NationStates Jolt Archive

ooc: Before I say anything, I should point out that this isn't a puppet of The Resurgent Dream. Though I do take elements of his thread "Green Hills Farewell" http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread....ghlight=Finara , I do this due to his kindly permission. While I did steal the name of the break-away Protestant Duchy, the following RP does not take place there. It is related, of that there is no doubt, but not directly. But if you were involved in the Green Hills then feel free to join this thread...]

The Island of New Deasrargle/Kaitan-Leagran

Rising like a great brown mass from the Atlantic Ocean, the island of New Deasrargle gives no impression of being a green and pleasant land. The island is a chunk of largely infertile volcanic rock, on which the battered peasant-farmers must work incredibly hard to eke out the merest livelihood. Yet this desolate lump has often served as the last refuge of the desperate and has given the eager some hope of a better life.

A Brief History

Pre-European Discovery: Some evidence does exist of primitive habitation on the island some time during the Bronze era. Archaeologists have been divided, however, about whether these settlements were Vasconian Indians or some other, as of yet unknown migrating group. What is clear from the evidence, however, is that this group did not stay on the island for very long, possibly due to the largely infertile soil.

1740s Onwards: The increase in population on the island of Finara, along with the reduction in available farmland, leads thousands of Roman Catholic Finarans to the island to seek a better way of life. The poor soil and hostile climate claims many of the early settlers, but numbers begin to grow. This pattern continues until….

1810s: Greek-Speaking Pantocratorian Peasants, seeking a better way of life and greater freedom, move to the island in number. Rumour, to this day, maintains that the Greeks arrived on the island on their way to their intended destination (which some scholars ironically attribute to present-day Pantocratorian Ambara). Whether by accident or design, the Peasants were unable to pay the full passage and the captain stranded them on the island. Whether true or not, the promise of farmland and freedom of worship drove many to leave their farms in Pantocratoria and set sail. Whether they were pleased with the final results is a matter of some debate. Needless to say, the Greek Orthodox Diocese of Anacea (as the newcomers referred to the island), is one of the first reported Pantocratorian Orthodox organizations to exist openly until the re-emergence of recent years. The Greek Orthodox presence increased until…

1860s: The persecution of Protestantism under Daniel II leads many Presbyterians to flee to the island. The Protestant population of the island increases dramatically, until sectarianism becomes a primary concern for the island.

It was during this time that the first open discussions took place within the Pantocratorian Empire about a possible conquest of the island. These discussions, however, were quashed in a speech by Count Pierre de Montaigne to the Imperial Parliament….

Some members of this House believe it not only advantageous and expeditious to mount a campaign of annexation of the island of Kaitan-Leagran, arguing that the Holy and August Empire must be seen to protect the interests of its peoples and of its various shipping routes. This, my lords, is a folly of the utmost order for a number of well-reasoned points.
Firstly, it seems to me to be an act of foolishness to annex a nation that is not of similar peoples. My learned friends might scoff, but the estimates of those imbibed with knowledge dictate that the majority of people on the said island are of Finaran characteristics. Unless my lords know of many of His Imperial Majesty’s subjects who regularly converse in Gaelic or English, then it seems meritorious to suggest that our peoples form a significant minority upon the island.
Secondly, the island has a large minority of those Finarans of a heretical persuasion. While my learned and worshipful friends within the Holy Church might offer bold solutions of mass conversions at the sight of our triumphant arms, I myself am less inclined to such Constantine-esque circumstances. Loathe though it is to mention his name within these hallowed halls, the tyrant Robespierre did at least stumble upon a grain of truth when he noted that one does not discover many converts with armed missionaries.
And finally, my lords, the island is much too hostile in both climate and agriculture for it to warrant much attention. I urge the end of such nonsense as ‘conquest’ and ‘annexation’ and instead devote our energies to much more immediate dilemmas at home

Speech to the Imperial Parliament, 2nd June, 26th Year of His Imperial Majesty Manuel IX Capet, 1873 Courtesy of the Archives of His Imperial Majesty, Andreus I Capet

1884-1963: Foreign Occupation did take place, however, during the reign of Sean I of Finara. The Finarans sought to annex the island, now dubbed the Duchy of Kaitan-Leagran, and created similar insitutions to those that existed in the Mother Country. The Oireachtas (Parliament) was developed and the aristocratic Seanad created due to the elevation to the peerage of a number of prominent Finaran Catholics on the island. Pantocratorian Orthodox and Presbyterians were excluded from the political process. The two houses continued to operate until the reign of King James when Protestant radicals murdered or made flee nearly all members of the Catholic nobility in a prolonged terrorist campaign. Martial law was declared in 1942 and this continued until the 1960s, when public opinion and mounting losses led to the withdrawal of Finaran troops and the effective end of foreign governance, though Finaran claims to such were never officially withdrawn.

1963-2006: The island of Kaitan-Leagran has been governed by a variety of petty warlords and ethnic militias since the end of the Finaran occupation in the 1960s. The longest lasting, though not necessarily the most popular, was the Second Protestant Republic of New Deasrargle that lasted from 1972-1988. The Second Republic was a theocratic state that was governed on a strict interpretation of the Hebrew laws of the Old Testament. The Republic was overthrown by the combined forces of the Finaran Loyalist Brigade, The Confession of St. Teresa of Avila and the Pantocratorian Crusade For Anacea. A Third Protestant republic followed during the 1990s, though by this juncture the separate Finaran Catholic and Pantocratorian Orthodox communities operated as autonomous entities and the Protestant republic was limited to strongly Presbyterians areas. A modicum of peace emerged following the rise to power of Eoghan Walsh. Walsh, a glorified drugs-dealer from the Finaran Catholic community, rose to prominence and seized control of the capital, Freetown, from the battered forces of the Third Protestant Republic.

Now: The hurricane that devastated the Duchy of Deasrargle and the Kingdom of Finara first passed over the island of Kaitan-Leagran. The devastation caused broke the fragile cease-fire, with sectarian wounds reopening. Walsh’s attempts to restore order resulted in his prompt assassination. Presbyterian forces retook the capital and created the Fourth Protestant Republic of New Deasrargle. The ongoing violence, however, has stirred the international community into action. Relief for those devastated by the storm must, in the words of one UN Observer, must be coupled with a permanent solution to the island’s many differing problems.

A small note on the name

The island in question has a number of differing names adopted by the various groups. Finaran Catholics (some 30% of the populous) refer to the island by the Kingdom's old name for it, that of Kaitan-Leagran. Deasrarglann Protestants (some 40% of the populous) refer to the island as 'New Deasrargle'. The remaining 30% are Pantocratorian Greek Orthodox who have their own name for the island, Anacea.

A Neutral Bigtopian City:Today

Violet Jong-Il ventured into the conference suite of the town's Hilton Hotel to check on the small party that had hired out the hotel's exclusive facilities. The group, which was called the Syskeyian Pipe Insulation National Conference, had paid in cash and Jong-Il (the hotel's General Manager) was happy for the extra income before the Christmas Party season. She was sure that she has heard on the news that Syskeyia was no longer a country, but she could have been wrong.
Pushing through the main meeting-room's door, Jong-Il was faced with a wall of heavy cigarette smoke. The men and women in the room sat in a tense silence, the smell of stale air and sweat being nearly as overpowering as smell of tobacco. They all looked very tense, which must have shown how pressurised the world of Pipe Insulation must have been.
"Is everything alright?" she asked into the nicotine haze.
"Fine thank Madam Jong-Il," said a French-accented voice from somewhere across the room, "But we are in a very deep discussion about the correct thickness of foam for the insulation..."
"Not to mention the type of foam required," interjected another accented voice from across the room.
"Oui oui," continued the first voice, "and we require NO interruptions."
"I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen," said Violet Jong-Il, "I shall leave you to your discussions. Please inform the staff if you require anything."
"Merci Madam." said the French voice.
The Party were obviously deeply-divided over the correct type of insulation as they required the suites for a second week. Jong-Il was not supposed to let this happen, but business was still reasonably slow and the group paid in cash. Menelmacari Credits, to be exact, which was very odd.
"I swear," she muttered to the Head of the Cleaning Staff one lunchtime, "It will take all this money just to get the cigarette smell out the carpet!" The Head of Cleaning nodded sagely at this.
* * * *
Needless to say, the delegates gathered in the Bigtopian Hilton Hotel were not interested in Pipe Insulation. They were a motley collection of diplomats, spymasters and military officers that had gathered from across the world to discuss THE question. They did so with the barest of approval from their official governments, and the exact nature of their talks were kept strictly within the Hotel and the highest levels of their respective governments. For these men and women were deciding the future of a people and a nation. They were discussing the Kaitan-Leagran dilemma, The Schleswig-Holstein Question of the present age, and what to do with the divisive little hell-hole.

The first stage of discussions went relatively smoothly. Could the Fourth Protestant Republic continue? The answer was no. The island was too diverse, too disparate for one ethnic group to dominate. A pan-denominational, pan-national government was required, if one could be built. Should a major power intervene? Again the answer was, no. The experience of Finara was a case-in-point. Then perhaps a new system should be created? This was approved, though intense debates took place as to what they should take. Since the monarchies around the table were able to out-vote the republics, a constitutional monarchy was deemed best. But who would be King? New Deasrargle lacked its owns royals and thus, like the creation of the Kings of Greece, a member of another Royal House must be chosen for the thankless task. It was here that discussions stalled. The delegates could agree on who wasn't suitable, but not on who actually was. The House of Bourbon-Comnenus-Palaeologus was out, being deemed as 'too Catholic'. The House of Cunedda was deemed to close to Finara to be acceptable and the descendants of Alsgood the Great were 'too protestant'. It was after nearly 36 hours of straight discussion that a voice finally provided a solution of sorts. It was an insane, foolhardy plan, doomed to failure. It could never work and yet, after three days without sleep and with only caffine and tobacco to keep them semi-sane, it seemed as though it could be crazy enough to work. It was the dreaded word 'compromise', but it might just do the trick. The candidate for the newly created throne of New Deasrargle/Kaitan-Leagran was unanimously passed.

Though, as one delegate said to another as they waited for their planes home at the Bigtopian International airport:
"After two weeks talking about that shit-tip, I was just about ready to give it to Matthew Iesus. Or better yet, Lord Melkor. See what he could do with the little bastards."

Residence of George Hillcrest

“This is essentially what you wound up discussing?”
“Yes, pretty much.” said the grey haired gentleman as he massaged the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “Its slightly paraphrased, I have the whole discussion recorded, but I’ll be buggered if you’re going to hear or trawl through all that crap.”

George Hillcrest was the Midlonia Foreign and Economics Minister, it had been him to recommend leaving The Concordat and allowing Midlonia to strike itself off alone with such things and decisions as it could now make in the world at large. Decisions it could make with relative impunity when coming to situations such as the one regarding Kaitan-Leagran and its ongoing civil war. While it had been previously noted by the Greater Kingdom as a problem, it was never really one that it had needed to deal with, until now and the need to regain the posture after the terrible debacle over Finara.

“What do you recommend Daniel?” George asked as he flicked his eyes up from the report.
“I’d put across the consensus we came up with, myself. But God knows how you’ll bring the Cabinet to your side with just this, especially considering the Pantocratorians will be involved.”
“Its what I am here for after all.” Hillcrest smiled slightly. “Thank you for this briefing Daniel, I do appreciate this.”

Daniel Dyer, the eccentric diplomat who had travelled the world as the forefront of the Midlonian ambassadorial clique, raising smiles on many faces in official and social capacity merely nodded and smiled himself, before getting up and motioning to Bratcher, who had stood at the back of the room.

Hillcrest sat back and sighed, before reaching for the bakelite telephone on his desk, he dialled the 1 and waited. “Sir?” answered a Cockney voice at the other end.
“Synges, bring the car around, we’re off to the cabinet meeting.”
“Yessir.” replied the voice before the line went dead.

M12, outskirts of Swadlincote

The three Austin Dodge Liners growled as they thundered along the motorway, the needles on each easily sitting at a quick 90mph. Hillcrest continued to read and reread the recommendations he had rewritten from the notes. He sighed and nodded. “This’ll do.”

A screen flipped open and burst into life, it was the avatar of the driver.
“Sir, we’ll be at the cabinet building in about 12 minutes, would you care for a drink?”
“Tea. Hot would be lovely.”

A machine clicked and gargled behind a wooden panel in the rear compartment. After a few moments the door slid open showing a piece of clay china which was steaming gently.

Cabinet building, Swadlincote

The immensely long oaken wood table shone. A series of green leather chairs sat around it, within those chairs sat various ministers of the different sections that made up the Midlonian State. Every minister was there to debate over the next direction of the Greater Kingdom, and it was now Hillcrest’s turn. It had been for half an hour, he was allowed to talk about the transcript that Dyer had given, what had been discussed and the best route forward.
“…so essentially we should act under humanitarian means to help the beleaguered population and help establish a united fro-”
“No.” came the curt word from the Defence Minister.
“S-sorry?” replied Hillcrest.
“You got us into a political mess last time over this kind of rubbish with “humanitarian ideas” in mind, along with supporting an unestablished government and a terror group. This time the situation is quite difficult. This time there is a national government, certainly a fledgling one. This time we should support this government straight off of the bat, provide them with what they need to ensure that law and order is established properly.”

“But surely this’d require direct intervention from us, they’ve been fighting to no significant gains for nearly 40 years, this conflict has resurfaced because of the hurricane.” Hillcrest protested.

“Not necessarily, we can provide them with arms and officer training. We can even set up a volunteer brigade for people, it‘d allow us to test some of our new weaponry, certainly.”

“You cant just do it for those whimsical reasons! It’d be madness!”

“It’d certainly provide another cheap labour source…” mused the Mining Minister “Plus the natural resources of the island.”

“But how would you do all of this? What possible reason?”

“As you said, humanitarian reasons. We’ll provide food, running water all the little luxuries. As well as provide an amnesty for the other rebels to give up and come under the protective umbrella run technically under us. If they don’t, then we shall just have to form a Crusade Brigade to go on the offensive against the other groups. Its not as if they cannot get their hands on military surplus after all.”

“I, this isn’t right, who here also feels we should take this path?”
The other ministers murmured amongst themselves before most raised their hands in support. Those that didn’t were Hillcrest himself, the Agriculture Minister and the Minister for the Administration of Civil Protection. In all 26 of the 30 ministers had voted to support what remained of Kaitan-Leagran’s government, and hope to expand its influence across the whole island. From this it would be hope to right the trailed public opinion and lack of political movement that had happened over Finara which had resulted in some unauthorized and stumbling moves by the Defence Minister and others.

Hillcrest merely slumped back in his chair and blinked.
“Then the Cabinet….has reached a consensus.” he muttered and shook his head.

Hotel George V, Paris 1954

A small crowd had gathered round the small figure in bed. Montezuma VIII, the last Emperor of Otiacicoh, lay dying in a hotel room in a distant European city. The Emperor had fled following the Communist victory in his Empire the year before and now, struck down with cancer of the lungs, the last of the House of Tenoch was breathing his last. It was incredible, may observers noted, that the great Imperial House, that had survived plague, civil war and the destruction of the Aztec Empire in Mexico, should have been reduced to this. Not even the lose terms of succession, that had allowed anyone with enough royal blood in them to ascend to the throne, could change the sad fact that the House of Tenoch was doomed. The last few generations had simply failed to breed in the same numbers as their illustrious predecessors. Soon, all that was left were old men, the sick and the weak. And now, noted the observers, all that was left was Montezuma.
As exiled monarch drew his last breaths, his death marked the end of the hopes of the loyal. Or, at the very least, that is what they thought.

In the words of the dying Yoda…there was another.

The Palace of the People, Port Sunlight, Serene Democratic People’s Fiefdom of Uncle Noel: Some months after the State Visit to Pantocratoria

From the comfort and warmth of his office in the imposing Communist edifice that was his office and home, Uncle Noel watched the first flakes of snow to fall. Soon, across the grounds of the Palace, a thin layer of snow had settled, giving the appearance that the Fiefdom’s capital was being coated in a fine layer of icing sugar, as though the metropolis that millions called home was nothing more than a large, rather ornate cake.
Events had moved frighteningly quickly in recent days, the Dictator thought to himself, a sign (no doubt) that his old brain was slowing down as the world sped up. A sign, perhaps, that he should consider his own eventual retirement. Such concerns, however, were the thoughts of another day. Today, he still had great things to accomplish.
The intercom on his desk, no doubt antiquated when he purchased it some years ago, squawked, breaking his daydream. The Secretary informed him that his eleven o’clock appointment had arrived.
“Send him in.” said the old man in a deep, commanding tone.
The “him”, however, was no ordinary appointment. The “him” was the Uncle’s own nephew, the adopted son of his younger brother Arthur, Amacui-Xolotl "David" Hoogaboom.
Amacui-Xolotl was, as the name suggested, not of the same “racial subgroup” as his father, Arthur. Amacui-Xolotl had been adopted, his mother and father being lost in the panic and confusion that erupted in the capital, during the dying days of the civil war. He had sometimes wondered who they were, and the circumstances which led him to be given away. Yet he had never possessed a desire to discover who they were. If they had put him up for adoption, then chances were his reappearance in their lives would only cause pain and heartache, pain that he wouldn’t want to inflict on anyone, let alone his birth parents. If his parents had been killed, then it would be pointless in finding them. Whoever they were, their genes lived on in him, and that was enough.
Amacui-Xolotl was a man of average height for an Aztec native, which resulted in him being slightly shorter than the rest of his Caucasian family. His black hair was, more often than not, slicked back and his face, and in particular his nose, always prompted people to say that they were sure they had met him before. He wore, as he entered his Uncle’s office, a simple blue suit and the tie of his favourite rugby team. Unlike his cousin, Trevor Macmillan, Amacui-Xolotl Hoogaboom had never been a key part of the ruling family’s regime. It was Trevor, not the Uncle’s older nephew “david”, that was generally accepted as heir-apparent. Not that Amacui-Xolotl really minded, his shunning that meant that he could lead a normal life with his wife and children. It did, however, often make him wonder what exactly was wrong with him. He was never a hellraiser, never got drunk and beat up members of the increasingly free, increasingly irritating members of the Fiefdom Press (especially when they photographed him doing something controversial, such as leaving a pub with his friends). He had ultimately concluded that it must have been something to do with shared experiences. His cousin Trevor, and his Uncle Noel, had both been academics at such stage and, he supposed, must have shared a love of learning which Amacui-Xolotl, needless to say, did not. He was more than happy when his formal education came to an end at sixteen and never possessed any sort of dream of attending university. He had returned to school, ironically, though only as a P.E. teacher at a High School near to his home.
That said, however, he had always been amicable enough with his uncle. Which was why it had been very odd that he had been summoned to his office.
‘Maybe,’ he had wondered on the drive to the Palace, ‘I’ll get a job in the Party after all.’
“Ahh, David,” said the old man as his nephew entered (using the family name as opposed to his given, Mexica name), “Please take a seat.”
The Dictator noted, with approval, that his nephew wore a suit on this occasion. A sign, he noted that this was official business and not a random personal question such as what to buy his sister-in-law, David’s mother, for Christmas (though he would be asking that at a later date).
Uncle Noel didn’t bother with small talk. It was his nephew, and as such could produce idle chat at another juncture. This, as some might say, was a ‘brass tacks’ moment.
“David,” said the Dictator, a cold determination shining in his eyes, “Have you ever wondered who your parents were?”
Amacui-Xolotl was visibly taken aback by this somewhat random question.
“I suppose so,” he said in a confused voice, “But, you know, it has never concerned me too much. Its not that anyone really knows who they were.”
“That,” said the Dictator in a flat voice, “Is where you are wrong. I must confess to you David, that your true origins are known. In fact they have always been known.”
It was only when Amacui-Xolotl knew that the secrets of his birth were known, and had always been known, that he had realised the great emptiness within himself that he had longed to fill. His emotions ranged from shock to joy at the prospect of a possible meeting to a desire to punch his secretive uncle squarely and firmly in the face.
“And, David,” continued his uncle in the same flat voice, “Your origins are somewhat unusual in that regard. I must tell you that you are indeed an orphan of war, since you were discovered by the advancing soldiers of the 5th Red Guard in the bombed out ruins of a house. Your mother, I am afraid to say, had died in an effort to save you from mortar fire which, to this very day, we do not know from which side it was fired. Your mother, however, was not just a random Mexica peasant woman, She was, rather, Lady Malinalxochitl, the Lady-in-Waiting to the last Queen of Otiacocoh.”
Amacui-Xolotl’s world continued to rock at the news his uncle told him on this cold November morning. It was from the confused jumble of his thoughts that a single question emerged.
“W-who?” he stuttered in a hollow voice.
“Was your father?” said Uncle Noel, finishing his question, “Well that’s where it gets all rather interesting. Out of interest, do people of a certain age find you have a face they have seen before?”
“Y-yes,” he stuttered again, “B-but..?”
“Well you have a famous father, and you look surprisingly similar to him,” replied his uncle, matter-of-factly, “Not that I ever met him. But they say you are taller. But he did, at least, have a famous face, being the last Emperor and all.”
Its not everyday that one learns that one has been lied to all one’s life. And it certainly isn’t everyday that one learns that you are the scion of the former ruling house of your home country.
“And,” continued his uncle, “we also did some tests a few years ago. So its all true. There were rumours, of course, and the physical similarity is astounding, but the results spoke for themselves. You are the illegimate son of the last Emperor and, by the dynastic succession of the old Aztec Empire, a strong contender for the throne. Well, in fact, the only contender, but I see you are beginning to faint so I’ll stop talking for now.”
Amacui-Xolotl’s head felt faint as the room began to darken. He awoke, propped up on an armchair in his uncle’s private study, with a cup of hot tea before him on the coffee table.
“Feeling better?” asked his uncle, his voice changing from the business-like clipped tones of his office into a warmer, even fatherly manner.
“Why?” asked Amacui-Xolotl.
“Ahh,” said the Dictator, “ ‘The Fool Lies in Ignorance, not knowing that a single question would raise him from his ignorance, why?’. Why everything I suppose?”
Amacui-Xolotl nodded slowly, his brain beginning to ache with the fresh in-flow of information.
“Why did I preserve the House of Tenoch?” replied his uncle, poking the coal fire which the Palace’s staff must have lit while Amacui-Xolotl has unconsious, “Because, in the late summer of 1953, who knew how the Revolution would progress. Would it survive? Would it collapse? Who knew. I certainly didn’t think that I would be sitting here, over fifty years later, and thus I began to plan for the day when it all fell apart. Maybe, I wagered later, I could go like Franco in Spain and leave it all to you. A new, revitalised monarchy with a working democracy, that sort of thing. And history would perhaps think of me kindly. Until recent days, I even considered creating some manner of Communist-Monarchy, cementing the party as the undisputed rulers and you as constitutional Emperor. But, if nothing ever occurred, then you would never need know, and continue being a rugby coach, or whatever it is you do as a day-job.”
It did make some sense to Amacui-Xolotl, but only in a vague way. The same way that reality must make sense to the insane.
“Then why now?” he asked, the words tumbling from his mouth as though said by another.
“Well, there’s good news and bad news on that front,” said the Dear Leader, “The bad news is that myself and the party believe that the Fiefdom is fine as just that, ‘The Fiefdom’ and not ‘The Empire’. I’m afraid the throne of your ancestors will remain just that, for your ancestors.”
Amacui-Xolotl, he had to admit, was rather deflated by this. He had, for a few moments at least, been rather impressed with himself as Emperor. The power and the glory which, deep inside, he had always envied his cousin for could have been his, except a thousand times over. But, having said that….
“What’s the good news?” he asked in a quizzical voice, his eyes narrowing as he attempted to discern the Machiavellian manoveurs of his uncle.
The old man smiled. Not in a normal way, but how you would imagine a crocodile to smile when it confronted its prey. Not that they smiled.
“Ever heard of New Deasrargle? Or Kaitain-Leagran? Or Anacea? It’s a lovely island in the Atlantic with lots of…er…beaches. And such. And the new throne of this charming island has recently become available.”
Amacui-Xolotl stared at his uncle for a few moments, partly in shock and partly in sheer dumb-founded disbelief.
“You can’t be serious?” he asked at last, “You’ve revealed that I’m Emperor, but you’ve instead decided to ship me off to the other side of the world, to be…”
“King.”
“..King of somewhere I’ve never heard of.”
“Well,” said Uncle Noel, “That is ‘the thrust’ of the decision, yes.”
“And do I not even get asked?”
“Of course not,” replied Uncle Noel, “You’re King, no one asks to be King. Except maybe King Zog of Albania, but that’s another story. And Napoleon. But I’m distracting myself. Listen, David, what is the goal of all monarchs? Ultimately? To keep their thrones. Now, unless you’re the King of Spain and therefore used to it, few monarchs ever get them back. This is the next best thing. A chance for the House of Tenoch to prove that it’s not actually worth something in this modern age.”
Amacui-Xolotl looked away, staring into the fire for a few minutes.
“What is it like?” he said, finally, “This dump you want to despatch me too. Is it some manner of Aztec-like civilisation, something I’m used to?”
Uncle Noel rose from his armchair, with some degree of difficulty (he was, after all, in his eighties) and collected a report from a nearby table. Taking his chair, he began to scan the notes.
“No.” he said, finally.
“Well are they Aztec Pagan?”
“No.”
“Pagan at all?”
“Well,” said the Dictator without looking up, “Some believe that their co-patriots are pagans, but no, the island divides neatly into Protestant, Catholic and Orthodox.”
Amacui-Xolotl had never been much particularly religious. His parents, like his uncle, had been Anglicans but Amacui-Xolotl had never been particularly attracted by “Christ” and “His Church”. When his wife had wanted a traditional Temple Wedding, he had started to attend and soon found himself an occasional follower of thee Aztec faith.
“Right,” he said after a long pause, “So why did you pick me?”
“Well,” said his uncle, “Strictly speaking, I didn’t pick you. The “international community” decided that a figurehead might be the best thing to..unite the people and one that didn’t share their faith, and therefore their ‘issues’ with one-another fitted the bill. The Fiefdom’s representatives mentioned that we had a spare royal, admittedly one who didn’t realise that fact but we didn’t mention that bit, and you were chosen.”
“ ‘Issues’?” asked Amacui-Xolotl, realising the full horror that awaited him, “You’re sending me to some sort of….of….Northern Ireland!”
“Well, it certainly shares some characteristics with that particular section of the world, but also with Somalia I would say.”
“Somalia!?!” cried Amacui-Xolotl.
“But will you look at the time,” said the Dear Leader, looking at the clock above the mantelpiece, “I am already late for my 12 appointment.”
With that, the Great Comrade began to usher his shell-shocked nephew to the door.
“Your boat leaves for the island in..ohh…a month I’d say. Giives you time to prepare your affairs and such. Be sure to pack warm clothes. And probably best to leave the family at home, until you get settled.”
Amacui-Xolotl has too dumb-founded to speak, the mass of information was too much for his brain to process and all he could manage was the occasional mumble.
“..And be sure to pack some warm clothes. Well, see you soon and regards to your parents.”
The door to the Dictator’s study shut at the same time, so “David” thought, as the door on his old life shut to. No more teaching school kids to play Rugby, that was for sure.

OOC: Sorry its a long one!

OOC:
And for the occasional break-down in spelling and grammar. But, having sat for hours to get it written, I no longer have any desire to edit it further.

And you know what it says. ;)

Freetown, Capital of the Fourth Protestant Republic

Many visitors (which was a lie, considering that most were extremely reluctant to set foot on the island) to the island of New Deasrargle assumed that rolling sands and tree-less hills were indicators of a hot, desert-like place. Certainly, during the summer the cloudless skies could create very warm conditions, but for the most part the island was a cold place where one is morely to freeze to death than die of the heat. The cold December morning which greeted the citizens of the capital, Freetown, was an apt demonstration of this. An icy wind was blowing through the mostly deserted streets, whipping sand into the faces of those who ventured out. Those fortunate to have some manner of work trudged to work in the streets, the minimal public transport having been destroyed by the twin forces of the hurricane and the death of Walsh and his fragile cease-fire. It was about mid-morning that a large explosion could be heard across the city which originated from an attempted car-bombing of the Orthodox church of St. Alexis of Wilkes-Barre. The Church, following repeated attempts, had placed large concrete blocks before the entrance. The church was, thanks to this measure, largely saved though the windows were smashed and the Deacon killed.
Lunchtime saw the sound of small arms fire erupt around the cities, some from sectarian militia but most from a series of robberies. During the mid-afternoon the gunfire increased as the Orthodox faithful (or those with guns at least) attempted to take revenge by attacking the Fourth Street Presbyterian Chapel. This attack, which raged until the early evening, was unsuccessful. The mob, therefore, turned its attention to the nearby Catholic Augustinian Monastry, torching the outer wings. Most residents spent the evening watching the smoke rise into the cloudless sky. Some, however, noticed shapes on the horizon. These shapes condensed into ships during the night and, at seven o'clock the next morning, the first brigade of the Fiefdom Marine Infantry Division had landed, seizing key objectives from the sleeping paramilitaries. Soon, the olive-green uniforms of the marines could be seen at street-corners, prompting soon excited residents to run through the streets, shouting that the Finarans had returned. When the green flag was raised over the mostly ruined Parliament Building, however, most knew that an entirely different power had arrived. Needless to say, the weakened Protestant Republic collapsed. Some fled to the Northern Presbyterian strongholds, while moderates met and discussed whether or not to negociate for the new occupiers.

Most residents noted a quieter, if not a warmer day in the capital. though for how long, many dared not to contemplate.

ooc: Supposed to be Deasrargle, but it wouldn't post so trying this.

OOC: It did post!

The Island of New Deasrargle/Kaitan-Leagran

Rising like a great brown mass from the Atlantic Ocean, the island of New Deasrargle gives no impression of being a green and pleasant land. The island is a chunk of largely infertile volcanic rock, on which the battered peasant-farmers must work incredibly hard to eke out the merest livelihood. Yet this desolate lump has often served as the last refuge of the desperate and has given the eager some hope of a better life.

A Brief History

Pre-European Discovery: Some evidence does exist of primitive habitation on the island some time during the Bronze era. Archaeologists have been divided, however, about whether these settlements were Vasconian Indians or some other, as of yet unknown migrating group. What is clear from the evidence, however, is that this group did not stay on the island for very long, possibly due to the largely infertile soil.

1740s Onwards: The increase in population on the island of Finara, along with the reduction in available farmland, leads thousands of Roman Catholic Finarans to the island to seek a better way of life. The poor soil and hostile climate claims many of the early settlers, but numbers begin to grow. This pattern continues until….

1810s: Greek-Speaking Pantocratorian Peasants, seeking a better way of life and greater freedom, move to the island in number. Rumour, to this day, maintains that the Greeks arrived on the island on their way to their intended destination (which some scholars ironically attribute to present-day Pantocratorian Ambara). Whether by accident or design, the Peasants were unable to pay the full passage and the captain stranded them on the island. Whether true or not, the promise of farmland and freedom of worship drove many to leave their farms in Pantocratoria and set sail. Whether they were pleased with the final results is a matter of some debate. Needless to say, the Greek Orthodox Diocese of Anacea (as the newcomers referred to the island), is one of the first reported Pantocratorian Orthodox organizations to exist openly until the re-emergence of recent years. The Greek Orthodox presence increased until…

1860s: The persecution of Protestantism under Daniel II leads many Presbyterians to flee to the island. The Protestant population of the island increases dramatically, until sectarianism becomes a primary concern for the island.

It was during this time that the first open discussions took place within the Pantocratorian Empire about a possible conquest of the island. These discussions, however, were quashed in a speech by Count Pierre de Montaigne to the Imperial Parliament….

Some members of this House believe it not only advantageous and expeditious to mount a campaign of annexation of the island of Kaitan-Leagran, arguing that the Holy and August Empire must be seen to protect the interests of its peoples and of its various shipping routes. This, my lords, is a folly of the utmost order for a number of well-reasoned points.
Firstly, it seems to me to be an act of foolishness to annex a nation that is not of similar peoples. My learned friends might scoff, but the estimates of those imbibed with knowledge dictate that the majority of people on the said island are of Finaran characteristics. Unless my lords know of many of His Imperial Majesty’s subjects who regularly converse in Gaelic or English, then it seems meritorious to suggest that our peoples form a significant minority upon the island.
Secondly, the island has a large minority of those Finarans of a heretical persuasion. While my learned and worshipful friends within the Holy Church might offer bold solutions of mass conversions at the sight of our triumphant arms, I myself am less inclined to such Constantine-esque circumstances. Loathe though it is to mention his name within these hallowed halls, the tyrant Robespierre did at least stumble upon a grain of truth when he noted that one does not discover many converts with armed missionaries.
And finally, my lords, the island is much too hostile in both climate and agriculture for it to warrant much attention. I urge the end of such nonsense as ‘conquest’ and ‘annexation’ and instead devote our energies to much more immediate dilemmas at home
Speech to the Imperial Parliament, 2nd June, 26th Year of His Imperial Majesty Manuel IX Capet, 1873 Courtesy of the Archives of His Imperial Majesty, Andreus I Capet


1884-1963: Foreign Occupation did take place, however, during the reign of Sean I of Finara. The Finarans sought to annex the island, now dubbed the Duchy of Kaitan-Leagran, and created similar insitutions to those that existed in the Mother Country. The Oireachtas (Parliament) was developed and the aristocratic Seanad created due to the elevation to the peerage of a number of prominent Finaran Catholics on the island. Pantocratorian Orthodox and Presbyterians were excluded from the political process. The two houses continued to operate until the reign of King James when Protestant radicals murdered or made flee nearly all members of the Catholic nobility in a prolonged terrorist campaign. Martial law was declared in 1942 and this continued until the 1960s, when public opinion and mounting losses led to the withdrawal of Finaran troops and the effective end of foreign governance, though Finaran claims to such were never officially withdrawn.

1963-2006: The island of Kaitan-Leagran has been governed by a variety of petty warlords and ethnic militias since the end of the Finaran occupation in the 1960s. The longest lasting, though not necessarily the most popular, was the Second Protestant Republic of New Deasrargle that lasted from 1972-1988. The Second Republic was a theocratic state that was governed on a strict interpretation of the Hebrew laws of the Old Testament. The Republic was overthrown by the combined forces of the Finaran Loyalist Brigade, The Confession of St. Teresa of Avila and the Pantocratorian Crusade For Anacea. A Third Protestant republic followed during the 1990s, though by this juncture the separate Finaran Catholic and Pantocratorian Orthodox communities operated as autonomous entities and the Protestant republic was limited to strongly Presbyterians areas. A modicum of peace emerged following the rise to power of Eoghan Walsh. Walsh, a glorified drugs-dealer from the Finaran Catholic community, rose to prominence and seized control of the capital, Freetown, from the battered forces of the Third Protestant Republic.

A few months ago: The hurricane that devastated the Duchy of Deasrargle and the Kingdom of Finara first passed over the island of Kaitan-Leagran. The devastation caused broke the fragile cease-fire, with sectarian wounds reopening. Walsh’s attempts to restore order resulted in his prompt assassination. Presbyterian forces retook the capital and created the Fourth Protestant Republic of New Deasrargle. The ongoing violence, however, has stirred the international community into action. Relief for those devastated by the storm must, in the words of one UN Observer, must be coupled with a permanent solution to the island’s many differing problems.

Now: The Island slow rebuilding process has begun, with the Commonwealth of Peoples and the Serene Democratic Fiefdom helping to create a Provisional Government consisting of the three major ethno-religious groups.

A small note on the name

The island in question has a number of differing names adopted by the various groups. Finaran Catholics (some 30% of the populous) refer to the island by the Kingdom's old name for it, that of Kaitan-Leagran. Deasrarglann Protestants (some 40% of the populous) refer to the island as 'New Deasrargle'. The remaining 30% are Pantocratorian Greek Orthodox who have their own name for the island, Anacea.

Most international observers, and increasingly most political residents of the island, have begun to call it Kaitan-Leagran in order to prevent confusion with the Duchy of Deasrargle in Finara.

Joint Forces meeting, Ministry of Defence, Swadlincote, Midlonia

“Overseer went berserk this morning with the Intel it picked up on the satellites, it didn’t expect a third power to dive in quite so aggressively as it did.”

“Has Overseer picked up on who did it? The Pantocratorians wouldn’t dare be so aggressive, and the Finarans aren’t interested in it any more.” Muttered Jenna Astron as she twitched her feline-ears. Nekoites were rare in the Greater Kingdom, and ones that enjoyed flying on a regular basis were even rarer, still, she was sat at this table as proof that anything was pretty much possible in the Greater Kingdom. She had been looking at the spinning satellite pictures showing off the green clad marines and had been toying with her skirt (such as it was, its length was, as some would say “Barely covering the ovaries“) for a few minutes.

“Overseer is still trying to confirm who it is.” replied Frederick Parkes, leader of the Midlonian Intelligence and Research Agency, or M.I.R.A for short.

The image span out, then focused in on a landing area. The Chief of the Royal Navy’s amber coloured eyes lit up and she burst into a snicker, her darker skin of Birchester heritage sticking out in contrast to her pure white and gold naval uniform, unlike her counter-part in the Airforce, she wore the full uniform, trousers and all. “What is it Kristola?” asked Jenna as her ears flicked up as if she were alert, her tail playing behind her with an idle flick.

“These ships.” she giggled a little as her moderate Birchester Accent shone through. “They’re museum pieces. I wouldn’t put those to sea to train in, let alone launch an invasion, even a rubbish place like this.”

“So a faction just as badly armed?” quipped a voice at the far end of the table.
“Possibly.” replied Kistola. “Third world fighting Third world?”

“Assessment. Correct.” chimed a male electronic voice. The image vanished and a series of small squares, ‘pixel packages’ as they were nicknamed began to build itself into a squat armour-shaped torso, and a blank curved helmet, featureless aside from the lettering “OV-1” in black.

“OV dash One, have you identified the new faction?” Frederick Parkes leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk and frowned slightly as he peered up at the avatar.
“Correct.” replied the avatar, its ‘head’ shifting at random to denote it was talking to the assembled Chiefs of Staff.
“Very well. Identify!”

A flag appeared in front of the avatar, and smaller ones on each side for the Chiefs to look at.
“This flag is identified as that of a nation logged on our database as ‘The Fiefdom’ Its full title is The Fiefdom of Uncle Noel, previously the Empire of Otiacicoh, updating Databases to refer to entry as ‘The Fiefdom’ from now on.” there was a slight pause. “Ships are mostly outdated designs ranging from the 1930’s to the 1950’s. Data retrieval in progress. Fiefdom forces not known for conventional military tactics, threat concept medium. Current deployment of troops resulted in Protestant forces fleeing to the Northern areas of the Island. Assessment. Area defined,” the avatar now showed a flat map of the island, an area highlighted in red, “suggests this is the Protestant Territory, any such attempts to be made by GKM forces should consider area here as a zone to start from.”

The Chiefs of Staff sighed and sat back. Frowning over what to do now.
“Special Forces team to make contact and help out?” Suggested David Hortley, head of the Royal Army. A young 30 year old man with black hair and blue eyes he had been the chief of the Royal Army for nearly 6 years now, and was quietly in a relationship with the Chief of the Airforce, but it wasn’t really known outside of the room they were currently sitting in. “Supreme Commander?” he turned to the far end of the table where an older figure sat and sighed, his face half-cast in shadow.
“Agreed. Use the First Rapid Response Brigade”
“Yes, Supreme Commander.” They all bowed their heads slightly before they vanished, the figures all holographic avatars bar the Supreme Commander himself and the head of MIRA.

“Quite a turn of events, wouldn’t you say?” Frederick Parkes spoke in a near whisper.
“Unfortunately so.” replied the aged figure with another sigh.

As the sun set on the first day of foreign occupation, the assembled troops of the Fiefdom’s Marine Infantry began to consolidate their positions within Freetown. Maps, ‘borrowed’ from the remnants of the city’s archives, showed the shape of the town and defining features. It was part of the operation’s hasty planning and deployment that Military and Party Officials have not checked such details before. It led, therefore, to the embarrassing redeployment of marines from what was thought to be former Presidential Palace but was, rather, the old Corn Exchange.
The former Protestant Presidential Palace, and the former Manor House of the Duke of Kaitan-Leagran stood, in fact, on a tall hill that over-looked the city to the North-West. Freetown castle, which seemed like something of an oxymoron to most of the marines who knew what an oxymoron was, was a late-nineteenth century structure that was built, for some reason, in a Dutch Renaissance style.
Beyond its (surprisingly) well-kept lawns was a fully operational military base, which had been used by the Finaran military governor during the 1950s. Well, it was not exactly “fully operational”, but the long years of violence had transformed this building into some manner of stronghold. Even Walsh had lived here until recent days, pretending that this bloody and violent man was some manner of new Duke of Kaitan-Leagran. Most had tolerated his eccentricity, until the hurricane destroyed his credibility and, ultimately, his power base. Fiefdom forces, to that end, had taken the posts that Walsh’s militia had occupied only a few weeks before. Some marines even joked that the beds were still warm.
The second day was spent moving ashore the landing forces heavier equipment. Curious residents watched the progression of tanks, trucks and A.P.Cs from the ruins of their homes, some muttering that the forces looked as though they were here to stay. Beyond Freetown, however, life continued on its normal (anarchic) course. Militant Protestants, fleeing North, brought news to their communities of the invasion of the capital. The Catholics to the South and the Orthodox to the West, however, would not learn of the events for several weeks. The reason was because the invasion, such as it was, was limited only to the capital and its suburbs. Marine Commanders had even drawn a thick red line around maps of the city, indicating to their men that they could not cross this line. None of them, not even the most gung-ho party official in his warm office in Port Sunlight, wanted to repeat Finara’s error seventy years ago.
This pattern repeated itself on the third day, so that smartly polished Type 99 tanks soon accompanied the forces on the street-corners.
It was only on the fourth day that the occupiers began to justify their presence. Posters in Greek, Gaelic and English appeared across the city, informing residents of a meeting at Oireachtas Square (or the remains of it at least) at noon the next day. This message, broadcast across the radio waves for those fortunate enough to possess such devices, reached many.
The fifth day saw the Pronouncement. The assembled masses crowded into the square, where a large speaker system had been created. The olive-green marines were present and armed, their AK-47s polished to a high degree. Colonel Yayauhqui Mazatl stood in a large glass box which, due to the number of sniper shots that would be fired during the course of the announcement, was a wise precaution.
“People of Freetown,” he said when he judged the square to be sufficiently full, “For five days now you have wondered at our presence. We must apologize for the inconvenience that we have caused and for our silence as to our presence.
The first thing you should know is that this is not the first step in the process of annexation. The Fiefdom of Uncle Noel possesses no desire to amalgamate your nation into ours, or to create a colony in a greater empire. We come at the behest of the International Community, to help restore order and to assist the transition to a stable government of national unity. Our presence is limited purely to this city and we act only as a catalyst, not as the primary motivator, behind a better way of life for you.
A few weeks ago, representatives of a series of national governments met in Bigtopia to discuss the dilemma here, and to propose a solution. We, the Fiefdom, serve as the vanguard of this. Leaders of your various communities are being consulted for a government of national unity. We also serve to protect your new King.”
The mob, quickly literally, convulsed at this news. Many began to shout, though the volume of noise drowned out any particular words, save for obscenities. The marines on the speakers turned them to 11 in an attempt to speak over the crowds.
“Your King,” continued the Colonel as bullets began to strike the box, “Has been chosen from an ancient and venerable Imperial House. He is a man of courage, temperance and decency and has confessed a firm and true desire to be of service to you all. He shall arrive at His capital in the near future. Until then, you are urged to go about your business as usual and work for a brighter…”
The word ‘tomorrow’ was drowned out in the noise of the crowd. Colonel Mazatl was swiftly evacuated, though it would take until night-fall for the mob to be contained.

As ‘bright tomorrows’ went, New Deasrargle’s did not start off particularly well.

The Commonwealth, of course, had great interests in the unfolding events in Kaitan-Leagran. The Gulf of Vasconia was located in the heard of the Commonwealth’s interests. Hipolis was located there and Nabarro Abarca and Laneria bordered the Gulf. Every Commonwealth member state was relatively close. After all, the Commonwealth’s territory was concentrated overwhelmingly on the two continents of Vasconia and Ambara, two continents largely divided by the Gulf.

The Gulf of Vasconia was normally patrolled by Commonwealth Task Force 1, a sea component of the Commonwealth Defense Force. It was formed around the aircraft carrier, the HGMS Emancipator, the first of its class and the first aircraft carrier produced by the Gandarans. It included the Hipolitan littoral combat ship HS Nike and the Lanerian littoral combat ship USS Liberty, the Jagiellan submarine HJMS Orzel and the Sahori destroyer HSMS Arunta. The entire task force was under the command of Commodore Corinna Gutman. It was a formidable task force given its assignment. Of course, it wasn’t designed for serious conventional naval warfare with the ships of another advanced power. Its mission made that highly unlikely. After all, the whole Gulf of Vasconia (where New Deasrargle was located) was within extremely short-range from Laneria, Hipolis and Nabarro Abarca and within relatively short range from every single Commonwealth member. A hostile expeditionary force, even from a militarily formidable nation, could likely be greeted with overwhelming force within a matter of hours unless they had prepared very carefully and, even if they had, the Commonwealth would have a huge homecourt advantage. Not that anyone was preparing for war.

Of course, no one wants an enemy close to their own homeland within striking distance of their cultural centers, their civilian population, their religious centers, their children and everything the armed forces of the Commonwealth existed to protect. That was why other elements of the Commonwealth’s naval forces more suited to open warfare began to move to positions which would block access to the Gulf. Of course, as the Gulf lay between Ambara and Vasconia and was open on the east to the Atlantic, where friendly nations such as Excalbia and Pantocratoria as well as Commonwealth member states like Finara and parts of the Resurgent Dream were located, this wasn’t too difficult of a task. A Lanerian battlegroup formed a broad screen between Excalbia and the east coast of Lanera. A Sahori battlegroup formed another broad screen between Dana and the east coast of Sahor. A Danaan battlegroup formed another loose broad screen between Dana and the Pantocratorian Archipelago and a Finaran battlegroup formed yet another loose screen between the Pantocratorian Archipelago and the Excalbian Isles. Not that anyone was preparing for war.

The tactics of the enemy are always important in a battle. Commonwealth specialists spent hours reviewing tactical information from previous Midlonian campaigns. Of particular interest was the Midlonians disregard of projection capacity as a factor. If the Midlonians considered themselves stronger than or even equal to an opponent in general terms, they seemed perfectly comfortable sending an unprepared expeditionary force right into the backyard of a potentially hostile power. The Commonwealth’s experts had decided this was a weakness which could easily be exploited, if Midlonia seriously made a move into the Gulf of Vasconia. Not that anyone was preparing for war.

A people confident in the rightness of its cause was more willing to sacrifice for a military effort. The people of the Commonwealth were reminded of the odious practice of Midlonian slavery, a barbarous affront to God and man, by their media, their religious leaders and their pundits as Midlonia threatened to entrap Vasconians in this dark institution as it had sought to entrap Finarans in the past. They were reminded of the obligations imposed upon the Commonwealth’s naval forces, not only by common decency, but by the Taliadoros Treaty on the Law of the Sea. They were reminded that the Commonwealth recognized an absolute obligation to prevent any trafficking in forced laborers over international waters, an obligation the Commonwealth certainly wouldn’t shirk in the Gulf of Vasconia itself. They were reminded that the full military power of the Commonwealth stood behind this obligation. Not that anyone was preparing for war.

The Commonwealth needed to know where its allies and where other nations in the region stood. The Commonwealth ambassadors to both Pantocratoria and Excalbia requested emergency meetings with the Defense Ministers of those two nations. The Commonwealth’s ambassadors to Abt and Pantocratorian Ambara requested similar meetings. Not that anyone was preparing for war.

Of course, the Fiefdom’s rather odd actions were also a cause for concern. The Commonwealth’s embassy in New Deasrargle made contact with the Fiefdom forces as well as with the various local forces. It seemed the Fiefdom was making a well-intentioned but harebrained attempt to help restore order and that, with some diplomatic savvy, some sort of order could be restored. An order that might require Commonwealth, Pantocratorian, Excalbian and/or Fiefdom peacekeeping forces but which would not include the expansion of dangerous and so far hostile Midlonian interests into Vasconian waters. Not that anyone was preparing for war.

New Deasrargle Herald
BETRAYAL!
Atheists impose Pagan Sinner as “King” of the righteous and God-fearing
“Not since Israel’s exile in Babylon has a greater act of wickedness been enacted upon the pious” were the stark words of Rev. Darragh Fitzjohns, the Moderator of the Presbyterian Synod of Freetown, to yesterday’s disturbing news. The stark message, delivered by the “communist” regime (for which our readers should replace with ‘Godless and Fornicating’) of ‘Ancle Noal’, has a hammer blow to all who prayed for the return of the safety and propriety of the Second Christian Republic. As our readers would know, the Lord denounced Israel for desiring a king, a king that fails to even believe in the redeeming power of Christ is surely an affront to all good Christians in New Deasrargle. Although urging all good Presbyterians to be wary of the new regime, Rev. Fitzjohns did urge all members of the Faith to stay peaceful.
“Such Godless men are wont to cause any manner of mischief and mayhem if their wills are disobeyed. Those willing to life with such indignity are invited to remain in Freetown, though those wishing to preserve a decent, godly and New Deasrarglaan way of life are encouraged to move to his brothers in the north and await the first igns of God’s punishment on the heathen, pagan and Anglican alike!”
Others were less kind though, calling the proposed new king a “dirty fucContinued on page 2
Deus Vox
OUTRAGE!
”A Stab in the Back for all Good Catholics” says Bishop
Shock and disgust met yesterday’s “pronouncement” of a new monarchy in Kaitan-Leagran, dashing the hopes of many that the heretical and paganistic Fiefdom had come to impose true Catholic monarchy. The Bishop of Freetown, His Grace The Right Reverend Patrick O’Neill, was particularly bitter in a statement of yesterday evening, saying that “the international community had a golden opportunity to aid the suffering of all good Catholics in Kaitan-Leagran, who for so long have suffered great hardships at the hands of their heretical neighbours. Instead, in what seems like a rather sick joke, the international community has thrown us to a cackle of pagans and yet more heretics, and now intend to ravage us with a King, chosen by a ruling calabal and as removed from the learnings of the Holy Church as a man is different from a door-mouse.”
Deus Vox, in an effort to inform its readership of what to expect in this new pagan King, has compiled a list of notable pagan attributes:
a) Fornication
b) Blasphemy
c) Defecation on the Blessed Sacrament
and/or
d) The devouring of Catholic Children.

The Bishop went on to say that a day of prayer would be held in hopes that the present occupiers would “go away”. The Deus Vox believes that, if a pagan is the best the international community can do, then such a “community” is nothing more than a witches coven of liars and charlatans, that care nothing for the calls of the faithful…
Continued on page 4

Meanwhile…
Fiefdom Pravda
Foreign Ministry vows to ‘Stay the Course’ in Anacea
Mission on island is “key to the Fiefdom’s long-term interests and to the glorious march of the Socialist Revolution
Top Party Officials were denying a collapse in moral over the situation in Freetown, last night, as reports from Freetown were less than enthusiastic about the prospect of the Great Comrade’s own nephew, Comrade Amacui-Xolotl, being their new King.

Some Party Officials have begun to distance themselves from the decision to deploy troops on the island, arguing that the limited scope and range of the soldiers have doomed the operation before it has properly begun. Foreign Office Officials have denied this, claiming that attempts to restore order are progressing and that public opinion is turning to the idea.

Some in the Party, however, have questioned the wisdom and dialetical-versaity of appointing a hereditary monarch, the Party’s leading Theorist, Professor Neil Ramage has produced a stern rebuttal to this. Arguing, over the course of 900 pages, that Great Comrade Stalin’s ‘Socialism-in-One-Country’ allows for the imposition of a monarchical regime only in so far as it aids, in the fullness of time, the Revolution’s interests by creating friendly regimes. The teachings of Juche were also utilised and..

Continued on page 93

SEVEN YEAR PLAN FOR HIGH-TECHNOLOGY INDUSTRIES “MOST SUCCESSFUL EVER” WAS MINISTRY FOR STATE PLANNINGPages 2-6

Colonel-Commandant Francois Ayaxcanyotica sat at his desk in the former Presidential Compound in Freetown Castle. The office, which had once housed Walsh's trusted Lieutenants, had superb views over the city below. He was unsure whether to be pleased at the decrease in the number of fires he could see, their smoke billowing into the cloudless sky, or ashamed that nearly a week of occupation still had not secured the amount of stability required. Colonel Yayauhqui Mazatl, whose strong voice and educated tone had been so vital to the announcement of a few days prior, stood nearby with the reports from the men on the ground.
The Colonel-Commandant turned his gaze to the other hills surrounding the capital, and in particular to the small stream of people walking to the North.
"You know what irritates me?" said Ayaxcanyotica all of a sudden, "Its that we are trying to help here. We are trying to get them to build, not so much a better country but an actual country in the first place. And look at them,"
The Colonel-Commandant rose angrily and pointed to the relatively small numbers moving North,
"Running to the North, so that they can polish their rifles and wait to become insurgents, rebels or whatever you want to call irritating little swines."
Ayaxcanyotica had developed a reputation as a precise military commander. No corners were cut, no boxes left unticked when an operation was placed in his hands. It did not help, some said, that his name was Nahuatl for 'slowly' but Ayaxcanyotica certainly worked to his own timetable and no others. What added to his anger, therefore, was how flawed the Fiefdom's planning was. It had been assumed that the fall of Freetown would herald a new dawn throughout the rest of the country, but the country was so divided that only a nation-wide force could do the job effectively. That, however, prompted the fear of Finara's experience, and no one was willing to repeat that error.
"Anything to report?" said Ayaxcanyotica after a tense silence.
"Not much sir, though the Fleet notes that the Commonwealth's fleet is continuing the patrol route." came Colonel Mazatl's reply.
"The Commonwealth," sighed the Colonel-Commandant, "They will no doubt have an interest in this whole business. Ask their embassy staff if anyone wishes to discuss this squallid mess of a place with us, or, in fact, me. As I am the Commanding Officer. Or at least the sign on my door says so."
"But you don't have a door sir, the looters must have taken it."
"Oh yes. Bugger."

Freetown, Kaitan-Leagran

George Begala had been the Lanerian Ambassador to Kaitan-Leagran at the time the Common Foreign Policy was first implemented. As was typical for the Commonwealth’s treatment of established ambassadors, he had been formally reappointed as the Commonwealth’s ambassador as soon as the Secretariat for External Affairs had formally gained possession of Lanerian’s embassy on the island and only minor changes had been made to his staff. Today, he was not a happy man. He hadn’t been in a very long time. There wasn’t much cause to be happy. For one thing, the Government of Kaitran-Leagran seemed to largely be a myth. Begala was accredited to whoever held Freetown. Until recently, that had been a drug dealing thug named Eoghan Walsh. Tomorrow, he would likely be officially accredited to this King Amacui-Xolotl. Not that it seemed to matter much.

Begala really had no idea why his government seemed to be taking such a tolerant attitude towards the Fiefdom’s recent actions. The idea that they could just land here with troops, declare some communist functionary a king because he was descended from some other largely extinct Aztec imperial house, claim that they represented the international community and expect it to be accepted struck him as simply ludicrous. Kaitan-Leagran might be so thoroughly screwed that it wouldn’t matter one way or another here but letting a major communist power set up a satellite state less than fifty miles from Hipolis mattered a great deal to the Commonwealth. For God’s sake, Kaitan-Leagran was ninety miles off the southern coast of Dorado (a peninsular Lanerian state extending south into the Gulf of Vasconia).

Still, Begala had his orders. That was why, when he arrived at Freetown Castle, Begala didn’t rush in asking the Fiefdom troops what it is they thought they were doing and screaming that Commonwealth peacekeepers were on the way as he might have wished. Instead, he stepped slowly from his state car and walked towards the door in a properly measured fashion, his personal security office flanking him. In Kaitan-Leagran, one couldn’t go anywhere without one. It was too much to expect that the Fiefdom guards had already received orders to let him pass without a word. Ambassadors in places like Kaitan-Leagran never learned to expect the little diplomatic courtesies other ambassadors took for granted. So he stopped at the door and said “Excuse me, I’m George Begala, the Ambassador from the Commonwealth of Peoples. I believe the Colonel-Commandant is expecting me.”

Begala was a fat man in his late forties, fairly typical for a diplomat. He was of European ancestry, as were a little over 60% of Lanerians. He didn’t look much like a Commonwealth ambassador. He looked more like a hassled, low-level civil servant. His gray hair was perpetually unkempt and his suit was wrinkled and rather inexpensive. If the Commonwealth was making its interests known to Midlonia through massive naval deployments, its instrument so far in dealing with the Fiefdom was …. less impressive.

“Riiiight, so the Commonwealth has now jumped itself on like it has, after The Fiefdom forces arrived, and from the chatter we can garner they keep referring to calls on their ships to keep an eye out for birds bearing trees.”
“They mean us, they’re basing it off of our Finaran involvement when we sent that gun-cutter PT to check on what the hell was going on.”
“Ah.”
“We’ve sent a bit of propaganda art to the fact, we’re broadcasting it to the New Desrargle folks and the general area now. Should certainly be interesting…”

Broadcast to the Gulf of Vasconia, Pantocratoria etc etc

“This is Midlonia calling, this is Midlonia calling.” spoke the person standing in front of a cool beige background, the person spoke in Dutch, German, French and English. Each face was different, each carefully crafted to subconsciously appeal to the masses of the people they were broadcast too, the Midlonians had even mastered localized communications specifically on the Isle of Kaitan-Leagran along the rough lines of the areas that each religious faction held and sent broadcasts of people displaying Christian and orthodox crosses, one with the pope’s picture on a shelf in the background and one without.
“This is the first of a series of broadcasts aimed towards those on the Isle of Kaitan-Leagran. It appears that your plight is on the verge of never-ending. It is saddening that we found out about your long-standing plight. Though you may not have known it, nations of the world convened in the hope that we could reach a single consensus to bring your horrors to an end.” The faces then frowned.

“It seems, however that the other nations who were involved have decided to go against what they said they would do! The Fiefdom who attended a conference designed for a new and lasting peace, not a mere new ceasefire have decided to land troops in a horrifying action and attempted to place their own ruler in a terrible attempt at trying to bring peace and stability. Now it seems that the Commonwealth, your old malefactors, those who oppressed and killed you are stepping up their military manoeuvres, some of which come close to your waters, your land. It is a clear and grave fact that they want to intervene, they want to come back and take your people from their homes and ship them abroad.”

“They want to send you back to the dark dark days of oppression! We urge that instead of appealing to your own petty squabbles you look towards those that did you wrong! Those that continue to abuse you, the troops that lie in your beloved capital, you the leaders of your factions should come together in the spirit of your nation, the spirit that your God would want you to come together and throw out those who wish you nothing but harm! We shall keep you informed as the rest of the world chooses to shut you out, as it has done now for 40 years, we hope to offer you that chink of light in which you should grab and hold onto!”

The image simply cut out afterwards.

The lack of a door, so vital and overlooked in the world of office furniture, was sorely missed by Colonel-Commandant. Not only did the lack thereof cause his office to be cold and noisy, it also allowed the ever-present volcanic sand of the island to be blown in. Small piles of brown/black sand accumulated in corners, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could prevent the sand from getting into food. The Colonel-Commandant had even taken to drinking his tea through a sieve, though even this had met with limited success.

It was at times like this, therefore, that Ayaxcanyotica really hated New Deasrargle. And he meant, REALLY hate it. He hated it alot more than this mature, well-reasoned man with a wife and two grown-up daughters ever thought he could anything in this world. But he did. He hated the cold, he hated freezing wind, he hated the general decay of the place and, of course, he hated the sand. Though the accent of the locals also irritated him. It had an Irish lilt, which wasn't too bad, but years of relative isolation had warped it slightly, making it harsher and clipped vowels. The Orthodox were even worse, in Ayaxcanyotica's opinion, as they had an accent that was partly Pantocratorian Greek, partly Finaran Gaelic. Two languages, the Colonel-Commandant concluded, that should never have been mixed.

As much as he hated the island, though, Ayaxcanyotica remained committed to his overall mission. Part of this thinking was that, if the mission succeeded, then a troubled part of the world would be made safer and these people, irritating though their mode of verbal communication was, would live in peace and freedom. Yet the other part of his thinking was as a committed patriot. Ayaxcanyotica believed in his country, if not the political ideology it propounded. The Colonel-Commandant was no communist, years in the marines had made him weary of anyone who proposed that a paradise was just around the corner, though he did serve that regime with every ounce of his strength. He was just old enough to remember the dark days of the old regime, with its crime, dirty and hatred. The Communists had certainly been heavy-handed during the bad old days but, so Ayaxcanyotica reckoned, they had also given him everything in life. They had given him and his family so much that he was pleased to give something, anything, in return. And if that meant sitting in the sand, then so be it. Sit he would.

If the Colonel-Commandant loved his country, he was less keen on the Commonwealth of Peoples. He was suspicious of it for a start, believing it to be a rather sinister organisation run by a group of well-born Danaans. Most of his suspicion, no doubt, stemmed from simple jealously. They seemed to waft from troublespot to troublespot on wings of gold, while Ayaxcanyotica and his marines trudged about at their heel. Yet, whatever the reason, the Colonel-Commandant did not look forward to his meeting with...Mr. Begala

Begala's assumption was, indeed, entirely correct. The soldiers at the entrance to the compound were deeply skeptical of the man before them. They triple-checked his papers, scanning them with the same intensity as a monk might consult holy scriptures, before finally allowing them into the outer yard. It was there that the Ambassador was politely informed that his security detail could make use of the army canteen available while the Mr Begala made his way into the inner compound and, ultimately, the castle itself. Though several more checkpoints, and half a dozen weary Marine Officers, still awaited. Finally, he appeared before the doorless office of the Colonel-Commandant.

"Ahh, Mr...Begoola, Begala?, welcome. I trust that you were not overly hindered in your journey here today?"

The Ambassador did not look like much, in the eyes of the Colonel-Commandant, but he was used to such men. Hours of arguing with "suits" back in Port Sunlight over the Defence budget was enough experience for several lifetimes. 'A direct approach,' thought Ayaxcanyotica, 'Is always the best approach.'

"Please take a seat sir," he said with a smile, motioning the Ambassador to the battered old wooden chair that served as an excuse for office furniture, "We have much to discuss. Your staff have, of course, already made some manner of informal contact with my forces which, by asking you to come here today, I hope will be further cemented.
The Marine Infantry's role here is, as you will no doubt have noticed, a fairly limited one. We do not desire a nation-wide occupation since, as you are no doubt aware, one of your member-states did not fare particularly well here. That said, of course, we are not intrinsically opposed to the idea.
To that end, therefore, I would be most grateful for the Commonwealth's view of the situation. I would also be grateful if you would kindly explain the rather large naval manoveurs that have detected by the Workers' Liberation Army Navy fleet that is positioned just offshore."

His Grace, Bishop Stylianos of An Bealach Bui, sat down to watch some television after a rather busy day of visitations. As Bishop of a strongly Orthodox area, Stylianos had no shortage of priests to visit and check-up on and since many insisted that he lead in the Divine Liturgy, his days seemed to drag at times. He would sometimes joke to his private secretary that he was glad Orthodoxy did not allowed for a married episcopate, as he would have to tolerate a nagging wife as well. The secretary would laugh, but not too much as he was married.

The bishop was, like most of the clergymen in Anacea, not a native. The lack of infrastructure, along with the deep suspicisions of the people, meant that most congregations looked back to their home country's for religious leadership. Stylianos was originally from a small village outside Drakopolis in Pantocratoria, and had arrived in Anacea shortly after the fall of the Third Protestant Republic.

Despite his busy workload, though, the Bishop also found time to be a key spiritual advisor to the Pantocratorian Crusade For Anacea, the primary Orthodox militia on the island. He was just about the sort of man who could both watch Midlonia's message and also do something about it.

The message was, firstly, rather odd. The accent was perfect, first of all. It was the right mixture of older Pantocratorian Greek and Finaran Gaelic lint that most people in the area spoke. The cross and the icons were perfectly displayed, and there was even a picture of the Ecumenical Patriarch in the background which, Stylianos noted, was a nice touch.
It wasn't all perfect though, as the announcer did say "Kaitan-Leagran" and not "Anacea" but, most shockingly of all, was the content. Stylianos had heard about some matter going on in Freetown but had assumed that it was just another faction that had arisen. He hadn't a clue that the faction was, in fact, another country. Stylianos was also horrified by the news that a foreign ruler was to be appointed, another point that he had dismissed as rumour.

No sooner had the announcement stopped than the phone instantly began to ring. Stylianos knew who it was and knew where to go. Wrapping up warm for the freezing winter wind outside, the Bishop made his way to An Bealach Bui Monastry and, in particular, the side chapel to St. Tikhon. They were all there.

"We've all seen it," said the leader after a time, "What should we do about it?"
"Well," said a short man in the corner, "if its true, then we must strike now. A foreigner? A foreigner here? It'll be like the Finarans all over again. We'll be shut out, put in a corner and told to become heretics if we want any of the goodies at the table. Well I, for one, and not contempt to be told to ignore the True Faith. I say we mobilise tonight!"

"That's all very well," said a tall man by the Icon of St. Gregory, "But who are these 'Midlonians'? Have any of you ever heard of them?"
Most of the assembled men shook their head.
"Exactly," said the tall man, "We don't know who they are and what they want. We don't even know if they are telling the truth. has anyone been to Freetown?"

"That's not the point," said the short man, "the point is that they must be on our side, they told us. You all saw the pictures, these Midlonians must be stout Orthodox who have been outraged by this Fieedom, or whatever its called, and have warned us!"

"Actually," said Stylianos, "I read in the Imperial Monitor that the Midlonians sided with the Protestants in the Deasrarglann affair."

"So?" said the short man, increasingly irritated by the supposed short-sightedness of his comrades, "does it matter if they are Protestants? At least they're not those back-stabbing Papists!"

"I would remind you," said the man who originally spoke, "that the Protestants on this island have never been our friends either."

"Whatever," said the short man, "It seems obvious that, whatever their reasons, these Midponians,"

"Midlonians" corrected the tall man

"Whatever, these Midlonians are helping us in this fight, and I say that we march on Freetown and chase these foreign dogs into the sea!"

"No," said the original speaker, "We cannot do anything until we know more. we do not know who these Midlonians are and we do not know if what they say is true. I must confess that, for some unknown reason, I feel myself being more trusting of these Midlonians than I would normally be of mysterious foreign powers, but we cannot rush into action without proper consideration. I therefore move to a vote, all those in favour of immediate mobilisation, please raise your hands..."

The short man and a few others raised their hands.

"And all those that think we need more information..."

The rest of the hands went up...

"We take the second route. Someone needs to go to the Capital, any volunteers?"

Stylianos knew that he was too busy, knew that he couldn't spare a few days away from his paperwork and couldn't abandon his flock...yet he could not contain his curosity as to what was going on.

"I'll go." he said.

"Good," said the original speaker, "We shall meet again in two weeks, or after the next Midlonian broadcast, whichever comes first. And now, if one of our members could lead us in a small prayer..."

Stylianos, not even when deciding on what paramilitaries should do, could be free from the religious life althogether.

Ahexotl Michin, the Fiefdom's Foreign Minister, was just sitting down to dinner when the phone rang. The news, needless to say, wasn't good.

"They did WHAT?" he shrieked into the phone, "What the buggering bugger do they think they're playing at. Yes, yes, I'll be there right away."

Though it was only a short drive to the Foreign Ministry, Ahexotl was sure that his dinner would be in the dog when he got back. He really hated his job sometimes.

The Ministry was abuzz. Their had been rumours, of course, but no one thought that the Midlonians were serious. The announcement, picked up by the Marines in Freetown, was a stab-in-the-back for Midlonian-Fiefdom relations, if they existed. Which they didn't, or at least not now.

"But they were there!" bellowed Michin to his assembled staff, "They had a man there, Dooer or Dyer, who voted on it. We all agreed that "David" was for the job. What are they doing?"

"Looks like they have undecided sir," said Carpenter, Head of the Atlantic Officer.

"It could be due to a change of heart in the Cabinet sir," interjected an analyst, "There was talk from our agents in Swadlincote that certain Ministers considered the Deasrargle Affair to be a loss of face for the Greater Kingdom, so they are pursuing a more aggressive strategy here."

"Listen," said the Minister, " I don't care if Hykar himself disapproves. Hell, I don't care if Quetzalcoatl Himself doesn't like it, we all agreed on a common course and I'll be damned if some little snot in Swadlincote thinks he can bugger up our plans just because he wants to take revenge for his own bloody idiocy. Get me Hillcrest on the phone NOW!"

At Sea

The Commonwealth’s moves over the next day or so were perhaps unexpected. The western quarter of the northern screen was moved to relieve the screen between Excalbia and Pantocratoria. The ships in the screen between Excalbia and Pantocratoria returned to their regular activities. The western quarter of the northern screen was replaced by elements of the Lanerian Coast Guard. CTF-1 was moved north, further from Kaitan-Leagran, to assume a position between Dorado and Hipolis.

Freetown, Kaitan-Leagran

Begala grudgingly took a seat across from the Colonel-Commandant. He didn’t like being parted from his security officers. He didn’t trust this Ayaxcanyotica and he didn’t think much of the legitimacy of his position either. “The Commonwealth’s view of the situation is that it should be possible to come to a negotiated agreement between your forces and the various other factions on the island. However, we are wary of an attempt to impose by force a completely foreign monarch who derives his legitimacy entirely through the will of a rather vaguely defined international community which does not include the Commonwealth or, to our knowledge, any other power in this part of the world without consultation with the relevant local forces or with other interested powers. We would like an explanation both of your actions and of the secrecy and abruptness with which they were carried out. As for the sudden movements of our naval forces, they are a completely logical response to the sudden unexpected appearance of a large foreign naval force less than fifty miles from the nearest Commonwealth coast.”

Freetown Castle, Anacea

“The Commonwealth’s view of the situation is that it should be possible to come to a negotiated agreement between your forces and the various other factions on the island. However, we are wary of an attempt to impose by force a completely foreign monarch who derives his legitimacy entirely through the will of a rather vaguely defined international community which does not include the Commonwealth or, to our knowledge, any other power in this part of the world without consultation with the relevant local forces or with other interested powers. We would like an explanation both of your actions and of the secrecy and abruptness with which they were carried out. As for the sudden movements of our naval forces, they are a completely logical response to the sudden unexpected appearance of a large foreign naval force less than fifty miles from the nearest Commonwealth coast.”

"An explanation?" Ayaxcanyotica had suspected that the "Ambassador", such as the small man before him could be termed as anything within four light years of an "Ambassador", did not like the current situation. The feeling, now, was entirely mutual.
"I would be more than willing to be acquiescent to your request if, Mr. Begoola, you were sitting before me in very different circumstances. If you sat here as part of a Commonwealth Relief Effort, over following with good-intentions and aid then maybe I would understand your seeming hostility to the Fiefdom's actions and your irritation at the lack of consultation. If you sat before me, Danaan, Ambarran and Lanerian peacekeepers swarming over the island, generating trust with the natives and unity between its peoples, then maybe I would understand the abrasiveness of your inquiry.

But you do not, Mr. Begoola, sit before me with any of these things. Your government, both before and after the rise of the Commonwealth, has consistently failed to do...well...anything for these peoples. I am of the opinion, therefore, that I will provide an explanation only to those people deserving of one. The Commonwealth, as it currently stands at this time, does not fall into that category. Either be of some use in aiding a part of the world which, though you correctly note it is on your proverbial doorstep, you have consistently ignored for the better part of half a century or you can kindly leave my office and not return."

The Colonel-Commandant returned to his paperwork without another word. After about thirty seconds, two armed Marines appeared at the empty doorway.

"Thank you for your time," said the Colonel-Commandant (without looking up and interrupting anything that Belgala might have been saying), "These gentlemen will see you to your personal security team, and your car. Good day."

When Begala had been ejected from Ayaxcanyotica's office, the Colonel-Commandant picked up a nearby satellite phone. He would need to talk to his superiors in Port Sunlight.

Port Sunlight, The Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom

Ahexotl Michin was not having a goodnight. First, the Midlonians have refused to "play ball". Now, it seemed increasingly likely the Fiefdom would be the only one playing ball, with the Commonwealth sitting in the stands with a loaded shotgun because they didn't even recognise the game was taking place.
'I must be stressed,' thought the Foreign Minister, 'I'm making up my own analogies.'
Michin was no psychic, and didn’t believe as a rule that the gods decided to punish people randomly, but he was tempted to believe that someone upstairs had taken a distinct dislike of him this evening. Especially when the call came in from the War Ministry.
Carpenter, Head of the Atlantic Office, was the one to break the news…
“You’re not going to like this sir,” he said, the statement positively dripping in under-statement.

And, sure enough, Michin didn’t like it. ‘Our Man in Kaitan-Leagran’, as Carpenter referred to the Colonel-Commandant, had decided to accuse the Commonwealth Ambassador of interfering, negligence and (practically) hypocrisy. And then almost thrown him out his office. It was not the best way to establish good relations with the region’s major power, of that Michin was very sure.
Though, in credit to him, the Foreign Minister didn’t shout, didn’t bawl and didn’t send his coffee cup hurtling across the room. He sat, with his head in his hands, for about ten minutes, massaging his temples in a vain attempt to prevent the on-coming headache.

When Michin did finally speak, it was in a husky whisper, almost as though he was desperately trying not to cry.

“Ring Marriott, and get him to speak directly to the Government. We may be quick enough to prevent the total collapse of relations.”

New Amsterdam, Laneria

“Splendid, isn’t it?”
Standing before the origin of the voice, like a huge communist Wedding-Cake, was the Fiefdom’s new embassy to the Commonwealth of Peoples. Its style, or so the architect had triumphantly dubbed it, was neo-Stalinist. This meant, in the eyes of most viewers, that the embassy was horrendously gaudy. It had spires, stars, statues, hammers, sickles and about fourteen different types of ‘heroic workers’. And sixteen ‘progressive peasants’.
“It’s…er…well…interesting Comrade Ambassador.”

Whether or not he heard the tone of incredulity in his private secretary’s voice, Alfred Marriott didn’t notice (though it could have been that he genuinely didn’t hear). Marriott, regardless of what others thought, saw in the rather hideous embassy building as the crowning pinnacle of a long political career. And few had had a political career as long as Marriott. In the words of the Communist Party’s website, he was ‘a member of the first generation of leadership’. This meant that he was there for the Revolution, there for the Battle at Carcitas Junction and had served as Minister for Labour from 1954-1971.
He had spent the last thirty years pushing for greater openness, gathering support in the Party he had helped to create and gently persuading the Dear Leader himself that openness was crucial to the Fiefdom’s survival. He had pushed for this course relentlessly, even during the 1990s when the collapse of the Soviet Union prompted a return to nigh-total isolation. Marriott had, ultimately, succeeded and his appointment as Ambassador to the Commonwealth of Peoples was, just like the statues on the Embassy Building, the icing on the cake.

Not that Marriott was the sprightliest of men, approaching as he was his 79th birthday, but few within the current Leadership in Port Sunlight believed that his appointment was anything other than a glorious retirement for the elderly politician. Relations with Taranna had, over the course of the last few years, steadily improved. The Resurgent Dream was a stable, liberal democracy that had overcome recent hardships to become a major figure on the world stage. They had, perhaps, wanted the Fiefdom to be a little freer but, in a world where nations like Allanea, Iesus Christi and others roamed, you couldn't be too choosy with your friends now, could you? The same was even more true of the new Commonwealth of Peoples. ‘What,’ many had asked in Port Sunlight, ‘Could possibly damage those relations in the near future?’

No one had reasoned, however, on a ‘Police Action’ so close to the Commonwealth’s heartland. And certainly no one had realized just how much Colonel-Commandant Ayaxcanyotica would resent the tone of the Commonwealth’s man in the region. It was now on Alfred Marriott to save the day, of sorts.

Having been debriefed of the situation, the Ambassador’s Zagreb Peoples’ Limousine roared into action, speeding the Ambassador towards the Commonwealth’s Foreign Ministry in an attempt to patch things up. The fate of New Deasrargle, and the Marines in Freetown, depended on it.

Making as quick a progression as a man with a walking stick and a ‘dicky’ heart could, Marriott appeared at the reception desk of the Foreign Ministry.

“Excuse me,” he wheezed, “Could you alert one of your superiors that the Fiefdom Ambassador is here, if they wish to discuss any matters with me. What’s that?


No, I’ve not made an appointment sorry.”

Freetown, Kaitan-Leagran

“Before I go, Colonel, I should inform you that by rejecting the Commonwealth’s attempts to deal with this unmitigated, unilateral act of imperialist aggression by the Fiefdom, you are forcing her towards a military option. Before you kick me out of your office, you should ask yourself whether that is a war the Fiefdom is willing to fight and capable of winning. I don’t think it is. There is no doubt in the minds of any Government of Earth save yours who is the aggressor here. Your actions are a bumbling fiasco unworthy of any sort of diplomatic or moral respect. You sit here and ask why we haven’t invaded yet if we care so much and give a fifty year timeline to a policy of less than a year. But we don’t invade other nations for ‘their own good’ just because they’re troubled. The people of Kaitan-Leagran are the only ones who can make peace among themselves. Foreign troops, while they may stop one abuse or another, can’t achieve a real, fair peace by force of arms. The Commonwealth is and has been willing to help in any move to negotiate among the parties. But we don’t go around invading countries to give to our relatives as presents. I don’t know what else you can call this new alleged kingdom. If the Fiefdom is serious about becoming a reputable part of the international community, that’s a lesson you’re going to have to learn. And, if you persist in your actions, Colonel, you will learn it the hard way.” Begala stood up with a last furious glare at the commander of the occupation and left between the two Marines.

New Amsterdam, Laneria

Marriot was shown into the office of the Secretary for External Affairs, Liam Mac Diarmaid. He was a beefy sort of man in his late forties. Diarmaid stood as Marriot entered, smiling grimly. “Please, Your Excellency, have a seat.”

After Marriot was seated comfortably, Diarmaid returned to his own seat behind his desk. “I certainly wish we could be meeting under more pleasant circumstances. However, I’m afraid circumstances force me to be rather frank. The Commonwealth has been, given the situation, extraordinarily cautious up to this point. The remarks of our ambassador, at least the ones he made prior to his summary expulsion from the office by the commander of your occupation forces, were, in our opinion, conciliatory in the extreme given the situation. The Fiefdom seems to feel differently. I understand part of this stems from a claim that you are acting according to a decision made by the international community. Yet, besides the Fiefdom itself, my Secretariat and even the intelligence agencies of the various members have not been able to confirm the involvement of any nation in this decision. I don’t suppose you’re willing to give me the actual names of sovereign states who agreed to this course of action and are willing and able to confirm their agreement?”

Gulf of Vasconia

CTF-1 seemed to just keep getting jerked around. They were now ordered back south past Hipolis to the edge of Kaitan-Leagran waters. The small group of various warships was now proceeding to coordinates only three miles from where the Fiefdom vessels were anchored off Freetown. The Fiefdom’s obstinacy and unilateralism, the Commonwealth now seemed to have realized, by far dwarfed the vague hints that Midlonia might join in the festival of irresponsibility.

Freetown, Kaitan-Leagran

The Colonel-Commandant didn't listen to the Ambassador's comments, or at least didn't give any indication that he was.

After his call to Port Sunlight, the Colonel-Commandant attempted to return to his paperwork, with little in the way of success. He instead waited for the inevitable phone-call. It arrived after about 90 minutes.

"Ayaxcanyotica." said the Marine Officer as he answered the small sateillite phone. It was, as he expect it to be, Admiral Henderson of the Joint Council of War.

"Colonel-Commandant," said the Admiral in a flat-tone, "There is someone here that wishes to speak to you."

'Odd,' thought Ayaxcanyotica, 'Who else can there be up the chain of command?'

"Mr. Ayaxcanyotica I presume?"
The voice was instantly recognisable. A thousand speeches, a thousand newsreels, a thousand radio programmes and a hundred thousand commorative television programs had made it the most recognisable voice in the entire Fiefdom. Ayaxcanyotica involuntarily sprung to his feet.

"Great Comrade Noel...I...er...this is honour!"

"Yes," said the voice, "I'm sure it is. But what the bloody hell are you doing out there man?"

"Well...sir...I"

"Well nothing! Our position, your position is very shaky Ayaxcanyotica, very shaky indeed. We need help, damnit, and we need the Commonwealth. You think we can go it alone?"

"But the newspapers..."

"The newspapers tow the party line, that is what they're there for. We need the Commonwealth and you go and practically propel their Ambassador from your office."

"Yes but, Comrade General Secretary, he was rude and..."

"Now you listen to me Ayaxcanyotica, damn you, you're going to go to this embassy and you'll get on your bloody knees if you have to and beg him to forgive you."

"But Comrade, I can't degrade my own dignity by..."

"Your dignity?" laughed the voice, "Your dignity and good relations with the Commonwealth is worth the relations. Now go, and pray that you succeed."

The line went dead.

Ayaxcanyotica stood for about five minutes, his ears ringing, before he finally found enough mental capacity to summon Colonel Mazatl.

"Colonel Mazatl, would you be so kind as take my apologises to the Commonwealth Ambassador. I may have been...a little short with him."

The Colonel-Commandant would not beg in person, that was not his style. He would, however, send someone else to beg for him.

"Of course sir," came the Colonel's reply, "Could I have your permission to take the helicopter? Observers note a particularly large, particularly nasty crowd in the centre today."

"Indeed. Carry on."

New Amsterdam, Laneria

Marriott coughed a few times into a red hankerchief (ever the party loyalist), before addressing the question.
"I'm afraid that I can't answer your question directly sir," he said after a time, "And not because I don't want to but because I genuinely don't know. The conference, such as it was, was something akin to a meeting of the Bilderberg Group in that its exact membership was something of a grey area. The Fiefdom attended, originally more out of a sense of curiosity, and it was she that proposed young Amacui-Xolotl as King. We also know that Midlonian attended, which makes her current actions all the more bizarre. We had also assumed, incorrectly as it appears, that the Commonwealth also attended. This was why we made no mention, why we moved in such secrecy and with such speed, not because we wanted to catch the world off-guard but because we thought the world knew what we were doing. For that, sir, we owe you an apology. Perhaps if we had made clear our intentions, we would not be in such a mess.
That does not resolve the situation as it appears though. The Fiefdom needs to build a safe, liberal democracy. We are more than adept at the first part, less so on the latter two. Perhaps a new, less secretive conference might take place to discuss the question?"

Patrick O'Connor sat on the roof of his house. He could do this in Freetown, the lack of rain making a flat roof entirely practical, and where the clear blue sky allowed for maximum visability. He had been weary of these invaders from the start, but the television program from Midlonia had confirmed it all. These stinking heathens were here to enslave all right-thinking Protestant men to Popery and sin. Well, Patrick O'Connor may have been prone to delusional Schizophrenia (or so said that Roman Idolatrous "doctor") but he knew the truth when he saw it and here it was, in the faces of these little Mexican men.
But Paddy O'Connor was no fool. He knew what to do, and he knew how to do it. He knew that God had wanted him to smite these heathens, but Paddy didn't know how to at first. The Pagans had taken the castle, all smug and content as if nothing could stop them. And Paddy had tried, his old rifle being unable to pick off anyone from such a height. But now Paddy had the tools and God Willing, he would use them.

Then he could see it. A low-flying helicopter, moving slow enough and low enough for him to be an easy target. Paddy began to sing a hymn to himself as he loaded the elderly missile launcher and prepared it to fire.
"This is for ye, My Lord!" he cried as he pressed the fire button.

Across Town

The angry mob had been looking for trouble for hours. They were Catholics, angry at the (as yet) unpunished attack by the Orthodox on their local monastry. They wanted revenge, but a rather large Fiefdom tank stood in the way. So they had stood and waited. Until the a prominent foreign limousine and security force arrived. Some of the crowd began, thusly, to throw rocks at the vehicle which, would later turn out, would be the Ambassador's car.

* * * *
A few minutes later
* * * *

The burning wreckage of the Marine helicopter containing Colonel Mazatl smashed into the city about half a mile away from the Ambassador's car. Burning matieral and fuel was flung across a wide area, and the screams of the people could be heard. Paddy O'Neill smiled to himself, and thanked God for the gift that He had bestowed on His servant.

To: Liam Mac Diarmaid, Secretary for External Affairs of the Daanan Commonwealth
From: Josiah Willard Gibbs, Consul-General of the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr
Re: The Occupation of Kaitan-Leagran
Security: None

Honorable Liam Mac Diarmaid,

In the recent several days, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr has noticed a rather significant increase in military activity off your coast on the part of the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom of Uncle Noel and on the part of the Greater Kingdom of Midlonia. I apologize for not communicating with you more rapidly, but prudency dictated we make sure that Uncle Noel and Midlonia were not acting in concert with Commonwealth forces.

It has become clear that Uncle Noel and Midlonia are not acting in concert with any other actor in the region, and that Midlonia is clearly attempting to undermine whatever attempts the military forces of Uncle Noel may make towards establishing stability in their occupied territories. The First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr finds that such conflicting forces can only increase instability and sectarian violence on Kaitan-Leagran, which this government fears may threaten Daanan and by extension Weyrean interests.

I have dispatched a telegram to the Eternal Leader of the Fiefdom voicing Weyrean concerns regarding the Fiefdom's unilateral actions on Kaitan-Leagran, and a copy has been appended to this telegram. It is the hope of this government that the Fiefdom will cooperate with your government in restoring order to the area.

At this particular moment, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr has no clear policy regarding Midlonian actions in the region. As they have not at the moment directly threatened Kaitan-Leagran, the Daanan Commonwealth, or any other state, and as their operations have all been restricted to international territory, this government finds no grounds to request them to cease their rhetoric. It is the belief of the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr that Midlonia may be induced to cooperate with the Daanan Commonwealth in evicting Fiefdom forces should such become necessary and in promoting native cooperation with the Commonwealth or with other actors attempting to assist Kaitan-Leagran.

It is my hope that this particular conflict can be resolved without the threat or use of force, and the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr offers all possible assistance it can provide, limited as it may be, for that purpose. Should it become necessary, however, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr is fully prepared to render upon request all necessary and proper support to the Daanan Commonwealth in restoring stability to the area, and in evicting if necessary foreign occupation forces.

With respects,
Consul-General Josiah Willard Gibbs
+
To: Uncle Noel, Eternal Leader et al of the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom of Uncle Noel
CC: Liam Mac Diarmaid, Secretary for External Affairs of the Daanan Commonwealth
From: Josiah Willard Gibbs, Consul-General of the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr
Re: The Occupation of Kaitan-Leagran
Security: None

Honorable Uncle Noel,

As the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom is undoubtedly aware, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr has historically enjoyed stable and good relations with the Daanan High Kingdom of the Resurgent Dream, currently incorporated into the Daanan Commonwealth. While there is no formal treaty binding our two states together, it is the belief of this government that there is no reason for Weyr to cease its support for the Resurgent Dream or the Commonwealth of which it is part. While it is the formal policy, as enumerated in the Standard Weyrik Law, that Weyr will not intervene in the affairs of any sovereign state except at official and explicit request, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr will prosecute upon request any threat to the Daanan Commonwealth or its interests with all necessary and proper means.

In light of this history, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr requests that the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom explain its recent actions in the Gulf of Vasconia. The First Distributed Kindoom of Weyr requests that the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom provide an explanation for why it has recently deployed significant military presence just outside the territorial waters of the Daanan Commonwealth; has recently occupied the city of Freetown on the island of Kaitan-Leagran; and has recently installed a foreign monarch as the head of state for the aforementioned island and its populace.

Committed to promoting stability in the region, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr is highly alarmed at the unannounced deployment of the Fiefdom's military forces so close to the Daanan Commonwealth. While this government understands that the Fiefdom and the Commonwealth have enjoyed peaceful relations, and have worked towards establishing a spirit of mutual understanding, it does not believe the current military actions of the Fiefdoms are a part of that spirit. Judging by the recent movements of the Commonwealth military forces in the vicinity of Kaitan-Leagran, this government cannot but assume that the Fiefdom has acted unilaterally in attempting to bring negative peace to the region. The First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr thus strongly urges the Fiefdom to immediately initiate dialogue with the Daanan Commonwealth regarding the withdrawal of Fiefdom military forces, and regarding potential cooperation with regional actors as part of a broader plan towards bringing positive peace and lasting stability to the region.

Committed to promoting sovereignty and territorial integrity, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr is highly alarmed at the Fiefdom's military intervention in the internal affairs of Kaitan-Leagran. While this government understands that in certain cases a just war may be waged against another sovereign state, the current situation in Kaitan-Leagran approximates nothing more or less than limited sectarian violence, which the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr does not consider grounds for an unannounced invasion. As such, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr strongly urges the Fiefdom to immediately initiate dialogue with the Daanan Commonwealth and with the leadership of Kaitan-Leagran regarding potential cooperation towards bringing positive peace and lasting stability to Kaitan-Leagran.

Committed to promoting democratic and progressive government, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr is strongly opposed to the Fiefdom's attempts to forcefully install a foreign monarch as the head of state of Kaitan-Leagran. Judging by the broad native opposition to the installation of Mister Amacui-Xolotl Hoogaboom as their reigning monarch, this government can only assume that the Fiefdom acted without their approval, and that any credible nation-wide referendum on the issue would result in Mister Amacui-Xolotl Hoogaboom's immediate expulsion as monarch. The First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr strongly urges the Fiefdom to immediately initiate dialogue with regional actors such as the Daanan Commonwealth, and with the populace of Kaitan-Leagran, in order to establish a functioning and responsible government. While the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr believes that a democratic, progressive government committed to the promotion of political rights and civil liberties would be best for Kaitan-Leagran, this government will not presume to dictate such to the people of Kaitan-Leagran

The First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr strongly urges the People's Fiefdom to work with regional actors, and to cease its unilateral military and political activities, regardless of intentions. As a responsible and progressive member of the international community, the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr strongly urges the Fiefdom to cooperate with the Daanan Commonwealth and with the leaders and people of Kaitan-Leagran in bringing positive peace and lasting prosperity to Kaitan-Leagran.

With respects,
Consul-General Josiah Willard Gibbs

In line with the Government Transparency Act of 305AL, this communication and all related communications and documents shall be rendered declassified within forty-eight hours of their transmission. They shall be placed in the public domain for private and public consumption.

To: Ahexotl Michin, Foreign Minister, Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom of Uncle Noel
From: The Hon. Demetrios Raoul MP, Minister for Foreign Affairs, Pantocratorian Empire

Minister,

I write to you most urgently to convey the appalled shock of the Imperial Government at the Fiefdom's military invasion of the island of Anacea in the Gulf of Vasconia.

It was not long ago that the General Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Otiacicoh, Uncle Noel, was received in friendship in New Rome by myself and other members of the Imperial Government at the Palais du Parlement. I speak for the Imperial Chancellor, myself, and those other of my colleagues as received the General Secretary there as the leader of a friendly nation when I convey my total bewilderment and disappointment at the Fiefdom's actions in Anacea.

The uninvited and illegal use of military force by the Fiefdom, albeit in a severely misguided attempt to bring peace to a troubled island, is a massively destabilising event in the Gulf of Vasconia and throughout the entire Atlantic. Pantocratoria regards it as a catastrophic blunder which can only bring even more violence and bloodshed to an already violent and bloody island. We will be raising this event as a matter for urgent discussion by signatories of the Treaty of Courtland. In the meantime, in the name of the friendship between our nations, and the standards of international law, we ask your government to withdraw its forces presently deployed in Anacea at once. In order to more swiftly facilitate such withdrawal, we would be willing to make available such transport assets as might be required and can be provided, should you require them.

I await your reply, sincerely,

Demetrios Raoul
Minister for Foreign Affairs
Palais du Parlement, New Rome

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Official Communiqué of the Chief of State
The Eternal Republic of Xirnium

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

Members of the International Press

From:

Lady Viktória Seriendé
Chief of State and Lady High Protectress of the Eternal Republic


The Xirniumite Government has been deeply concerned by recent international developments regarding the progressively worsening diplomatic situation within the Gulf of Vasconia, in general, and Kaitan-Leagran, in particular. Of specific cause for alarm have been the completely unexpected and quite perplexing unilateral military actions of the Serene Democratic People’s Fiefdom, which several days ago commenced an unannounced and unjustified invasion of the troubled island.

Shamelessly (and entirely erroneously) purporting to have acted on behalf of the international comity, the People’s Fiefdom has sought to install, as monarch of Kaitan-Leagran, the newly-uncovered, alleged heir to a long extinct, foreign throne. In doing so, the People’s Fiefdom has attempted to externally impose her own, privately-formed, conception of a new constitutional order upon the people of Kaitan-Leagran; completely without, it should be emphasised, even the barest sham of democratic legitimacy or the scarcest of nods to the self-determination aspirations of the local populace. Indeed, the attempt at installing a foreign citizen as Chief of State of Kaitan-Leagran appears to have been carried out by nothing less than the naked exercise of force alone.

It is the position of the Xirniumite Parliament that any sensible attempt at solving the long-entrenched problems of lawlessness and sectarian violence within Kaitan-Leagran must fully take into account, and duly respect, the fundamental international law doctrines of national sovereignty and self-determination. Implicit in such an established understanding of the Law of Nations is the notion that all peoples have the right to freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development. The People’s Fiefdom has not only blatant dispensed with such considerations, but she has also entirely ignored the unique cultural and socio-political characteristics of the island of Kaitan-Leagran. It has been no surprise, therefore, that her actions have been met with violent opposition.

As Chief of State of the Eternal Republic, I call on the People’s Fiefdom to demonstrate responsibility and cease its ill-thought out and obviously unwelcome unilateral military activities. What is now required of the comity of world nations, and of the People’s Fiefdom in particular, is an openly transparent, cooperative and multilateral reaction to the salient matters of concern. It is my earnest hope that, by engaging collaboratively with both local and regional actors, an acceptable political outcome to the controversy may yet be reached.

[Signed]

Her Serene Excellency
The Most Noble and Puissant Lady Viktória Seriendé
Lady High Protectress and Chief of State of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

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The Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom of Uncle Noel
and
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The Communist Party of Otiacicoh

To:
Members of the Community of Nations who have remarked upon the current situation in Kaitan-Leagran
From:
The Government of the Serene Democratic People's Fiefdom of Uncle Noel

The Communist Party of Otiacocoh, acting in its role as the legitimate government of the Fiefdom and vanguard of the Proletariat, desires to present a clearer picture of the Fiefdom’s recent actions in the island of Kaitan-Leagran/New Deasrargle/Anacea.

The Fiefdom, contrary to popular opinion, did not undertake the current police operation in the island’s capital Freetown in order to precede, create or in any way prepare an Imperialist conquest/annexation of the aforesaid territory. It acted, rather, under the auspices of what it had, mistakenly, assumed to be a consensus of major regional powers expressed at a meeting in Bigtopia. The Fiefdom had proposed the current Head of the House of Tenoch as a viable Head of State in order to facilitate rapprochement and reconciliation on the island. In this regard, therefore, the Fiefdom’s military operation was designed with what had assumed to be the best intentions of the wider community of nations.

That said, the Fiefdom does admit that the operation was flawed on a number of differing points. First, the Fiefdom’s operation should have been conducted with greater openness and not, as it may have appeared, as a swift occupation of the capital. In saying that, however, the Fiefdom had only intended to provide sufficient security in order to allow for the greater provision of aid to those left destitute either by sectarian violence or the recent hurricane. Lacking anything that could be termed a legitimate government, the Fiefdom had assumed that any manner of order would be correct. This was, needless to say, not the case as the Party failed to recognize the abundant interest that neighbours would have in the affairs of the island.
Second, the operation was not planned up to and sufficient with the level of expertise expected of a modern nation-state. The Party refuses outright to acknowledge the operation as ‘bungled’ or ‘flawed’ but accepts that more could have been done in both planning and, in connection with the above point, the publicizing of the stated (peaceful) goals of the mission.

That said, however, the Fiefdom is also disappointed that many nations have taken a wholly negative view of the current operation. The Party had hoped that the increasingly helpful role-played by the Fiefdom in the International Community would have prevented the assumption that the recent police action was conducted with anything other than the best of intentions. The response by some, however, seems to have concluded that this operation was yet another evil mission by a wicked state that was intent upon the deliberate inflicting of suffering and hardship upon a people who have had sufficiency of misery in the last few weeks. The Party recognizes the need, therefore, for the promotion of a much more well rounded view of the Fiefdom in the International Community and the minds of her respective leaders.

To that end, therefore, the Fiefdom of Uncle Noel shall, as of 08:00 tomorrow, withdraw her Marine Infantry from the capital and instead return them to the ships from whence they left only a few short days ago. The Fiefdom is willing to engage with any nation in dialogue over the future of the said island and withdraws her forces, not as an act of retreat or surrender, but as a show of good-will towards though nations that have misinterpreted the Fiefdom’s and the Party’s actions during the last week.

Signed and Approved by the Council of Ministers and the Standing Committee of the Communist Party of the Serene Democratic People’s Fiefdom

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Official Media Release of the Chief of State
The Eternal Republic of Xirnium

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

Members of the International Press

From:

Lady Viktória Seriendé
Chief of State and Lady High Protectress of the Eternal Republic


The Eternal Republic welcomes the judicious, timely and rational response of the Serene Democratic People’s Fiefdom, with respect to the recent and numerous concerns raised over its conduct in Kaitan-Leagran. We look forward to the pending withdrawal of the People’s Fiefdom’s invasion forces from the area, and to the establishment of a unified, multilateral policy regarding the troubled island. The diplomatic outcome today achieved has sent an unambiguously clear message, to the world, that unilaterally orchestrated and externally forced changes to the domestic constitutional order of foreign states will not be tolerated by the international comity. In addition, it has also perfectly elucidated the enormous potential inherent in honest and genuine cooperation and collaboration.

In expressing her agreement with the wisdom of suggestions made to establish an open and diverse international dialogue on Kaitan-Leagran, the People’s Fiefdom has offered real evidence in support of her claim to have acted (albeit, perhaps, misguidedly) with the best interests of the island’s people in mind. To be truly successful, however, any talks held must ultimately result in tangible and substantial progress towards the objective of promoting the self-determination and popular sovereignty of the people of Kaitan-Leagran. Naturally, the intolerable proposal of installing Mr Amacui-Xolotl Hoogaboom as foreign monarch must be permanently abandoned by the People’s Fiefdom as irreconcilably inconsistent with these goals. A legitimate government should represent the collective will and aspirations of its nation’s people, and must therefore appropriately reflect its country’s sovereign distinctiveness.

In furtherance of this aim, the Eternal Republic calls for and expects a powerful commitment, on the part of the international comity, to consult with, and secure the consensus of, the various demographic groups and communities of the island of Kaitan-Leagran at every stage of the process towards re-establishing viable self-government. Only by doing so can any workable and lasting cure be found to the problems of lawlessness and anarchy that have long afflicted the people of Kaitan-Leagran.

[Signed]

Her Serene Excellency
The Most Noble and Puissant Lady Viktória Seriendé
Lady High Protectress and Chief of State of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

New Amsterdam, Laneria

“A new, less secretive conference is exactly the solution I had envisioned.” Diarmaid said in his light Finaran brogue. “In the meantime, a no strings attached, unarmed aid package might be of the most help, similar to the Red Cross effort which did so much good in Deasrargle. If we did it through the Intergovernmental Council instead of the Commission, allowing us voluntary use of all sorts of resources which haven’t been specifically purchased by the Commonwealth as such or allocated temporarily to its forces but which national and local governments have more than their share of, it might help cool things down while the international community meets. I trust you have no objection to such a move, Ambassador?”

Freetown, Kaitan-Leagran

The car came to a halt as angry crowds surrounded it on all sides. Inside, Begala began to sweat and wring his hands nervously even as his calm security detachment radioed CTF-1, now in transit to Kaitan-Leagran. After relaying the situation, there was nothing to do but wait. No one spoke. One of the security officers wrinkled his nose after a moment. The ambassador had soiled himself. The trained fighting man gave the harried and terrified bureaucrat a brief look of contempt before bringing his expression under control. It was just an unarmed crowd, if an angry one.

The car began to rock from side to side. There was a real danger it would go over. The security men readied their semi-automatic rifles. They didn’t want to have to shoot their way out through a crowd but it was starting to look like there might be no choice. The limousine wasn’t that strong. Perhaps they should request bullet proof vehicles for the embassy when they got back. If they got back.

It was just as the first security man had his strong hand on the door that helicopters could be heard overhead. Three black attack helicopters flew fairly low towards the crowd, rapidly firing five of six canisters into the crowd. The canisters weren’t explosives but police issue tear gas designed only for crowd control, to drive the mob back from the limousine allowing it to speed through. Following the rescue, the helicopters dropped about ten large parcels into the crowd, containing eyewash to get the sting out of their eyes, food, clean clothing, bottled water and some basic medicines.

…

To: Kira li'Starhavven, High King of the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr; Josiah Willard Gibbs, Consul-General of the First Distributed Kingdom of Weyr; The Hon. Demetrios Raoul MP, Minister for Foreign Affairs, Pantocratorian Empire; Lady Viktória Seriendé, Chief of State and Lady High Protectress of the Eternal Republic; His Grace, Bishop Stylianos of An Bealach Bui; Rev. Darragh Fitzjohns; His Grace The Right Reverend Patrick O’Neill
From: The Hon. Liam Mac Diarmaid, Secretary for External Affairs, Commonwealth of Peoples

Dear Your Majesty, Your Excellencies, Honoured Friends,

We applaud the recent actions of the Serene Democratic People’s Fiefdom in drawing back from a unilateral military solution and taking into account the legitimate interests of the international community and of the people of Kaitan-Leagran. We consider it to be part of the Fiefdom’s emerging policy of greater cooperation and engagement with the outside world, a policy which the Commonwealth wholeheartedly supports and encourages.

Unfortunately, the withdrawal of Fiefdom forces still leaves the international community with an extremely serious problem. The situation in Kaitan-Leagran is one which cannot successfully be dealt with within the normal confines of the state system simply because Kaitan-Leagran represents a nation or nations where no legitimate state authority currently exists and where the local populace seems currently unable to create such an authority without external assistance. Only the international community, working in a multilateral way, can possess both the moral authority and the practical ability to provide the people of Kaitan-Leagran with help in regaining the mastery of their own destiny.

Correspondingly, the Commonwealth of Peoples invites representatives of all interested parties and of Kaitan-Leagrans three principles ethno-religious communities to meet at Camp Penthesilea, a retreat maintained by the Chancellor of Hipolis for situations such as the present one.

The Commonwealth proposes that this meeting address the immediate crisis in Kaitan-Leagran in a manner which allows the people of Kaitan-Leagran to establish their own constitution and their own responsible government as soon as possible, a constitution and a government which must be capable of commanding the consent both of an absolute majority of all Kaitan-Leagran’s people and of all three of its identifiable ethno-religious traditions, whose unity must be a voluntary one. The Commonwealth also intends that, in order to avoid similar confusion and delay in dealing with future crises of this kind, the responsible nations of the world seek an international protocol on the issue of collapsed states.

In the meantime, the Commonwealth has approved an emergency aid package without conditions and without any imposition of foreign authority.. Because of the genuine humanitarian crisis, the unarmed delivery of aid will commence as soon as possible. The people of Kaitan-Leagran should expect food, clothing and tools for rebuilding their lives within the next day.

Liam Mac Diarmaid
Secretary for External Affairs

ooc: Post removed altogether, withdrawing from the RP seeing as I'm evidently not needed/wanted in a convo with TRD in regards to what the rest of you folks are doing. That and I was just posting what can only be described as a Comedy of Errors, my apologies to all.

Edit: Spoke to TRD, I will make an altered new post shortly that should allow things to work out after a chat with TRD and myself.

((OOC: I have no problem with you sending a submarine, James. We discussed this at length on IRC.))

A mood of impatience prevailed throughout the Commonwealth. None of them knew what the future had in store for this island nation only fifty miles from their territory. The people of that island were connected with both the the Commonwealth member state of Finara and the allied states of Pantocratoria through strong historic ties, some friendly and some hostile. It was also linked with the fate of the Commonwealth, Abt, Pantocratorian Ambara, Pantocratoria and the Excalbian Isles by its very location. The people of that island were also being consistently roused by ethnic and religious demagogues to kill foreigners and other islanders. Their situation had worsened when forces from the Fiefdom of Uncle Noel had suddenly landed and just as suddenly withdrawn as a result of international pressure. And still they awaited a response from the leaders invited to the conference.

Meanwhile, after a full day of preparation, the Commonwealth was finally ready to begin delivering on its promise to the people of Kaitan-Leagran that real help was finally on the way. A dozen transport planes took off from Dorado, a dozen more from Hipolis. Both flights had light fighter escorts while they were over international waters but the fighters dropped away as they enterted Kaitan-Leagran territory. The planes flew in pre-arranged flights designed to spread their payload over as wide an area as possible, concentrating on the areas most in need and making sure to include many areas from each major ethnic group. As the planes tflew overhead, they parachuted down care packages comparable to those delivered from the helicopters as well as larger packages containing building supplies, fishing equipment, agricultural equipment and other items and tools useful to people trying to get their lives back together. A note in each package, written in all the languages of Kaitan-Leagran, explained that further help was on the way.

Private apartments of the Lady High Protectress, Hadélcäryä Palace
Naèräth, capital city of the Eternal Republic of Xirnium

The mid eighteenth century Baroque style exemplified by the interior of the head of state’s official residence was one perfectly suited to express Xirniumite ideas about luxury, magnificence and pomp. Intending to create an effect of overwhelming grandeur, the palace’s main rooms were correspondingly vast and elaborately decorated.

Lavish use was made of marble, mirrored panelling and delicate plasterwork. Ceilings were coloured, coffered and gilded in a variety of decadent forms; with fine mouldings, silvered or gilt. Walls (when not covered either by rare and historic tapestries or pricelessly valuable, romantic paintings) were profusely decorated with a type of intricately carved wood-panelling known as boiserie; whilst their corners curved into the ceiling and were appliquéd with delicate scrollwork, trellising, garlands of flowers decked with ribbons, sprays of foliage, and shell motifs. Brilliant crystal chandeliers adorned many of the Hadélcäryä’s innumerable rooms. It was thus perhaps not without some justification that Févräthil (a famous existentialist novelist of the nineteenth century) had once remarked that the decadent luxury of the Xirniumite aristocracy would shame even that of the Tsars and Tsaritsas of Russia.

As with every other great room in the Palace of Hadélcäryä, Lady Seriendé’s private boudoir provided an opulent background with which to entertain her more intimately acquainted guests; although its smaller scale made it much more conductive of a relaxed, cosy atmosphere. The luxuriously decorated furniture here was airy and delicate; carefully inlaid with tortoiseshell and brass and making elegant use of expensive materials such as ebony, lapis lazuli, green-stained ivory and mother-of-pearl. Gilding and repoussé silver were profligately employed. Veneering was done with rare woods, and the skilled marquetry employed was elaborately pictorial. Furniture legs were gracefully curved, and tops were cut into serpentine shapes.

The guest whom Viktória entertained this evening was the lovely auburn-haired Minister for Foreign Affairs, Lady Sabëlinà of House Numêsalquó. Related by blood, if only distantly, to the chief of state (the two noblewomen, in fact, shared the same great-great-grandparents), the Foreign Minister found seeing the pretty marchioness pleasantly enjoyable. For her at least, every encounter with Lady Seriendé was a delight. Viktória, however, had not failed to notice that in recent months such visits had become increasingly more frequent; causing the naturally wary Xirniumite lady to become mildly suspicious at this sudden show of interest in her. All the attention made her somewhat uneasy.

The distant troubles brewing within the Gulf of Vasconia were, at present, not exactly the most fashionable topic for discussion within the various circles of the Eternal Republic’s ruling elite. In fact, Eléanor and the Lady Protectress had been quietly chatting for the better part of three hours before the conversation eventually drifted to the subject of Kaitan-Leagran.

‘Anyway, I spoke with our lady in Midlonia,’ explained Lady Sabëlinà, referring of course to the head of Xirnium’s official legation to the Greater Kingdom. ‘Unfortunately, Cleocháreia reports that none of her contacts within the Midlonian diplomatic corps have even the slightest inkling of what Swadlincote might be planning. Their motive for attempting to stir up sectarian violence is quite the mystery, it seems.’

With her alluringly dark, lipstick-coated lips, the countess sipped slowly from a glass of Amälinä, a fine Xirniumite dessert wine of dark amber colour and burnt sugar flavour. Eléanor was reclined comfortably on an antique late seventeenth century couch (apparently created in the elegant “classical revival” style, with an arm running partly down one side, scrolled ends, and short, scimitar-shaped legs).

‘Kaitan-Leagran is a miserable, barren, inhospitable rock with a failed economy and an utterly non-existent government,’ noted Viktória with a sneer. ‘What interest Midlonia might possibly have in that backwater is completely beyond me.’

Lady Seriendé was seated straight, with slender legs crossed elegantly at the knee, at the very end of her own settee (a long, lavishly upholstered eighteenth century sofa, with elaborately carved back and matching chairs situated appropriately around the boudoir). A steaming cup of tea lay nearby at Viktória’s elbow atop a conveniently positioned, small round pedestal table. Ever the tea connoisseur, Lady Seriendé had made certain that the Xirniumite Ardâhwëst infusion was flavoured only with lemon; certainly not with milk.

‘It’s not Kaitan-Leagran per se,’ explained Eléanor with a frown. ‘At least, I don’t think that it is. Midlonia wants to test herself against the powers of the Entente, she wants to probe their capabilities and their resolve. What better a chance to do so than at a location deep within what is widely regarded as the Resurgent Dream’s de facto sphere of influence?’

‘Surely though, if this were a game of brinkmanship, as you suggest, then Midlonia would have acted much more… dramatically, more significantly?’ asked the marchioness.

‘Hmm. Well… I should have thought so, cousin,’ admitted Lady Sabëlinà. ‘After all, the Danaans and their allies shift around carrier battlefleets, they flex their military muscle in no uncertain terms. Midlonia merely postures ineffectually, and not even officially at that. Remember, though, that the Midlonian government pursued as equally an inexplicable foreign policy during that sordid Deasrargle affair.’

‘Not quite as inexplicable…’ corrected Lady Seriendé as she stirred her tea thoughtfully with a thin silver spoon.

‘True. The Midlonians certainly did not publicly incite insurgents against peacekeeping troops in Deasrargle. Their new approach seems to have become far more dangerous. Now the Midlonians boldly show their hand. All of which means… what?’ pondered Eléanor aloud as she slowly refilled her wineglass; at least the countess’ fourth, by Lady Seriendé’s count (though it may well have been more).

Drink held lightly in hand, the Foreign Minister rose elegantly from her canapé and walked over to her cousin, sitting closely beside her on the settee and absentmindedly smoothing the long, crisp skirt of her couture dress. The Lady Protectress smiled friendlily at Eléanor, although she found her close proximity a little awkward.

‘Occasionally, deterioration in a government’s decision making quality proves to be the effect of internal power struggles within the higher leadership,’ noted Lady Sabëlinà, in slightly a softer voice. ‘Of course, the Secret Intelligence Service hasn’t indicated to me that anything like that might be transpiring here.’

‘Maybe the Midlonian leadership is merely going progressively mad,’ offered Viktória with a shrug. ‘Quicksilver effluent seeping into Swadlincote’s water table, perchance?’

For some inexplicable reason, this elicited an uncontrollable bout of silly giggling in Eléanor.

‘I think you’re tipsy, my dear,’ smiled Lady Seriendé archly.

‘Nonsense. Well okay; mayhap just a little,’ the countess conceded as she brushed out of the way a few strands of her ginger hair. Eléanor drained what remained of her wineglass in a gesture of defiance, and returned the chief of state’s smile.

‘Clearly, I shall have to have the cellar doors barred and placed under armed guard next time you come and visit,’ observed Viktória dryly. Shaking the Amälinä bottle, Lady Seriendé discovered without suprise that it was mostly empty. ‘Was it nice, at least?’

‘It was a lovely vintage,’ replied the countess smugly.

Viktória swiftly finished the bottle and found herself inclined to agree. Standing, she went to select a new wine for the two to start on.

‘A fortified cherry, or a black current?’ called Lady Seriendé. Viktória felt too adventurous for reds or whites.

‘Whichever you like, cousin.’

The Lady Protectress chose the former, for it happened to be an exculsive Amestrian wine, and such rarely disappointed even Eléanor’s expectations. As Viktória dropped back lightly onto her seat, Lady Sabëlinà senses where once more assaulted by the intoxicating scent of the latter’s delightful perfume (a subtle floral odour that seemed to be dominated by lily of the valley). After several glasses, the two picked up their previous thread of conversation.

‘Anyway, I can’t imagine there being any real likelihood that Midlonian efforts will actually amount to anything tangible; which is rather fortunate, on the whole,’ explained Lady Sabëlinà. ‘It means that there’s no reason at all for the Xirniumite Government to become involved. I was thinking that perhaps you might issue a criticism of their use of inflammatory propaganda, though.’

Viktória did not like the sound of this. ‘Eléanor, I agreed to your request that I censure the actions of the People’s Fiefdom because you said you felt it necessary for someone well removed from the Government to express official disapproval at unwelcome events abroad…’

‘Oh I feel it necessary here as well, cousin,’ said the countess.

‘But it is not the function of my office to directly involve myself in political controversies,’ argued Lady Seriendé reasonably. ‘I should be above the fray.’

‘The nature of your office means that you’ve an aura of impartiality around you, and you are an individual of high social standing,’ explained Eléanor. ‘Your statements can carry great political weight, whilst allowing Parliament the flexibility of apparent indifference.’

‘I am not a petty Government spokesperson, Eléanor. I resent being used as your mouthpiece,’ replied the marchioness with surprising bitterness.

‘I’m not using you, cousin,’ avowed Lady Sabëlinà quickly, taking gentle hold of Viktória’s fair-skinned hand.

‘Parliament does not really respect my position,’ pointed out the Lady Protectress. ‘You all consider my office irrelevant, a joke.’

‘My dear, nothing could be further from the truth,’ insisted Eléanor earnestly. ‘Heavens, I never mean to insult you; pray don’t be angry, Viktória. I promise I won’t press you any further. The Foreign Ministry will take care of it.’

‘Oh, it isn’t just that, Eléanor,’ sighed Viktória as she accepted Lady Sabëlinà’s exuberant apologies. ‘You allow me to involve myself in political matters only when and how it suits you.’

‘You’re much more highly regarded than you care to admit,’ said the Foreign Minister as she kissed Lady Seriendé’s hand, and then her forehead, affectionately.

‘Hah!’ scoffed the marchioness, though her scowl softened a little. As she became uncomfortably aware of how her cousin stared at her, Viktória gently pulled her hand away from Eléanor’s clasp. Lady Seriendé would have shifted over a little if she were not already at the edge of the antique sofa, so she looked away instead, attempting to hide her embarrassment. Eléanor observed that Viktória’s cheeks were suffused with a scarlet flush.

‘You look very beautiful when you’re upset, Viktória,’ remarked the Foreign Minister offhandedly, twirling a great lock of the Lady Protectress’ long, wavy black hair round and round her slender fingers. Eléanor’s gorgeous eyes smouldered; she had fantasised desperately about Viktória for weeks.

‘I think it’s getting rather late, cousin,’ protested Lady Seriendé half-heartedly. Her heart pounded furiously as the countess kissed her again (this time more passionately) and gently pressed her backwards, down against the seat of the sofa. Viktória shivered and arched her back.

Nothing disturbed the room’s silence save the increasingly flustered breathing of the two noblewomen, the dull thuds of stilettos kicked off feet and out of the way, and the sound of expensive dress fabrics rustling against one another.

‘I know,’ Eléanor whispered into Viktória’s warm neck, between adoring kisses.

Office of George Hillcrest, Foreign and Economy Ministry

The phone rang shrilly on the Midlonian Oak desk. With a slight pull on his glasses Hillcrest sighed and looked down his nose at the phone. He picked up the phone and answered.
“Yes? Ah. I see.” he sighed and took the glasses off.
“Well, put the Minister from the Fiefdom through.”

‘HMS Godly’ Submarine S-980

“Switching to Silent Mode, altering bearing for contact 0912, she’s a single screw, Daanan Commonwealth destroyer, seems to be on Passive Sonar for now, don’t think she’s heard us all that much.”

The Captain sighed, shook his head and nodded. Frederick Ludlan was getting too damn old for this kind of stress, he was hoping to retire after this final infiltration mission, he at least was using one of the new Excalibur Class Submarines that had been launched fairly secretly by the Midlonians a few months ago, its engines were an awful lot quieter than the older Midlonian subs when running in “Silent mode” which was effectively well oiled mechanical parts and battery power, along with various synthetic parts that all cut down on sound. While not invisible to Sonar, it became a negligible to the point that any biological component could easily make a mistake and disregard it. Not impossible mind, but it was better then the older Midlonian subs which tended to grind a little when running for too long.

“Altering bearing for contact 0912, aye.” replied the helmsman as he turned the controls on his side of things. The Captain yawned for a moment before being handed a cup of coffee.

It was going to be a long night.



Somewhere in Midlonia

“I told you no good would come of it. Its not as if they’ll believe those broadcasts forever, I mean the last one with the kids choking from the CS gas was cute, but otherwise it’ll eventually fall on deaf ears.” muttered the figure.
“Propaganda Minister, are you admitting you’re not as effective as you claimed?” replied the figure.
“No Supreme Commander, I never said that. I sai-” The Minister choked as the hand grabbed around his neck.
“The idea of the broadcasts was simply to stir up hate, make sure they understand that those people are on their doorstep with a lot of guns to make them actively resist any peacekeeping attempts and mediation but ours. It’s merely to allow us to gain the upper hand and set up shop in the area.” The figure dropped the Minister to the floor, where he proceeded to choke and gasp for breath for a few minutes.

“We don’t even have a proper fucking reason to intervene as we are! You’ll lead us to ruin and a war on stupid, stupid grounds!”

The fist threw him a few feet, a small bloody trickle dripped down his nose.

“You wouldn’t understand what lies beneath the surface in that area even if I deigned to give you the time to explain.” replied the figure as he turned and walked to the door. “Just do your job.”

HSMS Iora

The destroyer in question was the Iora, under the command of Captain Kevin Kennedy. It was part of the Sahori naval screen between the coast of Ambara and the Resurgent Dream under the overall command of Admiral Ray Nimmo.

Like most Sahori, Captain Kevin Kennedy, considered himself something of a pioneer. However, unlike his countrymen Kennedy wasn’t carving civilization out of the Ambaran wilderness. He was helping to create the Sahori Navy, to forge new naval traditions and a sense of accomplishment and to represent on the high seas the hopes and aspirations of the Sahori people, hopes which were increasingly bright now that Sahor had independence within the Commonwealth and now that the Commonwealth seemed to be moving forward to create a new kind of international actor.

The Royal Sahori Navy (as a part of the larger Commonwealth naval forces) was now facing its first test. It wasn’t the sort of test Kennedy would have liked. For one thing, he didn’t want to be at odds with Midlonians. Despite media attempts to play up some of Midlonia’s half-barbaric labor programs, Kennedy couldn’t help thinking that Midlonians were more or less decent, liberal democratic folk who had somehow managed, by an unfortunate chance, to have a foreign policy dictated either by a mentally challenged fifth grader or some sort of evil cartoon mouse. The other problem was that he didn’t really have permission to do anything. If he saw a Midlonian ship, he had no authorization to use or even threaten force. He was just to report it, for now at least.

“I’ve got something, sir.” Ensign John Cannan said suddenly. “It’s running at … We lost it, sir.”

“Helm…” Kennedy said before a quick glance at Lieutenant Frederick Sheean told him that the young officer was already bringing the ship around to follow whatever Cannan had detected. The destroyer veered sharply, plowing ahead in the water as her equipment strained to pick up whatever it was.

“It’s no use, sir.” Cannan said resignedly. “We’ve lost it.”

“Are we certain it was sub?” Kennedy asked.

“78% chance, sir.” Cannan answered.

Sweyn Castle, Citadel Excalbia

Prince Regent Joseph gently rocked his infant daughter as he held her tight in his arms. Princess Elizabeth yawned and squeezed her eyes closed, oblivious to the serious talk taking place around her.

Princess Anna, the Prince Regent’s wife, was making an obligatory visit to a charitable foundation and Joseph has been looking forward to spending some time with his daughter. Then, Lord Yornis Halton, the Imperial Chancellor, had called an emergency meeting of the National Security Cabinet. Jealous of his time with his daughter, Joseph had decided to bring her along.

The Map Room of Sweyn Castle was an ornate as any on the estate. The Prince Regent sat in a throne-like chair at one end of a polished wood table with gold-leaf trim. Lord Yornis, Defence Minister Sterling Wentworth, State Minister Sir Albert Cummings, Lord Admiral Derek Kunle, Imperial Intelligence Director Rev. Jacob Donnelly and Justice Minister Lady Gwyneth Hapsgaard sat around the table, which was strewn with folders and maps.

“So, have the Danaans actually asked for military support?” Joseph looked down at his sleeping daughter.

“Actually, your Highness,” Sir Albert said shifting his bulk in the uncomfortably formal chair, “it was Eric Alexander, the Commonwealth’s ambassador, who approached Minister Wentworth.”

The Prince Regent nodded, he still tended to see the Commonwealth as an extension of the Danaan High Kingdom. “So, did the Commonwealth request military assistance?”

“Not yet, your Highness,” Sir Albert said finally finding a somewhat comfortable position, “so far, they have only asked to know our position on the civil strife in Kaitan-Leagran and the possibility of Midlonian intervention…”

“The Midlonians are already trying to incite religious strife, your Highness,” Rev. Donnelly said softly, “and, unfortunately, the ham-handed attempt by the Fiefdom of Uncle Noel to impose a foreign monarch has helped set the stage for further agitation and possible insurgent activity.”

Joseph frowned. “If the Danaans – pardon me, the Commonwealth – or Pantocratoria were to request assistance, we’d be obliged to provide it under the terms of the Entente…”

Lord Yornis nodded. “The treaty has yet to be invoked, your Highness. And only the Danaans can invoke it; we have not yet extended it to the Commonwealth…”

“Although,” Sir Albert chimed in, “negotiations to do so are under way…”

Princess Elizabeth shifted in her sleep and grabbed a tiny handful of her father’s blue sweater. Joseph smiled despite the topic of the discussion.

“What forces do we have in the area?” The Prince Regent’s smile faded as he looked up.

“Both the Reliant carrier battle group and the Southport strike group are on station off Finara, your Highness,” Lord Admiral Kunle said, his deep voice rolling across the room.

Joseph nodded. “Dispatch both forces to the waters off Kaitan-Leagran and notify Ambassador Alexander that upon their request our forces will prepared to assist Danaan forces in their efforts to bring security and humanitarian relief to the island.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Lord Yornis said.

Aboard INV Southport, Off Finara…

Vice Admiral-select Uldis Blums looked down at the message in his hands. You are requested and required to assume operational command of Task Force Delta, comprised of Strike Group Southport and Battle Group Reliant, and proceed with all due haste to the waters off Kaitan-Leagran… Blums looked up. Relief operations and supporting police actions in Finara were one thing, but Fleet J-2 believed that a full-blown conflict might be brewing out there. And Kaitan-Leagran was a mess of a country. It hadn’t had anything approaching a real government since the Finarans had pulled out in 1963. And now, the Citadel was sending him right into the thick of it.

Blums turned to his staff aide. “Commander Johnson?”

“Yes, sir,” LCDR Stephanie Johnson replied crisply coming to attention.

Blums handed her the orders. “Notify all ships in our strike group and the commander of the Reliant battle group that we’ve been jointly designated Task Force Delta and that we’ve been ordered to Kaitan-Leagran.”

Johnson held her tongue and kept her posture stiff.

“Have the comm. center contact the regional commander of Commonwealth forces and advise him that we are standing by to assist in their efforts, as needed.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnson said with a slight before turning to leave the admiral’s office.

True to her word, Eléanor did not raise the subject of Kaitan-Leagran with the Lady Protectress again. The Foreign Minister did, however, issue her own scathing criticism of the Midlonian government. In a brief statement before Parliament, Lady Sabëlinà decried Swadlincote’s ‘completely irresponsible’ attempts ‘to incite lawlessness and acts of violence’ within the troubled island. The Midlonian Government, the Foreign Minister declared, had engaged in the shameless peddling of lies and slander; whilst Midlonia’s inflammatory rhetoric risked undermining international efforts to restore Kaitan-Leagran to the status of a viable nation state.

At the same time, Xirniumite officials at the Foreign Service approached their counterparts within the relevant nations of the Entente (in particular, those of Excalbia and the Commonwealth of Peoples), and expressed to them Xirnium’s private misgivings about what it feared might develop into an excessive militarisation of the Gulf of Vasconia. Such might, if not appropriately restricted, ‘unnecessarily risk endangering the stability of the region’. Xirnium thus counselled a sensible level of restraint appropriate to the circumstances, and the Foreign Ministry requested that it be kept notified of significant movements proximate to Kaitan-Leagran (in order to help avoid any misunderstanding).

Finally, Dr Erzsébet Tëlfinwë, Xirniumite ambassador to the Commonwealth of Peoples, conveyed to Liam Mac Diarmaid the Eternal Republic’s interest in meeting with representatives of the international community, at Camp Penthesilea, in order to forge a unified multilateral policy with respect to Kaitan-Leagran. Such conference must be made contingent, however, on the total withdrawal of the People’s Fiefdom’s invasion forces from the strife-ridden island.

The Xirniumites were informed that they were welcome to attend and that the Commonwealth considered the recent withdrawal of the Fiefdom's forces to suffice. The Commonwealth also considered that any further drastic action before the invitation to the leaders of the various factions had received a response would only further complicate a messy situation.

Such is the nature of rational human beings when placed within a mob that, separately, a resident of Freetown might have argued that the Commonwealth of Nations represented the greatest hope for peace and security. If not, then they would have at least conceded that, as the most powerful player in the region, any hope of peace could not succeed in the face of their antipathy. Yet, when placed within a crowd, such thoughts were dismissed within a larger and baser desire to attack anything foreign, anything from the outside, anything not intrinsically related to kin and creed.
Mobs, however, can quickly be dispersed once panic sets it. The sight of military helicopters, flying low and releasing gas, terrified the unruly mob, causing a mass flight that crushed several people to death in the ensuing chaos. The subsequent packages containing eyewash were, needless to say, not utilized as the frightened cry of “Bombs!” rippled through the crowd.

It was only a few hours later that some children, for whom the threat of being strewn across a large area by booby-trapped foreign packages held no sway, ripped one of the containers open that residents noticed the goodies contained within. Another nigh-riot occurred as locals, many of whom had not even been part of the riotous mob, grappled with one another for the contents. Here, kin and creed counted for nothing and only brute strength counted for anything.

And into this maelstrom entered Aonghus O’Mara. He was an ox of a man, with arms like tree-trunks and a height that matched. O’Mara punched and kicked his way to the front and, by virtue of his sheer size and brawn, carried off an entire container to himself. He carried it across town to his ramshackle home where, hauling it to his roof, he created a large pyre of furniture, tyres and petrol-soaked rags. And though he was sorely tempted by the goods inside, he knew that the Holy Father would have frowned upon him if he let the Devil tempt his thoughts. His intentions were as pure as the driven snow, and with the intercession of the saints he would carry it out.

And he did. Screaming abuse from his powerful lungs to the foreign devils and filthy heathens, O’Mara burnt that aid container as a demonstration of his hatred and bile. It served, had any Commonwealth personnel seen it, as a beacon of the divisions on the island. A solution to the island’s many problems would not be easy, or swift.

* * * *
Across the city, Fiefdom soldiers and tanks began to withdraw to the main complex of Freetown Castle. The bodies of the servicemen killed in the helicopter crash were retrieved and taken back to the fleet for return to the motherland. Withdrawal of forces, however, did not take place at 8 o’ clock the next day. Rather, it occurred some five hours earlier at 3 o’ clock, the Marine Infantry moving under cover of night in order to protect themselves from the shame of, what many believed to be, defeat. A small token force guarded the Castle until 7, when it too was withdrawn. The residents of Freetown, after a noisy and disturbed night’s sleep, awoke to an empty city once again.
Colonel-Commandant Ayaxcanyotica was one of the last personnel to withdraw, though not from any sense of duty but because few of his subordinates wished to approach him. He had found Walsh’s supply of expensive Japanese whisky and now was conducting himself in a distinctly un-military-like fashion.

“Mazatl, Mazatl” drunkenly wept the Commanding Officer, “You were too good a man to die in the stinking dust and sand of this place.”
Captain Schlak-Golodkowski, Mazatl’s replacement as the Colonel-Commandant’s aid, frowned in disgust. Although his family had lived in the Fiefdom for several generations, the Captain was still proud of his roots in East Germany. He knew something of Prussian military pride, and his superior was displaying none of it.
“I’ll get my vengeance on it,” cried the Colonel-Commandant, rising unsteadily to his feet, “and those bastards in Port Sunlight who have stabbed us in the back.”
Taking a piece of paper, Ayaxcanyotica wrote in the painfully careful handwriting of someone pretending (and failing) not to appear drunk, an order for the last marine company in the capital. That night, shortly before making the final journey to the fleet, a helicopter left the castle and disappeared over the hill towards the island’s centre. It would emerge two hours later to pick up the Colonel-Commandant and the remaining staff (who symbolically spat on the ground as he was hauled aboard the helicopter), before leaving the island and the capital for good.

Ooc: Ignore what the helicopter did, it will be expanded later in a follow-up thread…..eventually.

IC: The next morning, Stylianos of An Bealach Bui witnessed the human equivalent of a cork flying out a champagne bottle. Within the capital, the forces that had built up during the occupation had, upon discovering their overlords departure, exploded in an orgy of violence. Standing a-gasp at the crown of a hill, the Bishop watched the city burn in the cool light of the winter morning. He could not help but be reminded of Isaiah ‘Your cities shall burn but my judgement shall be forever.’
“Apt,” He said to himself.
Running from the city came a small boy, excitedly waving a letter above his head.
“Your Grace, Your Grace!” he cried, “There is a letter for you.”
Taking the official-looking note, the Bishop opened and glanced through the letter from Liam Mac Diarmaid. It was, he noted, an interesting proposal that offered a chance of peace. He would, of course, reply forthwith. Though for that he would require a telephone and so, reluctantly, he made his way to the rampaging city before him.

New Amsterdam, Laneria

“A new, less secretive conference is exactly the solution I had envisioned.” Diarmaid said in his light Finaran brogue. “In the meantime, a no strings attached, unarmed aid package might be of the most help, similar to the Red Cross effort which did so much good in Deasrargle. If we did it through the Intergovernmental Council instead of the Commission, allowing us voluntary use of all sorts of resources which haven’t been specifically purchased by the Commonwealth as such or allocated temporarily to its forces but which national and local governments have more than their share of, it might help cool things down while the international community meets. I trust you have no objection to such a move, Ambassador?”


Alfred Marriott nodded at the Minister’s solution.
“Certainly,” the Ambassador noted, “Whilst we have all moved our gunboats across the Gulf, we seem to have forgotten that these are a people in great need.
The Fiefdom recognizes the concerns of the International Community, and shall withdraw her forces accordingly. We shall also participate in any conference on the subject, since the Serene Democratic Peoples Fiefdom now has an established interest in the island, alas cemented with the blood of her gallant soldiers. I shall, needless to say, inform my superiors of this.”
The Ambassador paused for a moment, as though preparing for a more controversial point.
“The Party, however, has expressed some doubts as to the…suitability of some member-states in such a conference. It is not for the Government of the Fiefdom to state who should and who should not attend, but we can at least register our…reluctance at the membership of some nations, most of all the Eternal Republic of Xirnium. The Party considers the Eternal Republic, both by virtue of its past diplomatic endeavors and its geographical location, to have no link (either causally, economically or socially) with Kaitan-Leagran or its peoples. Its presence at any conference would be nothing more than interference by remote nations in affairs that do not concern, have not concerned it and will never concern it. It is the diplomatic equivalent of gate-crashing a party, and the Fiefdom opposes this whole-hearted.”

To: Rev. Darragh Fitzjohns
From: The Hon. Liam Mac Diarmaid, Secretary for External Affairs, Commonwealth of Peoples

Dear Your Majesty, Your Excellencies, Honoured Friends,

We applaud the recent actions of the Serene Democratic People’s Fiefdom in drawing back from a unilateral military solution and taking into account the legitimate interests of the international community and of the people of Kaitan-Leagran. We consider it to be part of the Fiefdom’s emerging policy of greater cooperation and engagement with the outside world, a policy which the Commonwealth wholeheartedly supports and encourages.

Unfortunately, the withdrawal of Fiefdom forces still leaves the international community with an extremely serious problem. The situation in Kaitan-Leagran is one which cannot successfully be dealt with within the normal confines of the state system simply because Kaitan-Leagran represents a nation or nations where no legitimate state authority currently exists and where the local populace seems currently unable to create such an authority without external assistance. Only the international community, working in a multilateral way, can possess both the moral authority and the practical ability to provide the people of Kaitan-Leagran with help in regaining the mastery of their own destiny.

Correspondingly, the Commonwealth of Peoples invites representatives of all interested parties and of Kaitan-Leagrans three principles ethno-religious communities to meet at Camp Penthesilea, a retreat maintained by the Chancellor of Hipolis for situations such as the present one.

The Commonwealth proposes that this meeting address the immediate crisis in Kaitan-Leagran in a manner which allows the people of Kaitan-Leagran to establish their own constitution and their own responsible government as soon as possible, a constitution and a government which must be capable of commanding the consent both of an absolute majority of all Kaitan-Leagran’s people and of all three of its identifiable ethno-religious traditions, whose unity must be a voluntary one. The Commonwealth also intends that, in order to avoid similar confusion and delay in dealing with future crises of this kind, the responsible nations of the world seek an international protocol on the issue of collapsed states.

In the meantime, the Commonwealth has approved an emergency aid package without conditions and without any imposition of foreign authority.. Because of the genuine humanitarian crisis, the unarmed delivery of aid will commence as soon as possible. The people of Kaitan-Leagran should expect food, clothing and tools for rebuilding their lives within the next day.

Liam Mac Diarmaid
Secretary for External Affairs


Darragh Fitzjohns, the Moderator of the Presbyterian Synod of Freetown and thus, for the most part, the most prominent clergyman on the island of Kaitan-Leagran, regarded the letter before him with a mixture of bemused curiosity and slight outrage. Outrage, because the Reverend considered this yet another example of foreign interference in affairs which did not concern them. Curious, however, to the possibilities that this Commonwealth effort might afford the prospects of a renewed and powerful Fourth Protestant Republic.
Like his counterpart, the Bishop of An Bealach Bui, Fitzjohns was more than just a clergyman. New Deasrargle was an island divided by faith, and it was thus the promulgators of that faith, the clergy, that were the real powers. As well as his pastoral duties, Fitzjohns also organized the supply, support and deployment of the motley collection of poorly-armed madmen that made up the proud fighting men of the Republic.
Fitzjohns had always been married to the Cause. She was his wife, his mother and his favourite sister all rolled into one. The Cause had led him, as a much younger man, into the arms of The Committee for the Preservation of the Tabernacle (the Second Republic’s feared religious police) and while it had undoubtedly stained his hands with blood, the Cause had also filled his lungs with the incense of Heaven.
Liam Mac Diarmaid, reasoned the clergyman, was undoubtedly an Irish sounding name. This united the two men in a common blood, but on Kaitan-Leagran, faith was thicker than blood by a long way. That meant that the man from the Commonwealth must have been a Finaran, and that to the Reverend meant a Papist.
‘Is it a trick’, he wondered to himself. Possibly, though chances were that these politicians were so filled with the modern secularist rot that foreigners seemed so enamored with that they placed their personal feelings aside in the pursuit of the greater good.
“What a load of garbage.” Said the Moderator to his empty office. He could never understand these men. Surely it was the other way around? Your faith should dominate all, should dictate all and should be the basis of your every waking thought. To cast aside or to sideline, worse still to use it to falsely your own twisted ideology, was to create an ever-longer list to account for at the Final Judgment.
But the Moderator also knew that his kin were by far the most numerous. It was they, and not their fellow residents on that dusty island, who had proven most successful in creating any kind of lasting government. Their wishes could not be ignored, and if friendly nations like (off the top of his head, these Midlonians) supported the Fourth Republic, then any settlement would surely be in their favour.


And besides, did he really need to follow the judgments of his neighbours, once they had become distracted by the next big crisis?

The Moderator left that question hanging in the air.

His Grace The Right Reverend Patrick O’Neill (ooc: I have changed the name of the Protestant nutter who downed the helicopter after I realised I used the same name twice) also sent the Secretary for External Affairs his assurance that His Grace would be in attendance at the Camp Penthesilea Conference, on behalf of the Catholic Community and the Confession of St. Teresa of Avila.

* * * *

Those fortunate few able to take some of the Commonwealth's aid packages were certainly grateful to the nation. Few had ever even heard of it, but it certainly seemed a generous gift. This view was not entirely universal. Those who were present at the riot still grumbled about the use of 'poison gas' and 'bombs'. Some of the more imaginative members of the crowd were able to conclude that the Commonwealth of Nations was not, in fact, the Commonwealth but some manner of codename for those decent souls in Midlonia whose television messages had been so welcome. One or two people thusly believed the Midlonian propaganda about foreign devils, even after the aid package. Some consumed the eyewash, mistaking it for water and being rather unwell as a result. Others gorged themselves on the packets of rice and bread, blaming the ensuing stomach cramps on a devious plan by the Commonwealth to poison them.

The reaction, you could conclude, was mixed but at least some did take the gift as it was intended. Fewer still realised that their fates would be linked to a conference in far off Camp Penthesilea.

The Commonwealth waited with increasing impatience and with a growing conviction that most of the international community might really not care enough to even bother sending one person to give a formal mandate for anything for the formal replies of Weyr, Xirnium and Pantocratoria to their invitations to the summit with increasing impatience and with a growing conviction that most of the international community might really not care enough to even bother sending one person to give a formal mandate for anything. In large part because of the downright goofy and irresponsible course pursued by the Midlonians, because of Xirnium's public declarations and because of the Fiefdom's recent rash actions, the Commonwealth was unable to send any sort of real peacekeeping force until after the conference convened. This did not mean, however, that their hands were completely tied while they waited for Mr. Raoul to write a letter. The public aid program continued during the weeks of waiting. By early January, nearly ten million aid packages had been dropped over Kaitan-Leagran with the same message and increasingly complete relief materials. None of them except the few dropped from the first helicopter contained eyewash, of course. Why would they? However, any chemicals they did contain were clearly labeled in every Kaitan-Leagran language and in clearly understood symbols conveying any potential hazards.

The aid packages that had reached the island had, for the most part, been greatly appreciated by the populous. Most of the ten million had reached their intended targets, the poor and desparate of Kaitan-Leagran.

The lack of ground forces had, however, also been a burden to relief efforts. A significant volume of the packages had been claimed by the various militia who had either used them to feed and support their forces (further increasing the level of sectarian violence) or selling the packages at a grossly inflated price, using the money of the needy to fund greater mobilisation. A swift conference and conclusion remained the best hope of resolving this scenario and loosening the warlords grip on a significant minority of the aid parcels.


Some, however, continued to belief that the Commonwealth was still (despite everything) those damned fine Midlonians. The dislodging of this myth would require a great effort on the Commonwealth's part

Bump Of Nations

-OOC Tag thing here, Will post a diplomat/moderator arriving.-