Nueve Italia
01-05-2007, 02:23
First off, this is NOT an RP: This is a story I have been working on for the past few nights. It's sort of a fresh start for me on here, but there is absolutely no one else joining: it's a story line set in my nation (Nueve Italia) and I'm posting up a short segment to see if there are people interested in the rest of the work, and if there is I will keep writing and post up the next, I guess you would say chapters, as soon as I can. I hope you enjoy, and I appreciate all comments, questions, and feedback of any nature.
_____
~ He was afraid. A slight twitch in his eye, a nod of his head on his pillow, tugging at the blanket wrapped around him. The nightmare had him trapped in a darkness that refused to give way, and his mind failed to wake him and end the torment. Through his eyelids he saw a bright light flash, blinding him for several seconds. When the intensity faded, the black mushroom it left was unmistakable. He was home: Isola D’Argenta, and he was witnessing its final minutes once again. He flashed back from that moment, as if a video tape being rewound in slow motion, up to where he stood in a concrete bunker. Lights, once again the lights were everywhere. He raised his hand to shield his view so he could see, and saw that he was looking at himself. Coming through the doorway, exchanging a few quick words with the traitor, and there the gun rose. He remarked on the expression he wore at that moment: a mixture of shock, defiance, and … was it fear? The gun barked, the lights once again, and blood dripping on the floor. His father’s blood. Did he scream? He couldn’t remember; in fact, he’d rather not. The fight that ensued, though brief, left only him as the sole leader of an entire nation. It was a nation on the run, a country at its last breath, and a people on the verge of extinction. The dream fast forwarded to the black mushroom again. The earth itself was destroyed and it is still barren today. Millions perished in those few seconds. Their blood was on his hands …
He woke with a start, cold sweat dripping down into his eyes. Antonio Orsini Gori took several deep breaths to calm himself before rubbing his face with his hand. The sweat stung as it dripped into his eyes, and he was forced to blink to try and see through the pain and the dark. He could hear his wife, Catalina, breathing softly next to him. He ran a hand through her soft, dark hair, only to have her roll over to her side and draw the sheets closer. Antonio sighed and laid his head back down. These nightmares were more and more frequent, and they were sapping strength from the Emperor. Sleep became something he dreaded, and the irony of it all was that he found himself retiring to bed earlier and earlier. He took a glance at the clock by his bedside, the red lettering showing 5:13, which only served to further exhaust Antonio. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, and finally gave up on the endeavor all together. Getting out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Catalina, the Emperor threw a night robe over his boxers and T-shirt and left his room for a stroll around the building.
He arrived at the Grand Lobby on the second floor and found a window that allowed him to gaze out at the city below him. Cítta Santo, The Holy City: It was the capital he and his people had founded on the island they had named Isola Dorata. It was the new home of Nueve Italia: a jewel among a harsh world. The Nitalians had expanded from this city, spreading out to every corner of the island and trying to carry on their lives, trying to forget. If only they could forget Antonio thought, although at the same time he had wondered after the fact if he had substituted “I” for “they”. The city had an eerie quiet to it: it stayed lit as its dwellers carried about in their activities for the early morning but there was no sound other than the morning birds just beginning their song. Even the wind had stopped and the leaves stayed still as morning dew slowly dripped from their tips. He closed his eyes and sighed again. Memories had begun to flood back to him for no apparent reason, and they haunted him at every single moment in the day. His time as a fighter pilot, his involvement in four wars, two of which he fought over his own skies, his short time in which he had been Emperor, even all the way back to the first war he had seen. That war ended his innocence: his mother was killed, his father became a broken man hanging on to an unrealized dream, and he, Antonio, swore to protect his countrymen from the kind of destruction he had witnessed.
As he thought on that promise, his mouth slowly creased open to form the words “ I failed.” He opened his eyes and checked a nearby clock. 5:57, almost an hour since he first woke up. Antonio was about to go back to bed when he saw an aide jogging towards him. He was young and the Emperor had never seen him before, leaving him to believe that the aide was newly hired. The youngster stopped before the Emperor.
“ ‘Ma-‘Morning sir,” he stammered. Must be new Antonio mused to himself. “ Good morning … ?”
“ Enzo, sir. Enzo Pugli.” He sounded quite proud of his name. In fact, it sounded familiar to Antonio for a minute. In fact, he was sure he had heard of someone named Pugli before, but he couldn’t think of who it was at the moment.
“ Well, Signor Pugli, what is it that troubles you?”
The aide began to wring his hands and looked down at his feet.
“ Sir, I don’t know exactly how to say this, but we just received reports that … that Senator Palaccino …” he paused, shuffled his feet a bit, and then looked up, a look of deep worry etched into his smooth face. “ Senator Palaccino has been killed.”
_____
Several Months Ago
Guiseppe Palaccino, Senator of Defense, was tired of his country. The attempt to contact the Czardaian government had failed, leaving the nation internally weak. As more and more Czardaian immigrants began to riot, tensions reached a boiling point, and many of the immigrants fled to West Nueve Italia, known as Nueve Argenta. Nueve Argenta was formed almost immediately as soon as Isola Dorata was colonized to become the new Nueve Italia. People discontent and with a near murderous rage against with the government that had led them into complete chaos and the utter destruction of Isola D’Argenta had left Cítta Santo and made way towards the western side of the island. The government they formed did away with the Senate, away with inaction and weakness: Nueve Argenta was an absolute monarchy and its people followed it unquestioningly. Unfortunately, that blind faith would soon be put to the test. As the immigrants bolstered the population and economy of Nueve Argenta, its leader came up with a plan of revenge. A revenge that had been planned for years, but first, a man was needed who could pull off such an audacious plot …
Guiseppe Palaccino was that man. He had been approached several times by Nueve Argenta, asking him to give up his unsuccessful tirade in Nueve Italia where he felt as if no one listened to him anyhow. In fact, it was Palaccino who saw the creation of Nueve Argenta as a threat to Nitalian security, and yet, no one listened. The same was said of the Czardaian situation: Guiseppe advocated isolation, knowing well the destruction that a global policy brought, and yet the Emperor tried to get in contact with Czardas anyway. He was a High Senator with no voice, a representative with no power. After that realization, the offer from Nueve Argenta was starting to look promising.
The offer was simple: Guiseppe Palaccino would be smuggled out of Nueve Italia, and would take the role of Supreme Military Commander of Nueve Argenta. However, Palaccino, after being its worst enemy, could not simple join Nueve Argenta, therefore a ploy was devised: his death would be faked and his identity in his new home changed. Time was needed to plan, but soon, the day would come. As Palaccino sat in at yet another pointless High Senator council, he smiled as he kept thinking to himself Soon … soon I will be free …
And far away, in Ciudad Azul, capital of Nueve Argenta, the King smiled too. He looked at his city below him, his glorious tool in his path to power and revenge. Through his grin, he softly uttered “ My dream … My leader’s dream will soon be a realization …” All he had to do was wait, and as he waited, a broad smile stretched across his scarred features.
Finally the day came that the plan was revealed to Guiseppe. A spy who had been recently placed within the Nueve Italian government approached the Senator of Defense after he had conferred with Nueve Italian Special Operation’s Command (NISOC). He was handed a small folder with CONFIDENTIAL stamped in red on the front, and told to open it only when he was sure he was alone. Palaccino nodded, thanked the young man, and put the folder in his briefcase. He longed to open it as soon as he was in his office, but anyone could have come in at any moment. No, he had to wait until he was home, he vowed he wouldn’t touch that folder until he was out of the Palace. The fear of being discovered clung to his every word, shadowed his every movement, until at last he was able to leave. Palaccino rushed to his house on the outskirts of Cítta Santo, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he stepped through the door. He quickly made his way into his study, shut the door, closed the shades, and slumped against one of the walls, the briefcase in his hands. Suddenly realizing how hot he was, Guiseppe loosened his tie and then removed his jacket. He gulped as he undid the latches on the briefcase: one look at the contents of the folder and he could be convicted of treason. He knew what he was getting in to, he knew why he was approached: he was to lead a revolution, nay, an uprising against the powers that had destroyed Isola D’Argenta, and he would do so gladly. He had lost a son in the Great Southern Insurrection, a pointless war meant only to regain territories that had seceded (and rightfully so), and he had held the Gori family responsible ever since. As he thought about his hatred, he hadn’t noticed that he had unconsciously opened the flap to the folder. He had stopped sweating; It was now or never. He reached in to the small packet and took out one sheet of paper. On it was all the details of the deception, hand written and slightly smudged. He took off his tie entirely as he skimmed the letter quickly, and then went back and read every single detail. It was perfect, it left no discrepancies. Now all he had to do was wait a week for everything to be set up. In just 10 days, he would finally have the tool he needed to hold Antonio by the throat. As he thought of the joy it would bring him to break the young leader, both in mind and body, Palaccino almost sickened himself with how morally dubious he had become. Almost, he thought with a thin-lipped grin. ~
_____
~ He was afraid. A slight twitch in his eye, a nod of his head on his pillow, tugging at the blanket wrapped around him. The nightmare had him trapped in a darkness that refused to give way, and his mind failed to wake him and end the torment. Through his eyelids he saw a bright light flash, blinding him for several seconds. When the intensity faded, the black mushroom it left was unmistakable. He was home: Isola D’Argenta, and he was witnessing its final minutes once again. He flashed back from that moment, as if a video tape being rewound in slow motion, up to where he stood in a concrete bunker. Lights, once again the lights were everywhere. He raised his hand to shield his view so he could see, and saw that he was looking at himself. Coming through the doorway, exchanging a few quick words with the traitor, and there the gun rose. He remarked on the expression he wore at that moment: a mixture of shock, defiance, and … was it fear? The gun barked, the lights once again, and blood dripping on the floor. His father’s blood. Did he scream? He couldn’t remember; in fact, he’d rather not. The fight that ensued, though brief, left only him as the sole leader of an entire nation. It was a nation on the run, a country at its last breath, and a people on the verge of extinction. The dream fast forwarded to the black mushroom again. The earth itself was destroyed and it is still barren today. Millions perished in those few seconds. Their blood was on his hands …
He woke with a start, cold sweat dripping down into his eyes. Antonio Orsini Gori took several deep breaths to calm himself before rubbing his face with his hand. The sweat stung as it dripped into his eyes, and he was forced to blink to try and see through the pain and the dark. He could hear his wife, Catalina, breathing softly next to him. He ran a hand through her soft, dark hair, only to have her roll over to her side and draw the sheets closer. Antonio sighed and laid his head back down. These nightmares were more and more frequent, and they were sapping strength from the Emperor. Sleep became something he dreaded, and the irony of it all was that he found himself retiring to bed earlier and earlier. He took a glance at the clock by his bedside, the red lettering showing 5:13, which only served to further exhaust Antonio. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, and finally gave up on the endeavor all together. Getting out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Catalina, the Emperor threw a night robe over his boxers and T-shirt and left his room for a stroll around the building.
He arrived at the Grand Lobby on the second floor and found a window that allowed him to gaze out at the city below him. Cítta Santo, The Holy City: It was the capital he and his people had founded on the island they had named Isola Dorata. It was the new home of Nueve Italia: a jewel among a harsh world. The Nitalians had expanded from this city, spreading out to every corner of the island and trying to carry on their lives, trying to forget. If only they could forget Antonio thought, although at the same time he had wondered after the fact if he had substituted “I” for “they”. The city had an eerie quiet to it: it stayed lit as its dwellers carried about in their activities for the early morning but there was no sound other than the morning birds just beginning their song. Even the wind had stopped and the leaves stayed still as morning dew slowly dripped from their tips. He closed his eyes and sighed again. Memories had begun to flood back to him for no apparent reason, and they haunted him at every single moment in the day. His time as a fighter pilot, his involvement in four wars, two of which he fought over his own skies, his short time in which he had been Emperor, even all the way back to the first war he had seen. That war ended his innocence: his mother was killed, his father became a broken man hanging on to an unrealized dream, and he, Antonio, swore to protect his countrymen from the kind of destruction he had witnessed.
As he thought on that promise, his mouth slowly creased open to form the words “ I failed.” He opened his eyes and checked a nearby clock. 5:57, almost an hour since he first woke up. Antonio was about to go back to bed when he saw an aide jogging towards him. He was young and the Emperor had never seen him before, leaving him to believe that the aide was newly hired. The youngster stopped before the Emperor.
“ ‘Ma-‘Morning sir,” he stammered. Must be new Antonio mused to himself. “ Good morning … ?”
“ Enzo, sir. Enzo Pugli.” He sounded quite proud of his name. In fact, it sounded familiar to Antonio for a minute. In fact, he was sure he had heard of someone named Pugli before, but he couldn’t think of who it was at the moment.
“ Well, Signor Pugli, what is it that troubles you?”
The aide began to wring his hands and looked down at his feet.
“ Sir, I don’t know exactly how to say this, but we just received reports that … that Senator Palaccino …” he paused, shuffled his feet a bit, and then looked up, a look of deep worry etched into his smooth face. “ Senator Palaccino has been killed.”
_____
Several Months Ago
Guiseppe Palaccino, Senator of Defense, was tired of his country. The attempt to contact the Czardaian government had failed, leaving the nation internally weak. As more and more Czardaian immigrants began to riot, tensions reached a boiling point, and many of the immigrants fled to West Nueve Italia, known as Nueve Argenta. Nueve Argenta was formed almost immediately as soon as Isola Dorata was colonized to become the new Nueve Italia. People discontent and with a near murderous rage against with the government that had led them into complete chaos and the utter destruction of Isola D’Argenta had left Cítta Santo and made way towards the western side of the island. The government they formed did away with the Senate, away with inaction and weakness: Nueve Argenta was an absolute monarchy and its people followed it unquestioningly. Unfortunately, that blind faith would soon be put to the test. As the immigrants bolstered the population and economy of Nueve Argenta, its leader came up with a plan of revenge. A revenge that had been planned for years, but first, a man was needed who could pull off such an audacious plot …
Guiseppe Palaccino was that man. He had been approached several times by Nueve Argenta, asking him to give up his unsuccessful tirade in Nueve Italia where he felt as if no one listened to him anyhow. In fact, it was Palaccino who saw the creation of Nueve Argenta as a threat to Nitalian security, and yet, no one listened. The same was said of the Czardaian situation: Guiseppe advocated isolation, knowing well the destruction that a global policy brought, and yet the Emperor tried to get in contact with Czardas anyway. He was a High Senator with no voice, a representative with no power. After that realization, the offer from Nueve Argenta was starting to look promising.
The offer was simple: Guiseppe Palaccino would be smuggled out of Nueve Italia, and would take the role of Supreme Military Commander of Nueve Argenta. However, Palaccino, after being its worst enemy, could not simple join Nueve Argenta, therefore a ploy was devised: his death would be faked and his identity in his new home changed. Time was needed to plan, but soon, the day would come. As Palaccino sat in at yet another pointless High Senator council, he smiled as he kept thinking to himself Soon … soon I will be free …
And far away, in Ciudad Azul, capital of Nueve Argenta, the King smiled too. He looked at his city below him, his glorious tool in his path to power and revenge. Through his grin, he softly uttered “ My dream … My leader’s dream will soon be a realization …” All he had to do was wait, and as he waited, a broad smile stretched across his scarred features.
Finally the day came that the plan was revealed to Guiseppe. A spy who had been recently placed within the Nueve Italian government approached the Senator of Defense after he had conferred with Nueve Italian Special Operation’s Command (NISOC). He was handed a small folder with CONFIDENTIAL stamped in red on the front, and told to open it only when he was sure he was alone. Palaccino nodded, thanked the young man, and put the folder in his briefcase. He longed to open it as soon as he was in his office, but anyone could have come in at any moment. No, he had to wait until he was home, he vowed he wouldn’t touch that folder until he was out of the Palace. The fear of being discovered clung to his every word, shadowed his every movement, until at last he was able to leave. Palaccino rushed to his house on the outskirts of Cítta Santo, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he stepped through the door. He quickly made his way into his study, shut the door, closed the shades, and slumped against one of the walls, the briefcase in his hands. Suddenly realizing how hot he was, Guiseppe loosened his tie and then removed his jacket. He gulped as he undid the latches on the briefcase: one look at the contents of the folder and he could be convicted of treason. He knew what he was getting in to, he knew why he was approached: he was to lead a revolution, nay, an uprising against the powers that had destroyed Isola D’Argenta, and he would do so gladly. He had lost a son in the Great Southern Insurrection, a pointless war meant only to regain territories that had seceded (and rightfully so), and he had held the Gori family responsible ever since. As he thought about his hatred, he hadn’t noticed that he had unconsciously opened the flap to the folder. He had stopped sweating; It was now or never. He reached in to the small packet and took out one sheet of paper. On it was all the details of the deception, hand written and slightly smudged. He took off his tie entirely as he skimmed the letter quickly, and then went back and read every single detail. It was perfect, it left no discrepancies. Now all he had to do was wait a week for everything to be set up. In just 10 days, he would finally have the tool he needed to hold Antonio by the throat. As he thought of the joy it would bring him to break the young leader, both in mind and body, Palaccino almost sickened himself with how morally dubious he had become. Almost, he thought with a thin-lipped grin. ~