NationStates Jolt Archive

The moonlight filters through stained-glass windows, casting a motley assortment of pale shades against the dappled oak of the heavy wall against which Loyal Minion #715's computer rested part of its bulk. It is, of course, obsolete; this would not be Vojvodina-Nihon if it were not. Modern 'icons' and 'windows' have been replaced with the severely classical black screen with white text on it, and its thirty-three-hertz processor is the size of a toaster oven. It (the moonlight, that is) also casts that assortment of pale shades upon Loyal Minion #715's head and body, the stone floor and high stone walls, and drowns out the torches that sputter faintly from sockets in the walls in protest.

Loyal Minion #715's head is turned upwards towards the stained-glass window, but also to the equally Gothic figure that looms beneath it: crowned with a coronet made from the skull of a stag, wearing a black robe that descended to the floor, belted with black leather from which a sharp sword glinting dully in the half-light dangled; this, the Emperor of Vojvodina-Nihon. Or more accurately, the Emperor of about one-sixtieth of Vojvodina-Nihon, given that the nation has been divided into a massive number of warring governments that only rarely ever co-operate on anything.

The Emperor is fairly sure that his realm is the most powerful of them all. And even if it isn't, he is determined to make it become the most powerful. That is why he now confers with Loyal Minion #715; more accurately, he declaims and bangs his fist upon the heavy table of knotted oak, and the Loyal Minion occasionally nods obsequiously and says things like "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty." "No, Your Imperial Majesty." "On the double, Your Imperial Majesty." The Emperor is pleased with this; he rules an Empire, and even what pass for ministers should be subserviently loyal in his presence. Out of it, he fully expects them to backstab him any minute; that is why he keeps them in his presence almost constantly.

"You see, Loyal Minion, for years... well, months or weeks, I forget how long it is since the last revolution now... anyway, for quite a long time the Empire's military might has been completely unknown, untested, and untried. But now it is time to reveal ourselves to the world! To show the ignorant miserable scum that occupy it who shall someday rule over them!"

"Naturally, Your Imperial Majesty."

"Therefore, I propose A Demonstration."

"What kind of A Demonstration, Your Imperial Majesty?"

"A Demonstration that shall Fully Reveal Just How Incredibly Powerful We Are, you stupid fool. I shall declare war on the People's Glorious Republic... and on the Capitalist Imperium... and on the Technocracy!"

"Of course, Your Imperial Majesty."

"But no! That would be too simple. The People's Glorious Republic—pah, they can barely keep the chickens from their doors. The Capitalist Imperium is too small to even make a dent in our mighty armies. The Technocracy? Their fancy flying machines and robots may look shiny, but they stand no chance against our superior weaponry."

"Naturally, Your Imperial Majesty... I should have foreseen that."

"Do not trouble yourself, Minion... your brain is too small to comprehend such matters. No. I shall declare war upon the entire world. Only in the combined armies of the universe will our legions find a worthy opponent! Minion! Get to your computer!"

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."

"Write what I say. Compose this message and send it to everyone. No, you fool, not the nation of 'Everyone'. The subject is War, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, exclamation point, one, one, one, one, exclamation point, exclamation point, shift-one..."

Loyal Minion #715 types furiously in an effort to keep up with the Emperor, neglecting capitalization and spelling as he does (not as though it matters much). Barely after the Minion has finished typing, the Emperor shoves him aside, sending him tumbling to the ground, and reviews the message to make sure the Minion has not typed anything wrong. This is a problem, as the Emperor cannot read; but he takes a chance from the Minion's demeanor, and says, "You are trying to misrepresent me, are you not?" in an appropriately threatening manner, seizing the Minion's lapel and bringing the head close to the jagged bones of the skull that is his crown. The Minion shrinks back.

"A thousand pardons, Your Imperial Majesty. I must have misheard. I will edit."

The Minion deletes something, types something. The Emperor is satisfied. "Send it."


WAR!!!!!1111!!shift+one

we the empier of vojvoidna-niohn hearby declaer war on the world. we have 6059 billion soldiers 7584771 tanks and a navy of 49141 drednughts. we also have nookular weapons and r not afraid to use them. we shall pwn teh hwoel world die die die :mp5: :mp5: :mp5: :sniper: :sniper: :gundge:

the emeperror of vojvodina-nhion

Halfway across Vojvodina, something beeps. It beeps again, then again, curiously shrill and loud in the sudden silence. A hand emerges and slaps it, once, twice; it is silent as it falls over on its side and lies there pathetically, like a bug that has been rolled onto its back and cannot get back on its feet. The hand withdraws; and now, a good deal of sleepless muttering emerging from the unshaven face connected (via the neck and torso) to the hand; then something rises slowly from the high canopied bed in the royal chamber, something else stirring beside it and then falling silent again; it is a figure, a man. He gropes about in the darkness for a long ermine-fringed dressing-gown that hangs beside his bed, draws it around himself and sits up, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed; he slides his feet into slippers. With a creaking of joints—arthritis, probably (in his mind already; arthritis is an ailment of old people, and he is only forty-three!)—he rises to his full height, scratches ineffectually at his unshaven cheek which only makes it itch worse.

Behold, the Puppet Monarch of Vojvodina-Nihon: Alistair the First.

In the half-darkness he finds the door, then emerges into another chamber, flicking on the light. A tastefully decorated royal common room; Alistair swears under his breath, weary of being a king; even if it is only a puppet king. His hand slams into a button as though falling from a great height, resting there as he blows his breath out through pursed lips and wonders for the seven thousandth time why the elevator is never there when you need it, but always seems to arrive just when you'd much rather stay where you are.

With a ding the doors open, and Alistair steps in; it is sufficiently ornate for a royal palace, with a rococo chair, room to spare, carpeting... He rolls his eyes skyward. As he grumbles half to himself there is another ding and the doors open once more; he's scarcely noticed the motion. The elevator's voice says something—it is one of those ridiculous talking elevators—but in his mind he's long since tuned it out. He steps forward into the hard fluorescent lights and a corridor reminding him faintly of the starship Enterprise from that TV series, even down to the two red-clad security guards standing at the far door. Alistair is so well-known to them that they do not ask him for identification, merely nodding deeply in respect and murmuring something deferential as "Good-morning, Your Majesty."

Alistair too barely acknowledges them, instead stepping forward into the briefing room. It is nearly empty, and universally informal; the appearance of the king in his dressing-gown seems a matter of no import to the men and women who sit there, given that less than half of them are wearing official uniforms. Alistair starts to speak, then stops, clears his throat; says in a mild tenor: "Very well, what's the emergency? I don't see the building burning."

"Your Majesty," one of the uniformed men says impassively—Alistair knows him, he is Colonel Swiftbuck, commander of the Royal Guard—"we have just intercepted a message from the Empire."

"Oh dear, not that pompous skull-toting windbag," says Alistair.

"Yes, that pompous skull-toting windbag, Your Majesty," says Swiftbuck. "Our records have indicated that he just sent this message to virtually the entire world." Swiftbuck hands Alistair a sheet of paper.

Alistair's face colours as he reads it; raising his head, he spits forth a fountain of invective. "Blooming hell, this is the most blinking piece of tripe I have read in many a year! Such spelling! Such grammar! He murders the gracious Queen's English! The nerve, the... the chutzpah!" (and so on)

When Alistair's fountain has run its course, another man—a Lieutenant Dorlain Paulosz—adds, "We've sent a messenger to ascertain exactly what he's planning to do; whether he's mobilizing or not. 'The world' includes the Puppet Monarchy as well, along with the other states of Vojvodina-Nihon and those who live outside it."

"This is quite obviously a pile of cow manure," Alistair says angrily. "Vojvodina is landlocked, for Pete's sake; he can't have a navy. And billions of soldiers? The Empire has, at most, fifty thousand citizens, let alone soldiers! It's a lot of lies, and worse, it'll reflect poorly on us as well if we don't do anything about it!"

"What do you propose we do then, Your Majesty?" Swiftbuck asks.

"Send a message to the international community explaining that this communication is a pack of blatant lies. Also recommend creation of an international taskforce to track down and capture this madman. Come morning, I'll send fifty of our finest warriors myself; and get in touch with the other Governments, this calls for OMGWTF for heaven's sake," Alistair commands. "I'm still mad as hell that this wanna-be dictator wakened me from sleep. I was having a lovely dream... it involved strawberry jam, I believe... or women... or maybe both. Anyway, if anything else comes up, it can wait until tomorrow; I'll be down at eight."


Subj: The so-called 'Empire' of Vojvodina-Nihon

It has recently come to our attention that the so-called 'Empire' of Vojvodina-Nihon has sent a belligerent message declaring war on the entire world. This message is not only patently untrue—the Empire is only one of many governments that rule over Vojvodina, and its subjects number some fifty thousand as per Matthew Lajef's census; its military is nowhere near as powerful as it claims—but also clearly demonstrates that the illegitimate emperor of this Government is a certifiable madman and must be stopped. We hereby call for the creation of an international task force to track down and capture this cretin before he wreaks further damage to the sanity of those around him.

Signed,
Alistair I
By the Grace of God, His Royal Majesty, Puppet Monarch of Vojvodina-Nihon, Marquis of Beograd, Duke of Crna Gora, Archbishop of Ljubljana, Count of Mostar, Prince of Dubrovnik, Earl of Pristina, Holder of a Large Number of Other Irrelevant yet Particularly Pompous Titles, Wielder of the Sacred Double-bladed Sharp-pointed Keen-edged Harrowed Sword of DOOM

[OOC: Please keep your deployments reasonable. I doubt anything more than two or three hundred men would be required; remember that you're up against people with swords, spears, crossbows, and slingshots whose main battle experience is against each other and the chicken packs. Thank you and good night.]

"Mercy, are you in need of a laugh?" Sinjin, Lord Kincanon, looked over at the queen with a sardonic glint in his eyes.

"Hmmmm?" Mercy was deep in a budget proposal and barely heard him.

"That does it, you are way too over booked today." He gently lifted the data padd from before his monarch and set two pages in it's place.


Originally Posted by Official Message from the Empire of Vojvodina-Nihon
WAR!!!!!1111!!shift+one

we the empier of vojvoidna-niohn hearby declaer war on the world. we have 6059 billion soldiers 7584771 tanks and a navy of 49141 drednughts. we also have nookular weapons and r not afraid to use them. we shall pwn teh hwoel world die die die

the emeperror of vojvodina-nhion


read the first one


Originally Posted by Official Message from the Monarchy of Vojvodina
Subj: The so-called 'Empire' of Vojvodina-Nihon

It has recently come to our attention that the so-called 'Empire' of Vojvodina-Nihon has sent a belligerent message declaring war on the entire world. This message is not only patently untrue—the Empire is only one of many governments that rule over Vojvodina, and its subjects number some fifty thousand as per Matthew Lajef's census; its military is nowhere near as powerful as it claims—but also clearly demonstrates that the illegitimate emperor of this Government is a certifiable madman and must be stopped. We hereby call for the creation of an international task force to track down and capture this cretin before he wreaks further damage to the sanity of those around him.

Signed,
Alistair I
By the Grace of God, His Royal Majesty, Puppet Monarch of Vojvodina-Nihon, Marquis of Beograd, Duke of Crna Gora, Archbishop of Ljubljana, Count of Mostar, Prince of Dubrovnik, Earl of Pristina, Holder of a Large Number of Other Irrelevant yet Particularly Pompous Titles, Wielder of the Sacred Double-bladed Sharp-pointed Keen-edged Harrowed Sword of DOOM


Mercy's blue eyes didn't look like she was enjoying a joke as they met Sinjin's dark ones.

"These alleged nations aren't in the region are they? And if so why haven't I been informed. And for the Divine's sake we must make sure that Imitora thinks this is all somebody's idea of a joke. IF this IS real, Imitora would just nuke them into glowing rubble and take them over." Mercy was a far better poker player than any gave her credit for, mostly because very few knew she enjoyed a good hand of poker. She couldn't keep a giggle out of her voice as she continued however.

"Tell the Countess to turn our efforts to making Imitora think that this is all a huge joke, then quietly contact the second lot and see if they would like a no interest loan geared towards education, and health. Any one having to put up with said emperor needs help!"

And so the justly feared and famous TMI- Tanaaran Military Intelligence - yes it just happened to have the initials TMI - went to work making sure that a certain neighboring nation thought that some brain fried idiot was promogulgating a massive joke on the nations of the world. And given that TMI was justly feared and famous for the quality of it's intelligence and the scale of its very well funded indeed - not even the CIA in it's heyday had such a budget - operations, they suceeded admirably. Imitora never knew that there was such easy pickings out there.

Vojvodina-Nihon would never know how close they came to becoming the newest Imitoran colony...

However shortly the Monarch of Vojvodina recieved this reply...

Unto His Royal Majesty Alistair , Puppet Monarch of Vojvodina-Nihon, Marquis of Beograd, Duke of Crna Gora, Archbishop of Ljubljana, Count of Mostar, Prince of Dubrovnik, Earl of Pristina, Holder of a Large Number of Other Irrelevant yet Particularly Pompous Titles, Wielder of the Sacred Double-bladed Sharp-pointed Keen-edged Harrowed Sword of DOOM,

Greetings from the The Domination of Tanaara, and HRH Queen Mercedez Merrideath Hexx,

Felicitations and I hope this missive finds you well, Your Majesty. I was wondering if you, on behalf of your nation, would welcome an inquiry into any aid Tanaara can be in the spheres of health and education. We are always delighted to lend a helping hand to developing nations.

Sincerely,

Mercy
The signature was sweepingly elegant and simple.

However, the manner in which it was delivered may have made a far greater impression. Especially on the royal rose garden that was the impromptu landing pad, for a Tanaaran Morgul (http://www.atddm.com/Morgul.jpg) in v-tol mode. The absurdly young looking pilot clambered down out of the advanced variable winged airframe with many apologies. Once he had handed off the message and a voucher for the restoral of the inadvertantly damaged rose garden, he departed as quickly as he came.

http://www.atddm.com/tseal.gif



OOC:And seeing how as Imitora is not on line tongiht, this may sneak past him with out him ever knowing...

Alistair I looks a great deal more royal after his eight-thirty cuppa. Seated in a large swivel chair, facing the white-walled and grey-carpeted command room and the staff that sat there. He is in proper dress now; that is to say, he wears a suit and tie, as in these modern days kings no longer need to wear long purple robes and shining golden crowns to let people know they are kings (such things are instead locked up in vaults and only taken out for ceremonies). And Alistair is technically only a puppet king, at any rate.

"So, has anything come up since last night?"

"One message, Your Majesty," volunteers a young guard, a tad hesitantly. "It was delivered by.... er.... a big metal bird from the sky. Squashed the royal rose garden."

"Fool! An airplane is not a kind of bird! And we have a royal rose garden?"

"Well, Your Majesty, apparently we do, as the man from inside the metal b.... airplane gave us a document enabling us to purchase a new one."

Alistair sighs. "I'll have to talk to Mildred again. She knows I'm allergic to roses. Well, that is of no consequence. What does the document say?"

"Er, it says, 'Redeemable at your friendly local florists' for—'"

"Not that document, you idiot. The other one."

"Oh, that! Er, er, ah, 'Unto His Royal Majesty Alistair , Puppet Monarch of Vojvodina-Nihon, Marquis of Beograd, Duke...'"

"Skip that part."

"'Greetings from the The Domination of Tanaara, and HRH Queen Mercedez Merrideath Hexx. Felicitations and I hope this missive finds you well, Your Majesty. I was wondering if you, on behalf of your nation, would welcome an inquiry into any aid Tanaara can be in the spheres of health and education. We are always delighted to lend a helping hand to developing nations.'"

Alistair blows out air slowly from between pursed lips in a drawn-out sigh. "I told you that blighter Emperor would make fools of us all. Write back to Her Royal Highness Queen Merce.... whatever it was, informing her that aid would be welcomed, to build a mental health clinic within walking distance of the Emperor's palace. Nothing else?"

"Nothing, Sire." The young guard steps back to attention, awaiting dismissal.

"Dismissed. I suspect half the world was asleep along with us, so I did not expect too many replies. Very well!" Alistair heaves his shoulders. "It looks like I'll have to go. Swiftbuck!"

Colonel Swiftbuck appears. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Gather together fifty of our finest warriors and meet me by the main gate within the hour."

"But Sire..."

"Do you object, Colonel?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, I do. The Royal Guard has not seen battle or warfare for months now, not since the October 19, 7:30 AM Revolution. Or perhaps it was the 9:30 AM Revolution. At any rate, our guards are in no condition to fight, especially against the Emperor's trained killers. I do not wish to see these men slain, I have worked with them for years now."

"I understand, Colonel," Alistair says reassuringly. "I shall get in touch with the other Governments, and they too shall contribute forces. Surely by now they all will know of the insanity of this Emperor."

"I still think we should wait for outside help, Your Majesty. What if the Emperor is double-bluffing us—he wishes to make us think his forces are weak, so he writes that they are strong, when in reality they are strong?"

"Old friend, please remember that I am still the King around here, even if I am a puppet King. I understand your objections, but remember that good must always triumph over evil! I think." Alistair gives a wan smile. Swiftbuck sighs and the doors slide shut behind him as he goes in search of his men.

In the Emperor's palace all is not well. The message from Alistair has been intercepted mostly intact, by some miracle, and the Emperor is highly displeased, executing Loyal Minions left and right as he shouts a variety of colourful curses at the ceiling. After a time he becomes bored of this and emerges from the mediæval castle, following the battlements and shouting at the longbowmen and crossbowmen he has positioned on all four sides. At present he is excoriating a soldier named Badsword, who was unfortunate enough to drop his halberd at precisely the wrong moment.

"You stupid lily-livered yellow-bellied two-faced goat! Just when I need this castle running in perfect order, you have to go and drop your spear axe thingy! If you did that in the midst of battle, you'd be dead, and the castle walls would be undefended!" His voice adopts a keening sarcastic tone. "Oh, is that pike too heavy for you? Maybe you should run crying back to your mama, because military life is just too hard!" His voice becomes angry and gruff again. "Now listen here, 'cause I'm letting you off lightly! Next time I see you drop this javelin, I'm gonna drop you, straight on your head into the moat! Y'understand?"

Badsword does not respond, primarily because he is dangling two feet off the ground by his throat, which the Emperor has both of his hands clenched around. The Emperor roars in Badsword's face, spittle flecking his mouth, "I said, y'understand?", and drops the unfortunate soldier back onto the wall.

"I understand, O Most Imperial Majesterial Highness," Badsword says, by this point shaking like a leaf.

The Emperor has already abandoned him in favour of another miscreant. "Darktooth! Did I see you sleeping just now?! You lettuce-brained soft-boiled malodorous gerbil! How dare you sleep now when our fortress needs to be defended against the vicious, evil hordes just waiting right out of our line of sight to attack? They see you addle-nosed cur sleeping, they figure out how lax our guard is and charge us, and where will we be then?" (and so on, and so forth.)

Meanwhile, on the opposite wall, two soldiers are conversing. The first one, Fangbeard, slams a long dagger into the wall unhappily. "The Emperor's gone crazy, I tell you. He sends us out here to defend against King Alistair, but Alistair's realm is about eighty miles away—that's at least a week' fast march."

"Aye, that's the truth," says Gripeclaw, the second. "Not to mention, these names! Suddenly Billy-Bob Schmoe ain't good enough, ya gotta change your name to Darkeye or Evilfang now."

"And these weapons! How does the idiot expect to defend against anyone? There must not be anything more modern than the arquebus among them!" Fangbeard mutters. "A guy in a helicopter, with only one working machinegun, could rip this whole place to smithereens and all the crossbows in the world couldn't stop him."

"Still, though, have you noticed? It's like, I haven't seen a helicopter since the Great Revolution!"

"True dat. Modern weapons just all went out of the window. Likely Alistair's coves will be carrying the same stuff."

"Hoi there!" a nasty voice cuts in from the other end of the wall. "What are you two gossiping about? Shut your traps and do your jobs!" It is Lieutenant Corpsemaker, formerly Joe Jones, one of the Emperor's more fanatical officers. (Don't ask me what a guy named Joe Jones is doing in the middle of Eastern Europe. I don't know either, I'm just the author.)

The important stuff is going on down below, in the castle courtyard. War machines are being set up: big catapults, horse-drawn chariots, and the like. On the wall tops, a simple system consisting of planks and levers is being attached; on the planks can be mounted massive iron spikes, or alternately they can be used to hold barrels of boiling oil or large rocks or just about anything else the defenders can think of. A siege tower, including battering ram, is also being constructed in preparation for the glorious victory, when the enemy flees in disarray before the might of the Imperial Army, which pursues it to its home and then destroys it once and for all. (At least, the Emperor is quite certain of a glorious victory; he's the only one at this point.)

Nari was content that her mount currently looked like a horse, horses were easier to explain than what it normally looked like. And she hadn't seen a single car in the entire three days she ahd been travelling across this benighted country. She wasn't certain what had led her to come here, but she had heard that it offered an unparalelled opportunity to study a regressing civilization. She should have decided just to read about it Nari decided as she waved her hand and the lovely double bell pavaillion she'd spent the night quite comfortably disappeared. "Too late now, I'm here and I might as well take a good look" She said aloud as turning the nightmares head in the direction the mad emperors castle was supposed to be in, she wondered what the day would hold.

Raising her cheerfully painted sunshade as the creature that currently looked like a horse Nari (http://www.atddm.com/nari.htm) also made sure that her day kimono in deepest peach was properly draped. It wouldn't do to make a bad impression.

I just can't resist. Nari will have so much fun with your mad emperor.

Somewhere deep in SBIS HQ

"...curious indeed, Nicephorus!"

"Told you, so sir. Saw it on the oneiroscope. Some lunatic out there in Ordinary Reality calling himself 'Alistair I By the Grace of God, His Royal Majesty, Puppet Monarch of Vojvodina-Nihon, Marquis of Beograd, Duke of Crna Gora, Archbishop of Ljubljana, Count of Mostar, Prince of Dubrovnik, Earl of Pristina, Holder of a Large Number of Other Irrelevant yet Particularly Pompous Titles, Wielder of the Sacred Double-bladed Sharp-pointed Keen-edged Harrowed Sword of DOOM'"

"And I see your concern, young Nicephorus. There is, after all, only two letters difference between the name of this Alistair I and the name of our own beloved Basileus, may his name be honoured from the rising of the sun to the setting of the same, and all hours inbetween. But I see no particular reason to involve ourselves in the affairs of this reality."

"But why, Sir? I don't understand! Surely we don't want the mundies confusing this idiot with our own Basileus, may his name be praised forevermore."

"It'll become clearer once you're older, lad. Let me just remind you that there are infinite intersecting realities beyond the Dreamed Realm. Some of them look vaguely familiar. Some of them appear similar to each other. Others, like Fluffy Bunny World, are point blank insane. After you've been working here a few years you'll realise that there's no real cause for concern. The wall between Ordinary Reality and the Dreamed Realm is unbreachable. Still, I think you may find it instructive to observe more of this particular reality. Compile a weekly report on the actions of this 'Alistair I'. You might learn something about the mundies in the process...."

OOC - I won't really be participating in this RP; perhaps the occasional comment as an observer, but no active participation. Given the similarity in ruler names, however, I couldn't resist posting some sort of reaction. Hope you don't mind!

Oh don't give me that look, it's barely a small cloud, and I will make sure it doesn't rain...on us at least" Nari scolded her mount as the horse looking thing turned a balefull eye upon it's mistress. It didn't particularly care to look like an equine but long ago the Kitsuni had laid down the law. It had to look like a riding animal, or vehicle, common to the land they currently traveled in. And here, sadly a horse it was. Though it maintained it's independance by appearing as a most unusual horse, with it's bright blue mirror finish hide, even to the mane and tail, and hooves that sparkled with lights.

Nari sighed, her mount had no problems with water or even storms, bing simply a sentient piece of lightening itself. It was just looking for an excuse to take her else where. It liked looking like high end sports cars far more. And truth be told she liked more technologically advanced areas herself now days.

"Supposedly the palace is right over that series of hills...if those terrified villagers have told the truth" Nari added as once again she unfurled her oiled paper sunshade and urged the nightmare onward.

"Emperor! Emperor!" The Emperor of one-sixtieth of Vojvodina-Nihon raises his head as a Loyal Minion rushes in. He recognises the Minion as one of his warriors, a fellow named Deathmongler; Deathmongler carries his spear awkwardly, by the wrong end, and his uniform doesn't fit. But he has important news, so the Emperor resolves to execute him in a painful and public fashion only after he delivers it.

"What is it?" The Emperor turns grandiloquently to stare down Deathmongler, who shrinks back slightly against the door.

"We're under attack! By.... er, a woman, on a blue horse...."

"What have I told you?! No alcoholic beverages are to be consumed while on duty! It was a public ann—" The Emperor, who is working himself up into another tirade, is cut off abruptly.

"No, Your Emperorness, it was not only I. The entire southern wallguard saw her as well. Her horse is blue, and its hooves sparkle; and she is heading straight for our main gates! It must be the attack!"

"Wait here," the Emperor commands in stentorian tones. He heads up into the Chamber of Magick, an area forbidden to the common citizen, in which he keeps a few choice items of technology he managed to salvage before the Unabomber Revolution of five weeks ago. What he seeks in the Chamber of Magick, and eventually finds, is the feed from a security camera; he sits back, musing.

"It does look like only one woman on a very strange horse.... but it could be a trap. Alistair may have sent her to distract my warriors, then will mount the real assault from another side." He shakes his head and picks up the PA microphone, which doesn't work, but he likes to think it does.

"Attention! Fortress Commander Slickeye, lead three-score spearmen to intercept this horsewoman, inquire as to her intentions and loyalties, and battle her to the death if necessary! All other soldiers, hold position and keep on the lookout for the enemy, especially coming from the opposite direction!"

If Fortress Commander Slickeye had not set up an office in the directly adjoining chamber, he would have been executed long ago. As it is, he merely shakes his head in amusement and goes off to find three-score spearmen.

Within a quarter of an hour, as Nari rounds the top of the next hill and the towers of the distant castle come into view, the spearmen halt in a half-circle around the top of the hill, long spears pointed straight at her; she is surrounded on three sides, although she may observe that the spearmen are largely untrained and have no idea how to use their weapons, given that some of them are holding them by the wrong end and others have both hands on the spearhaft like a shotgun. It would still behoove Nari to act at least a little bit worried or intimidated; the spears are sufficiently sharp and pointy to do some damage, even to those who are capable of manipulating electricity and storms (provided they're asleep or suicidal), and acting otherwise around the Emperor tends to alienate one from his grace.

Nari reined in her mount who took in the sixty wanna be toughs with an acid and sneering eye. *Oh don't tell me you are going to take this seriously?* it muttered under it's breath. Miniature lightenings played around the fangs that filled it's mouth instead of the nicely herbivourous grain grinding teeth any normal equine would have. It shook it's mane in irritation as Nari took her time in answering as she gazed, apparently in utter maidenly shock and awe.

"Oh my what a positively fearsome sight" She said aloud in the common tongue of the area.

*Fearsome in the sheer abundance of 'a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing' sort of way. I've seen children at play who had better concepts of weapons handling. Children of peacenik hippies at that!* She replied back to her mount in the same language.

In the time it took her to take in the extradorinary sight she had decided what to do. Surrounding her with sharp and pointy things when she had done nothing more than inquire the way to the castle of some passing peasant, that just wasn't right.

Kitune majic was, as with all majik, best when aimed at the weak willed, and even the stalwart Fortress Commander Slickeye is in the end not able to resist, especially when the small clouds of the morning have turned to dark and frothing storm clouds in the afternoon.

In minutes, as Nari wills it to be, the sixty men have been transformed into her loyal and obedient followers. And to make it really insulting, they now know how to hold and weild their spears properly.

"Commander Rory O'Kellum," For that had been Fortress Commander Slickeye's name before he had fallen for the idea of becoming wealthy as one of the faithful military commanders serving Emperor of about one-sixtieth of Vojvodina-Nihon " Please have the men form up as an honour guard for me. I think we should head toward the castle, I wouldn't want any of us to get wet."

Commander Rory O'Kellum though that was a splendid idea and gave the appropriate orders. Soon they were at the gate to the castle.

Outer Ministry, United Duchies---Office of Communications

Nate looked like a sixteen year old with severe acne problems. This was due to Nate being a sixteen year old with severe acne who had somehow landed an internship in the Outer Ministry of the United Duchies. He had the grand job of 'War Threats Clerk' his primary job was to look at the various electronic messages of war threats and declerations and file them appropriately.

The Outer Ministry had four 'files' for war threats: Urgent, Class A-1, Class A-2, Class A-3. Nate of course had added sticky notes to the front of his terminal to remind him the various classifications.

Class A-1, Nation too small to care about, even if they moblize everyone attacking a Klatchian State would be rather stupid.

Class A-2, Nation appears to have no clue how to operate their armed forces in the first place so danger is minimal.

Class A-3, Nation is going to be extinct within fifteen minutes anyway so no worries.

Nate filed Empire of Vojvodina-Nihon's war decleration in A-3 and went about the rest of his evening. Then the odd note from Monarchy of Vojvodina. Unfortunatly this ment that A-1 thru A-3 were not the right files for the Empire of Vojvodina-Nihon's war decleration. Therefore it went to the Urgent catagory.

In the Urgent file it woke people up, including the Outer Minister who was enjoying the evening with his new bride. The various heads of government called each other and agreed on three points. One, that the kid in the night mailroom of the Outer Ministry was going to be reassigned to China Wrighty (A rather desolate outpost of an island known for being used as both a military target practice feild and sometimes prisoner camp). Two, that a new file called, Not Urgent would be created forthwith. Three, that the Naval Lord could deal with the situation as he saw fit.


To:Monarchy of Vojvodina
From: Naval Manor, The United Duchies, The Federated Klatchian Coast
Subject: War with Vojvodina-Nihon or Clinical Evaluation K56-2007A-001

It would seem that one of your neighboring states has declared war on us. Due to your own message on the subject, and your apparent desire for a international solution to the problem, I have been authorized by the Cabinet and the Privy Council to send a team to asses the situation. This assesment will allow us to properly select our next course of action.

As part of this plan, I am formally requesting temporary basing rights for a team of eight individuals and their equipment to operate in your country near the Vojvodina/ Vojvodina-Nihon border, with an understanding that they may cross/ recross the border at the discression of the commanding officer. I should note that we will have a clinical phsycologist on the team to evaluate your claims that the Emperor of Vojvodina-Nihon is infact mentally unstable.

In the name of the United Duchies Government,
Baron Peel, Naval Lord of the United Duchies.

The Imitoran military machine was an interesting beast. It was hardly one to turn down a fight, kill every living thing with a weapon within a nation's borders, take over the government, establish a puppet regime, and use the new found land to simply expand ground for the ever growing population of the High Republic. If nothing else, it gave the soldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmen something to do on their free time.

However, oft it was decided that to mobilize, arm, attack, and handle the clean up of some small nation declaring war on the world was just not cost effective. This was of some such case. The simple, yet complete, ICIA report and compiled INSA documents given to the numerous military commanders had shown that it would take little more than a company of Imitoran Marines with some air support could conquer the entirety of the nation, both the mentally stable and mentally unstable portions. Of course, that really didn't say much, as those who knew the extent of Imitoran training, battle readiness, and experience would recognize that there was little a company or so of Imitoran Marines or soldiers with air support couldn't conquer. Therefore, the files were passed on amiably to the fourth most powerful body in the Imitoran pecking order.

First was ONI, or the Office of Naval Intelligence. Following that was the government itself, and then the Imitoran Military Command Structure. Fourth, and in our case the only one that really mattered, was IMI, or the Imitoran Military Industries conglomerate.

IMI controlled numerous weapon making bodies in Imitora, including the original Imitora Military Industries (makers of some of the finest small, medium, and crew served arms in the world), Shinseki Aerospace (combat aircraft), The Northampton Shipyards (duh), Graham Heavy Industries (missiles, bombs, and other things that blow up), Northampton Heavy Industries (helicopters and transport aircraft), UMAC (United Military Arms Corporation, specializing in vehicle production), their own legal department, Inatech (customer service outsourcing), and a near controlling shares of GM, because Bob Lutz was an idiot.

In fact, not but five weeks past, an eight year old in Silver, Imitora, became the forty second richest person in the nation when she accidentally sold her ten "welcome to the world" shares of IMI stock. She just bought her forty fifth ponies, and currently owns seventy five championship winning race horses.

But that is of little importance. What is of importance was the IMI owned KMAV interceptor satellite that received word of the Empire of Vojvodina-Nihon's war cry. Whilst the ICIA and INSA were to busy laughing at the "it would be tragic if it weren't so damned funny" communiqué, the CEO and President of IMI looked at it with interest and hope. Within hours, a similar communication arrived at the desk or such of the Emperor. It was a printed out form letter, with obvious typing and hand done highlighting of the proper responses.

Dear Emperor/Dictator/War Lord/President for Life/Fellow Kitten Lover

the emeperror of vojvodina-nhion

It has come to our attention that you have decided to enslave population/execute minorities/declare war on the world/declare nuclear war/Purchase IMI Brand Kitty Chow/Other (Please specify)_______. We understand that this is indeed your sovereign right as a Emperor/Dictator/War Lord/President for Life/Fellow Kitten Lover. However, it is with an air of needed urgency that we send you this communiqué in order to further your attempts at world domination/enslavement/happy kittens.

CONGRADULATIONS!!!

You have been selected for the Imitoran Military Industries test sight of the month (IMITSOM)! The IMITSOM is what allows us, Imitoran Military Industries, to serve you, and other customers, better while rewarding one lucky Emperor/Dictator/War Lord/President for Life/Fellow Kitten Lover with the ability to see, both up close and personal, the impressive results of our kitten chow/bright and shining sun of Imitoran Fire Power. As winner of this months IMITSOM, you have been selected to stand on the receiving end of a barrage of our new and improved line of intermediate range, GPS guided, variable yield plasma warhead cruise missiles.

These newest missiles have a range in the thousand mile area, and the variable yield plasma warheads will allow us the ability to control the detonation to be a simple and light as a small, directed explosive war head, or easily bypass the power of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Missiles can be air, ground, or sea launched for maximum effectiveness. We do recommend that you wear at least a level 5000 SPF sunscreen and sunglasses with the ability to block out UV rays for your own protection.

We hope you as a Emperor/Dictator/War Lord/President for Life/Fellow Kitten Lover have enjoyed the use of our product, and that results will be satisfactory. If you have any comments, concerns, questions, or a need to contact a representative of a specific religious denomination for a hopeful chance at redemption, please contact Inatech Customer Services Specialists at 1-800-998-4545. Your case number is #12998A776 Beta. I hope this has been a pleasant experience, and thank you for choosing IMI Conglomerate/IMI Brand Kitten Chow for your main source of healthy, happy kittens/bright and shining sun of Imitoran fire power

Regards,

Mike Woods
President and CEO
Imitora Military Industries

Attached to the communiqué was the following comment card.

IMPORTANT NOTICE
In order to better serve you in the future, please, take the time to fill out the following comment card. Please write legibly and clearly in blue or black ink, and circle the appropriate response to each question.
1. HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT US?

Advertisement-TV
Advertisement-Radio
Opponent utilized your equipment on the battle field
Direct Mailing
Word of Mouth
Duty Issued Equipment

2. On a scale of 1-5, how well did our product fulfill your requirements? 1 2 3 4 5
3. What product did you purchase?

IMI Small Arms
UMAC Vehicles
Shinseki Aerospace Aircraft
Northampton Heavy Industries Aircraft
IMI Brand Kitten Chow
4. Were the destructive properties of all IMI Conglomerate Weapons satisfactory?_____
5. Was Customer Service Satisfactory?_____
6. Was your order delivered in a timely and positive fashion?____
7. Who was your service contact?____
8. Was your service contact helpful in assisting you in finding the proper product?____

Thank you for taking time to fill out this valuable survey. Please make sure to clearly print your contact information on the back of this prepaid post card, and send it in to Inatech to enter for a chance to win an all expenses paid vacation to lovely Takaso, Imitora. Second runner up will receive a custom made IMI CAR-68 rifle.
No purchase necessary; many will enter, few will win; contestants must not be employed or directly related to an employee of IMI or any of its offshoot corporations, including but not limited to Inatech Customer Services Specialists, Broomstick Marketing, and General Motors; all entry forms must be submitted by January 1, 2008; all contestants must be 18 years of age or older; actual odds of winning First Place are determined by entry; actual odds of second place are statistically determined to be 1 in 1,997,998,445,673.3456; IMI Conglomerate is not responsible for any loss of personal items, injury, or death sustained in entry to this contest; contact IMI legal for more information

Darn it I had to go and point this out to Imi, and now I'm laughing myself sick here at work.


"Mercy, we have a problem. IMI found out about Empire of Vojvodina-Nihon"

"What the hell? I requested that.." Mercy looked up from the new ship specifications she was perusing, alarm written all over her lovely features.

"Apparently that original announcement was intercepted by one of their newest intelsats, the ones we are having such trouble cracking."

"I didn't think those would pick up.." Mercy broke off as she and Lord Kincanon shared a disgusted look. "Sinjin, get us one of those to go over with a fine tooth comb. If it creates an incident, let it, I'm still ticked at Imitora over the last keruffle we had. And let their ambassador know that "No those race horses aren't getting incountry without proper health checks". I don't care how photogenic their owner is, I'm not going to see half our blood stock come down with some foreign disease!" Horse racing, indeed anything to do with horses, was of vital importance to Tanaara, as equine sports werre the national sports of the nation.

Sinjin nodded and made a note. "I'll have our people on the inside at IMI keep an eye on things as well."

Mercy nodded absently,m her attention already back on fdar more important things."