NationStates Jolt Archive

[Out of Character Rant:
Reference Threads:
Main OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=414669) - if you want to get into this role play then look at that thread there. Let's keep this one fully in character.

Reference Map (http://img131.echo.cx/img131/6469/map3nv.jpg) - It actually changes frequently as new neighbors are added, including new additions to the continent I'm on, so I'll be changing this link quite a bit.]


[Fortress of Light]
The River Aradonea steadily rose as the flow of molten rocks, mixed with murderous fire, moved along. The Aradonea was once a blue water river, as pure as the goddess of the Earth herself, giving life to the area around it. Unfortunately, times changed, and with it so did the river, and it became the river of death. The turn of events was to be expected, because it had been the scene of an epic bloodbath between nations and monsters who had only existed in folklore of the past. The First Covenant, sworn by an oath of allegiance, had destroyed the armies of Carloman, pretender to the throne of the Golden Empire, and the man who embodied all evil. Ten thousand men had died in the battle he wrought, and the once pure waters became red with the crimson blood of the slaughtered souls. However, by day's end he was enchained and imprisoned over the river of death he helped to forge. To forever know that Carloman would never walk the world again a fortress of stone was built, some say by the gods themselves, but it could not contain his taint and soon enough the River Aradonea became him personal gateway to hell. Indeed, it became the only tangible entrance into the world of Hades, or as most Christians would say, hell.

The epic war that had shaped the history of the land had forever been forgotten by the new world, entranced by new technologies, and perpetually kept busy by their own wars. The great destruction which had perhaps saved their world remained covered by the sands and winds of time, no longer a known history to those who owed their lives to it.

Perhaps it was time to finally blow the dust off the covers of the story, for it was only a matter of time before Carloman broke free from his chains. It would be a long history, and the world would not be able to hear it before it became too late. Even after Carloman broke free it would be most likely that nations would never hear of the plight between the convenant and the man who is beyond all evil. But, it would not stop the covenant from defending what they knew was the scourge of the known world.

A thousand years before Carloman rose as the fourteenth ruler of the land, a new addition to a growing empire. Soon persuaded by the dark one himself he rose against his emperor, fixed to take the Golden Throne for his own purposes. Inciting a civil war he crafted an army of a new brood of evil, not monsters, not humans, yet something that had never been seen before. For sixty years the armies of good and the armies of evil clashed until the epic battle of Chalons-sur-Marne where Emperor Daelomar finally crushed his opponent and brought the Golden Empire back to peace. Millions had died, millions were left without a home. The sixty year war had always brought the Empire to her knees.

Simply said, this could not be allowed to happen again, yet according to prophecy the release of Carloman by the strength of the dark one was inevitable. Regardless of prophecy, a second war of that type would sure mean the end of the Empire.

Consequently, after the battle of Chalons-sur-Marne the nations who had come to the aid of Emperor Daelomar signed a blood pact, dubbing themselves the First Covenant. From that day foward they would find themselves in a bond which called on them to defend the Golden Empire in case Carloman again showed himself a true enemy of good. In an unfortunate case of barbarism the fourth nation of the First Covenant was overtaken by barbarians, and thus by this time only three of the original members of the First Covenant remained, The Golden Empire, the Merchant Guilds and the kingdom of McLeod. It was rather unfortunate that only three defenders of the faith would remain to stop a resurgent Carloman - unfortunate, indeed.

Nonetheless, the worst happens during the worst times. The prison forged of heavenly metals, unknown to the mortal man, began to shake - Carloman was reborn. The fires of the Aradonea began to churn the solid rock which carefully formed its banks, breaking off gargantuan chunks and letting them be eaten by the now quickly moving flows of fire. The bars of his cell began to snap in rapid succession and in their wake walked out a man garbed in armor forged by the dark one himself. For a thousand years the new Carloman had been trained to kill. This was not the man who had led the sixty year rebellion in the name of the dark - this was a dark messiah, sent by the Dark One to do his bidding on this Earth - a new Carloman had come to take the throne he had fought for before. Not even the prison created by the gods to stop him could hold his vast powers, perhaps because the old gods had long since been abandoned for a single god, simply known as God. Regardless of mythology, Carloman was being freed.

As the Fortress of Light, constructed by gods and mortal men in tandem, shook through the night, the thirteen lords of the land, handpicked by the Emperors, moved fast from their now turned beds, swords in hand, fully dressed in armor. They had been bred for this day, and for this day only - their one mission was to stop Carloman before he could fully break free. High above, in the towers of the rock castle, four golden bells rung loud through the night - hell was awakening.

OOC: Wee-ooo! Rehash alert! Hopefully by my second post I can write some new material and get the civil war going.
IC:

It was truly a fortress, but one that time had forgotten. Vines crept along the run down walls, little light shone from the secluded main buildings perched in the forested mountains. But along the old road, a car traveled, silent and with no lights to reveal its presence.

The night surrounded it, the only noises those of the animals and the gravel under the tires. The man inside it did not worry though, thanks to modern technology he could navigate his way without giving the slightest hint that he was there.

Finally, he brought his vehicle to a stop just before a felled tree, massive and covered in moss. This was the most horrifying part of the experience. The man knew they were out there, but he could never know where they were until they revealed themselves. He sat there, sweat beginning to trickle down his pale face, in acute awareness of the amount of firepower that was now focused on him. And then he saw what was once a bush rise, the thick barrel of a silenced weapon protruding from the ghille suit. Several more appeared, but the man knew there would be more lurking in case he intended on trouble. The one closest to the door did a thorough identity check using biometrics, and his vehicle was deemed clear. The tree suddenly lifted up, and he was taken out of the car and given a ghille suit to wear as a man drove the vehicle deeper into the woods. The man himself walked with the soldiers towards a carefully hidden tunnel. It was pitch black inside, though once it was firmly closed, dim red lights sprang to life. He walked downward, noting that his steps made not a sound: even the acoustics were hidden from the outside world through expensive construction.

Plodding his way across the tunnel, he reached an elevator, where another soldier stood, bearing a much simpler, unmarked uniform but an equally deadly gun. He stood watching the man as he went through another biometric, and the elevator began to lift. It stopped, and the doors opened to reveal a grand hall, windowless but well lit, with many others standing in it. They all wore suits, some with rank insignia.

An older man, in his sixties, approached him with a great smile and a glass of what was no doubt an expensive red wine.

"Service to the Archon."

"Glory to the State." he replied, extending his hand, which was met with a hearty shake.

"So nice of you to join us, Alvin. We've been having some issues lately, ones we need your help on. And please, take this glass, its the vintage you so enjoyed last time."

Alvin thanked him, taking a sip of the wine and then following the man to a greater dining hall, where they were beginning to take their seats. That man, though looking harmless, was one of the most ruthless and cunning men in the nation. Tiberius Drake. A man who had virtually controlled his career, before he even knew who he was. The Coup. The March. And finally, his induction.

Arch-Strategos Alvin Mueller was actually a fairly recent induction into the Council, only a member for 10 years. But he, like many others, embodied the ideas of the Drakes before they even overthrew the old government, and thus earned a place with them.

Tiberius Drake, on the other hand, was the Senator for Central Auerfrisia. He had been tracking the progress of Mueller as he demonstrated the right politics and the merciless efficiency of his strategy. Ever since then, Tiberius had been roping Mueller in until he was practially one of his greatest friends, both socially and politically. And that was a reward indeed. Drake was one of the closest in bloodline to Julius Drake himelf.

The Drake history is complex indeed. Since the 400s BC, the Emperor of Imperial Auerfrisia had been assisted by an intelligent and cunning council of eight men, lead by Julius Drake, who assisted the Emperor in his campaign to bring the city states together. The Drake family became one groomed for military, economic and political success. The council became known as the 'Drakesmen', and it chose its own successors, a mix of oligarchy and monarchy.

But in the early 1000s, the people in the North in the empire rebelled against the Emperor, who was by now a Drake figurehead. The Drakesmen, tens of thousands in number, rallied their men and power to save Auerfrisia, the South and seat of the Empire. But they could not. A purge began, all those in loyalty to the Drakes being mercilessly cut down by the Northern nations or by those thirsty for money in the South. And thus the Drakes went into hiding, carefully orchestrating the South from behind the scenes.

And for over nine hundred years, war raged. The sides changed, the beliefs changed, but it was constant: Berliston wanted to bring back the Auerfrisian Empire, and Peringeln wanted to destroy it. These two city states had allies that switched from side to side until only they truly held the grudge. But by 1909, the war had ended. Auerfrisia was the victor, but the Drakes knew a democracy would be the only acceptable government now. But that democracy quickly spiraled out of their control. And by the turn of the century, they had enough. The Coup began, and the Drakes brought new laws, still a democracy, but now the majority of the nation's military, political and economic powers were those aligned or in the Drake council.

Alvin could see it had become larger from where he sat. The Drake Council, though united for a common goal, had differing ways of deciding how they should go about doing it. Alvin himself was a firm believer in the current system, but as the conversation went on, he began to have some doubts. Calls were made by many to lay down more restrictions on many of the more liberal laws of the nation. Drugs, sex, alcohol, and more were the basis of complaints on the corruption of the populace.

Alvin seemed at ease, participating in the discussion, but he could feel the onset of a great headache in the back of his skull. Perhaps he had consumed too much of the wine. It was good indeed, but he knew the ailments brought on by excessive drinking, and whatever this was, it was not from the wine.

Eventually he retired to one of the myriad guest rooms, and slept. But it wasn't truly sleep. Now the memories of the Coup returned to him. Pristine streets filled with fleeing people, smoke, fire and death. The bulky outlines of soldiers making their way through the city, killing everyone in their way. And yet, it seemed different than what he had remembered it as. Then the March. Or, at least he thought of it as the March. The pounding rain and mud was there, as always, not enough to quench the flames they had created. Armored monsters grinding from town to town, killing the opposition without second thought. And he was shouting the same orders. But it was not the same. The dream only spired deeper into nightmare, things he could not describe, and yet things he somehow knew.

He woke with the name of a man on the tip of his tounge, but it did not come. He looked at a clock, and recalled the date. Tomorrow, one thousand years ago, a war had begun.

--

Alvin washed and dressed, contemplating the dreams he had that last night. As he did in most times of stress and especially strife, he checked that his Gewehrsburg Long-Slide was in its place.

He walked down the hall of guest suites, when a tall, scarred man approached him. He was an ex-specfor man, now in the SSA. They made small talk, though Alvin mostly ignored it. The guttural accent suggested Nordsprache, the curious Dutch-German-Slavic mix common to the northern reaches of the nation. As they shook hands though, the man pressed a slip of paper into Alvin's hand. He stared at it in shock, and then went to breakfast, attempting to stay cool.

The meeting continued to boil over issues such as the increasing government ignorance to economic exploitation and mass crime in the North and the neglect of the Pandrea islands.

But he left, conspicuously silent as he remembered the instructions. The man, he learned, was Hans Klerbock. And at this point, he was certain they were being monitored after the fierce debate. He would have to act calmly until he was out of reach of his guards and eyes. The soldiers themselves did not impede him as he left the complex. Safe in his car, he made course towards Halisfavon, through the streets until he arrived at a decrepit old parking garage. This was the place. He drove into the pitch dark of the bottom level, until, suddenly, a bright beam blinded him. He tried to look away, but by the time it ceased his night vision was gone, glowing shapes dancing across his sight.

A series of dim red lights snapped on, and he saw Hans standing, wearing casual clothes, along with several other men.

"Sorry about that, just checking you out. Your car is bugged, we talk later."

He was hustled through a service area until he reached the surface floor, and traveled out the door, down an alley and towards a series of three different cars. He piled into a SUV with Hans. They sat in, and immediately began moving, the hydrogen engine humming as he navigated the streets, seeking open road.

"Now I can explain... This is gonna be a lot, so let me be blunt. Your real name is Alvin Elsdor, and you're the King of Peringeln."

1909

King Jakob Elsdor looked from the tower of his last sanctuary, one of his vacation manors. But now it was anything but a pleasure home. Guns of varying size and purpose protruded from every possible defense, the Royal Guard and the last remnants of one of his Panzerkorps engaging the Auerfrisians or waiting for them in man made thunder. Rain poured down, steam rose from the hot tubes of artillery. The dual engines of Auerfrisian attack planes roared, and Elsdor hustled down, into the cellar. They were at their last ropes. He had no future, nor his army... But the nation, the Monarchy did. His son, Karl, was now riding with a 'refugee convoy' of Royal Guard, and the loyal concubines and servants.

He supposed he had it coming... Though the South was certainly not a barbaric nation in terms of technology and economy, it was morally, a disgrace compared to the more traditional values of the North. The only way for his son and the monarchy to escape was to go South, live as a common people under a false name until the Royal Guard decided the time was right.

It might be centuries before that time came, but his nation had been fighting for 900 years. He went down to the armory, checked his sword and reached for an automatic carbine and a rig of ammunition.

He could wait.

Alvin took it in, slowly thinking the possibility over... His respect among the Northern Drakes, Tiberius' urge to keep him and others like him on a leash... It all made sense now. Hans pulled up a sleeve to reveal a tattoo, a symbol he had seen before in textbooks: The very faint sketch of the royal seal. So it was true. They did still exist... And he was their leader.

"Where are you taking me?"

"We're going to a cathedral, up in the Peringeln Range. And you might want one of these. Never know what we're gonna run in to now."

The man tossed him a folded up suit, a bit heavy, but tough looking. He looked over the marker... A bodyglove. Jesus. These things were hugely expensive due to manufacturing, a suit of body armor you could wear under plainclothes. Though he supposed he would need it.

The car traveled into the Northern reaches, where spring had started to break out. They kept on moving, parking the cars under rock outcroppings, covering them with camouflage netting, and then setting off on foot towards what appeared to be a cliff. Under the dense tree growth, though, rose the destroyed walls and spires of a cathedral, now dwarfed and hidden by nature's growth from over a century.

"This is our HQ... From here, we have the royal artifacts and contact lists of the royalists. Come on, we've gotta move quick."

Over a kilometer away, a man, covered in ghille, minutely adjusted a rifle. The thermal sight couldn't reveal who was who, only who was packing the most firepower. Not that it mattered. They had fully cased the area through Micrite surveillance, this was their chance to eliminate the North before things got out of hand. Everyone here was to disappear.

He calmed himself, putting all other thoughts out of his mind. He became his lungs, his eyes and his trigger finger. He sighted the round, made some adjustments for ballistics, and fired.

The handloaded .408 came down like a bolt from the heavens, slamming into the head of one of the Royal Guards. It exploded into an array of material, splattering the walls with fresh blood and gore.

Nothing was said, they whipped out their armarment. Hans looked up in what he assumed was the direction of the shot, seeing a cloud of dust rising. But they were getting in cover now, that sniper couldn't take out everything. He radioed a quick message to the people on the inside, hopefully they could get a response team to deal with them. But Hans knew tactics, there would be an assault team, down here.

They waited, in cover, until Alvin picked out the first of the enemy. Wearing a full Orc-series battledress, the strange armor and helmet made him look otherwordly. A massive looking automatic was in his hands, a huge drum of ammunition. He didn't seem to see him yet, but that was only a matter of time.

Alvin already had his long slide in hand, loaded with an extended magazine. He looked at Hans, who nodded. He spun out, bracing the pistol with both hands as he peered down the sight and fired the 10mm into the head of the man. The helmeted form snapped back, a spurt of blood on the opposite side. Now the column he took cover behind was peppered by bullets, the suppressed submachineguns filling the air. The other Royal guards now brought their weapons to play. Hans was moving from column to column, a cut down semi-automatic shotgun roaring away. The thing fired the equivalent of a scaled down Anti-Tank ground ,easily going through the armor. There were at least 36 of the Draka against only 12 of the Royal Guard. Somehow the odds weren't encouraging.

Alvin now was running low on his ammunition. As he crouched in the remnants of a chamber's walls, he found only had four rounds left for his longslide. There was a corpse outside the doorway, and he dragged the booted ankle until he could reach the submachinegun. It wasn't a model he himself was familiar with, too specialized and not standard issue. He located the saftey, flipped down a grip, and hoped for the best. He peered outside the doorwy and made bursts of round, realizing that his new armarment would soon be expended.

The sniper swore as he found the targets too difficult. Damn fools had moved in too quickly, but with the radio silence not to be compromised, he could only hope to move quickly and retarget. Going to his feet, he began to unpack his sniper rifle when he noticed the dust. DAMMIT!

He had underestimated just how much debris he had sent into the air with the huge muzzle expulsion. And then the gunfire started, much closer than he would have liked.

"For the King..." a soldier whispered, as the Royal Guards moved out from inside the sanctuary. Climbing from one of the various tunnels, they were armed to the teeth, and had caught the sniper at just the right moment. He had chosen to move. The red dot of the reflex sight settled on his chest, and he squeezed out a burst. It impacted, but on his arm. Not a good shot.

The sniper's vision went red as the bullets slammed into his left arm. He nearly dropped the rifle, if not for the sling, and raised his small submachinegun. But it was too late. He was dead. The next volley of gunfire made it official.

But things below were not the best. The air stank of gunpowder and death, and now most of the ammunition was gone. Half the Royal guards were dead, and now Alvin was isolated, in some cloistered area, a long combat knife drawn. It was a foot in length, laser sharpened to the point that it could cut through enemy body armor with the right technique. It was quiet, but he could hear the footsteps of one of the enemy on the weathered stone. He now saw him, and in a flash he leapt at the man in three strides, by the time he was turned around the knee of Alvin had pushed him into the ground, soon followed by the knife into his throat. Blood leaked out now, but Alvin didn't take the time to appreciate it. He could feel the hammerblows of the Draka automatics into his body glove, throwing him down and stealing his breath.

Hans was already moving, still with three rounds in his shotgun. From a distance of 10 feet, he pounded two into the soldier's back, killing him.

Alvin rose, shakily and gasping for air. His ribs were broken, god knew where.

"Perimeter search. One of you take the King in. They've got us found. We need to move."

They traveled quickly, Alvin realizing how much power he now held. Peringeln would have its revenge. But they would need help.