jacques Mazarin said firmly, his vibrant green eyes intense with a combination of cold fury and determination.

"Enough people have died Jacques." Marc Renard said quite softly as he leaned away from Jacques' piercing stare and took his cup of Espresso with him. "Enough people have died in this city over the years because someone thought it was vital to the survival of their 'beloved country' that they be in power." He put the cup down and turned back to Mazarin. "I've seen enough blood in these streets in my 25 years to last me the rest of my life. I watched from my window as the Imperial Guard descended on the Place de Cromwell. They drew their swords and rode right into the crowd. I saw the head cut off of a 5 year old boy..." Renard nearly choked up as the memories of the brutal slaughter of the Republicans returned to him. "And LOOK..." Renard stood up from his chair in the empty and locked Cafe, "Look at the monument to their suffering!" He pointed out the window at the Imperial Eagles atop the Golden Tower which was built over the Place de Cromwell, now named Place de l'Empereur.

"They've all been forgotten." Renard quieted down. "And when the Imperial Guard finds you, drags your family out into the street and blows your brains out infront of your children...you will be forgotten too."

"Too many people have died, yes I agree." Julie Mazarin, Jacques' wife put down her knitting and jumped into the conversation. "My son died in Edolia because that b**tard Emperor said we needed to free them and gain the land. You think about the hundreds of millions of Halladi who died when his Starships nearly obliterated their planet. Nothing but death will stop this man. He has to be killed or he will not stop until the entire world is under his boot or every nation in the Empire is destroyed." Julie stood up, her nearly 6 foot tall figure towering over the two seated men. "My little Charlie doesn't have an older brother now. What am I supposed to tell him...that his brother was murdered by a megalomaniacal maniac and that we are just going to sit here and do NOTHING about it!?"

Renard finished the last sips of his coffee, still not facing Julie or Jacques who were both seated now. Finally, he turned and looked Julie in the eye. "I pray that his death shall be the last..."

*Cafe Fleur, 3 days later*

"Marc, this may well be the most important meeting you've ever been to." Jacques said as he opened the back door to the closed cafe.

"Perhaps." Renard was still rather skeptical of the whole plot.

"Pick up a bottle of wine and bring it in as you come." Jacques said after he had unlocked the door from the kitchen into the main cafe seating area where the meeting would take place.

Marc opened up a small wooden cupboard just beside the door to the seating area and found a couple bottles of generic red tablewine. "Suitable to revolutionary tastes..." he muttered inaudibly, and taking the wine he proceeded into the dining area.

As soon as he walked through the door, he froze, his heart skipping a beat, and his eyes wide open in terror. There were three men in Police uniforms sitting right infront of him.

"Marc!" Jacques shouted to him. "Bring the wine in, these fine gentlemen are with us."

Relieved, Marc moved forward quickly, sat the bottles of wine on the Policemen's table and walked on, giving a quick glance over his shoulder. He still worried that at any second they would get up knock him to his knees and put a bullet in the back of his head.

"Jacques, how the hell did you manage this?" Renard whispered. "The Reichsburg city police are Republicans through and through. They don't want some Frenchified f*ck to be the ruler of this land. When Napoleon took the crown of Reichskamphen for his own, he pissed alot of very important people off quite badly."

"What do you..." before Renard could get the sentence out, Jacques cut him off; "Just sit down for now."

"Allright everyone..." Jacques announced, "This is Marc Renard, he is a software engineer at Environ Technologies."

As Marc looked around the room at the perhaps 12 people gathered, he could tell that they were none of them very rich at all. Many of them were in very cheaply made polyester suits. Off in the corner in wicker chair sat Mrs. Mazarin, knitting.

"Are there any concernes about the matters from last time before we move on?" Jacques asked.

"Oui, Monsieur." a man in a plaid polyester jacket spoke up. "As to our problem of a replacement...perhaps we can replace him with the Prime Minister."

"How about we don't replace him?" one of the policemen chimed in sarcastically. "Death to the Emperor!" He shouted, raising his glass of wine. "Vive la Republique!" The other police started to cheer before Jacques urged them to be quiet.

Renard felt as if he had been dropped into a house of madmen. At that moment it hit him: he would die before the month was out. It was a thought that had entered his mind from nowhere, but refused to go away. He dismissed all of that paranormal nonsense...but for the next two hours of the meeting...all he could think about was how he might die.

OOC: Tag.

OOC: I tag too.

Death was his buisness, and buisness was quite good at the moment. Jekel Slipstream, a high-ranking Dark Argonian assassin within the Deathwraith Assassins' Guild moved slowly through the estate of his victim. There where those within the Guild that preferred the long-distance kill, a single headshot and a hasty retreat. Jekel prefered a more personal method, typically with something sharp.

He was a bit of a fetishist when it came to knives, any shape, size, or style was as beautiful to him as any artist's masterpiece. Jekel was an artist of a different sort, his knives acting as his paintbrushes and his marks as his canvas. His current toolset included a pair of urban Glock knives, a six-inch Buck knife, a Cold Steel sub-hilt fighter, a Gerber MkII, and a Cold Steel combat Bowie. The Glock knives, straight-bladed & rugged, where quickly becoming his favorites. Jekel had one in his right hand, the other sheathed on his belt amidst the others.

Jekel was known as the 'Quiet Butcher' for a reason. Supreme stealth had to be employed in today's world of automatic weapons & electronic survelliance. The .45 Glock on his thigh carried a surpressor, but that was the extent of his modern weaponry. Dressed in black BDU's & a matching balaclava against his already-black scales, he looked like some sinister shadow creeping forth from a nightmare.

Guard three of eight was just up ahead, walking slowly down the hallway past his target's bedroom. Jekel peeked around the corner, his back pressed against the ornate wood paneling...

'He's a big one... Packing an MP9... The sweet spot, or perhaps the kidneys?'

A stab to the kidneys would induce instant shock, while the sweet spot would produce death after a few long seconds. Jekel opted for the kidneys. Approaching silently, he cupped a clawed hand over the man's nose & mouth as he drove the Glock knife into the right kidney of his target. The man's eyes went wide, but before he could release a muffled scream Jekel had torn the blade free & slashed deeply into the man's neck. The assassin kicked him sharply in the back & he fell with a soft thump on the expensive carpet.

The main target was in the room a few feet back. Jekel tested the knob...

'Unlocked... Saves me the trouble of rifling through that poor bastard's pockets...'

The assassin pushed the door open gently, only to be greeted with the sound of squeaking springs... Mr. and Mrs. Target where in the process of making another child. Jekel smirked under the balaclava as he pulled the second Glock knife, then sheathed both. The Bowie & the Gerber would be better. The Bowie had that heavy blade, excellent for breaking bones. The Gerber's blade was dagger-style, straight with a nasty double edge.

Mrs. Target was on top, and therefore a very easy target. The Gerber opened her neck up like a ripe tomato, spurting blood over Mr. Target & the headboard. Before the Mr. could utter a word, Jekel had the Bowie through his sternum & the Gerber straight through the bottom of his chin, into his brain stem. The straight-bladed Gerber slid out easily, but Jekel had to twist the Bowie a few times before he could pull it free. He washed the three knives he'd used that night in the master bathroom sink. Jekel never wore full gloves, Argonians didn't have fingerprints, so he could wear the fingerless tactical kind, which gave him good control of both knife & pistol.

As silently as he'd come, Jekel was gone over the back garden wall with a hefty fee transferred into a Swiss bank account & the satisfying feeling of a job well done. Jekel liked this little town, so he figured he'd stick around for a while. There was a little cafe not too far from his hotel, he'd head there as soon as he cleaned up a bit. The blood on his BUD jacket's cuffs would OxyClean out like usual. He'd considered writing the company a letter praising their product, but had thought better of it. They'd never use him as a TV example...

tag

*Reichsburg: Imperial Palace*

The Imperial Palace, safely separated from the city by an Imperial Guard Base, the eastern branch of the river Sauvegarde, and enormous fortified walls that surrounded the whole compoud, was relatively quiet this day.

After the Loyalist Furvor of the 50th revolution festivities, things had begun to go south. Until recently, Napoleon had been the most beloved Emperor in Prussian history. But the problems that had arisen after the Edolian campaign could barely be set aside long enough for the 50th anniversary celebrations.

For the first time in his reign, the Emperor's approval rating not only slipped below the 80% mark, but it slipped below the 70% mark as well. Only 66% of Imperial subjects polled approved of the Emperor's performance. Some were upset by Napoleon's admission of a Communistic state that blatantly violated the lawcode...others felt that the Emperor had lost his backbone. He had simply handed over territory that Imperial troops fought and died for. He had caved in to foreign pressure in their eyes, and that was an unforgivable sin for a Prussian Emperor. For these reasons and others, the Imperial Nobles began to cleave into two factions. Led by the Prince d'Engen, 52 nobles sent letters to Napoleon after the announcement of his ratings drop and declared their loyalty to their Emperor in the strongest terms. This was called the Declaritory sect. 124 others, called the Party of Silence, did not.

It is to be noted that of the 52 Nobles that reaffirmed their allegiance, 31 were made nobility by Napoleon and 12 were nobility from Allanea created by him when he was King there. Only 9 of the Declaratory nobles pre dated his reign. The Arch Chancellor sent his letter of allegiance a full day after the others arrived...a calculated protest.

He was by no means in threat of losing his crown, but it was quite plain to see that he was in a perilous position all the same.

An hour or so later, Jekel had finished his post-operation rituals & changed into something more local, to the tune of jeans with a black T-shirt & a leather jacket. The boots remained on his feet, minus the mud & grass clippings he'd picked up a few hours before. They where the only things he currently owned that would fit his oddly-shaped feet.

The jacket concealed the paired Glock knives, both held in horizontal sheathes at the small of his back, in his favorite plainclothes rig. Within a few minutes of walking he'd arrived at the cafe he'd been thinking of earlier...

'I don't remember this place being this damn busy...'

Jekel said within the confines of his skull in a rather annoyed tone. Very well, he'd simply have to deal with the noise & the unwanted company...

'Damn my caffinee addiction...'