NationStates Jolt Archive

Haverbaer Dockyards: Tarannu, Schultaria Prime

Eleven thirty, and not a soul for blocks...

Sitting on a pylon next to the edge of an empty pier a young man, perhaps no older than twenty five, stared into the deep blue-black waters of the port without any real interest. Beneath him the darkened waters rose and fell within the dockyard's symmetric casements, its clash between sea and concrete like the roar of a crowd, rioting against the lifeless seashore. It was not the first time he had sat and watched the night's sea against the stoic and unnatural coast, stained green and yellow from years of protective sealants and blackened by the mishaps of careless and exhausted freighter pilots, but tonight felt unique... almost welcoming. The clouds parted revealing a tremendous moon; its reflection so bright that it disturbed the apparent calm of the water, the illusion of a placid sea broken if only for a brief moment. What few waves that were left that crashed against the walls in a dire attempt to break free of their confines, but they eventually melded back into the fold of the vast endless harbor.

The water continued to rise and fall, this time in unison; the roar of the rioting ocean subsided into a low thudding pulse.

Tired from a long day's work and weary from watching the sea for hours on end the young man picked himself up, dusted off his khaki trousers, and made his way to the gatehouse to check out. Tonight felt unusually familiar to the young gentleman; despite the fact that it was still technically winter according to every calendar he read, the nighttime mists of the sea seemed to warm the air around him. As he walked to the small security station to present himself he couldn't help but feel as though the world was his skin. Its soft, humid, tendrils of air wrapping around the exposed parts of his body like a warm blanket or a mother's touch. Absorbed by the rapture of the evening's air, he never heard the footsteps behind him.

Three days later, the body of Trissen Schultz, a nephew to the Central Director of Schultaria Prime, was found face down in the waters of Nordapaer harbor. Nothing significant was found on his person, except a small, somewhat cryptic, note pinned to his waterlogged and bloodied coat.

"Like the seeds from chaff so too will we separate the worthy from the wastes."

Funeral Procession - Three Days Later

Despite the fact that Trissen was the relative of the Central Director of Schultaria Prime, arguably one of the more influential leaders in over a century of Schultarian politics, no media or mob bothered the bereaved family as they made their slow march from the port to the family's burial plot in the highlands south of the city. Walking seven abreast in deep red funeral robes, the family Schultz assembled around the broken and battered body of Trissen to pay their final respects and carry him to where he would rest overlooking the sea in final peace in tranquility. As they made their way along the ten kilometer path from the city outskirts to the bluffs, what few crowds had come to wish the deceased on his journey parted company from the family. As if by some unseen yet understood force the well-wishers and sympathizers peeled away from the funeral mass like a seed ripe from its pod.

Today would be the family's chance to grieve in peace as thousands of years of custom and tradition dictated.

Of the members in attendance: three were Representatives from the National Assembly, one a General from the SKC, and a diplomatic Attaché to the Nation of Sharina, but despite the political power and importance of these members the procession was strictly limited to immediate family only. None of the members of the group, even Elliot Schultz and all of his responsibilities to the people as Central Director, would be allowed any visitors from the outside world save for items of grave emergency. For the Schultz family, now was their time to reflect on the disturbing events of the last six days in the comfort of the arms of their loved ones; now was the time to inter the fallen son of one of their own: an innocent, once full of youth and introspection cut short by the hands of another. While the rest of the world conducted their business, the family Schultz assembled around the broken and battered body of Trissen to pay their final respects. As Emily Schultz, Trissen's mother and Elliot's sister, dedicated the family plot in ageless ritualistic fashion many members of the family were already thinking to the future… a very insecure and violent future.

Most, if not all, of the family had feared about this kind of day for years. With over four billion people, a seemingly "unfair" and "dynastic" hold on political power, and the specter of the massive prairie fires of five months prior the Schultz family was all too well aware that their power could prove a disastrous liability. None of them, however, had ever expected Trissen to become a casualty in the political lives of the rest of the Schultz relatives. He was admired and respected more for his introspection and creativity rather than harboring any serious political desires, and to Emily, her Brother the Central Director, and just about everyone else that had the privilege of meeting him personally saw him as nothing less than a vivacious extrovert with a vibrant personality.

His death was not only senseless, it was a warning shot to his relatives who held office in the Schultarian Government. Whoever had killed him took his life intentionally... and they intended to play for keeps.

Sitting next to the freshly covered grave of his nephew, Central Director Schultz looked over the seascape vista where the Mozambique Channel and Indian Ocean merged just north of Tarannu. "I will feed your killers to the sharks," thought Elliot in silent meditation, "if your mother and the rest of the family don't tear them to pieces first."

OOC: Slight amounts of gratuitous violence and moderate to strong language in this post. You have been forewarned.

The Yellowaxe Tavern: Northern Tarannu

The sound of wood, iron, and unbridled rage against flesh was quickly muffled by the building's thick stagnant air and rough-hewn black stone walls. As the torturous instrument, large club of thick oak and wrought metal bands, was draped over the bloodied and bound legs of some unknown faceless soul, a small yet burly man with a smooth round head hobbled out of the secluded blackness pacing about the broken shell that had come to know the wrong end of this macabre scene. Standing over the poor man stripped to the waist and fastened to the table, his skin gashed and soaked in his own life-giving blood, he pulled up a chair beside the victim's upper body. Pulling out a cigar the would be observer clenched the package of tobacco in his lips; rather than lighting the roll, he munched on the leaves with unusual relish as he surveyed the broken landscape that was once a defiant human being no more than two days ago.

"Now when I said that I wanted the dock master out of the way, I assumed that when you received that order you would complete your work without any mistakes," replied the observer, carefully studying the rivers of blood red skin and purple bands where the victim was once bound by heavy rope. "Apparently, my instructions weren’t clear enough for you to completely understand."

Though still bound to the table and in blinding pain, the faceless man tried to move his lips... to say his peace.

Gripping the club, the short man delivered a swift blow to the kneecaps with such force that the crack of wood and bones sounded as though a firecracker had exploded. "You say nothing you stupid prick! You had your chance to tell us what went wrong and you messed up big time pal! Failure is not the way we do business in the Polzai!" His exposed brow and arms glistening with sweat, he half heartedly raised the instrument above his head only to lay it down squarely over the victim's ribcage. Forcing the blunt end of the club into the man's raw chest, he whispered into the bound man's ears, "I swear to god you are the stupidest son of a bitch I ever hired as a foot soldier. You couldn't even pick out the right person to kill from a goddamn photograph."

A sudden thrust, and then… silence. The bound body, limp and drained of life, would be disposed soon enough without trace, ceremony, or worries. If the Polzai enforcers were good at anything, it was taking care of their internal problems. Unfortunately, the mess the broken man had bequeathed to the organization would require more than their usual methods of covering up. In order to cool their trail, the Polzai would need a good excuse or a diversion.

An international diversion...

OOC:

At this point in the story I would love to have some international cooperation to really bring this plot line to a nice cadence. For lack of any significant descriptive or wordy details, this is the approximate progression of items I'm looking for.

1. Polzai members travel to the mainland (South Africa) to purchase non-descript military explosives and detonating equipment. [This equipment will later be traced back to the host country whether or not there was a direct sale, just in case anyone wants to take this angle.]


2. A foreign vessel carrying supplies necessary to the economic and physical survival of the nation (check this link) (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=9419232&postcount=5) will be sunk in port. The bomb will be intentional towards destroying cargo and not life, drawing the attention of government intelligence. [I'll also need someone to help play the part of this cargo carrier, perhaps as an extension from the linked RP.]


3. After exhaustive testing and scene investigation, members of government intelligence will trace scant portions of explosives residue to a foreign military arsenal.


From there things might get a little... interesting.

-Would anyone like to contribute? If you want to, you can contact me either through TG or via instant messenger (the links to my AIM and MSN accounts are already listed under my name). I'd really love to have some outside help on this; otherwise, this story will just essentially die here without much of a plot or any future prospects.

I'll BUMP this again just to see if anyone wants to assist.

a UK freighter could be the unfortunate one sunk in your ports, if you'd like

Thank you Azazia! I'd love to have you as part of this RP as a revival from my 2+ month hiatus.

Now I'm looking for a nation whose ordinance would be easily located in South Africa or readily sold in the black market on the Continental mainland. If you'd like to discuss how the discovery of your nation's material involvement might impact you, please feel free to talk to me.