NationStates Jolt Archive

The Snake and the Ram

Fire raged throughout the streets of Nakros Ithrimm, as the Sadicistra mowed down enemy troops, their gunfire almost worthless against the oncoming slaughter. Red creeks flowed through the sewers as toilets, faucets and sinks alike in all of Nakros Ithrimm jettisoned a red gush every operating second. From the tall castle of Nakros Ithrimm, the obsidian jewel in the center of a paradise within the wasteland, the fortified walls were constructed around the enormous city to defend against wastes, the gasses and the possible enemy attacks, but now its beautiful, fragrant center is be besieged by a foe from within. It was a long time since the Jenrakian invasion and conquer of the city of Malaga, now the infamous and leader-like Nakros Ithrimm, but the semi-subjection of the Christians and the new and unique leadership of the Tsellians led to a steady, uneasy truce between the two fledgling religions. But now, a new threat rose, as from the ashes of the Christians who had too much pride to be ruled by a foreign invader, and Tsellians with too much pride to give foreigners their rights. From the ashes of their pride, came a cult, Necomkriall of the sixth Engine.

At first persecution of these cultists became a daily operation carried out by the ruthless Sadicistra, but eventually numbers grew, influence changed and entire armies turned into threats and civil war within the boundaries of the fledgling cities, as the cult began to break its way through the steel gates of the giant Nakros. Egos, the lord of Nakros Ithrimm, was in mainland Jenrak working on a series of tangent investigations, while the steward of the city stayed in his stead, a giant Temsplace in a golden armour. He sat upon the cleaved throne of golden bones as his helmet held soft shadows over the face of the man. His fingers were gloved in a golden gauntlet, his fingers turned into claws as he scratched heedlessly upon the chair, his shoulder pads immense and his back arched forwards as he looked with impunity against the pounding doors. They were outside, amidst the soft airy night, the flames casting an orange haze in the sky, almost as if an angel of death and flames was erected throughout the city.

He sat there, the Golden Temsplace, all alone, looking as he held his sword with strength and valour, awaiting to seek souls and spill blood. His blade was a beautiful work of art, never tarnished, never used, until soon, but the golden weavings and amazingly intricate carvings showed signs of elegance and stature that was a regular hypocrisy of the cannibalistic Jenrakian society. As the Golden Temsplace sat there, looking at the door, the legion of Sadicistra awaited beside him.

They were tall, thin men in white armour, their teeth like fangs and their tongues writhing and dripping with blood and saliva. Hooks and swords were upon their fingers, grotesque smiles shimmering as they looked on at the door with anticipation, the whirring of the auto-guns upon the ceilings nothing compared to the snarling of these vicious creatures. They feared nothing – they would willingly throw themselves against anything, and they were prepared to do it. As they readied their hooks, their swords, their rifles, the lights from the helicopters whirring above the glass, the rays shining through into the colourful night hallway, rosy shades of blood glinting and emerald hues shining amongst them. Their golden and vermillion shades were slightly visible as they held their stance, a soft onyx bulge of colour as the rifles were lifted up in this multitude of vibrancy. The Golden Temsplace was a rainbow of colours, and yet he waited upon his multicoloured blade, sighing as his chest rose and fell.

“Upon this harrowing night, I seek naught but fortune of thy soul, and in thy soul lay the riches of the night. I feel no sorrow, naught of strength but yet wit still lives. And thus in my naked entrance upon thy world I leave it clothed in gold and steel.” The Golden Temsplace said in a deep, commanding, but beautiful voice, as it echoed throughout the room, the Sadicistra waiting as they listened to the poetry that was the excerpt. He was speaking lines from the Ascheran scripts, the holy rites of the Tsellian. He was speaking the last words of death.

“Upon thy shield, upon thy grace, I build this city and tenfold it has been grown, but against this foe I see the expanse of an empire of chaos and a messenger of doom. For all grace decides not to exist within the world of I, the world of men gone wrong, a world were sin rules hard and his mistress of lies stays by his side. I cry now in sorrow, yet no one will hear the fall of the tears of I.” He sighed once more, as now Sirens came through the left and right hallways, readying themselves as Temsplaces ushered into the colourful night. The hall was brushing with guns and blades, the silence immediate as the muffled pounding of the doors kept going.

The Sirens were a primary fighting force in the Jenrakian military, a long ranged, swift soldier built and trained to cover large expanses of terrain before tiring. They required little sleep and food, yet they could push on in hospitable climates for miles. A large number of them were situated that day, and while they feared not of death, they still were uncertain on the outcome of this defence. Would it work? Would it be effective against the equally bloodthirsty Necomkrialls? Nobody knew, and as the Sirens looked on from their black helmets, their rifles pointed, short swords on their waists, they knelt down in formation, sighing softly as the doors were prepared, staying near the golden throne of bones. Another legion of Temsplaces knelt down in front of them, as the Sirens marched behind their massive shields and prepared themselves, the guns cocked.

The Temsplaces were large, towering men, their body covered in an armour that withstood shrapnel, grenades and firepower like it was nothing. Beneath their hard armour a powerful engine of a man controlled them, moving them at speeds and reflexes in such heavy protection with amazing strength. They were like tanks, and they were deployed as thus, shoulder mounted rocket launchers and gas grenades their primary weapons. They fought on harsh, inhospitable terrain, and they were veteran warriors, faithful Jenrakians and dangerous tacticians. They were the Holy Warriors, the sword and the fist and truncheon of the Tsellian Empire, the core power that fed its great will. They gathered around their leader, the Golden Temsplace, the steward of the fallen city, readying their last stand. As of now, thousands of enemy troops were pushing and surrounding the castle, laying siege to as dust fell down like snow, a white spray across the marble floor as statues seemed to cry of blood.

Only a couple hundred of them were there, awaiting for their doom, defending the throne. The Golden Temsplace rose from is seat, and looked on at the door, now nearly pulverized as the enemies were preparing to pour in. He sighed to his men, the last Jenrakians left in Nakros Ithrimm that were loyal to the Tsellians.

“My fellow Jenrakians. Tonight is not a good night. It is not a night that we will cherish and remember as a night of victory, a night of glory. There is no glory in defeat, let me make it clear as that, and we face defeat. There no glory in this defence, save for the last slice of courage we have left! We are Jenrakians! To outdo our bravery is to break the will of Gods and Goddesses! By the tongue of Enkur, by the blade of Ciranaar, we are the children of Ascherach, and we are the children of Tsellia! Let not this false religion come to pass! Should we die, we shall haunt this palace until they are all dead, until they have all suffered a terrible threat! We are Jenrakians, and hearken into this night, we shall, be one with our forefathers, our friends, our brothers and fathers whom have died in glorious battle! And so we shall! And so we shall fight until the last man, until all whom walk upon this floor hear our whispers and roars! Come now, brave Jenrakians! Come to the brazen silver sky that shines so softly of the orange plumage of death. For we are children, and as children, we are given what we need, and we need this palace to hold. By dawn, we must hold this another day, and in that day when the mainland Jenrakians arrive to ease our souls, they will find a mountain of our corpses and a mountain of our enemies, for that is what we shall do!

Let no this false religion come to pass – let it die in the first instance it was born, so it never matures and turns false men to its side. It is nothing more than a finger in the hand of disruption, and it compares not to the great empire of belief we hold. I hear such cries of children, or women, all in the streets, crying out for great Enkur to help them, for Christians and their one God to help them. But what I hear not crying is belief! They wish for help, they cry for mercy, for deliverance, but they show not faith! Whom shows faith?”

With that, a great roar came about – “We do!”

“We show faith! We show the stone and sword of belief! And I believe, that for ones who show their faith, Enkur bless them with vigour, with pride, power, and above all else, glory! We will die, my brothers, we will die as Tsellians, and in itself that is what a hero is! We are heroes this day, and nobody can take away from us, for it is by the will of Enkur that we shall fight, and in Enkur’s tongue and Ciranaar’s blade, that the sword of Jenrak will fight on! Come, heroes! Come and fight this day to the day of our death! Come and fight until the cold, hard fingers of death are around our bosom, and pierced into our hearts!”

In a great bliss of noise, an echo of power, they yelled and cheered as one. “Vizith Azhujurius Irianuun!”

And so the door broke open.

Two Lihure tanks rushed through, covering a battalion of grenade troopers, as the blast of the enemy tanks smashed the throne into pieces, the Temsplace firing back at them with impunity, a swift ray of flames and destruction lighting up into a flower of fire, lighting up the battle as the walls and arches were in a shade of brimstone. The ruins were smouldering, but the auto-turrets upon the wall kept their fire, as the Sirens fired behind the shield of the massive Temsplace. The first batch of Sadicistra rushed towards the enemy troops, their hooks flying in a bloody rage as the soft trickle of red streams come down upon the remains of the throne, glass shattering as paratroopers came down behind enemy lines. The Golden Temsplace jumped from the platform and down upon an enemy trooper, slicing his left arm cleanly in half as the fog of red mist carried an eerie light to it.

He slashed to the left again, cleaving another soldier in half, his organs falling out as splash was heard upon the once clean and white marble floor. Gunfire resumed, and they continued their attack, trying to keep their defences, but a pair of Vizi-Turrets pranced its firepower into the walls of the castle, the entire place shaking up as it tried to keep steady. Once more, another pummelling and bulging noise was heard, and a green gas was issued, followed by a bevy of licking and merry flames amidst a raging fireball. It smashed itself with suicidal intent into the right wall, breaking open the area as another flood of enemy troops rushed through, gunfire ensuing from both points. The Temsplace turned their positions to a wider, more vulnerable position, and kept their attention on the rolling Lihure thanks that pushed through the front gates.

“Keep up the front flank! Move the Sadicistra to deal with the enemy infantry on the right!” The Golden Temsplace yelled, moving his fingers as the Sadicistra rushed against the infantry on the right, the auto turrets confused on choice of targets, firing madly as the Sirens tried to keep up against the two sides. The Temsplace stayed calm, though they occasionally smashed their shields up in a racking place against the pillars, machine gun fire ripping through enemy armour like it was butter. Blood rushed out, and the now sleek and slippery marble floor caused problems for the advancing enemy, but they pushed on. The battle was fairly even, until another smash of flames tore open the left wing of the castle, troops flooding in once more and firing as they tried to fight them off, but enemy snipers began to appear, their bullets breaking apart the ranks. Land mines were activated, and the place was engulfed in a white fog that was dangerous if breathed. They continued to fight, as the rays of the helicopters showed the shadows of the enemy, both sides rushing in a strong, headed attack. The defenders were dying fast, as they could not keep up against the immense number of enemy troops fighting against them, not to mention the Vizi-Turret assistance they now had. Repeating artillery pulverized the Temsplace ranks, but the Holy Warriors did not stop their advances. Instead, they continued their legendary ferocity with astounding speed, smashing their armour and shields into enemy ranks, cutting up infantry with their blades.

Four Lihure tanks rushed through the left and right wings, gunfire from their tops tearing against the shields, but the rockets flew like fingers of destruction towards both ends. The Golden Temsplace threw a sleek black grenade against the surface of one, and it exploded into a giant rift of billowing beauty. As he turned, a bullet was fired into below his arm, the pain scorching his body as he gasped and wheezed, running against them as they continued to fire against him. Their gunfire did little against his armour, yet the explosives from the grenades against him sprayed his face in metal shrapnel.

He lifted his blade, but he was gunned down once more, before rising up to a blast from a Lihure into his helmet, tearing his head right off of his shoulders. His fallen skull fell onto the ground, the helmet still upon it, incinerated, nothing more than a golden bundle as the body fell down onto the ground, lifeless and devoid of movement. His men carried on, their gunfire in a schizophrenic display of flayed lights, yellow and orange and red all together in a combination of blaze and blood.

Once more the Temsplace fired on, the bullets sleeting through the air against them, shards pounding past their ears as the cuts made small crevices upon their bodies, rushing forwards in defiance – bombs strapped to their chests. The defenders would not live to see Jenrak come to their aid before they died.

When the battle was over, the sky was red with blood and tears, the streams were rancid, the waters unbearable, and the within was worse than the wastelands outside. Shrapnel, metal pieces and ruins of giant academies and enormous structures laid dormant, buried beneath the mountains and climbable hills of corpses. From the ruins of the Nakros of Nakros Ithrimm came raised a white and blue flag – a flag of a twisted serpent around a bloodied blade. And so the city was renamed the Aeropolis, and in that fateful campaign, over 15 million people within the massive borders of Nakros Ithrimm had died – Christian and Tsellian alike – to appease the bloodlust of the newly built Necomkrialls.

Message.1.sendout=
To all nations of the world! We are the Necromkrialls, the Children of Necomonzer! We plead for any aid that is possible militaristically to defend us against the Jenrakian tyrants who would surely seek to try and destroy us and kill the innocents within! Please we implore as we rebuild that we must try and defend against them! Any assistance possible is dearly thankful!

High Priest Johnathan
=Message.1.end

From the shores of Jenrak, an army solely made to break them was being assembled, massive legions of Temsplaces and troops marching through the area, the force entirely loyal to Viraranaar Kataask, the man responsible for the mobilization. Viraranaar was a loyal member to the Jenrak circle of control, and he was intent that this uprising, this heresy was to finish. Amongst his taskforce, he assigned two super dreadnaughts from the formidable Jenrakian navy to come alongside, as well as the armoured ships to defend the supplies. Soldiers marched about the sands, a trail of movement that was enormous as entire swarms of helicopters transported the gigantic number of troops moving about.

Tiny Aursauks giggled and laughed as they talked amongst each other, their bodies covered in dried blood and their hooks rusting with flesh still clinging as shrivelled pieces.

“I hear there are many adults there to kill.” One said, as the others chuckled.

“It is a place of maturity, and I wish to feed from their blood.”

“Traitors, all of them. They know how to not bow before the crowns of Jenrak.”

“For we serve the glorious crown of shields.”

“Indeed. Great Temsplaces teach us much, they are good friends.”

“These heretics are not.”

“I agree.”

“I as well.”

An official message from the Azhujurius
Speak naught of fire and bone and blood,
But of peace and tranquility
And thus in your womb you shalt be subject
To all things of lust broken and devoid

And Henceforth we shall see what can be made of thus
And therefore from thee there shalt
Be nothing but justice
Prepare for the wrath of Enkur
For he wishes us to do it so
As since Enkur finds such worm not to be trifled with
Your destruction shalt be sown
~Aruikillian 2:11

Heresy is unacceptable, “Aeropolis”. You shall pay for blood spilt, and there shall be no mercy.

~~Viraranaar

Nakros Ithrimm will burn once more.

OOC: This is open. I will allow OOC, but it must be kept in small fonts. Oh, and post coming up.

OCC:I'm quite interested. I assume this is MT, and I'm willing to send a small amount of soldiers; these could either be in the form of standard Ravean personell, or a state-sponsered mercenary group. I'm also considering taking the other side and aiding the Christian cult with a religious military order. What would you suggest?

The snake flew high in the sky as the men watched over with a leering glare upon the raped and ravaged landscape, the high fortress walls untouched as the glistening mountains beyond it still showing the slight fog of war that lingered on from past memories. They stood there, a triumphant circle of men that stayed and swayed in the wind, their long black capes billowing as they prepared the rebuilding of the once graceful, enormous city of just rule. However, it was not just enough, and change was the compliance. They stood there, their thoughts in tandem, a council of heretics that were wondering on the situation. The high priest, a respectably clothed man in a crisp black suit, Johnathan Lancaster, looked at the ground slightly covered by his enormous black, polished shoes. He sighed as his slicked back hair was black and shining, his eyes squinted in the sunlight as dawn broke upon his back, the gold dew moistening the blood and bodies as they laid in the streets, gunfire still pounding in the distance. He sighed once more, and then retired himself to the council, looking at them with interest, staring at the circle of men that would determine the fate of the city.

In this circle, every man was fitted with a crisp black suit, proper and respectable, while things around him chortled in chaos. Johnathan himself looked back now and then, trying to get himself together as they looked back at him. Clearing his throat, he began his discussion. “My brothers, I bring a great venue of threat towards the security and the independence of our fair city. The mainland demons will most surely come against us, and the great Engine has assisted us once, but may not assist us again.” His colleagues nodded and whispered amongst each other, until one of them piped up.

He looked exactly the same as the others – slick haired, smooth skinned, pale and thin, handsome young figures that showed little emotion in the discussion. “Father Johnathan is right. We must prepare the city for a defence, and we must do what we can to stop them. This will be surely a test of our mettle, and we cannot allowed the mainland demons to gain a foothold from it.”

“What do you say, Adam? You are a Jenrakian, what do you know about your country?” Johnathan glanced a stare at the next council member, who pondered.

“Mainland Jenrak is much more dangerous than the ones we faced here. Not to mention, they are much more skilled at waging a war, and are much more fanatical. If we give up, it’s likely that due to my experience, they will attempt to round up every single Necomkriall for what they a corrected conversion. Suffice to say, it involves much torture and pain, and we cannot allow that. We face a big challenge, and defeat is unacceptable either way.”

“I agree.” Johnathan nodded, as the others whispered once more. “If we surrender, than we will be facing terrors never thought possible. If we all die, then Necomkriall will be for nothing, and the great Engine will be displeased with our failure, I am sure of that. Our best bet is to go into hiding and secrecy, launch guerrilla tactics if we fail.”

“But they will surely scour the city. Besides, we need more supplies to help us in our struggle.”

“I know somebody who may help us.”

“Whom?” The council members asked him, as they turned their heads in tandem.

“I am the only Jenrakian in this circle, but have any of you heard of the Eirumunn’Jivaz?”

A few nodded, a few shook their heads. “The Eirumunn’Jivaz are the only successful rebel group existing in the mainland of Jenrak. If we can get them to send reinforcements over, then it will decrease Jenrak’s record on its states, thereby economically weakening it. That is to say the most effective way to hit our target, to have its mainland lose so much money in the investment of the city and then have it blow up against it. If the plan goes accordingly, we could be facing victory, independence and possibly a way to strike back for revenge against the mainland itself. But I cannot make any promises.”

“How are you sure we will not be betrayed?”

“Because I know their leader, Lord Alaik. He is a very honourable and respectable tactician, and he is good at what he does. It’s the reason why Authaulus’ many sweeps have been in futility.”

“I hear the Temsplace Lord himself may be marching an expedition towards us via the sea and cargo drop. Is that true?”

“No, that’s probably not. Authaulus enjoys to fight on the front lines, and after a failed assassination attempt he is still recovering his quite large amount of bodily damage. Though he is far from weakening, he is slowed down a bit, and we can use that to our advantage.”

“Who is launching the forces against us, do you think?”

“The western part of the Jenrakian empire is controlled by the leader Gelectriax, an odd man with a very difficult track record to follow. We barely know anything about him, but I can assure you we will be seeing quite strange tactics. I’ve seen his movements on the battlefield and they barely make any sense at all, but they work, and they’re confusing against his enemies.”

“We have to get ourselves prepared, then.” Johnathan Lancaster warned, before an aide ran up to him, whispering in his ear. A look of terror struck across his face, as his eyebrows gaped and his mouth flung down. “Dear God, show me the transmission.” He ordered, as the aide took out a small memory stick and shoved it into the computer. Flickering up onto the moderately sized computer screens, a man in an obsidian black armour draped all over his body, a red cape flashing about in the back, his head covered by an enormous helmet as a giant flag was perched on the back of his forearm. He looked at the screen, his stare quiet, his glance blank, and his expression inaudible. His chest rising and falling, he held a little girl by his side, her cries soft and silent as she shook in fear, her eyes looking at the massive man that stood there.

“You have a pretty daughter, Mr. Lancaster. Shame to see her go to waste.” This Temsplace said, as the carvings on his armour became apparent – Sly’lioth. “So I will give you a choice. The city, or your daughter. It’s your decision, Mr. Lancaster, nobody else. I want you to make it, immediately.” His grip tightened on the top of her head, as she began to cry out in pain.

“Cheryl!” Johnathan cried out to the screen, as the council members pulled him back from the radiating screen.

“No, Johnathan! We can get her back.” One of them whispered to him, as Sly’lioth on the screen chuckled.

“No, you can’t.” He mocked.

“Please, let her go. She doesn’t know anything.”

“The city, or your daughter, Mr. Lancaster. I have little patience for this campaign, and I will turn this city into a city of sorrow if I need it be.” He tightened his grip once more, on the top of her head, his deep gauntlet marks visible as bruised scars upon her forehead and into her scalp, blood thickly trickling down as she began to wail and cry, yet it was in futility. Sly’lioth was too powerful for her to fight off, as she tried to kick and punch, but he kept her firmly in place. He stayed silent, as Johnathan looked on in horror.

“Please, don’t! Don’t kill her!” Johnathan cried, tears willowing from his eyes like small pearls as they fell onto the ground. “I’ll do anything else!”

“Fine. You have your price. I have mine.” And with that, Sly’lioth hastened his grip, as Cheryl’s head began to convulse, soft cracking sounds heard in the microphone, her wailing and crying, blood pouring down from her eyes as her red tears were running as a dormant river of pain. She simpered and then sobbed, trying to flail her arms yet she could not, until a white piece of bone slashed through her skull from inside, her sinew tearing it apart as its fleshy wires dangled out. Her eyes falling out as her optic nerve lashed in blood, the cords from her brain dripping slowly as she quivered her jaw, until a final crack hastened the grip, and smashed her head into pieces, the body limped as it fell to the ground. Sly’lioth’s fingers were drenched in blood and sinew and brain, as he gorged on the remains, blood dripping from the shadows of his helmet, soft squelching noises heard as he chewed upon her remains.

Looking up at the camera, Sly’lioth waited until Johnathan’s wails and sobs were silent. “I will be seeing you very soon, Mr. Lancaster.” He threatened in a soft, assuring yet creepy voice. “And I hope your blood is just as sweet, and mind just as soft.”

As the monitor turned off, John fell down into a torrent of tears, unable to think or do. The dawn was an unsteady one, but the afternoon became chaotic – fleets of warships and entire islands of troops and soldiers began to come across the horizon, showing themselves as unprepared, the city was bombarded. In the first instance, a great jet of flame erupted from the ends of the first superdreadnaught, the long tipped and hard armoured Lekriauun. Its smooth and sleek surface was nothing compared to the hard and powerful guns upon its bow, firing and slashing through the air with flames and missiles. Cruise missiles shot from its end, as the Vizi-Repeaters – machine gun like Vizi-Turrets – engulfed the coastline with hellish impunity. Amongst the guns, a thick armoured sea wall emerged to defend the marauding amphibious transports, metal bridges constructed to pave a way towards the city through the hopingly steaming sands. Inside, thousands of soldiers and hundreds of Temsplaces readied themselves, their rockets prepared, their machine guns readied and their rifles cocked and lusting for war. The beachfront was swift, as they lashed out at the amphibious transports, but the armoured enemy wall upon the sea did not allow the defenders any shots, until the infantry emerged, and chaos ensued.

The Temsplace built a small rallying point on which the soldiers built their own offensive camp, the Sirens firing behind the thick wall of jettisoned fire that came from the rockets of the merciless Holy Warriors. The defending Necomkrialls, slowly began to lose ground, the enemy pummels ruthless against them, the majority of their forces gone from the previous campaigns. It was not a completely hopeless battle, however, until the Sadicistra came along in the last transports, covered by the Temsplace, as the shielded walls allowed swift ambushes to occur. They leaped and jumped, making it difficult for infantry to hit them, and even if they did, only blood was spilled, not excitement of the hunt nor fervour. Rushing on the Temsplace pummelled against defending lines with rocket fire, concentrating on them as a soft rumbling sound was heard in the air. From the distance, cargo planes were spraying the Temsplace and the Sirens and the Sadicistra upon the beach in a rancid odour, but they pushed on still, and the tactic was not known until it was deployed.

Opened, several hundred cases of Jenrakian Botflies emerged from their cavernous boxes, covering the battlefield in a thin, but deadly haze, as the enemy defenders began to feel painful throbs in their eyes, legs and fingers, trying to fight them off yet they were in vain. Jenrakians pushed on harmlessly, all covered in a putrid stench that protected them from the ravaging locust like insects that feasted upon the flesh of men.

Screams and yells were heard, yellowish lights blazing up in the gunfire, the crossfire becoming a soft dance of death and terror, the sands flying up everywhere as the pillboxes upon the beaches were smashed open by rocket fire. Snipers from both sides began to try and pick off enemy forces, though the thick defence of the Temsplace and their nigh impenetrable armour made it difficult for the Necomkrialls. Sly’lioth looked on, before readying himself in his own attacks, moving the forces of his own to the left of the flank, down towards the peninsula, readying his Vizi-Repeaters.

“I want an air strike to take out the fortress walls within 6 hours, and then deploy gas troopers.” Sly’lioth ordered, as the defenders upon the beachfront fought against now quickly advancing enemy troops. From the western flank, another pair gurgled up and tried to fight the slashing bombers now parading the western wall in an orange blaze that flowered throughout the stone spinal cord of the city, ripping and tearing things apart in a desperate flow. Dark, masked troopers prepared themselves, all in black suits, standing like robots as they looked at the scenario. Upon them was the insignia of religious Jenrak – it was the corporations. It was the first lash back of corporate Jenrak in a long, long time, and the elite Gas troopers were preparing their attacks. Cold, mindless and drone-like, they feared nothing, and they would work any task to achieve victory.

They were the elite of the money-making mogul corporations that existed in Jenrak, that lived in harmony with the religious statures of the powerful Tsellia. It was the other side of Jenrak, the man-calculating, efficient side that made it the dangerous economic powerhouse it stayed as today.

“Spike the left wall.” The commander ordered, a man in a white suit with a black visor covering his face, his voice distorted to an eerie vibrating noise, a long, thin black sniper rifle held in his hands, as his troops walked ashore, their rifles held high, their movements precise.

Sly’lioth would take no chances.

People of the world,

I am Sly’lioth of Jenrak, herald of the church of Aslydon. I am giving a message out to those thinking of helping these Satanists – It would be wise to not. It will not be me, but they, who will betray you, as they have betrayed us.

Also, I need no assistance in taking this city.

Thank you for your cooperation.
Sly’lioth.

The dawn was an unsteady one, but the afternoon became chaotic.

OOC: Yes, this is MT, and you could send either.

OOC: just to make things interesting, could I send some Ehznoists to add a third (at least) side to this religious conflict? Specifically the Einherjar? (basically CP at the moment, though I'm working on evolving them)

OOC: There are three sides: The Christians, The Necromkriallists and the Tsellians. And I don't know what they are, but as long as its MT feasible, I'm okay with that.

OOC: There are three sides: The Christians, The Necromkriallists and the Tsellians. And I don't know what they are, but as long as its MT feasible, I'm okay with that.

OOC: More PMT really... Like I said, they're at this point basically Capitol Police ripoffs. If they're not acceptable, I could always just send standard Ehznoists. Who are usually armed with AK-47s, RPGs, and Molotov Cocktails.

OOC: Alright. I prefer to keep things in order, such as purely MT, so yeah.

OOC: So, in the current chaos, would it be possible for them to bring weapons into a major city and start wreaking (more) chaos?

OOC: Nope. The city is wholly surrounded by a thick stone wall, and the only two entry points are the ones blasted open by Jenrakian forces on the western wing and the invading Temsplace on the beaches. The easiest way to get through is the beaches, once the Temsplace have moved in. The west end is being watched too carefully.

OOC: Nope. The city is wholly surrounded by a thick stone wall, and the only two entry points are the ones blasted open by Jenrakian forces on the western wing and the invading Temsplace on the beaches. The easiest way to get through is the beaches, once the Temsplace have moved in. The west end is being watched too carefully.


OOC: What, you've only got one city?

OOC: Yep, it's all for one city.

[OOC: Correction. All for my old city. Jenrak Mainland has countless cities--this one was Malaga, but he renamed it Nakros Irithimm or something. Took it from me during my Extermination. Though I am here to reclaim what is mine.]

{Coast of Nakros Ithrimm, Jenrak}

The light silver hair of Grand Admiral Ashikaga Hikoharu rolled down to the middle of his back, and his teal eyes stared forward into the distance. Despite being only on the bridge of the JGFS 立上がるくまhe could clearly see the smoke that rose from Nakros Ithrimm--no--from Malaga, he corrected his thought. The City of Sorrow as it had become known in the Republic, a place where Christians were forced to live with Tsellians, forced to live under the rule of sadists and canibalists. He chest expanded outward more as he drew in more oxygen, this time merely to boost his own ego. Malaga would be returned to the Republic. Diplomatic missions with Jenrakians were not the way to deal with these 'things'. Ashikaga then, almost abstractly, began to push the wrinkles from his uniform--a force of habit picked up during his time in the Naval Academy. His crisp royal blue uniform with various medals upon it and golden stars to ensure his rank was externally known. His eyes then shifted down to the computer screen just below him and began to watch as the Jenrakians continued to pummel the Malagians. Their fleet had assembled itself in a 'box formation' with what appeared to be armoured walls of some kind. How exactly they got such walls to float, stay balance, and still provide some sort of effective cover was beyond him--though after capturing them he could send it back for the scientists in the Holy Lands to figure out. Though for now he was content with simply making them as useless to the Jenrakians as possible.

His second-in-command, a Rear-Admiral Tsutsui Narinobu, aboard his own Dreadnaught appeared on a screen next to the map with a confused look on his face, 'Admiral, sir, what exactly are those things?' he said in a manner which may have left Ashikaga confused if he hadn't been looking at the screen himself, 'They appear to be giant metal walls.' His second-in-command shook his head, 'No sir, I mean those fire balls. They look like Vizi-Turrents, but they fire far too rapidly.' Ashikaga's eyebrow rose as at first he believed his second-in-command to be seeing things. Just then another volley of the Vizi-Turrents bright balls of fire occured in the air and slammed into Malaga. Ashikaga crossed his arms and went into deep thought about how to make those useless to the Jenrakians as well. He could find no way to directly counter-them. Firing nuclear weapons would of course make them useless--but also destroy both fleets. He wasn't sure Cruise Missiles could do the job either, and depending on them wasn't his idea of an effective strategy. Thus he would have to avoid them--as he also took into account one thing. The Jenrakian Admirals would soon blush red as their Fleets sank to the bottom of the polluted waters around Malaga.

'Rapid firing Vizi-Turrents, impressive. Rear Admiral, order your fleet to spread out as quickly as possible, and as far too,' he stated. Tsutsui hesitated by agreed. Ashikaga then turned to his own bridge crew, some of whom now looked at him instead of at their stations. He couldn't allow a smirk or a smile for they were a sign of weakness in the Grand Navy. Nontheless he gave a nod, which passed as an unoffical grin, and then bellowed out the following, 'Order the fleet, along with the 6th Fleet, to break away and put much distance between them as possible--do not intermix with the scattered formations of the 3rd Fleet!' His bridge flared to life as his orders were hastily carried out.

The three Jagite Fleets worked in unison, yet in chaos. The ships seperated from their normal formation putting several hundred yards distance between them--yet keeping in just enough formation per say to not allow discipline and cohersion to collapse. As they completed this, no doubt the Jenrakians were getting their first glimps of the Jagite Fleets from the few radar waves that made it out. The Jenrakians had put themselves in a noose, the armoured walls they surronded themselves in surely also made it difficult to detect ships--or submarines for that matter. As RADAR waves usually bounced off of metallic objective and the like. His fleets would have the same problem Ashikaga noted to himself, though his men had some idea of where to fire. They knew they needed to fire within the box that the Jenrakians put around themselves. While they may not have been buntched together, they were still in a contained area that made targeting for them harder, while easier for the Jagites given the circumstances.

'Order all ships to target within the box formation and fire as accurate as possible,' Grand Admiral Ashikaga Hikoharu bellowed to his men. As was dictated, the Grand Navy vessels launched their missiles first, as they were the only things within the nessecary range. The hundreds of missiles launched into the air in a full scale volley.

The enemy’s first volley caught the Jenrakians off guard, caught them by surprise as the Akrianud was pummelled slightly, the walls taking the majority of the damage as they were surprised at the response of another foe to face. Grinding his teeth in annoyance, Sly’lioth looked from the Lekriauun with distaste on whom it could be. He had to think logically – who would strike them when they were nearly finished their siege? Whom would resort to the tactics? Though the fleet deployed was quite small, it’s offensive capabilities were formidable for its size, and Sly’lioth was certain send back double the effort of firepower, if need be. Aboard his bridge, the massive and nearly impregnable Lekriauun, Sly’lioth prepared his retribution. “Deploy all scouts, send the lurkers in a six kilometer straight shot, then have them deploy the drills.” He spoke with eloquence, the efficient, swift movements around him kept in order. “I want this coward of a tactic to pay for their cowardice launch, and I want them to sink to the bottom. Send word towards the mainland for the third and fourth fleets to prepare from the Arguns, in case of a sizable enemy. I do not want this route taken at any costs. Get the aerial route open by contacting Nakros Sentiauhk, and order the Temsplace to double their takeover speed immediately aboard the city. Deploy all Vizi-Turrets and Repeaters the moment they begin, and prepare cruise missiles aboard the shorelines. I need Pzounkriaers, Lurkers and a defensive perimeter set up within the next two hours. Take the initial two enemy assaults, attack as they’re reloading. I’m going to launch the suicides.” He commanded, as he left the bridge in a heap of movement, the command bridge in a hive of activity as the steel door closed behind him.

The catwalk chattered and clanked as he moved through the cavernous innards of the large ship, until he reached a thin steel door, opening it to a giant gallery of a chamber. Inside, children were sitting atop their chairs, their fingers pressing rapidly aboard the keyboards, the look on their faces in one of amusement and delight, as if it was a game. Across the clean room, a large group of children prepared themselves, donning their gear as they checked a group of small boxes, nodding to the large obsidian Temsplace as he emerged. Sly’lioth nodded back, his face hidden by his tall helmet. “When you get to the mainland, bring me back Johnathan Lancaster alive. Kill the others.” The Aursauk simply nodded. The benefit of using children were merely for psychological reasons, but it works.

As the enemy bombardment was under way, a hive like group of metal objects skimmed across the surface, running wildly like drones towards the enemy, behind long submarines that swiftly followed the trail of the scouting aircraft above them. A perimeter was being dispatched and created, a Harmony, as called throughout the Jenrakian circle of war. The planes were sleek, small and fast, their data sent through encrypted programs extremely quickly, leading the submarines on their far enough to work independently. The drones continued to skim towards their enemies, a thin blanket of metal slightly below the water, their drills readied, prepared to carve holes within the underlying hulls of enemy ships. An unorthodox tactic, but the benefit was the psychological effect of the radar. Such a sheet of information, it was.

From the roaming battleships, targeting was locked, and as the drones sped with impunity towards their enemy, the blasting of the ships from their cannons against the Jagadians rippled with fire, a torrent of destruction and flames. A long line, a great volley of twisting missiles and sleek arbalests crashing through the air as the soft humid skies blundered with the shake of the smoke.

“Nahra drachghun.” Elnioz commanded with impunity during the beachhead invasion, pushing with double effort and speed against the quickly falling enemy troops. They continued, the Sadicistra feasting upon the units, licking with their tongues as they prepared themselves.

“Deploy Operation Summersilk.” The Lead Temsplace said, a dark tan brown shade, his helmet covering his head as he ran as fast as he could in the bulky armour, firing as he moved along, a massive truck upon the beaches as a series of bulldozers pulled it along through the sands, carefully holding it as they placed a beacon upon the broken fortified wall, a small green vial placed inside it, as a familiar beeping was heard. They ran forwards, pushing up into the city, placing themselves at what was Paseo De Los Curas, newly named Amaklrun Duriga. As they quickly rushed through the streets of the city, guerilla gunfire ensued, yet the Sadicistra rushed to fight the enemies that came across them.

Blood was spilt, mainly heretic blood, as the thick armour of the pounding Temsplaces left little room for mistake or death to crawl through, yet it was possible. The city’s massive walls were throbbing with pain, as the large structures were leveled by the masses, the smoke billowing to produce a gray sky that shadowed the large fortress-like metropolis. Brazen skyscrapers and twisting castles stood beside blatant slums and cross suburbia, sands from the outside washing into the city as the winds picked up speed. It was rebuilt nearly entirely, crossed and zigzagged like a maze as the Temsplaces skillfully ran about, firing as they went, blasting in a thickening blaze. The smoke still rose, and it gave them short cover as they pushed on, the tall ruins of Nakros Ithrimm’s center still shining as a magnificent pile of rubble. It’s obsidian coat and marble nature was gleaming in the light, the concrete platform on which stood two Vizi-Turrets as a majestic trophy silent, unwavering.

From the left, the corporate soldiers pushed through the wall, gas emanating everywhere as they fogged up their trails, covering their tracks as they went, their shotgun troopers in the front, their snipers lurking in the back. A series of flash bang grenades erupted through the streets, drawing gunfire from adjacent houses as the enemy troops revealed themselves, only to have bullets carve and slash through their heads. They continued themselves onward, placing beacons along their way, the familiar green vial beeping as they walked through the bleak city streets. Much of Nakros Ithrimm’s magnificence was dying from the Necomkriall takeover, the structural beauty wasting away.

As they reached towards the central platform, a golden statue of a great Patriarch stood atop the winding steps, his hand held high as his face was glimmering with a soft shadow towards the sun. The rain that deftly fell this morning had placed tears upon his face, the rain in the bullet holes his blood. And as he stood there, still, motionless, carved in the epitome of stone, he was quiet, he was blank, and he was the golden statue of an age of Nakros Ithrimm long gone. They stood there, in quiet recognition, before a blast of rocket fire shimmered it in flames, the soldiers turning around to launch a spray of shotgun fire against a moving Temsplace shield. Rain began to fall.

A downpour of a blanket of nature’s tears stammered down in gulps, enveloping the area in a wet, but barely flooded area. The Tan armored Temsplace, at the lead of his forces, looked on as the white suited corporatist looked on at him. They shook hands, and store each other down, their faces hidden behind respective helmets.

“The castle is not far, the perimeter has been laced, and the cargo is coming.” The Temsplace Leading assured his moneymaking counterpart.

“Likewise. I’ve been able to have scout imagery on the situation, and I’m saying that this could be a much longer campaign than we think.” The Corporate General spoke to his religious friend.

“The Christians?”

“I’m rounding up the civilians in this city for transfer to Silosk. They will properly labeled there.”

“Bring the Christians to Amurn Thik’raz.”

“It would cost too much.”

“Very well. The fleet is picking up signals along the edge of their radar. Somebody has joined against us.”

“Whom?”

“Jagadians.”

“Let the fleet hold the defense, take care of the enemy. We need to get that cargo to the center, and we need to get those council leaders.”

“Where are the Aursauk?”

“They should be at the respective assignments.”

The doorbell rang at Adam’s house, as he was packing his things for his escape towards the north. There were small pockets of civilization up north that haven’t been eradicated, and he had to take his chance. He looked at his moderate house, and why he had to leave it behind – the usually puttering kettle, the creaky but musically amusing stairs, the beautiful skylight in his kitchen that splintered rays even into his warm, crackling living room where a merry fire usually danced. His small television sat across from his armchair as he looked at its inviting warm leather seat, the creases of his buttocks still slightly visible. He chuckled at that last thought.

As he opened his maroon door, a pale child, dressed in drenching wet clothes, cried out to him. “Sir, you have to help. My s-sister she’s – she’s trapped by a piece of lumber down by my house!” He had a small black tattoo on his left hand, but Adam cared little about it. He was simply intent on helping this boy, and then getting out. Besides, he seemed to be so desperate, and barely past seven years old.

“Show me, son.” Adam said instinctively, as the boy rushed down the watery steps and past his front lawn, and with his small suitcase, Adam spurred on quickly. They crisscrossed alleys and streets, until the boy walked over to behind the garage. Automatically, a young girl was heard yelling “Help!”, and Adam rushed towards her, but as he turned, he was shocked.

She was not trapped beneath a piece of wood, but she did have a revolver, and placed a steaming bullet into Adam’s head, his blood from his brain spurting out amongst them, their faces drenched in blood, as they coldly looked at his falling body. She nodded to the boy, before taking out a knife and running it slowly and painfully across his neck, feeling the warmth of the blood that gushed out, licking it and lapping it up softly as the boy took his turn. The rain fell down still, and the puddles were turning red, as their bloodied fingers took out a small pen, and crossed off the paper as it slowly became soaked.

“Who is next on the list?”

“Jeremiah, Section 5, row 8, number 7.”

“The Lumber story again?”

“Yes, let’s do that again.”

The world of cyberspace was quite unusual. Despite being capable of processing information in mere nano-seconds, combined with its ability to acquire targets in an instant and control Close In Weapons Support, or CIWS systems. One thing stuck out above all else--silence. No noise, no emotions, no sounds. Utter silence. Even as the missiles launched into the air and crashed upon the Jenrakian defenses, silence dominated cyberspace. Though that soon changed, as warning systems began to flash across each ships computer systems. Their radars lit up with information about something oncoming. While the crews inside the ship and outside of it were baffled about where exactly these 'targets' were coming from--the Fleet's computer systems did not. Their sensors immediately picked up the disturbance coming from just above the polluted water of Malaga. Immediately CIWS guns turned and their gears spun as they moved into correction position with a metallic hum. Suddenly dozens of rounds were spat out of the auto-cannons as the guns onboard each ships were locked on various different targets--slowly, but surely taking out as many as they could. Dozens of these sleek metallic missile-like things slipped below the surface, a moment later their fait known by an explosion which sent a spiral of water into the air. The various fleets auto-cannons managed to work in cohersion with each other, their distance apart of coarse made them harder to work together--but they still maintained the 'Tier Formation' to a degree. When the smoke cleared, only a few of the missiles had impacted onto various ships--as now they began the task of drilling into them. Though even then it would take quite a bit of time to drill threw several inches of armor.

Ashikaga stood perfectly still watching the events unfold--his fleet fired another missile volley while the enemy Lurkers made their way towards his fleets. The giant metallic wall which once stood to oppose them--now did not. Ashikaga nodded and then spoke, 'Order the naval wing to launch their designed assaults.' His orders were followed to the letter. As encrypted messages were sent to the various carriers of the three fleets. Hundreds of aircraft took off into the air--their missions very clear and with the collapse of the armorured walls--all the easier. The quickly formed up--three layers of assaults. The first tier was one that flew close to the water's surface, as soon as these fighter-bombers came within range they launched their missiles at the two targets given to them: the Lekriauun and the other Jenrakian Super Dreadnaughts. Dreadnaughts they may have been, but they would soon be scraps at the bottom of the waters of Malaga. As the first wave launched their cargo, they immediately sped up to go head-long into the Jenrakian Fleet. Though as they did so, their objective was distraction. They released their metallic chaf and flares to draw Jenrakian Anti-Aircraft fire away from the next two waves. Despite their defense systems, many Teutonics exploded into red and orange balls of fire. Though it was also well worth the minor sacrifice--many in the Jagite Naval Air Wing glad that they outnumbered the Jenrakian vessels almost five-to-one, as this allowed for only so much anti-aircraft fire to go against them.

The second-wave had the same objective as the first one--destroy the Jenrakian Super Dreadnaughts. They too launched their anti-ship missiles and watched as they zoomed across the sky towards their target--their tailends being illuminated by orange flames, and their metallic outter coats glimmering in the sunrays which bore down upon them. This wave--however--had no intention of remaining. With the Jenrakians surely giving their total attention to the first waves aircraft which continued to strafe them with their 30mm cannons. Of coarse doing no real damage, but still keeping Jenrak's automated anti-aircraft systems busy. The third-wave had a much different task. With the Jenrakians no doubt by this point reeling from the effects of being heavily outnummbered and outgunned by the Jagite Fleet, and being hammered by countless missiles both from the ships and the aircraft--would have little left to guard their landing force with. The third wave came in high--managing to also simply go around the armoured walls which protected the Jenrakian landing vessels. There the Jagite unleashed a torrent of missiles, and when these were depelted began strafing the enemy transports with their 30mm cannons.

Ashikaga, while content with the events unfolding before him, was not too content with what else was happening. As soon as the Jagite vessels came within shelling-range--the Jenrakians fired. Ashikaga had, had to shield his eyes as several enemy shells met their targets. Luckily, the Jagites had deployed their Assault Cruisers, Destroyers, and other small craft at the front of the Fleets--of coarse with the fleet seperated the tier system broke down to a degree--it still maintained it original purpose of sacrificing the weaker vessels first--and the stronger ones last. Some of these hit vessels simply turned and limped back towards the back of the fleet where repair and hospital ships awaited them. Though as the Jenrakians finished their second volley, against inflicting minimum losses to the Jagites--the Jagites Dreadnaughts came within range of the Jenrakian Battleships. Combined the three Jagite fleets had six dreadnaughts. Each of these turned their massive guns towards the battleships of the Jenrakian Navy--locking on and fired. The explosions, while impressive, would be the least of the Jenrakians concerns. The massive shells of the Dreadnaughts would prove more effective. Combined with the co-operative fire from nearly thirty battleships would prove a desicive factor.

[OOC: I took the liberty to say that 220 foot armoured wall fell, along with its counterparts that may have been defending your ships. No way, regardless of how thick these things were, could they survive the missile barrage which hit them--and no doubt hit the ship converted to support them.]

Discontent raged throughout Gelectriax’s halls as a soft slither of a hiss was heard, his fingers rapping and tapping up and down as he nodded towards the events unfolding before him. His aides were staring with wonder on what he was thinking, what was going through his twisted mind. And yet, as he sat there, he nodded once more, as if he was paying very little attention. “We must retreat.” The admirals ordered, as they nodded towards each other, looking at Gelectriax with intent. “The Jagadians have placed too large a fleet for us to properly counter with the forces at Malaga.” They looked with dread, with horror as videos of the pounding Jagadians unleashed hell against their unsuspecting brothers.

“I will not risk dishonour. Is there a way to break them?” Gelectriax asked them, knowing the answer all too well.

“We need to send a larger fleet, and then we can certainly crush them once and for all.” The Admirals nodded towards each other, as they looked on at Gelectriax. “Lord Sly’lioth is brilliant, yes, but he’s an infantry commander, Gelectriax. He cannot go toe to toe with an Admiral with a fleet that small. We cannot risk it, it’ll be a waste of money. He infantry have already taken the city, we can work from there.”

“Yes, but I will not have Sly’lioth be killed. I want the Temsplace to return whole, intact and breathing. I will not risk bringing back a hero in box, so I suggest the only proper course of action.”

“What might it be?”

“Keep the defence held until a larger fleet arrives. Send the flashers, deploy the firewall.” Gelectriax ordered, as the admirals thought carefully. Why the firewall? Why the blazing brazen metal shield? What good would it do? Nobody knew what Gelectriax thought, but hopefully he was right, for Sly’lioth’s sake.

“Deploy the Hive, I don’t want them coming any closer to the ships.” He retorted, as he sipped tea aboard his bridge, sitting calmly as a small ruckus shook his ship, the captains and soldiers looking about in wonder, yet this obsidian Temsplace merely kept his calm, as he chuckled. “Such a loss of blood.” He retorted, as he prepared himself. He knew that right now, on the western side of the city’s wall, citizens of Nakros Ithrimm were being rounded up in transports, readied and prepared to be taken away, as the Temsplace and the Corporates talked amongst each other, preparing themselves as they finalized the city’s setup.

Turning on the recorder, Sly’lioth sent out a message towards the head of the Jagadian fleet aboard the barely scratched Lekriauun. “Hello, I am Sly’lioth, Temsplace in charge of the repair of Nakros Ithrimm. I earlier sent out a message that I wished to fix this city undisturbed, but apparently you didn’t listen. So perhaps you will listen to numbers. Right now I have a fifth of your navy. I also have a fifth of your personnel. I also know that while my fleet is purely created for bombarding a land target, many of my ships have already suffered death, so I ask you this simple math question.

If one fleet one-fifth of another just happens to have lined not only their two super dreadnaughts with nuclear bombs in quite the reach of enemy ships, but as well the city that the enemy is intent on taking, how many people will die, Christians included? Perhaps you are not good at math, I thought to myself. Perhaps number bore you. So I ask a question of earthly science. How easy is it to build atop a radiated city?

You may hold my men in your hands, but I hold your objective, and if you will not allow me to repair this fractured city, I will destroy it, and wipe Malaga forever off the face of the earth. And so comes another question, I will ask. If both our forces are killed in the blast, then who will have more left over overall? I have millions of…friends…at home, and they will be more than willing to launch a full scale offensive against you. Now, I know you’re a reasonable man, and I know you probably will not respond kindly to this threat, but right now I am not in the condition to fight you. You will lose more than me.

Goodbye.”

As flames rose from both the city of Nakros Ithrimm and the small Jenrakian Fleet--Grand Admiral Ashikaga Hikoharu looked on with neither joy nor dismay. He clearly outnumbered the Jenrakian Fleet, vastly so, though that was only because the Republic had made no diplomatic communications with Jenrak, no warning, nothing. The Jenrakians of coarse, didn't bother to track every military fleet from every nation in the World--such would be a vast waste of their time. If the Republic had tried either, then he knew he'd right now be facing the vast Jenrakian Fleet--and hundreds would still be dying. He had no doubt that the Jenrakians had already called upon their Mainland to assist them--he did not take this Temsplace as a fool. He glanced down at his watch and deducted another hour from the time it would take the First and Seventh Fleets to arrive for the very purpose of engaging and defeating the Jenrakian Fleet that would arrive from the Mainland. Ashikaga was confident he could defeat the Jenrakians and thus had made no suggestions to the Naval Command for diplomacy or compromise on this issue.

His train of thought was derailed as his communication office spoke, 'Sir, we have information that the Jenrakians are rounding people up. It appears they may be trying to evacuate the city.' Ashikaga raised an eyebrow--seldomly did the Jenrakians give compassion to their conquered. That was seen in that invasions of Rithman-Naar, Hsac, and various others. Ashikaga looked down at the computer in front of him and began to type. His search was quickly fruitful as he brought up the files regarding Jenrak--he searched feverishly for only a few moments as the information he needed was instantly before him. His eyes widened as he read--appearntly the Jenrakians weren't compassionate, they were slave dealers. Other reports showed even liberated territory was often enslaved if it rebelled--both loyalist and rebel alike underwent at least torture. He growled, allowing for the first time external emotional feelings to be shown to his crew. He rose up to issue a command when his communications officer broke it in again, 'Sir we have a message from the Jenrakian Commander, Temsplace Sly’lioth.' Ashikaga motioned for the message to be played. As he and his crew listened to it, he allowed a few nods. This settled down his crew, whom few were eager to die in a nuclear holocaust, and two it was simply his own ego needing satisfaction over a job well done. He then turned on his own recorder, he could have typed his message but he found little bravo in such.

'You presume to blackmail a Jagadian? A most unusual way to surrender, Temsplace. You may believe you hold me by the throat, yet you do not. You have ensured that by your own hand. I am well aware of how you deal with rebellious citizens of your Empire. To be honest, I care little about Jenrakian religion and politics. If you wish to purge your heretics, be my guest, the Republic does not care about them. We do, however, care about the Jagadians that live in your lands. They shall not be tortured, enslaved, or executed by your hand. I am fully willing to sacrifice myself and my fleets in order to spare them a lifetime of misery or a painful execution in your home lands. I am not suicidal, however, and since we hold each other in checkmate--I say we negioate.

You release all Jagadians and you leave Malaga. You do not return again. In reuturn, I will not attack your fleet and thus force you to exterminate us all in nuclear hellfire. You may not believe me serious--why would I risk my objective and my life? It is because I will no longer see my people enslaved and killed by foreigners such as yourself. You will leave Malaga, you will hand over the Jagites--or we both shall die here in these Kraven polluted waters.

The call is yours to make Temsplace.'

As Ashikaga turned off the recorder and the message was sent to Sly'lioth--he glanced around his bridge to see his crew looking at him, most noticably nervous. He ignored them and looked back out at the Jenrakian Fleet. What would Sly'lioth do?

He was taking a risk, he knew. As he sat there, the Jenrakians talking amongst themselves in wonder, the captains and the lieutenants in silence once more as the soft drip of Sly’lioth’s wine falling down upon his black obsidian armour. The catwalk clanged and was abuzz with noise, as they still had their eyes wary upon Sly’lioth, his fingers below the chin of his helmet, his right hand’s fingers tapping on the top of his sheathed blade. He did not expect a talk of peace from an enemy that hated his people so, and the lives of his men were valuable to him. They were willing to die for their master, for their leader, and thus his hands controlled his minions’ lives. He had to think carefully, he had to take a look at every step along the way. “What happens when the world turns cold?” He asked his captain, as they shook their head in wonder.

“I don’t know, Lord Sly’lioth.”

“Where be the lark that sings about the shiver of the wind, the cries of the trees dangling with noise as they fell upon their splinters? Can such a quiet song be heard amongst the fog? Can such a quiet noise be seen alongside quiet scenes? She shivers with me, and yet she is not with me, and she is all that exists and all around her.” He was losing himself in his poetic words, his train of thought, as the captains nudged him back to consciousness of thought. The message he had received spoke of orders, and demands, and nothing more, no benefits but life, and lives that meant very little in the world. But something, one thing, caught the obsidian Temsplace by surprise – that this Jagadian Admiral was willing to sacrifice his men so others would be freed of their bondage, of their enslavement. That stroke of honour impressed Sly’lioth more than anyone could have ever known.

“I have been on many countries, walked on very different soil, and in my journeys I thought only my brothers, the homeland, have ever shown true honour. I see nothing but the false quest for glory in the world of now, nothing more than men passing off as honourable as they feed their selfish exploits. But this display of honour impresses me.” He spoke to himself, as the captains looked at him once more, still wondering on what he was talking about. Preparing a message back, he placed the recorder to his face.

“Perhaps you and I have much more in common than I thought, Admiral. While you may rule your hard thumb across the seas and I bring my blade upon bloodied soil we seem to both understand the ideals of the Sacrifice of Pride.” His voice became cheery, smooth, dauntless as if he were talking to a close friend. “Because it is the proper venue, I offer an invitation of you to come to my home, Jenrak. There diplomatic meetings will be discussed with formality, civility and eloquence. Have no fear nor worries on the invitation. We are a honourable, civilized people. Assassinations nor violence will not be in the lieu of the conversation. I await your reply.” With that, it was closed.

From the corporate command ship C9-O, the white suited commander took his rifle towards the top, placing it down as a signal, before the message came through from Sly’lioth. “Bring the civilians to Ouridna, and keep them in the holding cells for further orders.”

“Why Ouridna? It’s on the mainland, isn’t it?”

“We may be bargaining them off.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

*Bump

Ashikaga heard the message and listened well--the change in the Temsplace voice was greeted well by the Grand Admiral. As much as he was willing to sacrifice everyone--he had no glorious visions of dying in nuclear hellfire. Regards as he listened, his attitude changed, as if history itself changed before his very eyes--as if he were apart of a moment, a turning point. He spoke softly, 'There is an ideal, gentlemen, that ideal is Jagada, and the Republic we bring forth to Christians and Religious peoples everywhere. Are we to cast this ideal aside, and let it forever vanish in the void of history, or shall we embrace this ideal and whisper about it some more?' His crew didn't respond. He nodded, though this time not for a grin but because he understood what this meant. To the Jenrakians this was simply another diplomatic meetings prehaps one of the very few they have ever had with someone whom attacked them first. To Jagada, this was a grand turning point, prior to this Jagadians did not resolve wars by diplomacy but fought them until promptly put in its place.

Ashikaga turned on his own recorder to prepare a message for the Temsplace Sly'lioth,

'I find that agreeable. However, I cannot and I shall not leave my ship, or have my ship follow your Fleet back so long as Malaga remains under the Jenrakian boot--or while my people still sit aboard your transports, waiting to be shipped to a life of slavery. If you abandon the city, and hand over the Jagites within your custody--then I shall have my Dreadnaught follow you and you Fleet back to your home. There I shall be a represenative of the Monotheistic Republic before you and your nation's 'Three Crowns'.

If you can agree to my previous terms--then we have a solid agreement.'

It was a quiet, cold thing, in Aulocos’ chambers, the butcher like scene bright and the blood vivid amongst the cooler-stricken temperatures. The gasp of clouds that emanated from Aulocos seemed to quietly crumbled apart as the tall, white clasped man stood, his eyes like shivering diamonds as his face was beneath a mask of contorted visage. Ears were struck with discontent, his head covered by a metal band, he rasped and looked on as he stood, a small fog of putrid breath from his throat, his teeth behind an eerie metal mask. As he stood there, standing like some monument of victory, his grisly trophies upon his wall were dripping with blood, both dried and wet. Infected areas of flesh upon them were visible, as brownish-blackish spots that didn’t move out of sight. They fell in dribbles, splashing onto the floor as they sloshed and moved about, the noise evident as the bloodstained chair situated in the middle of the room pranced around in the shadows as the dangling light was swinging across, as pair of black suited men carrying a muscled, bleeding nosed character upon that wooden chair.

As he sat there, a look of anger, defiance and pity against them emerged from his eyes, viewing Aulocos with disgust as the leper-like Lord looked on with interest, his fingers upon his chin, his right hand tapping upon a rusty hook. “The honoured and decorated Commander Leskings. I never thought you sided with heretics, commander. What made you think to devoid yourself of salvation?”

Leskings sat there, his voice shivering and quivering in fear. “I’m not a heretic. I am a pure blooded Jenrakian Tsellian like you, Aulocos. Pure blooded Jenrakian.” With that, an angry slap at from Aulocos lashed across his face, the rusty hook clinging upon the flesh as it tore the skin apart, a red mark racing across a thick gorge of shown blood.

“Do you know how quickly the blood can become infected from rust without treatment?” Aulocos asked, as he looked on with malice towards Leskings behind his armoured mask, the grisly trophies of limbs and fingers and eyeless bodies upon the red dried wall still lingering as a sign of Leskings’ possible fate. “It’s very fast, but luckily the temperature is fast enough to slow down your blood. But I have a problem – we’re warm blooded, are we not?” With that, Aulocos took out a small jar of withering worms, as Leskings looked on with fright towards it.

“Tell me the name of your group, and I will give you a painless death.” Aulocos threatened, as Leskings shook his head.

“No, I’m not betraying him. I’m not going to let you break the ideal.”

“Fine. Before I kill you, are you thirsty?”

“Why?”

“I want everyone to die without thirst. So – are you thirsty? Consider it a parting gift.”

“A little.”

“Give him water.” Aulocos ordered, as the white suited commander forced a water bottle to the man’s mouth, as Leskings thirstily lapped it up, sighing as he nodded. “Better?” Aulocos asked in false sympathy.

“Yes, thank you.”

“No, thank you.” Aulocos said, as Leskings became to vomit uncontrollably, his eyes draining in tears as blood dribbled from his ears, snot drooling down his nose as a red slosh of saliva fell down, a brownish-reddish blotch spraying through his pants as it dripped down and steamed upon his feet, staining the wooden chair in a putrid stench. His feet were bursting apart, as long white stringy insects were emerging from the skin, his veins popping out as blood rushed about through his breaking body.

“I can make this stop before you die a horrible death, Mr. Leskings. Tell me the name.” Aulocos ordered calmly, as Leskings tried to force a reply, his mouth gushing out blood by the torrents.

“A-Alaik Akria.” Leskings yelled out, as Aulocos looked with shock behind his mask. Thaurausk’s boyfriend? Her lover? She had been with the devil, and she did not know? Or perhaps she did, and that was why it was so successful. Nevertheless, he would find out.

“Thank you, Mr. Leskings. Goodbye. Give him the antidote, and place it on the wall.” Aulocos ordered, as he walked out, the white suited commander firing off a round into Leskings’ head, a reddish hole seen as a small glimpse of lead visible.

From the field, Sly’lioth shook his head at the message. The rules were set, the route was secured, he could not afford to change it now. “I tell you what. If you agree to come first, then you may choose on whom you wish to speak to. Due to interbreeding it’s very hard to figure out who is purely Jenrakian and who is purely Jagadian. They are being sent to the port city of Ouridna. You may pick them up there, and the city of Nakros Ithrimm is nearly completed evacuation.”

A message was send to both Jenrakian and Jagite alike.

Damn allies, can't you two not fight over this dumb things? Why waste human lives, if you can come to a deal without blood shed. Become allies?

Signed, The Count

Ashikaga heard Sly'lioth's message and immediately sensed the danger and risk behind it. Once those Jagadians got on Jenrakian soil, there only possible way to save them woud be ground offensive--and the Republic was not likely to commit such forces to that, espically considering war plans were already being drawn up against The Kraven Corporation. He knew the moment they touched Jenrakian soil, they're only chance at freedom would be a swift and hopefully painless death. He had every advantage at his disposal--larger fleet, stronger ships, and he had the enemy virtually encircled. Though they maintained nuclear weapons--but so did he. Ashikaga nodded realizing that he'd have to sacrifice and compromise to fullfill the wishes of the Republic. He sighed, and then pushed a button to use his recorder again,

'Very well. You leave Malaga, and allow us to occupy it. You may take the people with you--though be warned, we are watching. Upon my arrival, I expect the former Lord of this City-State, a Temsplace I believe by the name of Egos.'

[OOC: Sorry for bad reply--I'm am currently sick.]

Sly’lioth placed his pride and honour above all else. “There is no Temsplace by the name of Egos who controlled this city. I believe the correct term you are looking for is Egos of the Sadicistra, whom currently resides in his native home of Ergos. Malaga is yours, but do not expect a guarantee that Egos will be available.” Sly’lioth warned, as a massive trail of transports were seen almost as a blanket of steel upon the horizon, drifting towards Jenrak unharmed, a carrier nearby as its strong, powerful form shimmered with steel. From the homeland, the Lords raged in disgust upon each other, Therax sitting atop his makeshift throne of dried human hands, looking at the Lords discuss amongst each other as they flew insults back and forth, their saliva spewing and their weapons pointed as threats. From this massive golden chamber, the sunlight billowing through, Therax sat there, Edoqlius beside him, both looking like Gods amongst the squabbling masters of the sands. Therax stayed silent, and Edoqlius more so, barely moving, simply watching them as a well built man walked through, his hair a matt of brown fibres as his finely chiselled face and his handsome demeanour made even the most prestigious Ladies woo and whisper in delight and wonder – save Rashkta, of course. She stayed as cold and disgusted as ever.

From the front, the Patriarch of Blood, the one in charge of the ordering, lifted his massive golden hand as the council silenced in obedience. This Golden Patriarch, his armour a bone-like structure of golden Temsplace armour, was the same one who had taken Malaga in the first place. Now he sat as a judge for Jenrak’s greatest criminal in decades. “Alaik, alias the Rose. Tell me, why do you call yourself that?” The Golden Patriarch asked in wonder.

Alaik’s voice was smooth, his charm irresistible as he talked, his features divine and his angelic voice seemed to sway many women within the chambers. “It was an allusion to the fact that as a Rose, we stand as individuals as petals, that we are nothing more than a soft flicker on a flower, but together we are something beautiful, graceful, loved. It was unity that kept us, and I took that name to be the leader of the Roses. I am the Rose.” Alaik said, his face in sorrow.

“Truly, he is.” A Lady whispered amongst the others as they looked with a smile. Thaurausk sat nearby, her mind in conflict, looking down with hatred upon the one she so dearly treasured, and from not far away, Rashkta prepared her gun, polishing her silencer as she placed her gloves upon her fingers with malice. To Rashkta, looks were nothing – he was a traitor, and his betrayal must be dealt with, no corruption allowed within the system no matter what. Though something did not add up – how did Thaurausk not know of her lover’s blatant works? Something was puzzling. Nevertheless, the chamber discussion still continued. “I would love to punish him.” Another lady whispered once more, to the delight of her colleagues’ mischievous giggles. Not a single smile came from Alaik, simply sorrow.

The Patriarch ignored the whispers, and waited little for the talking to dismiss. “Alaik the Rose, that is your name, and so far you have been charged with the death of civilians, military personnel and the hired attempted assassination of Authaulus the Lord of the Temsplaces. Authaulus has said that he will not press charges for the failed attack, but you are still being placed under watch by the following occurrences. The death of 332, 405 men, 221, 908 women, 10,000 square feet of both government and corporate property, the use of terrorist tactics against the government and the corporations, the use of the government speakers to spread anti-Tsellian messages, the use of military weapons against Jenrakian units, the destruction of over 120 million in government property, and 288 million in corporate property. You are also charged for the deaths of the following Lords: Mirunn Ithulmunza, Vannka Jik’haz, Daskraduun Jik’haz, Jengus Dumurun, Buluc Kaasrud, Nisradu Thiritmank, and Manamonokriette Chraskaduun, as well as the attempted assassination of Aikuz Aiz'qtaar Aizith Aeshrunim Ahazdrazuun Aroqnirnin Authaulus Annirak, who has already noted that he will not be placing charges. You find yourself in a place that you are unable to repay back to get out, Mr. Rose. Do you have anything to say in your worthless defence?”

“I have things to apologise, to people I am sorry I have hurt, and I truly am sorry, from the bottom of my heart. To me, I was in an ecstasy – it was called freedom, an ecstasy banned and illegal within the sands. I tried to turn away, but I knew that this was something real, not false, not dishonest, but true and possible, and tried to fight it.” Alaik said, passionately, tears welling from his eyes. “I tried, but you do not know how hard it is to feel freedom, to know that you are yourself, that you are a man or a woman, and that you can make a difference if you try, that you’re not just a number in a computer, or a grain of sand within the dunes. That was what made me feel it, that I belonged somewhere, and before I became the rose, I was nobody. I was nothing, without it, there was nothing to have me become something. You have felt it, have you not, my dear Lord Patriarch? Freedom? Justice? Equality? I heard that Nakros Ithrimm fell due to internal strife, that without freedom it collapsed and burned – where was the freedom in bondage? In slavery? In destitute control by an entity that showed no heart? That is whom I fight for, my dear Lord Patriarch – I fight for freedom, and such in the name of freedom, I will not be a hypocrite and sell out my friends. You may do your worst, but I will remain free.” It was a silence, a soft, quiet gust void of noise, as from the stands Thaurausk looked on, her eyes wallowing in tears, her crying silent as she watched his speech go by soft ears, listening to this man’s every word. Even the Patriarch stayed still for a second, as he looked on at Alaik with interest and sympathy.

“Have any of you ever felt desperate? Suffered through homelessness?!” Alaik yelled and asked the council Lords, the hundreds of them looking on in golden armour and shining clothes atop crisp suits. Sweat and tear ran down his fat, his hair slightly dirty and his body showing signs of wounds from initial torture. “You speak of honour, you speak of justice and pride for all, that as Jenrakians we are a proud race, a race that should place honour above all! And when you come to take us, Jenrakians, to the bondage, to be enslaved, to be punished, do you think we have no pride?! We are Jenrakians, every homeless man on the streets being hunted, every slave that is born in the sands of Ascherach! We are you, and you treat us like foreigners! Like scum! Do you treat your brothers and sisters that way?! Do you?!?” The bellow of his question was loud, as the Lords looked with guilt behind their helmets, the Ladies and their beauty shimmering with seriousness. “I am a Jenrakian! I am being charge for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of my fellow Jenrakians! And what do I see in return? The hunt of my fellow Jenrakians! We are all the same, and we all have pride! We are a proud people, but everyday our pride is chiselled away by yours, that you place your pride above the pride of your people is beyond me, but I’ve seen things that were horrific, terrible, all in the name of an elitist’s pride! Do you know what I find ignorant, terrible?!? That the day I was given free speech, is the day that I am placed against a sleuth of Lords and charged for wanton destruction. The day I gained my freedom, is the day I die! That is what I see, what I see wrong. So with my freedom, with my ability to speak what I think, I say this! Nakros Ithrimm was right to have fallen! That no more will pride be seen as a privilege of the elite, but a quality that makes us Jenrakians! Nakros Ithrimm was right to have fallen!”

And with that, he was dragged out, still clinging onto those last seven words. The Leader of the Roses, the most powerful and only successful rebel group in Jenrak, was ready to fall, and with it, the only truth that there was something wrong with the Azhujurius.

Still there were those who weren’t touched by the speech at all – Rashkta, as she prepared the execution, Therax as he looked on with disgust, and Edoqlius, interested in the fine strength shown by Alaik. “I need him alive. He could be very helpful to me.” Edoqlius said to Therax. “I will be willing to pay 600 million for him whole, healthy and cooperative.”

“600 million for one man? What do you plan on doing with him?”

“I plan to build an army of Alaiks, simple.” Edoqlius said with an evil sneer.

Ashikaga took his first step off of the landing craft and onto the red, orange, and sandy beaches of Malaga, formerly Nakros Ithrimm. He felt the sand squish beneath his feet and he continued his way up the beach. Bodies and peices of bodies were scattered throughout all the city. The stentch of death was forcifully clinging in the air as Ashikaga made his up over the top of the beaches--followed closely be a detachment of Rear Guardsmen. He began to walk down the asphault road, looking up at the half destroyed buildings that still, despite their damage, towered into the black sky. He made his way towards the center of the city to see the large statue of the Golden Patriarch, he scanned over it, and then turned back to one of the Rear Guardsmen, 'Send an order back immediately, I want this statue torn down and thrown into the sea.' The Rear Guardsmen saluted, and began to take off before Ashikaga called for him to halt, 'And hoist the flag of the Republic.' Again, the Rear Guardsmen saluted and hurried off--his metallic battle suit making little noise as he ran.

Ashikaga turned around, and in the distance saw the giant stonewalls that surronded Malaga. He motioned to the Rear Guardsmen to follow him, despite the fact that they would have anyway. As the group reached the wall it took them only a few minutes to find an entrance to the stop of the wall. Upon exiting a door at the top of the wall, the Grand Admiral turned immediately to the north and looked out. Dark black smoke covered the skies for as far as the eye could see--as the ground beyond Malaga was red, dry, and almost sand like. Ashikaga was not surprised by the sight, he had expected much worse. Despite his expectations he couldnt' help be feel angry over what was done to his homeland--he wasn't born here, he'd never been here, and he'd never truly seen the place, yet he felt instantly at home in Malaga. As if he belonged on this wasteland island that had no economic benefit to anyone whom controlled it. 'They shall pay for this--every last one of them,' stated Ashikaga. As he spoke those words he would never knew how much history he would effect. The door which he'd exited from swung open as a Rear Guardsmen rushed threw, and stopped a few feet away from Ashikaga who glared at him. Saluting his superior the Rear Guardsmen continued, 'Grand Admiral,' he said, his voice very deep thanks to the metal electronic helmet he wore, 'News from Christendom.' As he finished his last one word he extended his hand and in it was a piece of paper, Ashikaga grabbed the paper and scanned threw its text. He nodded, again an unoffical smirk, and looked back at the lands of Kraven, 'You shall pay. You shall pay,' he stated. Has he turned his head back towards his fleet, he noticed that the statue of the Golden Patriarch was already being turned over by group of Rear Guardsmen, as the Republican Army began to spread across the city to take full control of it. He then noticed something else, something which sparked pride in his soul, he saw on a building close to the center of the city, no more than fifty yards from the former statue of the Golden Patriarch--the white and dark blue flag of the Monotheistic Republic was being risen into the air. Other soldiers saw it and began to cheer and shout praises to God and Christ. Ashikaga nodded, both as a grin and in satisfactory, he then looked back at the Rear Guardsmen who brought him the message, 'Order all three fleets that they are now under the command of Rear-Admiral Tsutsui Narinobu, relay Christendom's orders to him,' stated Ashikaga firmly, 'And prepare my Dreadnaught, we make course for Jenrak soon.'

[OOC: In your next post you can go ahead and say he's at Jenrak if you want.]

“Home!” Sly’lioth said with joy, as the Jagadian dreadnought was behind him, the shores of Jenrak wide, beautiful and glistening with sparkling sand. A green sun rose upon the mountains that laid there, the dunes swiftly sloshing about like an ocean of sand, a large pillar standing at the coastline, the light shining as it showed a small metal trail that led through cavernous tunnels and elongated homes. It was an odd sight, a sight of unique architecture and golden sands. “I have been gone only a few days, yet it feels like an eternity.” He sighed, as the captains clapped around him – they had made it back in one piece, looking at the sands that laid there, the beating sun brutal and unforgiving, but it mattered not. As the small number of ships moved through the long twisting tunnels of water, they finally emerged at the Golden sea, the inner sanctum of Jenrak’s territory, where it finally showed itself in all its glory. There stood the Arguns, the four Islands, each massive cannons and enormous fleets trudging around it, their guns prepared and their aircraft swift, as they patrolled the water cautiously, looking about. Beyond a thickening glance of the city of Ouridna came into view, the spires of glittering lights and skyscrapers like knives stabbing into the sky, the black stone structures upon obsidian platforms glistening like blood as Vizi-Repeaters lined the coastline, people walking alongside it like it was nothing.

Jenrak was a mixture of black stone and golden sand, military and corporate entities living together under a single green banner, flowing and shining from every major building, the wind blasting it around as it gimped through the air. Sly’lioth nodded, as he sent his messages to the large wall of steel that was laid upon the waters, dreadnoughts, carriers and submarines everywhere as soldiers marched around massive marble temples. “Open the gates, a foreign emissary is coming.” Sly’lioth commanded, as the large walls creaked eerily towards the cliff line, a series of lighthouses shining as Ouridna opened. It was here, in Ouridna, that the remains of the tiny Jenrakian siege group laid dormant, repair and supply ships whizzing out to assist them, soldiers marching perfectly in lines, their feet at the same angles, their discipline unmatched. Temsplaces chattered and sparred within the many temples dotting the city, and not a single Sadicistra was seen in sight.

Sly’lioth sent a message towards the Jagadian dreadnought. “You will be escort via Land Transport by Rashkta Nirandu. She will overlook the safety of your journey. I advise that you treat her with respect – she is the leader of the Sadicistra, and will not hesitate to make your visit here truly uncomfortable if you are uncooperative. She will bring you to Haasdra, where you will be able to hold audience with Egos. Understood?”

As Ashikaga's Dreadnaught entered into Jenrakian waters he looked on at the Jenrakian Homeland. The rumors about it proved true as a tint of green fog covered the area, temples were numerious, and the unforgiving Jenrakian sun bore down blistering those below it with heat. How any civilization could prosper as the Jenrakians have on this barren land was beyond him, but the fact that they did civilize and that they were strong despite their circumstances told volumes about their ability.

The message from Sly'lioth came in loud and clear and it get a very short reply, 'Understood.'

As the Jagadian Dreadnaught came to a halt it awaited to be bordered by a diplomatic escort party--appearntly he would be escorted by the Lord of the Sadicistra, a Rashkta Nirandu. The name sounded different, not like other Jenrakian names he'd heard. Almost feminie in how it rolled off the tongue, though Jenrakians were a culture which gave no similiarity to Jagada's, espically in regards to names.

As the Jagadian Admiral had finally rested himself of his safety within his dreadnaught, a group of Temsplace surrounded him, their movements opening a pathway as a massive Temsplace stood there, taller than the others, his armour a lighter shade of azure as his much larger blade shown with years of war and wear, though it was evidently still quite sharp and potent. He stood with power, strength and his enormous frame was covered by a thick slate of armour, not a single piece of flesh visible beneath this man. He talked to apparently somebody at the end of the mazelike pathway, a white haired pale woman who was obviously extremely young, though her radiance and beauty shimmered with a touch of maturity. Red lipstick was stunned upon her fiery and yet thin lips, her untouched ears and her tattoo less face a distinct difference from the usual male dominant society that was Jenrak. Her figure was lithe, yet not visible beneath the white armour was donned upon her, only her head uncovered within a metallic sheet, allowing her straight, white silver hair to flow beautifully like snow amongst the yellowish sands. She talked with the Temsplace, the Temsplace nodding as she shook her head, leaving the large man shrugging.

“Alright, but I will not let Thaurausk off the hook. She has to be tried in front of the courts, and I will not allow that heretic to live.” She said, her voice evident with a passionate anger.

“I thought you liked her. You said she had a lovely personality, and would have been a great figure in Jenrakian history.” Authaulus said, the azure light talking to her, his back strewn with jagged spike-like flags. This was Authaulus, the lord of the Temsplace, the undisputed leader of the steel rocket launching, horse cleaving behemoths that were the elites of the holiest sectors of Jenrak. They fought with unforgivable temper, and inhuman cruelty, all in the name of a great Lord, and this was him – Authaulus Annirak, the man with the power to make and unmake a entire nations by the whim of his massive armies of Temsplaces.

As he spoke to Rashkta, the Sadicistra leader, the Lady of the White Bloodline, his attention turned to the Jagadian admiral, nodding to him.

“He’s waiting.”

“I’ll take him.” Rashkta said, as Authaulus walked off, his army of Temsplaces following their king of swords. As Rashkta walked up to Ashikaga, it was as if she seemed to spawn Sadicistra out of her footsteps, as they began to snarling and sneer, looking at her, though they keep their boundaries, never walking past her. She held her hand, a beautiful smile on her face. “Hello, and welcome to Jenrak.” She said with a giggle.

Ashikaga watched as the massive Temsplace Lord spoke--he was confused about what they spoke about, but he did not let on that he was listening in. He kept his eyes staring off at the sands and the other majestic features of the large room. He noted that her white hair and his silver hair seemed to be out of the balance of the room, yet his teal eyes seemd out of balance in all places except Jagada--where millions of men had teal eyes. As the Temsplace Lord spoke about him, he inclined his head even if it wasn't directed at him, if only a sign of respect for acknowleding him. He was apart of a rising power, the power that was the Monotheistic Republic. The Defenders of Christendom, these Jenrakians were ackward, strange peoples--he could learn from them. Now would be as good a time as any to begin to make friends.

As the woman extended her hand, he extended his and shook it, and once releasing he bowed from the waist down and upon rising, spoke, 'Thank you it is a pleasure to be in your country. Am I correct that you are Lady Rashkta?'

“I trust you find the scenery to our golden lands interesting?” Rashkta asked as she shoved Ashikaga into the Hummer, a rifle in her right hand as she sat down beside him, the car humming slowly as Lihure, Lachura and Lancers alike all began to patrol, surveyors and Temsplaces watching. Jenrak was vast, it’s cities far, and at the speed they reached it was going to be a long journey, indeed. “My title as a Lady is quite sexist, to differ Lord from Lady, separate titles for one race. I find it disgusting, terrible. I know you’re not interested in my country, I know that you care little for my people, and I could not care less.” With that, an interesting turn of curiosity came from Rashkta’s mind. “Tell me, my friend, why were you so interested in diplomacy?”