NationStates Jolt Archive

Biernes, Deasrargle

Princess Daireen, the aunt of Her Majesty, Queen Maeve of Finara, and the Minister for the Interior in the Finaran Government, settled into the back of her state car. This was the first visit of any member of the royal family to the largely Protestant port city of Biernes since the city had sufferred severe damage as the result of a hurricane earlier in the year. The aftermath of the hurricane had been disastrous for the Crown and the Government as well as for the city. Rioting and looting had broken out in many parts of the city. The Royal Relief Agency's efforts to help had proved to be almost unmitigated failures. Moreover, a number of prominent opinion leaders had suggested that the reason things went so poorly was that the Government did not value the lives of Protestants as highly as those of Catholics. Princess Daireen's visit was supposed to help reassure the locals.

So far, her events had all gone very well. There had been a ball and a dinner and a public lecture. All had been well attended by the most prominent people in the city. There had been cheering crowds almost everywhere. Granted, there had also been protesters, but Daireen was used to protesters.

Still, the part of the city Daireen found herself in now didn't look quite right. She hit the intercom button. "Excuse me, are you certain we're in the right place?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I think I took a wrong turn a few blocks back. I didn't want to bother you with it." responded the driver.

"Alright." Daireen said, turning the intercom off. She turned her gaze back out the window. Daireen did not have the small figure as most of the women in her family. She was a tall woman, with dark hair and an athletic figure. She liked it that way. She liked to represent the strength of the Crown.

Then she spotted it. Daireen didn't really think before doing what she did next. Had protection officers been present, as they usually were, they would certainly not have allowed it. Still, in a few minutes, she had leaped from the slowly moving car and begun towards the small crowd of looters around the storefront, aiming to give them quite a talking to. "What exactly is happening here? This is the time of your city's need...a time for all of you to be heroes and yet, here you are, using tragedy as an excuse to hurt one another, to hurt the local..."

Daireen honestly believed that her words would make them ashamed of themselves, or at least that her manner, dress, and rank would scare them off. Neither happened. "Who the Hell are you to lecture us, you saint-worshipping slut?!" one man called out, leaving Daireen speechless. No one had EVER addressed her like that before.

"Your Government doesn't have a care in the world about what happens to us up here!" shouted another.

"She do be comin' down here to tell us what to do after doin' nothin' for us! Nothing!" shouted another man, now reaching down to hurl a rock. It was followed by a, of all things, a stapler, and then another rock. Daireen turned to run. She didn't run fast enough.

By the end of the day, the riots had reached a level such that national forces had to be called in in order to put them down. They weren't gentle about it. These people had murdered their princess, after all, and they were just heretics anyway. But the excess force used in putting down the disturbance just fanned the flames. The riots spread from Protestant community to Protestant community, until the disturbances had become a problem on a national scale. The television news now focused mainly on the ongoing violence, showing images of burning cars, buildings, and even whole streets, of looted stores, of violence between rioters and police, and on the emptiness left in the wake of all of this.

OOC: Pretty much a giant TAG. I assume there could be a consulate in any big city, since their main mission is to promote trade and assist tourists, expats, and immigrants, rather than handle high-level diplomacy. If anything here is significantly amiss, outside of regular reporting errors, I will editate immediately. The following is probably written reporting on the second day of the rioting, or the first, depending.

Through Rain, Sleet, Snow, or Thermonuclear War*
WN3: Biernes

Violence continues in the Finaran city of Biernes. Years of misrule, ineffective disaster management, and tensions between the Catholic and Protestant sects of Christianity have ignited previously limited looting into full-scale riots. Following the recent disappearance of Princess Daireen, presumed dead, soldiers were called in to quell growing violence that now has spread across the nation.

Analysts suggest that heavy-handed tactics by the Finaran military, possibly due to lack of training, contributed to the spread of violence between urban areas. "The local authorities have made every mistake in the book," one analyst stated. "It's a repetition of what we've done at Southport." The Southport uprising required significant active elements of the High Guard [now Ground Self-Defense Forces], and assistance from several Weyrean allies, to suppress.

Inquiries whether the Peace Corps, founded four years ago as a sub-unit of the Ground Self-Defense Forces and tasked with crowd control and anti-riot operations, will offer assistance to Finaran authorities have not been answered. According to the Neutrality Acts, designed to clarify and expand on the non-aggression clauses of the Standard Law, the Self-Defense Forces cannot deploy outside Weyrean territories without explicit permission from governing authorities.

Minority elements in the Distributed Representation, Weyr's core legislative body, are calling for the High King to place the Self-Defense Forces on alert for immediate deployment. "I really doubt anyone's going to be 'destabilized' if Finara asplodes," the High King said when asked if Finara's current problems threatened key friendly states such as Pantocratoria and the Resurgent Dream. She did note, however, that "We've always helped those in need, when they asked." According to recent estimates issued by the Defense Agency, which oversees the Self-Defense Forces, it would take at least a week to deploy the Ground Self-Defense Forces outside of Weyr. "The Peace Corps are much lighter than normal groundside military elements," an analyst noted. "Unlike normal military elements, they will have to familiarize themselves with local customs, languages, and religious practices. Rushing this process will significantly decrease effectiveness. The total time required for deployment of the Peace Corps thus will not be significantly different from that of the normal military."

Much of Biernes has been severely damaged during the rioting and the subsequent military intervention. The streets surrounding the Weyrean consulate are strewn with burned cars and discarded makeshift weapons. Several of the houses neighboring the three-story building, located near the city's business district, have been gutted by fire. Nonetheless, the consulate remains open for business.

"Luckily they [the rioters] don't have thermite," Consul Debbie Mallard said. Sweeping the lobby of the consulate building for shards of glass, she seemed unconcerned about further violence. "We don't have much to steal, as you can see. I'm not sure anyone besides a couple of tourists and businessmen even know we're here." Most of the consulate was evacuated during this year's hurricane season, which caused significant damage throughout the city. The consulate currently operates with three staff members. The local employees, which normally function as the backbone of the consulate's daily operations, "were sent home." Mallard said. "There wasn't sense in keeping them here, when there's nothing to do." Nonetheless, the front desk is kept staffed when the consulate is in operation. "There's always someone looking for a visa, or in trouble with law enforcement."

Thus far, no Weyreans have been hurt in the violence. Finara has not been a significant tourist destination in Weyr, and travelers have avoided it since this year's hurricane season. Due to local government policies, commercial opportunities have remained few. The consulate, which opened last year, is the only one in the dutchy of Deasrargle, and is part of an understated plan to expand Weyrean commercial activities.

Aside from Mallard, the consulate is staffed by two unpaid interns. They are part of a fast-track program preparing potential employees for careers with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "It's a bit scary," one Karina Li said, heading out for food. "The police have their hands full, but we're not allowed to carry weapons, and there aren't any rent-a-cops. I just hope it stays quiet." With most stores closed, and with deliveries erratic at best, she did not say where she was planning to obtain provisions.

Despite the Ministry of Foreign Affairs' recommendation that threatened consulates close up and either move to the regional office or to Weyr, none of the three consulate staff are planning to leave. "Where would we go?" Mallard asked. "There's no formal embassy, even if we do have a de-facto ambassador in residence at Arra, and skyship service has been suspended. We're Weyreans," she grinned. "A bunch of idiots with rocks aren't stopping us." Nonetheless, Arwin Black and Karina Li were boarding up the broken front windows by the end of the day.

It is unlikely the consulate will remain in operation should the situation in Biernes deteriorate, and there are rumors of low-key discussions between Weyr’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs and its Finaran counterpart about rapid withdrawal of diplomatic personnel in an emergency. The consulate in Biernes, like many other minor consulates, is not a formal diplomatic mission. While its diplomatic staff is nominally covered under the United Nations’ Vienna Convention on Consular Relations, they are not formally accredited, placing the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in an awkward position.

WN3: Reporting Anytime Anywhere

*Title borrowed from ZMI's postal service.

OOC: The city is Biernes. Deasrargle is the Duchy. Other than that, all good.

The spokesperson for the Catholic action movement Adeste fidelis stood before the torchlight rally. The cameras zoomed out to show the vast numbers of faithful Iesusians who had turned up at Aquinas Square in the Iesus capital to support the true faith in Finara against the protestant riots.

"Woe to those who have left the faith of Christ! Woe to protestants and all heretics! Shame on you who destroy the faith of the Church!

This violence is the fault of the dire heresy of Protestantism....decay and violence are the unavoidable result of allowing protestantism to live...
Having cut themselves off from Catholic doctrine and drifting wherever the wind of popular sentiment happens to be blowing, everything becomes relative. Sin slowly loses its revulsion.....And before long...even those who have been baptized and have "supposedly" renounced the ways of the devil begin to believe that sin really isn’t sin. That is why the evil put the seed of protestantism into the world! When sin is condoned, it can’t be repented. And when a soul does not repent its sin, it cannot be saved!

Obesity and Sloth are the wages of the reformation! Everylasting Death is the reward of the so-called reformers!
The real danger of the Protestant heresy...both to Protestants and to Catholics subject to its pernicious influence....is the allowing of satan to crawl into the nation...allowing satan a home amongst the faithful!
Crush the heretics! Crush those who would allow Satan a home in your land! Crush those who riot for Satan is in their hearts!
Our Lady, Queen of Victory....pray for Finara!"

Biernes, Diesrargle

The Northern Market was one of the most famous sites in the city of Biernes. Even though Biernes was full of modern shops, this large square continued to be filled regularly with country people come to town to sell and barter. They brought not only crops of every sort but also flowers and country handicrafts, all unique and handmade. Ambra Baertschi, a Danaan mother of four and grandmother of six in her early seventies, had heard that it was an excellent site to purchase some interesting souveneirs for her grandchildren. She was moving from stall to stall, asking about this or that trinket. Everyone seemed quite friendly, aged salt-of-the-earth country people with heavy accents, friendly demeanors, and more Irish than English in their speech."So what do you call this little wooden bowl?"

"Well.." began the old farmer she was talking to. "..rumor has it that twas a..." He paused, turning to look towards the entrance of the market. "That gobshite is up to no good now, he is. A lady like yerself shouldna be around for this."

"Oh." Baertschi answered, turning to look at the entrance. A young man had just entered. He was dressed smartly, if cheaply, in a pressed but worn white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, black breeches, and black shoes with faux gold buckles. In his hand he carried a black truncheon. It was the uniform of radical Protestantism in Finara. Over the next few minutes, more like him moved into the market as well as more casually dressed men who were obviously with them. The Garda and Bangarda went almost instantly on alert, although they made no move. No crime had been committed yet. All of the children were taken from the market most hurriedly and most unwillingly by adults. Most of the women and old men left of their own accord but here and there a lady or an elderly man stayed behind, eager to brawl alongside the young men. The market was less than half full now.

Baertschi moved on to the next stall. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice this wood pipe you have here. My son-in-law smokes a pipe but the one he uses now isn't much to look at. Do you mind if I have a looksee?"

It was around that time that a guard spotted her. He was a young Finaran, trim and fit, with a smiling, ruddy face and wavy red hair. "Beg your pardon, ma'am, but I amn't entirely certain this is the best place for you right now."

"But..wait a second. I have to buy a present for my children and grandchildren. I've never been abroad before." she protested.

"Perhaps you can come back later." he said, putting a hand gently but firmly on the old lady's back and starting to walk her out of the market. "Do you know how to get back to your hotel from here?"

A shop, somewhere in a Midlonian High Street

The man with a wiry moustache sucked on his pipe as he leant on the counter, it wasn’t full or lit, but it comforted him as he slowly tried to give up the habit. The Bakelite radio on the shelf behind him tumbled out a piece of techno music to a steady booming beat, quite out of place considering the décor of the shop, peeling white walls and stacks upon stacks of radios and televisions, most in Bakelite or wooden casing, but some more “current” (to the rest of the world at least) models stood intermittently around the shop. The shopkeeper scratched his head gently as the tune ended and the news began. The bell over the door rang as it opened with a clatter and a young men shuffled in and began looking at the newer models.
The shopkeeper nodded at the young man, as he browsed the models with idle interest. A cool feminine voice purred throughout the shop from the radio on the shelf behind the shopkeeper as he sat down on a cushioned stool and kept a bored eye on the potential customer.

“Reports of the Death of the Princess Daireen of Finara were confirmed by spokesman earlier today, this comes in the wake of looting and rioting in the Duchy after the disaster of a hurricane which swept through the region earlier that year.
The Finaran government’s slow reaction to aid several areas which, coincidentally, house a large number of the Protestant Minority in the Duchy.
The resultant rioting in these areas has also given rise to more extreme Protestant movements gaining force and recruitment numbers as the government of Finara continues to apparently bungle the continued disaster relief efforts in the wake of this natural disaster…”

Midway Plain

Ride of the Valkryies blared out of the tank as the Crusader Mk VIII (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/Crusader8.jpg) hurled off of the bank and landed in a murky water-pit, the two crewmen cheered as the tank jarred as they hurled liquid mud out of the pit, their dull green camouflaged tank becoming a deep brown.

“Gavin?!” Called up the driver as he performed a 180 degree slide and charged back at the long pit full of muddy water as the kettle drums rattled over the intercom of the tank.
“Yes Carstiars?”
“What time is it?”
“Just getting on for 6 PM Carstairs.”
“Put the news on!” Carstairs said casually as he flattened a sapling with the tank.
With a click of the radio the tune changed to the news broadcast.

“…has raised questions over whether the Finaran government is biased at all against the Protestant elements of their Duchy. Finara itself lies within the Pantocratorian Archipelago, a staunchly Catholic area notorious for religious intolerance, which may have resulted in the high tension and actual separate blocs of religious followers in the Duchy, no comment from the Diplomatic and Economics office has been heard at this time, the weather now…

“I say, what you make of that Gavin?”
“Not a lot, just another place getting more troubl-oof!”
The tank smacked into a rock and came to a stop.

Biernes

A few men had stepped into the a grocer's cellar during a lull in the rioting. They were not men many would recognize but they were all well known in specialized circles. Tadhg Johnston was likely the most secular sort of man who could still call himself a Protestant. He was better known as a humanist and a man of letters. He was also known as a man of staunch republican principles. He represented men who were sick of the monarchy and the Catholic Church but had no particular theological motivation.

Crisdean MacAlister was a man of a different bent. He was the sort of man who most would call a fundamentalist and an extreme one at that. He believed in harsh punishments for homosexuality, adultery, atheism, and the like, as well as for crimes of witchcraft and devilry which most others would say were entirely in his head.

For Ailbeart Dalziel, on the other hand, this was a racial matter. A man descended entirely from the settlers who brought Protestantism to the Kingdom of Finara, he believed in a Protestant Finaran settler race, destine to have its own land and its own destiny.

Amhlaidh Cameron was the one man who could bring them all together, the practical politician. He smiled as he sat down on a crate on one side of the room. "So, we need to work out exactly how we will do this..."

"We're really going through with it then? Finally!" Dalziel exclaimed.

"We are." Cameron said simply. "Tomorrow, we proclaim the Republic of Diesrargle, a Protestant country for a Protestant people."

Aby, Kagerlund

The Chancellory of Kagerlund was an imposing, gothic building. On the south side, it looked out over a large courtyard, containing a statue of High Queen Agwene, a number of elegant trees planted in small, raised gardens, and two entrances to the tubes. The courtyard was bounded in by Friendly Ave., a four lane road which was normally quite busy at this time of day. Of course, normally it wasn't blocked off. The whole block was as well as a number of the adjoining streets. The Peace and Order Movement had called organized this march, a call for the Principality of Kagerlund to pass new laws designed to prevent any aid from coming to the Finaran Protestants by way of Kagerlund.

Werner Salvenmoser, the Cancellor of Kagerlund, was a man in his late sixties. He had a small frame and normally had a fairly calm demeanor, one that bespoke aged serenity. Today, his countenance was twisted into a worried frown as he stood at the window of his spacious office. He didn't pay that much mind to protests. They happened at least once a month. However, he knew that these people were widely supported. With a small sigh, he settled back down in his simply but elegant oak chair and reached for his phone. There was work to be done yet.

The following proclamation was formally issued by a collection of men calling themselves the Government of Deasrargle. On the day it was issued, armed men took up positions in the city of Biernes and throughout the countryside, proclaiming themselves the Popular Liberation Army, loyal to the Deasrarglean Government.

We, the people of Deasrargle, hold it to be a certain truth that all men are created in the image of their Creator, endowed by Him with an intrinsic dignity, a unique personality which has, by its nature, certain rights under God. Moreover, we hold that the most vital of these rights are those entwined with his conscience, the freedom of speech, the freedom of worship, the freedom of association, the freedom of belief, and the freedom of the press. We have found these freedoms all denied under the Government of Her Majesty of Finara. Our right to set up our own schools for our own children has been ceaselessly infringed upon while we have been forced against our will to pay tax monies which are spent on schools which teach doctrines we sincerely believe to be objectionable to God and man. Our free expression of our religious beliefs is denied by laws which forbid public prayer meetings, public evangelism, and the formation of private religiously based communities. Our freedom of association is denied when we are forced to welcome into our private businesses and even our very homes not only persons of the predominant Roman faith but even people of more objectionable beliefs still, all against our will. As for our press, our newspapers are ceaselessly persecuted for sedition and incitement merely for proclaiming our natural reaction to these hardships. For these and other reasons too numerous to mention, we do hereby proclaim before all the world, the sovereign Republic of Deasrargle.

The following letter was sent to HM the Queen of Finara and published in every major Pantocratorian newspaper.

An open letter to Her Majesty the Queen of Finara
http://members.optusnet.com.au/a_marrington/ns/achievement.gif

To: Her Majesty Queen Maeve II of Finara

Votre majesté, ma cousine,

It grieves Us greatly to hear news of the terrible sectarian rebellion in the Duchy of Deasrargle. We write to You to offer Our utmost support in this time of need and in the coming struggle, and to offer Our sincerest condolences and regards to You and Your people, whom We pray will not suffer overly as a result of the wickedness of those few men who have taken up arms against Your Majesty.

The proclamation by the sectarian rebels of a so-called Deasrarglean Republic is a threat to all true Christian people of the Pantocratorian Archipelago, a threat to their regional security and their way of life. That a state should be proclaimed by a violent minority who seek to persecute and oppress the loyal majority is bad enough, but that such a state should be proclaimed in Finara, a close neighbour and dear friend of Pantocratoria, is anathema to Us and to the sensibilities of Our subjects. We know that the Pantocratorian people will not stand idly by while injustices of the very worst sort are visited upon their Finaran brothers and sisters, their friends and neighbours, by violent reactionaries.

We pray that You will take strength from Your faith in Christ and in the intercessions of the Blessed Virgin for You and Your people, and that by Divine Providence and Your leadership, Finara may overcome the pernicious doctrines of the terrorist regime which has usurped Your legitimate authority granted by the Grace of God.

By Our own hand, given at Our Palace of Chantouillet on the day of St Veronica, in the Thirty-Second Year of Our Reign, with Our sincerest regards to You, Our Royal Cousin,

ANDREUS
By the Grace of God, Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrator of the Romans, Caesar Augustus, King of France and Navarre, Equal of the Apostles, God's Vicegerent on Earth, et al

George Hillcrest, minister of the Foreign and Economics office sank back into his high-backed leather chair and sighed, he then squinted one eye open at a sound that echoed from his office as the TV monitor purred across the floor to him, the wooden casing gleaming.

“What.” he murmured, not moving from his position.
“My apologies, but you should see this.” chimed the television, before it clicked from the picture of the Midlonian flag to a news channel.

-rargle, hold it to be a certain truth that all men are created in the image of their Creator, endowed by Him with an intrinsic dignity, a unique personality which has, by its nature, certain rights under God. Moreover, we hold that the most vital of these rights are those entwined with his conscience, the freedom of speech, the freedom of worship, the freedom of association, the freedom of belief, and the freedom of the press. We have found these freedoms all denied under the Government of Her Majesty of Finara. Our right to set up our own schools for our own children has been ceaselessly infringed upon while we have been forced against our will to pay tax monies which are spent on schools which teach doctrines we sincerely believe to be objectionable to God and man. Our free expression of our religious beliefs is denied by laws which forbid public prayer meetings, public evangelism, and the formation of private religiously based communities. Our freedom of association is denied when we are forced to welcome into our private businesses and even our very homes not only persons of the predominant Roman faith but even people of more objectionable beliefs still, all against our will. As for our press, our newspapers are ceaselessly persecuted for sedition and incitement merely for proclaiming our natural reaction to these hardships. For these and other reasons too numerous to mention, we do hereby proclaim before all the world, the sovereign Republic of Deasrargle.” The camera then changes to a few images of armed men standing around areas of a city, ‘M.B.C’ displayed in the top right corner in little boxes is hazed slightly so you can see behind it.

With a sigh Hillcrest waves the television away, before lifting the receiver of the black telephone on his desk and thumping in a number.
“Get contact with the Republic of Deasrargle, send a diplomat there if possible to offer our, protestant brethren some kind of support, they’ve been treated unfairly by the Finaran monarchy after the disaster, this is evidently their protestation, therefore we should aid them in any way we see fit.”


Message issued to the sovereign Republic of Deasrargle, and her representatives.

The Greater Kingdom of Midlonia has heard of your plight and the lack of action taken by that of the Finaran government, it is of our understanding that this new nation has come out of the will and protestation of its people. We offer the olive branch of friendship and ask now if you need any aid to help restore the still-shattered infrastructure of your new nation, where the Finarans had failed to aid you, the Midlonians will succeed, we wish for more face-to-face talks, either in Deasrargle or Midlonia, the choice we shall leave up to you.

~Signed George Hillcrest Minister of Foreign and Economic offices to His Royal Highness King Hykar Swadlincote II

Reply to George Hillcrest's Missive

Minister Hillcrest,

It is with the greatest of pleasure that the people of Deasrargle receive your message. However, I cannot but think that it is premature at best to be devoting effort and attention to the rebuilding of our shattered infrastructure at the advent of our independence struggle. My Government is, to be frank, not in a position to provide your people with the access necessary for such a project. However, I would be pleased to meet with you in Midlonia to discuss other possible arrangements.

Sincerely,
Gartnait Weir
President of Deasrargle

Reply to Emperor Andreus

Your Imperial Majesty,

Your message has been a great comfort to us in the last few days as we are sure it has been to all loyal Finarans, Catholic or Protestant. The true tragedy is that this armed assault upon Finara by an tiny, armed faction of her own people has served primarily to render impossible the effective continuation of our government's own-going efforts to rebuild the damage city of Biernes following the unfortunate natural disaster of earlier this year, the very efforts whose alleged insufficiency has been claimed as a justification by the insurgents.

It is in the Christian spirit and the Christian desire for unity expressed at the Second Vatican Council and in thousands of ecumenical projects of cooperation and ecumenical dialogue since that time that we now act to protect our nation and to suppress this criminal conspiracy too large for the efforts of ordinary law enforcement and in the spirit of Christian mercy and clemency that we shall deal with those responsible. Over the past half century, all of Christendom, and indeed all of humanity, has been waging a mighty spiritual struggle to overcome the deepseated divisions between races and faiths. The Christian Church, especially, has been waging a great ecumenical struggle to finally heal the wounds to the body of Christ inflicted by the several schisms which have split the Church, including the event commonly referred to as the Reformation. The enemies now ranged against us in Deasrargle seek to undo that work, fomenting hostility between Christians and seeking to turn an already painful religious division into a complete split between Finarans who until recently were living together as friends and neighbors.

While the rebellion in Deasrargle poses no real military threat to Finara, we would appreciate Your Majesty's aid in assuring Finara's Sovereignty from external threats which might be posed by certain powers who have already recognized, without basis or investigation, the fraudelent government of the alleged Republic of Deasrargle.

With sincerest gratitude and most fillial affection,

MAEVE
By the Grace of God, Queen of Finara, Defender of the Seven Halls, Protector of the Faith

Imperial Monitor
PUBLIC DEMANDS ACTION IN FINARA
Drapeur remains indecisive

Opinion polls conducted exclusively for the Imperial Monitor have decisively come up in favour of Pantocratorian intervention in Finara, with the latest MONITORPOLL showing that 88% of Imperial Citizens believe that the Imperial Government must take steps to assist Finara suppress the rebel province of Deasrargle.

Public opinion has rallied behind the Emperor's open letter to the Queen of Finara, published in the Imperial Monitor and other newspapers a week ago. Since that time, support for Pantocratorian intervention has increased by just over 30%.

The public is now joining in with Prince Basil and the United Christian Front opposition in demanding that the Imperial Government intervene in Finara. "There is a moral imperative and a national security imperative at stake here... Chancellor Drapeur should have acted already, he must act now." said Prince Basil in a doorstop interview at the Palais du Parlement this morning.

Government backbenchers are now privately voicing their dissatisfaction with the Drapeur Government's lack of response to date and pressure is now mounting within the Government party rooms for the Cabinet to take...

Continued on page 2

OOC: slight liberties taken due to not wanting to do the whole “You arrive” posts.

Greater Kingdom Gazette.
The daily political magazine for the Empire.


Floundering Finara

Finara, a predominately Catholic kingdom in the Pantocratorian Archipelago, was rocked to the very core last night, not from another natural disaster, but from a small protestant faction who recently ceased power in one of the kingdom’s regional areas and declared a republic…….

A recent opinion pole showed that the Greater Kingdom’s public were in favour of supporting this new and fragile republic financially, the pole reading at 60% in favour, but only 51% were in favour of aiding the region militarily, or via arms trade.

Rumours were confirmed that the Desrargle delegate would be arriving in Midlonia, we have dispatched our intrepid reporters to the Foreign and Economic Office in order to gain an exclusive inter-

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Hillcrest sighed and placed the magazine aside, it was a brilliant summer’s day and he was sat outside on the sun terrace, looking across at the countryside and the lazy drifting clouds, a single staff-car growled its way up the drive, the swept bodywork coming out of the 1950’s, but the engine and systems inside being very much suited to the modern era, air conditioning and all.

A butler motioned and poured a glass of iced water into a tall glass. “That’d be the Desrargle delegate now, sir.” he muttered in a nasal voice, nodding to the car as two figures got out, one being the assigned security guard, the other evidently the delegate.

“Show the delegate up will you.” Hillcrest replied as he took a sip from the tall glass with a slightly satisfied sigh. Hillcrest had shed most of his more formal and stuffy suit in favour of a looser, lightly coloured shirt. The heat being quite enough to allow this slackening of his own regulations, even his butler had donned a short-sleeved shirt, along with security, who wore their holsters a little more obviously than he preferred, but it was summer and those coats they wore were far too heavy…

The thump of boots on the wooden floor behind him snapped him out of the reverie, the Desrargle delegate filled the glass doorframe, the burly security guard stood two paces back to the right.
“You’re dismissed Bert.” nodded Hillcrest to the gentleman behind, who bowed and moved away.

Hillcrest motioned to the seat beside him, the mountainside casting a cooling shadow over the artificial lake, white clouds and flocks of birds drifting lazily in the heated air.

“Have a seat, I believe we have things to discuss? Something along the lines of things other than economic aid-packets, I’m Foreign and Economics Minister George Hillcrest, and you are..?”

To Her Majesty Queen Maeve II of Finara.

My Sister in the risen Lord, it is with great sadness I read the news of civil unrest in your beautiful nation. The rising of uncivil hooligans against your rightful authority sends a shudder through all right thinking people. Our nation weeps for the horrors carried out by these terrorists.....
The People of Iesus Christi weep even louder when it became clear that these terrorists were using the sham pretext of religious ‘freedom’ to justify their campaign of terror against your government and catholic ideals.

The terrorists teach sedition and error…..Your battle against these terrorists is a battle not only to save your nation but defend the fundamental Christian laws of the Church. Your royal highness has been given the graced martyrdom of being given the opportunity to defend both Church and state.

We must love our enemies, but we must hate their sin. We must love the truth, and teach that truth….no matter how difficult it is and no matter how high the cost.
Our Lord did not found a number of churches: He founded only One. There is only one Cross by which we can be saved, and that Cross has been given to the Catholic Church. It has not been given to others. To His Church, His mystical bride, Christ has given all graces. No grace in the world, no grace in the history of humanity is distributed except through her.

In the name of the Most Holy Virgin Mary and with the full backing of the people of Iesus Christi, I extend to you the hand of friendship at this time.
Whatever you ask of us, we will do. However we can aid you…in any way…we will.
May God be with you in this troubled time.

Christo Duce.
Matthew Iesus.

Arra, Finara

Queen Maeve sat in an ornate oak chair in her sitting room. The young redheaded monarch had only just turned seventeen. Her head was held high, nonetheless, as she listened to the Taoiseach of Finara, the Archbishop of Arra, and the Mayor of the Palace argue vehemently. "These people are nothing more than criminals." Gaithan Baggett, the Taoiseach, was arguing. "They only control a handful of neighborhoods in the area they claim. Most of their people who tried to operate in the open were arrested by local police. A brief declaration of martial law in the areas they do control and we can mop the whole thing up. Nothing would be easier."

"Well, that's just handy." Archbishop Ádhamh Lacey, an elderly man standing near Baggett, said quite dryly. "But there's a real communal problem is Deasrargle and it needs to be addressed. I pray everynight that our separated brethren return to the Church, so I do, but I also pray that, so long as they remain so painfully separated, we can still witness Christian love to everyone, especially in our own country."

"All of this ... this isn't religious a schism worsening because of some failure of ecumenism and it isn't just some criminals either!" the Mayor of the Palace, one Léan Madden and the only other woman in the room, said passionately. "This is treason. These men have taken up arms against Her Majesty's rule as such. I don't see why we don't call it by its name."

Maeve sighed slightly, looking from one person to the next. "Mr. Baggett, we gave you a mandate to head my government because my people trusted you with their votes. We will leave you and the rest of our Government with full discretion to handle the situation in Deasrargle. We trust you will fulfill your duties reasonably and fairly. Miss Madden, I want you to draft a letter to the Iesians for me thanking them for their prayers but politely declining ... no ... tell them that if they wish to aid us, we desire nurses from any nation to aid the wounded and the sick in Deasrargle on both sides as an expression of unconditional Christian love and charity towards our brothers and our sisters. Get in touch with Mother Agusteen Adair. She's worked closely with the Government and the International Red Cross in organizing similar work, although never before domestically. Your Emminence, you answer to a higher throne than ours so we will limit ourselves to thanking you for your counsel. Is there anything else?"

"Your Majesty, we'd like to move the usual meeting of the Council of Ministers up to the day after tomorrow." Baggett said. "The Government intends to have emergency legislation to present for Your Majesty's assent by that time."

"Granted." Maeve answered.

Midlonia

"I'm Denholm Rafter." answered the distinguished looking, if rather plump, older man who settled into the seat next to Hillcrest. "And I was hoping that you might say that. What we really need is the ability to take control of our country. We stand by our declaration of independence. As far as we are concerned, Deasrargle is legally and legitimately sovereign from that date on. However ... we are under no illusions as to the situation on the ground."

New Rome, Pantocratoria

A few hours ago, Labhaoise Laffan, the Finaran ambassador to Pantocratoria, had called a press conference outside the embassy. Now the ambassador was standing behind a microphone, preparing herself to begin. Mrs. Laffan was in her late thirties and experienced in international politics but not at all so in public relations. Despite the proximity, little Finara had never been of great interest to Pantocratoria prior to the disturbances. Still, she began, steeling herself inwardly for the hard questions. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I have called you out here today to discuss the situation in Deasrargle. But first I would wish to announce a new development of which I have only recently been informed. Her Majesty's Ministry for Health, in cooperation with the Sisters of Charity of Arra, the International Red Cross, and numerous smaller charitable foundations, is currently mobilizing volunteers, both domestic and international, to administer emergency aid to the victims of the recent fighting and the the hurricane, as well as those whose access to regular medical care has been cut off by the current turbulent situation. It is to be remembered that the recent outbreak of violence interrupted the regular work of hurricane recovery. This effort will be taking place under the aegis of the Red Cross and it is hoped that the rebel leaders will recognize the traditional immunity of that organization to attack, even in war zones. The organization styling itself the Christian Charitable Foundation, the largest Protestant private charity in Finara, was invited to participate in this effort but declined to do, so they did."

Windy Valley Manor

Hillcrest sighed and placed the glass down onto the table , he then scratched under his chin for a moment before nodding. “I see, the situation on the ground isn’t very good I assume?” he looked out across the rest of the park, a single Goshawk helicopter thumped along the mountainside. He turned back and looked.
“I prefer to get straight down to brass tacks. So, what are you looking into? Weapons? We have plenty of those for sale, to help out. Or training, or other kinds of aid as I said.”

Swadlincote, downtown

The car screeched around the corner as the gun went off, firing back at the sleeker looking Police cruiser behind it, which gave a throaty roar as the officer stamped on the accelerator some more and tore after the small blue Austin Seven as they both easily pushed a good 70mph, the roads and traffic limiting the speed a bit more.

“Bloody Super-Sevens, I thought they banned them from the roads and only left them in the rallies now?” muttered the Civil Protection Civil Enforcement officer as he sorted out his seatbelt to lean out of the window and fire a few shots from his revolver. The Enforcement officers were not sporting the riot gear and “De-identification” masks, instead they were wearing the more common, but not as photographed, distinctive helmets and blue uniform with brass buttons.

The Super seven swerved again as it seemed to follow the Blue signs towards one of the few motorways in the country.

“Oh bugger me, if he gets on there we’ll never sodding catch him.” groaned the driver as he slammed the car into a higher gear and tore after the fleeing car with the siren blazing.

The “Super-seven” sped up the on-ramp as the Police cruiser fell behind, it smashed through some barriers and tore onto an almost deserted roadway.

“Almost” deserted in the sense that it had been closed off to allow a Land Warfare Battle Group to move from station on the outskirts of the city, to head eastwards for training purposes.

The Little car was diving right into the back end of the battle group, a CT-90, an armoured personnel carrier simply span its top mounted machine gun quickly and opened fire, riddling the small car, the driver slumped against the wheel forced the literal dead weight of his body onto the accelerator. Then the car simply splintered in a massive ball of flame.

The gun smoked slightly from the barrel of the Gresley V tank, it had simply dealt with a perceived threat.

The Police Cruiser slid to a stop some way from the scene as the tanks simply continued on their way.

“Well….. Bugger.” simply stammered the driver, leaning on the door frame.

“I know, think of the paperwork we’ll have to deal with now, firing my weapon and having the suspects blown up by the Territorial Army, we wont see the light of day for weeks.”

“I’m more worried about my weak wrist.” muttered the driver as he rubbed his right hand.

-----------------------------------------

The smoke and the echo of the bang rolled for miles, a very dull thump being heard at the Manor House. Hillcrest merely glanced into the hall where a cat had knocked over a large cast iron vase and shook his head.

“Where were we? Aid! That’s right, what kind? We need a lot of details I suppose until it can be truly given Mr Rafter, I am bound by a few obligations at home before we can give out money or even weapons to anybody.”

Finaran Embassy, New Rome

"Have rebel leaders refused to guarantee the safety of aid workers?" asked Virginie Merlot, a pretty young Pantocratorian journalist in the front row.

There was a great deal of enthusiasm in the Resurgent Dream for the Red Cross effort. Within the first week, several thousand volunteers had joined, organized by the Danaan Red Cross, the Sisters of Mercy of Tarana, and dozens of other charitable groups. Among the volunteers were numbered Princess Maria Theresa, Princess Theophania, and Princess Rebecca.

The Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, New Rome

Constantine slinked into Morgan's suite in the middle of the afternoon, although he would normally be in his own office dealing with political business. He used the back door which allowed he and Morgan to enter and exit each other's suites without going through the reception areas. He looked a little dejected, but hung back quietly seeing if Morgan was busy. Morgan was quietly reading a book she'd gotten from the priest the Emperor had arranged for her to talk to several months ago. She was curled up on her couch in a set of comfortable clothes that she only wore when visiting the Resurgent Dream or lounging about her quarters without the expectation of going out. She was curled up on the bed and glanced up when Constantine slunk in. "Is something wrong, dearest?"

"I just have nothing to do..." Constantine complained, walking wistfully over to the couch beside hers.

"So as a last resort you've sunk to visiting your boring wife?" Morgan asked.

"I can leave if you like." Constantine replied, looking even more dejected.

"I was teasing, Connie!" Morgan chided, shifting as he sat down and resting her head in his lap.

"The party's all abuzz with this situation in Finara, the Government looks like it has been caught with its pants down, they're only now just having an emergency cabinet meeting about it, whereas we've been on the right side of this since day one." Constantine said. "But I've been completely cut out of the whole thing."

"They don't think ... they don't think I want ... ?" Morgan asked nervously.

"What's that?" Constantine asked her, brushing her hair away from her face almost absent-mindedly.

"The obvious." Morgan said soberly.

"I've been cut out of this by Comnenus, Morgan." Constantine told her. "What are you worried about?"

"That they think I sympathize with the terrorists." Morgan said quietly.

"That's not it, Morgan." Constantine reassured her. "Comnenus wants me out for obvious reasons and Monsieur has made no particular efforts to get me in."

"Good." Morgan said. "I mean... not good but... I was worried that this whole thing would make my situation a lot worse."

"It seems like every second frontbencher is going to be part of the press conference tonight, but I've not been invited." Constantine told her.

"Did you see the press conference the Finaran ambassador gave?" Morgan asked.

"Yes, I saw it." Constantine nodded.

"I don't think Her Majesty wants armed aid in Deasrargle." she added.

"Of course not." Constantine said. "It's not there yet... what do you think? How do you see this thing developing?"

"That depends on what Midlonia does. Are they insane?" Morgan noted.

"Marginally less predictable than Knootoss." Constantine said. "But there's probably a similar sort of public pressure there as we've been whipping up here, with the Emperor's assistance. Only their side of this thing would surely require genuine military intervention to triumph, so they're probably rushing in where angels fear to tread with a little more gusto..."

"Not the King, though. Just a few people in the Government." Morgan noted.

"Why would the King get involved if there's already public support for Deasrargle?" Constantine shrugged.

"I wonder what Sacker will do." Morgan thought out loud.

"Drapeur is going to be forced to basically adopt the United Christian Front's position, that we need to intervene to support the Finaran Government with aid, material, law and order, and the experts they need to rebuild their infrastructure." Constantine speculated. "Sacker would surely do likewise if she did anything at all?"

"And the Excalbians?" Morgan asked.

"I... imagine the same." Constantine frowned.

"My point is this. The goal of the separatists is to make this conflict about religion. That also seems to be the goal of the Iesians. But, as far as Pantocratoria's interests are concerned, the less religious issues are seen as motivating factors for Pantocratoria and Finara, the easier Pantocratorian action will be in the context of Pantocratoria's current international relationships." Morgan said.

"But the more political mileage to be made for the party." Constantine replied.

"Which is the problem." Morgan added needlessly.

"At this point, I'm sure that only real concern of people like Comnenus is to either force a split between the Constantinople Party and the Socialists and thereby get fresh elections either by Monsieur becoming Chancellor with Constantinople Party support and calling fresh election or by there simply being no possible government which enjoys the confidence of the house, or, to force Drapeur to call an election in an attempt to gain the two more seats the Socialists need to govern in their own right, because he's afraid the Constantinople Party will break away." Constantine shrugged. "I'm sure Comnenus figures that whatever mess he makes of Pantocratoria's international relations in the meantime can be fixed when we regain government post elections. But I think he might be over-estimating the universality of Finara as a cause of public outrage. I'm not convinced that Constantinople voters will care very much to be honest..."

"You mean the way they brilliantly handled setbacks in relations with Aelosia in the past?" Morgan asked acidly.

"Did Comnenus care then, Morgan?" Constantine asked her. He stroked her hair. "Honestly, I don't think the man cares about the damage it might do to our international relations, or rather, that he does, he just cares about getting back into government more."

"Making a mess of Finara and embarrassing and ruining the efforts of the Finaran Church and state seem unlikely to be much help to him." Morgan commented.

"The policy won't make a mess of Finara, Morgan. We're advocating providing aid to them, for crying out loud." Constantine replied. "It's only a problem for our international relations if it looks like we're siding with the government against Protestant rebels only because the government is Catholic."

"I know that." Morgan pointed out.

"So why did you say that we'd be making a mess of Finara?" Constantine asked.

"We're just discussing possibilities." Morgan said.

"I think you're a little worked up, Morgan." Constantine confessed. "I don't think you were making very much sense just now... You might be more upset about this all than I am. Tell me, was there any reason why the first question you asked when I brought this up was whether the party thought you were sympathetic to the rebels?"

"Just the obvious one." Morgan said.

"That you're a Protestant..." Constantine answered needlessly.

"Yes." Morgan said, also needlessly.

"So..." Constantine began delicately. "What do you think of the rebels?"

"I think they're traitors." Morgan noted.

"Even though they're your co-religionists?" Constantine enquired.

"Catholics blew up Armonvale Harbor. Did you sympathize with them because they were your co-religionists?" Morgan asked.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong..." Constantine said, resuming stroking her hair. "I meant, do you think that they're grievances are legitimate? You're a Protestant, do you think that the Finaran Government was dragging its feet because many Deasrargleans are Protestants?"

"There might be some legitimate grievances." Morgan conceded. "But nothing to justify or even excuse this level of reaction."

"What are you reading?" Constantine asked, sounding relieved by her answer.

"It's a book about the Holy Spirit." Morgan said. "Father Guillot gave it to me."

"Oh..." Constantine said, surprised. "Why are you reading that?"

"I'm thinking about Catholicism." Morgan said.

"What are you thinking about it?" Constantine asked. "And why?"

"I'm considering it." Morgan said. "I asked your father to let me talk to someone."

"Well..." Constantine said. "I should leave you to it, I suppose."

"No. Don't go." Morgan said.

"But I'm disturbing you." Constantine protested.

"You're not." Morgan said.

"I am, you were reading something and I've interrupted you to talk about my own problems..." Constantine apologised.

"I want to talk to you though." Morgan said.

"Well..." Constantine said, settling back down. "I'll stay a little then."

Castilian of the Dove’s Wings, Swadlincote.

“Castilian” was never the right word for this place. mused Alamedas Sturm as he walked slowly along the short corridor to the office chamber. The place is far too small, after all, isn’t the main part called the Little Keep?
Two guards in ceremonial red uniforms and white pith helmets stood at the end with rifles crossing the way, they snapped to as they recognised the old man. Scars covered his left cheek and his black cloak flowed behind him, old wounds for an old man, yet he was still known amongst the aristocracy for being his chief advisor.

He bang twice on the door and waited.
“Come in.” came the reply after a few seconds.
Alamedas opened the door and stepped into the office, all Midlonian Oak panelling covered the room, it was broken up by bookcases with selected readings from across the world, a map of the Greater Kingdom stood above the fireplace, at the end of the room was a desk and a high-backed leather chair, facing away from the door.

“Your highness?” Alamedas coughed, his voice was like scratchy old paper.
“Mmm, yes?” came back the voice, deeper and more refined that it used to be, Alamedas noted with a small smile.
“Your highness we need to discuss the Finara matter, Hillcrest is already in discussions with their envoy over what we’ll be doing for Desrargle.”

“I see.” replied the green chair.

“What will we be doing exactly, your highness? The Choice after it all can still be deemed by you if you feel its not in the greatest interests of th-”

The chair spun around revealing the 26 year old Ruler of an Empire, the child in robes had become a man in a suit with a tie held together by a dove-shaped tie clip, his shockingly powerful green eyes still shone with the youth they had held when younger, but now they held the tiniest glimmer of age and experience, a certain confidence over his position. Hykar Swadlincote the Second had been an incredibly relaxed and distant ruler, preferring isolation and his mere nodding ascent to what had happened to Midlonia over the years, it had all stemmed from the trauma of his fathers death nearly 10 years ago, he had had psychiatric help, and it had been a long and tiring process for him to finally overcome the problems behind it all. The man who has stuck by him throughout that troubling time was his “Uncle” Alamedas Sturm, a war veteran of the Uranium War and close aide of his father before him. A duty he carried on with unswerving loyalty to the Monarch’s son, who sat looking at him from beyond the desk. Alamedas smiled faintly to himself remembering the garden where they had played soldiers and hide and seek and-

“Uncle?”
“Hmm, sorry, what?” Alamedas blinked and broke his revere.
“I said I shall await the judgement of Parliament before I do anything.” Hykar was twiddling a pen in his right hand idly, fixing his Uncle with a simple fairly distant look.
“I don’t really wish to get involved in this unless they vote for an actual war, which I would have to sign, and then address the public itself over why the war would be necessary, I’ll allow a secret war certainly, but not an outright one, especially not that close to Pantocratoria proper, it’d embroil us too heavily. We simply have to be careful with how we solve this situation, possibly by illusions, if possible.”

“I see, you mean threaten war should they attempt to take back the prov- erm, Republic?”

“Precisely. I also dislike how they seem to be making this a holy war, Desrargle is being supported by us for humanitarian reasons as well as religious ties, but we have to spin on the humanitarian and lack of competence from the Finarans to justify out position better, especially to those bloody Iesusians. I think perhaps the Pantocratorians are just as worried as us for supporting the Catholic Finaran government.”

“So, what is it exactly you propose?”
“I’m not sure, wait and see and consider the consequences I suppose. 90% of it depends on what Parliament thinks, and whatever they choose to do I have to give the rubber stamp to.”

Alamedas nodded and chuckled. “It’s the wisest choice I suppose, at this rate you wont need me for a job.”

Hykar laughed. “No, I will still need your help, especially over the other items for today, what to do about that thing they’re building in the Fyre sea for a start….”

In Yazmarea

The communist guerillas appeared out of nowhere, running across the rice paddy towards the Allanean tanks, gun blazing. Their black jackets flew in the wind like small capes as they run, Kalashnikov rifles aimed haphazardly at the Allaneans. Most of the shots did not actually hit anything, but one Marine – and then another – fell to the ground in the first few seconds of the skirmish.

And then, all hell broke loose.

The Allanean main battletanks were the first to fire, 140mm canister rounds strafing the attackers with a hail of steel balls moving at near supersonic speeds, stripping flesh from bone with casual ease. Then, a man – a boy perhaps – appeared from behind a vehicle, and leveled two immense gold-plated handguns at the attacking line – and all troops began firing at once.

Within a few seconds, the last guerilla stopped moving. Behind them, the thatched roofs of their village were already burning, the smell of napalm beginning to reach the Allaneans. The boy smiled.

“Good shooting, Mr. President.” - said one of the officers next to him. “You've nailed five or six of 'em damn commies, I think.”

Before Kazansky (for it was of course him) could respond, his phone began to ring – or rather, to play some annoying MP3 tune. He swore as he opened it.

“What? Finara? Where the hell is Finara and why... Jesus Christ. In the Pantocratorian Archipelago?”

The boy's face seemed worried.

“So what do you think precisely I should do? Allanea can't intervene militarily, Viccy. That would... jesus, I'm in Yazmarea now, it's a bloody hellhole. We need all the planes and ships we can get here, damn it thrice to hell.”[/i]

He raised his eyebrows. “Listen to me. I'm not allowing any more of these stupid adventures till we get at least a 65% military budget out of the stupid, patethic, pacifist assholes in Congress. There's no men, there's no ships, and there ain't no money, too.”

He paused, turning the body of a guerilla over with his shoe. “Jesus, Viccy, these rice paddies suck ass. Anyway, no bombing the duchy to glass. Just... issue a proclamation of how disgusted we all are. In the meanwhile, I want you to call the Midlonians. They are likely to want to help the Protestants, so offer them money or something. No troops. Hear me, Viccy? NO TROOPS.”

Elsewhere

We, the people of Deasrargle, hold it to be a certain truth that all men are created in the image of their Creator, endowed by Him with an intrinsic dignity, a unique personality which has, by its nature, certain rights under God. Moreover, we hold that the most vital of these rights are those entwined with his conscience, the freedom of speech, the freedom of worship, the freedom of association, the freedom of belief, and the freedom of the press. We have found these freedoms all denied under the Government of Her Majesty of Finara. Our right to set up our own schools for our own children has been ceaselessly infringed upon while we have been forced against our will to pay tax monies which are spent on schools which teach doctrines we sincerely believe to be objectionable to God and man.

Michael did not read on. He just stared pointlessly into the screen, his mind blank with rage. “Why do these people never learn?! Why do they keep pulling the same crap over and over again.”

He was never a cliché Allanean – he had been a believing Evangelist, and a former volunteer of the Allanean Volunteer Force – the Allanean infantry unit of the Greater Prussian Imperial Guard. It was in the Force that he found God – before that, he was what Allaneans called a P&P boy (party and play). Out went the drugs and the strange clothing, in went the somber suit and the church meetings. Even now, he still wore the Red Hand tattoo on his body.

His two children had been homeschooled – and he knew what the people of Deasrargle meant by “our right to set up our own schools for our own childre “. He could not even imagine a life without that – surely without homeschooling he would not have been able to raise his children in his newfound beliefs.

And the language of the proclamation was... like the schoolbooks he remembered from his youth. Talking about the innate rights of men, their freedoms under God. These people were Protestants like him, too... it was easy to see why Michael did what he did.

A few days later he and his elder son Kyle were on a boat to Deasrargle. They were not the only ones – it appeared dozens if not hundreds of Allaneans began shifting to the Duchy. Not enough to make a diffrence perhaps – but enough that nobody would be ever able to say Allanea did not care about the conflict.

OOC: Tag.

OOC: Let me see what I can do with this. I'll need to catch up.

--

Biernes burned.

The Menelmacari consulate - one of literally millions of such establishments scattered all over the world and throughout known space - was an island of sanity in what seemed from the safety of its walls to be a sea of madness.

The consulate sat on a prominent corner in a very posh and largely Catholic district of downtown, amid a block of structures whose storefronts had been set aflame by rioters. The flames had spread and had caused some considerable damage to the façades of many of the buildings, though the consulate was kept almost jarringly intact by gravitic shielding installed when the Menelmacari had moved in and built the six-storey structure. The building largely fit in with the overall architectural style of Biernes, though there were definite Menelmacari touches to it - the ornate, almost organically styled window-frames typical of elven construction, assorted antennae and gadgetry on the roof more associated with a vastly more advanced society, a wrap-around screen installed on the main corner to show Menelmacari news reports.

The consulate had of course been targeted by rioters. As was typical in such situations, when the violence got going, the crowds rarely showed themselves to be picky about what they burned. The shielding, however, had knocked stones and bricks aside, a few Molotov cocktails had shattered in midair, to no avail save a rather pretty crimson-golden shimmer-flicker across the expanse of the field. Of course, riots move in waves, and this was no different, and the crowds with their signs and slogans and masks and improvised weapons, had eventually flowed on, overwhelming what riot police the government could field, and leaving frightened citizenry and looted storefronts in their wake.

Consulate-General Ithrindion Galadelen stood in his office, speaking to his superior back home, the Menelmacari Prefect of State, Lord Túrelio nos Fingolfin. Through his holoprojector, Túrelio could see Ithrindion, framed in the background through wide windows by the skyline of Biernes, backlit in places by the orange glow of firelight.

"So these Protestants have declared a new republic, have they?" Túrelio muttered. "It's a prickly situation. We've friends who are supporting one side, and friends supporting the other..."

"Indeed, my Lord," the Consulate-General nodded. He looked stressed, and ran his hand through long light-brown hair. "These people have a long way to go if they start out by murdering princesses and rioting through the city they presumably wish for a capital."

As if to punctuate his point, a fire set by rioters two blocks away found a natural-gas tank, sending a low boooom rolling over the city, and tearing the ten-storey condominium above it to the ground in a very dramatic vertical collapse.

Túrelio nodded in agreement. "Yes... about that. MISSION ran a quick search of Elenpalantír telemetry and they were able to catch the actual killing of the Lady Daireen." As he spoke, a side-image appeared next to Túrelio in the projector, showing a car in an alley, the princess getting out, questioning the locals - and then being stoned and beaten to death by them. It didn't *look* like the conventional sort of satellite footage - more like from a 3-d security camera less than a block away - but then, Elenpalantíri were not "conventional" satellites. Fortunately, this particular image - though it could certainly be zoomed in more - was mercifully and tastefully distant enough not to show graphic details of Daireen's untimely demise. "Being the nice folks we are, we quietly leaked photos of the killers to the Finaran police departments and news networks - regicide is regicide, after all - but I can tell you right now what the Lady will want," he added, referring to Elentári Sirithil.

"Oh?"

"She'll want to do the right thing. And in this case, that's condemn everyone. The Finarans brought this on themselves, Consulate-General - but the scene behind you, and the one you just saw, shatters any claim the rebels have to the moral high ground. We'll plead for an end to the violence, of course, and offer a neutral venue for negotiations here in Vinyatírion, but we can do little more at this stage. There will be no substantive aid to either side save strictly humanitarian items. Food, blankets, what-have-you. These riots have largely decimated Biernes and much of the duchy's other urban areas so a lot of people will be suffering - although, to be fair, much of the damage is leftover from previous riots and at least one large hurricane."

"Yes, my Lord. What would you have me do?"

"Just... sit tight and be ready for anything. Within a week or two, we'll know which way this is slanting. One possibility is that the rebels will get their state, Biernes will be their capital, and the building you're standing in will become an embassy. The other is that they won't, and the situation will deterioriate, and we may have to simply dismantle our presence there. Are any Menelmacari in Biernes tonight?"

"Thirty-seven, my Lord. They are all accounted for, fortunately, and are either here or have departed Finara. And what of this aid?"

Túrelio frowned. "That'd be the Prince's area, I think. But he'll probably send a ship and a small MIDF detachment. They'll secure the airport and distribute aid from there, if history is any guess. That's all, anyway, and I suppose I've a statement to put out on this. May Manwë under Eru bring fair wind to your sails, Ithrindion."

"To yours as well, my Lord."

The holo blinked out, and Ithrindion turned to the window once more, gazing out at the wounded city.

Arra, Finara

"We should have asked Gwendolyn to come. Or maybe Jessica." Princess Theophania said as she looked out the window of the Red Cross van at the streets of Arra. Things seemed so normal here in the capital that it was hard to believe that there was such a large disturbance elsewhere in the same country.

"That might help the symbolism." Princess Rebecca agreed. "Gwendolyn is raising funds back home. Maybe Jessica might come..."

Princess Maria Theresa frowned slightly. "The Finaran Presbyterians declined to help heal their own wounded. The Midlonians haven't volunteered to give any actual help. The Iesians haven't offerred to give any actual help, just a typical hate-filled rant, even though Her Majesty specifically invited them to after they said they'd do anything she asked. The Prussians haven't offerred any help. Just us and the Pantocratorians. It's not like we're excluding anyone else from the aid process."

The three young women were dressed in nurses' uniforms, sitting on one of several Red Cross buses taking volunteers from a registration office in Arra to one of several aid stations in Deasrargle. The princesses were not travelling in luxury or privacy. They shared their bus with a collection of Danaans, Pantocratorians, and Finarans which included nuns, government workers, full-time Red Cross staff, medical professionals, and ordinary people. This particular bus was entirely female. The group was being run by a fifty year-old Swiss woman from the international Red Cross. Her name was Fabia Nef. She spoke French, English, German, and Irish. She had spent the first few hours warning the volunteers that, while rioting and fighting had died down, Deasrargle was still a dangerous and reminding them that working with the Red Cross rendered them honor bound to refuse to aid the Government or the rebels in their military efforts. Now, she was sitting quietly, reading a newspaper and letting the volunteers, including the three princesses whom she had never bothered singling out for special attention, talk nervously amongst themselves.

Le Ardenne, English Addition
Beth DuClare and Millions of Amestrians Donate to Deasrargle Relief Effort
By Lilian Borrel

Page 4

ARDENNE- Beth DuClare, millionaire, philanthropist, and activist, today announced that she was making a donation of 300,000 Gold Hobbes (375,000 USD) to the International Red Cross’ Deasrargle Relief Effort. Although strained to the breaking point by the Finaran Governments incompetence and outbreaks of sectarian violence led by Protestant Fundamentalists, few outside of the Resurgent Dream and Pantocratoria have stepped forward to offer assistance to local institutions desperately in need of relief. "It was the right thing to do", DuClare commented. "The suffering on the Deasrarglian streets as well as how various demagogues are now using it to violently bring about their own private political agendas is just unconscionable. This is the very least I could do to help improve the situation there before things get any worse."

Ms. DuClare is not alone, encouraged by the entreaties of international charity organizations, along with a timely statement by the Deputy Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs asking citizens to donate, Amestrians have contributed well over 25 million Gold Hobbes (31,250,000 USD) to charity groups for the expressed purpose of aiding Deasrargle, and an additional 10 million Gold Hobbes (12,500,000 USD) to be used as those private charities see fit.

Many have already expressed their gratitude. "These donations could not have come at a better time and should allow us to dramatically improve our services," said Albert Clavière, an official at the International Red Cross. “We hope that such generosity will continue and that additional donors will come forward to aid us in our noble endeavor.”

New Rome

"...commend that the Government is finally acting to send food and medical supplies to Finara to assist in the aid efforts already underway. It's nice of them to finally follow the lead of Pantocratoria's churches, charities and private citizens!" said Deputy Leader of the Opposition, Isaac Comnenus, into a battery of microphones at the United Christian Front press conference. "But the danger here is that, through the Imperial Government's lack of initiative, the situation may deteriorate even as international aid helps Finara get Deasrargle back on its feet. The Imperial Government ought to be taking steps to ensure that black market weapons aren't being imported into Finara and finding their ways into the hands of the Protestant fundamentalist terrorists. The Imperial Government ought to be offering Finara Pantocratorian police officers to assist embattled Finaran police officers to restore law and order, so that Finarans can walk the streets in peace again. The Imperial Government ought to be taking a leading role in securing our very own region - the sad fact, however, is that the Socialists are weak on security, so weak in fact that they've failed to even secure the Pantocratorian Archipelago itself!"

"What you're seeing from the Drapeur Government right now is exactly the sort of thing you saw them doing when settlers first started streaming to Heregos from Allanea!" Comnenus said. "They're sitting pretty while a crisis develops in our very own neighbourhood, twiddling their thumbs whilst behind closed doors they equivocate, they debate, they pussyfoot around, paralysed with indecision, while the people who put them into office are emperilled by that indecision! The Government doesn't take the threat that unscrupulous arms dealers are going to try to smuggle weapons into Finara to arm these terrorists, and Pantocratorians shouldn't be surprised. The Government also didn't take the threat seriously when several thousand unscrupulous arms dealers, and worse, settled right next to the Gulf of Verdans! They didn't take it seriously until it was months too late and now we're in the mess we're in now with Heregos. Do you think the Socialists will suddenly develop a spine and do something meaningful to stop smuggled weapons falling into the hands of these Protestant fundamentalist terrorists? The United Christian Front, and the people of Pantocratoria, call on the Government to act out of character, to actually do something to secure Pantocratoria's borders, and to do it before it's too late!"

The bright lights of the Peacock Daily News studio were a good deal hotter than a warm sunny day. The heat which came off them was one of the most surprising things for many interviewees, and it necessitated a special sort of make-up in case the interviewee started to sweat under the hot lights. Virginie Merlot, the interviewer, was used to the lights, of course, but her guests were not, and they might have been a touch uncomfortable as the make-up artists applied the finishing touches to their make-up.

"On in five, four, three..." the producer said. Everybody but Virginie Merlot and her Danaan guests scampered out of the shot quickly. He fell silent for the last two seconds of the count, counting only with his fingers as Virginie picked up some blank sheets of paper in front of her and tapped them against her desk, so that the first shot of the interview was the lovely young host apparently finishing reviewing her notes and setting them aside before beginning.

"Good evening, and welcome to the Peacock Daily News Seven Thirty Report." she began. "I'm your host Virginie Merlot, and joining me in the studio tonight to talk about the crisis unfolding on our very own doorstep in Finara are Their Highnesses, Grand Duchess Gwendolyn and Princess Jessica. Your Highnesses, welcome to the programme."

The two women joining the Pantocratorian reporter were both dressed in a modest but finely tailored dresses. Gwendolyn was a young woman in her early twenties. She had blonde hair, fair skin, and a softer figure. Jessica was a sixty year-old woman with graying hair and wrinkling skin. She was a head taller than Gwendolyn. The younger royal wore a cordial smile while her older companion retained, at least for the moment, a somewhat stern expression. They both uttered variations on "Thank you."

"Your Highnesses," Virginie began. "What's the situation in Finara?"

"The situation in Finara is rather complicated. As you know, Deasrargle and especially the city of Biernes, were recently struck by a hurricane. The Government of Finara encountered difficulties responding. A perception on the part of many Protestants that the Government's failures were the result about a lack of concern, or at least of equal concern, for Finara's Protestant citizens led to wide-scale rioting and to the declaration of a republic by a militant group. This fighting made hurricane relief even more difficult. Recently, this relief effort has been taken over by a diverse group under the aegis of the International Red Cross. It is this effort that Her Highness and I are on the way to join now." Princess Jessica summarized.

"How much of Deasrargle is under the control of this militant group?" Virgine asked.

"That depends on what you mean by control." Gwendolyn answered. "The militants do not have effective state control over any territory at all, if that's what you mean."

"Well what sort of control do they have and where do they have it?" Virginie asked, concealing her confusion at the answer.

"Well, they certainly have control of a few safe houses, some arms caches that the Finaran authorities can't find, a dedicated cadre of armed fighters living underground and coming together only briefly to attack targets before melting again into the general population, the normal resources of an insurgent movement which has not yet obtained power locally or nationally. However, most importantly, they have varying levels of national and international sympathy among different groups." Jessica clarified.

"Dozens of charities are contributing to the aid effort, both domestic and international, why is it, do you think, that Finaran Protestant charities have declined the invitations of the International Red Cross to become involved?" Virgine Merlot asked.

"Well, that's actually something of an overstatement." Gwendolyn said. "There are a number of Protestant charities, including Finaran ones, working with the International Red Cross. Specifically, it is the Presbyterian Church of Finara and its associated charities which has avoided involvement. Methodist, Lutheran, and Mennonite charities are all involved as well as a few independent churches in the Reform tradition."

"The Finaran Ambassador, Labhaoise Laffan, said that the Christian Charitable Foundation, the largest Protestant charity in Finara, was invited to participate and declined to do so, as well." noted Virginie Merlot. "Why do you think, Your Highness, that the Christian Charitable Foundation, the Presbyterian Church of Finara, and many other Protestant groups, have refused to help in the aid efforts in Deasrargle? Do you think there's any truth to media speculation that these groups are opposed to the international aid effort because the effective distribution of aid and indeed the rebuilding of Biernes and Deasrargle as a whole may undermine popular support in Deasrargle for the rebels?"

"No, I wouldn't say that." Gwendolyn said. "I'm involved in this work because I'm a Protestant, not in spite of it. I believe this is a real witness of Christian love. But, in spite of that, as a Protestant, I can understand why the Presbyterians are hesitant. The Reformed tradition, as a whole, is very reserved about ecumenism and the effort currently underway in Deasrargle, with the rhetoric surrounding it, has become sort of a symbolic expression for ecumenical feeling, being pushed on the Presbyterians before they are ready for it, in a manner of speaking."

"That seems to be a bit contradictory though, respectfully, Highness." Virginie said. "You say you're involved in this work because you're a Protestant, but that it's the same Reformed tradition which is holding back the largest Finaran Protestant religious community and the largest Finaran Protestant charity from participating in international aid efforts?"

"Her Highness isn't a Presbyterian, Miss Merlot." Jessica said in momentary confusion.

"I beg Your Highness' pardon, but she's a Protestant, so are these groups for which she's making excuses..." Virginie replied.

"I'm not making excuses for anyone." Gwendolyn said indignantly. "I answered your question."

"Surely these groups have a moral obligation to render what assistance they can to the people of Deasrargle?" Virginie pressed, nervous that she had obviously upset the Grand Duchess, but deciding that this might have been a sign that she was maturing as a journalist, she didn't let up.

"I suppose a good many Protestants in Deasrargle are distrustful of this sort of an arrangement." Jessica ventured.

"Are these organisations then engaged in aid activities of their own, if they won't participate in the non-denominational international aid efforts?" Virginie asked.

"Of course." Gwendolyn answered. "Charitable organizations don't simply cease to exist because they didn't join the Red Cross."

"Aid activities in Deasrargle, I mean?" Virginie clarified.

"Yes." Gwendolyn said more slowly.

"And are Protestants the beneficiaries of such activities or do these organisations also provide aid to Deasrargle's Catholics? The international aid efforts are non-denominational both in their composition and in the beneficiaries of their charity, the viewers at home know that, but what they don't necessarily know is whether these groups distribute aid on a preferential basis." Virginie asked.

"These are local community charities in mostly Protestant areas." Jessica said.

"So Catholic Deasrargleans miss out?" Virginie asked.

"You know as well as I do that there are many complex issues involved." Jessica said. "This isn't going to work."

"There are reports in some newspapers that the Christian Charitable Foundation sends Catholics away from its soup kitchen in the south side of Biernes..." Virginie began. "Sir Cyrus Fastonville, Shadow Minister for Foreign Affairs, says that the Pantocratorian Government isn't doing enough to ensure that the international aid efforts which both of Your Highnesses and many charitable organisations are involved in won't be undermined by the rebels. In a press conference today he expressed his particular concern that the rebels would be able to acquire weapons through international arms dealers. Are you worried about the danger posed to aid workers by these rebels?"

"What Her Highness meant to say was that we do think the decision..." Gwendolyn started before it became apparent that Merlot hadn't paid any attention to what Jessica actually said anyway. "There are obviously dangers to aid workers going into a zone where fighting is ongoing."

"Do you think the Pantocratorian Government, and other governments, should be doing more to ensure the safety of international aid workers?" Virginie asked.

"Not at the cost of militarising the program or in any way undermining its absolute neutrality." Jessica said.

"Its neutrality?" Virginie asked.

"Yes." Jessica said. "The neutrality of the International Red Cross between combatants is sacrosanct, as you know."

"Of course." Virginie nodded. "We're almost out of time, Your Highnesses, if the viewers at home want to help the International Red Cross in its efforts in Deasrargle, what can they do?"

"They can volunteer to go themselves, of course. They can donate money. They can volunteer time locally, organizing or collecting funds. Or they can do a variety of other things. They can contact their local Red Cross chapter for details." Gwendolyn said.

"And we're putting the national hotline for the Pantocratorian Red Cross on the screen now for them to call to find out more. Your Highnesses, thank you so much for being our guests this evening." Virginie said, wrapping up.

"Thank you for having us." Gwendolyn answered.

"I hope we've been able to explain the effort to your satisfaction." Jessica said more coldly.

Lights flashed on the screen and a chime began as a clock-tower faded into view, the letters “M.B.C News” appeared at the bottom of the screen and a voice started speaking in a calm and flat accent.

“Its 12 o’clock and this is MBC News.” The clock chimes as it hit’s the 12 o’clock position.

“Today’s top stories.” Says the voice again as the Bell chimes the first note.

“Thieves rampage in come-uppance incident.”
Picture of a “Super Severn” roaring past and up onto a motorway before a dull “thump” and an explosion is heard.

-Bong-

“Machi-Pagans, what are they?”
A group of people decked in oily clothes dance and clap around an altar made of car, tractor and other machinery parts.

-Bong-

“And our main story tonight…”
The screen cuts to a militiaman firing a weapon down a street before shoving the camera man aside as he flees the scene.
“…Floundering Finara devolves into more violence as the Finarans and the Pantocratorians seem to stand idly by and do little but throw aid at the situation, is it too little too late? Or is a harder method needed?”

The “clock” bongs one last time before zooming into a studio in a tasteful deep blue where a man sits behind a desk.

“Good day, I am Jonathan Paxton and I am your newsreader for this Noon News Program.” he takes a sip of water and straightens out his notes in a typically newsreader style.

“Finara and its current rebelling province of Deasrargle is thrown into the public light today as we now enter another week of rioting and fighting, currently the province has declared itself as a republic, a move which so far is only really recognised by the Greater Kingdom. A move which critics have called quote “Absolutely ludicrous” due to the nature of Desrargle actually being in a near-total state of anarchy, for a closer look we sent our Pantocratorian Archipelago Correspondent Chris Fields into Desrargle who is currently on the outskirts of Biernes and is joining us live now, Chris can you hear me?”

There’s a few seconds of delay as the sound filters through, a youngish-looking man is standing on top of a building roof and nods vigorously.

“That’s right Jonathan, I’m on the outskirts of Biernes near to the main Red Cross centre here, its been quite an intense couple of days with the riots continuing against the remaining Police force in Biernes itse-”
An explosion goes off behind him which belches some flame and smoke into the sky.

Fields turns quickly to look, then dives for cover as chunks of brick and stone come pelting down, the sound man is hit and the giant fluffy microphone tumbles into view, a cry from behind the camera for a medic is heard as the chunks patter down and they drag the soundman, and the microphone into a stairwell, a Red Cross volunteer comes running over as the sound man is dragged down the stairs and handed over to the woman. “He’s got a concussion, he’ll be ok if we can get him through to the ward room.” a couple more volunteers come into shot and drag the limp form of the soundman away.

“Chris, CHRIS, do the rest of the story!” hisses a voice from the hanging out earpiece on Field’s head, he stuffs is back in and grabs hold of the fluffy microphone and yells into it, it crackles at random.

“What we just s- was pro-ly an attack by the gr- that has been targeting -ous Finaran government tar-s for the duration of the rioting, its very -rd to see what has -en targeted, but it was probably a government structure of some form, as said we -nnot see and there are no officials nea-” the sound whites out for a few seconds. “-so we cant say what has actually happened, but you have seen an explosion within Biernes itself, now these attacks have calmed down, but as you just saw, whatever groups are out there are still partly active, ev- its a small hard-core grou- in the previo- days we had seen more attacks like thi- but as the -oting has calmed down, so have these kinds of attacks, probably due to the la- of large crowds for them to melt into, Christopher Fields, reporting for -C News.”

Jonathon nodded. “Thank you Chris Fields, and apologies for the technical difficulties seen in the broadcast. Now we move on to the debate currently raging on in Parliament over the Deasrargle situation and ‘Floundering Finara’ and what exactly should be done about it.”

The picture cuts to the wooden and green panelling of the House of Commons in the parliament building in Swadlincote, where nearly 300 Members are currently crowded in and around “The line” of the floor itself, Benjamin Musotana is standing at the desk and is speaking, the sound abruptly cuts in.

“-hich is why I believe we should support the Republic with whatever help we can hand to them.” barks out the bullish voice of the bald stockily built man, a bunch of cheers and boos follows him as he sits back down, then a hushed silence as the opposition, the Communist-Labour front, a combined party stands up, a tall thin man with a watery moustache and a soft voice that carries around the room, he coughs before he speaks.

“Ahem. Be that as it may, are there not more pressing issues at home and at hand? The scandal and accusations of corruption .” jeering and booing from moving onto comparatively minor things erupts from the Nationalistic Party and Liberal delegates at the CLF, the opposition leader holds up his hands.

“Very well, then I will say this instead.” he sighs and fixes Musotana with a steely gaze. “The Midlonian people are not all behind the present government in their cases for aiding Deasrargle in the full, ‘in the full’ would suggest actual Military personnel and equipment at risk, we cannot risk such operations so close to Pantocratoria proper, its their back-yard after all, we’re also so far the only nation in the entire world that currently recognises the so-called “Desrargle Republic” which doesn’t even have a fixed territory, or even if it does ability to control said territory. Without resulting to actual military intervention, how are we meant to help them consolidate their position?” he sits back down to some boos and clapping from the other members.

Musotana stands back up and nods.
“I propose we sell them the means to do so, training and weapons to ensure they can hold their territory and ensure law and order can be restored, these riots are caused by Finara’s inability to act, so they shall have to have somebody else act for them, its that simple.” there’s a number of cheers from the seats around the room as he sits back down, the screen cuts back to the newsreader.

“Now, on a religious note, many people have been questioning what exactly is a Machi-Pagan? We go now to Thomas Law in Maidavale to find out.”

In the White House

When the members of the Cabinet arrived in the Presidential office, Kazansky was waiting for them there. He was sitting with his legs on the table, and grinning broadly. And given the President of the United States had no control of his facial expression – his feelings reflected directly on his face – Victoria Sheshet realized her boss must be genuinely happy.

“Good day, everybody!” - the President cheered the Cabinet. “I believe I have a wonderful solution for the problem we are facing today.”

“Uhm...” - blinked Victoria. “Are you not supposed to... consult us?”

“Not necessarily. I'm to give you instructions. The consulting bit is entirely optional – especially in your case, Viccy.”

Viccy gasped, and just stood there with her mouth open.

“Now, as to our problem. I found a simple solution... for the Finara situation.”

“A simple...” - Viccy stuttered.

“Clearly, the first to thing to do was identify the problem.” - he took out his black marker and wrote on the whiteboard one word Finara.

“But... Mr. President, its' a complex issue... you know there are no simple...”

“See, Viccy, this is why I don't listen to you. As someone famous had said, there are simple answers, even though there are no easy ones. Anyway, Finara's government is the answer. And as the leader of the Allanean government, I believe I have at hand what is a start for a hopefully peaceful solution.”

“What is the solution?”

“Give me my laptop and webcam. I'm going to make an official address... going to post it on my blog, too.”

Within a few minutes, the world was treated to an image of a smiling boy in a black shirt, wiping his glasses as he started the address.

Friends! Freemen! Allaneans!

You probably already realize what I intend to talk to you about. I would like to talk to you about the crisis in Deasrargle. As you already know from the newspapers and the Internet, a group of people in a nation called Finara, having been oppressed by their government, denied their basic rights - I quote here from their very Declaration of Independence - 'by laws which forbid public prayer meetings, public evangelism, and the formation of private religiously based communities'.

I ask you, Freemen of Allanea to imagine that a foe would come to your nation – that would prohibit you from forming a minyan, or taking the eucharist, or living together with people of your faith. We all – Jews, Christians, or Branch Davididans – would rise up like one, fighting the evil oppressors, until either they were driven from our land or we all died to the last. I know – we did this before.

But if these offenses against God and man were not enough, here is more! They write – the poor oppressed souls - 'Our right to set up our own schools for our own children has been ceaselessly infringed upon while we have been forced against our will to pay tax monies which are spent on schools which teach doctrines we sincerely believe to be objectionable'. Even the Sentient Peoples occupation, Allaneans had reserved the ability to homeschool and to send their cihldren to private education. It was that ability that saved Allanean culture.

Now imagine – someone would come to your house and rip your child from your hands, declaring that they owned your child, that they would henceforth educate it as they wished – that your only right was to pay for whatever education they chose to give him. Imagine now you could not even complain – the very newspapers are censored by your enemies. What would you do? I know what you would do, because you're Allaneans. You would meet these people at the doors of your homes with shot and shell, and use their bodies to give your children anatomy lessons.

And this is precisely what the brave people in Deasrargle are doing – well, save for the anatomy lessons part.

Normally, the proper reaction for Allanea would be to help these people – to sweep Finara with thousands of Marines and troops, to slaughter the Finaran leadership and to put every Finaran government office to the torch and hang their officials off lamp posts. Currently, due to the situation in Yazmarea and Syskeiya we cannot do this. I am sorry.

I can do something else for the valiant people of Deasrargle. I hereby withdraw official Allanean recognition from Finara – as far as I am concerned, their government has as much legitimacy as a band of homicidal maniacs and control freaks. Further, I extend the recognition of the United States of Allanea to the Republic of Deasrargle. So far, it's all we can do, but I promise you – the Allanean Federal government will try to do everything in it's capability to aid Deasrargle.

To our Deasrargle brothers I say: You can download plans to make a gun from the Internet – I'll post the links on my blog later – you can make your own ammo and missiles. But bravery, integrity, spine, you can't made in the best factory in the world. He who has bravery, integrity, spine, will always prevail in the long run. It's those things that are the most important strategic assets. Guard them at all costs. Never give up, never give in, never compromise with your enemy.

This is all, my friends.May God bless Deasrargle.

And may God continue to bless Allanea.

The broadcast ended, Alexander Kazansky folded the laptop and looked up at Sheshet. “Now, Victoria, you get to do stuff. I want you to talk to the Midlonians, figure out if they'll accept our cooperation in this matter. We'll happily provide funds and such... and I understand volunteers are already moving in that direction.”

“I.. see, Sir.”

“Go for it, then.”

Fifteen minutes later, a silvery International CXT tore out of the White House parking lot and made way towards the Midlonian embassy in Liberty-City at high speed.

“Christian love knows no barriers. We are called to love our friend and foe alike, thus in the finest tradition of the Evangelium Vitae I send forth our heroic volunteers to undertake the works of Christian charity. Strife and Martyrdom may await them, but whatever happens….I entrust them to your care. They are apostles in a difficult world but shall give their all to help you and your people.”
Matthew Iesus. Letter the Finara government.

After much preparation and many letters sent between the two governments, a medical section eventually departed from Iesus Christi to Finara.
Forty nurses accompanied ten doctors. Some nurses were from religious congregations, but for the most part the medical section was a secular movement. Each volunteer was dressed in the standard olive drape uniforms of the Iesus medical corps and equipped with the usual paraphernalia for such an expedition.
Amongst the medical personnels nervousness of leaving the Reich for the first time, was an air of anticipation about working with like the Red Cross, Mother Agusteen Adair and other like minded people.
“Comrades! We are Pilgrims on a great mission! Pray that we will not be found wanting!” Doctor John-Paul Neri spoke with the confidence of someone even command personally by Matthew Iesus “Our Lady of Victory, pray for us all”

Imperial Monitor
DANAAN PRINCESS: "AS A PROTESTANT, I CAN UNDERSTAND WHY THE PRESBYTERIANS ARE HESITANT"
Grand Duchess Gwendolyn, Danaan High King's sister, makes excuses for Deasrargle's dithering Protestant charities
On a live televised interview last night on Peacock Daily News, Grand Duchess Gwendolyn ni Cunedda, Princess of Kuldiga, and sister of High King Owain of the Resurgent Dream and Princess Morgan ni Cunedda, wife of the Emperor's second son, Prince Constantine, attempted to explain away the fact that Deasrargle's largest Protestant groups have refused to assist in international aid efforts.

Grand Duchess Gwendolyn and Princess Jessica looked increasingly uncomfortable during the interview when they were confronted with evidence, which the interviewer failed to source specifically from the Imperial Monitor when she referred to "some newspapers", that these Protestant charities and religious groups were refusing aid to Deasrargle's Catholics.

A spokesperson for Their Highnesses expressed their dissatisfaction with the Peacock Daily News Seven Thirty Report and with interviewer Virginie Merlot in particular, accusing the programme of irresponsible journalism and substituting ill-informed public sentiment for fact. The programme's producers have refused to comment.

Continued on page 2

Imperial Daily Herald
SHADOW FOREIGN MINISTER: GOVERNMENT MUST REACT IN KIND!
United States of Allanea withdraws recognition from Finara, recognises rebel claims to sovereignty instead
Sir Cyrus Fastonville, the Shadow Minister for Foreign Affairs, has said that the Imperial Government should withdraw recognition from the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia and the United States of Allanea, in retaliation for both of those nations diplomatically recognising the Deasrarglean rebel group which has recently proclaimed the Republic of Deasrargle, although it does not control any part of the troubled province.

Up until last night, the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia was the only nation in the world which recognised the Republic of Deasrargle as a sovereign entity. Last night, the United States of Allanea followed Midlonia's lead and went one step further by not only recognising the rebel claims to sovereignty, but also withdrawing diplomatic recognition from the Finaran Government.

"Midlonia and Allanea have demonstrated their preparedness to rush in where angels fear to tread by taking moves which will only escalate the situation and further imperil international aid workers. It's irresponsible in the extreme." Sir Cyrus told the Herald. "The United States in particular has reconfirmed its status as an international pariah under the so-called leadership of Alexander Kazansky, by not just recognising the claims of the rebels and terrorists, but by withdrawing recognition from Finara itself, a move so reckless that not even the Midlonians have considered it so far."

"It is remiss of the Imperial Government to let this rogue-state like behaviour go unchecked." the Shadow Minister said. "A United Christian Front Government would withdraw Pantocratoria's recognition of the legitimacy of the Allanean Government until such time as the United States came to their senses and recognised the legitimate government of Finara. And a United Christian Front Government would withdraw its ambassador from Midlonia in protest until Midlonia stopped its symbolic support for terrorists and murderers in Deasrargle."

The Foreign Minister, Demetrios Raoul, dismissed the Shadow Minister's remarks as "opposition bravado" and remarked "It's very easy to take strong stands in hypotheticals. Unlike Sir Cyrus, I live in the real world."

Continued on page 4

Daily Tabloid Newz
BASILISSA TO BREAK UP?
Ageing rockers to call it quits after thirty years?
Basilissa, Pantocratoria's most successful rock and roll band, is the subject of a frenzy of media speculation today after remarks made by flamboyant frontman Frederic Venus at a society dinner last night in Adrienople to the effect that the band was going to break up, since nothing could top the success of Basilissa II, the band's last record and first record since the Ministry of Cultural Development restrictions on music were lifted.

Continued on page 27

ALSO IN THE NEWS: Deasrargle crisis deepens

President Alexander Kazansky,

I am writing to you, as you likely know, in regards to your recent internet broadcast regarding Her Majesty’s Government of Finara and the political organization the Republic of Deasrargle. I hope that Your Excellency will forgive me for beginning bluntly, as befits the candor, some might say viciousness, of your missive. Is it hypocrisy or merely gullibility which drives the Allanean Government to ignore its own criteria for the legitimacy of Governments, namely, the consent of the governed and a respect for and duty to protect individual rights?

I shall begin with the first. Has the Allanean Government made any effort to determine if the Republic of Deasrargle in fact enjoys the consent of the people of Deasrargle? The only evidence thus far presented is a document signed now by two dozen men and no women, only three of whom have ever been elected to public office by their constituents and none of whom are among the legislators elected democratically and without prejudice by the people of Deasrargle to represent their interests in the national government.

As for the second matter, has the Government of Allanea made any serious effort to determine the commitment of the Republic of Deasrargle to human rights? It seems to me that this question is answered by the rather bizarre section of Your Excellency’s public statement dealing with home schooling, a section betraying not only an ignorance of actual conditions in Finara but even of what the Republic of Deasrargle meant to convey by their Declaration. The simple effort of asking them through discrete channels, as Danaan Intelligence has done, would have disproved that fancy. When questioned about the meaning of that section of their declaration, the Republic of Deasrargle clarified its position that public funds in Protestant neighborhoods should be used to fund Protestant schools, although they did state that regulated private and home schooling would also be legal options, as they are now in Finara.

It would be bad enough if Your Excellency merely formed your policies by reading an isolated partisan document of a single, relatively small, faction. However, Your Excellency went further and based your policies on assertions not even actually contained in the document in question, much less in the easily available material regarding actual fact, a process you made seem believable by quoting one or two snippets of the document out of context. You then went even further by stating your desire to deal with this through methods of mass murder utterly unacceptable to decent human beings even when there is legitimate cause for war, including your sick fantasy of brutally murdering and hanging an adolescent girl. All of this shows your real regard for human rights and human dignity.

I do not wish to seem unsympathetic to the people of Deasrargle. The Resurgent Dream is committed to the peace process and to a real strengthening of religious freedom of pluralism in Finara.

In light of this announcement, I have no choice but to warn Your Excellency in no uncertain terms that your recent statements threaten to permanently and seriously damage good relations between our nations. The Danaan people can feel no friendship for any people which stands behind statements such as your recent one on Deasrargle. The Resurgent Dream has broken with many of our allies in our friendship for Allanea because we believed sincerely that, despite certain differences, your belief in freedom, democracy, and justice was genuine. I no longer know if I or the Danaan people can subscribe to any suck belief.

I have already spoken with the Cabinet and with His Majesty. Effective immediately, the Danaan ambassador to Allanea is being recalled with prejudice and all Danaan activity in organizations where Allanea plays an essential part is being temporarily suspended.

Sincerely,
Sarah Sacker
Prime Minister of the Resurgent Dream

The White House, Allanea

“Someone is going to pay for this. Probably you, Viccy. Why the hell did the nation files presented to me didn't mention that Finara does have legal homeschooling? Couldn't, you, like, search Wikipedia or something? You're the thrice-damned Secretary of State, could nobody in your bloody office try fucking Wikipedia?”

“Alex, there's over a hundred thousand nations out there, you don't seriously expect us to...”

“Yes. I do. When you're presenting a report to the President of the United States, I do expect you to. Now, listen up. There's been mistakes made, and we need to fix them I want you to issue a personalized apology, with the homeschooling bit pointed out. Point out that their homeschooling laws are still very strict – I think it's only in the Hash and Ngmweni that they still have this crap – and that our main point about their educational system stands. Apologize, but point that out.”

He paused. “Tell them that we're concerned that the regulations they have against homeschooling can be used in a discriminatory fashion. More interestingly...”

Alexander Kazansky turned to the whiteboard, and wrote several words on it with this marker:

seventeen-year-old adolescent child

“Does anybody here notice anything wrong with that?”

Morrison apokw up in a military tone.”There's no such thing as a seventeen-year-old child, sir!”

“Precisely – unless you're in Amestria. Now, Ms. Sheshet. You should point out that in our culture, people that age are not children in any way shape or form. We have Congressmen and entrepreneurs that age that give their adult competitors a run for their money. Also... bah, let me scribble it out for you. Add this.”

He wrote, on the whiteboard: While these are mistakes we sincerely apologize for, we would like to point out that this does not in any way reduce from the fact that Finara had failed to provide for the civil rights of the minority, infringed upon their freedom of religion, and generally acted as a bunch of assholes. As such, we maintain our previous policy towards the pseudogovernment of Finara.

“And Henry... I would like to see some ACIA action.”

Somewhere in Finara, several days later.

Two men were walking down a busy street – one a somber boy of sixteen, with spiky hair and cut marks on his hands, the other an elderly gentleman that looked like the boy's father, and was dressed like a stereotypical Man in Black – black sunglasses, black suit, the works.

But despite appearances, it was the emo kid that worked for Allanean Central Intelligence. The 'MIB' was working for the Ashtonbury Brigade – and together, they were out looking for their Deasrargle contact.

Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator
Prince Basil, Princess Jacqueline, Prince Constantine and Princess Morgan awaited the Emperor in the private room next to the Emperor's bedroom in his apartments. There were four seats in the room, two arm chairs, one obviously the Emperor's, and two tabourets. A set of open doors behind the family revealed the meeting room in which the Emperor met with the Council of Ministers with its suitably impressive table. Through another open door, the family could see dozens of male courtiers congregating and conversing quietly, awaiting the next stage of the Emperor's evening ritual which would follow his conversation with his family. The final set of doors, up until this point closed, swung open, and the Emperor entered the room. The men bowed, and the women curtsied.

"Good evening." the Emperor said simply, and went over to his arm chair. When he sat down, Basil did likewise. Jacqueline sat on her tabouret. The only person for whom no seat was provided was Constantine.

Morgan sat down on her tabouret as well. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

"His Majesty shot a very crafty fox this afternoon." Basil began to try to get some conversation started.

"It wasn't that crafty, clearly." the Emperor replied.

"Sounds like an exciting evening." Morgan said genuinely and touch enviously.

"I saw your sister on the news last night, madame." Jacqueline said. "She looked well."

"She told me about that interview." Morgan said. "She had to spend an hour afterwards calming Cousin Jessica's anger."

"Neither of them handled themselves very well." Basil said, matter-of-factly.

"Well, they were expecting to be interviewed by a journalist. If they'd known more of Miss Merlot's character, perhaps they might have prepared for an interview more reminiscent of KNN." Morgan noted.

"They didn't come prepared." Basil answered. "There's an art to handling an interview, especially a live one, you have to know what you want to say and not let the interviewer drag you away from your point."

"You can't simply ignore the entirely off topic questions of the interviewed." Morgan pointed out.

"Yes you can. You need to guide the interview back onto the topic." Basil replied.

"Well, my sister did let me know that Queen Maeve seemed quite irate with Miss Merlot so I don't think we're alone in our opinion." Morgan commented.

"Journalists are like that, my girl." Basil answered simply, apparently having nothing else to say on the topic.

Morgan frowned a little. "Princess Plautilla says she's unwilling to appear on that station when she stops over in Pantocratoria on her way to Finara."

"It wasn't a good interview." Constantine agreed after a few moments, as if he said it just to fill in the silence.

Morgan frowned at him before looking at the Emperor, who had been silent all this time. The Emperor remained silent, as if silently contemplating something, looking at nobody in particular.

"I want to go with her." Morgan said.

"What?" Constantine asked, surprised.

"With the Princess of Nerise." Morgan clarified needlessly.

The Emperor looked over at Morgan and Constantine, apparently snapping out of his reverie. Constantine was hearing this for the first time and was genuinely shocked. Jacqueline shifted uncomfortably in her seat, it being all too apparent that the couple hadn't discussed this in private previously. Basil arched an eyebrow.

"To Finara?" Constantine gasped.

"I think it might help things." Morgan said. "I don't want to be here doing nothing while everything falls apart."

"How would it help things?" Constantine asked, appalled. "Do you know anything about medicine?"

"Of course." Morgan said. "I'm a trained nurse. Every Danaan princess is. It's ... not quite the law but close."

"Well... I..." Constantine stammered, surprised.

"No." the Emperor said simply.

Morgan blinked once in clear surprise. Jacqueline squirmed uncomfortably. Basil almost smiled. Constantine still looked appalled and surprised.

"Your Majesty does remember the conversation we had immediately following the honeymoon of His Highness and myself?" Morgan pressed.

"Is that question in aid of anything?" the Emperor asked.

"I do not see this as consistent." Morgan said.

"Let me explain then, since I was clearly being unclear when I said no." the Emperor said. "You are not going to Finara."

Morgan stiffened visibly and met the Emperor's gaze for a long moment.

"It's unsafe." Constantine finally offered.

"It certainly is." Basil agreed, although it was unclear by the twinkle in his eye whether he meant Finara or the present conversation.

Morgan didn't offer a verbal rejoinder, although she still seemed both shocked and extremely unhappy about all this.

"Is that all you have to say on the topic, Madame de Cunedda?" the Emperor clarified.

"Your Majesty did not sound open to further discussion." she said tersely.

"I am not." the Emperor confirmed. "I would sooner send a hundred nurses in your place."

"I would still be the shame of my family." Morgan noted, still stiff.

"The shame of your family is of lesser concern to me than the ruin of mine." the Emperor replied. "Besides which, your family will not hold you to blame nor will anybody else. Do you think yourself so blessed and watched over by guardian angels that you will find safety in a province shattered by natural disasters and torn by civil strife? My daughter was kidnapped from these very grounds, the safest in this city, do you think you'll be secure in Biernes? And did you consult my son, or was this something you devised at the spur of the moment and thought out loud?"

"I'd simply assumed I would go." Morgan said. "I didn't think it would be controversial."

"Why would you assume that? Because your sister has gone?" the Emperor asked. "I'd hope you capable of more self-restraint."

"I do not think helping others and doing one's duty constitutes a lack of self-restraint." Morgan answered.

"More like indulging one's desire to be seen to be helping others and doing one's duty." the Emperor snorted dismissively. "A hundred better qualified nurses could be sent in your place, do you think that you'd be helping in any significant fashion? And what if some harm befell you? How much would that help you or anybody else?"

"Sire, she just didn't really think it through..." Constantine intervened, hoping to convince his father to let up on Morgan.

"It's our responsibility to set an example and to take on the same risks we ask others to take on." Morgan answered. "From those to whom much is given, much is expected."

"A platitude." the Emperor replied. "It's our responsibility to act according to our station. And specifically, it's your responsibility to act according to yours. I ask again, did you consult with my son before you decided you'd like to go to Finara?"

Constantine sighed and put a hand on Morgan's shoulder.

"I did not." Morgan answered. "I wanted to discuss it with the whole family."

"You're his wife. That is your responsibility, madame, that of a wife. You've certainly no responsibility to abandon your husband to hand out bandages." the Emperor told her.

"As you wish." Morgan said, her body trembling slightly with indignation. To her, the Emperor's decision was almost the same as being told she wasn't really a lady anymore.

"So if we were to go together, Morgan and I, would you object, Sire?" Constantine ventured, squeezing Morgan's shoulder.

"What?" the Emperor scowled.

"Constantine! It's dangerous there!" Jacqueline said.

"We'd be together, she wouldn't be abandoning her responsibilities as a wife, nor I as a husband..." Constantine began.

"I hardly think this is a good idea..." Basil said, surprised and alarmed by the thought.

The Emperor regarded Constantine and Morgan coldly, contemplating what his response should be. Morgan smiled gently, resting her hand on her husband's and whispering "Thank you."

"You have obligations here." the Emperor told Constantine. "You're a Member of the Imperial Parliament."

"Well, Monsieur, have you any particular need of me in the near future?" Constantine asked Basil.

Basil frowned. He didn't want Constantine and Morgan disappearing to Finara, besides his concern for his nephew's safety, it might undermine the political mileage his party was making out of the situation. Likewise, he didn't feel inclined to give Constantine a political bone after he felt like he had betrayed him to some extent by his choice of a bride. Either way seemed like lose/lose for Basil.

"Uh...." Basil began.

"I'm sure Monsieur, that there are plenty of things for which you'll require Constantine's presence." the Emperor told Basil insistently.

"I'm... sure... that there's something... yes... I suppose, yes..." Basil stammered.

Morgan's expression fell. Constantine smiled a little, having achieved a small victory.

"Well, if you've something for me to do, Monsieur, then I suppose I might be obliged to stay, otherwise..." Constantine said speculatively. "Those of us to whom much has been given have much expected of us."

Despite her rather despondent mood, Morgan couldn't help a small smile.

Holista

Princess Theodora went over the weekly expense reports after another of her weekly meetings with Sir Iarnbonel, her husband, Prince Brendan of Holista's chamberlain. Sir Iarnbonel had just left her office, but she had remained behind in order to double check the figures he had reported, never quite sure whether to trust his verbal reporting about the palace's expenses, since he didn't seem to regard his meetings with her as anything more than a rubber stamp. There was a soft knock on the door.

"Yes?" Theodora asked.

Brendan entered, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the desk rather casually. "Theodora, can we talk?"

"Of course." she said, closing the folders and smiling at him.

"I suppose you've heard about so many of the family going to Finara." Brendan said.

"Yes." Theodora nodded, setting the folders away to one side.

"I don't want you to go." Brendan said after a pause. "I don't think I could keep from worrying about you, especially if I weren't there. I think it might be dangerous." Brendan said, in a tone suggesting he expected her to object.

"Well that's good, because I don't want to go..." Theodora replied, giving him a puzzled look.

"Oh, good. That was easy then." Brendan said, relieved.

"It was." Theodora agreed with a grin.

"I do think we should do something, though." Brendan said. "Something we can do here or in Pantocratoria or in some other safe location."

"Oh? What should we do?" Theodora asked Brendan.

"That's what I'm trying to decide." Brendan said. "I don't think it should be a partisan gesture for the Government. It should be for reconciliation between the parties instead."

"Well, why don't you think about that, and let me know?" Theodora suggested.

"Because I wanted your input." Brendan said.

"Well, I don't have any Brendan... I haven't thought about Finara very much." Theodora protested.

"How would you feel about hosting a charity ball?" Brendan asked.

"For the Red Cross? I guess." Theodora nodded.

"Yes." Brendan said.

"That might even be fun." Theodora grinned.

"I think so." Brendan said. "Where should we hold it?"

"Here, don't you think?" she replied.

"That would raise funds nicely but I'm not sure it would raise consciousness much. Not meaning to be proud but, given our position, we will likely raise more by the example of the ball than we will through the proceeds of the ball itself." Brendan said.

"So what does it matter where it's held then, Brendan?" Theodora asked.

"If we went somewhere, it would make more of an impression. If we stayed here, it would seem more like another palace social event among many." Brendan argued.

"Oh." Theodora sighed. "Where do you think we should go?"

"You sound unhappy with the idea." Brendan said.

"No, it's just that you asked me where you think we should have it, then you told me that my answer was wrong, so now I want to know where you think we should have it." Theodora explained.

"I didn't say it was wrong." Brendan said. "We're just discussing the merits and flaws of different possibilities. I think Kagerlund might be an interesting choice, or Pantocratoria, or possibly Excalbia."

"It's your decision, Brendan." Theodora told him.

Brendan took her hand gently in his. Theodora held his hand and got up from her chair.

"It's our decision, Theodora." he said gently.

"I don't know, Brendan." Theodora told him. "Wherever you think is best. It's your idea, you don't think we can have it here, so you tell me where you think we should have it."

"We can have it here." Brendan said. "And I just mentioned a number of other possibilities."

"Whatever, Brendan, you decide, I don't mind." Theodora told him.

"Let's do it in Kagerlund then." Brendan said.

"OK. I don't speak German though." Theodora observed.

"You speak English." Brendan pointed out.

"So how long do we have to organise this?" Theodora asked.

"We could get it done in two weeks." Brendan said.

"Wow... we better get started then, Brendan." Theodora told him urgently.

"In a few minutes." Brendan said.

"Oh, was there something else you wanted to talk about first?" Theodora asked.

"No." Brendan said.

"Oh, then what?" Theodora asked him.

"I was going to kiss my wife." he answered.

Lèithiânonèth House
Official Residence of the Minister for Foreign Affairs

Naèräth, capital of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

‘With the greatest possible respect, sir, I must most strongly disagree. I rather find myself concurring with our host’s opinion; such a course of action as you propose simply would not go far enough,’ explained an impeccably-dressed senior government bureaucrat, keen to add his own thoughts to the table’s lively debate.

Lady Heather Gílda, one of the leading parliamentary members of the Progressive Democratic Party and Foreign Minister of the Eternal Republic, was not usually the type of individual generally renowned as a splendid host. Certainly the Xirniumite woman was affable enough, ordinarily quite good-natured and a rather pleasantly agreeable person to converse with. Neither was it the case that her various social events (which she occasionally organised out of an imposed sense of obligatory hospitality) lacked the lustre or refined patrician distinction common in those of her more gregarious colleagues - such as Lord Dägnir, or Lady Sabëlinà. Quite the contrary, for Heather’s dinners rarely disappointed even the most aristocratic of expectations. Rather, it was instead merely due to the fact that Lady Gílda rarely actually ever entertained anyone that she lacked an extroverted reputation. The simple truth was that the Foreign Minister harboured a secret, mild dislike for such things.

Aged perhaps in her mid to late thirties, the flaxen haired parliamentarian was a rather attractive woman, with distinctive, deeply intelligent, hazel-coloured eyes and lovely fair skin that contrasted flatteringly with the blood-red lipstick that she characteristically wore. Elegantly tall and with sylphlike slenderness, Lady Gílda possessed an unmistakeable air of self-assured confidence and a cool level-headedness that was rarely (if ever) displaced. Such poised a demeanour, however, masked a supremely well concealed propensity towards introversion - and the Foreign Minister was, despite all appearances to the contrary, a somewhat lonely individual. Like any other inadequacy, the ambitious politician considered this little more than an obstacle to be carefully negotiated in pursuit of her own personal goals - certainly such was the manner in which she dealt with it now.

Languidly emanating from a source evidently obscured behind some hidden alcove of the Lèithiânonèth House’s grand dinning hall, the soothing music of one of Críssaëgrim’s light classical pieces mixed seamlessly with the delicately refined clinking of sterling silver cutlery and the energetic discourse of those gathered. The official government residence within which Lady Gílda was entertaining her various important guests (all politicians, civil servants or dignitaries of some pre-eminence – the governing elite of the Eternal Republic, as it were) was a magnificent, stately château constructed in the late nineteenth century, according to the Victorian “Neo-Renaissance” architectural style. Flawlessly blending traditional medieval influences with classical Italianate structures, and situated on the south-eastern outskirts of Naèräth in one of the most affluent of its residential districts, the castle (with its high walls and lofty towers, marble balustrades, tall segmented windows and ornate "loggia" façade gallery) was dominated at its centre by a magnificent, Baroque, double-helix imperial staircase. Attired in their most stylish finery, the assembled personages enjoyed an exquisite seven-course meal whose current dish (called Vërondanér and traditionally originating from the Eternal Republic’s coastal metropolis of Iáthërn) consisted of a delectable stew of assorted complementary varieties of Atlantic fish found natively in Xirnium’s eastern waters, freshly-picked country vegetables, expensive shellfish, and a lovely combination of fragrant herbs and spices. Accompanying the meal were some of the finest wines available within the Eternal Republic (including the Amestrian Manoir l'Rouge, obtained from the Liscel estate through illegal channels, following a diplomatic spat that had seen the severing of trade relations between the two nations) in addition to the choicest, most exquisite cheeses.

‘I do think that many of you, and, indeed, many in the international community, are getting rather ahead of yourselves,’ opined Lady Yvette Glîrwen, Leader of the Xirniumite Parliament’s Lower House, in a thoughtfully measured tone as she delicately sliced a piece of a rare southern Xirniumite, soft-ripened Uqüetimà aged cheese with her silver knife. Only the slightest flatness in her otherwise archetypical Xirniumite accent (which, in most, was usually quite discernable, and had a distinct continental Europeaness to it), in addition to her barely perceptible hearing aides, betrayed the fact that the House of Assembly leader had suffered from near deafness since birth. Since the start of the dinner, the table’s conversation had idly meandered towards the current troubling events in the Finaran Duchy of Deasrargle, on which everyone had their own opinion. Lady Gílda, for her part, regarded Yvette with intent curiosity, for it was now an open secret that she would be running against her when the party’s Caucus next met to determine the new parliamentary leader of the XPDP. ‘The situation is neither as serious nor as grave as it has been portrayed by various alarmists and agitators who seek only to further their own ulterior motives. A minor skirmish every other day and a bombing once a week does not constitute the direst of scenarios.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Lord Amęas Vérniûs, taking a short sip from a tall wineglass. Aged in his seventies, the Defence Minister also planned to offer himself as a candidate for election to the Chief Ministership, though at present serious doubts existed over whether the increasingly gaunt-looking parliamentarian, with his advanced heart failure condition, was fit enough for the job. ‘Left to their own devises, these isolated instances of rioting would surely gradually peter out over sufficient time. Granted, the situation is made more unpleasant due to the current ongoing disaster relief operations, which it has needlessly hampered, but I see no reasons why Finaran authorities on their own could not put an end to the lawlessness.’

‘Perhaps the question is why they have not yet done so?’ asked a Xirniumite noble rhetorically, pausing in her sipping of a splendid glass of red varietal wine.

‘Had this have occurred within Xirnium, and had it been a Xirniumite parliamentarian who was killed in place of Princess Daireen, the Eternal Republic’s response against the brigands would have been quite merciless and ruthlessly immediate,’ pointed out Lord Vérniûs. ‘I mean, truly… for a Minister of the Government to be savagely murdered by a vicious, unruly mob? The very notion is barbarous in the extreme, and affront to the very Rule of Law.’

‘Indeed so. On the whole, the Finaran government’s exercise of restraint in such trying times has been quite remarkable,’ commented a Defence Ministry bureaucrat, agreeing with his superior.

‘Most likely, they seek as best they can to avoid inflaming sectarian tensions,’ explained Lady Gílda, having listened carefully to the opinions of the others. Heather briefly considered pouring herself another glass of vintage chardonnay, a wine that the Foreign Minister was quite fond of, but decided against it for the time being. ‘In addition, they doubtless wish to ensure the support of the international community – which would scarcely be improved by being seen to crack down on the Deasrarglean dissidents with overeager ruthlessness. Besides, as Lady Glîrwen rightly pointed out, the situation is not remotely as calamitous as all of the doomsayers contend. Such delicate a problem requires subtly, it does not merit a heavy-handed response.’

‘Not yet,’ clarified Amęas ominously, a comment that caused the Foreign Minister to frown in disapproval.

‘Are the inflammatory claims of Protestant mistreatment, by the Catholic majority, likely to have any element of truth to them, I wonder?’ inquired Lord Vernius’ Principle Private Secretary, carefully cutting a piece of expertly prepared salmon with his knife.

Lady Eleanor Sabëlinà, wealthy Viscountess of House Numësàlquð and deputy to the Foreign Minister, scoffed openly at this question.

‘These various Christian sects never seem to encounter much difficulty in finding some manner of pathetic grievance against one another whenever the time comes to justify murdering their fellow neighbour,’ remarked the lovely, auburn-haired, noblewoman with a slight sneer, never one to hold back on giving voice to her own private prejudices. One of the Viscountess’ more well-known ancestors, Lord Löndrándir Numësàlquð (a man renown for his extreme cruelty), had been famous for crucifying every captured Christian soldier of a defeated Papal army upside down following a minor battle of the disastrous Xirniumite Crusade of 1087. Launched at the Synod of Benevento by Pope Victor III (who, a short time before, had dispatched a different, considerably more successful, force against the Saracens of Tunis) and commonly known amongst historians as the “Lost Crusade”, this ill-fated military expedition against the pagans of Xirnium had apparently (or so the medieval legend went) resulted in not one of its members ever returning home to bring back news of their crushing defeat – thus well earning its colloquial epithet. Eleanor’s veiled disdain towards the Christian faith could therefore perhaps be said to run in the family…

‘Be that as it may,’ replied Lady Glîrwen, who personally found Eleanor’s contribution to have been in poor taste, ‘perhaps there has been some form of systemic discrimination against the Protestants in the Finaran Duchy that we should at least be aware of, before weighing into the controversy. These disputes are often complex, they require adequate understanding, a special kind of diligence.’

‘The claims are, at the very least, exaggerated or misreported,’ explained the Foreign Minister knowledgably. ‘All restrictions as to freedom of speech apply, officially in any case, equally towards any religious group in Finara – and primarily concern regulations as to methods of communication. They do not deny freedom of opinion, conscience or religion.’

‘And such complaints certainly do not condone so uncivilised and barbarous an attack on the very integrity of the Rule of Law, in any case,’ argued Lady Sabëlinà, daintily picking up a small piece of tomato with her silver fork. ‘The separatists would like to see the doctrine of popular sovereignty, as represented by the legitimate rule of the democratically-elected government of Finara, unjustly subverted by a radical, tiny clique of vocal fundamentalists not even widely-supported within the minority community on whose behalf it claims to wage its revolutionary struggle! That is entirely unacceptable, that is an attack on the inherent right to self-determination.’

‘Popular sovereignty is not the only political doctrine which is insidiously under attack here,’ mused Lord Félix Dägnir, Interior Minister of the Xirniumite Republic and member of one of the “old families” of the Iáthërnian upper class (which was once a most influential household in the landed gentry of the Eternal Republic’s Renaissance society, and indeed still quite wealthy due to its past successes in merchant banking). ‘Though the extremist, subversive elements in Deasrargle would surely have no hope of ever achieving their devious ends on their own, foreign interests are quite evidently increasingly at play here. National sovereignty is threatened by the likes of nations such as Midlonia, intent to interfere in matters not of their concern.’

‘And do not forget the intervention of the Allanean filth,’ interjected Lady Sabëlinà with earnestly intense vehemence, returning her empty wineglass to the table. ‘Ever intent on spreading the influence of their grim, cultureless hegemony throughout the far reaches of our fair Earth, they’ve seen fit to involve themselves unwelcomed here as well. Assuredly, Allanea would be a most serious threat to the international community were it not so bunglingly incompetent, were it not led by morons and fools. I remind everyone, though, that each new nation to which the Allanean cancer is allowed to spread is yet another from which it shall eventually need to be excised,’ explained the deputy Foreign Minister, speaking as one would regarding a particularly horrible and persistent plague.

‘I think you are perhaps overreacting, Lady Sabëlinà,’ replied Yvette with an amused smile. Most at the table shared Eleanor’s condescending disdain for Allanea, a nation they saw as little more than a barbarian hovel. ‘An invective-filled diatribe is but a far cry from tangible involvement. Indeed, it barely constitutes significant political involvement, save as dry amusement. The Allaneans shall succeed in making fools of themselves, as they often do, nothing more.’

‘And whom here actually believes that such will be the extent of Kazansky’s interference in the Pantocratorian archipelago, an infamous warmonger and notorious international agitator?’ asked Eleanor rhetorically. ‘Whom here truly believes that such is the extent of Allanea’s involvement even now? Complacency in the face of imperialist encroachment is the enemy of liberty, need I remind you all of what Allanea did in Antanjyl? ’

‘The Parliamentary Secretary raises a good point, and it appears to me that more detailed intelligence is needed before any decision might be made. Shall the Secret Intelligence Service seek to find out more about what is happening within Deasrargle, Lady Gílda?’ asked an attentive Privy Counsellor, no doubt mentally taking notes on which to report back to his Vicereine afterwards.

‘I’m afraid that I can’t speak on the matter of my private meetings with the XSIS Director-General at this table,’ the Foreign Minister replied evasively, though such a comment obviously went without saying. Lady Gílda appeared lost in brooding thought, her eyes drifting to the dinning hall’s tall glass windows, upon which the stormy night’s icy rain pounded relentlessly. ‘Suffice it to say that the Eternal Republic will make its voice heard, both politically and otherwise. We shall not stand idly by while the wolves gather to cynically take advantage of a natural disaster, and to so shamelessly prey on Finara and her Duchy.’

A state structure depends on a variety of clerks, officials, and so forth, to maintain itself. A modern 'democratic' welfare/police state depends on them more then any other state. These clerks are many in the welfare/police state, and most of them possess little military training – or brains, spine, or any other positive quality. However, having voluntarily chosen to serve the welfare/police state, they share the moral responsibility for all it's crimes.

Target these clerks, their equipment – and you will not only disrupt the state's daily operation, but you will sap it's very will to survive.

And you will win.

It is not even necessary to target the state's lowly clerks for an assassination. Beat them, molest them, destroy their machinery, make them afraid to go to work – and your job is half-done. It is in fact preferable that you avoid killing in some cases – terrified survivors are your unwilling propaganda weapons.

[Ashtonbury Brigades Guerilla Warfare Manual, Volume 1.40]

The garbage truck ground to a halt, two masked men approaching it with guns leveled at the driver's cab.

"Get out of the truck! Get the hell out of there! Now!"

The people inside the truck refused to come out and one of the men shouldered his rifle, as if about to fire. I said get the fuck out of the truck you fucked up communist son of a Iesian whore, do it! Now!

The door opened and the truck driver and his partner literally leaped out of the truck. The man fired, and a bullet whizzed above the driver's head.

"On the ground!"

They dropped.

"Now listen. You work for the Finaran government. But we don't want to kill you. You could for what we know turn out an innocent man, you have a wife and children. But I want you to do us a favor. Go home. Tell them that anybody that raises a weapon in favor of the Finaran state will die – police or military. Tell them any official, manager, enforcer that is in control of this madness will be deposed. Now. Both of you. Take off those uniforms. They stink of the Finaran state."

They undressed, blushing of the humiliation. And then the masked men gave the driver a set of old, tattered clothing. "Here, better. Now leave."

When the driver and his buddy started to leave, the Allaneans poured gasoline onto the tires, cab, and cargo compartment, and set it on fire, the acrid smell of burning garbage filling the area.

* * * *

Neil Johnson smiled as he leant over the scope of his Hunter 99 rifle. In fact, he was grinning with sadistic happiness as he pulled the trigger, sending a .416 steel-cored round towards his target, standing two kilometers away.

It was not a human being.

It was the transformer on an electric power transmission pole feeding electricity into the central postal office of the city. Seconds later, he knew, the Finaran state (at least in this place) would be unable to send out tax notices, court summons, and so forth - and the employees in the place to believe they lived in constant rifle range – while in fact he would leave immediately, disassemble the rifle and hide it.

* * * *

Michael Norton had the best idea of them all – he was driving an immense truck he got hold of somehow, and cargo that was significantly cheaper to get hold of. He was able so far to drive without violating any of the rules – and thus nobody caught on to the fact his driving license was fake.

Until he turned around and backed, towards the City Hall. The truck began to climb the entrance of City Hall with it's back wheels. Someone screamed in horror.

Norton kicked the door open and fired several warning shots with a pistol. "GET DOWN!"

This would assure nobody would interfere as he pressed a button and the back of the dump truck began to lift.

He leaped out and ran, firing his gun in the air.

Behind him, the entrance of City Hall was being buried in several tons of cow manure.

Later, an internet-based organisation of some form would claim responsibility.

http://i40.photobucket.com/albums/e221/Xirnium/arms3.gif
Official Open Viceregal Memorandum - Office of the Vicereine
The Eternal Republic of Xirnium

Tárië Aicassë Laë Nainányéna! – For All Time! - Ad Vitam Aeternam!
To:

Her Majesty, Queen Maeve II of Finara

From:

Lady Victoria Seriendé
Vicereine of the Xirniumite State
The Eternal Republic of Xirnium


Your Majesty

On behalf of the people of the Eternal Republic and with the committed approval of her perpetually august Supreme Parliament, I extend my sincerest and most heartfelt condolences to Your Majesty following the tragic and dreadful murder of the Finaran Minister for the Interior, Her Royal Highness the Princess Daireen. The untimely loss of any family member is always a most singularly distressing event; that Her Royal Highness passed away in such unjustly violent circumstances can but only confound one’s already monumental grief at her passing.

The deplorable actions of those responsible for such heinous and inexcusable a crime can do little but showcase the moral bankruptcy of the various sectarian secessionist movements that have, of late, hampered Your Majesty’s nation’s attempt to provide disaster relief to the hurricane-ravaged Duchy of Deasrargle. It is my most ardent hope that the true victims of this controversy, the people of Deasrargle, receive the aid that they so critically need. Towards this most noble end, the Supreme Parliament of the Eternal Republic has recently pledged forty-five million Xirniumite pounds in relief aid to the nation of Finara, to be allocated to those regions most desperately requiring humanitarian assistance. Though but a humble gesture, every selfless contribution assuredly helps ameliorate this unfourtunate situation.

I earnestly wish Your Majesty all of the fortitude and steadfast perseverance necessary to see through the trying times ahead. It is my only hope that the operation of law and order be restored completely to the Duchy of Deasrargle as swiftly as is feasible. The Rule of Law must always continue to remain inviolable, a stalwart guarantee against both lawlessness and anarchy. The Doctrine of Popular Sovereignty must be staunchly defended and preserved against every insidious threat, so that each Deasrarglean’s right to self-determination is protected from subversion by the undemocratic agents of insurrection. To accept anything else, to perhaps compromise with the goals of an undemocratic movement or with the scant few foreign states that have irresponsibly cast their support behind it, would constitute nothing less than an insult to the Deasrarglean people.

Yours sincerely

[Signed]

Her Serene Excellency
The Most Noble and Puissant Lady Victoria Seriendé
Vicereine and Head of State of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

The train clattered and hissed as it ran past the chimneys and brickworks and houses and fields, faster and faster as it reached the edge of the city. It was all in a deep blood red with the Midlonian Dove on the side of each coach with “H II R” either side. At the back was a black coach with “Office of the Prime Minister” put on in golden painting.

The swords smashed against each other again, a pair of fencing swords reed thin and made of steel fiercely clashed another fifteen else sixteen times in a space of two else three seconds. The two participants both moved silkily along the length of the padded carriage as their swords smashed left right and centre several times every second. A shrill whistle sounded and the carriage plunged into darkness for a second before the lights flickered on, one of the figures had disappeared. The second stopped for a moment looking around through his gauze mask before spinning around quickly to parry a thrust and smash his own sword-tip into the chest of the other figure, a whistling beep echoed out and the two figures dropped their aggressive stances.

“Your technique improves greatly, your majesty.” Spoke the figure as he took off his own gauze mask and shook out his long hair.
“Rubbish, you let me win that one Terefedel.” muttered Hykar as he took his mask off and grinned.
The Vampire grinned broadly back. “Perhaps, but it wouldn‘t be very becoming of me to kill my Monarch now would it?”
Hykar laughed. “How true, same again tomorrow? I have some more business to attend now.”
“Of course your majesty, it is but part of your busy day now you are taking a slightly harder control over things.” Terefedel bowed and left by the door at the far end. The sunlight flared into the carriage as a whistle denoted that they were now leaving the tunnel. Hykar mopped his brow and left by the door closer to him, he quickly got changed into some casual clothes of a t-shirt and trousers and entered the next car along.

A couple of tables were set out with some fine Midlonian chinaware set upon them, he took a seat and placed a serviette onto his lap and waited. The Prime Minister entered next with a bow. He was also dressed casually in a sweater and trousers, he took up a place at the table across from the King.

“Any idea on how long it will be until we reach the Castle, your highness?” the Prime Minister casually asked as he tucked his serviette into the collar of his sweater and poured himself a glass of ice water.
“About five hours now I believe, we’ve only really just left after all.” shrugged Hykar as he poured a glass of Orange Juice and took a sip.

Alamedas entered next from the far end of the coach and sat down , he sighed and did not pick up a serviette and merely stretched a little with a sigh and a grunt.

“Tired at all Uncle?” smirked Hykar with a slight grin.
“At my age you’re always tired, son,” he replied, “you’ll find out eventually.” he chuckled.
Hykar shook his head, then lent back slightly as some waiters came in and placed their lunches down on the table, the Midlonian delicacy.

Breaded fried fish, chips and mushy peas with a slice of lemon with some buttered slices of bread.

“Delicious” remarked Benjamin as he cut off a piece of fish and popped it into his mouth with much gusto, he began to tuck into the meal.

Hykar and Alamedas picked up their cutlery and joined Musotana in eating, after a few moments the Prime Minister spoke.

“Oh yes, regarding Finara and such. Apparently the Allaneans want to ask us for help, sending men into Deasrargle to ‘help’ the situation.”

“I see.” commented Hykar as he tore a chunk of bread in half and dunked it into the mushy peas with a sigh.
“Some strange girl called Vicky or something, one of Kazansky’s aides asked us.” Ben commented as he shovelled some chips into his mouth with little thought.

“I see.” commented Alamedas with a sigh.

“What has parliament decided anyway?”

“We’re awaiting the results of our Gun Cutter, she was supposed to be near to Finara today to take a sweep with one of our drones, she has a Carrier group not a million miles away, so its not as if we have to be too worried should anything happen.

International Waters off of the Coast of Finara, Anti-Aircraft Variant Gun Cutter Jebbadiah

The Gun Cutter (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v160/Midlonia/Ships/Guncutter.png) idled as some crewmen hefted the recon drone about a bit, the hefty radio-controlled equipment was on the back deck, rather than the usual helicopter was this drone instead, it was a fair sized vehicle with cameras and recording equipment loaded in, a screen showed the operator the ability to see what the drone saw, and to photograph things of interest and whatever was exactly happening, in their opinion it was easier than the risk of sending men into a potential war zone. The drone whined as it took off and flew into the Duchy itself, it recording the current situation down onto a hard-disk at the operators end, incidents people and traffic all recorded, any pieces of military hardware far off in the distance noted before moving rapidly away again to seek out more of what was happening in Biernes and Deasrargle itself, and what its MIRA (Midlonian Intelligence and Research Agency) classification would be.

Amestria

While the media was filled with one Danaan princess after another throwing herself into the International Red Cross effort with the roaring approval of the Danaan public, few noticed a less obviously philanthropic royal trip, as the Princes of Fireforge and Zutern, with their wives and their minor children, made arrangements for a joint family trip to Amestria. Their travel plans included what anyone familiar with them would have expected, a combination of relaxing vacation spots, historic sites important to the history of Amestrian Protestantism, and, where possible, public appearances and social engagements with Amestrian society. However, among the usual plans, both princes sent to Ms. DuClare a request to make her acquaintance.

New Rome, Pantocratoria

“Do you think he can use the phrase Protestant fundamentalist terrorist any more times?” Princess Diana, the Danaan ambassador to Pantocratoria, asked dryly as she listened to a recording of Isaac Comenenus’s press conference for the third time.

“If he can, he’ll figure out how.” noted Juerg Wicky. Wicky was one of her most advisors, specializing in the Pantocratorian domestic scene. “There’s real danger this whole situation will set things back quite a ways. Reaction to the activities of the royal family at the Pantocratorian Court have been hostile. And, if one judges by Virginie Merlot…”

“I won’t judge anything serious by a journalist, especially not that unprofessional hack.” Diana said with a small shrug. “Still, I’m not unaware of the problem. What I’m struggling with is a workable solution.”

“Negotiations.” Wicky said with false confidence.

“I didn’t mean the problem in Finara.” Diana pointed out.

“I know.” He answered with a helpless sigh.

Comedy News Nightly

Caerell Fairlie leaned back into his chair, taking a quick drink from his cup of water. He was about half way through his hour long nightly program and it was time for the day’s clip. Tonight, it was a clip from Virginie Merlot’s interview with the two Danaan princesses, during the part where she was pressing Princess Jessica to condemn the Prebyterian charities in Deasrargle. The audience burst into laughter as the clip played. Fairlie lowered his drink with his trademark rakish grin. “In Miss Merlot’s defense....” More laughter which Fairlie managed to calm with a hand gesture. “In Miss Merlot’s defense she did think that there was a recruiter for KNN in the audience. Although actually … actually it’s easy to see her appeal. She reminds me of a doll my little sister had growing. I think it was Baxterite Barbie or something like that.”

Deasrargle

The Protestant rebels made no explanation, much less apology, for what they did next. The Allanean volunteers soon found that all of the police had their names and faces. If they were lucky, they went to jail. Others were gunned down in the driveway as they returned to rebel safehouses where they were previously based. Still others were poisoned at tables where they had previously hospitality or found vehicles ignite into balls of exploding fire when they turned the ignition. Others were simply run down and shot on the street or taken out by snipers from a distance. Shootings, stabbings, poisonings, car crashes, drowning, smotherings, every method by which one man could kill another was brought to bear ruthlessly and systematically. Those who escaped found themselves without a support in a country where everyone was out to either kill or arrest them. If they were smart, they got out fast. If they didn't get out within week, well, they never got the chance. The rebels made no allowances for youth, idealism, or sincere desire to help. They felt that they had been betrayed and they acted like most active, armed insurgencies do for their own security. The Allaneans had come to be soldiers and, in their dying breaths, were learning how unforgiving war could be.

Michael Norton screamed in pain as he fell onto the driveway, face first. Suddenly, he couldn't move his hands – the bullets must have clipped something – and he impacted the gravel driveways with his face, breaking his nose and two teeth. However, he did not suffer for long – because then someone walked up behind him and put thirty more rounds into his body.

He got a rebel soldier's burial though - a concrete weight on the feet at the bottom of some river or creek.

Nix Gordon was going down fighting, his car a small fortress on wheels, his son and daughter standing in the back seat, their weapons firing at the Finaran police. They lasted for all of twenty-five minutes. He was the last one to die, leaning against the side of the car, propping himself up to fire one last shot at them. As the blood from several gunshots seeped into his lunges, he gurgled his last words:

“How... did... they... find us...”

Gage Singh and his unit woke up startled at night, when the Finaran police broke into their shelter. They knew immediately they were screwed – and before the Finarans could cover him with their muzzles, Singh reached under his bed – where a box of RGD-33 grenades was stored.

Nicholas Smth did not die like a soldier. He died like a man though, in the confines of a Finaran police cell, his veins cut with a hidden razor – both down the street and across the road. Now, they couldn't get the names of the local rebels out of him.

They were the traitors.

He remained loyal.

* * * *
The AR-29 rifle roared to life, and the three steel plates fell, one after another – first, at 50 yards, then at one hundred, then at two hundred.

Now the President of the United States was smiling.

“This Phoenix Milita stuff is really much better then they say it is. Now, what were you going to tell me, Henry?”

'Mr. President, reports intimate that the Allanean volunteers in Finara and Dearsrargle are getting slaughtered.”

“Aha. It's the Season all over again. Well, it ain't none of my business. The Allanean government never sent these volunteers there. We can't be responsible for what they do or what gets done to them. As per the Protestants... if they want to be stupid and play Ben Gurion, it ain't my problem, either. You should give the Protestants some money, though. We still want them to win.”

“Eh?”

“Transfer ten million bucks to the Protestant rebel accounts, from my personal funds.”

* * * *

Still, some people still were coming into Finara – by smuggler boats, under disguise of Dersconi tourists, and so forth. Most of them died.

However, there was one man in Allanea who saw the child being born, and wrote:

“It is clear why the Allanean volunteers have failed. While they of course sided with the Protestants, they were not Protestant themselves – at least most were not – and where not able to comply with orders of the local rebels. What would happen if the Churches in Allanea could organise a protestant unit, that would not be independent, but would comply with all the orders and leadership of the Dearsrarglians?

An interesting question.”

If the person were not Jimmy Graham the famous televangelist, it would have not gone anywhere. As it was...

The submarine coasting gently along by the shores of Menelmacar was named Eärfion. On the surface, its black hull, without a conning tower per se, but rather with something of a terrace that swept around in an arc shape, allowing access to the surface via wide, and extremely thick, metal doors that were positioned so that exiting them, one would emerge onto the lower section of the dorsal surface, looking at the dorsal rudder. It was here that one of the ship’s small crew complement appeared, “Captain!” he cried.

The ship’s commander was sitting on the forward deck, accessible from there via hatches, or a pair of ladders on either side of the door. She frowned, and tossed the book she’d been reading down onto the hull, “Up here!” she said.

A large, no, gigantic seagull from Eden Alqualondë, the nearest city, which had one of the northern islands to itself, the bay of which was currently sheltering the submarine, perched nearby, and looked at her challengingly. She had an urge to grab it and hug it, but settled for warding it off with a foot as the communications officer came up on deck. It hopped up and down on a missile hatch that shielded weapons capable of leveling cities, and glowered in birdlike annoyance at her.

He passed her a slate, “New orders ma’am,” he said.

The captain scanned them, and frowned mightily, “Cutting short our R&R? Recall the crew? They won’t like that.”

“No ma’am.”

“Situation in the Pantocratorian Archipelago?”

“I know nothing about it ma’am.”

“Heregos, Finara…” she said, as if trying the names out, “Never heard of them,” she said, and paged down a little further, “Ow!”

“Ma’am?”

“We have to pick up marines before we go, too.”

“Shall I inform the crew to lock the minibar?”

“I think it would be for the best,” she nodded with a wry grin. That was in fact the least of the problems, finding berths for a platoon strength unit of marines – that would be annoying.

“Oh well. We will at least be getting one of those shiny new Kajali darts too…”

---

Sealed diplomatic message sent: Artaoron - Vinyatírion, destination: Arra, Finara.

To Her Majesty Queen Maeve II, High Queen of Finara, from Coruethir Aceitha, sub-director of intelligence to the Conclave, greetings.

We have read with some disgust of the activities of foreign powers in your nation, most especially barbarian ‘volunteers’ whose efforts have been directed at disrupting the operation of your state in the aftermath of natural disaster. As such, it has been decided that we should offer to aid you in preventing further problems from this quarter. Therefore, we wish to put at your disposal for the foreseeable future the use of our extensive surveillance satellite network at your disposal for tracking boats and light aircraft that may be carrying such aid to rebel factions in Deasrargle. We hope that this gesture may aid you in efforts to contain the situation.

Manwë bring fair winds to your sails,

Coruethir Aceitha

---

OOC: Yes, this was discussed with Siri on IRC. And yes, that is a joke name.

Laputia, Midlonia

Marie-Claire Césarbourg, Pantocratorian Ambassador to Midlonia, waited to be admitted to see the Midlonian Prime Minister with an urgent message. Less than an hour ago an irate Demetrios Raoul, the Foreign Minister, had called her ranting and raving about a Midlonian gunboat. She had been told to make contact with the Prime Minister immediately. Generally speaking, the offices of heads of governments didn't react well to "immediate" demands to see their heads of government.

Star Office, Imperial Kremlin Palace

Tsar Alexei sighed as he tossed the folder back onto his desk in a dismissive manner. The Tsar stood up to pace behind his desk, thinking aloud about the situation. Foreign Minister Count Franz von Papen and Minister of State Security Yuri Golovko were there to see it.

"This world is littered with oppressive Catholic regimes, pushing out protestantism in any way possible, from the subtle to the extravagant." Alexei rolled his eyes and shook his head, sitting back down. "Which are then countered by Protestants from the loud-mouthed to the malevolent." The Tsar closed his eyes, massaging his temples. This headache just won't go away! Alexei let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair.

"So, here's what I want. Golovko, send a nice little team into Deasrargle, gather some intel, figure out just what the hell is going on, and what exactly the rebels want. Also, try to get the rebels together in one unified body. It would look better."

"If you don't mind me saying," Golovko interjected. "How do we know the Deasrarglens will accept us?" The Tsar shrugged.

"We don't. However, considering that they are coming from the nation who's leader is the Emperor of Greater Prussia, the self-proclaimed heart of Protestantism in the world, I don't think they'll have too much of a problem with it."

"Fair enough."

"Right." He poured himself a glass of peach vodka and sipped it. "Franz, Make some sort of statement condemning the Catholic oppression and the protestant violence. Call for a peace conference. Yeah, call for a conference here in Derscon. Don't publicise any strict Dersconi position. There's no need for them to even know we're getting involved at all, yet." The Foreign Minister smirked.

"The Emperor of Greater Prussia not taking sides?" Franz raised an eyebrow as Alexei grunted.

"They can suspect all they want. Granted, I'd like to see the Protestants get their own, independent state, free from the Catholic oppression, but I don't think that will happen. Hence, call the conference. Maybe we can stop this stupid little religious war." Count Papen nodded, and the two Ministers stood up as the Tsar left to his private quarters.
____________________________________________________
____________________________________________________

OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM THE FOREIGN MINISTRY

The Divine Prussian Empire of Derscon is concerned with the escalating violence and turmoil in Deasrargle. For ages, religious wars of all types have been waged by all sides, with no end other than slaughter of many and happiness of none. The Tsar calls for a ceasefire agreement between the involved parties until a situation can be worked out diplomatically.

The Tsar condemns the subtle yet de facto oppression and persecution of the Protestants in Finara and Deasrargle. For hundreds of years, the old Roman Catholic Church has worked hard to silence dissent amongt its ranks, relying on staged trials to the torture chambers of the Inquisition, all in fear of anyone criticizing the temporal institution of the Church. The Enlightenment and the Great Reformation brought out the worst of this Institution, and if left unchecked, Catholic oppression will destroy the very freedom of thought.

However, the Tsar also condemns the blatant warmongering by the militant Protestant factions. Assassinations and rebel uprisings are surefire methods to lose friends quickly, and such rash action should not have taken place.

Therefore, to prevent any more needless bloodshed, I invite all involved parties to Derscon in order to discuss this diplomatically and like civilized peoples.

Deo Vindice.

Count Franz von Papen
Foreign Minister to the Tsar
The Divine Prussian Empire of Derscon
_______________________________________________________________

South Prussian Sea

"What are our orders?" The XO was leaning up against the doorframe, looking at the captain of the new Leviathan-class submarine. "Well, looks like our friends from the soil are to be dropped off at Deasrargle." The XO raised an eyebrow.

"Derg-wha?" THe Captain chuckled.

"Deasrargle. Some place in the Pantocratorian Archipelago."

"What? Last time I checked, Derscon doesn't have any interests there." The captain of the submarine shrugged and stood up.

"We do now." With that, the alarm was sounded, and the battlestations were manned, the Leviathan submarine going into supercav mode to race towards the Archipelago, staying about 1000m under the surface to evade most all radar contacts.

Over the next two weeks, the situation became clearer. Many Protestants in Finara united under a man named John Knox Kenneil and a newly formed organization called Protestant Freedom Organization. Kenneil claimed to speak for the silent majority of Protestants who had grievances with the Government but shunned extremism. The Republic of Deasrargle, to counter Kenneil's and the PFO's claims, stepped up their campaign of violence to include systematic individual murder of some of their enemies in the police and the judiciary, a method previously reserved for allies or members who they felt had betrayed them. The International Red Cross effort waned somewhat as it seemed to become clogged in its on success. Rumors of more foreign volunteers among the Republic of Deasrargle forces grew, although no one was sure who they were. They weren't the Allaneans, at least not at this juncture. After disingenuously denying any role in the murders of the first wave of Allaneans, the Republic had commissioned one Idad Paisley to be their official representative to Jimmy Graham and his followers. The Midlonians were asked by the Republic to put pressure on the Finarans through economic, political, and diplomatic pressure, a request extended to anyone else who wished to help them. The Finarans accepted the Menelmacari offer of help. The Finarans and the Republic both rejected the Dersconi offer to serve as a host for negotiations. The Finarans stated that they believed first Pantocratoria and then the Resurgent Dream would be acceptable. The Republic stated that first Midlonia and then Excalbia would be acceptable. The PFO accepted the Dersconi offer provided it was accepted by all other relevent parties, which, at present at least, had not happened.

Intel gathering missions launched by various nations were relatively sucessful. They revealed that, among the Protestants, roughly a quarter were loyal to the Queen, either because of an active, though secularly founded, support for her, or because they believed that Scripture commanded obedience to legitimate secular authority even when one disapproved of it. However, less than a tenth of that quarter supported the current Governing party, with almost all loyalist Protestants supportive of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition in the legislature. Another quarter supported the Republic. The remaining half supported the PFO, which seemed to be the largest Protestant political movement.

The steward was dressed in pure white as he lowered himself to whisper in the Prime Minister’s ear, Benjamin’s face merely balked slightly and he gripped the arms of the chair.

“Oh bugger.” was all he could manage.

“Oh bugger?” replied Hykar with an inquisitive eyebrow.

“My apologies your majesty, it was a notice from Laputia, the Pantocratorian ambassador is ‘demanding’ an audience, over our Gun Cutter.”

“Oh bugger.” replied Hykar with a chuckle. “We’ll be there shortly, I’m sure we can give her an audience.”

The Prime Minister nodded, then took a breath and stopped.

“What is it Benjamin?” asked Hykar.

“Well, was wondering. How do we go about it? Our informal arrival for the weekend as planned or should we go with bells and whistles?”

Hykar hummed, then grinned and got up from his chair and walked into the next carriage.

“Ah, formal it is then.” muttered Benjamin as he got up and followed the King.

-------------------------------------


The train hissed and clanked into the station, the red coats and white pith helmeted troops ran onto the platform, an officer kicked a Red Carpet and the honour guard raised the bolt action rifles, bayonet attached and created an arch of gleaming wood and metal, their Brass Pins shone.

“Ok, maybe this was a bad idea, this Robe is stifling.”
“Your idea Majesty, not mine.”
“Yes yes.”

The door was opened by the officer who gave a salute, the guards then called out the National Motto in unison.
“War is never ending, only man is finite!” They then shouldered their rifles in drill parade fashion and saluted.
“Hail His Royal Highness King Hykar the Second of the Greater Kingdom! Hail to Benjamin Musotana, Deputy and Prime Minister of the Greater Kingdom!” They then all stamped their feet in unison and turned to face away from the monarch, the honour guard waited.

Standing, flanked by similarly dressed guards facing the train, platform and King was the Pantocratorian Ambassador, behind them, up a short roadway and slightly covered in the clouds was the Castle Laputia.

Built into the sheer rock face it was old, from the era of the 9 Kingdoms, this was the fortress of the central Kingdom of Laputia, a land that dominated the mountainous region of the Middle of what was now Midlonia, this had been the last Kingdom to fall to Midlonian forces in 1745, there were still parts of the castle where you could see the marks from the cannons that eventually shattered it.

Benjamin and Hykar walked down the platform and pathway to the Pantocratorian Ambassador, the Honour guard followed, rifles still parade shouldered, the marched in silence and matched the King’s pace exactly.

The two guards gently pushed the Ambassador aside as most of the guard stamped past, they then stopped, turned and stood aside, revealing the figures inside.

Hykar was in his Robes and what was known as the “Battle Crown” an iron affair with Rubies and Emeralds fixed in it, another left over from the 9 Kingdoms era. Denoting the Midlonian Mastery of Iron and Metal that eventually won them the entire Island, it was also worn when the King or Country was expected to go into Battle, it was a minor sign that a diplomat should know when allowed at the higher levels of power, specifically that of the Offices of the Prime Minister or the Aristocracy. After all, it was in most Midlonian History books too.

Benjamin was in a simple suit, with a Steel chain with an iron Dove with one Emerald Eye and one Ruby Eye. The Office of the Prime Minister which also denoted preparation for worse things to come.

Benjamin coughed and looked at the guards either side of the Diplomat, who then stood aside. They saluted and moved into the back of the Honour Guard lines with the sound of their boots scraping on the gravel.

“I believe you demanded to see me?” Asked Benjamin with a slight smile. “A bit much to demand, I believe one requests to see the higher levels of government as protocol. Demands tend to rile those when busy, or in this case trying to relax.”

"Your Majesty," the ambassador began, curtseying to the King, and then rising and nodding to the Prime Minister. "Thankyou for seeing me, Prime Minister. I'm afraid that I've another demand to make on the behalf of the Imperial Government."

Marie-Claire Césarbourg took a breath. She'd be sure to report the King's unusual garb to the Pantocratorian Government - Pantocratorian society was one rich in symbolic gestures, and it was impossible to mistake the King's crown as being anything but a threat of further Midlonian military involvement. She looked the Prime Minister right in the eye.

"Prime Minister, the Imperial High Command has monitored the arrival of a Midlonian gunboat in the Pantocratorian Archipelago." she began. "There is simply no justification for any Midlonian military vessel, no matter how small, to be sent to the Pantocratorian Archipelago, even in international waters. The Imperial Government demands its immediate withdrawal."

Personal office of the Foreign Minister
Xirniumite Foreign Relations and External Affairs Ministry

Naèräth, capital of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

Lady Eleanor Sabëlinà, her brow furrowed with intense concentration, emitted a mildly frustrated sigh as she assiduously considered the various strategic alternatives open before her, each one apparently grimmer than the last. Ubiquitously present, the regular, interminable ticking of an antique mahogany longcase clock was the only source of sound to disturb the room’s brooding silence. Briefly, the Parliamentary Secretary for Foreign Affairs turned from the chess board to stare at the early seventeenth century relic, with its swinging gold pendulum and polished brass weights, elaborate floral marqueterie and intricate, attractively-painted, dial - as if perhaps searching for some manner of inspiration from it. None was forthcoming, unfortunately.

With some reluctance, Eleanor settled on a plan to stave of check for a moment, abandoning the long diagonal and taking her opponent’s piece. ‘Queen takes pawn,’ she noted parenthetically, idly running a hand through her lovely ginger hair.

Almost immediately, the deputy Foreign Minister’s adversary replied by aggressively taking a chess piece of her own, shifting the exquisitely carved, medieval-era, ivory figurine by one square. ‘Bishop takes Knight’s Pawn,’ Lady Heather Gílda explained, permitting herself a small smile of triumphant satisfaction.

‘Ah, now that is a splendid move, Heather. Hmm, Rook to King One?’ announced Eleanor with forlorn uncertainly, knowing the game to be lost already.

‘Naturally that is your best move, however I am afraid that it makes little difference,’ replied the Foreign Minister with pedagogic patience. ‘You see… here I move Queen to Bishop Six… followed by your Bishop takes Queen… followed by my Knight takes Bishop, thence check and mate,’ explained the parliamentarian, straightforwardly demonstrating the futility of Eleanor’s position with the antique chess pieces. ‘Mate in two.’

Lady Sabëlinà stared at the board for a moment, verifying her opponent’s claim. It was actually quite marvellous in its subtle complexity. ‘So it is, Heather – well done. I resign,’ declared Eleanor, tipping her king piece over.

‘Thank you, that was an excellent game,’ commented Lady Gílda offhandedly, returning the ivory pieces to their starting locations.

‘You are always welcome,’ replied the Viscountess, still a little dispirited after her loss. Not for the first time, the Xirniumite noblewoman found herself wondering why she even bothered to play against the Foreign Minister at all, given that Lady Sabëlinà won against Heather so rarely.

It is for those occasional instances where I do win, Eleanor decided after a moment of pensive thought. There was certainly no shame at losing to Lady Gílda, for the parliamentarian was a most formidable chess player.

Heather rose gracefully from her seat and wandered over to the room’s dark Gothic bay windows, her delicately fine porcelain teacup and saucer in hand, whilst the Foreign Minister’s colleague busied herself by pouring an expensively aged glass of the renowned Xirniumite Hällwèn blackberry brandy from a nearby cabinet. Elaborately adorned with decorative armorial motifs in baroque colours both brilliant and restrained, the stained glass windowpanes were vastly tall, intimidating in their spectacular grandeur. At the moment, a fierce midnight storm raged unchecked beyond the comforting shelter of the building, causing driving rain to cascade in torrents down the long, glazed panes.

The Foreign Minister’s office was of considerably impressive size and stately opulence, ideally befitting her significantly powerful stature within the Xirniumite Government and its Cabinet hierarchy. Sumptuously decorated with lavishly expensive furnishings, the chamber was richly carpeted and adorned with an elaborately ornate Victorian plaster ceiling. A massive, glass-panelled, ebony bookcase occupied the greater portion of one of the room’s mahogany wainscotted walls and contained row upon row of priceless antique books (all of them fastidiously cared for). Located near several plush, well-upholstered armchairs and in front of a thick Elizabethan rug, an elaborately sculpted, solid granite fireplace currently contained a low, homely fire in its hearth – the erratic movement of its crimson flames hypnotically mesmerising. Towards a corner of the office, positioned next to a scarlet, “Greek Revival”, récamier couch, was located Lady Gílda’s infrequently-played cello, the light gleaming off its lovingly polished wooden surface. At one of the ends of the room, an expertly constructed, oak desk with inlaid, green leather top panelling and a high-backed suede leather chair gave the office a distinguished, formal air to it.

‘Heather, might I suggest that we turn our attention to Finara? I believe it imperative that we take the time to discuss the current developments in Deasrargle, and what our response to them should be,’ explained Lady Sabëlinà, her svelte hand (with its ostentatious House Numësàlquð signet ring upon a slender finger) coming to rest on the face of a great, ornamental globe of the Earth. The deputy Foreign Minister was eager to move the subject of conversation away from the recently finished chess game, and her defeat. ‘Quite some time has elapsed since our Government last voiced its extreme displeasure regarding the methods employed by the Deasrarglean separatists, and since then much has changed. We must now rethink our strategy.’

‘Hmm, indeed we must,’ agreed Lady Gílda with a nod that caused her long flaxen hair to shimmer in the golden light of the fireplace, suddenly recalling the recent events of the troubled Finaran Duchy. The current leadership contest within the Xirniumite Progressive Democracy Party had caused the international controversy to be temporarily driven from her mind and nearly entirely forgotten, as she had fervently devoted her time and effort to securing support for her candidacy within Caucus. ‘Did I mention to you that our clandestine operatives from the Secret Intelligence Service have already begun to report back from within Biernes?’

‘You did,’ replied Eleanor reflectively, frowning a little at her colleague’s nonchalance. It was quite uncharacteristic of the Foreign Minister to overlook topical matters of importance within the international community. ‘Our current suspicions are that one attempted intervention in the conflict, driven by unorganised Allanean irregulars, has been violently thwarted. It seems that the barbarian filth are now personae non gratae within Finara in general and Deasrargle in particular. No doubt the Allanean penchant for profound idiocy grated on the nerves of the separatists,’ surmised the Parliamentary Secretary, grinning with delight at the thought of Allanea’s interests being frustrated.

‘Or, rather, it might have been that the motivations and methods of the Allanean brigands were incompatible with the local movement of Deasrarglean Protestant separatism,’ clarified Lady Gílda, a little annoyed with the immature pettiness of the Xirniumite patrician - though Heather, of course, sympathised with her colleague’s loathing of the cultureless Allanean nation. Sitting behind her desk, the parliamentarian idly stirred her hot Xirniumite Ardâhwëst tea (to be taken always with lemon, never with milk or cream – or so the connoisseurs always insisted) with a delicate silver teaspoon.

‘Either way, the simple fact of the matter is that Allanea’s aspirations for forging a grotesque, global hegemony have been dealt a significant blow, as have the ambitions of the violent seditious elements of the Deasrarglean independence movement,’ replied Lady Sabëlinà with a shrug. ‘This is a matter for rejoicing. Perhaps our most important aim in this controversy has been fulfilled without our having done anything at all.’

‘Quite. Which, naturally, mandates a timely re-evaluation of our diplomatic position,’ added Heather. ‘This new faction, this… “Protestant Freedom Organisation,”’ the Foreign Minister read, double-checking the group’s name in one of her detailed briefing folders, ‘it complicates matters.’

‘The domestic politics of Finara are really none of our concern…’ mused Eleanor distractedly, draining her glass.

‘Indeed so,’ agreed the Minister for Foreign Affairs. ‘However, the existence of the PFO does much to weaken the legitimacy of the violent subversion campaign, relegating it soundly to the extremist elements of Deasrarglean society. It also starkly splits the Protestant independence camp into either revolutionaries or moderates. The former group is weakened by the existence of the latter.’

‘It seems to me that such domestic matters should, in that case, be allowed to take their course. Our concerns were always only ever about undemocratic groups or hostile foreign states subverting the sovereign will of the Finaran people. The radicals are clearly doomed to failure,’ opined Lady Sabëlinà, fidgeting inconspicuously in her chair. With her brandy glass currently empty, the Parliamentary Secretary was now acutely aware of the fact that she had not taken any laudanum all day, and found herself increasingly eager to be alone so that she might satiate her worsening opium addiction in private solitude.

‘I tend to agree with you, Eleanor, though perhaps a slight nudge in that direction may help speed matters up – and place the Eternal Republic in a more favourable or advantageous political position. Have our representative in the corps diplomatique of Midlonia issue a criticism of the Midlonian decision to recognise the rebel “government”, and advise that they reverse this policy. A criticism, Eleanor, not a condemnation…’ emphasised Lady Gílda sternly. ‘Our status as an impartial and disinterested third party observer is essential to maintain.’

‘Of course, of course,’ replied the deputy Foreign Minister, leaning forward restlessly as her gorgeous ochre-brown eyes drifted impatiently to the office’s door. ‘And then?’

‘And then we shall wait and see,’ Heather replied with a distant smile.

“The real victims of the situation in Deasrargle are without doubt the people affected by this spate of violence. It is on their behalf that the C’tani government feels moved to make a request for both sides in the conflict to cease hostilities immediately. The group calling itself the Republic of Deasrargle claims to represent the people of Deasrargle, and as such, should act in their best interests. Likewise, the government of Finara, as far as most of the world is concerned, has a duty to protect its citizens in Deasrargle. Therefore, we suggest that a cessation of hostilities on a semi-permanent basis would be in the best interests of all involved.

“To the Republic of Deasrargle, we say this: You have made your point, and the world’s eyes are upon you. If you wish to be taken seriously as a prospective government, now, as well as determination and strength, you must demonstrate responsibility and wisdom. If you are truly any more than a band of criminals, you will obviously wish for a resolution to this situation in line with the desires of the majority.


“And to Finara, you must be prepared to negotiate with the separatists no matter how spurious their claims may appear to be. In a time of crisis you must be capable of showing the same restraint as we are calling for the separatists to display, and offer them full amnesty during a cease-fire, as well as being prepared in principle to adhere to a two-state settlement. Not only is peace doubtless in the best interests of all the people of Finara, but a responsible willingness to open a dialogue with the separatists is not only in the best interests of all those caught between separatist and government forces, but will demonstrate a stability to the world that will encourage greater prosperity…

“We hope that other nations will join us in calling for a swift and civil end to this tension.”

The voice on the radio changes, “That was Princeps Senatus Laudrina Frost today calling on the separatist movement in Finara to lay down their arms and for the government to enter talks with them over their claims of popular backing. And now, our commentary panel. Doctor James Dean, Professor of International Relations, Tephet University.”

“Well,” the latest speaker says, “the obvious intent of this message is to stop the fighting. Next, I expect, there’ll be an offer, either by the Duat government, or more likely, Menelmacar, to hold some sort of negotiations. There’s an emphasis on the legitimacy of a popular mandate, so that suggests to me that the idea is that they want a referendum of some sort in the affected area. If that’s so, you can expect separatist support to be based on how much popular support they have which might not be…”

Another speaker, “I think it should be pointed out that this is aimed more at the local government than it is the rebels. All the Finarans have to do is agree in principle to negotiating with the rebels. They can’t make arrests if they want to abide by this rather hastily proposed ceasefire, but they can continue investigating. If anything, most attention’s been directed at them, though I’m surprised there’s no ‘stick’ to go with the implied carrot…”

“Carrot?” the presenter asks.

“At the end there, ‘greater prosperity.’ The C’tani government doesn’t actually administer such, but given the size of Finara, they can probably induce, with relatively little effort, enough investment there to make it seriously worthwhile for the Finarans to consider this offer. But normally there’d be some kind of implied negative. Either they can’t think of one that’s appropriate-”

“Or it’s just not obvious to us.”

“Well, quite. In any case, this proposal suits the Finarans most. At worst, both sides ignore it, and the C’tan just look impotent. At best for the Finarans, though, they agree to it, and the Deasrarglees don’t.”

“How does that benefit them?”

“Well, if the Deasrarglees prove unwilling to negotiate, then it would imply very strongly that they’re not certain of the popular support – or they just like violence – necessary to warrant statehood, in which case, it would give backing for Finara just treating them as criminals. It’s in there, ‘If you are truly any more than a band of criminals, you will obviously…’ do as we suggest.”

“So, if Finara agrees, the Deasrarglees really have to, too, or they’re conceding that they don’t have the support needed to-”

“The problem is, they might not have it, anyway. In which case, the violence may continue to escal-”

The radio crackles as it’s switched off…

The Iesus medical section had arrived and been surprised at the lack of total destruction….from the papers and TV reports they had been expecting Berlin 1945. While the reality of the situation shocked them a little, they soon adapted to the situation. They readily agreed to setting up their medical station alongside the others working in Deasrargle and threw themselves into the work….the needs of the situation forcing the various medical personal to work alongside each other for ‘the greater good’.

Doctor John-Paul Neri intellectually and now experientially understood that not everyone in a bombing was shredded by shrapnel. The impact of the bomb's shock waves bouncing off ceilings and walls could be just as deadly. He and his personnel were slowly coming to terms with treating things that weren’t easy to spot at a glance.
People that who seemingly only had minor scraps on their bodies and were fully conscious hid the signs of massive internal injuries caused by shock waves from blasts. But once the medical unit had identified problems they rushed into operating, the medical personal gazing in fascination at the wonders of Gods work as they carried out surgery.

Neri leant against a wall thinking over the days work. He had to admit it felt good to be here….and he also had to admit it felt good that he’d completely forgotten about his earlier worry about working on protestants. He winked at Sister Atlanta who was comforting a teenager with a broken arm….
“I prefer broken bones to pulling shrapnel outta civvies faces….” Doctor James Baxter said as he offered Neri the universal signal for ‘let’s go have a smoke’. Neri nodded eagerly and they quickly lit up as soon as they got outside. Smoking and drinking were the great recreational pastimes in Iesus Christi and it was only devotion to duty that prevented both doctors from drinking from their hipflasks…they’d do that as the shift ended….so they contented themselves to smoking and eagerly waited for another heavy drinking season.
James prodded his boss "Mother who-her-name seems to be pretty damn good at planning. Get her to organize our Christmas party eh?"

Official Diplomatic Memorandum – Xirniumite Permanent Mission to Midlonia
The Eternal Republic of Xirnium

Tárië Aicassë Laë Nainányéna! – For All Time! - Ad Vitam Aeternam!
To:

Mr George Hillcrest
Minister of the Foreign and Economics Office
The Greater Kingdom of Midlonia

From:

Ms Cleocháreia Arädáneth-Nénhêri
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary
The Legation of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium in Midlonia


Dear Mr Hillcrest

As official representative of the Xirniumite Republic to Midlonia, it is my duty to inform you that the Government of the Eternal Republic wishes to convey its considerable displeasure at your nation’s decision to recognise the self-declared “Republic of Deasrargle” as a sovereign state, as well as to express its most serious misgivings regarding the wisdom of your nation’s recent diplomatic actions and foreign policy initiatives taken in relation to the sectarian controversy in Finara. It is our earnest opinion that your country’s actions have not been at all helpful in assisting the resolution of this crisis, and that they instead threaten an unfortunate escalation of it.

The Xirniumite Government sincerely hopes and believes that a completely peaceful solution can and should be reached for the purpose of addressing the surge in sectarian tensions that have, as of late, manifested in the Duchy of Deasrargle. Naturally, it is our wish that, in doing so, the fundamental principles of popular democracy shall be given all due regard owing to them - and that they thus serve as the guiding principles for reconciliation. The Greater Kingdom’s decision to recognise the Weir revolutionary council as a sovereign government both perplexes and alarms us, as such an imprudent move endangers any possibility of a peaceful negotiation process by pre-empting all questions of democratic self-determination.

Upon even the most cursory examination of the present set of circumstances, under no criteria can the Weir separatist movement be said to possess either de facto or de jure sovereignty. This seditious organisation does not represent the aspirations or desires of more than a minor fraction of either the people of Deasrargle or of Finara’s Protestant minority, dispelling any claim to legitimacy grounded in the doctrine of popular sovereignty. The Weir rebellion has embraced the use of murder and violence against innocents as a tool of political expediency. It has also attempted to subvert the democratic process, to sabotage the rule of law and to drown out the majority’s voices of moderation with a minority’s extremist shouting. That Weir’s subversive organisation does not, in fact, actually or effectively govern within the territory the Duchy of Deasrargle indicates that it lacks even the most tenuous de facto argument for sovereign recongition.

The Government of Xirnium (and, indeed, the international community) is therefore greatly concerned with your nation’s recent political conduct. Not only does it risk irresponsibly inflaming the current delicate situation by appearing to provide some semblance of legitimacy to a violent and unpopular separatist movement, but it threatens to result in your Government’s actions appearing as little more than a cynical excercise in opportunism during a time of natural disaster in a foreign nation – as well as setting a precedent which might constitute a dangerous threat to the future integrity of the doctrine of national sovereignty.

Permanent resolution of this issue can only come through open and moderate dialogue which respects the central tenants of democracy, and we therefore call on your Government to immediately withdraw its recognition of the self-proclaimed “Republic of Deasrargle”. Should you refuse to do so, the Government of the Eternal Republic fears the enitrely tangible possibility of the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia eventually being branded as foolhardy and reckless, at best, by the international community as a whole, becoming a nation isolated and shunned on the world stage.

Yours sincerely

[Signed]

Her Excellency
Ms Cleocháreia Arädáneth-Nénhêri
Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of the Xirniumite Diplomatic Service
The Official Legation of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium to Midlonia

St. Ciaran, Deasrargle

The Iesians had brought with them a very valuable commodity, actual doctors. While the Red Cross effort was overflowing with volunteers, many of them trained as nurses or field medics, there were very few actual doctors. Correspondingly, from the beginning, the Iesian team had found itself working with a fairly large team of nurses and medics of other nationalities. At first, administrators worried about the Iesians' sensitivities, had gone out of the way to make sure that the Iesians were working only with their fellow Catholics but as the Iesians grew more accustomed to different sorts of people, they began to find the volunteers they worked with selected on the same basis as the any other Red Cross operation station. The staff attached to the same base as the Iesians in St. Ciaran, while mostly Catholic, now included a number of Protestants, a handful of Eastern Orthodox, a couple of Muslims, and even one Jewish woman.

As the doctors had their smoke, they could see another Red Cross ambulance roaring towards them, sirens blaring to move civilians out of the way. The ambulance pulled up and two paramedics rushed two wounded men on stretchers into the facility. So far, at least, no one had attempted any violence against the Red Cross, despite fears prevalent in Pantocratoria.

In the meanwhil, Jimmy Graham was waiting for the Dearsrargle delegation at his home, in a small town called New Perfection. It had maybe several thousand inhabitants, and everybody in the town knew who Jimmy Graham was. He made his television shows from his basement – converted into a veritable professional studion by his five sons.Amazingly, it is this hobby that grew into a real business, bringing millions of viewers and hundreds of thousands of dollars every months to his pockets.

It started a few years ago, when Jimmy Graham was but a small time preacher in this town – and then, the Internet sermons were just there for a few followers that didn't want to miss them due to work or other obligation. Eventually, more people came. In the last two years, Graham was personally the reason for five hundred thousand Allaneans to find Jesus.

The town was... different from most of Allanea. The homes were painted in simple colors, and there were no strange posters hanging off the walls, no gaudy commercials, and only one drugstore. This town has visibly begun to change over the last two years – as Graham's followers flooded in, buying the previous inhabitants out, often at exhorbitant prices. He pretended to oppose this movement – but inwardly, he was pleased.

He waited for the Dearsrarglian representatives in his guest room – a traditional affair, with a bearskin rug on the floor and a 19th-century style fireplace that was even burning. There was a long table, and at it's head sat the preacher himself. To his right sat his eldest son Monson, to his right, his eldest daughter Hilda. Monson was wearing an immaculate suit-and-tie affair, and Hilda was wearing a dress that looked like it was designed in Victorian England (which, given what Mrs. Graham used for a sewing guidebook, it just might have been.)

Given the purpose of his self-imposed mission, Jimmy Graham was calm. He did what he could. He found proper, disciplined volunteers that could be trusted. He found ways to make sure they would obey the rebels – and now it only remained to make sure that he could persuade the rebels to accept this new help.

He was sure he would succeed. He knew that the Good Lord was with him, and he would prevail.

“I see.” Benjamin rubbed his chin in thought. “The Gun-cutter was placed there in order to ascertain the current situation on the ground, and to give us an idea as to what out response should be. We don’t want to charge into any situation half-cocked now do we?” He turned and motioned the Ambassador. “Come, the walk would do us good.” they then moved off up the pathway.

“Quite simply we have been asked for help in rebuilding the province that has been ravaged by natural disaster, as well as a certain degree of law-control, after all, we have both seen what a mess that place is. The International Red Cross can only be there for so long, it is not a permanent institution in any nation in crisis, eventually the time would arrive to rebuild and I highly doubt the Red Cross would have the resources or specialities outside of its current mandate and situation to pay for the mistakes that the Finarans made, especially considering the lack of doctors amongst the main body of the volunteers.”

A wing of aircraft flew over, a number of which steadily increased as they continued their walk up the pathway.

“Of course this may mean more direct Midlonian involvement, engineering companies, and others coming in to re-build and replace the badly mauled infrastructure, after all the water and flooding that is usually associated with a hurricane, along with the damage, well.”

A wing of larger and larger aircraft rumbled over, shaking the diaphragms of those walking amongst the edelweiss and other flowers that grew naturally.

“They may also request some sort of presence to… discourage any kind of lack of grievance addressing that may be encouraged by other powers. Though personally I have been bemused by the calls for a peace conference as if all parties involved diplomatically or otherwise were at war.” Benjamin shrugged indifferently as he walked.

They ambled into the castle after a few minutes.

“So for the moment that request for the Gun-Cutter’s withdrawal is denied, I don’t expect demands to be made when we’re not near enough to Pantocratoria proper, nor really when it such demands are not justified, perhaps instead one should make requests, especially when we were going to send out a disaster relief convoy to aid in stabilization and cleaning up various areas hit worse by the hurricane.” Benjamin carefully left out references to the recent sectarian violence on purpose to see if the Ambassador would pick up on the minor oversight.

"Prime Minister, with respect, no legitimate authority has asked for Midlonia to do any of those things. Only a group of sectarian fundamentalists terrorists with neither lawful nor practical control over a single neighbourhood." the ambassador replied. "That being the case, the presence of a Midlonian gunboat in the Pantocratorian Archipelago, even in international waters, can only be interpretted as an act of aggression against the legitimately constituted governments of the region - the Kingdom of Finara, the Danaan High Kingdom, and the Pantocratorian Empire. There may be grave consequences of your refusing to withdraw this gun cutter of yours. Nevertheless, if that is your final answer, then I must you for your leave so that I can return to the embassy and inform my government."

“Then you may take your leave, and ambassador.” he turned to face her. “To us they are a legitimate authority.” He turned and walked away with little more than a curt nod.

When they were out of earshot Hykar smiled and muttered. “They’ll probably note with mild annoyance the trinkets.”

“Undoubtedly, but this is what we were aiming for after all.”
“True, but we may go too far, after all my party is baying for more direct involvement.”
“Yes, I watched that. What now? A drink?”
“Yes, and a change of clothes” smirked Benjamin.

Imperial Monitor
MIDLONIAN PM: FUNDAMENTALIST REBELS ARE "LEGIMATE AUTHORITY"
Ambassador to Midlonia Withdrawn
Midlonian Prime Minister Benjamin Musotana, when confronted by Pantocratorian Ambassador to Midlonia Marie-Claire Césarbourg with the statement that Midlonia had been asked for assistance by "sectarian fundamentalist terrorists" rather than a legitimate government, replied that "to [Midlonia] they are a legitimate authority", according to sources in the Department for Foreign Affairs.

According to the Department of Defence, a Midlonian gunboat has been operating within the Pantocratorian Archipelago for an undisclosed period of time. The Government asked Midlonia to withdraw the gunboat via Pantocratoria's Ambassador to Midlonia, but Prime Minister Musotana refused, Foreign Minister Demetrios Raoul relayed in a door stop interview today at the Palais du Parlement.

"In protest of this blatant Midlonian military aggression, which can only make an already delicate situation worse, the Emperor today recalled our ambassador to Midlonia, on the advice of the Imperial Government." said Minister Raoul.

The Imperial Government "ought to check this Midlonian gunboat with an Imperial Navy vessel, to ensure the security of our borders and those of our allies in the Archipelago" declared Isaac Comnenus, Deputy Leader of the Opposition. "Withdrawing Marie-Claire Césarbourg was a step in the right direction, but doesn't go nearly far enough."

In the meanwhile, the Allanean Central Intelligence Agency was on it's own busines. Phonecalls were made into allied countries, and in a few weeks, several charities rose up in Catholic Cherry Ridge, and in the catholic areas of Derscon. All of the employees of these charities (of which there were few) had distinct Dersconi and Ridgian names and accents, and most walked and talked like devout catholics. Their first action was to donate several million dollars 'from anonymous donors' to hospitals and schools in Cherry Ridge and Derscon.

Pretty soon, the leader of Dersconi Catholics for Christian Charity – a suave young man named Pyotr Chernikhovski, wearing a set of rosary beads over his right hand, addressed the Catholics of Derscon on television for money to give to the 'poor suffering Christian brothers in Finara and Dearsrargle'. The money – raised again from 'anonymous donors' was collected with amazing speed, and forwards for a variety of hospitals both catholic and protestant around Finara.

In the meanwhile, the Cherry Ridge group, known as Christians United For Peace, criticized Midlonia for it's support of the 'terrorist leadership of the Protestants' and called on Protestants of Dearsrargle to leave their violent ways and 'reconcile with their Christian brothers'. Their leader – an old man named Gilliome Sorel – was almost the complete opposite of Chernikhovski – and neither held an Allanean passport. The fact that Mikhail Kerensky and Nicola Goffe did had no bearing on this whatsoever.

Kerensky did one more thing. He called the appropriate employees of Finaran TV and radio stations to ask whether he could run ads on the local media.

New Perfection, Allanea

Idad Paisley entered the room where Jimmy Graham was waiting for him. He was a thick, heavyset man in his late fifties with a rather reserved, unexpressive face and silver hair. He went cleanshaven and his brown eyes seemed perpetually intent upon whatever he happened to glance at. Thise brown eyes looked first at his host, then to his son, then to his daughter, and then back to Jimmy Graham. "Thank you for having me here, Reverend. I've listened to all your sermons about Deasrargle and read over your offer with some interest."

"I understand that you have some sort of proposal that you would like to make to the Republic of Deasrargle regarding material support. I am willing to hear out whatever proposition you might have, especially in light of the unfortunate incident befalling the last Allanean volunteers, most likely a move by Pantocratorian or Finaran intelligence." Paisley continued.

Graham nodded sadly. “The Allanean volunteers have failed. The mechanism of their failure is of no interest to me right now – but I do believe that they would not have failed if the Good Lord would not have willed it to be so. For would a hair fall from one's head without the will of the Lord? Allanea is a sinning nation, good Sir. Most of them have forsaken the Lord and his Commandments, and live a life of sin and hedonism. You know this, I am sure, if you met any of the late volunteers – may the Lord have mercy on their souls – or visited Liberty-City. Every day that the city stands is truly a marvel of His kindness.”

“But not all of the sons and daughters of Allanea are like that. The previous Emperor- “ - James Graham nodded at the portrait of the late Emperor Ian Paisley I - “set up many schools here, may the Lord bless his soul, and I myself was brought up in one – the Robert Edward Lee Military Academy. You may have heard of it, good Sir.”

“At any rate, Sir, there are many Allaneans who have not yet forgotten the Lord. Many in fact serve in the Emperor's own Allanean Volunteer Force – the tip of the spear of Greater Prussia. Inquire, and you will find them known for their bravery, for their dedication, and their discipline.”

“I understand that discipline was a problem with the late volunteers – may the Lord forgive me for speaking ill of them. Now, what if – just if – I could provide to your service Allanean money, Allanean weapons, and the shoulders and bodies of Allanean young men, such as I spoke about – brave, dedicated, faithful to the Lord and the cause, and most importantly disciplined, that would carry every order of yours at the cost of their own lives?”

“Imagine that those men would be so different in their bearing – having spent a year or two of their life out of the country – in their clothing, behavour, and creed – from the hedonist secularists that inhabit our cities, that you would not recognise them as people of the same nation unless they told you so. Imagine the Red Hand of the AVF reaching out, where you need it most, and, God willing, smiting the foes of the Lord and of Dearsrargle with a blow as powerful, or as subtle, as you need it be.”

“Money. Information. Men. This is what I'm offering, good Sir, and the only promise I'll ask in return is that you continue the struggle until victory.”

OOC: Pre-approved by Allanea.

The man sat in the back, out of the way. At the moment, he was simply observing. He was discussing various topics with Jimmy Graham before this Paisley character showed up from Deasrargle.

When Idad was finished speaking, the man stood up and walked over to where they were, coming out of the shadows, like something out of a suspence/action film. "He's not the only one with an offer." The man stepped forward, revealing a military-style uniform. It wasn't quite military, though.

"I am Maester Felix Zwingli; you are Idad Paisley from Deasrargle, no?" The Maester smiled and extended his hand. "You probably have not heard of me. I am the former commander of the Holy Order of the Knights of Luther, the largest private militia in Derscon, and am now Director of Military Affairs with the Grand Imperial Council for the Advancement of the Protestant Faith, based in Derscon." He went to sit down, looking over at Graham for permission, which was granted, and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs.

"Let's just say Graham here isn't the only one interested in your struggle."
_______________________________________________

Communique to the Deasrarglen People

On behalf of the Dersconi people, I would like to inform you that, upon your permission, members of the Dersconi Red Cross and the Boy Scouts of Derscon will be coming over either by plane or by ship with many needed medical supplies and temporary shelters, as well as food, water, and other necessities.

It is the responsibility of Christians to help our fellow Brothers and Sisters in Christ in times of need and struggle.

I ask of you to please accept this request.

On behalf of the Red Cross, the Boy Scouts of Derscon, and the hundreds of other organizations that helped bring this together,

Veliky Kynaz Ivan Rekjyavich III
_______________________________________________

Leviathan 0012

"Approaching Pantocratorian waters."

"Aye, approaching waters."

"Cut supercav."

"Aye, cutting supercav." The Captain looked over at the hologram of the waters.

"Engage cat drive."

"Aye, engaging caterpillar." The all-silent alarm went out over the sub, so as anyone who creaked the floor would be thwapped with a stick, and the caterpillar drive was engaged. The sub went down to twelve hundred metres, and made its way slowly into the Pantocratorian waters. MSS found a decent insertion point near an uninhabited part of the beach-head. It would be a few hours, yet, however.

OOC: Panto, do you want me to RP working at evading your zOMG NAVY!1!11 or can I just slip in?

The doctors rushed back to the work, eagerly throwing themselves into the task ahead. Neri, Baxter and all the other doctors and nurses of the Iesus medical section approached the work with a full-throttle attitude….after a little awkwardness the relationship with other aid-workers blossomed, professionalism overcoming bias at St. Ciaran….but the Iesus personnel generally avoided discussing politics and religion.

Neri handed a stuffed giraffe to the injured girl. He smiled “For a brave girl! You just lay there and rest. And how about I send a nurse through with some chocolate…just because you were so brave!”

In private the Iesus doctors chatted little about the situation in Finara, instead they relaxed. Fairly soon after they had arrived they made it known they wouldn’t isolate themselves…when off duty they interacted freely with the other personnel.
Of course there were the occasional slips. Comments about politics and religion came out unthinkingly and expressions from home like “Don’t be such a Jew” “Mind like a meta” “meta’ed it up” slipped out in tense moments.

A nondescript, modest hotel on the outskirts of Biernes
Deasragle, Northern Duchy of Finara

‘Are you even listening to a word of what I am saying?’ asked Xavier Ingðlécâno, his eyes narrowing slightly in annoyance.

Ingrid van Østerby-Ángölistûi, a consummate Xirniumite foreign correspondent and experienced reporter for the well-known weekly current affairs documentary series, Europe-Atlantic Focus, sighed as she reluctantly turned from what she was doing to face her long-time colleague. Casually reclined on a comfortably large armchair, her legs draped nonchalantly over the edge of one of the seat’s upholstered armrests, the journalist had until now been deeply absorbed in the reading of a book that she had recently found - somewhat grandiosely entitled the First Great Triumph of the Ard Ri: Modern Finaran History from Maeve I to Stephen XII. One of several weighty volumes that Ingrid had picked up from the Xirniumite consulate’s considerable library, and authored by a local Finaran academic, the book primarily concerned the events of the long and bitter Northern Wars of unification, which had finally brought Deasrargle under the political control of the central government in 1673. Though in certain parts quite tedious, Ingrid had found it, overall, to be a rather enjoyable read – a fascinating insight into a foreign nation’s past periods of strife.

The usual practice of Europe-Atlantic Focus was generally to send its correspondents to places where they had already previously gained considerable experience and knowledge reporting from, though such was unfortunately not to be the case in this situation. Both Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi and Mr Ingðlécâno had been temporarily seconded from other ongoing assignments in Western Europe in order to cover first the hurricane disaster and later the sectarian violence in Finara, despite never having visited the Deasrargle before (though granted they had performed quite admirably, all things considered). For her own part, Ingrid had done her utmost to thoroughly familiarise herself with the Finaran Duchy in the scant few weeks that she had been here, and in addition to the burgundy, bound leather tome currently open before her, the Xirniumite had also voraciously poured through sections of several other works. Indeed, a fair number of these had been unceremoniously discarded in a pile beside her chair, the one at the top sporting the rather unimaginative (in Ingrid’s private opinion) title, Anti-Protestant Government Policies during the Rein of King Daniel II, inlaid in golden lettering against a maroon leather background.

‘You said that the Xirniumite Broadcasting Corporation had secured another interview?’ Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi repeated uncertainly, removing her tortoiseshell, horn-rimmed glasses as she sat up straight and grudgingly placed the book aside. Aged in her early thirties, of slender build, and possessing long, wavy brunette hair, the reporter had a slightly darker, more Mediterranean, complexion than was perhaps common for most Xirniumites. As she was not (at present) working, Ingrid was rather casually attired - and instead of her professional charcoal-coloured skirted suit she wore a long, extremely fashionable haute couture saffron-coloured dress, whose hem reached ankle length, an expensively elegant, knitted, woollen cardigan, and stylish three-inch high heels.

‘Ah, so you were paying attention, after all,’ replied Mr Ingðlécâno, his lips curling into a smile. A tall, lean gentleman with sharp, aquiline features, fair skin and piercing grey eyes, Xavier was of broadly similar age to his colleague and had been educated at the prestigious Naèräth University with a Master’s degree in the Arts. Unlike Ingrid, however, Mr Ingðlécâno was currently clad in somewhat more formal clothing, and wore an expertly-tailored, navy blue pinstripe suit, silk tie in flawless Windsor knot and polished, black leather shoes. Characteristically attired to the most impeccable standards, the journalist also sported sophisticated gold cuff links, a delicately engraved tie bar, and conservatively austere pocket square handkerchief.

‘Well… not precisely, Xavier,’ admitted Ingrid with an amused grin. After a moment’s consideration she leant over to a small, nearby table, and picked up her half empty glass of red wine to take a thoughtful sip. ‘It was actually more of an educated guess. You’ve been hinting that they might finally arrange an interview for some time now - at least a week, if I recall.’

‘Well, either way, it is a most fortuitous development,’ opined the journalist with a slight frown. ‘I do not believe that Mr Kenneil has yet spoken to any other major international news groups,’ remarked Xavier offhandedly.

‘So this is the leader of the Protestant Freedom Organisation, then?’ clarified Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi with interest.

‘Oh, yes,’ nodded Mr Ingðlécâno. ‘The XBC hasn’t yet had any real luck arranging something similar with the separatist Deasrarglean republican government.’

‘Ahh, well… never mind. I am certain we will eventually,’ replied the Xirniumite lady with a shrug. ‘This is interesting too, of course. After all, the PFO is only a fairly newly-founded organisation. We will finally have something novel to report for a change. When is the interview scheduled for?’

‘In several hours,’ explained the reporter, briefly checking his ornate silver pocket watch.

‘Hmm, well I do suppose I had better change then and prepare my notes,’ mused Ingrid. ‘I take it that you’ve already arranged all the details regarding the video camera equipment and crew?’

‘Indeed I have. All is ready, Ingrid.’

‘Splendid.’

Amestria

While the media was filled with one Danaan princess after another throwing herself into the International Red Cross effort with the roaring approval of the Danaan public, few noticed a less obviously philanthropic royal trip, as the Princes of Fireforge and Zutern, with their wives and their minor children, made arrangements for a joint family trip to Amestria. Their travel plans included what anyone familiar with them would have expected, a combination of relaxing vacation spots, historic sites important to the history of Amestrian Protestantism, and, where possible, public appearances and social engagements with Amestrian society. However, among the usual plans, both princes sent to Ms. DuClare a request to make her acquaintance.

Unfortunately all the high class resorts and truly relaxing vacation spots were on the Amestrian Catholic South’s Mediterranean coast, which made sense considering the North tended to be somewhat wet and dreary most of the year (although it was no where near as dismal as Xirnium) while the all the truly important historic sites concerning the history of North Amestrian Protestantism were scattered throughout the North.

The parties logical first stop was the city of Ardenne, as it was the historic cultural center of Northern Amestria, what with its grand avenues, vast parks, famous cafés (the foremost of which was the Café aux Fines Herbes), the great gothic cathedral of Notre Dame de Ardenne, and the famous Theater Jambon des Somnambules (which was currently showing Pierre-André Genet’s Ce Jeu est Une Perte de Votre Temps, and Qwertyuiop’s critically acclaimed neo-Resistentialist Messieurs, les choses sont terribles, the optimists latest response to the pessimist Ventre's Les Choses qui sont César).

Beth DuClare, upon being notified of the Royal request, extended an invitation to both families to attend a dinner party she would be hosting at her Ardenne chateau, Monday. Among the attendances would be Nathalie Maurice Allais, the Amestrian Minister of Finance, and Vincent Messier, prominent Kommerziellrat (“Commercial Officer”) and business leader.

****

The State of Amestria
Ardenne,
Ardenne International Airport,
VIP Terminal,
Saturday

Fonctionnaire Honoré Monnet of Le Ministère de Culture, Direction de l'architecture et du patrimoine, Korps A Deuxième Classe, glanced awkwardly at his pocket watch. He was the perfect picture of the typical North Amestrian bureaucrat, five foot eight inches, black hair, brown eyes, very fair skin, modest grey suit, and well trimmed mustache.

Please let her not be late… I don’t want to have to make further small talk with these people.

To the Amestrians right, just off the plane, stood Prince James of Fireforge, his wife Princess De of Fireforge, their son Prince Denholm, their daughter Princess Senga, Prince Heinrich of Zutern, his wife Princess Christina of Zutern, and their daughters, Princesses Emerita, Chantal, and Hermine. Hermine, the youngest by far, was tottling about, exploring the area around the terminal. She was a tiny girl of six years with bright blue eyes and golden blond hair. She giggled a little as she watched a small bug move across the carpet. “What kind of bug is that?” she asked, looking to Princess Emerita, her eldest sister.

“I don’t know.” Emerita, a brunette of about sixteen years answered, crouching slightly next to her little sister. “It isn’t like the bugs we have in Zutern. Maybe you could ask mother and father to find out for us.”

Most Amestrian State officials found The Resurgent Dreams decentralized nature and countless redevances sans importance somewhat baffling and thusly had not known at first whether to treat Prince James and Prince Heinrich’s trip as some form of State visit or merely as another case of tourism. In typical Amestrian fashion they decided to hedge their bets and, while viewing it as nothing more then a private visit, provide the princely couples with the assistance of an official from the Ministry of Culture, an expert on North Amestria’s religious history and medieval architecture. Monnet, given his position in overseeing the preservation and maintenance of Ardennes various holy sites (which had been State property since the Revolution of 1839 and the subsequent Law of Separation of Church and State), as well as his expertise was the logical choice to help the MacAlisters and Zingres around Ardenne, what amounted to a tedious errand.

Princess Christina smiled slightly at her daughters, standing next to her husband as they waited patiently. The Danaan party had admittedly been a little offended at being asked to wait for a welcoming party and even more so when they’d learned that the party was led by some woman who was styled a cardinal. Prince Heinrich’s ordinarily jovial if somewhat plump face had lost its usual grin. James and Denholm had maintained polite, if very reserved, expressions. The faces of Christina and De, however, had fallen visibly. Christina had begun to nervously watch her children.

Much to the civil servants relief he soon spotted the rest of the welcoming company, a man and a woman, making their way through the terminal.

“That man looks like the preacher at Prince Brendan’s wedding and the woman looks like the lady at His Majesty’s Church.” Chantal, the bookish princess of twelve years noted as she stood ramrod straight behind her parents, thin glasses perched on her long nose. Heinrich nodded slightly and Christina briefly rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Neither spoke.

The man, aged in his mid twenties, was dressed in a simple priestly robe, completely black except for the touch of white on his clerical collar.

“May I present,” the Priest stated aloud, “Her Most Reverend Eminence Marie-Helen Cardinal Benoist, Archbishop Emerita of Ardenne…”

Cardinal Benoist was a North Amestrian woman of average height, five feet four inches, roughly in her early sixties, with soft wrinkles around her eyes and light gray hair. She was fairly attractive for her age; youthfully preserved would be a good description. She was dressed in robes and vestments of rich scarlet, with a six inch solid gold Pectoral Cross suspended by a cord of red and gold silk.

“And how are you this fine day Fonctionnaire Monnet?”

“Amende juste, merci…”

Benoist cheerfully greeted each of the royals with a friendly word or handshake. James took her hand and boxed over it, bringing it near his lips but not actually kissing it. Heinrich followed the Cardinal’s lead and shook her hand as did a curious looking Denholm and Chantal. Christina and De kept their hands folded quietly in front of them, not accepting the handshake. Hermine started crying and started to run behind her mother. Emerita hoisted her up into her arms and gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “There, there, Hermine. It’s ok.”

“Do you pray?” she asked, once introductions were out of the way.

Prince James nodded. “We try to spend a few hours in prayer every day.”

“In my house, as well” Prince Heinrich answered simply.

“Must be a beautiful sight being so still for a time…” the Cardinal thought aloud, dreamily. “The calm, the dignity… After all…”

Marie-Helen gave the Danaans a mischievous smile.

“…why else would one pray?”

“To please and reverence God.” Christina said in barely restrained anger. Heinrich placed a hand gently on his wife’s arm and she took a step backwards, forcing her anger to dispel. De looked quietly to her husband and then placed a hand on Senga’s shoulder. The fifteen year old redhead looked confused but quiet.

The Cardinal placed her hands behind her back and began to leisurely pace back and forth.

“I trust you all will be attending Notre Dame’s Sunday Afternoon Mass, we have reserved the front pew for your convenience, so that you may fully observe the proceedings and hear every word… Archbishop Comte has a beautiful voice, so poetic and full of quiet energy, her Liturgy of the Word and performance of Rites is not to be missed by any Spectateur. Her performances are all the more remarkable given her atheism, which often causes many a priest or bishop to become unenthusiastic about their duties, but not Jeanne, she truly has a sense for solemn theater. After the ceremonies and confession there will be a tour of the cathedral and catacombs…”

Benoist motioned to Monnet. “Fonctionnaire Monnet and I shall serve as your guides.”

“Unfortunately, we have already arranged a very tight schedule for our visit. We won’t be able to attend the Mass.” James answered.

“Oh really, that’s too bad,” Marie-Helen opinioned.

“We of course will be touring the cathedral and catacombs,” James clarified.

De frowned and looked at her husband as though she were planning to have words with him later. How could he have brought her children here? Christina’s look was calmer, although she was mostly looking at Hermine. The little girl was still crying and seemed quite distraught. Heinrich shifted slightly and looked to Emerita as though expecting her to quiet her sister down. They all found this whole thing more or less literally obscene, although James alone among them was hiding it perfectly.

The Cardinal seemed to enjoy the Danaans reaction and the mischievous smile returned.

“Well,” said Monnet, “we won’t keep you any longer from your hotel.”

He handed both the Princes a folded piece of paper containing the number of his office.

“If you require anything further regarding Ardennes Historic sites, I am at your service. Till tomorrow…”

“I wish you all a pleasant stay,” Marie-Helen commented as she and Monnet took their leave.

Amestria

The Danaans took their tour gracefully, although they weren't able to hide the fact they were just putting up with an annoyance. That Sunday, they held private services in their rooms. Come Monday, they were all too glad to be heading towards DuClare's chateau and away from the presence of the Cardinal.

Biernes, Finara

Kenneil was a man in his late thirties. He dressed in a modest but respectable suit and travelled accompanied only by a few friends. He was fairly fit, although he was starting to get something of a gut. He had a pleasant smile on his face as he arrived for his interview with the Xirniumites.


New Perfection, Allanea

"That isn't really the kind of help we're looking for from abroad." Paisley said.

Biernes, Capital of the Finaran Duchy of Deasrargle

The next several hours were spent in diligent preparation for the scheduled interview. Ingrid carefully poured through her chaotic mass of scribled notes, hastily drafting a series of questions and quickly attempting to familiarise herself with what was apparently the largest single group of mainstream Deasrarglean nationalism. Xavier, for his part, made final arrangements for the audiovisual recording of the interview.

Ingrid’s distinctive, violet-coloured eyes narrowed critically as she regarded, for the first time, the political leader of the self-styled Protestant Freedom Organisation. At first glance, John Kenneil seemed a fairly unassuming (perhaps even “unremarkable”, thought the reporter) individual. Both foreign correspondents of the Europe-Atlantic Focus were struck primarily with the impression of a reasonably good-natured, though not particularly extraordinary, politician. The respectable clothing of the slightly portly Deasrarglean agitator, for instance, seemed fairly plain when compared with the highly chic attire of the Xirniumite journalists – despite the fact that both he and they wore mere business suits.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Kenneil. It is quite a pleasure to meet you,’ spoke a friendly Ingrid with a warm smile as she greeted the Deasrarglean politician, shaking his hand elegantly. Years of experience as a successful foreign correspondent had taught Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi that the familiar Xirniumite custom of exchanging kissing whenever greeting someone was not one universally appropriate in countries abroad – a formal, courteous handshake was therefore the easiest way to avoid offending sensibilities.

With eminent professionalism, Ingrid quickly introduced herself and her colleague.

‘Allow us to thank you, once again, sir, for taking time from your busy schedule to speak with us,’ added Xavier with a polite smile.

‘We do not wish to keep you overly long, so if we might perhaps commence with the interview…’ suggested Ingrid gently.

Biernes, Finara

Kenneil gave both foreign journalists a warm smile as he shook their hands. He had a firm handshake which he invariably accompanied with direct eye contact. “I’m John Knox Kenneil.” He gestured towards each of the men with him. “This is Brian Shanahan and the Rev. Eamon Fallon.”

Shanahon was a slim man with thin spectacles. His suit was substantially nicer than Kenneil’s and his air more affected. He seemed nervous, hanging back and examining the Xirniumites skeptically before offering. His handshake was a little limp and his smile was almost forced. After murmuring something about being pleased to meet the journalists, he quickly drifted back to standing a little behind Kenneil.

Fallon was almost exactly the opposite of Shanahon. He was a short, muscular man. His suit was not the suit of a businessman but rather resembled the one suit a farmer or laborer might own and wear only to church. He shook Ingðlécâno’s not just firmly but enthusiastically. He only shook Østerby-Ángölistûi’s hand very lightly, treating the lady, unconsciously, as though she were so delicate that she might shatter if touched too roughly. “It’s grand to meet you to be sure. We’re heard all sorts of people talk about us but you’re the first ones who actually wanted to hear what we had to say about it.”

“I always have time for people who seriously want to learn about the situation here in Finara. I’m especially eager to put before the international community what Finaran Protestants want and what we believe. With a few unrepresentative factions saying and doing all sorts of things and with the recent attack on Biernes itself, it’s becoming increasingly clear that some foreign states and international networks who consider themselves friends of Protestantism are in fact our worst enemies.”

Kenneil began walking towards the film area, pausing in front of his chair and waiting for his hosts to sit, especially van Østerby-Ángölistûi. “I wonder if either of you caught the interview of the Grand Duchess of Shieldcrest and the Princess of Thorlund on Peacock Daily News?”

"Well, that is the point of this discussion, is it not?" Felix reclined slightly, fingerdrumming the armrest of the chair. "We don't know what you want, that's why we're here, to figure out what you need, and give it to you." He leaned forward in the easy chair, putting his arms across his legs and folding his hands in front of him. Felix glanced back up at Idad.

"So, what kind of help do you require?"
_______________________________________________

0012 Leviathan

The Captain glanced over at the XO, only mouthing a question.

Anything? The XO shook his head to say that there was a very limited Pantocratorian naval presence, and they shouldn't be a problem. The difficulty would be getting the submarine near enough to the surface. The ship was quiet, yes, but anytime a submarine moves around near the surface, it's a nervous time.

The order was given to slowly make the sub rise, so as to create as little sound as possible. It would be a very slow run.

New Perfection, Allanea

Paisley sighed a little inside but only inside. Outwardly, his expression remained polite but inscrutable. He had never had quite such an awkward and inappropriate conversation before but he was trained to ignore such things. “International recognition is important as is international propaganda work. Financial funding is also something the Republic sorely needs. It is especially important to us that the attempt of the Pantocratorian and Finaran Governments to blame us for the mustard gas attacks be defeated before the tribunal of world opinion.”

Pantocratorian Archipelago

The Danaan Naval presence already helping to secure Heregos from illegal immigration was expanded into a Commonwealth Joint Task Force formed around the Lanerian aircraft carrier, the USS Enterprise. The entry of Finara into the Commonwealth, although still in its early stages, had drastically changed the Danaan position in the current conflict, as had the mustard gas attacks on Biernes, deplored by most of the world. The Joint Task Force, CJTF 1, under the command of Commodore Sean Ashcroft, was in touch with the Entente presence in Biernes itself although it had standing orders not to engage any foreign military vessels without explicit orders from Agwenstadt or a direct attack.

Commodore Ashcroft was pacing the bridge of the Enterprise. He already had reports of Midlonian vessels in the area and he wouldn’t be surprised if other hostile powers had done the same. The people he was fighting were terrorists or their supporters. They had links to white supremacist groups, fascist states, human traffickers and all sorts of other truly dark things. They were decried by most Finaran Protestants who were pursuing their legitimate grievances through the Protestant Freedom Organization and other moderate groups. Still, it wounded him to see the Entente and Commonwealth forces portrayed as some sort of Counter-reformation being replayed in the twentieth century. Sixty years of life, forty of them spent in the United States Navy, had brought Ashcroft a long way from the simple faith of his childhood but he still thought of himself as a good Christian. When he was at home, he was at First Baptist Church in Pennsboro, Roanoke every Sunday, rain or shine. He’d made sure both of his sons were baptized and raised in the Church. He’d been a faithful husband, despite the enormous temptations of life in the service. Most importantly he put his love and faith and trust in Jesus for his unmerited salvation. He thought he was a decent man and he was sure this Republic was led by wicked men but still…hearing men talk like that, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if there were things about the Commonwealth role in all this that he wasn’t really facing honestly…

Ashcroft shook his head. He had his orders and now was no time to pause for soul-searching. Frowning seriously, he resumed his seat. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet, sir.” Ensign Ronald Schmidt said.

“This isn’t the sort of conflict where the enemy is likely to deploy actual warships.” Ashcroft noted. “Still, stay alert. Nothing in this damned mess is what it seems…”

Biernes, Finara

Ingrid skilfully suppressed an amused smile at the Deasrarglean preacher’s instinctively chivalrous disposition towards her, carefully taking mental note of the identities of Mr Kenneil’s companions as she shook each of their hands.

‘It’s rather surprising, I think, that your organisation should not have received very much publicity to date. Today you shall have ample opportunity to finally tell your own side of the story,’ promised Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi encouragingly, deciding against following up on the gentleman’s other comments (specifically those regarding the ulterior motives of various international groups) until the interview itself had commenced. ‘After all, everyone has already heard, at substantial length, what the vocal, extremist minority has had to say. It’s important, however, not to mistakenly overlook the silent majority.’ In Ingrid’s opinion, it never hurt to put your interview subjects at ease by appearing friendly. Quite the opposite, in fact.

It was of course, considered the foreign correspondent, entirely unremarkable that (in an area veritably plagued by sectarian violence) an influential politician should be able to count, amongst his or her entourage, at least one member of the local clergy. In secular Xirnium, by contrast, merely making an ostentatiously religious remark in the public eye would be considered an inexcusable cultural faux pas by the unforgiving Xirniumite society – possibly sufficient a mistake to see the offending politician marginalised from mainstream politics and openly derided by both the fashionable elite and the vast upper-middle classes alike.

Taking her seat adjacent to Daniel, the attractive journalist crossed her legs at the knee and made herself abundantly comfortable. As she patiently waited for the camera operators to finish their preparations, Ingrid made a final skim through her various notes and fastidiously smoothed her expensively tailored skirt (its hemline, as per the most current trends of the Xirniumite fashion houses, slightly above the knee – noticeably dissimilar from the somewhat shorter skirts that had been in vogue only several months ago, and also from the longer, midcalf length styles that had been the mode in the season before that).

‘We did indeed manage to watch Ms Merlot’s interview,’ nodded Xavier, replying to Mr Kenneil’s inquiry. ‘Extremely interesting… in my view,’ he opined, though personally Mr Ingðlécâno felt that the pretty Pantocratorian reporter had carelessly neglected important opportunities to follow up on certain answers in more thorough a manner – indeed, that she seemed to have not paid enough attention to the responses of her interview subjects generally.

‘In fact, we should very much like to hear your own thoughts on the Peacock Daily News interview,’ agreed Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi, her interest perked as she cast her mind back to the programme. ‘Did you concur with the contention of Grand Duchess Gwendolyn that the very observable lack of a unified coordination on aid distribution throughout Deasrargle (by Protestant charities) is due overwhelmingly to the great mistrust and suspicion of certain churches of the Calavanist tradition, especially the Presbyterian Church of Finara, towards the other churches of the Protestant faith - and in particular towards those of the Lutheran and Anabaptist traditions?

‘To what extent would you agree that interdenominational hostility within Finaran Protestantism has been most to blame for the failure of Protestant charities to cooperate efficiently and effectively in the provision of timely humanitarian relief to those individuals desperately in need of it?’

Somewhere in the waters of the Pantocratorian Archipelago

Pantocratoria wasn't at war, nor was it at a state of constant military readiness, despite the tensions in Finara, and the "problem settlement" of Heregos. The only significant deployment of the Pantocratorian Imperial Navy in the archipelago was in the Gulf of Verdi and just outside of it, blockading Heregos in an effort to ensure that no more settlers landed there, although they were crafty and possessed of that low animal cunning and tenacity in the face of all odds (and logic) that Allaneans were famous for, and still managed to trickle through now and again. The forces deployed around Heregos consisted of the ageing aircraft carrier Imperator Andreus and its battlegroup - Pantocratoria's much more modern battlegroups were deployed on exercise about Ambara and the Excalbian Isles. While they had begun to employ sonar ever since they found one particularly insane settler and his family sailing for Heregos in a home-made submarine the size of a Volkswagon, they weren't looking for a naval submarine actively attempting to avoid detection, nor were they particularly close by the mainland's coast.

The Imperial High Command wasn't expecting a submarine from Derscon to arrive any moment, and nor was anybody else in Pantocratoria for that matter. There had been some rumblings from the analysts in the Imperial Foreign Intelligence Service, but they had never even made it to the members of the High Command - MATER, the supercomputer AI which was the High Command's eyes, ears, and mouth, hadn't seen fit to pass it on to them. The suggestion that Derscon would, unprovoked, send any sort of military vessel to Pantocratoria without prior diplomatic contact seemed on the face of it so ridiculous that MATER had decided that the analysis was something which would only serve to confuse the High Command rather than assist them, and she had therefore kept the information to herself.

((OOC: I need to know where exactly you're landing. There are maps of the archipelago on my wiki. Why not grab one and mark the landing point on it in MS Paint or something and post it?))

Biernes, Finara

“Well, to be completely honest, I’m not sure that’s exactly what Her Highness meant to say. However, there is a certain tendency among non-Protestants to speak of Protestantism as one faith, in the same way they might speak of Catholicism or Orthodoxy. And that just isn’t accurate. Protestant denominations are as different, or even more different, from one another as they are from the Catholic Church. Both the most liberal and the most conservative Christian denominations identify themselves as Protestant. You have groups like the Amish whose beliefs and way of life are obviously radically different from that prevalent in the rest of the West. So, Protestantism as an identity, doesn’t have much real theological meaning separate from the specific theologies of specific Protestant traditions. Even the five solas, traditionally used to define Protestantism, aren’t really universally adhered to or at least don’t mean the same thing to different people. For example, as a Presbyterian, I believe that sola gratia, grace alone, is a principle which, if it means anything, means that the saints are divinely elected and man’s will has nothing to do with it. So I wouldn’t think that an Arminian really believed in that principle. So, theologically speaking, there aren’t two religions in Finara, there’s dozens, with Catholicism and Presbyterianism being the largest.

“But, and this is a point I want to make clear, the issue isn’t religion. A lot of people want it to be but it just isn’t. People aren’t fighting over theology. There is as much theological difference between different Protestant denominations in Deasrargle as there is between us and our Catholic neighbors but Protestants aren’t fighting each other, although they might be arguing and, yes, there might be some tensions between them. The issue here is equality before the law and equality of opportunity for all Finarans. It isn’t an issue of whose religion is right or wrong but a basic principle of the rule of law, the principle that whether you be a Lutheran or a Presbyterian or an Anabaptist or a Methodist or a Catholic or, for that matter, an atheist, a Buddhist, a Muslim or anything else you might be, you have the same rights with regard to housing, to employment, to health care and to pursue your own dreams in life. That issue was made especially clear by the hurricane when the predominantly Protestant city of Biernes didn’t get the sort of relief that was merited by the disaster.

“So, to answer your question, I don’t think that differences among Protestants caused the problem. It isn’t differences with the other Protestants that kept the Presbyterians out until very recently. It was a worry on the part of many Presbyterians that the International Red Cross effort was going to be used to cover over their grievances; that people would come together in a spirit of love and cooperation to rebuild and then consider the task over without any of the longer lasting and more substantive issues being addressed. The heavy Iesian involvement is also a concern. If the Iesian Ministry of Social Order isn’t evil, nothing is. I don’t agree with that view, by the way, but I can very much understand it. That’s also what I think Her Highness was trying to say.”

Ms van Østerby-Ángölistûi frowned inwardly at the quality of her interview subject’s response. It was much too broad, much too slippery, an answer for her tastes.

‘With respect, Mr Kenneil, but that was not actually the analysis offered by the Grand Duchess, at least not insofar as it concerns the matter to which I am referring to,’ replied Ingrid, briefly casting a discreet glance at her notes. ‘In explaining the problem, Her Highness explicitly cited what she described as the traditional misgivings that the Calvanist tradition, in general, and the Presbyterian Church of Finara, in particular, have long held regarding the interdenominational Protestant ecumenical movement.

‘No doubt, of course, to describe this conflict as a theological one would (at the very least) be overly simplistic, even though it might be impossible to deny that ecumenism and theology are linked. However, I’m not sure that it can be said that Her Highness made any allusion to your suggestion - that the Presbyterian Church was concerned with the campaign of the International Red Cross (in which local Lutheran, Methodist and Anabaptist churches all cooperated), because it risked obscuring the alleged civil and political injustices faced by Deasrarglean Protestants.

‘In any case, the real point that I was trying to drive at is for your own opinion on the matter, not so much for what you felt the Grand Duchess had been trying to get at. You mentioned that you disagreed with Her Highness’ views? Why? What is your own take on the reasoning behind the refusal of the Presbyterian Church of Finara (an organisation that commands the loyalty of well over two thirds of all Deasrarglean Protestants) to cooperate effectively with international relief efforts?’

Ingrid was beginning to feel that the discussion risked being sidetracked by issues that had, by this stage in the Finaran drama, already become irrelevancies, and after clarifying her original question sought to return swiftly to the heart of the issue.

‘The Grand Duchess of Shieldcrest,’ continued the reporter, ‘in formulating the argument to which we have referred, explicitly rubbished the suggestion put to Her Highness by Ms Merlot - that the Presbyterian Church of Finara was hostile towards a coordinated humanitarian aid effort only because any tangible improvement in the post-Hurricane living conditions of Deasrarglean Finarans would naturally undermine the flimsy popular support of the militant separatists. Now (leaving aside for a moment the inherent implication that the Presbyterian Church is sympathetic with the cause of those involved in secessionist violence), in this view, it is contended that the revolutionary movement would positively welcome (if not actually encourage) further misery for Deasrarglean Protestants in the hope that it might spurn them to rise up in revolt and overthrow the Finaran monarchy.

‘Such conspiracy claims have freshly arisen within the international media following the implementation of a crude aerial mustard gas attack on Biernes. Who, in your opinion, benefits most from seeing the continuing infliction of suffering upon the people of Deasrargle? Whom do you think was behind the latest terrorist attack?’

Biernes, Finara

For a moment, Kenneil looked exasperated, but only for a moment. He gave van Østerby-Ángölistûi a patient smile. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear, madam. I don’t disagree with Her Highness’s view at all, at least not what I gathered from the interview. I disagree with the view of the Presbyterian Church leadership. I’ve already discussed the reasoning behind that decision but I’d be glad to discuss it at greater length if that’s what you’re interested in talking about.”

Kenneil shifted in his seat slightly, readjusting himself. “The Presbyterian Church feels that the international relief efforts are designed remove attention from the real problems between Catholics and Protestants in Finara. They point out, correctly, that the spirit of the relief effort is largely one of ecumenism and that this spirit is largely being given voice, in Finara, by Her Majesty and by the Archbishop of Arra, who explicitly support the relief effort by citing the Catholic Church authoritative documents Unitatis Redintegratio, Dignitatis Humanæ and Nostra Ætate . From the point of view of many Presbyterian religious leaders, this renders the effort unacceptable. In their eyes, the Reformed tradition is Christianity and any cooperation with people of other faith traditions must take place in a clearly secular context or they threaten the purity or the distinctiveness of the Reformed faith. They point, specifically, to the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification subscribed to by the Catholic Church and by many Methodist and Lutheran churches. As an example of what they consider ecumenism taken to a dangerous point. They consider that document to be essentially a denial of the Protestant spiritual heritage.”

Kenneil smiled a little playfully. “I can see you’re not going to let me steer the conversation away from religion, madam. That certainly belies a lot of the stereotypes on hears about Xirniumites. But I suppose it is inevitable. To myself and to the other leaders in the PFO, ecumenism is not a dirty word. It is merely a sincere expression of the desire felt by all peoples for unity and reconciliation. The program of the PFO is not a nationalist or a sectarian program. It is a quite detailed program but it is organized around the simple principle of reconciliation and unity on terms of equity between the two main religious traditions in Finara. The real division in Finara isn’t ultimately between Duchies or between Churches but between people, between neighbors. It takes the form of distrust and prejudice, of exclusion and indifference. That kind of division can’t be changed by an arrangement, many religious leaders seem to want, that leaves people’s deepest beliefs out of the equation, that insists any cooperation be a sort of alienated cooperation between people who continue to consider themselves spiritual enemies.”

Kenneil frowned somberly at the last question. “It’s certainly a tragedy, but I’m not really in a position to speculate.”

‘I think one tends to find, sir, that stereotypes rarely survive any reasonable contact with reality,’ smiled Ingrid pleasantly, although she could not entirely hide her embarrassment at having misunderstood the meaning of Mr Kenneil’s initial reply. In her hurry to try and impute controversy to the Grand Duchess’ comments the journalist had neglected to properly pay attention to what Daniel had actually been saying.

‘You spoke briefly earlier of the rule of law in relation to the alleged systemic inequities faced by Protestant Finarans,’ began the reporter, a little disappointed (though hardly surprised) that Mr Kenneil had sensibly chosen not to make any sensational accusations regarding the possible perpetrators of the Biernes mustard gas attack. ‘It seems plainly clear, however, that many who profess a concern for the very same issues which you have described have not hesitated to violate the rule of law in order to further the cause of Deasrarglean self-determination.

‘Hardly a week has passed without the occurance of another politically-motivated bombing. Exchanges of gunfire, although isolated, are not irregular occurrences. Numerous prominent members of the Deasrarglean judicature and constabulary have become the victims of brutal assassinations in recent weeks. Perhaps most worrying of all, a recent poll conducted by The Miluibrännön-Antsîdh Inquirer concluded that roughly a quarter of all Protestant Finarans at least “somewhat agreed” with the terrorist tactics of the militant wing of the Desararglean republican movement.

‘Are such developments as these of any great concern to you and the Protestant Freedom Organisation? Why do you think that violence has become so accepted a tool of political dissent in Deasrargle? Why have groups like the Protestant Freedom Organisation failed to prevent so many Finaran Protestants shifting from the mainstream towards radical extremism? Is the voice of moderation being stifled in Deasrargle, is non-violence simply no longer capable of truly effecting change for the benefit of Protestant Finarans?

‘Is reconciliation a hopeless cause?’

His Majesty’s Ship, Illustrious, edge of the Pantocratoria Archipelago.

Illustrious was one of the oldest aircraft carriers to sail its way out of the great Shipyards at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, around it were a couple of Angelic Battle cruisers, and various other destroyers as part of its own battle group. It was genuinely all that Midlonia dared send off as the crisis near to its own borders worsened, units across the Kingdom had been brought to readiness, something the Pantocratorian intelligence forces would have noted with worry, Midlonia was slowly being wound up like a spring at home and abroad, and it‘d be only a matter of time before it snapped.

The Carrier group were escorting were the various merchant vessels of the aid convoy, various engineering corporations, food and two Hospitals ships to aid in providing proper healthcare, with attached surgical and doctor teams, which so far was perhaps better than had been offered previously by the Red Cross, the carrier group would link up with the Patrol Boat that had been sent in previously to gather intelligence on, while the merchant vessels would continue into Biernes, or the nearest port to it, and begin to aid the beleagured people.


His Majesty’s Submarine, Wolf, 1 Hour earlier.

“Cut to battery power” the Skipper whispered.
“Aye sir, cut to battery.” replied the CO.
“Sonar?”
“Nothing major, I got a screw thumping away, its very faint.” replied the Sonar man as he pressed the earpiece closer to himself.
“Ok, we can do this I believe…” muttered the captain.

The sleek black outline cut itself gently through the water as it entered what could now technically be considered “Enemy” territory, the orders were pretty clear, if far too unorthodox, but they’d come from so high up and had chosen the Wolf for the task that the Skipper, a man named McCarthy, had simply jumped to it.

Laputia, Cental Midlonia, earlier.

“Pathetic, its truly pathetic, I am amazed how leaky their civil service is, we wind up imprisoning the leaks, well, the unintentional ones anyhow, what do they do? Leave it to their press to spread the shit.” Benjamin was furious and his face was creased into a near-rage as he tore the newspaper up and threw it onto the fire.”

“Well, it was a bit of a daft comment really.” Hykar remarked casually.

“Bah!” muttered Benjamin as he slumped back into his chair, he then thought for a few moments as a chilled wind swept outside, wailing into the twilight.

“I have an idea on how to turn the favour back to us though. Its drastic, but might give us the necessary leverage to pressurize the Finarans.”

“Go on.” replied Hykar.

“You know our aid convoy….” started Benjamin as he leant forward and lowered his voice.


His Majesty’s Submarine, Wolf

“Full halt here, change our degree to 109 and prepare launch tubes one and two.”
“Aye sir, full halt, 109 bearing, prepare tubes one and two.”

“Now we play the waiting game.” the Captain muttered, he hated these kinds of missions, but this was even worse. However he knew there was some form of political scheming behind it all that somehow made sense to someone.

SIGNAL FROM IMPERIAL HIGH COMMAND TO HMS ILLUSTRIOUS
(transmitted in the clear)

Commander, HMS Illustrious:

Stand warned that if Midlonian military vessels, including the carrier group under your command, enter Pantocratorian or Finaran waters, or the exclusion zone around Heregos island, they will be fired upon.

International waters off the coast of Finara

As if to lend force to the signal sent to the carrier group, before long, aircraft from the Pantocratorian Imperial Air Service appeared overhead - an entire wing of R-31 Faulkners. The Faulkner was a Britmattian design, although most of the dual-role strike fighters flying above the Midlonian ships at this very moment had actually been manufactured in Pantocratoria under license. There were eminently capable fighters and reasonably competent bombers as well, and were operating close enough to their home airfields on the Pantocratorian mainland that they could spend a good deal of time flying formation above the Midlonians, before returning to refuel, only to be replaced by another wave of aircraft, in a sort of aerial changing of the guard ceremony.

Military posturing so close to the Pantocratorian homeland, the one place where Pantocratoria's ability to project the full force of its military was undeniable, was probably not a particularly strategic decision. Although there were very few formations in Pantocratoria's large but often haphazardly organised and administered armed forces which could actually be deployed in far off Ambara, for instance, there wasn't a single one which couldn't be effectively deployed on Pantocratoria's very doorstep.

Nevertheless, the sheer bravado of such a pointless gesture on the part of the Midlonians was surprising and concerning enough to warrant the Imperial High Command seeking to brief the Chancellor and Defence Minister, and raising its own defence condition. If need be, the pride of the Pantocratorian navy could be quickly brought from the nearby Excalbian Isles, along with their Excalbian allies, to join with the Danaan and Pantocratorian carrier groups already in the archipelago enforcing an exclusion zone around Heregos, to effect a formidible naval defence. While the Imperial High Command thought such circumstances as would require such a reaction were fairly improbable, the apparently random strategic decision making being made by the Midlonians meant that common sense couldn't be taken for granted - and they didn't even know about the two foreign submarines in their waters yet.

Defense Condition 2

His Majesty’s Minister for Defense, Hannah Weidenseld, was awakened in the middle of the night by the military reports coming in from the Pantocratorian Archipelago. The first thing she did was call Prime Minister Sacker. The next thing she did was hurry through her toiletries and throw on something presentable. There were situations where this step would be dispensed with but this was not quite that serious. By the time she was running out the door to the waiting Ministry car, Sarah Sacker was calling her back to tell her that she was officially moving the Resurgent Dream to Defense Condition 2 and that she expected Weidenseld to issue the relevant orders.

Weidenseld got in touch with Commodore Ashcroft and with the Finaran authorities while in transit. By the time she arrived in the secure command bunker underneath the Palace of Arms, she already knew what had to happen and she walked in barking orders.

Within minutes, Alert Fighter Squadrons had been launched by the Finaran Royal Air Force, the Danaan Air Force (from a base in Kagerlund) and the United States Air Force (from the Enterprise). The three squadrons altogether comprised about sixty fighters of varying types. They patrolled the air immediately around their bases of operation. The ships of JTF-1 actively began to search for submarines using sonar and magnetic anomaly detection equipment.

Within an hour, the Danaan Air Force had launched two squadrons of short-range bombers with fighter escorts from Kagerlund. One of these squadrons stayed in the air near the Midlonian ships, making clear the force that could and would be brought to bear if the Midlonians violated the sovereign waters of the Resurgent Dream or any other sovereign state in the region. The other squadron dropped sonar buoys in constant automatic communication with JTF-1 and with Kagerlund Air Defense Command.

Of course, after this first hour of frantic activity, not much happened for the rest of the day. Other orders had been issued, of course. The Resurgent Dream did not rely on one Task force and a few squadrons for her defense. However, unlike Pantocratoria, she was not operating in her backyard and while her military spending largely centered on projection capability, she still couldn’t do things overnight. However, ships at sea were changing course, the Militia and the Coast Guard in Kagerlund had been nationalized and, most importantly, it had been made clear that the irresponsible and largely inexplicable behavior of Midlonia would not lightly be appeased. Who even knew what they wanted at this point?

Biernes, Finara

“A lot has happened in the last few months.” Kenneil said. “Some of it can never be taken back. Certainly we can never bring back those who’ve lost their lives on both sides in the tragic violence of recent weeks. But it’s also true that violence has been on the decline and that people have come together in the last couple weeks to participate in the Red Cross effort. It’s true that the proponents of violence have always been a minority and are a smaller one with each passing day. It’s true that there has been almost no violence after the mustard gas attack which no group is willing to endorse or claim responsibility for thus far. I don’t think a look at recent events in their totality really justifies such pessimism at all.”

Biernes, Finara

The reporter briefly removed her glasses and wiped them quickly with a silk handkerchief.

‘You spoke earlier that the aims of the Protestant Freedom Organisation were founded fundamentally on the “principles of reconciliation and unity,”’ began Ingrid with a momentary glance at her notes. ‘Would such objectives rule out the goals of Protestant republicanism? Assuming they did, would they also be incompatible with any related suggestions for the devolution of Finaran governmental power - such as the implementation of some kind of federal arrangement, which certain commentators have argued might serve as a useful outlet to ease separatist or autonomist tensions?’

Biernes, Finara

“No, we would not necessarily be hostile to the idea of devolution as such. Such a plan would have a good deal to recommend it given the cultural distinctiveness of Deasrargle. However, devolution by itself doesn’t solve the problem. It certainly doesn’t do anything to secure the rights of the Catholic minority in Deasrargle or the Protestant minority in the rest of Finara. What we need, for starters, is genuine civil rights legislation for the protection of minorities in every part of Finara with affirmative action programs capable of rendering such legislation practically enforceable. We need anti-hate legislation to prevent hate crimes and racial incitement. We need a secular, unitary public education system available to all children and we need those schools to be organized so as to maximize diversity while not leading to excessive busing. We need greater and more direct civilian oversight of the police to reduce and correct the use of excessive force. We need programs to improve relations between law enforcement and local communities. All of those things can do a lot more good than devolution.” Kenneil said.

‘Would it be fair to say that any proposal involving a devolved and decentralised government merely remains an open question within the Protestant Freedom Organisation at the current point in time, or do you have a more concrete model that you advocate?’ asked Ingrid.

‘You will appreciate that, to date, the Deasrarglean controversy seems to have been framed (in the international media, at least) mainly in terms of power, not in terms of civil rights.’

Biernes, Finara

“It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that.” Kenneil answered. “But it isn’t how I would put it. It’s an open question the way a proposal to shift from a single-member district system to a proportional representation system for the Dáil or a proposal to guarantee equal time for Ladies’ Gaelic Football is an open question. We don’t have an official position because we don’t consider it to have a direct bearing on the issues we deal with. We certainly do not support devolution as a solution to Finara’s crisis in interfaith relations.”

Kenneil nodded a little to her next question. “There’s an element of truth to that. I’ll leave it to the international press to answer for it, however. I can only speak to the real situation, not its portrayal in the media.”

0012 Leviathan

The CO let out a long sigh when he saw the holodisplay in the sonar room. Shit. He turned to the MSS agent on board and mouthed his question.

"Are there other landing spots?" The MSS agent nodded and showed the CO a map of where they could land. He circled a few, looked over to the dive officer, and gave a massive thumbs down. He nodded, and the sub began it's slow descent back to the bottom of the sea, and made its way on its CAT drive to the new landing spot.

OOC: Panto, TG.