Templa
07-10-2005, 07:50
OOC: This is a conflict between me and Klinglon, with a minor role played by K-Stan. Any nation trying to join in must be approved by both Klinglon and I, and we will impose limits upon them. For example, I don't want to turn around and find a Soviet-esque zerg rush bearing down on me. :eek:
IC
The aide could only stand there, wringing his hands helplessly as he watched the old heavyset man in the tweed suit sit motionless, bent over his desk. "S-sir?" he stammered.
"Mmmph MMph Mph Mmph." came the reply, a mixture of alchohol and trying to talk with his face mashed against the desk. Then, sighing, he sat up. "What is it now?"
"Sir, we really should do some-"
"Like what?" The old man stared into his whiskey, as if seeking the answer there.
"You're the foreign minister," cried the aide, "surely there's something you can do!" Foreign minister Vjollner sighed again and turned his chair to look out the window. A man who would much rather drink shots than fire them, he felt an obligation-a need even-to find peaceful solutions. But he saw no safe path out of this one.
"I'm not sure I can" replied Vjollner. "Those damn fanatics won't let go of it." Just a few days before, it had come to light that their neighbors, the Klinglons, underwent government regulated gene-therapy starting at the age of six. While it was easy to overlook such things when they were in far away nations, it was exponentionally more difficult to ignore it when it was practically on there doorstep.
The church, being the corrupt, evil, conniving bastards that they were, had seized upon it as a rallying point. With a rapidly dwindling supply of nonbelievers at home, the church needed a fresh supply of heathens to convert. And as such had preached and filibustered on the matter until they were hoarse.
Vjollner suddenly grinned at his aide. I have an idea, boy. I know how to get a message into the Klinglon capital without the church getting its filthy hands on it. Come with me." So saying, he rose and led his aide through the building to the communications room.
Along the way, the aide filled him in on the latest rumors. Nothing really new: a few potentially scandalous relationships was all. the only thing of interest was some sort of power struggle within the Knights, the military arm of the church. Vjollner silently wished the newcomers luck, the church had a nasty habit of eliminating troublesome people.
When they finally reached the room, the foreign minister went to an old fahoined telegraph machine. Seeing his aide's dubious look, Vjollner only smiled wider. "It's the only form a communication the church doesn't bother to check, because they don't think anyone would bother with such an out moded form of technology." And then he began to happily tap away at the device.
*********************************************************
At the other end of the line, the message was recieved on a ticker-tape:
'Be advised Templar church seeks support to invade over gene therapy. Stop or hide gene program. Please hurry. I can do little to impede them. Vjollner'
The receiver then handed it off to a runner who left immediately. Unfortunately, the runner never made it to his destination....
IC
The aide could only stand there, wringing his hands helplessly as he watched the old heavyset man in the tweed suit sit motionless, bent over his desk. "S-sir?" he stammered.
"Mmmph MMph Mph Mmph." came the reply, a mixture of alchohol and trying to talk with his face mashed against the desk. Then, sighing, he sat up. "What is it now?"
"Sir, we really should do some-"
"Like what?" The old man stared into his whiskey, as if seeking the answer there.
"You're the foreign minister," cried the aide, "surely there's something you can do!" Foreign minister Vjollner sighed again and turned his chair to look out the window. A man who would much rather drink shots than fire them, he felt an obligation-a need even-to find peaceful solutions. But he saw no safe path out of this one.
"I'm not sure I can" replied Vjollner. "Those damn fanatics won't let go of it." Just a few days before, it had come to light that their neighbors, the Klinglons, underwent government regulated gene-therapy starting at the age of six. While it was easy to overlook such things when they were in far away nations, it was exponentionally more difficult to ignore it when it was practically on there doorstep.
The church, being the corrupt, evil, conniving bastards that they were, had seized upon it as a rallying point. With a rapidly dwindling supply of nonbelievers at home, the church needed a fresh supply of heathens to convert. And as such had preached and filibustered on the matter until they were hoarse.
Vjollner suddenly grinned at his aide. I have an idea, boy. I know how to get a message into the Klinglon capital without the church getting its filthy hands on it. Come with me." So saying, he rose and led his aide through the building to the communications room.
Along the way, the aide filled him in on the latest rumors. Nothing really new: a few potentially scandalous relationships was all. the only thing of interest was some sort of power struggle within the Knights, the military arm of the church. Vjollner silently wished the newcomers luck, the church had a nasty habit of eliminating troublesome people.
When they finally reached the room, the foreign minister went to an old fahoined telegraph machine. Seeing his aide's dubious look, Vjollner only smiled wider. "It's the only form a communication the church doesn't bother to check, because they don't think anyone would bother with such an out moded form of technology." And then he began to happily tap away at the device.
*********************************************************
At the other end of the line, the message was recieved on a ticker-tape:
'Be advised Templar church seeks support to invade over gene therapy. Stop or hide gene program. Please hurry. I can do little to impede them. Vjollner'
The receiver then handed it off to a runner who left immediately. Unfortunately, the runner never made it to his destination....