Maropian Coast
27-08-2004, 03:17
The sun rose slowly over the sea towards the coast that Bonstock ruled. A magnificent, looming palace overlooked a dreary patchwork of factories and rice paddies. There the governor slept, though he was always absent. For the governor was also President of the Great Republic that this small, backwater land was part of.
His name was Harald, and Gustav was his father. A great warlord he was, having won many battles for Bonstock, and consolidating the empire his forefathers had built. This was the small sliver of Formosa, that the men of the North had called Maropia. Billions of souls toiled here for a far away master who never came.
Food was scarce, as the plentiful harvests of rice were siezed to feed the soldiers who manned the borders. Most of the inhabitants worked in the factories, making cars and clothes, and other consumer goods. This would be exported all over the world. For thier labors, nearly 12 hours a day, they recieved each day two balls of rice and a bunk to sleep on. Better, they thought, then to be starving in the streets.
None of them figured that there was any life away from this perpetual suffering. Indeed, all had thus far resigned themselves to work, and keep working, so only they could get their food, and live to see another day.
One day, in a tiny farming village, a tax collector came to take his loot. He demanded of the inhabitants what meager wealth they still had, to pay the vassals of Harald. It happened every day, the wealth of the people was mercilessly carried off. A door was knocked. And another. And yet another. Finally, he came upon another house. The door was knocked. A man came out. He was quite old. He made no food, as he was too old. He lived off the generosity of others, as he had no sons to provide for him. And so the tax man knocked. The old man answered. The tax man demanded of him the payment. The old man had nothing. The tax man, impatient, demanded the old man give everything he owned. The old man had nothing. Enraged, the tax man pulled out a pistol, and fired. The old man fell. His blood pooled through the town, as the tax man looted the area. All the villagers saw, and were enraged. In a fury of revenge, they took knives and pitchforks, and found the tax man. They stabbed him, and hung the tax man from a tree.
It would not take long for news to reach all the world.
His name was Harald, and Gustav was his father. A great warlord he was, having won many battles for Bonstock, and consolidating the empire his forefathers had built. This was the small sliver of Formosa, that the men of the North had called Maropia. Billions of souls toiled here for a far away master who never came.
Food was scarce, as the plentiful harvests of rice were siezed to feed the soldiers who manned the borders. Most of the inhabitants worked in the factories, making cars and clothes, and other consumer goods. This would be exported all over the world. For thier labors, nearly 12 hours a day, they recieved each day two balls of rice and a bunk to sleep on. Better, they thought, then to be starving in the streets.
None of them figured that there was any life away from this perpetual suffering. Indeed, all had thus far resigned themselves to work, and keep working, so only they could get their food, and live to see another day.
One day, in a tiny farming village, a tax collector came to take his loot. He demanded of the inhabitants what meager wealth they still had, to pay the vassals of Harald. It happened every day, the wealth of the people was mercilessly carried off. A door was knocked. And another. And yet another. Finally, he came upon another house. The door was knocked. A man came out. He was quite old. He made no food, as he was too old. He lived off the generosity of others, as he had no sons to provide for him. And so the tax man knocked. The old man answered. The tax man demanded of him the payment. The old man had nothing. The tax man, impatient, demanded the old man give everything he owned. The old man had nothing. Enraged, the tax man pulled out a pistol, and fired. The old man fell. His blood pooled through the town, as the tax man looted the area. All the villagers saw, and were enraged. In a fury of revenge, they took knives and pitchforks, and found the tax man. They stabbed him, and hung the tax man from a tree.
It would not take long for news to reach all the world.