NationStates Jolt Archive

(This pertains to the Hogsweatian Colonies created here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=453192))


The natives of Rojemin were an old people, proud of thier heritage in spite of thier modern shortcomings. They had not the newest technologies, understood not the newest sciences, but they were eager and ready to learn - ready to learn the ways of the strange new world that had been opened to them only a decade ago.

The village of Wynmera was what the foreigners called the "capitol" of the Six Tribes of Rojemin. Housing a population of three thousand, Wynmera was the largest village within a 500 kilometre radius, and home to Chief Redhorse, leader of the Rojemins. While the village had running water of a sort, and solar electricity at times, most of the Rojemin of the Six Tribes had only ever heard of wonders such as these.

The V-22 Ospreys that were thundering thier way downwards to land in the village centre were something that few Rojemins would have even believed existed unless they saw them with thier own eyes. Seemingly the entire village had come to the village centre to see the emergence of these mechanical beasts of the air. An amazing sight for people who'd only ever dreamed of soaring like birds, the Ospreys' whirlwind of rotorwash pushed and pulled at the villagers as they made thier vertical descent.

"Apoch-hoch! Warriors, attention!" shouted Chief Redhorse as landing gear of the three aircraft came to touch the surface of the land. Of his land.

As the rotors of the Ospreys slowed to a stop, the rear doors of the transports slid open to reveal the Colonial soldiers within. Clad in full dress uniforms, they looked like beings from another world as they stepped out onto solid ground. Holding military rifles over thier shoulders, thier ceremonial chrome armour gleamed like the most precious of metals.

I have made the right descision, thought Chief Redhorse to himself as the Colonials came to attention, lined up in rows.

These people, these Colonials - they do not lie to us as the previous foreigners did. They speak the truth, and as long as they do, remain a friend of our people... but if that is so, why does the pit of my stomach churn, as if a great battle is about to take place?

The form of a woman, seated in a metallic wheeled chair, emerged from within the centre Osprey, prompting the Colonial soldiers to stiffen visibly.

She must be the one, the great "Foreign Secretary March". She must be a respected leader indeed if she has a wheeled throne onwhich she travels.

Slowly, Secretary March was wheeled forewards, a man in a suit and tie pushing her wheeled chair from behind.

"Apoch-hoch, Secretary March," offered Redhorse in greeting as he strode forwards as well to greet this elder of the Colonials.

"Apoch-hoch," replied March, her pronunciation leaving something to be desired. "Today is a great day, for both of our peoples," continued March. Chief Redhorse noted that several men with large boxes - "cameras", if he remembered correctly - making thier way about as Secretary March began to speak.

"Today, Chief Redhorse, the past two years of talks will bear fruit as our two peoples join together," March continued.

"The people of the Six Tribes of Rojemin are proud to be one with your people," replied Redhorse. "The Rojemin know of the land, know of the soil, but now we must learn too about the air, and the vast world beneath it. As the Six Tribes of Rojemin become the Colonial Protectorate of Rojemin, our knowledge will grow and our future will grow brighter."

Chief Redhorse ignored the cameramen and soldiers as he spoke, instead studying the eyes of the woman before him.

Can she be trusted? Or will she lie to us, just as the foreigners of 40 seasons ago lied to us?

"The future of both our peoples shall be brightened by this day," agreed March, her eyes revealing no betrayal or malice within them.

"Come then, my sister from the Colonies," said Redhorse. He motioned withhis arm towards the feasting hall, the largest building in the village. "Let us formalize this treaty, so that I may sign it with the honor of my ancestors watching over me - and then, my new sister, we shall feast! For today, the Rojemin are of the Democratic Colonies!"

The Rojemin villagers errupted in cheering the feast was mentioned, and redoubled thier celebration as the strange Secretary March smiled and waved at them. Her military honor guard remained stiff lipped and silent, gazing straight ahead as if they were made of stone.

Today the Rojemin are of the Democratic Colonies... but is this for better or for worse?

One Week after the signing of the Treaty of Wynmera

The Pax Magellanic Class Aircraft Carrier was something of an oddity amoung military vessels. They of course, carried the usual assortment of radars and sensors, aircraft and munitions. In these respects, the Pax Magellanic Class was fairly normal when compared to its peers. The odd part of the design however, was the fact that every ship of the class sported a full series of diplomatic facilities - meeting chambers, enclosed observation decks, even a luxurious set of diplomatic quarters. The Pax Magellanic Class was designed not only as a vessel for making war, but also as a vessel for making peace. It was because of this dual-talent nature that four of the titanic vessels were anchored by the new Protectorate of Rojemin, the Colonial Foreign Secretary and the leader of the Rojemin tribes aboard as they planned the future of the Rojemin.

Chief Redhorse and Secretary Stephanie March were in the diplomatic observation deck, where a long line of floor to ceiling windows offered the pair a spectacular view of the construction as Port Benvolio, the city that would be the capitol of the Protectorate once its construction was complete.

"These elections that you've organized for us have worked out well, Sister Stephanie, but they have not brought about the unity that you believed they would," said the Chief, concern in his voice. Concern, but no blame.

"You won with a 78 percent majority, Chief, or should I say Governor. The majority of the populace is clearly behind you, and behind your entry into the Colonies," came the reply from March. "The people trust you."

"You speak truth, Sister, but it is not the majority that I fear. While this city of steel and glass, this 'Port Benvolio' is being raised by the ocean, unrest is rising in some of my people. 78 percent have voted for me, and the majority of those who didn't vote for me atleast supported our unification, but we should not forget that many thousands of Rojemin did not even bother to vote. It is they who give me grave concerns, for it is they who have resisted so very strongly the very idea of joining the Democratic Colonies. Surely, you were told of the trouble brewing in the south-east?"

"I was told," nodded March. In the south-east of Rojemin, dissent had grown beyond only talk. A man named Stonefist had raised himself from the rank of warrior, and was now calling himself the true chief of the Rojemin. Denouncing thier entry into the Democratic Colonies, Stonefist and his supporters were growing larger and larger by the day, and soon they would be too large to ignore. There had been stories of people that dared to vote in certain villages having thier homes and belongings destroyed or stolen, and in a few cases, having physical violence come down upon them.

"And you are not concerned, my Sister?" asked Redhorse, upset by the suggestion. He shook his head as he wondered once again if this was the right path for his people. "I cannot have this 'Chief' Stonefist tearing apart the Six Tribes that our fathers and thier fathers before them worked so hard to merge together."

"He won't," said March. She raised a hand, pointing out the windows at the massive cranes and construction equipment that was in motion on the shore.

"The port and docking facilities will be operational within a matter of days," March began. "Troops and equipment are already on thier way. Within a week, ten mechanized infantry divisions will be on the ground here and deployed to secure the borders of Rojemin. A week after that, four armoured divisions and a pair of airmobile divisions will have arrived. We can put down Stonefist and his supporters by force if you feel we need to."

"You can't be serious!" replied Redhorse. "Colonial infantry, armoured tanks, I agreed to for the protection of this land! Not so that I could slaughter my fellows so that I may secure my leadership over them! What talk is this?"

"You are the elected leader of the Protectorate of Rojemin," stated March calmly. "You have a duty to your people - they voted for you, they support this unification. You said it yourself, how can you let this man, this 'Stonefist', tear your people apart and strike at them with violence, spread fear to supress the will of the people?"

"I cannot," came the subdued reply.

"Then if they must, the infantry will deal with Stonefist if and when the time comes. And if that time comes before they arrive, then this fleet will deal with him." March nodded towards the shore as Redhorse shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The entire Seventh Fleet is here with a full complement of Marines. If we have to, we can take the Marines and remove Stonefist from the south-east this very evening. I assure you, Governor Redhorse, you and your people, the citizens of this Protectorate, have nothing to fear from Stonefist and his supporters."

"I hope you are right, Sister Stephanie. I hope you are right," nodded Redhorse uncomfortably.