NationStates Jolt Archive

VOLUME ONE: IF YOU WANT BLOOD (YOU’VE GOT IT)


“Well everywhere I hear the sound of marching charging feet, boy
Cause summer’s here and the time is right for fighting in the street, boy”
-“Street Fighting Man” by the Rolling Stones
“Blood on the rocks, blood on the streets,
Blood in the skies, blood on the seas...If you want blood, you got it!”
-“If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It) by AC/DC

OOC: Below is a lot of info that is repetitive to those who joined in the sign-up thread; if you’re new, read it, if not, ignore it at will.

I am trying to make this the best damn thread ever. I have selected the people I am both familiar with and I know are the best RPers to join me, and together we can make this thread kick ass. Keep in mind that I have rough goals for this thread. For the sake of the story, certain people must die; if so, I’ll TG the person that needs to do it or kill them off myself, in keeping with the storyline. I also have chosen a pool of possible successors...but I don’t know which of these will actually succeed Sacred Emperor Lucifer. Your actions will decide that.

The thread has the main storyline, of the massive Succession Wars themselves, but there is also an assassination sideplot, and I will be throwing out contracts here and there. People can snatch them up if they wish; the main storyline will not be affected one way or another, it’s just for fun. There is also, as you will see, an array of characters that I will be trying to develop.

As you will see in the posts below, the story really begins with Lucifer asking for aid from all nations. However, you can support who you want; I only ask you to remember that for those who I have chosen to be possible successors, I of course can’t kill them all off. One must survive, and I may be forced to pull scenarios out of my ass if someone is trying to kill them too early. The thread has three parts; I figure that the ones who have the chance of succeeding shouldn’t die until near the end. As for the ones that must die, if you support them...sorry...In a case like that, I suggest you just switch your allegiance to someone else, whether it be loyalists, anarchists, or independents. See, I set up some of the characters specifically to die. You can pick up on a trend here; I’ve set up the road system that’s the plot of this thread, but it’s the deeds of all of you that will decide which forks we take. I know this, and all the stuff below, is a lot to handle, so I’ve split it up, but you should definitely read it all. Pick yourself a faction or a specific ally from among the High Lords, and let’s go! It’s up to you whether you decide to send an army to do your work in the Empire, an elite few companies, or just some assassins. Just remember that the goal of this thread is to find a new Sacred Emperor, not to kill me, or each other either...;) On that note, no WMDs please. Kill civilians if you feel like it, just kill them thousands at a time, not millions. Oh and by the way, I know lots of people call their forces ‘Imperial’ but please do so for mine, or use ‘Kregaian’. The term ‘Warmasterian’ just looks weird.


So that whole long thing can be summed up like so: Remember that the main characters shouldn’t start to die for while, and that some of them will have to die, regardless of who supports them. No WMDs. It’s up to you who you support and how. And finally, welcome to the jungle, as it were. I’ve been setting this up since I first got into NS. Let Volume One roll. And to all enemies of the Imperium: If you want blood...you got it.

Link to map: http://usera.imagecave.com/seuss/FinalWarMap.JPG
Link to written summary:

Dramatis Personae:

Imperator Jakran of clan Vuell
High Lord Avaru of Domain Miradin
High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad
High Lord Ishamael of Domain Sadow
High Lord Jahvan of clan Imilzor
High Lord Rahvin of clan Ares
Crown Prince Antiochus of Domain Halcyon, Heir of the Sacred Emperor
Supreme General Seth of Domain Jamaane, Lord Regent of the Imperium
Dr. Jacob Seuss and Sir Topham Hatt
Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

Other Characters That Will Pop Up Here and There and Aren’t Good Enough To Get Bios

Patriarch Araqiel of Domain Halcyon
Inquisitor Vlad Tepes
Senior Technologist Commodus Kwaad
Pontifex Maximus Cyrius Vua’kre
Samuel Marchosias

Factions:
Loyalists (Lucifer, Rahvin, Seth; Jipleastan, Frozopia, Nation of Fortune, GE, Freudotopia)
Anarchists (International, Asmodeus; Pythogria, Nation of Fortune)
Unaligned (Avaru, Jahvan, Ishamael; Mer des Ennuis)

That might seem a little stacked in favor of the Loyalists; trust me, it won’t be. And if it does turn out that way, I’ll ingeniously invent handicaps. I want this to be on even footing.

Background:

Sacred Emperor Lucifer has ruled well and strongly, but controversially. There has always been a small minority that has opposed any Sacred Emperor, and Lucifer has added to the numbers of his enemies by his stern rule. His enemies are beginning to multiply and reveal themselves. A wave of terrorism is sweeping the nation, and in general chaos reigns. Outside powers are becoming interested in the situation, and intrigues develop within the Palace. According to tradition, five of the social elite are chosen as possible successors to the throne, along with the default successor, Crown Prince Antiochus of Domain Halcyon, Lucifer’s son. It will take great skill for him to survive; all five lords need him dead to have a chance of succeeding, but he does have an advantage in the form of the Sacred Emperor’s protection: Lucifer’s wrath will fall on any who removes his son. The Empire is ready to split and divide into factions, the Legions themselves utterly divided over who of the lords will gain the throne. It is increasingly likely that the Legions, the people, and the nobility will turn on each other, tearing the Imperium apart in a civil war the likes of which have never yet been seen. The possibility is growing daily that the High Lords will secede from the Imperium and go to war with each other and the Imperium, backed by various international powers. The stage is set for the Succession Wars.

List of Terms:

Imperium: The government that rules over the Empire and has for 1700 years.
Empire: The people and land that is subject to the Imperium.
Immortals: Elite warriors, whose duties include the guardianship of Korronis, the Imperial Palace, and the Sacred Emperor, as well as crack troops on the battlefield. Another group of elites is the War-Priests, priests/warriors who embrace four lesser gods of war, and are organized by Order and Chapter. They are just as effective as the Immortals, but more specialized.
Inquisition: The body that is the offspring of the priesthood and the Intelligence Division, which helps spy on the people and especially prominent figures. They punish such crimes as heresy and idolatry with torture, and either execution or sacrifice to the gods. Inquisitors are influential people, with broad powers.
The International: A worldwide crime syndicate that has been allied with the Imperium in some matters and its opponent in others since the 1920's.
High Lord: One of the most powerful positions in the Imperium, awarded to the most skilled of the social elite. There are five to begin with, and they are the only people except the Sacred Emperor’s son that can succeed him, barring unheard-of extenuating circumstances. However, by law the Crown Prince has priority of succession, so it is rare that he manages to avoid death at the hands of the High Lords.
Imperial Pantheon: I’m going to be referring to gods throughout the threads, and just so you know what I’m talking about, here it is. There are seven gods, each fulfilling a role in the universe: the Destroyer, the Deceiver, the Torturer, the Dragon, the Creator, the Preserver, and the Modeler. All demand sacrifice in some form; some just food or small things like that, but the Deceiver and the Modeler demand blood sacrifice, and the Torturer, the Destroyer, and the Dragon require human blood. Each is the patron of a caste or branch of the Imperium, as follows:
Creator: Sacred Emperor
Destroyer: warriors
Deceiver: priests
Preserver: politicians
Modeler: scientists
Torturer: Inquisitors
Dragon: War-Priests and Immortals

Bios:

Jakran Vuell: A traditional, conservative general and Imperator to Sacred Emperor Lucifer. He is a very good strategist, but compared with the leadership skills and tactics of some of the elite, he is inferior, and this gnaws at him. He is a slave to personal pleasure; delights in the excess of alcohol, drugs, and women. This is a great weakness, and may well be his downfall.

Avaru Miradin: High Lord Avaru is from Domain Miradin, a close ally of Domain Halcyon. He has grown up around the royal family and Lucifer is like a doting uncle to him. However, he would have no trouble killing Crown Prince Antiochus; he is widely regarded to be emotionless. Logic governs him at all times; he lacks even the joy/rage contrast of Lucifer, and is rumored to be an atheist. Despite this, his honor is even more important to him than most Imperial elite. An insult to him is deadly.

Asmodeus Vasraad: This successor is from clan Vasraad, a little-known clan famous for its high percentage of Inquisitors it has produced. Asmodeus also was an Inquisitor. He is excessively cruel and ruthless...hated by all other possible successors, and by many politicians, but his hatred of outsiders won him support among the priests, and he has a devoted bodyguard of Shavan War-Priests. His envy of Lucifer and of Crown Prince Antiochus will lead to his downfall if not checked...

Ishamael Sadow: Ishamael is one of the most likely to succeed of the High Lords. He is also a traditionalist, and a brilliant orator and politician. He won his post as a High Lord through his skills in manipulation and deception, and his military skills are unquestionable as well. He is as careful of his honor as High Lord Avaru. Push him and he will push back by annihilating all you care for.

Jahvan Imilzor: Jahvan, before his ascension to the position of High Lord, was a Grand Admiral of the Imperial Fleet. This is his advantage over the other successors: he will be the only one of them to command a significant portion of the fleet. It is estimated that anywhere from twenty to forty percent of the fleet will mutiny if war breaks out, and answer to Jahvan. However, on land his forces are far inferior to those of Ishamael or Avaru, as are his skills. Unfortunately for him, he will be forced to fight on land, where the key battles will be decided; this will put him at a disadvantage.

Rahvin Ares: High Lord Rahvin is the Imperium’s ideal lord-general; he is fanatically loyal, defends his honor zealously, sacrifices richly to all the gods, and is a vicious and cunning general. His expertise in naval matters is small; he cares only for land war, and especially urban warfare. His doctrines in taking cities are now standard fare among the general staff of the Legions. There is no question he will remain loyal to Sacred Emperor Lucifer, and that he will command the still-vast forces available to the Imperium if the High Lords go to war.


Crown Prince Antiochus Halcyon: Crown Prince Antiochus is, at the same time, among the most powerful and the most vulnerable person in the Empire. As Lucifer’s heir, he has tremendous political influence; his father alone commands him, and there are few he trusts to advise him. High Lord Rahvin is one such, but the other High Lords he is rightly distrustful of. He hates Asmodeus especially, and the feeling is more than mutual. However, he should never let his guard down to any, not even Rahvin, because by law he must die before the High Lords can succeed him.

Supreme General Seth Jamaane: Seth is Lord Regent of the Imperium, Lucifer’s closest friend. He trusts only Rahvin of the High Lords; unlike Antiochus, he doesn’t need to fear assassination by a friend. Ishamael hates Seth for condemning his father to death by handing him over to the Inquisition when the man developed heretical tendencies, and Asmodeus hates Seth simply because Seth hates him. Seth is one of the few remaining moderating influences on Lucifer; if he dies, the war will begin if it hasn’t yet, and escalate greatly if it has, as Lucifer embarks on a brutal campaign of bloody revenge.

Dr. Jacob Seuss and Sir Topham Hatt: These two are the most feared assassin duo in history. Both have played major roles in Imperial foreign policy, when it was best to kill one or a few rather than exterminate a nation. Dr. Seuss has been recalled from exile in Camel Eaters to serve Lucifer in the upcoming conflict, and Topham Hatt, who is called (never to his face) the Fat Director, after his role in ordering assassinations through the Intelligence Division, has joined him once more. Seuss is an alcoholic, but retains some of the discipline of an Inquisitor, which he was before his exile. Sir Topham Hatt is a known heroin addict, and is insane. Short in stature and large in waistband, he lives the life of a rich British Victorian aristocrat, reflected in his trademark monocle, top hat, vest, spats, and a tailcoat.

Sacred Emperor Lucifer Halcyon: And finally, the god-king around which the hatching war revolves, the man that set in motion these events by the murder of the previous, disgraced Sacred Emperor, brutally quashing the Parian rebellion, and seizing every last shred of power in the Imperium. It is strange to think that these events were determined fifty years ago, when the last Sacred Emperor gained the throne and shamed it by his weakness, enabling the Parians to start a revolution, which gave Lucifer his chance for power, who crushed the Parians and thus spawned the discontented mutters behind the back of the Imperium...and now the massive civil war that the Imperium is bound to create eventually is on his doorstep. Lucifer is probably the most capable person in the Imperium, but the question is whether even he can tear a victory for the loyalist forces from the jaws of the five High Lords.

OPENING POSTS

IC: The young teenager looked exactly the same as every other patron in the café. He carried a backpack, looked nervous, and shunned seats near the window. The reasoning lately was that it was a lot easier to get shot when you were right there in a window, a tempting target for snipers and likely to get shredded by glass shards when a bomb went off outside. Mark Smith, owner of the place, was an immigrant; they didn’t like foreigners in Kregaia, but he’d converted to their religion, and sworn their oaths of ‘undying fealty’, and that was good enough for them. Maybe the Inquisition watched him a little more carefully than the natives, but there were plenty of other immigrants in Korronis, and Mark didn’t have a criminal record here. Despite their gruesome public executions of heretics, the Imperium was pretty lax on a guy who in his home country had been charged with five counts of public drunkenness.

The boy was typing now, typing at a laptop. Sweating. Mark frowned. Most people were paranoid about the wave of bombings...but it rarely went this far. The kid’s lips moved, his eyes shut tight. A song? The boy reached down into his open backpack...and Mark belatedly realized what he was doing.
Praying.
A heartbeat later, the whole scene erupted in pressure, heat, and thunder. The little café was torn to pieces...the gas pipes leaking...refrigerator coolant hissing into the air, and the charred remains of Mark Smith were buried beneath concrete, tile, and metal. When the rescue workers dug him out two hours later, he was all but unidentifiable.

“Good evening viewers, and thank you for watching Imperial News Media, your choice for the news you need.
“Today, terrible events in Korronis. Over twenty bombings, timed to occur within minutes of each other, took place around eight o’ clock this morning. Most of the targets were small businesses and restaurants. The Sacred Emperor has not yet commented on the bombings, but Imperator Jakran Vuell told reporters that increased security would be enforced across the city, especially in the Sacred Precinct. It is believed-

Click.
Sacred Emperor Lucifer, seated in a comfortable armchair in front of a fireplace, lowered the remote control to the television above the hearth. A servant handed him a glass of bourbon, and as he sipped it, he turned to the untrustworthy-looking man seated next to him.
“Samuel. What does the International have to say about all this?”
“Divine One, I can assure you that the International has nothing to do with this. We have all our sources looking to find out who is hiring these assassins and terrorists, but to no avail yet.”
“Interesting. The International, the great backstabbing empire itself, cannot dig out other backstabbers? Don’t worry. I...trust the International is not involved. I just wanted to know what you knew.”
“Which is less than you do, Divine One.”
“Well, of course. But it is always best to ask.”
Samuel Marchosias, representative of the International, laughed softly, threw back his sixth gin, and stood. “Well, Lucifer, Your Majesty, I have to get going. I’ve got a flight to Freudotopia to make...I’ve got a meeting with the Ismerian Cartel. We’ll notify you immediately if we find anything out about who’s organizing the bombings.”
“You do that. Have a good trip.”
When Lucifer heard the door close behind Samuel, he leaned his head back against the chair, gulped down more bourbon, and thought hard.

Over the past few months, terrorist bombings in Korronis had gone from being unheard of to a part of the daily routine. Lucifer knew that a lot of people, though still a small minority of the population, didn’t trust him and never had, but until now it hadn’t been a problem. Recently, though, riots and demonstrations had broken out in cities across the Empire; the Inquisition was working the hardest it had since the Boreal Insurrection more than two centuries ago. That was the problem with the Imperium; it could suppress rebellion and flourish for a few centuries at a time, but then weak rulers like his predecessor would bring about the end of a dynasty, usually by a massive civil war. Historically, the greatest of the Sacred Emperors, such legendary rulers as Abaddon, Uriel, Asriel, and himself, were those who ended such civil wars and emerged victorious. The cycle was beginning anew; soon war would break out.
Better to get it over with.

Four million eyes. Four million eyes, gazing up at him. And hundreds of millions more glued to television screens. Attack helicopters wheeled overhead; tanks encircled the vast stone expanse of the Forum. The Immortals, guardians of the Sacred Emperor, stood motionless before the Rostra, on the stone steps of the Imperial Palace looming behind, and around the crowd. Their deathmasks glared at the two million citizens in the Forum, crowding, pressing, fighting for a better view of their god-king. The Immortals kept their fingers on the triggers of their assault rifles; if need be, they would massacre the whole crowd. The safety of the Sacred Emperor always came first.
Lucifer himself looked down into these four million eyes, and the cameramen before him took the opportunity to pan over the vast crowd. At the opposite end of the Forum, the massive, monolithic edifice that was the Sanctum of the Hierarchs thrust its pyramidal apex into the sky, the black stone that it was made of contrasting against the blue sky. Lucifer cleared his throat, and the camera focus raced back to him.

“Citizens of the Imperium, loyal servants of the gods, greetings from your Sacred Emperor. I come bringing a roll of great men, men who are fierce, who are powerful, who embrace the Imperium with every fiber of their being, who turn to the light of the gods as a plant turns to the sun. Ritual must be observed, true, but to list in full the nature of these men is to tempt fate, and I will not have this sacred rite disturbed by terrorist blasphemy! As we have done for centuries, stretching back to mighty Typhon himself, I call you to witness the Ascension of the High Lords!”
The crowd roared, and six men seated on Lucifer’s right stood. All were well-known faces; whether by military victory or by political craft these men had made themselves famous, a tribute to their clans and Domains. Indicating them, the Sacred Emperor continued.
“Here they stand before the Empire, pure of sin: the ones I have chosen to be my successors. The High Lords.”
“Crown Prince Antiochus, son of the Sacred Emperor, though you are no High Lord, the throne will be yours if you prove worthy.
“Lord Avaru of Domain Miradin. You have obeyed my commands and exceeded my expectations in every task I have ever given you. Your mind is sharper than the keenest of knives, and hunts like a hound for any solution. Thus do I honor you. Thus do I name you High Lord.
“Inquisitor Asmodeus of clan Vasraad. You have dedicated yourself to the furthering of the light of the gods through the Inquisition and have purified the Empire. As the dark weed of sin encroaches upon us, you burn it away. Thus do I honor you. Thus do I name you High Lord.
“High Prefect Ishamael of Domain Sadow. It is not always in deeds that the Imperium is victorious. To words you have given yourself, to the will of the Deceiver, to the path of the puppet-master. Yet to ignore your conquests would be foolish, as they are numerous and grand. Thus do I honor you. Thus do I name you High Lord.
“Grand Admiral Jahvan of clan Imilzor. With the sea your success lies, and through it you have risen. You have led the ships of the fleet, the sailors, to victory and honor. Thus do I honor you. Thus do I name you High Lord.

“Lord Rahvin of clan Ares. You are a true chosen of the Dragon. The triumph in Czardas was yours, and you have served me brilliantly before and since. Thus do I honor you. Thus do I name you High Lord.
“The High Lords have been chosen, and my son and heir stands before them. As the law commands, so does the battle begin. You who the gods have blessed, compete, strive to gain the Iron Throne. As in all things, the strongest shall triumph.”
Lucifer turned and walked down the steps of the Rostra as the crowd erupted in applause, each person already mentally putting their support behind one of the High Lords. By law, Crown Prince Antiochus had to be dead before the High Lords could legally take the throne. Knowing the dangerous personalities of the chosen, the smart money in the bets for Antiochus’s survival was on his lasting less than a month.

That night, Lucifer could not sleep.
He tossed and turned in silken sheets, thrashing around uncomfortably. Trying to relax, he stared at the ceiling, losing track of time as he gazed into the shadowed ceiling of his chambers in the Palace. He plotted unconsciously; his brain wasn’t comfortable without thinking constantly. All he knew about the High Lords...their strengths, their weaknesses, their successes and failures...and the unfortunate fact that his son was likely to be murdered by the time the month was out. Probably even quicker. His eyes grew weary and shut...

He walked through the empty streets of Korronis. Blood was spattered over almost every surface, corpses littered the street, and whole blocks had been blasted apart by artillery fire. Vast pillars of smoke arose from fires that seemed to consume the earth; he wondered if the blazing terror of the Seventh Hell could equal the pyre that devoured the Sacred City, and he despaired.
Looking behind him, he saw the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, the black pyramid missing a side; one of its four faces was rubble, its smooth surface shattered. He walked across the Forum alone. Before the Rostra, he saw the thousand sacrificial altars that were used only in ceremonies. There was a flicker, and the world bent; then as it snapped back to precision, he was no longer alone. Some of the stone altars had captives strapped to them, struggling. Above each altar loomed a priest, all dressed in the same magnificent robes of white and gold and a jeweled, wickedly sharp dagger. On the Rostra stood a small group with faces Lucifer recognized. Imperator Jakran Vuell. Pontifex Maximus Cyrius Vua’kre. Lord Regent Seth Jamaane, and some others. He recognized this scene. This was the day he had sacrificed the Council of Prefects to the gods, sparking the war with Czardas that Lord Rahvin had won. The day he had confirmed his power as Sacred Emperor.
Yet where he himself had stood that day, another stood in his place. Surrounded by attendants, generals, priests, and the royal family, a man stood taller than the rest, hooded and cloaked in robes of impenetrable black. The man held himself like royalty, but he lacked even the golden embroidery on the sleeves of his robe to mark him as Imperial nobility. As Lucifer approached, the vision flickered again. At the same time the dark figure vanished from the Rostra, he appeared less than two paces away from Lucifer.
The priests began to raise their daggers in unison, lips silently moving, murmuring prayers. The dark figure wore a metal deathmask beneath his hood, Lucifer saw, and he extended a black-gloved hand. Stepping forward, Lucifer took it...

The priests’ daggers flashed down. Blood spurted, and the prisoners arched their backs in agony, screaming, but the daggers flashed again and again, staining the stone crimson, and finally the screams ceased. And at the same time Lucifer touched the figure’s hand, flames erupted from the grille and eyeholes of the mask, burning into him.
Then he was nowhere.
Visions of deserted battlefields...a dead body; was it High Lord Jahvan’s? There was no time to see, no time to think before a new image appeared. Blood. Sacrifice. Slaughter. Bombings. Betrayal. Children, crying in a classroom as a missile streaked down upon them. Fire. Death. High Lord Avaru, looking on as old men and women were gunned down, cameramen filming it all. The Legions, fleeing a battlefield in disarray. The dark figure, who Lucifer began to suspect was one of the gods, guided him through ten thousand images of destruction and death.
When Lucifer awoke, he remembered nothing.

Crown Prince Antiochus glanced behind him as the limo drove away, checking nervously to make sure his bodyguards were still there. He knew perfectly well that all five of the High Lords would kill him without a twinge of regret, and only his father’s protection stood between him and assassination. He couldn’t even be sure if these guards were going to gun him down suddenly from behind. After all, the metal detectors on the doors were useless if Antiochus himself demanded that his guards go through.
The golden doors of the Korronis Opera House were open, and rich patrons were filing in to see a production of Adolph Husselmann’s Uriel. An impeccably dressed usher checked the tickets of all who entered, two burly Imperial Guardsmen flanking the doors. Even they, however, had been made to wear suits and ties, and they were visibly uncomfortable out of uniform.
Crown Prince Antiochus presented his ticket, but it was a formality; the usher knew him well, all the opera house staff did, and he was, after all, the son of the Sacred Emperor. Very few men in the Empire would have the temerity to refuse him entrance to anything. His female companion tonight, a model, seemed to be deeply impressed by the opulence of the Grand Lobby, an expanse of exotic hardwood panels and gilded decor, but Antiochus wanted to move quickly through the open space, in which any patron might pull a pistol and shoot him dead.
When they were seated, it was only a short wait for the opera to begin. The lights darkened, and the stage illuminated as the opera begun with a stirring battle scene. The model seated behind him, gasped at the appropriate points, applauded when called for, and wept silently as Uriel, having made a bargain with the demon Dispater, killed his entire family, forced at last to choose honor over the lives of his own kin.
At the end of that scene, although Antiochus didn’t know it, a man was loitering near the entrance to Antiochus’s box. Not really loitering; but there was a water fountain that he kept coming back to, far too frequently for his thirst to be anything but fake. Finally, the guards at Antiochus’s door became suspicious and grabbed him, roughly patting him down with no explanation. They discovered that beneath his tuxedo, he was carrying a vest laden with explosives. Before they could stop him, though, he yelled into his lapel, on which there must have been a tiny microphone, “Now! Now!”

A second later, the building shook as a fireball burst out of one of the boxes, accompanied by a tremendous boom. Antiochus’s guards looked around, shocked, and the man slipped from their grasp, dashing into the Crown Prince’s box, reaching for the detonation switch on his vest, pressing it, the tiniest bit of pressure-
And then his head exploded from behind, fragments of skull and hot brain matter flying out from the hole where the bullet had smashed into his head. One of the guards lowered his pistol and stared at the corpse. Antiochus could almost hear the guards wondering, who hired him...

OOC:
Assassination Targets (I’ll invent more on request)

Name: Tremayne Ithrik
Occupation: Imperial Prefect
Place of Residence: penthouse in Premier Apartments, Korronis; villa outside Mon Serat
Reward: 150,000 USD
Background: Prefect Tremayne is an influential man, having served stints of ambassadorial terms, and has made many contacts abroad. However, the Inquisition recently became suspicious of his constant comings and goings from the Dominion National Bank, an establishment that, while not guilty of treason, also plays host to High Lord Asmodeus and several high-ranking officials of the International, the worldwide crime syndicate. They investigated, and he is guilty of embezzling funds from his Prefecture’s budget and transferring them to High Lord Asmodeus. While Asmodeus himself is too powerful to take down, Prefect Tremayne must be given justice. Make his death look like an accident if at all possible.

Name: Boris Orushovich
Occupation: Hitman
Place of Residence: No. 14, 212 28th Street, Tarsus
Reward: 120,000 USD
Background: Orushovich has been taking contracts recently to kill local Imperial officials across the east, beginning to seriously hinder the flow of information on the situation there to Korronis. If this is not stopped, he may blind the Imperium to a large region of the Empire. Find him and kill him, and confiscate any weapons he may have stored in his house.

Name: Marcus Jamaane
Occupation: Banker
Place of Residence: 101 Way of Purity, Rashin
Reward: 150,000 USD
Background: For eight years, this man has embezzled money for the International. The Imperium, maintaining its close relationship with the International, has turned a blind eye while both Jamaane and the International profit from Imperial transactions. However, he recently used these embezzled funds to cover the costs of a terrorist cell in Mon Serat that has unleashed a wave of bombings on the city. He has crossed the line. Kill him and retrieve the embezzled funds he has stored in his apartment.

Name: Adolph Husselmann
Occupation: Opera writer
Place of Residence: Crown Tower, Korronis

Reward: 250,000 USD
Background: Husselmann is a respected opera writer, composing such great works as Uriel and The Fall of Apollyon, and has access to some of the most exclusive areas in Korronis. However, it has recently been proved that the assassination attempt on Crown Prince Antiochus’s life would not have been possible without Husselmann providing access to the Korronis Opera House. We suspect High Lord Asmodeus; however, bringing him to justice may spark the civil war that is brewing. Instead, simply kill Husselmann.

Name: Niccolo Borgia (TAKEN: Borman)
Occupation: Director of Palace Utilities
Place of Residence: Imperial Palace, Korronis
Reward: 200,000 USD
Background: Borgia, the descendant of Italian immigrants, is the Director of Palace Utilities, in charge of plumbing, heating, electricity, and other services to the Imperial Palace. He has a perfect criminal record; however, Inquisitorial monitoring of his phone conversations has revealed that he has been using the sewers to transport terrorists unseen through the city to bomb targets. This flaw in security will have to be taken care of...but before that happens, he must be killed.


IC: Lord Samael of clan Imilzor and his wife, the Lady Amalisa, were sitting in the sitting room of their manor, he reading the newspaper, she sipping an evening coffee and scratching their golden retriever behind the ears. They weren’t that old, but they were rich enough to retire to their estate at a fairly early age, along with their children and grandchildren. Lord Samael had tired of politics, and with his son Jahvan appointed a High Lord, he would get a job teaching political theory at a nearby university.
A heavy knock came from the entrance hall. Apparently somebody had gotten through the outer fence...Heaving his considerable bulk up from his armchair and grumbling about what he paid his guards, Samael walked out of the sitting room, through another room, and into the entrance hall. Opening the door, he found himself staring into the gun barrels of the Imperial Guard. The guns were silenced...and that was the last thought Lord Samael Imilzor ever had.
The Imperial Guardsmen moved through the house, sweeping each room. They were under orders to gun down everyone in the building, and the orders were from somebody that the Guard did not dare disobey. They were caught in the chain of command like a piece of meat between a wolf and a bear. Nevertheless, coolly they shot down High Lord Jahvan’s entire family. One by one.

Blood is, blood was, and blood shall always be.

Lord General Dharus, representative of the Sacred Emperor, sighed with boredom as he watched the other delegates squabbling over causes and crimes. High Lord Jahvan’s delegate was practically spitting poison over the murder of his master’s family. Regrettable, but the man was trying to use it as a political weapon. Disgusting. It disgraced his whole clan. The negotiator for High Lord Rahvin was pretending to be angry about the attack on Crown Prince Antiochus. Bastards, every one of them.

Leaning forward, Dharus burst into their conversation. “The fact is, gentlemen, that High Lord Jahvan’s family has been killed. The question is not who did it; that is immaterial. The more important question is what the High Lord did to provoke that person, and why would that person risk the wrath of a High Lord?” Dharus, like his friend High Lord Ishamael, had a talent for stating things that everybody had already noticed in a way that made it seem like it was completely new and surprising. Having dropped his comment into the fray, he leaned back, ignoring the heat of the Imperial summer inside his estate, the chosen ground for this travesty of a peace meeting. The Imperium was about to tear itself apart with war; somebody had pushed key people in key places, and too many of the High Lords wanted to get their chance at seizing the Iron Throne violently for a peace meeting to actually work.
Then something happened that nobody expected. An attendant, ashen-faced, came up to Dharus and whispered something in his ear. The other delegates strained to hear, or read the man’s lips, but couldn’t. All they noticed was the famous Lord General Dharus, a lion among the old guard of the High Command, turn as pale as his assistant. Excusing himself, the man rose, and that was the last they ever saw of him.
In the next room, Dharus hissed at the attendant, “How the fuck can you know there’s a bomb in here and NOT know where it is? How many places could there be to hide?”
“Sir, this building is full of equipment to prevent eavesdropping. This has the unfortunate effect of ensuring that we can only pick up the bomb extremely faintly. Certainly not enough to find it without physically looking. And looking in the conference room itself is not an option. It would be a violation of the terms of the conference to bring guards inside, and that could spark war if the delegates, who are all of course surreptitiously recording the meeting, manage to inform the High Lords of what happened.”
“You idiot, why the fuck should I care? It sure as shit is going to start a war if all the delegates are mysteriously killed by a bomb at a meeting that the Imperium called secretly. The Imperium won’t know what happened either, but do you think Asmodeus is going to listen when they deny that they killed all the delegates? What about Ishamael? The High Lords are powerful enough that they can start a conflict that will become the most devastating civil war the world has ever seen. The Legions themselves will fracture, and then suddenly the Imperium is fighting for its life against all the High Lords, who will then turn on each other, annihilating all but one. I want that bomb found. And if you do not find it, the war that follows will most certainly be your fault.”
Then the bomb, concealed beneath the conference table itself, began to beep in the next room. Horror rolled over Lord General Dharus. He ran inside, looking for the source of the beeping...and the bomb went off.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To our glorious allies:

I am not sure whether you are aware of this, but the Imperium is experiencing a great period of upheaval. This has happened before in our history, but never on such a scale, and before such deadly weapons as smart bombs and tactics like suicide bombings were invented. The chaos comes from a wave of terrorist activity, funded by a network of unknown people and organizations, some of whom are likely traitors within the hierarchy of the Imperium itself. To ensure that, if I am killed, the process of succession proceeds as law demands, I have named the traditional five High Lords who have the right to inherit the throne, though with lesser priority than my son and heir. These High Lords are the most powerful, wealthy, and capable men in the Imperium. It is a certainty that my son will be killed by one of them, and soon. After this, they will begin vying for the throne. Literally all institutions in the Imperium are divided over which should rule; the Prefects, the Inquisition, the people, even the Legions themselves. The spark has occurred that will set the field ablaze; envoys from the High Lords that were to resolve the issue peacefully have been killed by a bomb, set by the same group that is responsible for the terrorist attacks. It is now inevitable. The High Lords will declare war on the Imperium, and the Legions themselves will go their separate ways. A five-way civil war is about to erupt, and it will destroy the Empire. I hereby request the aid of our allies in dealing with this threat. I ask that you join the Imperium in battle to win this war. I would remind you that the character of some of those who would be king will not allow them to treat with any other nation, ally or no, and will force them to embark on a crusade, betraying and overthrowing their neighbors and consuming the earth, with the full force of the Legions, or if they fail, immolating their foes along with them using nuclear weapons, out of sheer spite. I will not let this happen. The Imperium has the potential to destroy a great deal if not controlled by a skilled master, and I ask you to recognize that I am that master, and that together by crushing this rebellion, we can avoid bloodshed on your doorstep.

His Divine Majesty Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon



The criminal case of the Imperium vs. Hooke, recorded this day, the eighteenth of April, in the year 2006 CE, concerning the interrogation of the defendant, Darian Hooke, by Inquisitor Vlad Tepes.

Q: Where were you on the night of March 21st? Specifially, 11:42 PM?
A: I was in my apartment on the Via Sonitu. 363 Via Sonitu, number twenty-four.
Q: So you, of course, deny that you remotely activated the bomb that killed nineteen Imperial citizens at the First Imperial Bank on Purgation Way, including High Priest Beelraaz Ithrik?
A: I do.
Q: Interesting. Tell me what you were doing.
A: I was with my girlfriend.
Q: Anyone else?
A: No.
Q: Tell me the name of this woman.
A: That’s none of your business!
Q: *activates torture machines* You would do well, Hooke, to tell me the information I request of you, or I will torture you to death right here. I assume you are aware that the law gives the Inquisition such powers. *shuts off machines*
A: *pants* Yes...I am....her name is Anne Martel. She’s ethnically French...born in Freudotopia.
Q: The same Anne Martel who worked at that time as High Priest Beelraaz’s secretary?
A: Yes.

Q: Your aparment and Ms. Martel’s were searched the day after the bombing. Can you think of anything you’ve left out, Hooke?
A: *gulps* No, Inquisitor. I don’t remember anything more.
Q: Strange. This was found in her apartment. *displays detonator* Have you seen this object before, Hooke?
A: No.
Q: You’re lying.
A: I swear! I’ve never seen it!
Q: You were caught on tape entering Ms. Martel’s apartment building minutes before the explosion. The device is not Ms. Martel’s; she testified so, and her testimony was verified. Who does this belong to, Hooke?
A: *sweats* Maybe one of her friends. Maybe one of mine. She was having a party that night.
Q: Oh? You said that you were alone in your apartment. Now you were attending a party in hers? Which is it?
A: I swear before the gods, I was at her apartment, and I was not alone.
Q: Your fingerprints are on this device, Hooke. You were indeed at her apartment, but you were most certainly alone. Records indicate that nobody but you and her entered or exited that apartment for a week before the bombing. Don’t insult me more with your pitiful lies, traitor.
A: Fuck you! You government sons of bitches, strutting around like everyone in this world was put here for you to play with! You want to kill me, then kill me, but all of them deserved it, and so did the priest! The dogma and the bullshit’s gone on too long, and it’s falling apart now, and you don’t know how to handle it. The whole fucking system’s gonna come down, man!
Q:You are raving. Take the terrorist away and execute him.

Note: The defendant was executed that night by beheading in prison. His trial, after content review by the Inquisition, was broadcasted on national television. Anne Martel was sold into slavery, as the judge determined she was not beyond rehabilitation. She now is one of Sacred Emperor Lucifer’s concubines.

END RECORD

Sacred Emperor Lucifer sat in his throne in the Hall of Confluence, the last of the supplicants lying prostrate before him. Truth be told, he wasn’t paying attention; the ritual was centuries old. The Sacred Emperor could overturn any court ruling-in fact, he could overturn pretty much whatever he wanted-and so the people came to him for a few hours a day on certain days, to bring him their pathetic struggles. Instead of listening to the wretch, Lucifer tilted his head back and remembered the video record of the destruction of the city of Auru, during the Czardaian War. Smiling, he recalled the international outrage at what the infidels called ‘slaughter’ or ‘war crime’...the visceral pleasure of watching missile after missile streak into a city and detonate...it was a sensation any adolescent boy would recognize: the desire to see things burn. The desire to pull the legs off insects, as it were; the Czardaians, in his mind, had been no better than that.

Then he scowled, his pleasure ruined. The voice was speaking to him. It was that same voice as always, that damned, annoying, saintly, corrupting, sacred, blaspheming, icy, burning voice: the voice that whispered in his ear; he would commit atrocity, drowning the voice in blood, but it always surfaced, always came back, until he wondered if it would ever be silenced. And it spoke to him; sometimes one thing, sometimes another, but never did it glorify him. Never did it speak to him in fear, in the voice of one of his people. No. This voice knew it could not be silenced, knew it could not be crushed, and it told him many things. But no matter the words, the goal of whatever demon it was who dared speak to him was always the same: rend, and divide, and bend, until the pulsing heart of madness that was the core of Lucifer of Domain Halcyon cracked, and shattered.

Rising from the throne, he bellowed at the supplicant, “The gods abhor your weakness and your complacency! We are not your servant, to lift you from your troubles! Leave this place, or we will beat you to death with your own severed arms!” The man rose, bowed hastily, and fled in terror. Lucifer sat back down, and thought. His brain churned, and he remembered that his nation was days or hours away from a devastating civil war. The four High Lords disloyal to him, all but Rahvin, would announce their secession any time now. Something had to be done, and the Imperium could not do it alone.
He beckoned to an attendant and said a few simple words: “Get me Generia. I need to speak to Varus.”

OOC: GE, now comes the conference part.

OOC: Since I am not your ally at the moment, I guess I will offer assistance having never recieved that other request for help.

IC:

To Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon
We have noticed that your great Empire is suffering under the strain of various rebellious factions who's only aim is to seize your glorious nation off the Imperium that rules it. Hence Frozopia is willing to assist in quelling the foolish terrorists and their friends and will offer any assistance we can: The Frozopian Royal Guard is well versed in putting down rebels, and we see it as our duty to restore peace in the chaos that looks to unfold.

Signed President Anderson, leader of the Mighty Democratic States of Frozopia

Edit: Inserting post:

IC:
“He’s here sir.”

“Excellent, let him in.”

The large mahogany door swung further open as a man cased in armor reminiscent of the Master Chief himself entered Bhalk’s personal chambers. Bhalk had seen this man almost as many times as he had seen his wife, as such fear did not take control of him as it would most people.

“Did you get those upgrades to your body armor?”

“Yes sir I did. Now there is basically nothing that can stop me but an army of Dinosaurs.”

“Well that’s excellent. I have some more bounty work for you, however, it is not my own. I know these payments are trivial compared to what your normally get, but its work and you love your work.”

“Who is it for if I may ask?”

“I’m sure you know of the Warmaster crisis. The Emperor has privately published this list. If you’re interested I’m sending over a century of dinosaurs and a small force of regulars, you may ride on those planes.”

“Would it be possible for me to take my jet? And I assume I may of course bring my team.”

“It is entirely up to you whether to bring your jet or team or both. However considering the current conflict, active camouflage would be advised to avoid spotting by hostiles.”

“Well then my team and I shall embark in several hours. Inform the Emperor I am on my way and will contact him when I arrive.”

“Most excellent. Good luck.”
-----------------------------------
The man known only as Viper left the Imperial Palace and activated his stealth as he crept away to gather up his team and fatten his bank account even further.
-----------------------------------
Official Imperial Communique:
…2VX Encryption…
…Transmission secured: Access net Pq7Rh3…

To: Emperor Lucifer
From: Chancellor Licinius

Viper will be making his way to your country with his team, don’t worry, you won’t notice his arrival. He shall contact you and begin work on removing your enemies. I believe he asked me to inform you to consider one “Adolph Husselmann” dead.

In addition we are dispatching a century of Dinosaurs and a currently undecided amount of regulars to help maintain order and find those related to the terrorist attacks.

End Transmission
…Deleting access net Pq7Rh3…

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE(s)

To Chancellor Licinius:

We are glad to hear of your involvement, and are rightly confident that the traitor will be dealt with. We insist that we be allowed to pay the expenses of this Viper; it would be our pleasure. Further, your military presence is gratefully received. We look forward to combat alongside you.

Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

To President Anderson of Frozopia:

We thank you for your offer of aid during these trying times. Rest assured that our gratitude goes with you. These terrorists are nothing more than criminals, and must be dealt with as such. It is refreshing to see a man of like mind. Let us stand together then, against the chaos and division that is the province of these terrorists. Victory is assured, though the threat may seem immaterial and mutable; when these fiends reveal themselves, they shall feel the pain of Imperial justice.

Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

The Holy Empress had two council rooms. The first was finely decorated, the officers she conferred with there wore dress uniforms. This was the one that was used in press releases, and declarations of war. The second, nested deep within the bowels of the Imperial Palace, was far more utilitarian. Maps and screens covered the walls. The metal table was barely visible under the pile of reports. And the men that were here to advise her? They wore comfortable clothing, though it all had on it the words 'Aesonic Staff'.

There was one exception. The man sitting directly across the table from her wore civilian clothing. He had an eminently forgettable face, and an equally forgettable name. Jonathan, Jake... the Empress sighed. That was part of what had made him an expert spy, before he slipped up and got hit by a car. The identity of the driver had never been found out, though the car had later been found at the bottom of a ravine. James, or whatever his name was, had been confined to a wheelchair. Since then, he had served as the Imperial Spymaster.

Now he was telling her something about Warmaster.

"I suggest that we wait until the situation develops further, Empress," he said, "If we aid one side and they win, we will have gained a powerful ally. If we aid a faction and they lose, however, we may well gain an enemy."

The Empress nodded.

A young soldier made his way down the large and forboding halls of the capital building. His target was at the end of the hall, his mission, a meeting with the Commandant, Cyrus Lanier. The young man didn't bother with knocking, he knew the response he would get if he did. He opened the door, and hit the deck as three bullets went flying past him.

"Sir, important information for you," the boy yelled from his prone position. He started getting up.

"What is it," came the voice of the man that was aproaching an advanced age for a soldier.

"The situation in Warmaster has become more intense, apparently assassination contracts have been put out on key personell,"

"Let me see them, boy," he said, grabbing the papers. He looked them over for a minute before speaking again. "Send word out to Valerie, she has work. I believe she should be able to handle this....... Boris fellow."

"Aye sir, what about the rest of the contracts?"

"Send them out to the open board, if any of them feel they can take a crack at it, let them go."

"Aye sir," the boy said before running back out of the office to take care of the leaders wishes.

The boy entered a small office down the hall from the Commandants room. He sent out a message to all Nofian special ops. The message contained a list of the 'hits' and a short message saying who to contact.

A message was almost instantly sent back from an individual named 'Kiley Nessa.' Her interest was in the seemingly lonely Niccolo Borgia.

Official Imperial Communique:
encryption

To: Emperor Lucifer
From: Cyrus Lanier

Valerie will be more than interested in taking care of your hitman problem. She has a few surprises he may not take to well. Your primary concern should not be with his 'former' occupation, but rather at midnight, tonight, on the far western shore of your nation on how to transport our operative to a more civil locale.

It seems someone has taken an interest in your italian problem as well. Her transportation issue has been taken care of.

End Transmission
end encryption

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE(s)

To Chancellor Licinius:

We are glad to hear of your involvement, and are rightly confident that the traitor will be dealt with. We insist that we be allowed to pay the expenses of this Viper; it would be our pleasure. Further, your military presence is gratefully received. We look forward to combat alongside you.

Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

Private Communique:
…2VX Encryption…
…Transmission secured: Access net Ph5Rh3…

To: Emperor Lucifer
From: Viper

Licinius has forwarded your response to me and I will add transportation and other related fees to my bill at the end (including the contract prices upon completion). I am most intrested in, obviosuly, the higher paying contracts. I shall work my way down from there and when you have no more targets I may remain to do work for my government.

Would you be able to provide details on Adolph Husselmann? The more I know when we arrive, the less time before you can bury him.

P.S. We are on our way to your country. Seeing as you are part of the CAD continent we will be there in less than an hour.

End Transmission
…Deleting access net Ph5Rh3…

OOC: I'm killing off a non-named character and Tremayne Ithrik, just to enter in with a bit of a bang. Code words are not known at the time of the delivery of the letter, but are for future RP.

-=-=-The Day of the Assension of the High Lords-=-=-
The boats slipped through the silky darkness, the land ahead of them only a faint darkness that neatly contrasted the moonless sky and the shimering oceans. With the country in total disarray, this insertion was a joke. The men, numbering a scant 900, were not the first forces in country, and had 3 days to reach rally points.

Everything had been taken care of in advance by the 100 agents in place. Shell companies were set up to recieve rotten potatos, fruits, and industrial parts concealing Barrett "Light 50" M82A1 anti material rifles, silenced MP5-n sub machine guns, HK-MSG 90 long rifles, and a few General Dymanics M312 heavy machine guns. Truck drivers carrying arms to be destroyed were bribed, and containers of "camera and lighting equipment" hid Javelin anti-tank missile systems. assports and identification documents were procured, and targets were tracked. No one suspected a thing.

-=-=-The Day before the Opera House Bombing-=-=-
High Inquisitor Eliseo Riccardo had just finished a long day and was walking up the steps to his 3 story brick and mortar house.

"Hmmm, something isn't quite right in here", he thought. "The stereo system is on! I didn't use it this morning, but who in their right mind would break into MY house?" Riccardo walked to the wall console that controlled his security system, but found that all systems were fully armed. He reached for his phone to call the police, but stopped when Pink Floyd's "Time" started to play on the stereo. He turned around only in time to see the gun pointed in his face. Investigators would rule it a suicide; the assassin left no evidence to the contrary.

Meanwhile, across town, Tremayne Ithrik was doing much the same. Although he did not know it, he was in the sights of two snipers as soon as he rounded the corner of 165th street where his penthouse was located. Should he attempt to flee, the engine block and tires of his car would be shot out, causing him to crash. Much like Eliseo, a fire team was waiting for him to enter the apartment. Exit routes were prepared in the event that something went wrong. While the team was armed, they would be unable to deal with a large police response, which would definatly foul future plans up.

"Alpha 1, this is Bravo 2, target approaching building" one of the snipers wispered into his headset. "Advise, target will enter within 20 seconds."
"Rodger that Bravo 2, going into radio silence" replied the lance corporal.
Ithrik walked along the path to his door, not knowing that he had two, fifty-caliber anti-material rifles trained on him. As soon as he opened the door and took a step in, he was siezed by a gloved hand and a black bag was forced over his head. Ithrik nearly soiled himself.

"Tremayne Ithrik, you have been charged with embezzlement of government funds, treason against the emperor, sedition, and heresy, the punishment of which is death. Your government has found you guilty."

One of the men force-fed him an overdose of sleeping pills, and hung him.

-=-=-Opera House Bombing-=-=-
The men were in place, and had recieved most of their munitions. All the houses were bought with cash in slum neighborhoods, where the presence of armed men were largely ignored and the government was looked at ambiviantly. Within 20 minutes of the bombing, wax-sealed letters in golden envelopes, typed in size 12 Times New Roman font, bearing the seal of a screaming eagle, were dispatched to the high lords. They would be delivered via a parcel delivery service, at around 11:00 local time (PM). Two letters are shown below.

The letter addressed to Asmodeus Vasraad
Dear Most Esteemed Lord Asmodeus Vasraad,
Enclosed are two pictures you might find interesting. One is of a certain High Inquisitor Eliseo Riccardo, who committed suicide last night by his own hand. Another is a most peacful Tremayne Ithrik. We trust you know him well. When he does not show up for work, police will investigate. He will be found dead, having hung himself. We assure you that these were no accidents. Tomorrow you will recieve a package in your mail room. It will contain a code word (Glory) and a piece of colored chalk. Have one of your employees write the word with the chalk on the lampost at the corner of your office.

The letter addressed to Rahvin Ares
Dear Most Esteemed Lord Rahvin Ares,
Enclosed is a picture of a very dead Tremayne Ithrik. We trust you know of him, since your government put a hit out on him. His death will be ruled suicide, with no apparent motive. Just as we reached this man, we can reach any man in your country. Tomorrow you will recieve a package in your mail room. It will contain a code word (Honor) and a piece of colored chalk. Have one of your employees write the word with the chalk on the lampost at the corner of your office.

The remaining letters, sent to the 3 unaligned Lords; Avaru Miradin, Jahvan Imilzor, and Ishamael Sadow, followed the same format as Rahvin Ares. The codewords were "Union," "Praise," "Light," respectably. One last letter was sent to the Crowned Prince, Antiochus Halcyon. It read:

"Dear Most Glorious Antiochus Halcyon,
We did not make the attempt on your life. However, one of our men was within 30 feet of you during the attack, charged with tailing you. That was a nice red jacket the usher that took your ticket was wearing. It is a shame that it was soiled as such. As we hope to make clear, your security detail cannot help you against us, no matter how thick the walls you hide behind, no matter how many men you have around you. We do not come to kill you, however, but wish to offer you an opportunity. Tommorrow, the palace will receive a package containing a piece of chalk and a code word (Bridge). If you are interested, have someone write the word in the open on the mail box at the street corner of your palace. Finally, we have enclosed a picture of Tremayne Ithrik shortly after his death by hanging. He was an enemy of the state, and you placed a hit on him. Please take this as a sign of good faith.


Now all there was to do was wait.

OOC: and off we go!

IC:

An official communique went from the Office of the Emperor

Official Communique... Encrypting at level 5
To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
From: Bill Lloyd, High Emperor of Jipleastan

We have heard of the dire situation that your empire has happened upon,
we would like you to know that when and if a civil war erupts you
can count on us to help you defeat the betrayers and traitors.
Jipleastan has many divisions of its army just waiting for battle,
if you wish, they can arrive in your country in under 60 hours. Again,
we reaffirm our pledge to help you in any way possible.
If needed, the Jipleastani High Seas Fleet can be dispatched within
a day to blockade any seceding provinces.

Signed,
High Emperor Bill Lloyd
Emperor of Jipleastan

Mer des Ennuis, I suggest you RP your actual assassination of Tremayne Ithrik. I don't ask you to delete the other one, just...the more detail, the better, and it helps for all of us to know what happened more precisely.

Inevitable duties of the vizier, at least if not my own, then those of my homeland and my Emperor. The Empire asks it, I dance, we dance. The Empire is silent, so I speak, we speak. Sing for your supper, oh mighty diplomat! Cross the oceans to treat with the unwashed, the barbaric, the blind, the insane, and heal them with your honey tongue, lest we lose face in the times of our rejuvenation.

They bleed.

Let them bleed.


Our duty says otherwise. Save them. Save the Empire. Save ourselves.




For the good of all and all for the good, [ ] speak.




Lord Varus slept soundly on the floor at the foot of his bed. For nearly three years he had been unable to sleep in a bed, an injury to his back sustained during the chaotic anarchy of the Praetor Rising making a mattress to him an item of torture. Behind his lids, his eyes darted rapidly, back and forth, scanning the darkest, deepest extents of his eminently sane mind. Yet was it possible for a sane man to dream? He wondered often, but was never able to find a conclusion, long having been unable to remember the visions that danced on the inside of his blackened lids.

“Milord..”

The door creaked as the voice drifted in, a low baritone, the Imperial native tongue. Varus woke but his eyes remained closed as he dissected the voice. It had been four days since he had last heard the tongue of his homeland. His diplomatic mission to the Warmaster had seen him moving alone throughout the nation, examining the situation. His personal entourage had been excused from the duty, Varus instead taking on native assistants who understood the land and its situation more clearly. Now, he had at last returned to Korronis, the gray citadel, the land of the kings and the gods and the demons of the waking light. A storied city, spoken of rarely in Generia.

“Milord?”

Varus sat up.

“Yes, Sandor?”

The enormous figure of Varus’s personal bodyguard, a Praetorian veteran who had lost both his eyes in the Rising, appeared as a silhouette in the gloom of the doorway. A slight light illuminated his face, bringing out the fire of his blood red beard, twisted and knotted at his chest. His skull bore a fading tattoo of an old Praetorian legion, one he still owed his life and his loyalty to long after the rest of its warriors had been massacred at the battle of Generia City. The deep black of his eye sockets turned a fading gray as the light roved over them, imperceptible to him.

“Milord, His Divinity, the Emperor has called for you.”

Varus cringed inwardly.

God-Emperor. Perversion of the light. Perversion of the sound. Perversion of the ineluctable modality. His Divinity, The Sacred God-Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon.

“Very well.”

Varus rose, revealing a muscular upper frame, pockmarked here and there by the remnants of old incisions and fading tattoos.

“Inform him that I’ll be arriving shortly.”

He moved towards the door of the expansive bathroom, and turned on the silver taps. The warm water flowed into the sink, and the Generian King’s chief advisor submerged his face in the bowl. He held his breath, feeling the blood beginning to slowly pound against his skull as the water grew hotter, scalding his face first and then his entire head and neck as it soaked into his long hair. The pounding grew until he could hear nothing and feel nothing but his heart against his skull.

Definition of the physical. Strangulation of the intellectual. Thump. thump. thu-

He pulled his head back, gasping in the hot air, letting it fill his lungs, his chest exploding outward to the fullest extent his ribcage would allow. He brought his eyes level with the mirror. An old young man looked back at him. Blue-gray eyes. Black circles.

Inevitable.

He toweldried his face and tied his black hair back, moving out into the bedchamber. Gold and silver adorned the room, a guest bedroom fit for an Emperor. Fit for an Empire. Mammon bejeweled and christened by the Modeler’s souls.

He dressed himself. The clothing of the grand Imperial diplomat. A luxurious jacket, the Imperial seal, all in red and black. He turned, and through the distant door of the bathroom he saw himself again in the mirror and felt nothing. He turned to the large double doors and as he approached they opened. He stepped into the hall, joined by the blind Sandor, and they departed, moving off towards the God-Emperor’s viewing chamber.

OOC: Yeah, I'll be setting up an OOC thread. I should have made note of this before, but suicide is completely out of the question. Culturally, suicide is regarded as sinful, dishonorable, and generally a sign of weakness and dereliction of duty. When I establish the OOC thread, I'll tell you more about Imperial psychology, but for now, I would recommend setting it up as an honor killing by a rival clan. Use whatever clan you want; some clan names include clans Jafar, Crovax, Vasraad, Merov, Pall, Imilzor...I should have given you all more info about the Imperium.

IC: The Hall of Confluence. Titanic, by anyone's standards. Some said a cathedral could fit in the massive space; it was ridiculous, but the room seemed much bigger than it truly was, with pillars that dwarfed the most ancient redwoods and doors that could accomodate war elephants. It was a sign of Imperial power. It was a sign of Imperial wealth. It was a sign of Imperial grandeur.

And every Sacred Emperor had retreated here to brood in the shadows, to wonder if those before them had felt the burden of divinity and despaired...this was the room where conquerors with such mighty names as Uriel, Abaddon, Asriel...and Lucifer...had silently admitted their weakness.

Doors forty feet tall and more creaked open, and the herald entered, not daring to walk more than ten paces before bowing his head and intoning, "Divine One, I announce the advent of Lord Varus of Generia, Vizier of the Generic Empire. By your permission does he wait to enter."

Lucifer raised his head from his fingertips and glared at the herald. His hand twitched toward the pistol beside him, then corrected itself, then tried to grasp the weapon again before his conscious mind stopped it. He leaned back against the Iron Throne, exulting in its hardness; uncomfortable it may have been, but it was a lifeline. The day that the Iron Throne was comforting would be the day when the Imperium burned.

"Admit him," he said. Courtesy be damned. Custom be damned. They would meet, and they would lie to each other, and they would go forth to plot again. Such was the reward of the Deceiver.

The doors slammed shut, and he sipped from a bottle of bourbon to soothe him. It was time.

A line of smoke trailed from the thin cigar. Varus's fingertips clasped the body of the thing as smoke trailed from the corners of his mouth and through his nostrils. He removed it slowly as he heard the herald's footsteps returning, and crushed the end on the top of a small cigarette box. He replaced the rest of the thing in the box and closed the lid, replacing it in his coat pocket as the herald's deathly pale features again greeted him.

"By his infinite grace and wisdom, you may enter the presence of the Sacred Emperor."

Varus gave no acknowledgement, but simply stepped through the open door, walking towards the throne at the end of the cavernous chamber. His eyes did not rove, nor did they settle, for the vastness of his thoughts held his attention far more surely than did that of the room. It was cold. This much he noticed, and the echoes and the shadows seemed to rule here far more surely than the small figure in the distance.

He came thirty paces before the throne, and knelt quickly, bowing his head out of politesse.

"Your lordship, I hear that you have called for me."

He stood again and looked the man in the eyes.

Lucifer looked Varus in the eye. They'd never met before, but every contour of his face was familiar. How? In his mind, Varus reeked of deceit and lies. Hidden motives. The fool was trying to profit from Imperial chaos...what? The thougt vanished like a mirage. Like it had never existed. Idly he wondered how the gods thought, if they too suffered from the prayers and love and hatred of billions.

Lucifer shook his head to clear it. When was the last time he had slept? A year. Ten years. Never. It was hard to tell the difference between nightmare and reality. When monsters lurk in the waking world too, dreams and awareness are the same hell.

"Lord Varus. Thank you for coming on such short notice; the Imperium owes a debt to you and to Generia. May I offer you a drink? Food? Such would be the least I could do for an ally in this time of need."

He smiled inwardly. He saw the Deceiver dancing in the shadows, and the Deceiver saw him.

Dance. Dancing. The Devil's Dance Floor. Dance faster and faster until the thought, the nightmare, the hatred the rage the love the serenity the godlessness the faith flies off...

And there is silence.

"My constellation reclines in its den in heaven; some men call me the Great Bear, but others the Offspring of a Dragon. Moreover, a smaller constellation accompanies my constellation, for the high position and throne of my father is always in the sky. So do not ask me so many things, Solomon, for eventually your kingdom will be divided. This glory of yours is temporary. You have us to torture for a little while; then we shall disperse among human beings again with the result that we shall be worshipped as gods because men do not know the names of the angels who rule over us."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I must decline," Varus spoke coldly, but without menace.

"I am aware of the troubles your Empire is facing these days, and have seen for myself the strife in the provinces. You may certainly know that whatever Generia can do to aid you, she will."

"Excellent. Again you have our thanks.

"The most potent threat to the Imperium...at least, that we are able to fight strength-to-strength...is High Lord Ishamael. He commands a significant portion of the traitorous Legions. He is no fool; I will not order his assassination because, quite frankly, there is no way it will succeed at this time. High Lord Asmodeus is likely the greatest threat, but in a different way. He commands a network of terrorists stretching across the nation, a ball of thread whose filaments trickle into Mon Serat, into Korronis, into Susa, into any and every major city. He is invisible, and immaterial, and fighting him will be difficult. However, I am aware that you may know this, and now I ask this of Generia: send aid.

"I have heard of Tank McBrain and Boo Radley, the assassin duo; I wish their presence, as they will be an inestimable advantage against High Lord Asmodeus. My own best assassins, the Southern Gentleman and the Fat Director, better known as Dr. Jacob Seuss and Sir Topham Hatt, are being summoned and are on their way to the Intelligence Division Headquarters as we speak. More concretely, I ask Generia to send military forces to confront the High Lords."

OOC: I can’t remember if you are north or west of me, but I’ll rp as if you’re north, if you’re west, then just change the directions and places.

…Encrypting…
…2VX Encryption complete…

Official Imperial Communiqué:

To: Emperor Lucifer
From: Chancellor Licinius

At this time we are transporting the first and second naval fleets to northern Freudian bases, the third to a northern Generian base. If need does arise of our naval forces they shall be quickly deployed to blockade, battle, or do whatever else is necessary.

Also, we are moving the first army to Northern military bases in Borman so they will be able to be transported to Warmaster very quickly if need be. If more soldiers are needed they are available for transport.

…Transmission secured: Access net f3jC24s…

If new assassination contracts do open up we ask they you offer them first to Viper and then to others after he turns them down, which he most likely will not. However, we do recognize that we have no jurisdiction and this field and thus this is completely a request. In addition, we do have other assassins available for deployment.

We have mobilized a small force of Raptors and are working on finishing mobilization of the rest of the group. When it is done they shall be sent to Warmaster.

…Deleting access net f3jC24s…
End Transmission
------------------------------------------
Before sliding the letters into envelopes Viper’s assistant, Tom, looked them over for a final time.

Dear sir,

It is my honor to inform you that my employer is currently offering Warmaster for sale. Not literally of course, while he could do it, he much more prefers the close intimate work. As such he pursues a career as an assassin, and is damn good at it. Any people, forces, groups, etc. that are in the way of your political goals can be removed for a price. He has single-handedly changed the face of this world. His work has changed governments, made colonies, brought independence, established slavery, ended slavery, started and ended civil wars, kept governments in power, and more. Higher ups in governments throughout the world, especially CAD governments, know his name like the back of their hands. He is now offering you his services.

If you are interested please enclose a piece of paper in an envelope and leave it with the man who informed you of this letter. In it include the name of the mark, location, age, occupation, accomplices, previous military/law enforcement history (if any), and suggested payment amount. Include on the bottom your cell phone number so we can more easily communicate with you. You will then be contacted with the price we are asking for the mark, and if it is too high for you then we shall disregard that you ever gave us any information of the specific target. Our prices are our own and non-negotiable, other than that the contract is basically your choosing.

Thank you,
The people changing this war.

With a nod of satisfaction the letters were enclosed in six different envelopes. Five of them would be dropped off with people employed by business near the residences of high lord, with instructions to inform the high lords people that they had a message for them. The sixth was left in the imperial chamber on the prince’s pillow.

Some of the Special Forces men were charged with contacting the various High Lords. Major Alexander Szilárd and his team were not one of them. Their orders were, in absence of a working contract, were to create high-profile assaults on comparatively “soft” targets. This would not only spread chaos, but it would likely increase the demand for their more legitimate services. Such attacks, even if they appeared to be accidents, would undoubtedly increase public unrest.

Today, they would be hitting a known International safe house and potential bomb factory in the slums of Ko. Preliminary recon expected no more than 10 International members, some of whom were enforcers. This attack, if successful, would coincide with the explosion of petrol delivery at a gas station and the explosion of a natural gas pipeline in the city of Korronis. The gas station was a guaranteed success; it was unguarded; all that would be required was the shooting of the gasoline tank as it deposited its load into the underground tanks. Such a fire would keep the fire brigades, and necessary police backup busy for a while. The gas line would also be easy; a marksman had found an exposed line construction workers were busy on. Once this line was punctured, the fireball would shoot sixty feet in the air, causing severe damage to surrounding buildings.

Major Szilárd and his fire team were armed with Fabrique Nationale P90 sub machine guns. If the Internationals were wearing Kevlar, standard MP5/10’s would not kill them. Two snipers, armed with suppressed Heckler and Koch MSG-90 rifles had taken spots providing frontal visibility in an abandoned building 150 feet from the front door of the International building. The squad was composed of eight men broken down into two elements of four, three with P90s, one with a Spas 12. It would be at least another week until a SPAS-15 could be smuggled into the country and distributed. All had two flash-bang grenades, as well as two fragmentation grenades. They would roll up to the building in a white van marked “Al’s Fish and Chips,” kick the door in, kill everyone inside, and bail. They would then drive into an alley and rip the decals off. No one would suspect a van marked “Sympathy Flowers” would be holding a veritable SWAT team. The crew was ready to roll. It was 7:30 AM, local time. Szilárd spoke into his headset

“Zulu 1 2, this is Echo Team, moving out. ETA 2 minutes, 30 seconds.”
“Rodger Echo Team, Zulu 1 in position, target sighted.”
“Zulu 2 in position, target sighted.”
“Any word on if the other attacks were successful?”
“Rodger Echo, sirens are heading off into the distance, you should be clear”
“Bus is moving out”

Nothing had changed so far. The van was approximately 30 seconds out, and the door guard hadn’t moved more than a few feet as he lit a cigarette. The van quietly pulled to a stop in front of the building. Zulu 1 trained his rifle on the door while Zulu 2 aimed for the guard.
“Whats this?” thought the guard. He approached the van when the panel door slid open, revealing 10 heavily armed, heavily armored men. He didn’t even have time to think “Oh shit! ” before a 7.62 x 51 mm bullet entered his brain. The three youths loitering about started running, while an elderly man
“Tango down” Zulu 2 reported.

The team ran to the door, with Corporal Georgs Andrejs taking point with a Spas 12.

“Breaching” yelled Andrejys, firing a solid slug at the locking mechanism. One kick later and the door swung open. The guard behind the door was met with a triple round to the head. Speed was of the essence, since it was only a matter of time before the civil authorities arrived. The front door led into a hallway and a stair. Element 1, lead by Szilárd took the one door, while the other element lead by Sergeant Oleksiy Bohdan took the stairs up.

Element One kicked the door open, revealing 3 guards. One had drawn a pistol, but was eviscerated by two rounds from the SPAS. One of the men threw a flash bang grenade, blinding both the two men. The team entered, killing both of the now-crippled men.

The upstairs posed a different problem: there were three doors. The team took a holding position, with one man on each door.
“Zulu Team, this is Echo 2. Whats the status on the two street-side rooms?”
“Echo 2, Zulu 1, western window clear. Eastern window has 3 men. I’m waiting for a shot. All appear to be armed and are drawing their weapons.”
Element 2 reformed around the door, ready to breech it. 2 quick shots rang out, accompanied by the sound of glass breaking.
“Zulu 2, tango down. Echo 2, be advised, I cannot get a shot on the other 2. They appear to be armed with pistols”
“Rodger, echo 2 preparing to breach”

With that, the point man kicked the door in, but backed up to allow another man to roll a a flash bang into the room. Within a second of it going off, the 3 charged the room, which appeared to be a money counting set up, and killed both the International members. However, two International enforcers with sawed off shot guns chose this time to make their last stand, throwing the door open and firing. A total of 4 shots were fired, one from the P 90 at the door, another from Zulu 1. All targets were down. The total time elapsed was 3:30. Both elements, upon checking all rooms, made for the van, jumped in, and left. All three attacks had gone as planned. Two massive fires were raging beyond immediate control, and criminals were lying dead in the streets. It couldn’t have gone better.

The Southern expanse. Wide rolling hills, carpeted in blue-green grass. A gray patchwork cloud through which the white sun streams, dancing over the pockmarked landscape. In the distance, the roar of thunder, the white trails of artificial falling stars. At anchor drift the machines of the great engineers of our destruction. Ancient banners, modern standards, racing legless through the smoke. Generia waits, silent. Oh, for war’s sweet peace of mind.

Varus studied his counterpart, scrutinizing the fabled Sacred Being’s expression, vocal tone, trying to judge his thoughts. It was a mad task. The mind of the adversary was rooted, like his nation, in the twisted wisdom of a Deceptive God.

Varus spoke.

“I am aware that the exploits of Tank McBrain and Boo Radley during the Ismerian conflict have become well known among certain circles. However, I must confess that I am currently unaware of the whereabouts of both of these men. Imperator Saul Hudson has been out of contact for some time, and as he is the only link to Mr. Radley, I am afraid that until such time as he returns his attention to the foreground, the duo will remain disjointed. Tank McBrain’s whereabouts are also a mystery to me. Generian Military Intelligence was authorized as of three months ago to release him into the custody of the Imperial Intelligence Service, and Emperor Kazatmiru himself. I will bring these matters to His Grace’s attention immediately, however, and report to you on the possibility of introducing these elements into the current situation.”

“However, I have also been asked by the Imperial General Staff and Emperor Kazatmiru himself to bring to your attention a particular new weapon in the Imperial arsenal. A detachment of Black Guard units selected for participation in a team suited to such jobs as you have specified. With your permission, I will authorize General Iljevo in the General Staff offices to deploy this unit to your shores to commence operations against the targets you specify, to serve at your beck and call with Imperial authorization.”

To His Divine Majesty the Sacred Emperor:

I have received word of a raid on an International safehouse. Rumor has it that heavily armed and well-trained men were behind the assault, and the International, naturally, is wary of such organized opponents. I have been instructed to ask you if the Imperium sanctioned such an act, and if so, to warn you that an all-out war between the International and the Imperium is something neither of us wants. I hope this letter finds you well amid the current turbulent state of affairs.

Sincerely,
Samuel Marchosias

Ernine Ezras made her way through the dank sewers, which now served as an underground highway for terrorists. She had worked a deal with this Niccolo Borgia fellow. She was to meet him and offer him his payment somewhere around here. Her escort was unseen, and worked highly efficiently in the darkness of the sewers. All of her instincts hated this upfront confrontation, but if she remained calm, nothing would go wrong.

She waited at the spot specified, and she only carried a briefcase that supposedly carried his payment. Before too long she smelt the distinct smell of a cigarette, and the glow of one hovered in the darkness. She remained silent. Sparks flew as the Italian lit a lighter, illuminating just enough to see her. He started to speak, but was silenced as a tranqulizer stuck into his throat. He gasped as he fell into the the stream of waste water. Two men that followed him cocked their weapons, trying to see their way around the darkness of the sewers. Behind the taller one, from the ceiling, an unseen person wrapped piano wire around his throat, lifting him up off of the ground. The lifeless body dropped to the ground, gurgling out the trapped air, alerting his buddy as to what had happened. He opened fire, and was met with a knife in his back, it twisted and the goon felt nothing more than pain as he fell to the other side.

Ernine had already bound and gagged the very full of life Italian, who was now being picked up by one of her unseen comrades. The soldiers carried his limp body to the entrance he had instructed them to use. The sewer pipe drained into the sea, and in twenty minutes would be destroyed by an explosion. The soldiers entered a small boat, carrying their bounty. The zodiac would then make it's way far enough from the shore to be picked up by a helicopter.

The next day
Niccolo Borgia woke up to find himself strapped to a table, his head pounding with a massive headache from the drugs. The bright white room was empty, and he was feeling uncertain. The door, the only door, opened, and through it walked a woman. Niccolo looked at her, his mind fuzzy. Then it hit him, this was the woman from the night before, her name, Ernine Ezras. His face became cold, and filled with anger.

"Good afternoon, meatwad, I believe you already know who I am," she said, a sickening smile was on her face.

She was met with silence.

"I'm going to ask you once, and only once," her smile dug even deeper, and her hands were hidden behind her back, "What was the purpose of allowing terrorists through the sewers?"

"Fuck you, you two timing slut!" Was the only response she got.

"My, my, that was the wrong answer," she said as her smile became a frown, and her hands revealed a meat cleaver. The cleaver came down on his right hand, cutting off three of his fingers and the tip of his thumb. He screamed in pain as the fingers shot foreward and a little bit upwards from the force of the blow. She fingered a second implement that couldn't be seen by Niccolo, as he had closed his eyes.

"You see," she yanked off one of his fingernails, "I was given orders," off with another, "to let you live," a third became popped off, "so long as you cooperated," four, "However," five, "I didn't like those orders." The sixth fingernail came off after a little struggle, "I couldn't disobey them, so I found a loop hole." The last fingernail was now sitting in the grip of the pliers she held. "So long as you never answered the question I posed, I could do what I want with you."

She stuck a cloth in his mouth so no further communication from him was possible. She grabbed a strange looking device, and flipped a switch filling the room with a low buzzing noise. Blood streamed down the table from where she had chopped off his fingers, and suddenly the smell of searing flesh filled the room when she cauterized his wounds. Muffled screams filled the room as the cauterizing iron was placed on the back of his hand, and ran up his arm slowly, searing the flesh. She put the iron down and grabbed a new instrument.

She cut all the flesh, muscle, and tissue of his other arm away from the bone, liberally cauterizing behind her hand work. Once the bone was detached, she left it there, knowing that even if he got away, it would never heal properly.

Her attention was then averted to an entirely different part of his body, his head. The part from which so far only muffled screams had found home. Now the cold hand of the Iron Maiden would find sanctuary in this plethora of pain and psychological wonder. A metal clamp fitted perfectly in his jaw, and the rag was removed. His screams were now muffled not because of an obstruction, but rather because of an immobile, and incredibly open jaw. What sounded like the pleas of a child who had skinned his knee escaped the Italians mouth, but a knife slice would remedy that as his tounge was now missing. The device made a cameo here as well, cauterizing his tounge.

Tears welled up in the eyes of the grown man, this was more pain than he had ever dreamed of. A knife reached around, and with expert precision cut his eyelids away. Blood irritated his eyes, which caused a reflex, he tried to close his eyes, only causing more blood to irritate them.

Her routine went on for hours, until finally the bodily functions of the italian were physically impossible. He was dead after seven hours of being tortured.

Ernine left the building, her smile showed to all who knew her exactly what she had done. She rode off to her home, where she would send in a confirmation of the Italians death.

Official Imperial Communique:
encryption

To: Emperor Lucifer
From: The Iron Maiden

I assure you, your Italian problem has been taken care of. Further action should be taken immediatly to prevent any further entry into your illustrious nation as soon as possible. If you wish confirmation of his death, we have his body in our custody, and would be more than willing to send it as proof of his death. Payment shall be placed in five different plain brown envelopes, sent on five seperate days. These envelopes should be sent to:

Susan Faulkner
718 Blair street
PO box 758
Plano, Flaming Ninja Death, 99876

End Transmission
end encryption

Tagged this thread has been.

--Yoda

OOC: First off, I'm sorry I haven't been extremely active; but there've been a lot of responses, and I have to address them all, which will take time.

Mer des Ennuis, I have a few issues. Nothing personal, but you've been warned.

1. Oil tankers are designed to be as well-defended against situations like these as possible. Most Imperial tankers, and certainly one delivering to Korronis, would be very well-armored indeed, as would its tanks. Further, you never specified, I believe, how you got these weapons into the country. The Imperium is basically a closed society; foreigners are watched closely and suspiciously, and it would be tricky to avoid airport/port security with a Javelin system in tow.

2. It is godmoding to say, without my permission, that the power stations are unguarded or guarded only by rent-a-cops. True, the Imperium can't guard every power plant and station with crack troops, but in Korronis they would be guarded by either the Imperial Guard (military police) or Legionaries. Now, I'm sure that you may say that it's stupid to say I'm guarding everything. Superficially, my reply may seem stupid, but it's true. In Korronis, everything is guarded. It is the economic, political, military, religious, cultural, and diplomatic capital of the Empire. Therefore, it's also the biggest target you could imagine. Not being stupid, the Sacred Emperors therefore made it possibly the best-defended cities in the world. The traditional distrust of foreign strangers makes finding spies easier, and though the city may be massive, there is a permanent garrison force of quite a few people, plus air support, armor, etc...point is, it can't be done this casually.

IC: OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To High Emperor Bill Lloyd:

We owe you profound thanks for your intervention in this time of need. Naval support is needed, true, due to the threat posed by High Lord Jahvan, but just as urgent is the arrival of Jipleastani ground forces, if at all possible. At the moment there is a calm before the storm, but I fully expect the High Lords to begin fighting in earnest in less than a week. Reinforcements would be gratefully accepted. We look forward to fighting alongside you.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

OOC: I've temporarily removed the post in question, we can pretend its never happened. That being said, I believe I specifically mentioned a javelin weapons system smuggled into the country disguised as "camera parts," which would make some of it appear legit. That and fruit/produce that appears to be rotten is unlikely to be totally searched, probably just ordered to be destroyed. As for substations: few are guarded since they aren't usually manned. They are also in semi-remote locations, making them even more unlikely to be manned, and are (at least in the US), being upgraded to make them redundant. As for oil: there have been many oil-tank fires in the past, with one occuring in New York a few years ago. However, i'll debate hitting softer targets, such as petroleum stations and the like.

OOC: I've temporarily removed the post in question, we can pretend its never happened. That being said, I believe I specifically mentioned a javelin weapons system smuggled into the country disguised as "camera parts," which would make some of it appear legit. That and fruit/produce that appears to be rotten is unlikely to be totally searched, probably just ordered to be destroyed. As for substations: few are guarded since they aren't usually manned. They are also in semi-remote locations, making them even more unlikely to be manned, and are (at least in the US), being upgraded to make them redundant. As for oil: there have been many oil-tank fires in the past, with one occuring in New York a few years ago. However, i'll debate hitting softer targets, such as petroleum stations and the like.

((OOC: If I may speak for The Warmaster here, you have to understand that this nation is not America. In actuality, it's quite likely the opposite in many cases. Here it would not be unlikely for substations to be heavily guarded, and for every possibility to be taken into account, as it is a paranoid nation, a large nation, and a heavily militarized and repressed nation. Therefore, many of your assumptions on culture, steeped in your own American/western sensibilities would be faulty. Just check with The Warmaster next time before you go out on a limb like you do, since some of your assumptions might not be correct and could cause some headbutting.))

OOC: We need an OOC thread... that being stated, I'm going to clear it with warmaster, though I can imagine that, as is true in any heavily repressed yet heavily armed (though apparently small arms only), there is a lively black market/drug market. Even countries without a heavy user population still have a drug traffiking problem, so I will probably use that route to smuggle additional arms in.

Imperial Communique
Encrypting at Level 5

To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
From: High Emperor Bill Lloyd

We thank you for accepting our assistance, we only need to know where you would like our forces to head to. We can easily secure any stretch of shore or shipping lanes that need to be protected with our Navy. Since you are on the very continent that we are also located upon, we can dispatch a heavy ground force ASAP. Just send the word and they will mobilize instantaneously.

Bill Lloyd High Emperor of Jipleastan

OOC: We need an OOC thread... that being stated, I'm going to clear it with warmaster, though I can imagine that, as is true in any heavily repressed yet heavily armed (though apparently small arms only), there is a lively black market/drug market. Even countries without a heavy user population still have a drug traffiking problem, so I will probably use that route to smuggle additional arms in.

OOC: Working on the OOC thread, I'll probably put it up tonight; it will probably be needed, and I don't want to take up space here for stuff like that. And speaking of which, I'll accept that you smuggled them in

Yeah, the people are small-arms only, but the military is just the opposite, as is the Imperial Guard. As for drugs...the Imperium is based on discipline, among other things, and drugs are regarded as sinful. In a society where religion is everything, one does what the doctrine says. I'm not saying drugs are nonexistent, but suspected users are social outcasts, and it's pretty rare. Far from a lively market. Outside the continent of Kregaia, in the territories, security is much weaker, but they aren't relevant to the thread. In Kregaia itself, the International is watched very closely, and would not be permitted to bring in anywhere near the amount of drugs where a shipment of illegal goods could just go unnoticed. The Imperium watches just about every activity, legal or not, on the continent, and it's tricky to get something through. They turn a blind eye to some of the International's activities because of their truce, but in general it's a very secure place. Even with a five-way civil war it will still be difficult to get stuff in and out.

...whew. So basically, I'll accept that the Javelin stuff is in the country, and your current teams are armed, but other stuff will have to be gotten in creatively and realistically. I am, as always, happy to answer questions.

IC: Ishamael stared at the notes that had been given him. Reading them quickly, he turned to the man who had brought them, Supreme General Yuvan It’chan, former High Commander of the Imperial Legions.

“This is madness. Who do they think we are?”

“Apparently they did not take the time to familiarize themselves with our ways before sending these.”

“So it would seem.”

The top letter was from the Borman Empire, a past and present ally of the Imperium. Ishamael didn’t know where they stood, and this letter had confused things more. Apparently some assassin, a foreign one at that, was offering him the heads of whoever he desired. However, Ishamael refused to believe that similar letters had not been sent to other High Lords, if not all of them, and probably Lucifer or his damned son as well.

He knew the High Lords, knew them well; the success of his bid for power depended on it. Within a few days, the mobilization of his forces would be complete, and the war would begin in earnest, and that knowledge would be a great asset. He knew them well enough to be certain that they would not accept help from a foreign assassin, especially one who had the temerity to possibly disavow involvement with them. This man could be the greatest assassin in the world, or not; it didn’t really matter. If he dared to strike down a High Lord, public opinion would turn against Borman in a heartbeat. It could lead to war, and strong as Borman was, they would be fools to seek aggressive war against Kregaians, regardless of who won or lost.

The following letter was sent to the man who had delivered this assassin’s message in the first place: (OOC: This is pretty much what the other High Lords and the Crown Prince respond with, except for Asmodeus; his reply is below. The same applies to the Ennuan letter. Sorry, Mer des Ennuis; I just figured it would be a bit of a waste of time to write four more letters that say essentially the same thing)

Inform your master that we must refuse his request. Despite the long history of Imperial cooperation with the Borman Empire, we are afraid we cannot sanction the presence of a foreign assassin as talented as he on Imperial territory; you have offered no guarantees of this man’s honor or conduct, and we cannot allow loose cannons in the Empire. And so, with all respect, we decline your offer at the present time. At your discretion, you may of course leave the offer open, and we may acquiesce under different circumstances. Thank you.

High Lord Ishamael of Domain Sadow



Tell your master you have the thanks of the future Sacred Emperor for his generous offer. We would be delighted to enter into a business relationship, and more talent is always appreciated. There are many targets in enemy territory that we would like to see dead; removal of these key figures may change the course of the war, or be the deciding factor. We would be foolish to pass up such an advantage. However, I cannot reveal my cell-phone number; although it is secure, testing such a thing is unwise. You may contact me at the Patriarch’s Palace in Darius; enclosed is a pass that gives you permission to meet personally with me. Show it to whoever greets you. We await your reply, and look forward to doing business with you.

High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad

(OOC: That applies pretty much the same to the Ennuan note)


Hail, Korronis the Unrepentant, Father of Murderers and of the torments of the earth. Woe to the bloody city, for its days run short! Come out of it, my children, lest ye share in its misery and drink from the cup of ruin that is prepared for it. How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, Son of the Morning! How you have been brought down, you who deceived the nations! You who call yourself Emperor, your days are numbered, and your doom is coming quickly.

-Excerpted from the writings of Caduceus, 8th century heretic

Imperial Communique
Encrypting at Level 5

To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
From: High Emperor Bill Lloyd

We thank you for accepting our assistance, we only need to know where you would like our forces to head to. We can easily secure any stretch of shore or shipping lanes that need to be protected with our Navy. Since you are on the very continent that we are also located upon, we can dispatch a heavy ground force ASAP. Just send the word and they will mobilize instantaneously.

Bill Lloyd High Emperor of Jipleastan

OOC: I'm actually an island continent; I haven't seen the CAD map in a while, but it's unlikely to be accurate, if only for that reason.

IC: OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To High Emperor Bill Lloyd,

We suggest you rendezvous with the loyalist fleets gathering just inside the Gold Sea, a few miles off the coast of the Palatine Peninsula. Korronis military port officials will send coordinates to you within an hour of this message being sent. Avoid the eastern coasts; they are patrolled by High Lord Jahvan's fleet. Blood and Honor.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

Phantasmo, 0400 hours

The inner sanctum. The safest and most secure place in all of Freudotopia. The seat of power for hundreds of years. And the place where Saul Hudson the Illuminator, Most August Imperial Majesty of Freudotopia, did most of his thinking. The room was tiny but comfortable. Although the room was essentially a titanium alloy cube five feet thick, the space looked like any comfortable drawing room. A few bookshelves lined the ornately carved walls, and a fireplace crackled warmly beneath a portrait of Hudson’s striking likeness.

The Emperor sat in a massive armchair, lost in thought. On the table next to him lay his cigar and vodka bottle, nearly empty. For three hours Hudson had secluded himself in his sanctum, his mind focused on the crisis brewing in the Warmaster. On the violence pushing at the borders of Freudotopia, threatening to engulf the entire continent in a massive conflagration. As the minutes ticked on, the phone rang. Strange for his aides not to inform him of a call on the hot line. Hudson picked it up, and waited almost a minute for the encryption to synchronize. Then the line clicked, and he answered.”

“Kazatmiru?”

“How did you know? I told the operator not to reveal my identity, and to patch the call straight through.”

“Only you would ask to do that right now. What news from Lucifer?”

“I’m sure that you know most of what I do. Suffice to say that I’m convinced that Lucifer’s insanity threatens us all if unchecked.”

“But to do that, we must be willing to sacrifice everything. Our people, already horrified by what they see on television…”

“They do not even glimpse the reality of the conflict. The Warmaster is so thoroughly divided, the destruction could be enormous, and if even one faction attempts to reach across the borders…”

“They all will, and it could bring untold devastation to the Bornerifreudic Empire.”

“Agreed. The war will come; nothing can stop that now. But we must contain it.”

“But we cannot act openly now. To tip the scales in such a manner…”

“We cannot risk accelerating the war.”

“So we will act discreetly. And to do that, we need…”

“But I do not know where he is. Only…”

“He has already been summoned to my palace. He can tell us where to find him. Then I will send him there, and they will return ready to serve us once more.”

“And if he does not succeed?”

“Once I explain the situation to him, he will know that he can’t afford to fail.”

“Let us hope that he is once again up to the task.”

“Indeed. Let us hope.”

Hudson hung up the line just as a knock came at the door.

“Enter.”

Hudson leaned back and steepled his fingers. Finally, after weeks of waiting, the Epsilon Corps had delivered at last. He was one step closer to bringing together his assets. Using those tools, he could take action. He could bring this threat to its knees, even if it cost him everything. Lucifer’s mistakes would not be allowed to scar Bornerifreudia.

The Emperor’s thought trailed off as Radley entered the room. The assassin was haggard-looking and tired, having flown for thirteen hours straight to reach the palace as soon as he could. His eyes were sunken, and his hair was tousled; his dark suit hung from his frame as if gravity somehow weighed more heavily on him than any other man. His face was set in a frown, one that the Emperor was sure would only deepen when he imparted his news. A cigarette hung from his limp mouth. He seemed half-dead. Hudson could only guess where Radley had been since the Ismerian crisis, but he knew that a string of brutal murders and acts of sabotage had been plaguing the island. Obviously Radley was developing quite the vendetta with the Ismerians. Hudson held up his hand before the other could speak.

“Sam, I just talked to Kazatmiru. Get me McBrain.”

“How soon, and where should I take him?”

Hudson extinguished his cigar emphatically, grinding it into the ashtray.

“As soon as possible. Assemble the Epsilon Corps. You will need their resources. Take McBrain to their safehouse in Korronis.”

“Very good. As far as I know, Tank’s still somewhere in the Alberian steppe region. Knowing him, tracking him down will be easy. Bringing him in might be a tad difficult.”

“That’s where the Corps comes in. You won’t have to…convince him yourself. The Corps’ brother unit in Generia will be waiting for you in Korronis.

“Sound’s like everything is taken care of, then.”

“It is. Good luck, Sam. Contact me as soon as you get to the safehouse.”

“I’ll be in touch soon.”

Without another word, Radley turned on his heel and left, leaving the Emperor alone with his thoughts…







OOC: GE, you can post that second part you were planning whenever you feel like it.

OOC: Warmaster, you don't know he's from Borman. Only person who knows there is a Borman assassin in Warmaster is emperor, and he doesn't know if this guy is him.

Basically its just a letter from someone you have 0 knowledge on except what the letter says.

OOC: While drugs may be seen as sinful, that still would not stop the transfer of them through the country. Despite having no user database, it is possible that the International would be trafficking them, even if its only a small time boss who is doing it. Now, if we can have an assassin named Boo Radley, I can have a lawyer/diplomat named Kobayashi. The letter sent has no indication of who is sending it, and Kobayashi will be the first face-to-face contact.

Alexander Szilárd was in a bind. Although he was not totally in charge of the battalion, he was given the highest priority mission. As of yet, he had failed to receive a contact from any of the High Lords, or the Crown Prince. This would need to be addressed, and quickly. Without a sustainable source of support in the country, the secret operations were bound to fail, and the men would have to evacuate the country with as much equipment as possible. This could not do. The operation had several diplomats at their disposal, though there was one they trusted to persuade their potential allies, a man who had no knowledge of the whereabouts of his military contacts, but held an encrypted cell phone capable only of receiving calls from his superiors. His name was Kobayashi. A letter was dispatched to the Crown Prince, with another letter to be sent in three days to a different High Lord, containing slight variations as required, should he choose not to accept an audience or work out an acceptable deal. The letter, sealed with the same eagle wax imprint, read as follows

"Dear Most Glorious Antiochus Halcyon,
As of yet, we have not received a conformation signal. We are sure there are a variety of political reasons for this. We will be sending a man by the name of Kobayashi to your main office the day after you receive this letter. We urge you to receive him. If not, simply have the clerk at the front desk inform him that his appointment was canceled. “

Satisified with this, the Major began to draw up plans for a massive assault on an International facility. This time, the attack would possibly consist of upwards of a hundred men, all wearing BDUs designed to resemble a special operations team of any of a number of militaries. The building was, according to recon analysis, the headquarters of someone of minor importance in the International, and held approximately 50 men, armament unknown. While he wouldn’t be missed that much, his death would most likely agitate the higher-ups, who just might lose some sleep, especially with the way this one would die. In the mean time, hidden in one of 200 boxes of machine parts, were almost 250 Spachi Spas 15 assault shotguns and several thousand rounds. They would arrive at Nationale Maschinerie-Gießerei, a shell company that was actually starting to turn a profit. From there, the weapons would be distributed to a variety of safe houses, waiting for the inevitable.

OOC: Warmaster, you don't know he's from Borman. Only person who knows there is a Borman assassin in Warmaster is emperor, and he doesn't know if this guy is him.

Basically its just a letter from someone you have 0 knowledge on except what the letter says.

...Wow. Oops. But regardless, the content of the reply or his thoughts don't matter, just so long as everyone knows that all but Asmodeus refuse.

OOC: alright warmaster, island... even better...
OOC2: where is the "Gold Sea"?

IC:
Imperial Communique
Encrypting Level 5

To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
RE: Naval Operations in the Gold Sea & Movement of the 2nd Army Division

We have dispatched the 3rd Fleet from its harbor... They shall arrive within a day or so. The 3rd fleet consists of:
5 Yorktown Carriers
2 Nimitz Class Carriers
8 Modified Arizona Class Battleships
9 Arleigh Burke AEGIS Cruisers
along with assorted support craft and the Hospital Ship, the JS Karova.
Also, we have ordered the power up of ODIOUS, an anti-ballistic missile system. It can also be used as a device to strike fear into the hearts of an enemy.

Along with the naval movements, we have dispatched the 2nd Division to deploy as close to your capitol, or wherever you wish for them to go. They will arrive with the 3rd Fleet.

OOC: Well, technically I did reply, but I can see how the mixup happened; I didn't specifically say that Antiochus's reply was the same as the High Lords'; but it doesn't matter, cause now this Kobayashi character is in the picture.

Antiochus's living-space and workspace are both in the Imperial Palace; it's in front of the Imperial Forum, a vast flat expanse with the Rostra (a really big podium) at the end closer to the Palace, and sacrificial altars in front of the Rostra. Incidentally, the Forum is HUGE; it accomodates upwards of two million at times. Opposite the Palace is the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, an obsidian pyramid that houses the bones of dead rulers and heroes. The Forum is heavily guarded, by infantry, armor, and helicopters. He'd probably have a pass, be searched, and escorted to Antiochus's offices, where he'd be searched and background-checked before Antiochus would be notified of the visitor, at which point, with the Crown Prince's permission, the two could meet personally. It's a little over-the-top, true, but they are pretty serious about not letting the Crown Prince die...unless absolutely necessary.:)

OOC: alright warmaster, island... even better...
OOC2: where is the "Gold Sea"?

IC:
Imperial Communique
Encrypting Level 5

To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
RE: Naval Operations in the Gold Sea & Movement of the 2nd Army Division

We have dispatched the 3rd Fleet from its harbor... They shall arrive within a day or so. The 3rd fleet consists of:
5 Yorktown Carriers
2 Nimitz Class Carriers
8 Modified Arizona Class Battleships
9 Arleigh Burke AEGIS Cruisers
along with assorted support craft and the Hospital Ship, the JS Karova.
Also, we have ordered the power up of ODIOUS, an anti-ballistic missile system. It can also be used as a device to strike fear into the hearts of an enemy.

Along with the naval movements, we have dispatched the 2nd Division to deploy as close to your capitol, or wherever you wish for them to go. They will arrive with the 3rd Fleet.

OOC: The Gold Sea is the body pinched off by the two peninsulas in the south. The label might be blurred; in that case, it's the thing just north of the red part in the south.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE:

To High Emperor Bill Lloyd

This is a good start, true; but the naval resources of the Imperium are large, given our island status, and the traitorous High Lord Jahvan controls a large portion of them; we do not know yet how many ships exactly are under his command, but estimates are around two thousand capital ships. We hope that you have the capacity to mobilize many more ships, or the fight against the traitor fleets may take much longer than expected. However, our cause is just; no traitor can stand against the might of the Imperium, and while I still am Sacred Emperor, the gods are my allies. We shall triumph, you and I, and Jipleastan and the Empire shall enter a new age of security together.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

OOC: Couldn't the Crowned Prince send word to whoever this Kobayashi would encounter first (probably a desk clerk/checkpoint) and tell them what to do? I'll use this as a placeholder, since I plan on doing a pretty good attack on an International stronghold, as I said above, so don't consider this just OOC garbage.

OOC: Couldn't the Crowned Prince send word to whoever this Kobayashi would encounter first (probably a desk clerk/checkpoint) and tell them what to do? I'll use this as a placeholder, since I plan on doing a pretty good attack on an International stronghold, as I said above, so don't consider this just OOC garbage.

OOC: Not at all. Consider it a reminder to me to get that OOC thread up; and yes, I suppose he could, but they'd still have to confirm that the visitor was indeed Kobayashi.

OOC: I see, I didn't know what the scale of the numbers was... 2000 eh? Ill post again tomorrow... Just a little IC post now...

IC:

Imperial Communique

To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
RE: Naval Movements

We did not realize the true scale of this war you will soon have on your hands. We will immediately mobilize the Jipleastani Grand Armada which will comprise of over 1000 ships, not counting the smaller craft which alone will be over 400 ships. Jipleastanies are very proud of their navy, and are not afraid to use it against an enemy of an ally of the Empire.

It had been one day since the letter was received by the Crowned Prince's staff. Kobayashi, a tall man of swarthy complexion, wore an expensive suit and a bright white shirt, which contrasted nicely with his skin. In addition, he held a brief case bearing the logo of the eagle that had sealed the letters sent to the Prince and Lords alike. He would have been a horrible spy as his features were too memorable, but he had more power than any mere spymaster. This was a man who had stared more god-kings, tyrants, warlords, and emperors in the eye without flinching than he could count, yet no record of him existed. It was as if the man were a ghost. The palace was an expansive monument to the pride of man before him. He was sure the place was beyond well defended, though like all things, they would crumble to dust before the end of time. This he was sure of. He approached the main entrance of the palace, where two burly guards gave him dirty looks.

Meanwhile, Major Szilárd was going to make a hit on a good sized International operation. He expected around 50 armed men in the building, in addition to their main target, a small-time officer that, while he wouldn’t be missed much, might cause some of the higher-ups to lose sleep based on the way he would leave this world. The company would consist of 100 men, and would mimic a police operation. Their BDUs would be in straight black with the word “Police” in the native tongue of war master painted prominently on their chest pieces, and they wore nomex hoods that hid everything but their eyes. Weapons would be 75 Steyr Aug A3 rifles, 15 newly-smuggled Franchi Spas 15 assault shotguns, 10 Heckler and Koch MSG-90 sniper rifles. Support would include two flash-bang grenades and one fragmentation grenade. 15 men would not directly participate in the raid, but would cordon off the block to ensure that no International members escaped, as well as to prevent the average cop or civilian from causing a disturbance.

At 12 noon, the teams rushed the scene in 18 black SUVs. The 10 snipers were already in place. Five had taken positions on various floors of the 10 story building across the street to provide cover, while the remaining five took positions on the 2nd highest floor along the block to avoid being spotted by helicopters. 15 immediately put up traffic barricades along the block and hurried civilians out of the way. 6 elements of five (Echo 1-6, four with Aug A3’s equipped with holographic HUD sights and under barrel flashlights, one with a Spas 15) prepared to breech with a battering ram welded at one of the shell companies, while the snipers picked out targets in the building. Another 5 moved to the back of the building to breech the rear door. The remaining element took a pair of bolt cutters to the phone lines and power, preventing the operation of the building’s elevator. As soon as the power was cut, the lead yelled “Breech” and both doors were destroyed.

Snipers, codenamed Sierra 1-10, put 10 targets in their sights. If any started to arm themselves, they would be downed. The elements immediately moved in. On the ground floor two men opened fire, but were taken out by the point’s shotgun. On Element Echo 1’s shotgun. Echo 7 and 8 took a door, and threw it open. The 5 guards went for weapons. One who was in the process of drawing took a body hit from Sierra 1’s rifle, before going down to the combined fire of two of the men. The remaining 4 were gunned down as well. Without the element of surprise, the lead soldier, Captain Jacek spoke one two words into his microphone “red shirt.” This gave the Snipers a total green light, and 15 International were killed on most of the floors. The elements secured the first and second floors, facing only 5 men who had yet to arm themselves on the 2nd floor. Two at a time moved up the stairs, facing no resistance. The third floor was deserted, and on the fourth, five of the criminals surrendered, and were taken outside in riot hand cuffs and sat on the curb halfway down the block.

The fifth floor, by now just over 6 minutes had passed, was a different story. The International had taken positions, and shot at the soldiers. One took a bullet to his helmet. He fell, but was otherwise unhurt and dragged to safety from the stairs. Echo 9’s point threw a flash bang, dazing the criminals just long enough to kill them all. Casualties now stood for the International at 35 dead and 5 in custody. The teams continued up the floors. It was obvious that the target was unprepared for such a raid, and had not secured most of the building. It wasn’t until the 9th floor that the body guards made one last stand, armed with AK-74s. However, they had not trained well, and shook the weapon as they sprayed, missing the lead of Element 6 and 8, who took cover. Sierra 4, 8, 9, and 10 each had clear shots as the guards neared a window, and took 3 out. The remaining seven gave up, and were arrested. Their target, a greek named Charalampos Dionysios sat at his desk, where the teams secured him and began the long decent down the stairs.

At street level, as the last arrests were being made, a squad car approached the road block. The officer was alarmed; there were 7 well armed men at the corner that, at first glance, appeared to be police officers, though he did not know of any operations in the area. He got out of his car and walked to the road block.

“Hello officer” said one of the soldiers
“Whats going on here?”
“We are doing a raid on an International safe house. This cell has been implicated in various criminal activities, and we were called in to deal with the situation.”
“Why wasn’t I told there would be an assault here? And where are the APCs?”
“We were forced to keep this as covert as possible, to ensure that we would not lose the element of surprise due to a mole. We used non-descript SUVs to transport our men so that any lookouts would not see the coming assault.”
“Okay, that sounds reasonable. I’m going to have to radio this in to confirm what you are saying is true.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to advise you not to do that. While our target isn’t a high-ranking international member, we would not want to have to deal with an International counter attack.”
“Allright, do you need me here for backup?”
“Negative, but thanks for the offer.”
“Allright, I’ll be in the area if things go south. Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks.”

As the officer drove away, the 8th element emerged with their primary target and the 12 who surrendered and were bound with their hands behind their head. The 12 were lined up and shot through the heart, and died almost instantly. The target was released from his hand cuffs and was gagged. One of the corporals stabbed him in the arm with an M9 bayonet knife, ripping his bicep out. One drew his pistol and shot him twice in the calfs, before stabbing him there with another bayonet. This drew muffled screams. One poured gasoline on the writhing man, before disemboweling him. As the remaining elements left, they set him on fire, leaving him to burn in the streets.

OOC: i have permission for this new chrachter im going to add to the mix.... my first ever RP charchter... WISH ME LUCK

IC: Jayson Freyard, a 5ft 9in man in a non-discript gray suit with a pale blue tie, wandered aimlessly down the street outside the local Imperium offices in Seleucia where another explosion had ripped the guts out of the local coffee shop filled with people going about their business for the good of the Empire.

Terrible, traitorous thoughts flooded Jayson's mind. The most prominent "why, why, why"

"Why did they see fit to destroy a small coffe shop?" "Why have the local police done nothing" "why wont they do nothing?"

All these thought drew one, horrible, horrible conclusion. The Empire which he had served his whole life had betrayed him and its people in its bloody quest for power and prestige in higher circles than a local civil servant could dream of, but the as the lowly servant of the empire, and by extension its people contemplated the greatest evil preached by the Preisthood. The breaking of his oaths and his ties to his country.

The next day brought more news of terrorist activity and the never changing thought of betrayal was slowly destroying him, how could he serve something so morally corrupt, how couldnt he serve the empire he had sworn to defend?

The next day brought no releif either. nor the next or the next.

As he was drifting down the main road of Seleucia another explosion flung cars off the road like childrens toys. The only image he saw was of the child burning in the reckage of an old car. He screamed his rage to the heavans, words poured out of his mouth like a flood, never ceasing,

"why have you betrayed us Lucifer, Why have you berayed your peoples Avaru, Asmodeus, Ishamael, Javhan, Rahvin? WHY!!"

As the flames of the car slowly died down more and more people started to gather to hear his words the police, sent there to break up the crowds instead stood with stunned disbelief at the sense his words made in their ears.

"we should no longer have to be ruled by an emperor who has fprgotten us, the high lords do nothing for us by trying to clain the Iron Throne, we need to take matters in to our own hands, dont you see?"

"they have betrayed the very thing they stand for in doing this, why should the concerns of one man rule the lives of millions?"

"ill tell you why, because his father ruled, and his father and his father, they rule because of a fluke of breeding, and they crush us in an iron grip to try and hold an iron throne, one with no compsiion for its people"

"if we stand to gether and rule ourselves we will become liberated, we need to stand shoulder to shoulder and cast off the Iron chain of the emperors"

hundreds of stunned face stared at him at the end of his outburst aginst the state, horror crossed most face befor turning into a muddled undersanding that this crazy man, Jayson Freyard was to lead them in a quest for independence or at least political representation not autherised by the totalitarian Empire.

That night hundreds of people marched on the Seleucian City Hall where the govenor of Seleucia cowered as his local police joined the rally, he did not know how lon his compound would hold out against this mulititude of voices raised against him.

The govenor made the fateful descion to call for help from the Capital. Even though he new that he would loose his office and proabaly his life for allowing his forces to be seduced and causing irreplacable Loyalist troops to be force not to defend the crown but to defend him and his city.

Imperator Jakran Vuell, whiskey in hand, stared at the report.

"Who?"

"We don't know, sir," said the young officer, in a patient tone. "They seemed to be Special Forces of some kind; from where, we don't know."

"And this Guardsman didn't even ask where the hell they were from?"

"Apparently not, sir," the officer remarked, dangerously close to sarcasm. Vuell looked him in the eye, and he took a hasty step back. One did not speak that way to the supreme commander of the entire Kregaian Imperial Armed Forces.

"Have him punished. And try to track these people down. I don't know who they are, but I don't want the International blaming us for this. You're dismissed."

Official Imperial Communique:

To: Emperor Lucifer
From: Chancellor Licinius

Our men inside have alerted us about the crisis at Seleucian City Hall, three hundred Borman regulars are being mobolized to combat this problem. We can have them there in less than an hour and set up with sufficient defenses in roughly two hours. If however you have the situation handled, we shall divert elsewhere.

End Transmission

OOC: If Ieuano has this all planned out then just say you've got it handled and I won't send men.

Major Szilárd was sitting in the war room, an underground bunker constructed by one of the myriad shell companies, and designed to withstand a direct assault by a Special Forces operation. The last two attacks were astonishingly succesful. Now he needed to do something to increase the military presence in the city beyond the obscene amount it already was at, and he needed the International start retaliating against the government for that to happen. This would make at least one of the high lords jumpy, which he could use to his benefit. The best bet was to attack a motorcade of an International higher up as it passed through the city. As luck would have it, the target took one route to and from his penthouse. The team would use this to their advantage, blowing the motorcade up and killing chase cars.

Szilárd was not a stupid man; he knew that after an officer made contact with the team, they could expect some surveillance against them, and he would have to step up counter-surveillance activities accordingly. He did not expect that these would be bloodless. His first order: recon the route and prepare launching posts for long rifles and a javelin missile team. The second: take out anyone who was sticking their nose where it didn't belong.

OOC: We've got it planned to a degree, Borman, but my suggestion is to send the three hundred and cause trouble, but don't try too hard; it would kind of defeat the point if the mayor dies so quickly. I'll have a post up this afternoon on the Imperial response. I haven't consulted Ieuano on this particular matter, though, so he may object.

OOC: i wont mind if you send about 150, underestimating the strength of following behind Jayson, then finding yourself semi-routed and sturred up more support for me. This will allow me to stop being a little annoyance to the Empire but a major power.

there is also the possibility of a minor alliance between me and Mer des Ennuis but that isnt finalised.

The Imperial Inquisition.

The mere name is known and feared by 2.7 billion Imperial citizens. The Inquisition represents the Sacred Emperor’s power to look deep into the actions, the thoughts, the very souls of all his people. And while they accept that this is natural, this is the way it has always been, that the priests command them to submit to the investigations of the Inquisitors, they cannot help but fear them. It is common to have a close family member who has been taken for questioning by the Inquisition; such interviews are terrifying, because the Inquisitors, even if they are asking for what you witnessed the day of a crime, can charge you, try you, and execute you on the spot.

The gods give such powers to those who serve them.

Inquisition Headquarters, in Korronis, looms over the surrounding buildings like the shadow of a raven’s wings; no buildings in the area are allowed to be larger than it is. A dark temple, it reminds all those who see it that in the Empire, their thoughts are not safe.

Inside this altar of woe, in the deepest chambers, Lord High Inquisitor Kreegan holds court. He is the man who inspects the spirituality of the people. He is the man who orchestrates the network of those who spy on their own people.

He is the man who stares at the report containing blackest treason in front of him; his are the lips that twist into a snarl of hatred; his are the hands that clench into fists; his are the eyes that narrow, the eyes that have looked upon all the most blasphemous writings in history, those deemed unfit for the eyes of any but the most faithful. If nothing else, Lord High Inquisitor Kreegan is one of the most faithful.

“Seleucia.” The word becomes a curse. “This two-bit local politician is preaching treason in Seleucia?”

High Inquisitor Belial, sitting two chairs to the right, leaned forward. “It would seem so. The unfortunate thing is, however, he does not seem to be being bribed; he is advocating rebellion against every High Lord and every authority in the Empire. He is an anarchist; I say deal with him as such.”

“We have no forces to spare.” This from High Inquisitor Semyaza, a close associate of Imperator Vuell’s. “Ishamael threatens the Jamaane Dominion, and the garrison there cannot be weakened. By the same token, Asmodeus and Avaru both may strike the 4th Army. Whatever forces we send to Seleucia will not be significant, and High Lord Jahvan may take this anarchist under his wing. In that case, we will be sending an unprepared, likely newly-conscripted force against the traitorous Legions Jahvan commands.”

“Regardless, neither can he be allowed to live.”

“Agreed.”


Kreegan growled from deep in his throat. “It sickens me. This man has no purpose, no aim; he is simply condemning everything. He seems to be condemning the succession process itself! He is insane, and a heretic. I suggest we wait and see what the Imperial Guardsmen and police in the city do; if they join him, we will have to raise a force and destroy him. If they do not, they can hand him over to us.” He stared around the table. “If there is nothing more, this meeting is adjourned.”

The crack of the gavel echoed like a death knell.

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To High Emperor Bill Lloyd

Your message is received and understood. There is little else to say; we await your presence at the rendezvous point. Again, we thank you for your contributions, and rest assured that the Imperium shall not forget it. Remember that war cleanses us, my friend, and all shall be well.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

The patriotic call was sent out, the loyal citizens of Jipleastan willingly answered the call to arms. The call was to fully mobilize for war, something the Jipleastanies are not too familiar with. In Jipleastan's long history, there have been very few wars that involved Jipleastan. However, an ally's call for assistance cannot be ignored.

The Majestic JRS Angelic, the flagship of the Grand Armada sat in Jipleastan's most important port, along with the rest of the Armada stationed within 25 miles of said port. They were waiting for the order to come down from the JHS (Jipleastani High Command) to disembark and head off to war.

They Armada was no little splash of water, it was like a massive tidal wave of water. In all it totaled more that 1400 ships... From the massive Angelic to the small cruiser Doubtless. There were Battleships and Aircraft carriers, cruisers, and destroyers, Torpedo boats and Quick attack vessels, not to mention countless conventional ICBM and cruise missile subs. Every part of the Navy was drawn from, nearly half of the entire navy was ready to go to Warmaster and help strike down the rebellion.

Imperial Message From the Office of Bill Lloyd, Emperor
Men of the Jipleastani Armada and others, today we embark on a most important mission, one that will change the fate of more that one nation. Our dear ally, The Sacred Imperial Dominion of The Warmaster, has sent out a plea for international help in dealing with a civil war threatening to engulf the entire country, we have responded, and have responded in force. You are the Men and Women of the Jipleastani Grand Armada, you are the representatives of a great nation, you are soldiers, husbands, wives, sons and daughters, you are sailors you are officers, you are the men of the Jipleastani Royal Navy. I, Emperor Bill Lloyd hereby give you the blessings of a nation and of a people who have much confidence and hope in your mission. Good Luck, and Godspeed.

Official Imperial Decree

Any factions which oppose the Imperial power of The Warmaster will be not only fighting The Warmaster, but also the massive assets that the nation of Jipleastan will commit to the cause. Any faction foolish enough to engage The Warmaster and Jipleastan in open combat will be sent to an early grave, along with any hopes of redemption. Consider this an official warning... You do not want to be on the opposition, no sir... you do not.

Official Imperial Communique
To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
RE: Naval movements and other items

By now we are sure you have heard our decree and have seen the speech, by mid-afternoon by tomorrow, our forces will arrive in the Gold Sea, ready to do battle with the enemy. We are also mobilizing a division of the 3rd Army to be sent to you as soon as possible to defend you on the ground from your enemies. This conflict will bring rise to a great friendship between our two nations. We wish you luck in this conflict, we will be victorious, there can be no doubt of that.

High Emperor Bill Lloyd,
Emperor of Jipleastan

OOC: This is going to be a double post, and I'll appologize in advance. If I kept it as one post, it would be over 2 pages in microsoft word, which is a bit much for reading off of a webpage in one sitting. This also makes it easier to respond to the two scenarios (hopefully).

Korronis - noon

Two of the Mer Des Ennuis Special Forces unit were doing recon work on the hit for that night. They had been in the field for about 2 hours now, dressed as a businessman tourist would, and were taking last minute photographs with a concealed camera, though now they weren’t taking their job too seriously as they already had all they needed, and they were half way back to the safe house. Except for service pistols and m9 knives, they were unarmed.
“Hey Afonso, you ready for dauntless tonight?” Spc. Andrej Blaz inquired
“Yea, didja know that Donat has the football tonight?” Replied Spc. Afonso Xosé
“No shit, excited a…”
“Hey, Andrej, I think we got a Charlie, about 7:00. He’s been following us for 20 minutes”
Andrej turned to face Afonso just in time to see a native Kregaian shift to avoid being seen.
“Yea, we do. We’ll do a flank 6 on him.”
“Rodger.” The two headed for an alley.

The guardsman, a 1st lieutenant in the counter-intelligence division named Gaius Octavius, had picked the two up about half an hour before. He had caught one of them snapping pictures, but held back to investigate before calling in a strike team to pick them up, so that they might lead him to something much bigger. Both headed into a darkened alley. He held back, before stealthily entering the shadows. The place was a tactical nightmare; trash was strewn all over the place from the countless refuse trucks that passed into it. There were no good lights, and it was very dark. He could see at the end of the alley one of the targets, apparently making an exchange with an unseen perpetrator. He reached for his pistol, a Walter P99 and his radio to make a call. There was a quick movement from his right side as the blade of the bayonet pierced the skin between his 2nd and 3rd vertebrate, severing his spinal column. Lt. Octavius was now nothing more than a thinking, hearing, seeing, mute head. There was very little blood. They threw his body into a dumpster, leaving him to wrestle with his failure for the last few minutes of his life.

Korronis, slums – 5:45 pm
The Mer Des Ennuisian forces were putting the finishing setup on the assault, codenamed “Dauntless”. Advanced recon reported that the motorcade would contain 10 armored trucks, 4 motorcycles, 3 armored limos, and 2 helicopters, totaling almost 70 men; the high ranking International officers did not travel lightly. The unit had an advantage: they had the complete and total element of surprise, and it was a long section of street. They managed to deliver many heavy weapons to the area. They had 50 men on General Dynamics M312 heavy machineguns with bins to collect spent brass, 20 men on anti-material rifles, 4 men on 2 javelin missile launchers with four relatively easy-to-smuggle missiles each, and an additional 50 units with mission load out Steyr Aug A3 assault rifles kept in reserve. If reinforcements arrived, or if the motorcade managed to escape, they would be charged with keeping escape routes open. Loadout called for 25 under barrel grenade launchers, and hud sights, as well as 3 fragmentation grenades each. All wore BDUs identical to the Kregaian Special Operations teams.

The ambush would work as follows: The motorcade would be funneled down the street, where it would do about 30 miles per hour. The two javelin missiles would hit the limos, hopefully destroying the target outright. The snipers would focus on the armored cars, which shouldn’t stand up too well against a 50 caliber bullet. Half the machineguns would rip into the motorcycle escorts and cars as they opened up while the others took potshots at the helicopters, which should be caught blindsided. A trashcan was set up about halfway down the street to provide a reference.

At 6:00 the convoy was sighted. The motorcycles were all up front. The limos were sandwiched between the 10 armored cars.
“Red shirt spotted” reported the rearmost sniper
“All units, hold fire until they hit the mark” ordered First Lieutenant Iwan Donat. He had already selected the lead limo on his Command Launch Unit, while Second Lieutenant Florin Horatiu targeted the middle.
“All units, this is alpha launch, select your targets, and prepare to fire in 3…” he counted down as the convoy approached the trashcan “2… fire!”

With that, two javelins soft launched from the 3rd highest story of each of the buildings, before streaking towards their target. The two archer teams covered before the explosion hit preparing to reload. The missiles found their mark, hitting from above. The missile had tandem HEAT missiles meant to take out a tank; these cars provided no challenge and erupted into two balls of fire.
12 machine guns opened fire onto the motorcycles, killing all 4 International riders instantly. Thirteen concentrated their fire on the helicopters from their window perches. Both were caught unaware as the armor piercing bullets shredded into the cockpits. One helicopter went down a few blocks away. A team of 5 riflemen moved out to ensure that none lived. The snipers too made successful hits, taking out the engines of the lead two cars.
The International SUVs and the one surviving limo pulled over and dozens of armed men emptied out brandishing AK-74’s, though many fell as soon as they did from either the machineguns or well-placed sniper shots. Some managed to take a few un-aimed potshots before being massacred. The archers had reloaded, and one fired towards the SUV that had the biggest clump of men, sending body parts flying from the explosion. The other targeted the helicopter. Although it was not ment to be an anti-air weapon, the Javelin performed admirably, striking the rear of the helicopter, sending it crashing to its doom into the side of a building. Within 2:30, all the International were down and believed to be dead, if not mortally wounded. The target was eliminated. By the time guardsmen arrived, the soldiers had moved out with all their spent shells.

OOC: i wont mind if you send about 150, underestimating the strength of following behind Jayson, then finding yourself semi-routed and sturred up more support for me. This will allow me to stop being a little annoyance to the Empire but a major power.

there is also the possibility of a minor alliance between me and Mer des Ennuis but that isnt finalised.

OOC: I'll send like 100 regulars, cause that's still a considerable force becuase they're Borman.

OOC: Mer des Ennuis, just for future reference, we're Warmasterian, not Warlordian...I actually prefer Kregaian, because Warmasterian sounds weird, but hey, it doesn't really matter. Use whichever, but try to get the name right:) (And if anyone cares, 500th post!)

OOC: Fixed it, I was thinking of the Miltacracy of Warlordia when I typed the above post by mistake.

OOC: Mer des Ennuis, I sort of determined his reaction; sorry...I know I shouldn't RP your character, but I was in a hurry and his reactions are very reasonable.

IC: Well over six hundred Immortals, armed to the teeth, regarded the man approaching. Their cold eyes stared out through colder masks, the face of death rendered in iron. Assault rifles followed his every step, ready to gun him down if the man did the slightest unexpected move. One of them strode to greet the stranger, expecting to march him at gunpoint through the massive doors and into the Palace, where he could be thoroughly checked. However, he stopped at the sight of a passcard identifying him as being here at the request of the Crown Prince. The greeter nodded, and instructed the stranger to follow him. Six of the Immortals escorted the man inside, through the massive, meters-thick doors of the Imperial Palace.

He was passed relatively quickly through security; the man was clean, and escaped such additional measures as a lie detector test or interrogation by the Inquisition. The six Immortals escorted him silently through the cavernous halls, leading him through an astonishing maze of galleries, halls, passages, and office areas. Looking at the impossibly opulent surroundings, the stranger wondered at the incredible cost this building must have taken to be paid for. His guards, it became clear, were leading him up and around, down and across, in random patterns, to prevent him remembering the layout. After what seemed like an eternity, the stranger stood in front of a set of doors, with a plaque above declaring them, "The Domain of the Heir of the Sacred Emperor." They led him within, where he was scanned again, and again, and a background check completed on him with quick efficiency; and so, cleared and certified to be unarmed and harmless, he was ushered into the reception hall of the Crown Prince, with Antiochus arrogant and aloof on a small throne, and a pistol on his lap. The stranger was shocked. After all the security, couldn't they let him go in with the benefit of the doubt?

Kobayashi looked at a man who knew he was doomed, and wondered what he was going to say.

OOC: I'd have though of Kobayashi as being the guy from the usual suspects, i.e. not afraid of death by the most hideous means possible, though suprise would be fitting.

Kobayashi, as he was called by the few who knew him, regained his composure while straightening his tie. He bowed curtly, showing a tinge of the respect he rarely afforded another man. He put the briefcase down, and removed a folder.

"Your Most Glorious Prince Antiochus, I represent certain military interestes operating discretly in your nation. Surely you have heard of the death of many International in this city." He pulled a print out showing the devestation against the motorcade, and handed it to an immortal, who would deliver it to the prince.
"These interests would just as soon kill me as you would, or any of the men with guns right outside this door. These interests know that you are in a precarious situation, and wish to extend their help. You may call them mercanaries, though that would be an insult to them. They are currently waging a war on the International until they have another mission, and the International will not take it idly. I can tell, you already know why I came here."
Kobayashi stood their, stoic as a Roman God, awaiting the Crown Prince's reply.

Crown Prince Antiochus regarded the man before him. He was a foreigner, true, and thus not to be trusted, but he was saying things that explained a great deal. Samuel Marchosias, the International's liaison to the Imperium, was furious about a series of raids targeting International activities; they were too well-organized to be from a rival crime syndicate, but the Imperium had denied all involvement. Logically, some nation had to have teams on Imperial soil, which obviously was making the entire system ten times more paranoid than usual. The fleets were wondering how the foreigners had gotten into the coast, the Imperial Guard was checking houses ruthlessly and at random, and the Intelligence Division was frantically trying to find out who these people were and where they'd come from. This man seemed to be offering help from these mysterious assassins, and yet threatening a retaliation by the International.

"I suppose my position is precarious, at that. Let us be realistic. I am under threat by the five most capable men in the Empire, except perhaps my father, may he live forever. Their resources are practically unlimited. What can your...associates offer me that I can use for protection?"

Kobayashi stood still, and spoke careful, deliberate words that sounded like Ice to the casual observer.
"My associates are capable of committing actions that you yourself cannot or will not. In exchange for logistical and financial support, they would be willing to carry out the most covert acts of sabatoge and murder for you, provided it is in their best interest. My associates informed me this morning that they had killed an intelligence agent who was tracking them. I can further pass on to you that his death will look merciful compared to what they will do to any other agents who they find tracking them. Your military will not find them, nor will your guards.

The men I represent, though I myself do not know who exactly they are, wish to inform you that they can make almost any action look as if one of your rivals has committed it; it would not be too unbearable for them to place the last attack on, oh, Asmodeous and Asmodeous alone. In addition, should the time comes, and my clients tell me it will come at any time, that war breaks out, they could cripple your opponents before they even know what hit them.

Let me also remind you that, should your guards bear allegiance to anyone but yourself, it would not be incomprehensible for one or two of them to kill you, despite the fact that they themselves would die. All of this is the protection I am able to offer you."

Though he did not change his emotion, Kobayashi saw all the pieces fall into place: check.

OOC: OOC: I'll send like 100 regulars, cause that's still a considerable force becuase they're Borman.

yeah like that isnt boasting. :rolleyes:

IC: Jayson wondered what was causing the distant sound of gunfire rang out across the provincail town Seleucia.

He wondered who it could be, frm reading reports he knew the Imperium was powerless to stop him, they were stretched to thinly, who could it be? The Empire couldnt have hired mecenaries could they?

He must protect the people liberated by his actions...

"sir?" inquired a former policeman

"dont call me that, we are equals" snapped Jayson

"whatever you say, sir, but were under attack, and if i say so myself, they are very good soilders" replyed the ex-policeman

"shit"

Kobayashi stood still, and spoke careful, deliberate words that sounded like Ice to the casual observer.
"My associates are capable of committing actions that you yourself cannot or will not. In exchange for logistical and financial support, they would be willing to carry out the most covert acts of sabatoge and murder for you, provided it is in their best interest. My associates informed me this morning that they had killed an intelligence agent who was tracking them. I can further pass on to you that his death will look merciful compared to what they will do to any other agents who they find tracking them. Your military will not find them, nor will your guards.

The men I represent, though I myself do not know who exactly they are, wish to inform you that they can make almost any action look as if one of your rivals has committed it; it would not be too unbearable for them to place the last attack on, oh, Asmodeous and Asmodeous alone. In addition, should the time comes, and my clients tell me it will come at any time, that war breaks out, they could cripple your opponents before they even know what hit them.

Let me also remind you that, should your guards bear allegiance to anyone but yourself, it would not be incomprehensible for one or two of them to kill you, despite the fact that they themselves would die. All of this is the protection I am able to offer you."

Though he did not change his emotion, Kobayashi saw all the pieces fall into place: check.

Antiochus was not quite convinced.

"These men have their honor for sale, it would seem. Tell me, what would tie them to me? What makes them any different from the guards? Asmodeus is a powerful man. As are Ishamael, Avaru, Jahvan, and yes, even my former ally Rahvin. Who's to say that my enemies cannot use these men against me? How do I trust foreigners? As yet all they have done is kill men loyal to me. How does this prove their loyalty?"

Kobayashi was fishing, and the crown prince was taking a nibble here and there. One more good jerk of the lure, and he'd land the big one.

"Every man has his price, but in a land such as this, their loyalty cannot be bought. Right now it is in their best interest to be allied with someone of power, and you do not want them against you. Your excelency, while your opponents are powerful, they are not immortal. However, we know that you yourself cannot make a move against them. By their very nature as foreigners, they will be almost impossible to link to you, should many of them turn up dead."

"I do not know why they would offer their services to you, but I can guarantee it isn't for money; possibly it is the thrill of the hunt, but I cannot say concretly. Their loyalty should remain unquestioned, no foreigner would willfully walk these lands, heavily armed, except for idealogical purposes, and ideas cannot be defeated by mortal means. If you do not accecpt their offer, I can almost guarantee that there will be a civil war between the international and the authorities in the capital, and, from what I know is happening around the country, this is most definatly not in your best interest."

Kobayashi was fishing, and the crown prince was taking a nibble here and there. One more good jerk of the lure, and he'd land the big one.

"Every man has his price, but in a land such as this, their loyalty cannot be bought. Right now it is in their best interest to be allied with someone of power, and you do not want them against you. Your excelency, while your opponents are powerful, they are not immortal. However, we know that you yourself cannot make a move against them. By their very nature as foreigners, they will be almost impossible to link to you, should many of them turn up dead."

"I do not know why they would offer their services to you, but I can guarantee it isn't for money; possibly it is the thrill of the hunt, but I cannot say concretly. Their loyalty should remain unquestioned, no foreigner would willfully walk these lands, heavily armed, except for idealogical purposes, and ideas cannot be defeated by mortal means. If you do not accecpt their offer, I can almost guarantee that there will be a civil war between the international and the authorities in the capital, and, from what I know is happening around the country, this is most definatly not in your best interest."

Antiochus nodded. The man had convinced him. The greedy instinct for power within him danced with glee, but things were done a certain way in the Empire.

"Very well. I am willing to hire your associates. However, Imperial honor prevents me from hiring foreigners to kill the High Lords. The point of the contest of the High Lords is to prove the personal skill of each contender, and I refuse to have to hire foreign assassins to do my work for me. I shall have work for your associates soon; but leave the International alone from now on."

"I find these terms accecptable. I believe they will need logistical support to bring new weapons in and ship old ones out since the smuggling routes are starting to dry up. None the less, to reach us, there is hotel near here, The Grand Martinique. Room 361-b does not appear in their system, but does infact, exist. Have your men raise the blinds in all 4 of the windows halfway, and I will come. In the mean time, the International will be safe."

Kobayashi bowed and left. After being dragged around the palace for nearly two hours, he was released on the street. He walked for half a mile, before a black van pulled up behind him. A team of men dragged him into the van, and sped off towards one of the safe houses.

OOC: I took the liberty of assuming you had some heavier firepower then hadguns and rifles, its good for you!

IC:
“Sir, we’re approaching Selucia. We have yet to hear from the scouting force, but judging by the familiar gunfire you can hear ahead I believe they’ve engaged some enemies. If you wish we can rendezvous with them and pick ‘em up.”

“Well, my orders are clear, they can make their way to us. We will make our way to the governor and town hall and set up a defensive perimeter around it and then man the inside of the building. We have the supplies with us, I just hope these damn rebels leave us alone long enough to do so, I hate having my men fire with one hand and dig with the other.”

Up ahead the scouting force had split up into different groups when rebels came in sight. Three men staffed three buildings spread around on the face of a city block. In front of them lay a road bordering a jungle/forest (OOC: don’t know what should be here). Crouching in the brush rebels would routinely crawl up and open fire.

Private Markievius Donalbain fondled his trigger as he slowly counted in his head. “1…2…3…go!” He rolled from behind the wall aimed out the window at a flash of gunfire spraying rounds into the floors below him. He squeezed the trigger on his DAC 91 SMG, dirt and blood spraying up from the bullet-riddled brush. His gun swept side to side laying down a line of lead into whoever might have been there. He released the trigger and jumped left, but not before he heard a burst of bullets fly by him. “Damn, that bitch was close.” Suddenly he heard a low whizzing, reaching behind his chest plate he grabbed a tube erratically swinging about. “Shit, shoulda had the armor on my air line fixed. Well, guess I’m just glad they’re merely rebels and don’t have anything warranting airtight armor.”

Several floors below Private Aldridge Rommel slid a fresh clip into his DAC. Peeking from behind his couch and table fort he looked up at the windows he was rotating between. The panes of glass were missing in all windows, bullet holes studded the sills and leaked sunlight into the dark room throughout the walls. “Whole damn wall is gonna fall in soon.” His legs pushed him and up and he ran over towards one of the windows when rebels below opened up with heavy fire. Rounds shredded wall paper, brick, and wood alike. Aldridge started slipping as he tried to turn backwards, then his leg exploded in pain. He lost balance and fell backwards, and then saw that as the sporadic lines of fire had crisscrossed back and forth they had somehow both hit his left leg at same side. With horrible realization Aldridge instantly remembered neglecting to take his blood clotting medicine, and he had none on him. His suit was applying pressure to the wounded area, but blood was still flowing fast right now. He slowly dragged himself backwards as a small section of the wall in front of him actually started falling outwards.

“Shit man, they pierced my armor, bloods flowing.”

“You’ll be fine, the suit blood clot combination will keep you from losing too much blood.”

“But I didn’t take my medicine! And big pieces of wall are gone, they could easily chuck a ‘nade in here.”

OOC: thanks for assuming were ok fighters.

IC: Jayson fingered the confused reports he kept getting given, like he was their leader. They told him these enimes had come in 3 groups with a decent sized reserve.

Logic told him to concentrate on one group at a time but he didnt know when reinforcments could come pouring in at a weakened line in there "front"

He ordered a couple of snipers up onto the roof of the Seleucian Times biulding.

Taking a deap breath he told his rebels to fall back and establisha secure perimiter on the Inner Seleucian Ring Road, there he reasond he could keep inflicting casualties without them breaking through even though they were considerably better trained, he banked on them underestimating them. But of teh ex-soilders in the nearby wood he could do nothing.

All he could do was sit and wait.

OOC: im not that good at these fighting reply...

IC:Peter ran up to the roof of the Seleucian Times biulding, hunting rifle in hand, excited at being able to shoot at thes foreign dogs who dared to atack noble Seleucia with its bold new thinking

At the roof he peered through his scope and saw some gas hissing out of a bush

"well that cant be an animal, it must be a loose air valve or something"

Peter pulled the trigger and a man fell backwars waring an unfamiliar armour with a hole straight through his visor.

elated he stood up and shouted down to his friend Mickhalias hed got one of the bastards, in the motions of cheering six high powered bullets with straight through him, killing him instantly.

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=481483

The OOC thread. I'll have numbers for the High Lords' armies up soon.

OOC: GE, we need to wrap up that conference part, because I can't RP Lucifer doing anything until Varus leaves.

Night fades from the doorstep of the bloody city; a glimmer of light shines in the east, behind the Palace. You can see it from the windows of the Generian embassy, from the east side of Inquisitorial Headquarters. Dawn is a comforting time...but of late, dawn in Korronis brings death, and no comfort.

This dawn is no exception. This dawn would bring a day that the city remembered.

Uther Aulenson, Imperial Guardsman, patrolled with eleven of his comrades. The streets of the Sacred Precinct, well-illuminated and secure, were far behind: in this sector, the International pulled the strings on dozens of local brothels and dealers, unsupervised by the Ministry of Pleasure. The denizens of this sector willingly gave their souls to crime, because they believed they had none. Drugs were hard to find in the Empire and generally taboo, but this was a poor area, reminded every day just how aloof their government was by staring at the familiar shapes in the distance: the Imperial Palace, the Sanctum of the Hierarchs, the Inquisitorial Headquarters.

Suddenly, Uther noticed something. The glow of flames shined from a window in the cheap apartment building they were passing by. And since they are Imperial Guardsmen, their response was thoughtless, a natural reaction: they sprinted up to the door, crashed through it, up the stairs, up up up to the room that threw forth its burning glow...and were met by an unexpected sight.

A man wearing an explosive vest smiled at the sight of them, stepped toward them as if to greet them.

And they were smoke.

A wave of fire and pressure tore from the room; it ripped a hole in the wall and destroyed the floor; shards of glass from the windows were hurled lethally at passersby and the whole side of the building facing the street sagged. A gaping hole remained, as if someone had reached into the building and torn out its heart with hands of fire. Firemen would rush to the scene; other buildings would not receive such attention.

Less than fifteen seconds after the first blast, an Inquisitor’s secretary got into his car to head to a nearby coffee shop, where he would have a cup of espresso before going to work. He turned the key, and was dead before he knew what happened. The car bomb kills three pedestrians, as well as breaking every window on the block.

A minute later, a van packed with explosives pulls up in front of a post office and explodes.

A minute later, a man in the lobby of the Memphis Hotel detonates an explosive vest.

And within five minutes, almost forty explosions rock the city of Korronis. Dozens are killed, and property damage is extensive. Firemen cannot be everywhere at once, and fires linger.


An eighteen-wheeler, the back filled with plastic explosives, suddenly careened out of the road onto the surface of the Forum. Two vans, likewise packed with C4, followed suit. Almost casually, the tanks flanking the entrance to the Palace opened fire, destroying all of them, but abruptly an attack helicopter swooped over the Forum. The guards looked up to see a rain of missiles aimed at the tanks and at them while soldiers rappelled down from the helicopter. Manholes slid open in the street and soldiers rose from the sewers; another eighteen-wheeler disgorged men, carrying assault rifles.

More attack helicopters arrived on the scene: the potent AH-166 gunships hurled missiles at the rogue helicopter. Unable to defend itself, it exploded in midair. Chaingun fire mowed down many of the soldiers that were sprinting toward the Palace from behind, while Immortals poured from the massive doors, firing at the interlopers. The helicopter had not managed to destroy more than a few tanks, and the many survivors blasted holes in the swarm approaching.

And yet, this was but a distraction. The Palace was being invaded from within.

Six Immortals, handpicked by their new master, had been specially instructed to keep their allegiance a secret; they would remain in the Palace and do their master’s work. He knew well that it would take a massive army to storm the Palace, and smuggling an army into Korronis was impossible. But in the present climate of confusion, penetration from within was perfectly feasible.

They jogged through the halls, ignoring the alarms. They knew their destination, and they no longer needed to maintain the illusion of following orders. Their leader, one Marius Sadow, strode before the rest, SG-655 held ready. I will enjoy this, he thought. The gods are on my side today.

They stopped before the door to the offices of Crown Prince Antiochus. Marius took a deep breath, gazed at the door before him, and suddenly wrenched it open. Snapping his gun up, he gunned down the shocked guards before they could even raise their weapons. The secretaries, spattered with blood and trembling, gazed in terror at Marius, their hands raised.

“Shut off the alarm,” Marius growled, indicating the security equipment. Shaking, they complied, and told him so. Nodding, Marius waved his men forward. Turning to face the secretaries, he began, “Oh, and just in case you sound the alert...” and put a burst of three bullets in each of their chests.

Room by room they moved towards the Crown Prince’s personal quarters, killing guards, secretaries, concubines...none stood in their way, and they left nothing behind. They did not hesitate at the door of Antiochus’s bedroom, crashing through it and leveling their guns at his head. He stared at them, almost appearing unconcerned at the sight of them. Almost.

“Guards, what is the meaning of this?”


Marius did not bother to respond; he stepped toward the man and landed a blow to the temples, knocking him out. He pulled a hood and handcuffs from a pocket, deftly restraining the unconscious prince. Then they led him out, acting as though he were any other prisoner being transferred from the Palace to the Inquisition or a prison. But instead of leading him to the prisoner buses, they took him down to parking facilities, just below ground level, where they threw him into the back of a van, where five of them climbed in to guard him, with Marius driving. Getting him out of the Palace was easy; Marius had only to present his ID and inform the guards that he was transporting a prisoner specially to CHARIOT, the High Command facility. Apparently his master had faked an order, for when the guards checked to make sure Marius had indeed been ordered to do this, nothing went amiss.

The van and its passengers drove through the early morning, using their status as Immortals to pass the roadblocks set up in the wake of the bombings. They offloaded their royal cargo onto a small private jet, owned by a corporate officer that owed a few favors to their master. Marius e-mailed his new lord, informing him that the mission had been a success.

High Lord Ishamael Sadow, the man who had ordered that Antiochus be brought to him to die, smiled and laughed as he read Marius’s e-mail.

First blood belonged to him.

Meanwhile, northwest of Tarsus, missile silos hurled Pandemonium II missiles into the sky; they could loosely be described as incendiaries, but they simply were designed to flatten what was immediately around them and burn what wasn’t. Hundreds of them rocketed up into the atmosphere, before coming down on the army of High Lord Avaru, east of the River Arsakia. SAM batteries intercepted many of them, but hundreds were killed and several tanks destroyed.

And that marked the true beginning of the Succession Wars.

Miles away even from the far bank of the river, Ishamael’s vast army began to move.

Tanks rolled forward, and Legionaries, Immortals, and even the savage War-Priests strode at a quick pace. They spread out so as not to be vulnerable to bombing, with the mobile SAM batteries crawling through the middle of these groups, along with the armored mobile command centers directing Ishamael’s 2nd Army. The Sidewinder Light Armored Vehicles formed a significant part of the vanguard, moving up and around the mass of soldiers. For simple effect, not practical benefit, horns blew across the massive host, and a roar of approval tore from the throats of 1.8 million Legionaries. Overhead, helicopters swooped around at low altitudes, while the Balefires, the core of the Imperial Air Force, patrolled the heavens. Above even them, the Paladin stealth bombers moved slowly and invisibly towards the enemy, preparing tons of high-explosives to be delivered at the proper moment. Massive artillery guns were towed behind the masses, slow giants capable of delivering a crushing, grinding barrage that would tear the most carefully prepared fortifications apart.

Word spread quickly through the upper echelons of High Command, and through the inner circles of the various High Lords: Ishamael was marching on the River Arsakia, to attack Avaru. Asmodeus had unleashed a string of bombings in Korronis, coinciding, by accident or by design, with the raid by Ishamael that had captured Crown Prince Antiochus. That day, Avaru would march his forces to counter Ishamael’s, and they would fight over the river. Lucifer would publicly request more international aid, in the form of large ground forces, ignoring the certainty of his only son’s death. Jahvan would move his fleet out of the Arcan Bay, preparing for an attack.

Kregaia resounded with the call of war that day. The High Lords answered.

The Succession Wars had begun.

He was burning. Burning in the fires of Hell. He could feel his skin blistering, and danced as his feet burned on the fiery embers below, danced to the music of screams. One of the damned turned eyes red with weeping and lamentation to his, and shrieked like a man possessed. Throwing himself on the ground, he screamed “Do you like green eggs and ham?”, writhing in the agony from his soul and from the ground, scorching his flesh.

He watched the convulsing man scornfully; replying, “I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. I do not like green eggs and ham.” Immediately the wretch stopped writhing, and indicated the barren, blasted, landscape of despair around them. “Would you like them here or there?” he asked, tremulously, as if he were afraid of the answer.

He raged inwardly at the temerity of this small man, this tortured being, who somehow he could not bring himself to break, to kill; and he dredged up his reply from the deepest pits of hatred within him: “I would not like them here or there. I would not like them anywhere. I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.” Grabbing the front of his shirt, the damned man gazed with mad eyes into his face, malodorous breath rank in the air. “Would you like them in a house? Would you like them with a mouse?” Growling in fury, he wrenched himself free of the accursed man’s grip, and backhanded him viciously across the face. He spat at the groaning man, “I do not like them in a house. I do not like them with a mouse. I do not like them here or there. I do not like them anywhere! I do not like them, Sam-I-Am–”

Dr. Jacob Seuss sat upright in his bed. He looked around for whatever had woken him, and after a second, heard the ring of the telephone. Rolling over, he picked up the handset and growled, “What?”

The voice that answered was calm, pleasant, and digital. “Dr. Jacob Seuss, you are expected at Inquisitorial Headquarters no later than 0715 hours. Have a pleasant day.” There was a click as the system on the other end automatically hung up. Seuss looked at his clock: it was already 6:43. He would have to hurry through the morning traffic.

Five minutes later, he was in his car, already too impaired to be driving. Starting the engine, he pulled into the street and got on his way. By 7:08 he was shutting his car doors and starting for the elevator that would take him to the briefing rooms. He’d been there many times before; even completely shitfaced, he could have walked down there with his eyes closed. It just proved this that he found himself inside the Black Ops Sector and walking toward briefing room 12, barely noticing that he had moved. At the door scanner, he presented his fingertips, held his eye open, and said aloud, “Dr. Jacob Seuss. Used to do a little but the little wouldn’t do it so the little got more and more.” Every agent of the Inquisition had a code that the computer used to identify their voice; their name, and a phrase of their choice. Seuss had chosen a line from Guns N Roses’ 1987 hit, Mr. Brownstone, a song that could have been written about him.

The security system confirmed that he was indeed Jacob Seuss, and opened to reveal a darkened room. Inside, at the head of a long conference table, sat a man whose face was hidden and a pudgy man with his back turned. Seuss took a seat next to the fat man without waiting to be told, and did a double-take upon seeing the fat one’s face.

He was none other than Sir Topham Hatt, also known as the Fat Director, Seuss’ partner up till a few years ago; he was also a heroin addict, and a raving lunatic. But hey; Seuss was an alcoholic Inquisitor. So who was he to complain?

“Dr. Jacob Seuss,” intoned the man at the head of the table. “It is a pleasure to see you again. We have work for you, and for Sir Topham Hatt. Listen closely..."

Bump. And check out the OOC thread.

It was a bright and glorious day, after sailing for 48 hours to reach the Gold Sea. It was around 9:30 AM when the lookout on the JRS Angelic spotted the Warmasterian fleet, it was massive, at least one and a half times the size of the Armada, the radio man radioed the Admiral in charge of the Warmaster fleet:

This is Flagship JRS Angelic coming in from the south at 25 knots, requesting permission to enter the Gold Sea. We are here by order of his Majesty, High Emperor Bill Lloyd, we are here to help you defeat your enemy. Again requesting permission to enter the Gold Sea, direct us to our docking area. JRS Angelic... Over and Out.

OOC: Little post for now

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To JRS Angelic:

The Korronis military docks await your fleet. They are capable of holding your armada; alternatively, you may join the 1st Fleet, some distance from the shore. Coordinates are attached. We look forward to fighting alongside you; the hour has come.

Imperator Jakran Vuell

bump

OOC: Jip, working on the beginning of the naval stuff; and Nation of Fortune, if you're still around, I'm working on a larger role for you. Any preferences? Freudotopia, I'd like to see the whole Tank McBrain/Boo Radley thing play out, and Mer des Ennuis, feel free to take some of the contracts, meet up with Imperial representatives, that sort of thing...again, PLEASE send soldiers!

IC: Ishamael, secure in his private palace, watched live via satellite feed the progress of his army, approaching the bank of the River Arsakia. After softening up Avaru’s defenses on the other side for a day or so, they would cross the river, and hopefully control both banks before Avaru’s full army could give aid. The plan was a little optimistic, but Ishamael believed he had possibly the most potential to fight a prolonged war; he just had to weaken his enemies.

His handheld buzzed to announce that he had a message waiting. Taking it off standby, Ishamael read the short e-mail and frowned.

CROWN PRINCE HAS ARRIVED. READY FOR INTERROGATION. ALSO, ASMODEUS HAS REP HERE TO DISCUSS POSSIBLE AGREEMENT.

The first two he was prepared for; the second he was not. An agreement with Asmodeus wasn’t worth the ink it took to sign; was he after Crown Prince Antiochus instead? That would be just like him-clan Vasraad had always hated Lucifer, and Asmodeus hated his son just as much. Envy, that was the cause. Asmodeus had only ever loved power, and there was nobody in the Empire with nearly as much as Lucifer. Yes, that had to be it: Asmodeus had sent a lackey to make a deal in exchange for Antiochus as a prisoner.

Ishamael was no slave trader. And yet, it all depended on what Asmodeus was willing to give...



Asmodeus’s negotiator was tall and skeletally thin, appearing to be in his early fifties. He had the air of a nobleman trying desperately to restrain his natural haughtiness in the presence of a superior. Ishamael decided to increase his advantage by taking command from the start.

“By whose authority do you trespass in my city?” he snapped, expressing disapproval and condescension at the same time.

The man lowered his head, and spoke in an oily voice. “I come by the authority of High Lord Asmodeus of clan Vasraad. I am instructed to make you an offer: the Crown Prince, in exchange for a boon of your choice. It is not my place, but I understand that my master greatly desires to have that prisoner in his power, and is willing to give a great deal. I have full powers to arrange this.”

Ishamael considered. Time to bargain. “The Crown Prince is valuable. I cannot give him up lightly; your master must prove his worth first.”

The negotiator looked Ishamael in the eye, with an air of wounded pride. “The High Lord has already done so. It was he who ordered the bombings which allowed you to seize Antiochus in the first place amid the confusion. My master knew quickly of the Prince’s kidnapping, and immediately sent me to retrieve him. You, Great Lord, have yet to prove your skill and worth.”

“Watch your tongue, man, or I will tear it out. You have no place to speak to me like this. Now, Asmodeus may have Antiochus, but in exchange I desire him to attack High Lord Avaru. The manner in which he does this is his concern; but I want the target or targets to be of importance. I would prefer targets which hamper Avaru’s ability to defend the border of Kun-Dra Dominion, which as you know is Avaru’s territory. Is that acceptable?”

The negotiator smiled and replied, “Perfect. I will wait outside this building with a van; I expect you to bring me the Crown Prince within an hour. I trust that you will comply with honor. In return, my master will indeed begin depredations across your border with Kun-Dra. Expect to see results soon.” With that, the man bowed, they shook hands, and he left.

Ishamael followed him out, striding to the detainment area to order Antiochus’s transfer in person, inwardly laughing. Asmodeus would immediately sell Avaru the information that an attack from Ishamael was coming in the north. Avaru would move troops there, in which case the invasion across the River Arsakia would go easier, or he would discredit the information, and Ishamael would have the option of actually following through on his words and invading the northlands.

The dice had flown high, and the first toss was in his favor.

OOC: ok wating for you war on the naval goodies

IC:

JRS Angelic:
We have recieved your message, and are proceding to the sea to link up with the 1st Fleet, We will be in position in 5 hours.
Angelic OUT.

As the Armada was moving into formation with the Warmasterian 1st Fleet, the Admiral, Jearan Icardo, was just waiting to see the big guns roar to life. The Angelic is the newest ship to the Jipleastani Navy... She was a true behemoth, she weighed in at an astounding 89,324 Tons... The Angelic was the largest battleship in the Jipleastani navy, it was armed with 3 quad-barreled, turreted 20" rail-guns, 16 8" railguns, 8 Phalanx Anti-missile guns, 2 batteries of 4 ABM silos, 66 cruise missiles in 3 batteries. It was also armed with 3 torpedo tubes with 24 torpedoes. It was equipped with the most advanced RADAR and SONAR equipment available, her hull was nearly impenetrable, and the bridge could take a direct hit from a cruise missile, and survive with minimal damage. The glass on the bridge was 6 panes of balistic glass, each 1 inch thicker than the last, totaling 20 inches of glass, no rifle in the world could penetrate the glass, it was tested and tested again. It took 9shots from a .50 cal machine gun to puncture the glass in one spot.

OOC2: god... enough rambling already...

Imperator Jakran Vuell stared at his to-do list, which was increasingly getting longer.

Jipleastan’s fleet had arrived; he had to meet with its commanding officer before sending the combined armada on its way. Further, the bombings in Korronis this morning had convinced him that increased numbers of special forces were needed, if only to combat High Lord Asmodeus’s terrorist methods. And yet, the Imperium simply did not have the resources to protect all its interests right now. They would have to get international help. Lucifer had been in the Hall of Confluence with a Generian envoy since yesterday, and was very likely unaware of the fact that his son was a hostage and that riots were smoldering across the city. He, as head of the military, was going to have to make all these calls within the next few hours. Freudotopia had yet to offer assistance, so he was going to have to ask them. There was still the rumor of foreign special forces in the country, and the mayor of Seleucia was spreading treason even while literally taking fire from Borman troops.

Times like these made him understand how overworked his Sacred Emperor must be.

A knock came on his office door, followed by Seth Jamaane’s voice calling, “Jakran?” The Imperator put his handheld down and thanked the gods. Seth Jamaane, Lucifer’s best friend, Supreme General in the Legions, Head of the Imperial Immortals, and Lord Regent of the Imperium, was an extraordinarily capable man; the perfect person to help an overworked friend out.

“Come in!”

Seth opened the door, looking much grimmer than usual as he walked to Vuell’s desk.

“I came to see if there was any help I could offer you.”

Jakran Vuell sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Seth, I have about twenty top-priority things to do within the next three hours, and if they don’t get done the Imperium will be easy prey. We’re getting taken apart, and the shooting hasn’t even really started yet.”

“What has to happen?”

“First off, can you think of a nation that could loan us special forces units? Without them Asmodeus can bomb the shit out of any place he wants.”

Seth considered, helping himself to a cigar from the box on Vuell’s desk. “Not many of those who are interested...how about Nation of Fortune? CAD ally, should want to help out a friend in need.”

“You sure? We haven’t had much in the way of a relationship over the years. Pretty much the only common ground is the CAD.”

“Who better? One thing we do have is a lot of money. If you can’t get some elite troops, buy them,” Seth said, lighting his cigar.

“Yeah. I guess.” Vuell scribbled a note. “I’ll have the Foreign Affairs Division make up a letter, put the Divine One’s signature on it, and pass it along. Next item: what does the Inquisition have to say about the treason in Seleucia?”

“I talked to High Inquisitor Kreegan last night. He says we really don’t have enough troops to be sure of complete pacification; looks like a lot of the population is in favor of independence. I say let Borman hit em hard. I’ll send a notice telling them to intensify their efforts.” Seth puffed on the cigar, letting the smoke wreath around him.

“Thanks. After you do that, the two of us have to meet with a Jipleastani admiral; their fleet is in, and we need to get the strategy straight before we take on High Lord Jahvan. Jahvan’s a tricky one, and we need an early victory to encourage the population. Finally, there’s that report about some police officer sighting foreign troops.”

Seth sighed, then paused as if he’d remembered something. “I forgot; Antiochus told me something before he was taken. He met yesterday with some foreigner named Kobayashi who represents, apparently, a cabal of elite forces. This Kobayashi claimed they were exceedingly capable, and Antiochus hired them to protect him and asked them to stop attacking the International; apparently they were behind all the attacks on cartel members. That should calm Samuel Marchosias down...I think that the forces that were sighted are these same people, and that if they’re as capable as they say, we should work with them. On that note, the Grand Martinique has given the signal, at my urging. I’ve told the door guards to watch for suspicious foreigners and bring them to me, after security, obviously.”

Vuell sighed as though hundreds of pounds had flown from his heart. “That is one hell of a lot less on my mind. Thanks, Seth. I’m going to send these messages, you do the same, and we’ll meet up in an hour and go see the Jipleastani commander.”



OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To the Borman Empire:

We thank you for your aid in putting down the civil unrest in Seleucia; however, we feel we must warn you of the potential dangers. While it is not our intent to sound patronizing or to tell you what you already know, but much of Seleucia’s rather large population is against you, and the local Imperial Guards are holed up in their barracks. We urge your forces to intensify their efforts; we must work quickly if these revolutionaries are to be defeated. On that note, if you manage to capture the traitorous mayor, you may take him as a Borman prisoner or hand him over to the Imperium as you desire.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To Nation of Fortune:

We come to you with a request. We are sure you have heard of the recent disturbances within the Empire; much of this comes from an unprecedented wave of bombings, assassinations, and other terrorist activities, perpetrated, we believe, by men under the command of High Lord Asmodeus Vasraad, a dangerous and violent man. It is possible that the crime syndicate known as the International is in league with Asmodeus, which considerably worsens the situation. We hereby inquire if you would be willing to loan us a number of elite special forces units to combat this irregular style of warfare, under the command of an officer of your choice; we are willing to pay any reasonable compensation. We hope to hear from you shortly.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To Emperor Saul Hudson the Illuminator:

My friend, we must repeat that the Empire is in dire straits at this time. Freudotopia's potential for resolution of this conflict is great, and we must again request your assistance, militarily as well as through the aid of McBrain and Boo Radley; we are willing to render assistance to you in locating these two. We hope to hear from you soon, my friend; time runs short, and High Lord Ishamael has begun the shooting. Very soon the continent will be in flames. The Imperium can only hope that when the storm is upon us, Freudotopia faces it alongside us.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

OFFICIAL MILITARY COMMUNIQUE

To Admiral Jearan Icarno:

We thank you for your offer of assistance. We request the honor of your presence at a conference at the Imperial Palace, in Korronis's Sacred Precinct, to discuss strategy for our attack on High Lord Jahvan, as soon as is convenient for you. We hope to see you; in attendance will be numerous members of Fleet Command, as well as Lord Regent Seth Jamaane and Imperator Jakran Vuell.

Imperator Jakran Vuell, Supreme Commander of the Kregaian Imperial Armed Forces

OOC: Mer des Ennuis, consider the Grand Martinique signal given; I just didn't have time to RP it. Have your rep come on over to the Palace.

Bump time.

Varus nodded.

"Be assured that Emperor Kazatmiru hears your plight, and will do everything in his power to aid you. Generia does not easily turn its back on an ally, however I ask your patience. The Empire must deal with the threats to our own borders. As you know, the Yaforite navy has begun blockading our ports. We will free them of course, but we need time. Hold out, and in the meantime you will have the assistance of the Imperial elements I mentioned earlier.

With that, I must take my leave of you to report to His Grace, Emperor Kazatmiru."

Varus bowed at the waist.

Lucifer smiled blandly while inside he was killing and burning.

Loyalty. Fucking Generian loyalty. Where is it now, Varus? Did it die with your respect for a people who were once your ally? The Imperium has not forgotten its honor, and no more will it forget this. I'll dance on your grave, infidel. I'll rape your daughter. I'll torture your mother. I'll erase every member of your family from existence. May the gods devour your bones, you slobbering, shiteating incestuous slithering deceiving son of a Generian whore.

"The Imperium is well aware of the Yaforite War. Allow me to repeat our pledges of aid should you ever need it. Send my compliments to Emperor Kazatmiru. I shall send for you if I need you again. Goodbye, Varus." With that the Sacred Emperor stood, inclined his head slightly, and watched Varus turn and go.

His handheld buzzed with a message from Lord Rahvin.

DIVINE ONE. MASSIVE ATTACK ON KORRONIS PERPETRATED BY ASMODEUS BEFORE DAWN. ANTIOCHUS KIDNAPPED IN CONFUSION. JIPLEASTANI FLEET IN GOLD SEA. JAKRAN VUELL IS WAITING TO BRIEF YOU.

Major Szilárd and four other captains leading their respective companies were in a safe house in downtown Korronis, with the lawyer Kobayashi. Szilárd spoke:
“Kobayashi, I am pleased to hear that you managed to strike an alliance with Prince Antiochus.”
“Yes, I have,” replied the lawyer, “though he has apparently been kidnapped by forces unknown. But that does not concern my visit with you today.”
“Then what is?” asked Captain Damian Adam, CO of Company 1.
“We have received a signal from loyalist forces, I can only imagine it is either the Emperor himself, or the Imperator, Jakran Vuell.”
“What will they have us do?” asked Szilárd.
“I do not know, though I suspect that it will involve the forces that are marching to war throughout the country. I would suggest that they will have us strike at a military base of some sort to disrupt their intelligence.”
“Kobayashi, we are not able to strike at a base in our current situation!” exclaimed the Major.
“We have explosives, they have equipment. What is the bare minimum that we would need to make a strike?”
The major consulted with his captains briefly, and brought Kobayashi into the hallway outside the room.
“We would need mortars, at least five, preferably 80mm. We could also use vehicles for quick extraction, be it HMMWVs of quiet helicopters. If necessary, we will use our own SUVs, though that is a last ditch.”
“How many men are you willing to commit?”
“100 maximum, 15 assault fire teams, 4 heavy weapons teams, and a support team.”
“Then I will go to the Palace and meet with them.”
“Make sure you take a Javelin command unit with you, if only to show that we are well equipped. They know we exist, they just don’t know who we are.”
“Then I will go.”

As the mighty Jipleastani fleet sat in the Gold sea, another force was gathering in Jipleastan, it was the elitist of the elite, the strongest of the strong, the most powerful force that Jipleastan has ever assembled. The JAF(Jipleastani Air force) and the EJAF (Elite Jipleastani Army Forces) were both being assembled at Port Kolington. The totals were beginning to come in to the Generals' Building.

5000 of the Caesar III MBT bought from close friend and ally, "Not to be disclosed name"

4500 of the more lightly armored Testudo II IFV

2000 DM-43 Artillery Pieces

10,000 Men of the EJAF

The Air force was to be sent to Warmasterian lands as soon as approval of a temporary air base was approved by the Warmasterian Emperor.

Imperial Communique
To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer
RE: Temporary Airstrip
We are requesting the ability to build a size able Airstrip in a safe area within the Empire so as that our aircraft can place itself in a position to help you defeat the enemies. Please respond soon, we need an answer soon, otherwise our Air force will become quite restless.

Emperor Bill Lloyd,
Emperor Of Jipleastan

OOC: Warmaster, you're not supposed to know about Tank McBrain and Boo Radley coming to your country. You don't even know if they're still alive. So...maybe a few post edits are in order. Oh, and I will definitely send an army ASAP.

OOC: But Lucifer does know they exist, unless you're contesting that, which is fine I suppose, as long as they show up...and to know about them means knowing that they are extremely capable men. So he wants them there to help out. Maybe he doesn't know where they are or if they're still alive, but if they can be gotten, he wants them.

And thanks about the army.

IC:

OFFICIAL DIPLOMATIC COMMUNIQUE

To Emperor Bill Lloyd:

We are willing and able to grant you an airstrip in the Empire. The safest spot would either be near Korronis or in Shield Vale. However, both have drawbacks; Korronis is presently a huge target, and a base nearby would need heavy security to screen out suicide bombers. Also, Shield Vale is an island (albeit an extremely well-defended one) surrounded by enemies. The Imperium is confident of its ability to defend Shield Vale, but it is your decision.

His Divine Majesty, Sacred Emperor Lucifer of Domain Halcyon

“Watchin’ the dead to rise, wonderin’ how I’m alive
Strangers’ blood on my hands, shot all I can
Never no silent nights, watchin’ your brothers all die
To destroy all their plans, with no thought of me”

-“M.I.A.” by Avenged Sevenfold

General Anton Malustar, commander of High Lord Ishamael’s Second Army, stared at the video feed and grimaced. Ishamael might be a powerful and talented man, but he had a tendency to demand the impossible.

Avaru’s army had already crossed the River Arsakia and was penetrating into Ishamael’s territory, covering considerably more ground than Malustar’s. It was rumored High Lord Avaru himself was directing his army, hoping to be able to claim direct credit for winning the first battle of the war, no doubt. They were already moving into the city of Mazellian, a large and tightly-packed metropolis that the men were already beginning to call “Bloodbath City”. Both armies would spread, and meet, and they would unleash a brutal wave of force that would grind the city, its people, and the two armies into dust. The Battle of Mazellian would start the war off with a mountain of corpses...in typical Imperial style. Malustar stared at his handheld computer which displayed a message from Ishamael, seemingly anticipating the struggle facing him:

DO WHAT YOU MUST.

Malustar suspected that this would soon become the central justification of the nascent civil war.

***

“He who lives by the sword must die by the sword.”

-The Book of Revelation

***

Conquer. Kill. Kill, little mortals, and bring me blood. Scream, scream your song, sing your screams, pretty song; tear the flesh, rend the skin, strip it and braid it, wear it on your belt, a scalp to drip the gore; gore to flow, gore to dry, gore to blacken the streets of cities and the hearts of men; nice heart, juicy heart, delicious heart, twisted heart, twist until the joint pops free and the screams waft sweetly to your ear...

The 5th Legion, loyal to Ishamael, thundered up the central street of Mazellian. The mighty M146 Despoilers and T-120 Ravagers rolled ponderously behind, rumbling and booming with the report of fire over tens of thousands of war cries. Bullets flew thick and fast; corpses fell at an incredible rate, to be trampled by the feet of their comrades, unheeding, uncaring, desiring only to kill the enemy.

A shell from one of the artillery batteries slammed into a hotel along that street. Great blocks hurtled out and downwards, and crushed the soldiers swarming beneath. Dozens and hundreds of fighters dueled in the skies, the losers of each dogfight plummeting down onto the unprotected city. Some citizens stumbled into the streets, running amok until a bullet ended their life. Others trembled in their apartments, waiting for a shell to gut the building and kill them all. The smart ones fled to basements with water and food, trying to wait out the storm.

Tens of thousands of Avaru’s troops filtered out of the main street as Ishamael’s 5th Legion charged. Vanishing into alleys, they launched attacks from all sides, cutting down the enemy. A band of Ishamael’s War-Priests, insane with battle fury, hefted their miniguns and charged at the enemy wherever they could be seen, hosing them with a metal storm of 9mm bullets. By contrast, the Immortals coolly took aim and opened fire in controlled bursts. Precisely, surgically, they repulsed the skirmishers, cold death shining from the eye sockets of their deathmasks.

A squadron of twelve Behemoth heavy bombers, the crest of Domain Sadow emblazoned on their sides, swooped down over the cityscape on a bombing run. High explosives tumbled from its bays while more precise smart bombs mechanically targeted their prey; seconds after the first impact, hundreds of square meters of the city blazed freely, the screams of the dying wafting up to the war-god, the Slayer. Ishamael’s and Avaru’s troops alike lay pinned beneath wreckage as the fire consumes their limbs, or are crushed by flying blocks of brick and concrete, hurled by the force of the explosions. A volley of anti-tank missiles slashed through the air; it was impossible to tell whose until a squadron of Ishamael’s tanks lie crumpled and burning. Howling with rage, the 5th Legion divided into battalions of 1,000 men each and sprinted after Avaru’s fleeing men, a cat-and-mouse hunt where the roles can suddenly switch at any given moment.

In apartments across the city, troops storm into rooms and either search for the enemy or simply shoot the occupants dead. Artillery batteries hurl shell after shell into the already-gutted city. Snipers take cover at windows, and either find their mark or are shot from behind when an enemy squad finds them. Armored bulldozers roll through the city, in keeping with an Imperial strategy in urban warfare: the more you destroy, the less you have to occupy. Every square became a killing field, every apartment building an executioner’s dungeon, every street a channel for blood and a depository for corpses. Huge sections of the city blazed, a towering inferno, a burnt sacrifice to the Slayer, and massive columns of black, noxious smoke ascended into the skies. The heavens flickered with explosions and detonations, and thundered as if the gods were bellowing at each other in dispute.

Remember Mazellian.

There lie the dueling armies, paying no heed to the bodies beneath their boots and tank treads, or the fires feeding off the flesh of dead men, or the aircraft above, streaking down to prey on the earthbound armies, killing at random until their turn came, and a missile sent the pilot and his plane spiraling into the marching Legionaries. Squads take positions on rooftops to secure a height advantage, only to make themselves a target for attack helicopters. Troops flee to the streets to escape them, only to face enemy armored escorts. Soldiers run, in turn, inside buildings, only to have it crushed by the rolling, creeping, thunderous barrage that is making the ground visibly shake. MOAB bombs occasionally are unleashed, flattening huge portions of the city with their massive payloads. And the greatest horror of all?

Not one citizen has been evacuated.

The only ones that will leave Mazellian will do so as ashes.

Dance, mortals, dance. Dance for your gods. Dance for the Slayer. Bring me blood, mortals, and you will have your honorable death that you seek. Blood and honor; the creed of the Legions. Stay true to it, mortals. Bring me blood, and you shall have your honor.

The 5th Legion no longer hunts through the alleys for Avaru’s men. They are dead, every one. So is the Legion of Avaru’s that they pursued. Catharsis, that’s all it is; murderous, brutal, gut-wrenching catharsis. In a few hours of warfare, shocking losses have been inflicted, and borne, by both sides. In faraway Tarsus, Ishamael watches the live feed from the spy satellites, as news corporations fly their war correspondents to Mazellian, knowing full well that the chances are excellent they will never return. Asmodeus crafts his machinations while watching the carnage live, and like a carrion bird awaits his chance to strike. Avaru sits in a field hospital outside Mazellian while medics attend to a bullet wound to his left arm. Rahvin addresses his Fourth Army, in preparation for a raid into Asmodeus’s territory. Jahvan, on the bridge of his flagship, the super-dreadnaught Mayhem, oversees the deployment of his submarine fleet, sent out into the world to do the work he has given it to do: to kill, serving only him and destruction.

And Lucifer.

The Sacred Emperor listens in impassive silence as the damage reports are brought before him; millions of denarii in damages, dozens confirmed dead and hundreds more likely, and his own firstborn son rumored to be now in the hands of Asmodeus, quite possibly his greatest enemy, and the man most likely to kill him. Reports start flooding in that Mazellian has become a maze of slaughter, that Ishamael and Avaru are trading massacres. The Sacred Emperor bears this in stoic silence, and then leaves once the briefing is complete.

Today, as always, the Hall of Confluence offers no comfort. How can it? Obsidian, marble, iron, and even gold; they offer no comfort to the weak, only confidence to the strong. Lucifer is no weakling. He does not seek comfort. He seeks what he has sought his entire life, what he has gloried in and killed for: power. It has always been the Imperium's belief that to gaze upon power inspires one, gives confidence and restores faith. So Lucifer looks upon the Iron Throne, and sees power there. Lucifer looks upon the banner of the Imperium on the wall of the chamber and sees power there. His son? Doomed. Lucifer doesn't care about that.

But by the Seven True Gods, I WILL NOT let the Imperium die. I will kill the High Lords with my bare hands before they destroy my Empire. Take on the Imperium, you traitorous bastards. Step up and ride the lightning. We'll see who destroys who.

OOC: Avenged Sevenfold are an amazing band

and when this is over, write a book using these ideas

IC: Jayson wandered the rubble strew streets in Seleucia wondering how on earth the High Lords could have justified trying to blow up a movemant which was so obviously better than their own way of ruling, love of power he supposed, and the heresy which his "revolution" was, but there had been no Holy Retribution for their actions, just some regular soilders from Borman whos overconfidence and lack of experieance had lead to their downfall.

"sir, this is the butchers bill for the action yesturday"

"were equals" murmered Jayson as he stared down on the sheet

Dead Seleucan Millitary: 244
Dead Civilians: 863
Wounded Seriously: 278
Minor Wounds: 1833


Dead Borman Regulars: 88
Seriously wounded Borman Reg. :8
Minor Wounded: 3
MIA: 1
:


"only a hundred attacked us! if they had 50 more they'd have won and we'd be digging a two thousand graves rather than eight hundred." whispered Jayson to himself, "we need the weapons to fight back, not hunting rifles but propler artillery and everything"

He pondered for a moment then called out "Phil, wheres the nearest weapons storage facility near here?"

"The town of Aurilistean [ooc: random name, is it ok?], roughly 30 miles away, i'd assume lightly guarded at the moment with all the troubles up at Mazellian and around that area"

"ill need to think about this"

OOC: I really reall dont want to read all that stuff. So I'm just gonna go ahead and bring in three naval fleets and an army or two. In CAD map your island was supposed to be a landmass above me, so Im gonna treat it as if your island is above me.

Writers block, and I gotta run. But I dont wanna leave you hanging, so here's update post:
IC:
General James Thomas sighed as he gazed out over the men, marching in large squares towards designated transports. He had left Shoobooshaaba long ago to come home for a civil war that threatened to destroy Borman Empire, yet ended as soon as it started. After that he stayed in Borman and would now lead the army entering the nearby Warmaster.

Phalanxi marched forward into designated Imperivm-class invasion dreadnaughts, an additional 44 had to be prepared to transport the entire army across the narrow channel towards Warmaster. The first three imperial fleets waited, loading, to head off towards the land mass that was so close they could literally see it.

“Warmaster has their civil war, and by god, Borman’s choice will win.”

Imperial Communique
To: Sacred Emperor Lucifer

We Thank you for the permission to construct an airstrip in your land. Now, we have our decision of where it shall be built. We have decided upon Shield Vale, the island location. This is a sound location because of Warmasterian defences are strong as it is, but the addition of Jipleastani warships, and security forces will make the island an impenetrable stronghold. We are confident that building this airstrip will allow for strategic bombing of enemy forces wherever they may be. We Thank you again for this opportunity to build this airbase.
Emperor Bill Lloyd, Grand Imperial Emperor

The 281st Engineer Division were being packed into helicopters in order to reach Warmasterian lands quickly. All their supplies and construction material were to be shipped by sea going crafts. Then, after the airstrip was constructed, the 4th Air Guard and the 7th Bomber Squadron would be flown to the airstrip, as that would be their new home until the civil war was won.

Anton Malustar stood in the Second Army’s primary mobile command center, watching Mazellian torn apart. Like a leaf being savaged by ants, the city was being consumed by the battle tearing through its streets and in the skies above it. The death toll had to be well over a hundred thousand already. The situation was impossible; the battle hadn’t tipped in anyone’s favor, and the two armies could keep grinding each other down into nothing for weeks.

“General? High Lord Ishamael is on the line. He wants to speak to you.”

Anton turned from the tactical display and entered one of the private communications booths, where a screen bearing Ishamael’s face awaited him.

“General Malustar. The situation in Mazellian has become stagnant; this much is obvious. I am keeping an eye on the situation using the war room here in Tarsus. We cannot afford to stay there much longer. Neither can Avaru. Your advice?”

“My Lord, it would be an early sign of weakness were we the first to withdraw. I propose that we take a gamble and corner Avaru. Send reinforcements to his flank. He will then face a choice: try to defeat us within a limited amount of time, or withdraw. Avaru is a cold man, and will see the brashness and foolhardiness involved in assuming he could defeat us quickly at little loss to himself when he has not accomplished anything yet, given a full day and thousands of casualties. I defer to your wisdom in this, my Lord; you commanded my opinion and I rendered it. In any case, I pray that your end is accomplished.”

Ishamael laughed at the statement. “General, I am not Asmodeus. I listen to advice when it is given to me, as long as it is good, whether it is given by a private or a god. You share my opinion on this matter. The reinforcements are on their way as we speak. I expect Avaru will be gone within twelve hours or so. In the meantime, I’m not sure if you know this yet, but satellites have picked up a very large fleet of troop transports approaching Kregaian shores. We believe they’re from Borman, which likely means they’re supporting Rahvin and his loyalists. And yet, we can’t even be sure of that. I just wanted you to know. Anything else?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Good. Ishamael out.”

***

Thirteen hours later.

High Lord Avaru stood in a mobile command center identical to General Malustar’s; after all, all of the High Lords’ equipment had been taken from the Imperium. He was reading a newly-decrypted message from High Lord Asmodeus.

Avaru:

In a recent meeting with Ishamael, my representative requested a certain favor from him which I was willing to pay for by performing an equal service. Ishamael asked that I attack targets loyal to you, especially on your border with him. I am giving you this information for free, knowing that you are a man of honor and will remember this favor.

Asmodeus

Avaru had no idea what Asmodeus was up to. He could have betrayed both of them. His cells scattered throughout the Empire made him effectively intangible. Apparently he just wanted a favor to cash in later; but Avaru was no fool. He would not give Asmodeus the chance to ask whatever he wanted; he would determine his own target. Then the debt would be paid, Avaru’s honor would be intact, and Avaru wouldn’t have had to do anything ridiculous.

He stared out at the burning city of Mazellian, highlighted against a black, starless night, and gritted his teeth. He’d repay his debt this very night. Enough of this urban bloodbath; he’d return again, and in vast numbers, before the month was out. Hundreds of thousands of new troops were finishing their training at that very moment. Besides, staying longer meant exposing himself to a force that had been sent from Tarsus earlier that day and was approaching on his flank. Their ETA was around nine hours, which meant he could be leaving before they were in range.

He announced to the command center’s staff, “Signal all units. The battle is over. Withdraw, but take as many prisoners as possible while doing so. Transport them in whatever way you see fit, but we must have at least three hundred thousand hostages. As soon as the prisoners are in our hands, the army will withdraw back across the River Arsakia.”

And so his will was done. Units of Avaru’s army fell back, and seized civilians while avoiding Ishamael’s forces. Out of character for a Legionary, but necessary at times, and their master had commanded it. They moved with quick, deadly efficiency, and soon hundreds of thousands of beaten, terrified citizens stared down the gun barrels of their guards outside Mazellian.

And then they left. The column marched on a superhighway leading from Mazellian across the river to Malacus, deep in Avaru’s territory. They left behind them countless decoys, machines used during the Czardaian War that broadcasted human heat and infrared signatures, deceiving Ishamael’s forces into believing that a sizable chunk of Avaru’s force still was encamped outside the city. Avaru himself watched, while the command center rumbled softly as it rolled along near the front of the column, Ishamael’s forces snipe from Mazellian while his flanking force moved to engage. And then he gave new orders.

“Bombers...now.”

Dozens of bombers and all his stealth bombers had remained behind for this very moment. Ishamael’s planes were taking the opportunity to refuel and rearm, leaving the skies empty, except for these aircraft, far above the rest. Bomb bays opened, and thousands of tons of high-explosive tumbled out, electronics activated, and then they fell with deadly purpose. Heavy artillery and Colossus guns turned ponderously and fired, massive shells arcing back over the path to Mazellian, taking the enemy by surprise. Troops that had thought it was over, thought it was safe, now suffered a deadly rain of bombs that tore apart buildings, marked the streets with craters, and killed thousands.

And then silence.

Remember Mazellian.

OOC: A note here on suicide. Honorable suicide is completely different from the Western concept of suicide. I said that the Imperium despises suicidal people and emotions, and I was right; an Imperial citizens would never commit suicide to answer depression or for an emotional reason. However, soldiers and higher-ranked citizens (the types most careful of their honor) may commit honorable suicide when their honor is severely compromised. Oh, and graphic torture coming up. Enjoy.

IC: Antiochus, bruised and bleeding from a cut over his eye, stared dully around at the walls of his prison. Not a single sharp edge here, and the straitjacket he wore prevented him from committing honorable suicide.

The padded door swung open, revealing the figure of High Lord Asmodeus, dressed in a general’s uniform. Two Immortals stood at attention behind him. Asmodeus’s cruel eyes, burning with hate, stared down into the Crown Prince’s. Bending down until their faces were level, Asmodeus hissed, “Your time has come, filth. Get up and follow me.” Antiochus didn’t move.

Asmodeus smiled brutally, and slammed a fist into the side of Antiochus’s head. Lights blazed into existence in his eyesight, and the world blurred before he righted himself. However, before the disorientation cleared, he felt the front of his straitjacket being seized and used to haul him bodily into the air. Next thing he knew, he was slung over the shoulder of one of Asmodeus’s guards, on his way to an unknown destination.



The torture chamber was not large, and the more archaic devices on the wall served simply to inspire terror; a rack, an Iron Maiden...the Inquisition these days preferred the most modern ways of inflicting agony. Antiochus, strapped to a wooden table, got an eyeful of these new tools when Asmodeus opened a large case on a table a few feet from the Crown Prince, also in clear view of the cameraman filming the procedure.

Antiochus growled, "Kill me, fucker, but my father is watching you. The arm of the Sacred Emperor is long. Don't go to sleep, traitor! Never know when you're going to be woken up by a bullet!"

Smiling in dark enjoyment, Asmodeus rammed a spike through Antiochus's babbling tongue, pinning it to the table. Then, selecting a skinning knife, Asmodeus peeled the flesh from the Prince's abdomen, exposing the diaphragm beneath. With a delicate but wickedly curved tool, the High Lord made micro-incisions in the muscle, making breathing an agonizing exercise. Next, he retrieved a bottle of a powerful alkaline solution, dropping it in both of Antiochus's eyeballs. Asmodeus took this opportunity to turn to the camera, savoring the Crown Prince's muffled screams in the background.

"The same fate for all who oppose me."

Then he cut into Antiochus's shin, seized a small tool that pulsed electric shocks, and held it to a major nerve. The Crown Prince tried desperately to scream; the agony had to be beyond human tolerance. His foot spasmed madly as the electricity played through his nervous system. Dropping the shocker, Asmodeus picked up a clamp, attached it to Antiochus's upper arm, and with a violent wrenching movement and an audible crack, snapped the bone. Then, with what looked like a sharp pair of pliers, Asmodeus extracted Antiochus's knuckle bones, dropping the bloody things in a small box.

Over the next two hours Asmodeus shattered-repeatedly-almost half the bones in the Crown Prince's skeleton, tore through countless muscles, forced involuntary spasms on his twisted limbs, and generally reduced the pain receptors in his brain to mush. Finally, with the whole Empire watching by now, Asmodeus drew a sacrificial dagger. Chanting prayers and invocations, he raised it slowly above his head, and at last slammed it down into Antiochus's crushed chest, again and again, targeting blood vessels until the red, dark offering spilled and sprayed out, a sacrifice to the Torturer. Then, severing the Crown Prince's head, Asmodeus thrust it in front of the camera, gripping its hair, and thundered...

"I have my revenge! You will bow to me, Lucifer, and I will bury you next to this excuse for a man! Go to the Nine Hells and meet your son!"

OOC: I, Freudotopia, and Generic Empire are all going to be gone on vacation for a week or so, starting tomorrow...so I figure we should put this RP on pause. I’ll notify you all as soon as we’re back.

IC: A brass band played proudly, and the traditional Imperial standards were raised; the black Imperial banner, with the Great Seal of the Imperium proudly centered on that raven-hued flag. A limo drove up in front of a black carpet, leading up to the gangway of the massive super-dreadnaught Victorious, flagship of the “Loyalist Armada”, pride of the Imperial 2nd Fleet, and one of the largest ships in service to the Kregaian Imperial Navy.

High Admiral Ludo Anor, hero of the Czardaian armada, emerged from the limo, rows of medals on his left breast glinting in the sunlight, and the crowd cheered. His was a very recognizable face; Deputy Head of the Kregaian Imperial Navy, and a key part of forming the plan that led to a crushing victory for the Imperium. Now, as then, he would lead from the bridge of Victorious, but now he would sail into battle against his former countrymen.

Originally there had been a plan to meet with the commander of the Jipleastani fleet, but Imperator Vuell had decided to move that meeting aboard the Victorious (OOC: I didn't have time to write this out, Jip, but let's assume that I let your Admiral know that the meeting was moved), and move the two fleets out as soon as possible; there was no point leaving High Lord Jahvan's fleet running around more than necessary.

When Anor had boarded, he received a twenty-one gun salute, and the flagship moved ponderously out of the harbor, cheering masses in it's wake, on a course for the greatest internecine naval battle in history.

All right then. No acknowledgements of my comment about ending Volume One, so as I've given warning, Volume One is officially closed. I hope all of you will join Volume Two, bearing in mind that you are all automatically in if you want to be, and good luck to you all.

The Greater Federacy Of Moorington sends its hope that High Lord Jahvan gives them at least a heads up if the Moorish Federacy decides to come into the war on his behalf.

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=488492

Above is the link to the Volume Two signup thread. I believe it's in the OOC thread, but here it is just to be safe. I strongly recommend that all nations who were in Volume One be involved in Volume Two as well. I hope to see you there.