NationStates Jolt Archive

Sleek, soft, cold – that was the feeling of Raudin’s blade against his fingers, as podgy and deformed as they were. His fingernails were rotting, his hands were cut, but he still stood there, looking at his foe right in the eye, his hair in a thick mass of untidy frivolity, his arms sore and his back aching. He had soft emerald eyes and a smooth complexion, his eyebrows titled slightly up as if he was permanently in sorrow, his mouth hooked slightly as if he was smiling. In a way, he looked sad, but compelled at the same time. Lifting his great sword up into a tall, brilliant dash of light, the man ran with utmost speed against his foe, and in an instant, slung it down before his body was penetrated by a blast of nasty gunfire. Yelling in complete uproar, this man jumped with unbelievable speed and fervour into the air, the gust of wind beckoning forth his fury, his righteous anger. Another blast of bullets riddled his left arm, and in his chain mail of carved emerald links, this rich man was soon found bleeding profusely in the place he once called a sanctuary.

Down on his knees, his sighing soft as he whimpered, the pouring out like an issued fountain as he looked up, his head and his fair complexion matted down in pain, his face gruesomely portrayed in a dense forest of startling discomfort. From his place, he had one last look at the beautiful tranquility of the place he had once built in his rise to power – the blowing, softly issued fountains that spurted out paradise after paradise of water, the tall pillars that stood with kneeling statues as white as a pearl’s glyphic center, the floor a soft marble touch with a long velvet rug stretching through, blood staining it softly the colours mixing to create a dense brown hue. He had a look of sincerity, a look of compassion, sighing softly, without gentle sorrow, before falling down onto the floor, collapsing in a bloody heap, his breathing rasped and laboured.

From the steps, black, shadowy figures were sliding across the boundaries of perception, rifles in their hands, the bullets still steaming from the ground, the barrels still brimming with smoke as the long, hard sound of reloading was etching through the air.

Kri Kou, It cackled, almost like a deadly laughter, but it was merely metal, nothing more. Standing there, in the center, a man with a draping mask over his emotionless face, opened up the bundle and look at the heaping body with pity. This leader-like figure had blue, and ravishing eyes, a small nose but a handsome flock of golden hair, his skin tanned and his mouth medium, his lips a dangerous, fiery red. His physique was thin, his body was not very well built, but he moved as if he was the fastest man in the world.

Following him were old men, their beards long and thick, almost as if they were his advisors, their faces grim but identical – always weary, long and drooping. They stared on at him with their faces grim, their rifles perched in their hands as if each one was their child.

“Go on, sir. You have to. Remember what he did to your family? To your fiancée?” One of the old men piped up, his voice deep and dark, low and slow. Still, he had a swift tongue about him, and it was apparent he was very charismatic. However, he made a mistake quickly. “He raped your fiancée, he deserves to die!” With those words, a steaming barrel was pointed at his head, the others griming in fear.

Tears issuing slowly from his eyes, the young man in the center fought hard to keep back tears. “Don’t remind me, she was my world, my only world! I would love to kill him, but it is not the way! It’s not right!”

“Blasted what is right or wrong in this situation, sir! We have to take vengeance!”

“Killing him will not make all the hatred the people have go away!”

“He has enslaved, he has killed, he has raped. Half of his heirs are illegitimate children! Sir, I know you are a valiant and brave being, but please, we must make sure he is to die! He could be a dangerous political opponent!”

“So is that all you care about? Politics? Power? Not the people?” The young man asked.

“Master, for the good of Sentiauhk, we must make sure this tyrant does not go unpunished for his crimes! The people desire it!”

“No, we do it the Sentiauhki way – the civilized way. No death is allowed. Have a medical team ready, and then transport him to a nearby jail. There he will be tried fairly and we will have our revenge.”

“But not many are as fair and as great your Lordship, sir.”

“I will not have my enemy killed in cold blood. I am not him. He will have a fair trial!” The young man said with fury, looking at the urban sprawl of despotism and poverty, the smokes of the small communities of huts and shacks open and pilfering in wafting glades, almost like tiny clouds lifted up into the soaring air. He broke another shed of tears, before sighing softly. “Have this building be taken down and sold off piece by piece. We need to help the people first, before our majesty can be grown.” The young man replied, as the old advisors nodded and ran down its perfect steps. Leaving him alone, he sat down, beside the body, waiting for an ambulance to pick the corpse of the dictator up. With that, he heard a whimper.

Turning his head, he found in the darkening shadow, behind the golden throne and silver skulls, a small group of people huddled, a beautiful women with long, vibrant red hair and a tiny child, barely reaching the age of two, it seemed, still sucking on his thumb, his eyes closed as the woman whispered in his ear. When she saw this tall, handsome, but possibly dangerous man, she whimpered in her beautiful clothing, her elegant sashes of silk and fine linen. She began to shed tears quickly, but she kept quiet, as if not to wake her son.

The woman began to cry, though she showed no sign of wailing. “Please sir, please.” She said softly, trying not to wake up her child. The young man kneeled down, looking at her with wondrous eyes. Never had he seen such a beautiful woman, so elegant and radiant, yet so vivaciously luscious. She whimpered softly once more, and even then, she showed great magnificence in her charm. She was expecting the worse.

“Sir, have your way with me if you please, but please d-do not harm my son.” She began to show signs of wailing, though she still stayed quiet.

The young man looked at her with awestruck eyes, and lowered his gun. Placing his left hand on her shoulder, as his right was blood stained, she began to jerk softly, preparing herself. “Please, my son. Can you delay the inevitable?” She asked once more, as the young man looked at her.

“I am sorry.” He said with solemnity. She whimpered – she thought he would rape her while her son was in her arms. Awaiting a cruel fate, she closed her eyes, before hearing his soothing voice once more. “What is his name?”

Voice breaking, she said, “Lycadus.”

“What is your name?”

“Lycadria.”

“You are a beautiful woman, Lycadria, and so elegant. I can smell the wafting fumes of nobility from you, your tears even drench with heavenly perfume. Tell me, did you love your husband?”

“He…had his way with me, and he married me out of necessity for the production of an heir.” She said shamefully, as she began to whimper, the young man, about her age, began to wipe off her tears with a clean, white napkin he had picked from his sash.

“Lycadria, do not worry, do not show me sorrow. I will not harm you. I will not harm your son. You may live unharmed here as long as you wish, and be what you are as long as you want. I will not touch you with lust, only care. You are a ravishing jewel, and I am nothing more than a general. What you could possibly ask of me, I will serve.”

She whimpered softly again, relieved but still worried – the boy still slumbered in her arms. “What is your name, my Lord?” She asked.

“You can call me Sentinas. That is my name, and that is what I give you permission to label me as.” He said, smiling, hoping to break open some hidden joy in this woman, whom he was loving so dear. “Tell me when Lycadus awakes from his sleep.”

“Why, L – Sentinas?”

“I wish to meet him.” He said, smiling with a reassuring smile, turning around as he donned his mask, his long cape billowing behind him, joining the fight in the city square. The tyrant was toppled, and now comes the age of compassion in rich, but war-torn Sentiauhk.

Greetings, fellow nations, home to many people of the World,

I am General Sentinas, soon to be King of the tiny monarchy my people call Sentiauhk. We were once farmers and simple craftsmen born into a despot of treachery and villainous hives of poverty. However, we are rebuilding, and we hope all nations of the world may extend their hand to help us. We cannot give much, but we have many, many rich resources, of which we need new markets to open them to. Before anything could be done, I must rebuild my peoples’ homes from the destruction they once lived in. The last ruler, a tyrannical man who is now overthrown, is being safely brought to our tiny capital city of Nemlon for his fair trial. Should he be trialed out of death, he will be given provisions for a week and exiled out. If he is not, then he will be sentenced to a lifetime in prison. We do not believe in execution – life is valuable.

So I say, to anybody who wants to help a new nation on its feet – help us, and we will repay you back, some how, some day. We promise.

Signed, Sentinas.

*tag

*Bump

*Bump! I will post another one soon. Oh, and Jenrak, do you want to RP with me?

OOC: No problem, man.

[OOC: Hey, welcome to NationStates, and great start!]

London

Richard adjusted his glasses further up his face. 'I can't see the harm.'

His right hand man agreed. 'Budding Monarchy. Why, its our duty to support them.'

The Foreign Minister didn't look too enthusiastic, however. 'Mhm. New nation, just come out of some kind of revolution. Doesn't look too stable to me.' He shrugged and took a sip from the fine tea, imported at a cheap price from a west african nation and sold for something twenty times more expensive.

'But we can make it stable, John!' he tried to persuade the Foreign Minister. 'With Questarian corporations - and probably Praetonian too-' everyone in the room rolled their eyes. The Praetonians, though probably Quester's best allies, were always around to take the glory. '-Noone would dare intervene, and besides, it would make the area richer too.' Richard continued.

'Very well then. You have what we can spare. Don't fuck this up.' John looked down his glasses at Richard, deadly serious. 'You know very well we can't just go around propping up governments we like.'

There was a silence in the room. 'I'm joking, you knobheads.' A laugh between someof the most powerful politicans in Questers, and the deal was sealed.

Communique to Sentiauhk
The United Kingdom sees it fit, as our patriotic duty and our duty to the world to support the Monarchy of Sentiaukh in its direst hour. We have planes full of humanitarian aid, money, weaponry, advisors, and all sorts of technological goodies waiting on the tarmac; we therefore request an overview of your air infrastructure so we know where to land.

Sentiauhk – it rang out through the blood-carved streets with adverse bells shaking and glimmering in the shadowy temperate grass, each blade like a tiny natural monument to the lives lost in the endless, decade-long bloodshed. From the tall palace, taken down to nothing but ruins, sat the young man, looking with intent eyes upon the rebuilding lands, as he gulped a small sliver of water and then went back to the land he worked on, the blossom of the new fruit bearing small numbers, the trees and their falling ruby apples and the emerald cabbages voluptuous and desirable. Sighing, he nodded. “Good.” Lifting up the vegetables, he flung them up into the air, as the people cheered on and grabbed what they could.

National Corporate News
Hello, I am Sherry Armstrong, and on tonight’s top story, the rebellion has become victorious, the tyrannical regime ousted. Sentiauhk is now in a time of peace. In further news, mosquitoes – With that, a flicker of the screen was seen, and the television turned off. Sentinas cheered loudly, hugging and laughing alongside his fellow Sentiauhkis, as they rejoiced with a night of festive beer and partying.

Nations of the World! We have won! We are victorious! The last remnants of the tyrants before us have fled! Peace is now upon us!

Did you read my post?

Edit: Stupid jolt putting smilies in my posts when I didn't ask for them!

OOC: Sorry, we probably submitted it at the same time, and I was busy too. I will write a post up now.

A message was sent through the chugging fax machine that was placed beside his small cup of water – it gurgled out letters and numbers and paper by paper, the young ruler Sentinas still standing there, looking carefully and waiting as it finally spat it out, almost in a bloody defiance. “I need to get this machine fixed.” He said, sweat pouring from his forehead. He was working all day, growing crop and herding animals in his daily routine, helping his people from starvation as they tried to rebuild it piece by piece, the ruins of the palace still standing on the hilltop like a monument to their victory before. “United Kingdom? I have never heard of them.” He said, as one of his friends laughed.

“What is so funny?” Sentinas asked with sincerity.

“This nation was isolated forever. I don’t think you would have known.” He said, still chuckling calmly and casually, though his laughter was toned down considerably. Sentinas broke into a playful grin.

“Yeah, that’s true.” He said, turning on the computer, waiting for it to load. After what seemed like an eternity, to chugged up into work, double clicking on the icon as it flashed and opened. Typing on the keyboard, he tried to please the message’s prerequisites.

To the United Kingdom,
We do not have any airports yet, but we thank you for your aid. If you are honest about sending aid, our capital’s town center is cleared of debris and would be large enough to fit a few planes on. Other than that, it is all farmland, for the moment.
Signed, Sentinas

The paper gurgled out of the printer nearby, old and beaten, Sentinas waited patiently, his chin resting on his hand. When it finally came out, he quickly took and had it faxed immediately.

Major-General Arrozal Zipoetes sat at his modest desk within the Chief Council's building, elbow from the desk to his chin in thought.

There was a knock and a young ZIPC Captain came in with a folder under his arm.

'Yes?'

'Comrade General we've received word on a new nation. A monarchy in fact.'

Zipoetes rubbed his eyes wearily and subconciously moved for one of his cigars but willed himself to ignore the urge. He rubbed his chin, feeling neglected stubble.

'Perhaps we could influence them to share their power with their people comrade Captain. Diplomatically speaking of course.'

The ZIPC captain nodded emphatically.

'Of course comrade General, and if that fails...'

Zipoetes cut him off with a wave of his hand. The Captain was an ideal officer, smart uniform and not afraid to roll up his sleeves get involved in bureaucracy. Maybe he would consider adding an extra embroidered star to the good Captain's red collar tabs.

'Patience Staja, that is not the most beneficial solution. I understand your concerns, but we will at least try the usual method. Make preparations.'

The Captain nodded.

'At once Comrade General.'

He stepped back, turned 180 degrees and marched straight back out of the office.

---

Sentiauhk,

The Armed Republic of Zhaskev bids you welcome into the world stage and congratulates you on your successful revolution. It is always a fine thing to see a tyrant overthrown. However, we believe a monarchy is not a natural progression from this and would only led to similar opression of your people, despite your best efforts.

We would strongly encourage you to look at a more oligarch or democratic approach of government in the best interests of the fair people of Sentiauhk. Such a move would not come without reward for your budding nation, we would offer financial aid and trade concessions to equip your new military, Arms Manufacturing is something we specialise in.

I look forward to your reply.

Regards,
Major-General Arrozal Zipoetes
Chief Council

To Major-General Arrozal Zipoetes,

I understand your concern, and I will assure you that I am a monarch of name and influence, not of actual political power. Sentiauhk is a Constitutional Monarchy, and I am merely the one who will talk on behalf of the people, yet they determine my outcome and my words. So have no fear, for I do not command any power at all. I am merely…eye candy…from Sentiauhk to the World. I hope this clears up any possible worries you may have.

Signed, Sentinas

Air above Sentiauhk
Pocketa pocketa pocketa chugged the engines of the C130 Hercules. Drifting slowly above the skies of Sentiauhk, the Royal Airforce cargo plane was piloted by some of the RAF's best pilots - somethin that was neccessary for what they were going to be undertaking.

'Seriously, Zack, you sure we can do this?' The co pilot looked over at the pilot of the plane, noticing the altitude metre slowly dropping. She wasn't worried - the plane had state of the art defense mechanisms and they could easily bail out, but she was concerned.

'Sure. Why not.' Zack didn't even look back at his co pilot as the Hercules began its descent. Screaming down at the city, air pushing against the wings of the aesthetically pleasing aircraft, as it slowly cruised down over the city. It was a contrast from London - the giant skyscrapers and majestic buildings hundreds of years old marked the capital of an Empire that the sun never set upon, where people were free and rich and yet in this isolated, idyllic nation, there was something that appealed to a city-born and bred Questarian.

'Here we go.' Zack flicked on the music player, and his favourite tune, Wagner's Ride of the Valkryies, filled the cockpit. Anna, the co pilot, sighed. Zack was an ace pilot, but he was extremely arrogant. It would be the death of him, one day.

The C130 pushed itself forward into vision of everyone in the city and began the approach. The town centre was just large enough, and the government warnings hadn't set the crowds back - people were lining the streets, within safe distance, to see the foreign aircraft land. Considering there were no airports in Sentiauhk, this was probably a memorable sight for those that lived in the capital city. The aircraft slowly came down to a hundred metres, and almost perfectly dashed across the town centre, bumping some, wheels skidding and sparking. Suddenly it jolted to a halt, and the propellers slowly whirred to a stop.

'Bloody hell Zack.' The pilot looked over and grinned and Anna. 'Not bad, eh?' he winked.

Zack took his helmet off and sighed. That was fun! Slowly, he got up, and with Anna following him, they opened the doors of the airplane and almost fell off.

'Looks like we'll need a ladder.'

Sentiauhk’s capital of Nenlon was barely a capital at all – it was merely a few large buildings and row upon row of farmland. With the capital monuments of the previous reign ousted and the parts tripped and sold to aid in the economy, only small houses and farmland existed – it looked more like a hamlet, primitive structures and all. As the door opened, the nearby farmer, his face gruff and his expression grim, looked up from his plough, his overalls tacked atop a blue pair of jeans and a t-shirt as the morning fog was just settling down. His voice deep and dark, he looked up with one eye at them. “Oi! Watch it, will ya? Ma’ sheep’s burning food, need them to keep going in their side. Be whereabouts somewhere else, can ya?” He asked, as a figure came running, his breath in gasps.

His hand on the farmer’s shoulder, he said something inaudible, and then the farmer nodded in surprise. Clapping his hands together, the young man smiled, his smile perfect and radiant. Looking up, his shirt dirty and his jeans soaked in murky water, Sentinas looked like a normal man, his hands in his sleeves. A scar ran down his right arm, visible beneath the sleeve only slightly, as blood was dripping slowly. “Hi! We’ll have to get you a ladder or something! I’ll be back!” He yelled, and with that, he ran back off.

'Who the bloody hell is that?' Zack whispered back to Anna.

'Dunno. But he's gonna get us a ladder.'

'Yeah. Well, this place doesn't look too grand, does it?' Zack broke the silence.

'That's why we brought the aid, isn't it, you dummy?'

The loadmaster, who had been asleep for the whole flight, including the flight engineer (who was briefly awakened for an in-flight refuelment) had woken up and had come out of their cabins to check what was going on.

'We haven't bloody crashed have we? We're not in bloody heaven yet are we?' The flight engineer remarked sarcastically.

'No, we're just - oh, look, there he is!' Anna replied, watching Sentinas return with a ladder.

'Who's this?' the flight engineer yawned and looked out the window. 'Oh right. So this is who they send to meet us? A farmhand?'

The flight engineer was ignored, however, and drowned out by Anna's shouts.

'Hi! I see you got a ladder then!'

Sentinas had a bright look on his face, his carefully trimmed beard showing soft signs of razor cuts that were healing quickly on his handsome face. Placing the ladder carefully at the end, he couldn’t adjust it properly enough, the farmer giving him a hand as their arms shook and quivered a bit in the cold, but eventually they adjusted to it. “Here ya go!” Sentinas said, holding it steadily into the ground, the thin layer of tarmac near the farmer’s crop melted in slightly.

“Sorry if we don’t have an airport.” He said, with a happy smile in his tone. “Is this the aid? Or are you tourists who landed here on mistake?” He chuckled, as the farmer joined him in their chuckling, before he turned to help the blue-trouser labourer in his duties, turning back occasionally to the people who had just arrived, awaiting a reply.

Anna pushed in front of Zack and climbed down the ladder. The group followed her, but they were speechless. Looking out across the empty green, it was something they had never really seen before. Anna was the first to extend her hand.

'Hi there!' Anna chuckled at Sentinas' little joke, which the flight engineer, Wayne, didn't seem to find too funny. He didn't seem to understand that sometimes, the only thing keeping peoples spirits up is laughter. 'I'm First Lieutenant Anna Parshaps, Questarian Royal Airforce.' She made a thumb movement over her shoulder towards the plane. 'Our Hercules is loaded with 70 tons of supplies for you guys. There'll be more coming - if you want it. We'll need some help to unload it though, and some vehicles or transport to take it where its needed.'

Confederation of Praetonian Industry HQ,
Praeton

"Very much so, Director-General. A golden oppurtunity, if I may say so myself. I have dispatched geological exploration teams to this new country... Sentiarnurnuk, I think it's called, I never can get my mouth around these damned foreign names... they should be reporting back in a few months."

"But what if they don't have any oil in this foreign... place...?" The Director-General's gold-plumed hat slipped slightly as he stood up to talk.

"Well, they will still need oil, Director-General. We can import it, and sell petrol to their citizens, and in any case, we can build refineries. Every country needs industry, and even if it has no industry, they still need refineries."

"True, true," the Director General scowled, "I still think it's too risky. We don't know anything about these people. We don't know anything about their customs. They could be a bunch of fanatical Communists for all we know."

The Managing Director and majority shareholder in Imperial Oil & Gas laughed coldly. "Pardon me, Director-General, for making pains to scout out this place," she continued, "their economy is most like shattered after their civil war - we could take over the whole thing in one fell swoop... with our Questerian allies, of course... and irrevocably bind both nations' economic interests together. With us as the senior partner, of course."

The Director-General sighed. The woman sitting opposite him may be the Prime Minister's wife, but it sent a chill down his spine when she talked about geo-politics like that. 'It's almost as if we're the real government of Praetonia,' he thought to himself, before pushing such unpleasantness to the back of his mind. "IOG can explore if it wants, but on your own head be it. I don't think it's something that warrants official CPI approval."

The impassioned woman shook her head. "On the contrary, Director-General, this is a perfect oppurtunity for us to assert ourselves more vigorously in the foreign sphere. I call a vote on the matter."

The other Directors, subdued into a stupour-like state by the incessant two-way debate between the Director-General and the Right Honourable representative from Imperial Oil & Gas, awoke with a start. The Director-General sighed.

"Alright. All in favour of making expansion into Sabu... Sentiauhk... official CPI policy, raise your hands and say 'aye'." Less than half of the room put up their hands. "All those against?" Fewer still. "I decare the motion passed by superior minority." He banged his gabel on the oak table. "Next item."

Newport, Praetonia

Twenty massive 800,000 tonne cargo ships were being loaded with goods and supplies. Mighty dockside cranes picked up massive steel containers as if they were mere specks of dust and depositted them inside ships whose bellies were already swollen with books and toys and guns and machinery and tractors and appliances and fertilisers and every article and item under the sun from minute medicine bottles all the way up to a prefabricated oil refinery and airport. In the passenger compartments, thousands of engineers, technicians, architects, scientists and trained managers were talked excitedly of their plans, and the greatest corporate expedition the world had ever seen, all under the auspices of the Praetonian Sentiauhk Company.

The great expeditionary fleet pulled away from the shore escorted initially by IPN coast guard vessels, but it would soon be joined by a CPI escort fleet, including a Sovereign Class DN which, at 412m and mounting 16 20" guns, was the largest and most powerful privately owned vessel in Praetonia. It would take some weeks to reach Sentiauhk, but in the meantime aircraft were being dispatched with similar, albeit more humble cargoes, attempting to copy the remarkable feat of the Questerians in landing on nothing more than a scrap of particularly wide road. This time, however, they decided to take fewer chances and land outside the foreign capital.

“Thank you!” He said, shaking her hand vigorously, kissing her forehead happily. Edging back, he explained. “I’m sorry, it’s just what we do here.” He said, looking for any sign of malice. Before he gave her a chance to respond, however he turned to the farmer, and said, “Can you unload this? I’ll get Neimaddus and the others.” Sentinas smoothly talked, pushing the farmer to try and make his way onto the plane, as the speedy monarch rushed off back towards the fog, unseen.

“A fast boy, he is.” The farmer croaked, climbing up the unsteady ladder to carry the supplies through. Clearly he never saw a plane up close, and he didn’t know how it worked – he didn’t know that there were other ways to get cargo off a plane.

Though the basics could be unloaded from the inside, it would take much more arduous an operation to remove some of the larger material.

'No, no, no!' Zack called up the old farmer. 'It ain't up there.'

Meanwhile, the loadmaster activated the hydraulic door from the back of the Hercules. The hydraulic pressure made whirrings and groans and all sorts of metallic noises when finally it began to haul itself down. The great rear door of the Hercules unleashed itself, and slowly it touched the ground. Inside great crates with all kinds of labels were neatly stacked and towed down.

Still, the crew were eager to know who this young man that had so eagerly communicated with them was. They were in for a big surprise when they realised he was the monarch.

Finally, after a small while, a large mob of people - talkative and excited, came forth from the fog, their hands muddy, their faces dirty, but their expressions light-hearted and happy, jovial to say the least. Each one had a look of amusement, or euphoria at the sight of the large machine, one many of them have never seen before, questioning as the young man in front, Sentinas, urged to go to the back of the plane, as they followed suit. They waited there, as Sentinas returned to the crew. “I have brought enough manpower to move them, I think. We don’t have a lot of machinery here anymore, but my people are hard working.” He said, his handsome face in a sheared look of serious content.

“Oh, but I forgot my manners. I’m Sentinas, the one from the fax.” He said, now holding his right hand out, though it was apparent blood was seeping from the sleeve. Nevertheless, he ignored it.

Necromarnen
Saerus looked at the interesting flock of information – a new nation, an overthrown tyrant, a monarch who was given no power at all. It made things all interesting, it made things complicated to understand – how did their nation work if the king had no power? What was the use of being one in power if power did not exist? The excuse of simply being wanted to help people is absurd, unheard of in such politics. The Sentiauhk are thinking of something, and it was not in the hands of Jenrakian blood to see what. Still, they could prove to be a good economic stronghold to the nation – for the Azhujurius to have the Sentiauhkis by their throats in economics, to have them grow and become indebt to the Temsplaces and the Sadicistra, the Sirens and the Vizi-Lords. It seemed tempting, it seemed like a decent ploy to attempt – they claimed they were rich in resources, of which they had no means to tapped as of yet. This would be a simple mission, but still, they had to act carefully. Standing up in his clamour, in his glory, the tall man with the golden crown wreathed upon his head looked around the inside of his castle, the pillars like fingers of a gaping hand, the mighty, giant statue of Enkur looming and crammed into the enormity of the space. His bronze muscles gleaming and his eyes thickset with emotionless stature, the figure stood with impunity.

Still, the King looked on, ready, for the possible avenues. “Summon Drakthaz to me!” He yelled, as servants from behind the statues and paintings and pillars scrambled and hurried off, their backs almost hunched, their eyes of loyalty and servitude.

Later, the tall, plump man in a crisp black suit appeared, his small usual gobbling soirée of corporatists following and tailing him at every corner. When he finally arrived at the large square room of marble, the giant silver plating and the lavish gold rimmed paintings as the man of impeccable jewelled armour and a crown of blades stood with his long and twisting cape hung over his powerful, rippling body. Drakthaz stood in contrast to this man, plump and clear, fresh and crisp in his suit, his moustache in a tiny hook and his sideburns cleanly shaved off with not a single scratch or scar on his face.

“You asked for me, Saerus?” Drakthaz asked. Normally he would have been hung for treason – a Jenrakian was not to belittle the King’s title and call him by his name unless he was a friend or was initially from a foreign land. Luckily for Drakthaz, Saerus and he were old, long friends before even the interesting man became the King of the Chemicalist Empire.

“I want to know your thoughts on Sentiauhk.” Saerus asked, taking a small sip of wine.

“Sentiauhk? Never heard of it.”

“The nation newly formed from the womb and breast of a beaten Lord.”

“Ah, that one, from the news. Yes, I have heard of it. I hear they are doing terribly.”

“But their economic power?”

“Weak, but immense potential, I hear. Many natural resources, as well as good, fertile land. Many buildings can be built for their information technology.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“I propose nothing, Saerus.”

“I believe we should help. They can grow in the Jenrakian way.”

“Hmm…you have a point. We could gain much from this new nation’s growth. Is it settled?”

“Settled. A fleet of supplies will be launched with my money. Do not make a mistake, Drakthaz, or it will cost me, and I will take you with me.”

“Of course, Lord.”

From the harbours, enormous ships began to sail out, their metal gleaming on the sunset shadows, the dunes beheld in a beautiful ray of red and yellow, shining with the glimmer of the rising stars. A fleet of assistance roared on, still rushing through the whitecaps.

Anna almost choked. 'Sentinas? King Sentinas?' Immediately after hearing this news, the four airmen ignored their duties and dropped to their knees, bowing, in full view. It was an interesting sight; four well dressed, clean, airmen from one of the most influential nations on Earth dropping and bowing in front of what looked like a dirty farmhand. Of course, it was Questarian nature to bow whenever a member of a Monarchy was around - it was, in Questers, normal and common courteousy.

'I, we're sorry, Your Majesty.' she began. 'If we would have known..'

"Oh no! No, no, no. I'm just a happy man...with a beard." He said, chuckling as the people waiting at the back of the plane, his kinsmen, chuckled roaringly alongside him. "You don't need to bow to me, or anything. You are my guest! I should be bowing to you, for your help, and everything! But it wouldn't go well with the people." He said, again, his face breaking into a wide grin.

"So, maybe it was prudent for me not to introduce myself." He thought aloud, before turning his thoughts to the cargo plane.

To Major-General Arrozal Zipoetes,

I understand your concern, and I will assure you that I am a monarch of name and influence, not of actual political power. Sentiauhk is a Constitutional Monarchy, and I am merely the one who will talk on behalf of the people, yet they determine my outcome and my words. So have no fear, for I do not command any power at all. I am merely…eye candy…from Sentiauhk to the World. I hope this clears up any possible worries you may have.

Signed, Sentinas

All is understood, such are the peculiarities of governmental process. In any case, a nation such as yours in these tense times would surely be in need of sufficient armaments to quell unrest in your country.

The Armed Republic of Zhaskev would be happy to supply your country with weapons, fighting craft or munitions should you require them at a discounted price.

Regards,
Major-General Arrozal Zipoetes

To Major-General Arrozal Zipoetes,

Your offer of gracious, but first we must build up on our economy so we can have excess cash. We need money to spend it, first, at the very least. I am speaking on behalf of Master Sentinas, because he is busy at the moment.

Signed, General Gephoridas

'Well, right.'

The loadmaster sighed.

'These crates.. OK. Medicine and medical aid; thats crate number one and two - monetary aid, that's crate numbers three and four. Computers and electronics, crate numbers five and six. Weaponry and firearms, seven and eight.'

The loadmaster turned and asked 'Do you have anything that can lift five tons of goods?'