NationStates Jolt Archive

ViZion has finished building the man made island off the coast of northwestern ViZion called Refuge Island.

Refuge Island, ViZion is an island city build for the soul purpose of - that's right - housing refugees from war-struck nations world-wide. Civilians of all ages wanting to leave will be transported by ViZionarian transporters by both air and water to Refuge Island, where they will be fed, cleaned up, and attended to by the local hospitals - run by the International Medical Foundation - before given a new home.

Refuge Island, which is 22 miles wide and 37 miles long, has been built to handle as many as 800 million people at any one time. Refuge Island is being turned into a massive city, with a small airport and seaport, housing, and stores. It even has a massive mall in the center.

As it begins to grow with refugees coming in from across the globe, it is expected to have more businesses - started by these refugees themselves, while the ViZionarian-owned businesses are expected to boom as people will be working and making money, thus able to buy more and more to get their life going.

They will be given upto one year of residency before they are required to leave due to space restrains - they have the choice of either returning to their homeland, or becoming a citizen of ViZion and moving into ViZion itself.

Refuge Island, ViZion has been opened. Please notify us of a conflict you feel we should look into, and should we deem that conflict one that we should begin evacuations, we will do so. Also, if your nation wishes to have your civilians evacuated during your war, please inform us and we shall begin an emegency evacuation of your civilians to Refuge Island.

OOC: This doubles as a national and character RP. So you're welcome to RP characters when they arrive, etc. I'd like to see this turn into a big community RP. Eventually, they'll be given the chance to return to their native land, or become a citizen of ViZion and move off the island. Feel free to RP w/ eachother, RP exploring the island, RP creating a family business or picking one of the pre-made homes, which obviously will be costly, moving into a much more affordable apartment, or building their own home on small plots of land - note that when I say small, they really are very small, able to fit a 1,000 square foot house, a small driveway for one car, and a small gardening plot essentially. However, it's the place to start for those who don't have the luxury of moving into nicer homes, apartments, or even condo's.

You're also welcome to build your own housing project - no neighbors, but anything from cheap apartments to lavish condo's for those who are more ambitious in their business plans...

bump

Anyone want their citizens brought here, or want to point us to a situation you're involved in?

Refuge Island has been reopened. If you know of any people needing to take refuge, please let us know, or sent them here!

bump

From: Underground Angloponhy of Kirav
To: ViZion authorities

Greetings,

We represent English-speaking Kiravians, a linguistic group of some 80,000 living throughout the Kiravian Empire. We have been opressed by the Coscivian-speaking bourgoisie in our land ever since we came into existance. In an effort to provide a homeland for our people, our bretheren formed an English-speaking colony that later seceeded from the Empire. Travel between both countries is heavily restricted, and we are cut off from the only place that would offer us sanctuary.

As such, we formally request permission to relocate to Refuge Island, from whence we can find a new land for ourselves, or settle in ViZion.

Please consider our children.

From: Underground Angloponhy of Kirav
To: ViZion authorities

Greetings,

We represent English-speaking Kiravians, a linguistic group of some 80,000 living throughout the Kiravian Empire. We have been opressed by the Coscivian-speaking bourgoisie in our land ever since we came into existance. In an effort to provide a homeland for our people, our bretheren formed an English-speaking colony that later seceeded from the Empire. Travel between both countries is heavily restricted, and we are cut off from the only place that would offer us sanctuary.

As such, we formally request permission to relocate to Refuge Island, from whence we can find a new land for ourselves, or settle in ViZion.

Please consider our children.
We will allow you to relocate to Refuge Island. Do you have your own transportation, or are you in need of assistance with that?

Thank you immensely for allowing us onto Refuge Island. We shall provide our own transport ships.

Wonderful. When can we expect your arrival?

OOC: Sorry for my crappy posts, just returning to NS and need to get back into the grove of RPing again... lol

From: Underground Angloponhy of Kirav
To: ViZion authorities

Greetings,

We represent English-speaking Kiravians, a linguistic group of some 80,000 living throughout the Kiravian Empire. We have been opressed by the Coscivian-speaking bourgoisie in our land ever since we came into existance. In an effort to provide a homeland for our people, our bretheren formed an English-speaking colony that later seceeded from the Empire. Travel between both countries is heavily restricted, and we are cut off from the only place that would offer us sanctuary.

As such, we formally request permission to relocate to Refuge Island, from whence we can find a new land for ourselves, or settle in ViZion.

Please consider our children.
Please notify us when you will be arriving.

Thank you!

We shall be arriving within two weeks, give or take. We may be slightly delayed whilst evading Imperial warships.

We shall be arriving within two weeks, give or take. We may be slightly delayed whilst evading Imperial warships.
If you are in need of assistance of evacuations, we are more than willing to help. Just let us know when and where and we'll be there.

Thank you,

President Tanner Kilo

We are quite sure that we will be able to leave Kirav Proper without difficulty, but we may need help with transporting Anglo-Kiravians from the rest of the Kiravian Empire. Their vessels were scheduled to be scrapped, and we've ordered them to rendevous at a small island at [coordinates enclosed]. If you could transport them from that isle to Refuge Island, we would be most appreciative. They should number around 50,000.

We are quite sure that we will be able to leave Kirav Proper without difficulty, but we may need help with transporting Anglo-Kiravians from the rest of the Kiravian Empire. Their vessels were scheduled to be scrapped, and we've ordered them to rendevous at a small island at [coordinates enclosed]. If you could transport them from that isle to Refuge Island, we would be most appreciative. They should number around 50,000.
That is fine. We will be sending a few armed transport ships to bring them over. Let us know the date and we will be there. And let us know if you have any trouble leaving your country.

President Tanner Kilo

Thank you. We estimate that they will arrive on the island in three days.

OOC: Is anything going to happen in terms of IC action?

OOC: Feel free to RP your arrival and setup in here if you want. RPing is welcome but not at all required.

Waters near Refuge Island, ViZion

John Speyside looked out at the distant island from the upper deck of his ship. His elderly vessel was an ex-trawler that once scoured the icy southern oceans of Nova for crab. Now, leaky and rusted, it was the getaway car for one-hundred and fifty Anglo-Kiravians. The rest of his ragtag fleet, a motly assortment of small cargo ships, yachts, and even two cruise ships, carried the first 10,000 refugees to their new home.

Thw weather-worn Latin letters "K.N.V." (Kiravis Nautix Vêssuv) reminded those aboard about why they had come so far.

It all began when Emperor Kexarin Raincedar had opened up contact with the world at large. Prior to that, Kiravians had been a purely Coscivian-speaking society. Of course, ethnic groups, occupational classes, provinces, and even religious denominations would have their own Coscivian languages, sub-languages, and dialects. But they were all, despite varying degrees of difference, Coscivian. After Raincedar's thrusting of the Empire onto the world stage, English became a language not limited to foriegn language courses and international operations, but also began appearing in imported Echoese films, instruction manuals for Alacean products, and other paraphernalia. English became adopted as second language by about 12% of the population. But it was a rare few that began to prefer the world's lingua franca to their own, comparatively provincial tongue.

However, those rare few were speaking English. And they were doing it pretty loudly. Cosmopolites and Globalists began encouraging its use, and publishing English magasines and newspapers. They did not fall upon blind eyes, either. To nationalists, partisanists, opponents of colonialism, communists, and others who deviated from Kiravic philosophy,English represented a way for them to escape the backwards Coscophone barbary, as they thought their Empire to be, and enter a more open, universal, and free-thinking global community.

But they were not aboard Speyside's ships. No, the socio-linguistic tribe that did crowd into the somewhat scrubbed crab tanks and cargo holds of the refugee armada were of a different breed. These people embraced Kiravian culture, Kiravian philosophy, and Kiravian values. And, as they pointed out, there was no Kiravian language. But yet, the more anti-Kiravic of their kind had condemned them to suffer under the Empire's hand. Guilt by association. Then, the Eastern Empire was born.

Anglo-Kiravians, mostly Kiravists, applied successfully for their own colony, on a large island that they named Novis Angla (New England). Their first settlements were met with fate's smile, and the colony grew. Anti-Kiravist Anglophones, more eager to isolate themselves from established Coscophone colonies, began to overtake their more moderate bretheren in immmigration to Novis Angla, and soon took over the Colonial Congress. They wasted no time in abolishing the colony's Charter, enstating a new government (Parliamentary Democracy, blasphemous to Kiravic values), and declaring independence. Engaged in the Bloody Sunday War at the time, the Empire did not have the military rescources at its disposal to enforce order in its rogue colony, and thus, the new nation took to fancying an Empire of its own, based on a mix of the New Imperialism model and Roman provincial supression and development, rather than Kiravia's settler colony system. Nearby Kiravian colonies, through a mix of conquest and guboat diplomacy were accreted and assimilated into the Eastern Kiravian Empire. When the war in Echonia ended, the Western Empire was enraged at the loss of eight colonies and the act of subversion that had occured in Novis Angla. But it had yet to muster up the strength to conquer, and instead negotiated for the fair treatment of loyal Coscophone citizens of the accreted provinces in exchange for partial recognition of the Eastern Empire's sovereignty.

Travel between the two macronations, however, was banned, as was trade. The Kiravist Anglophones remainign in the Kiravian Empire were, depite their leanings, chosen to bear the brunt of the backlash. English language education was banned in elementary schools. In a suprise act of the Senate, no colony, self-governing, autonomous, nor Praetorial, could have English as a secondary official language. Fluency in Coscivian became a requirement for just about every official action.

Loyal as they were to the society that bore them, Anglo-Kiravians were left with no choice. They had to leave. The Association for Anglophone Relocation & Colonisation (AARC), founded by Speyside and a few trustees in Saar-Montrea, Kirav, took charge of the evacuations through semi-legal means. Using stolen census data, they tracked down nearly every English-speaking KE household, and convinced most to join in their endeavour. Through contributions from members, the AARC managed to put together a small fleet of ships stationed throughout the Empire's major ports. Now relying on credits and personal sacrifice, the necessary supplies were aquired, and Anglo-Kiravian refugees boarded their transports. Sailing from Saar-Forestgreen, Cartona, Saar-Greysea, Mistport, and the Midocean Islands , five convoys of refugees met up at Klinger Island, one of the few uninhabited islands near Imperial territory that wasn't home to remote monitoring outposts or transmission equipment. There, the convoys joined together, under a provisional AARC maritime government. Supplies were running low, and many nautical linemêtors still remained between the desperate Anglophones and Refuge Island. Harsh conditions called for harsh rationing, harsh laws, and even harsher penalties. Discarding even the smallest crumb of food was considered endangering the group effort, and was punishable by death. Publicly (and with eighty people crowded into one fishing boat, everything was public) addressing the possible failure of the journey, or complaining about conditions could find one locked in a makeshift brig for the remainder of the trip, or slowly floating to the ocean floor.

But finally, they had made it. Monmentarily, the Kiravians-in-exile would be stepping off onto Refuge Island, where they could recover and rebuild. Of course, in the grand scheme of things, Refuge Island was merely a way station as Klinger Island had been. They would remian here for as long as ViZion authorities permitted them to, and during their stay would survey the maps of less-explored areas of the world, searching for a place to build their new homeland, where they would replant the English language and Kiravic values that they had brought with them, and build themselves a new Republic, a Kiravian-style republic, far enough away from the Empire which had created that style, it's numerous colonies, and prowling warships. There they would lay in wait for the reconquest of the Eastern Empire or the improvement of conditions in the Western Empire, at which point they might apply to rejoin the Empire as a self-governing colony.

As the island spread before tem on the horizon, the tired and worn emigrants saw the light of a new dawn rising afore them.

A small patrol boat jetted out to meet the old fishing ship. Upon reaching it, they cut their motor. Four ViZionarian Coastal Guardsmen were on the small boat, three of them armed with guns. Another spoke over a loudspeaker. "Identify yourself. You are in ViZionarian waters. Again, identify yourself."

Speyside was jolted from his gaze by the shrill ViZionarian loudspeakers. He ran amidships, climbed the stairs to the bridge, and activated his quiter speakers.

This is John Speyside from the Association for Anglophone Relocation and Colonisation. Our convoy is carrying several thousand Anglo-Kiravian refugees. We wish to occupy...shit...wrong word...We wish to land at Refugee Island, as we have been welcomed to.

The four men spoke amongst eachother for a few seconds. "We request permission to boat your ship for a moment to speak with the Captain of your ship." the man announced over the loudspeakers again.

Permission granted, said he, We'll bring our vessel about for you.

The helmsman did as he was told, bringing the port side paralell to the ViZionarian partol ship's starboard.

With two men standing guard on the patrol boat, two men, armed with T.A.R. 21 assault rifles in hand, pistols in their holsters, and knives should the event require their usage.

"We wish to look over to insure there is no problematic cargo or occupants. Then you may proceed." stated CGM Jim Inslee.

OOC: Yes, I know... late. haha

Jonas was typing on his stolen laptop, gunshots echoing outside his cramped, dark apartment. The Oslean Army had lost control of his nation 8 years ago and now was fighting a costly anti-insurgency war it was destined to lose - but it wasn't willing to leave without a fight.

He was just a 15-year old kid, only 8 when the Resistance War began in his home country of Djupesland, former annex of Oslea. The Osleans were arresting anyone suspected to have any tie to the rebels.

The firefights were getting closer to his home every day; it was common for him and his sister to be woken up by the sound of an Oslean F-16 soaring overhead. When he tripped over a dead body on the way to buy food, the siblings decided to find a way out of the war-torn country, and came across Refuge Island.

Jonas positioned himself in front of the webcam on his laptop, and started talking.

"Dear whomever it may concern,

I am just a young teenager that is caught in the crossfire between Oslea and Djupesland partisans. My parents were killed in an errant airstrike while we were at school.

I lived in a relatively safe neighbourhood, but every day the gunshots are getting closer."

An Apache gunship was clearly visible outside his window, firing its cannon at the ground below. Jonas picked the laptop up and positioned the webcam so it could see what the gunship was firing at - a crowd of people.

"The Osleans kill anyone who they consider a threat. They don't check if you've done anything wrong.. They just.. kill you.

So please, help me find a way to Refuge Island with my sister. I know an old man down at the pier who can give me his sailboat, but I've been hearing stories of Oslean Navy ships sinking anything Djupeslandian that comes near them.

Please reply soon."

Jonas quickly saved his recording and attached it to an email he was preparing to send to Imported ViZion officials associated with Refuge Island. His email was shown at the header (ja1993@msn.com) so they would know where to reply.

OOC: This is some distant, far off former annexation of Oslea, so the actual country isn't like this in any way. Djupesland is an island nation almost completely blockaded by an Oslean Carrier Battle Group.

OOC: Alright, I'll make an IC response in the mornin or after work tomorrow. Any chance I could get some "contact info" in the video - even an email address it may have been sent from - so I can respond to him? always helpful if I dont have to broadcast to an entire nation to talk to 1 or 2 people lol

Sure, I'll edit it in.

TO: ja1993@msn.com
FROM: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
SUBJECT: Oslean Attack
MESSAGE:
Hello Jonas, my name is Jerry Jubie, one of the officials here at Refuge Island in ViZion. I have received your video email today. I am sorry to hear of your situation.

With your parents gone, do you have any family? And who are you living with? I have contacted a friend in the International Medical Foundation, the leading humanitarian organization globally, and he is going to see about getting out there ASAP.

Please give me any other information you feel we should know, and we will do everything in our power to get you - and any remaining family - out of their safely.

Take Care,

Jerry Jubie,
Head of Humanitarian Extractions

TO:jjubie@refis.viz.gov
FROM:ja1993@msn.com
SUBJECT:Re: Oslean Attack
MESSAGE:

Thank you for replying so quickly, I wasn't even expecting one. Here is the information that you were asking for:

My remaining family is only my 14 year-old sister, and she is the only person who I live with. We live in a mouldy apartment with a few other squatters who took up refuge here when the landlord died. Some people lived here since before the war; some just moved in when the previous tenants moved out or died.

If you actually plan on finding me in this hellhole we live in Suite 202, 1495 Crescent Street in Haven, Djupesland. It sounds like a nice place... Well, it was. The brown (it used to be painted white but it got covered with soot and dirt) apartment with the burnt-out neon sign that says "Raynor Manor' on the side. Can't miss it.

Of course, that's if you manage to get into the country in the first place... An Oslean CVBG patrols the waters around Djupesland and the skies are almost completely controlled by the OSAF except for a few areas where I've heard the Djupesland Air Force is still active... You'd need special documentation to get into the country or out... However, if your friend really is in the IMF he can use his credentials to enter the country.

Be prepared for the many roadblocks - the only airport that I know is open to foreign civilian use is at Doman Air Force Base in the capital city of the same name. Haven's a port town - about 100km from Doman. You can take a chartered bus from there but you'll have to pass through a lot of roadblocks, and you're likely going to pass by battlegrounds.

This is all I know - there's only so much you can get from the street.

TO: ja1993@msn.com
FROM: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
SUBJECT:Re: Oslean Attack
MESSAGE:
I most certainly am planning on finding you - and your sister. And rather the controlling powers there like it or not, we will be entering to get you out of there. That is a promise. We will not leave a child to the hands of Satan's army to do as it pleases.

You will know we're there when we get there. Just make sure to bunker down. If you have any friends that you wish to bring along, please inform me ASAP. I cannot promise we'll be there tomorrow, or even next week. But I'm going to do everything in my power to get you and your sister to safety, no matter the cost.

Stand strong, Jonas. Stand strong, stay proud, and you and your sister will be in safe hands soon.

Take Care,

Jerry Jubie,
Head of Humanitarian Extractions
--------------------------------------------------------------
Jerry went to work immediately, phoning his friend, Tyson Prinston.

Jerry: Ty, hey, check your email, I forwarded you the information.
Tyson: Alright, I'll check it out. I'm not sure we can get out there for a good month or so though, we've just gone into another country, hit hard by famine due to recent wars.
Jerry: Damnit, Tyson! You know we gotta get in there. You saw the video. You heard it in his voice. There isn't a month. No way. We need to get there this week.
Tyson: Jerry, Jerry. I'll look over the email and see what strings I can pull. You know I dont want to live a kid standed in a warzone. You know that, Jerry. I'll call you tonight.
Jerry: Alright, bye.
Tyson: Bye.

Tyson set to work, talking to his superiors about an emergency evac, ULD status. The International Medical Foundation, having only recently gotten back on its feet and being a non-profit organization, it was still limited on its abilities until more assistant was given.

To no avail, Tyson tried. And tried. And tried.

And Jerry knew Tyson was in a bind. He knew the IMF was very limited right now, having to save what it had for any larger-scale incidents that required its care. So he, too, was setting to work. With the ViZionarian government.

Given his position, he knew people. While he did not know President Kilo himself, he did know one of Kilo's top foreign aides, Richard Whitehard. So he made another call.

Jerry: Richard, its Jerry. I've got an urgent extraction need. There is no time to waste.
Richard: C'mon, Jerry. You know I can't just have Tanner go into some country and pickup some random guy off the street. We've been over this before. To many times. Now ho--
Jerry: Richard! Shut up and listen. Doubtfully the IMF can get involved, they're strapped. I know you're about to tell me to call Tyson. I did, and I doubt they'll be able to. Now, you will to have the blood of two young kids on your hands, Richard? Because I am not!
Richard: Let me guess... I'm opening my email now.
Jerry: K.. I'm waitin' on the line.
Richard: *low grumbling*
A moment later, Jerry could hear the video end.
Jerry: Now read the next forward.
A moment later,
Richard: Damnit, Jerry. Why do you have to do this to me?
Jerry: You're the best. And try to force the IMF's hand in on this, k?
Richard: Bye Jerry...
Jerry: Bye!

Jerry gleefully awaited news of what would happen next. He knew it could be a couple days. And was surprised to get a call at 1:30 in the morning.
Tyson: You talked to Richard, didn't ya?
Jerry: I don't even have to answer that, do I?
Tyson: We're sending a message out to Oslea. I'll forward you it when I get it.
Jerry: You know I'll be up, so call me when you do.
Tyson: Will do, thanks for the heads up on the two kids.
Jerry: Thank YOU. Bye.
Tyson: See ya.

-------------------------------------------------

International Medical Foundation
Official Statement

To the Government of Oslea;

It has come to our attention that there are some severe humanitarian problems Djupesland. We are requesting the permission to enter and survey the area. However, considering what we have heard, we would not be surprised if you deny us this right.

So, we wish to also inform you that the ViZionarian government is backing us, and will make sure we are allowed to enter, even if force is required. We do not wish to use that option, however, and it would be highly advised if you simply allow IMF crews to enter via aircraft.

Thank You,

Tommy Hillenson
Chairman of the IMF

Being a reputable international non-profit organization, and our mutual reluctance to use force, we have decided to allow you entry into Djupesland.

As long as your intentions do not include supporting the insurgents in Djupesland, you will be permitted to land at the OSAF base in Doman.
It is a warzone that isn't exactly a favourite tourist spot so you must be wanting entry for a very important reason.

However you will be required to check in with the local commanding officer, Colonel Wayne Dwyer. He will be there to verify your intention for being in Djupesland, and the best way of completing the tasks you need to do in the state. Think of him as the customs guard. Failure to check in with him will cause all personnel entering Djupesland associated with the IMF to be arrested and deported.

You may land at Doman Air Force Base once you send Colonel Dwyer the exact make of your aircraft and estimated time of arrival. Further instructions will be provided once you meet with him.

Scott W. Fisher
President of the United States of Oslea

--

Jonas stared at the computer screen and gave off a weak smile as he read the email. He began to have a little sliver of hope, a feeling he had not had for many years. He and Rachel, his sister might actually escape the tyranny of the Oslean occupational army and lead fruitful, peaceful lives.

He didn't know if he should tell the other squatters that he could leave; perhaps they might not have enough space to carry the rest. He felt genuinely sorry for them, but in the end he decided that bringing only his closest friends were best.

Jonas brought Rachel with him as he ran across to the apartment across the street to tell his best friend, as well as Rachel's best friend, about the good news. He was in the middle of telling them about it when two AH-64s appeared over the horizon and launched a barrage of rockets at the apartment they were just in seconds ago. The building crumbled like a house of cards blown by a child, and just as quickly as they appeared the attack helicopters left.

Jonas muttered a curse under his breath. He asked his friend if he had a computer; he said no. Rachel asked her friend, and she told her she had an old computer from 1997. Jonas told the girl it would do.

TO: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
FROM: ja1993@msn.com
SUBJECT: Extremely close call...

Two attack choppers just demolished the apartment Rachel and I had been living in, and we narrowly escaped death. We were in the apartment right across the street, and that is where we are residing now.

I cannot fathom why they would do such a thing...

I hope you come soon as every day the violence escalates.

---

"In other news, a safehouse that was claimed by the Oslean Army to have held a high-level Rebel member and housed insurgents was destroyed today by rocket fire after the Oslean Army confirmed its location... Humanitarian organizations around the world have claimed faulty military intelligence has caused the attack choppers to attack a civilian apartment and not a rebel safehouse... More news to come later."

OOC: goin to bed, so reply to come tomorrow... but do you have a map of your country/this area and showing the city and the check-in point - or can you describe your borders (water, land, length, etc) and where in comparison the two spots are?

(Well, I can make a crappy paint map by the next time I post, and add a short description to it. I get the idea that the two combined will make a clearer picture.

But yeah, my mapping skills are something to be desired... They work, but they're about as pretty as a T-55 in a garden.)

OOC: that's fine, I just need a basic idea of where I'm going and where things are :)

OOC: hey how goes it
IC:
Encryption Level:HIGH
To:Refugee Island Staff
Re:Intercept
Message
We intercepted a message recently requesting aide from a civilian trapped within a war zone. At this time we have a number of special Forces assets near the area and would be willing to deploy to help your forces out should you so wish. As an adendum we are also willing to back up Refugee Island with millitary force should you end up in trouble.
Signed
Admiral Hawk

OOC: Good, you?
IC:
Encryption Code 21-WAGWE-423-A0013 FULL ENCRYPT
CONNECTION ENGAGING. . .
CONNECTING. . .
CONNECTION CONFIRMED. . .
SATNET : UPLINK GO
RR-1S44097-0 DeWoad

Admiral Hawk, thank you for your offer of assistance. We have been authorized to enter, however should things go south, we may call upon your assistance for quick action to extract civilians safely.

We also feel Refuge Island is safe, however we will welcome assistance if required. We are fairly certain this situation will go smoothly enough as to not require military force.

Again, thank you for your kind offer, and we look forward to working with you into the future.

President Tanner Kilo

Jonas decided to send his possible saviors a map of Djupesland taken from a search engine map feature. Surprisingly, the satellite scan included the two aircraft carriers and their supporting groups, and he quickly tacked this onto the map he was going to send.

TO: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
FROM: ja1993@msn.com
SUBJECT: Map of Djupesland
ATTACHMENT:
http://i197.photobucket.com/albums/aa73/Mirage_67c1/maplolDONE.jpg

OOC: wow, talk about perfect timing! lol

Being a reputable international non-profit organization, and our mutual reluctance to use force, we have decided to allow you entry into Djupesland.

As long as your intentions do not include supporting the insurgents in Djupesland, you will be permitted to land at the OSAF base in Doman.
It is a warzone that isn't exactly a favourite tourist spot so you must be wanting entry for a very important reason.

However you will be required to check in with the local commanding officer, Colonel Wayne Dwyer. He will be there to verify your intention for being in Djupesland, and the best way of completing the tasks you need to do in the state. Think of him as the customs guard. Failure to check in with him will cause all personnel entering Djupesland associated with the IMF to be arrested and deported.

You may land at Doman Air Force Base once you send Colonel Dwyer the exact make of your aircraft and estimated time of arrival. Further instructions will be provided once you meet with him.

Scott W. Fisher
President of the United States of Oslea

Scott Fisher,

Thank you for making a wise choice. As you should know, we are not 'tourists'. We are a humanitarian and medical aid organization, and we have entered war zones that are far worse than what we have heard of this region.

As such, we are coming in obviously for checking into the civilians in the region as mentioned previously. Thank you for allowing us in once again. We look forward to checking in with Colonel Wayne Dwyer so we may proceed.

The following will be departing from ViZion to Djupesland to arrive in two days.

(1) ViZionarian Whirlwind Class Supercarrier - for support
(1) ViZionarian unmanned Deepstrike-Class Frigate - for support
(1) IMF Streamline F470
(1) IMF CH-47 Chinook

The ViZionarian naval forces will be safeguarding us should anything go wrong and to react to quickly handle any deadly situations.

Tommy Hillenson
Chairman of the IMF

TO: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
FROM: ja1993@msn.com
SUBJECT: Extremely close call...

Two attack choppers just demolished the apartment Rachel and I had been living in, and we narrowly escaped death. We were in the apartment right across the street, and that is where we are residing now.

I cannot fathom why they would do such a thing...

I hope you come soon as every day the violence escalates.
TO: ja1993@msn.com
FROM: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
SUBJECT: Re: Oslean Attack
MESSAGE:

We have received a news clip from within your country of what sounds to be the exact attack you mentioned. Are you two kids ok? Do you know if anyone survived the bombing?

And thank you for the map, this is very helpful.

Take Care,

Jerry Jubie,
Head of Humanitarian Extractions

----------------------------------------------

The two ships set sail towards Djupesland, the IMF helicopter hitching a ride on the supercarrier. The IMF freight airliner was being loaded up and set to depart in rough 36 hours.

TO: jjubie@refis.viz.gov
FROM: ja1993@msn.com

We're fine, but I'm not so sure about the people who were inside at the time. The helicopters' rockets caused the building to collapse, and a huge smoke cloud rose from where the apartment used to be.

I haven't checked to see if there are any survivors, but one man in the apartment I am in now has said there aren't many.

I've heard a clip of the news cast from the internet, and I've found a news update on the situation.

ATTACHMENT:

Oslean Army acknowledges faulty intelligence caused civilian casualties

<play video clip>

A highly decorated military officer stood in front of a podium, lights flashing in front of him.

"Good morning.

It has come to our attention that two Oslean Army AH-64 Apaches have mistakenly attacked a civilian apartment, and have caused casualties.

I would like to reassure you that this is in no way the pilots' fault, as they merely followed orders and intelligence that they sincerely believed was correct.

Currently we are looking into who provided us with this incorrect information, and are investigating the matter. I will not be taking any questions."

---

TO: Tommy Hillenson
FROM: Col. Wayne Dwyer

Tommy Hillenson,

The President of the United States of Oslea has informed me of your organization's visit, and your intentions. Once I receive word that you are about to arrive I will wait for your personnel at their landing area.

There is only one condition I ask of you, and that is you let us attach a GPS device onto your vehicle so we know where you are within the country. We debated on whether we should require you to have an observer accompany you at all times to make sure you do not support any rebel activity, but in the end decided against requiring you to. However, it is still preferred that you let this observer accompany you.

Colonel Wayne Dwyer
Doman Air Force Base

(Fast forward two days)

As the IMF Streamline F470 neared, a radio transmission was sent out.
Oslean Air Control, this is IMF Flight 195, Requesting Permission to land.
--
As the IMF Streamline F470 neared, the IMF CH-47 Chinook took off from the supercarrier and requested,
Ocean Air Control, this is IMF Flight 26, Requesting Permission to land.

The man at the control tower received the radio transmissions and granted them permission to land.

Colonel Dwyer was notified, and he went outside his office to wait for the F470 and Chinook to land.

OOC: Just curious, but why are your people coming in two separate aircraft?

OOC: Good, you?
IC:
Encryption Code 21-WAGWE-423-A0013 FULL ENCRYPT
CONNECTION ENGAGING. . .
CONNECTING. . .
CONNECTION CONFIRMED. . .
SATNET : UPLINK GO
RR-1S44097-0 DeWoad

Admiral Hawk, thank you for your offer of assistance. We have been authorized to enter, however should things go south, we may call upon your assistance for quick action to extract civilians safely.

We also feel Refuge Island is safe, however we will welcome assistance if required. We are fairly certain this situation will go smoothly enough as to not require military force.

Again, thank you for your kind offer, and we look forward to working with you into the future.

President Tanner Kilo
Encryption Level:HIGH
To:Refugee Island Staff
Re:Intercept
MessageNot a problem. Feel Free to Give us a call.
Signed
Admiral Hawk

OOC: The F470 is a transport/cargo aircraft, and includes two small armoured vehicles and various medical supplies and a few volunteer workers. The helicopter includes Jerry Jubie himself and a couple other people helping to run this 'mission'. It also includes two ViZionarian soldiers equipped lightly with only a pistol and an AICW VX3 assault rifle for protection of the IMF workers.

IC:
The Chinook was the first to land, and Jerry Jubie quickly stepped off first. Spotting a man who appeared to be the go-to guy, he quickly made his way over to the man. "Colonel Dwyer? I am Jerry Jubie, leading the efforts of the International Medical Foundation here." he said, offering his hand to shake. In the background, the F470 was touching down, a puff of smoke and screech as eat tire met the surface.

"Ah. Welcome to Djupesland," Col. Dwyer said, shaking his hand. A soldier stood beside him holding a few small boxes.

"These are the GPS devices that I had mentioned in my email to Mr. Hillenson. Not sure if he forwarded it to you or not, but we'll need you to put these on your vehicles just so we know where you are. As well, did he mention the observer to you?"

The soldier holding the boxes peered in the corner of his eye at Col. Dwyer when he said this, and shifted his eyes back into staring into the distance.

"If you allow us to, Cpl. Dashen here will accompany you just to observe how things are going."

"Ah. Welcome to Djupesland," Col. Dwyer said, shaking his hand. A soldier stood beside him holding a few small boxes.

"These are the GPS devices that I had mentioned in my email to Mr. Hillenson. Not sure if he forwarded it to you or not, but we'll need you to put these on your vehicles just so we know where you are. As well, did he mention the observer to you?"

The soldier holding the boxes peered in the corner of his eye at Col. Dwyer when he said this, and shifted his eyes back into staring into the distance.

"If you allow us to, Cpl. Dashen here will accompany you just to observe how things are going."
"Thank you, Colonel." Jerry said. "And yes, I have been notified of both. And so long as your 'observer' does not mind being flanked by a couple of my country men," he said, gesturing towards the two approaching ViZionarian soldiers, "We will allow it. Normally, I would say no. However, he may be helpful in negotiating the battle-scared roads I've heard about."

The F470 had taxied to a stop and was beginning to be opened up to unload the two vehicles, volunteers, and supplies and equipment. The International Medical Foundation workers who exited the Chinook after Jerry were walking around and talking to other IMF members to get things in order.

The Colonel agreed to this and ordered the observer to accompany the IMF personnel.

"Mr. Jubie," the Colonel said, "Remember that this is a war zone and your journey outside of Oslean-controlled areas should be taken with the most extreme care and caution. Cpl. Dashen should be able to direct you around the worst areas with heavy fighting, but we can't guarantee a 100 percent safe trip. Don't be surprised if you get caught in a skirmish."

"As well, you will need these documents to pass by Oslean roadblocks quickly," the Colonel told him as he handed him passes signed by Colonel Dwyer himself. "You can wait in line along with the rest of the civilians and pass through a time-consuming car check, or go through the express lane for VIPs and Oslean military vehicles, which will require these passes. One goes to each driver."

"Good luck in your endeavors, Mr. Jubie." The Colonel then walked back to his office as Cpl. Dashen stayed behind.

Jerry turned to the man assigned to accompany them. "What was that look for a minute ago? You looked... surprised. By the way, I am Jerry. Not sure what they may have told you about us, but we are here simply to see how the civilians caught between the fights are doing." he said.

"Oh, no sir. It's just that I knew he was going to mention me," Cpl. Dashen replied. "I haven't heard much about your organization from Oslea, but then again I don't watch the news much," He chuckles. "By the way, my first name's Ryan."

Cpl. Dashen was quick to show his distaste for Djupesland. "This place is pretty much a craphole. I've been through Brecaria, everyone seems down on their luck there and pretty pissed off in general. Best you'll get in Djupesland is probably this city you're in right now. Kinda peaceful here, but we get a few attacks now and then, just not as often. From what I've heard from the guys before me, this place was pretty nice eight years ago. Used to be a great tourist spot."

Cpl. Dashen peered around Jerry, glanced at the aircraft behind him, and noticed the workers unloading supplies from inside. "Anyway, do you guys need help unloading?"

"So, what happened? You guys decided you wanted some more land?" Jerry said, well knowing his question may come across as offensive to some people. "And no, they will be fine. We can actually head out now." he said. The two armoured vehicles were being driven off the plane as they spoke, and the two ViZionarian soldiers walking up. "Sir, which vehicle would you like us to go in?" asked Sgt. Rick Rizz. "C'mon, Rick. Seriously, relax and stop calling me sir. Around me, you can stop being all 'military' like. Now lets hop into the lead truck." he said as the two vehicles pulled up.

Turning to the Corporal, "Ryan, you ride up front with me and get us to Haven first. And time is important. That is where we heard about an attack upon civilian housing, and that's our first stop."

Corporal Dashen climbed in beside Jerry. "Okay. The quickest way out of Doman is through this path," Dashen said as he drew out a path on a map of Doman with his finger. "We'll hit a checkpoint when we exit the city limits."

While waiting for the vehicle to get to the checkpoint, the Corporal tried to make conversation.

"You guys talking about that misplaced chopper strike, huh? We get false info all the time... Except usually it doesn't end up attacking a whole freakin' apartment. Usually all the misplaced strikes hit something less significant."

"Anyway, we were here as a protectorate to protect Djupesland a decade ago I think, since pirates and stuff kept stealing oil and other valuable things. That's how I understand it, though I could be wrong. After a couple of years, rebels pissed off with us and the government destroyed the Parliament building causing us to set up a temporary government. With the way things are going, though, I'm not sure how you could call it 'temporary'."

"And you do not think you would do the exact same thing if they came in as occupiers claiming to 'protect' you?" Jerry said as the convoy of two vehicles began rumbling forward, heading out of the airport. "Regardless, as displeased as I am about what I've heard, I know it is a governmental problem, and nothing caused by you. I just personally think you guys should leave before things get any worse."

OOC: Whats this city like? Is it pretty much rubble and troops or is it actually in fairly good shape?

"We're in too deep to leave now," Cpl. Dashen replied. "That's what they say on the Armed Forces Network anyway. Besides, from what I hear we used to trade for resources with the former government, and now that the only government around now is us, we have to protect the resources here and keep the oil flowing. Don't get me wrong though, we're not here for that. We're only here till we can set up a government that can act on its own." Dashen really knew that it was for the oil; but he couldn't say that.

(OOC: There are a few buildings reduced to rubble by infrequent rebel attacks but the city's otherwise in good shape.)

"Mmmhmm..." mades its way out of Jerry. "Well, I know thats a shot out of the ass, but you keep saying that if you want." he said, the two ViZionarian soldiers behind them letting out a chuckle.

"And how many of your fel--" began Pvt. Pat Yearns before he was quickly shut up by Sgt. Rick.

Speeding up to get out of the city, the second truck had to blow through a few red lights as to not lose them. "Sorry, like I said, time is important." Jerry said, quickly moving into the opposite lane to pass some slower moving vehicles. "Is that the check-point up ahead?" he asked, seeing a few soldiers a few blocks up, approaching rather quickly as they were moving at roughly sixty miles per hour through the city streets, often crossing into the on-coming lanes to pass other vehicles.

OOC: I'mma be goin to bed here in a couple...

"Yep, that's the checkpoint all right," Dashen replied. The checkpoint was clearly visible; booths with troops manning them, the sandbag-walled .50 cal machine gun, and the M1A2 tank idling by, seeming like a towering beast waiting to pounce on anything out of line. Additional troops watching the checkpoint were standing there with rifles in hand, chatting to their comrades around them.

As well, a long line up of cars stretched on for about a couple of blocks; each car was being individually searched and the occupants identified by Oslean troops before they could pass. Dashen suggested that they turn right in an empty lane reserved for military vehicles.

The vehicles turned as quickly as their heft would allow them to into the empty lane and continued to breeze by the line of cars until they were within a block of the check-point, at which point a heavy foot was put on the brakes to haul the thousands of points of steal to a stand-still.

"Hey guys, can you hand me the paper?" he asked the two soldiers behind them. The paper had managed to make its way to them in the drive. "Here you go." the Private First Class said, handing the paperwork forward.

"OK, which of you guys do I show this to?" Jerry asked, turning his attention to the men outside the vehicle.

A soldier took the paper and squinted at it for a second. "IMF, eh," he said in a gruff voice. "You guys got nerves o' steel to come here, most civvies tend to leave a week after." He handed back the paper, and signaled them that they could go through.

(OOC: I'm probably going to leave soon too, getting kinda tired.)

"We are willing to risk life and limb if it means helping to save civilians. You can call it nerves of steel, I simply call it the will to help." Jerry said. "Thank you, have a good day." he said, grabbing a sandwich - bacon-lettuce-tomato - from the cooler behind his seat and handing it to the soldier. He then floored it and the vehicle struggled up to speed once again.

"How did I forget... have a sandwich, Ryan. There's a few different types. You like peanut button and jelly?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess, but I ate before I left so I'm still full. Rather save that for later," Cpl. Dashen replied.

The vehicle sped along a barren road, passing by a few civilian cars every now and then. Usually. they were rusty, old 80s' style boxy models, with the paint scratched off. The ground was made up of dry, dusty soil that only the hardiest of plants could grow in.

The roadside was littered with car wreckage and the ruins of buildings, as well as craters from Oslean artillery and rebel mortar strikes, the product of a 10-year war. Occasionally there would be a gas station and a motel, but these were rare.

Two fighter jets soared low overhead from behind them, their engines shaking the ground below them and made a deafening blast as they passed Mach 1.

"There go the cavalry," Dashen commented.

"Fair enough. We've got some drinks, too, if you get thirsty." he said, the scenery moving by at a fair clip.

"Where are they headed?" Jerry asked, watching they fly past. "I'm sure you knew that question was coming."

"Well, sometimes they're not really 'headed' anywhere and just stay in the sky waiting for someone to call in an air strike, but I'm assuming they're headed for Haven by the way they're going, or one of those little tiny towns along the way," he replied.

"Some of the towns pledge allegiance with the Rebels, and.. Well, you know how that goes."

A B-52 bomber flew low over the vehicle as well, covering the ground with its huge, lumbering shadow as the drone of its engines blocked out any other sound.

"Okay... Now I think something's up."

OOC: before I reply, is it bombing the road ahead/behind, or what was it dropping its payload on?

(It's farther down the road, past the horizon but before Haven. Also, I'm already tired so last post for the night, sorry.)

OOC: alright, I'll see ya tomorrow or whenever.. seems you're on only at night so I was gonna ask where you're from.
IC:
Picking up his radio, he contacted one of the officials back at the airport, "Umm, are you guys getting any reports of something going on hear Haven? There's some bombing going on up ahead of us near Haven..." he said.

"Hang on, let me check." replied the officer. Jerry then turned his attention to Ryan, "Alright, what do you know about that's happening up there?" he asked harshly.

(OOC: Never mind, I'm perked up again but I could leave at any time cause I'm tired as hell. I live in the Pacific Time Zone, by the way (California, British Columbia)

"I don't know anything!" Dashen said. "I'm just a low level grunt in the Army - I'm not an airman. All I know is there's a town up ahead with strong anti-Oslean feelings. That's what it says on the mapI have - there's a note on it that says it's hostile towards Osleans."

The vehicles eventually approached a stopped line of Humvees and their armored M2 Bradley escorts sitting at the edge of the road, and soldiers briefly trained their rifles on the armored vehicle in case it was a suicide bomber's car, but quickly saw the IMF logo on them and dropped their rifles. There were a few Humvees and Bradleys were retreating from the road ahead, passing by the IMF vehicles. Some looked scratched by damage; one had a whole door blown off.

A soldier stopped the vehicles by standing in front of them and holding his palm out.

He looked like a grizzled war veteran; his rank indicated he was a Staff Sergeant. Most people would have the feeling that he was the man in charge if they had met him in person, in uniform.

"You'll have to turn back, it's kinda danger-" He looked back and saw a bright flash of light, and a deafening boom.

"F***ing hell! They didn't tell us they'd use Daisy Cutters!" A soldier manning a .50cal on one of the Humvees shouted.

OOC: Ahh, I'm in Seattle, so same zone. :-p
IC:
"Hmmm... a roadblock now, great. Just great." Jerry murmured to himself. The two soldiers perked up, and prepared themselves. "If you have anything to tell us, you best do it now." one of the two said to Ryan from behind.

After the man told them to turn back, Jerry simply raised his hand as a "thank you" before nodding his head. We was not about to open any doors or windows to speak to them given the situation. He then began to push the gas peddle carefully. He knew that while they were well armoured, the Oslean troops had heavy weaponry that could shred the armoured vehicle like paper.

"Actually, guys, hold on. This is the quickest way into Haven. We'll have to take an extremely long winding road if we avoid this highway - Hold on, let me see if I can negotiate something..."

Cpl. Dashen detached the satellite phone given to him to contact the OSAF base in Doman if needed, and this was one of those times now.

"Command, this is Cpl. Dashen, observer for the IMF personnel in the region, request permission to bypass roadblock near grid coordinates Five-Seven-Zero-Three-Niner," He said into his satellite phone.

"Hm... I'll speak with the Staff Sergeant in charge there..."

Through the window, Ryan Dashen could see the man who talked to them a few seconds ago was cupping his ear, so that he could hear the incoming transmission from Command clearer.

"The area should be fairly safe now - we've stopped the bombing in the area," Command told Ryan.

The man who previously told them to turn back was signaling to them that they could proceed.

"If we run into any Rebel stragglers - we should be fine. We're not Oslean... Well, except me. Good thing I'm not in full view," Ryan joked.

The two soldiers behind did not think Ryan was so funny, but knew better than to say something. "Thank you," Jerry said to Ryan. "Our buddies behind us are soldiers, and I am sure you know how it is, being a soldier yourself, when you decide you don't like another nations troops." he said.

The two soldiers looked at each other, partially with disgust, but then continued to look around to keep their eyes open. "So, how far until we get to Haven?" he asked as the two vehicles rumbled down the road.

"Seventy-five kliks," replied Ryan. "We're going down a stretch of highway, or what you could call a highway in this crappy country..."

(I have to cut this post short - internet shuts off at 2.)

OOC: Shuts off at 2?
IC:
"Hmm, already. I'm not to familiar with your measurements. Should we be there within the next half hour?" Jerry asked.

(Yeah, Firefox and IE lock up.)

"No, but since we're going at about... I'm estimating here, 50 kilometers an hour... About an hour and a half. Though I really can't tell how fast we're going," he replied.

The vehicles suddenly weren't driving on relatively clear roads anymore - it began driving on cracked, uneven pavement full of potholes.

They began entering a town, or what was left of one. It was completely decimated, with tiny two-storey business buildings punctured with gaping holes made from tank shells, cluttered remains of vehicles everywhere, and fallen debris from buildings on the roads below. Garbage and spent rifle casings littered the streets.

The charred chassis of a destroyed Oslean M1A2 tank revealed itself in the middle of an intersection as the vehicles swerved right and left within the town to avoid crashing into any rubble. It was spraypainted with Rebel graffiti, indicating it had been there for some time. Ryan stared at it with intrigue, wondering what the crew inside went through. A couple of kids were playing on the tank, trying to climb on the turret and swinging on the main gun. Now he was even more curious at how people could still live in this place.

They were yet to see the worst. The vehicles drove into the center of the city, where the biggest building in city limits was, the town hall.

It wasn't even there anymore, replaced by a pile of wreckage. Every single building around it had been blown in half, with only the foundations surviving. The ground had been burnt by the tremendous heat and force of the bomb dropped here. Fresh smoke filled the air as grey puffy pillars heading towards the sky.

"This must be where the Daisy Cutter hit," Ryan muttered.

OOC: What kinda bs is that? lol
IC:
"What's the name of this town? I'm going to radio the guys in the vehicle behind us to begin checking this town out, and check for survives." Jerry said as the vehicles continued to through what remained of this town.

(I'd rather not say 'cause every time I mention it I get poked fun at. Hell, I'm old enough to not need it, let's just say that.)

"It's... Well..." Ryan searched around for his map. "It's called Avilon."

"You saw those kids back there, they must have been outside of the blast radius. I doubt you'll find anyone in," Ryan remarked.

"It was a Rebel stronghold, but bet you won't be able to find any Rebels now," Ryan chuckled. "Um... Sorry, guess that had a little bad taste..."

OOC: lol fair enough
IC:
Jerry got on the radio to the second truck, "Guys. This town is - was - named Avilon. I want you guys to stay here and get some backup aid. It appears this is the town the bombings ahead were targeting." he said.

Turning his attention back to Ryan, "How many of these missions have you been apart of?" he asked as they moved pass out of the town.

"I've been a part of Operation Rabid Jackal, which was in Brecaria. I was a just a Private at the time, given a simple M4 with a grenade launcher attachment. I was right there on the frontlines..." Ryan started to reminisce and ramble.

"I remember vividly my first kill, aiming down my sights at a rebel running out in the open, pulling the trigger, and seeing blood burst out of his torso...

After that I was stationed in Brecaria after we liberated it, then was assigned to be part of a Rebel hunter-killer team up in the Keryn Mountains. I was a Corporal by this time, and the top brass gave me an AT4 CS to take out any Rebel vehicle threats.

I was helicoptered in to a small village, where a simple resistance made up of unorganized farmers started to attack us. When they realized that they couldn't defeat us, they ran and retreated into a small barn. I was ordered by my Sergeant to fire my anti-tank weapon into the barn, completely destroying it...

So, yeah. I've been a part of two 'missions'."

OOC: OMFG I hate this forum, it logged me out and I lost my message. **** jolt! Gimme a few to retype, I've always hated this server.

"Mmmm..." Jerry said. "I shouldn't have asked." The vehicle became quiet for a moment.

Then Pvt. Pat Yearns broke the silent. "What the fuck, you go in and blow up a God damn barn where people were hiding after you beat them in battle. They were HIDING. You BEAT them. And yet you go ahead and blow them up even after retreating?! You fucking piece of shit, I should--" he began to stand up, but Sgt. Rick quickly latched onto his arm and yanking him down. "Sit down, Private." he said coldly in a booming voice; his face emotionless in glaring at Pat before turning his burning glare at Ryan.

"Calm down, boys. We're not here to fight a war. You two are here to protect this vehicle should we be attacked. We're here withing on humanitarian efforts." Jerry said.

Ryan just sat there silently in the wake of Pvt. Yearns' outburst. He had rambled on for too long; he shouldn't have mentioned that. He wasn't sure of what he should say. He sat and thought for a couple of seconds and opened his mouth.

"I wouldn't have done it if I wasn't ordered to. War's a horrible thing and you have to do horrible actions."

After that he just looked out the window quietly.

He glanced at a roadside sign, mysteriously still standing. It stood out from everything else; its green colour contrasting with the barren brown ground and the run-down shacks along the road.

"50 kilometers away," Ryan muttered softly under his breath, out of the range of the others.

Sgt. Rick glared again at Pat to make sure his 'loose cannon' of a mouth didn't open to respond to that. Pat glanced at Rick, and then looked forward, keeping his mouth open.

"Alright, who's hungry? Everyone knows we've got food here for everyone." Jerry said, attempting to break the silence. Pat and Rick both grabbed a sandwich and a cold bottle of Coke. Tchhhh... the bottle announced as it was opened. Followed by a few gulps. Ahhhh... was Pats response.

OOC: I made myself thirsty for Coke after that... lol

The Holy Empire of Kingarmy would like to exile abusers of the government. That, or we're executing them; in which case they'll be refugees anyway...

To Whom it May Concern, Kingarmy;

Abusers of the government, as in those who disagree with your government? Please let us know how many people would be arriving to Refuge Island.

Well I guess it's that way now, 1000 and thier children and family; which haven't been accounted for.

They're actually that used to rule the government beforehand. We planned on execution, but that tarnish our new records.

To Whom it Concerns, Kingarmy;

You have made a good choice. We will accept them into Refuge Island. Will you be transporting them?

Yup; that should thin out some of the numbers. Prepare a pier for a giant galleon, like the ones they had 300 years ago.

To Whom it May Concern, Kingarmy;

Let us know when you are arriving and we will we ready to accept them. Thank you!

Right now, infact they should be trying to commit suicide, better get some psychiatrists out.

OOC: When communicating, it's suggested to try and make it a bit more formal. ;) And you can RP the arrival, even down to a character level, mentioning about seeing this new island, talking to fellow people on the ship, w/e... or RPing the ship simply arriving. :)

As the ship appeared, the pier was busy with members of the International Medical Foundation and police to ensure the safe retrieval of the people aboard the ship and to be able to attend to any medical ailments requiring attention.

Refugee: Hey get off of me!!! I want to die!!!!! Let me friggin die!!!!!!!!

OOC: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=558328 < take a look here for some ideas on how to do a character-level RP post. :)

OOC: Can he still be in a suicidal state?

OOC: Absolutely. Just that you want to add much more detail. What he says should be in quotations. Give him/her a name. Describe the scene around him, and a little about him. Setup a back story on the guy on how he got to this point mentally. You can also RP more than just one character interacting in it, too. Maybe a "guard" on the ship is taunting him, or beating on him. Maybe his best friend was talking to him, but due to medical problems, dies. Whatever. But just give much more detail than "Refugee: Hey get off of me!!! I want to die!!!!! Let me friggin die!!!!!!!!" ;)

Borish finally got of the boat after a long journey, two of his four children had died. But now it was finally time to start a new life.

I promise that I shall never corrupt the livelyhoods of anyother being Borish thought to himself.

OOC: I thought he was suicidal on the ship? lol

Borish walked off the platform, the smell of manure had finally left him. Then he saw an enraged man fighting with two cops:

Toni: Hey get off of me!!! I want to die!!!!! Let me friggin die!!!!!!!!

Hey, Toni escaped with with 500,000 dollars I should take advantage of this! Borish's mind told him.

But you just promised no more stealing! replied angrily his conciousness

He's not considered a being to me...

OOC; wanna play toni?

OOC: so you can see how it could be improved, here's a way of writing that post.
--
Borish walked eagerly off the ship onto land. Borish is now a single father of two children. The 38 year old man lost his wife and two other children during the war that put him in this situation. Now, with his two surviving children, his family was able to have a second chance of life on Refuge Island.

Making his way off the ship, the smell of sickness and feces still strong in his nasal passage but fading. As he made his way down the pier to catch up to his children, he saw a man he had gotten to know on the ship. It was Toni.

"Hey! Get off me you pieces of shit! Get off! I want to die!! Let me die!" he screamed as the fought the two police officers grappling him.

Toni escaped with the $500,000 dollars! I should take advantage of it! Borish thought to himself. No, no, no, I can't do that. I promised no more stealing. his conscience argued.

"Papi! Papi!" broke through his mental argument, "Lets go!" said eight year old Joseph, tugging on his fathers sleeve.

...

Djupesland, en route to Haven

"I wouldn't mind having a Coke myself..." Ryan told the others as he grabbed a cool Coke out of the cooler and flicked it open.

Hoping to start discussion that didn't involve war, Ryan struck one up about their favourite local food.

"Ah..." Ryan said as he took a gulp of Coke. "Reminds me of home... Near Tenagra, my hometown, there was this famous restaurant well-known for making the best food in town, and maybe even the country.

The place was called The Ruby, and they made their own cola which everyone loved, and you'd get bottomless pitchers of it with every meal. It has this sweet, bubbly taste, better than normal Coke... It's hard to explain, you might as well try it yourself," Ryan said, smiling a little as he talked to attempt to lighten the mood.

Borish violently slapped Joseph. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SHUTING UP WHEN I THINK!!!, YOU KNOW WHAT, I"LL KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!!!"

Borish pulled out a rusty pocket knife, the very one he used to stab kingarmy's brother in-law and thrusted it into Joseph's lower adomen. Poor little Joseph screemed like a llama. Blood spurted out in short bursts.

Immediately ViZioneese Security pulled out and 3 of them seemingly humped Borish. Borish took Joseph and tried slam him against the guards. The four were rolling until they fell off the dock. Borish grabbed onto the Anchor rope, the guards grabbed onto Borish, Joseph drifted on towards the ocean. But then the guards overpowered grip ripped Borish's Versace and thier heavy armor made them drown. Borish climed up and found a whole squad of riot police.

"I think this's enough" Borish told himself.

"That's what you said when I was about nuke that stupid native village!!! This time it's my way!!!" Seeing what he had done to Joseph, his conscience decided to damn hell shut up.

Finally to top it all off, Borish rammed the riot shield, and actually got through the first ranks, but then got battonned.

"throw him in the van" said the sqaud captain.

The cops throwed his limp body in the SG police riot van.

Borish woke up from his fake comma; his plan had worked, in front of him was a fat no-lifer with a 1 million dollar credit-note.

OOC: lol what I said was just a suggestion/example of how to write... but this new post is much better! :) Now, one other point: You dont RP other characters that aren't yours. My police, for example, weren't wearing riot gear. And they would have gone in to save the boy. ;) But we'll roll with it anyway. Also, it's ViZionarian heh. One question, the "fat no-lifer" is who? One of my people? Toni?

Djupesland, en route to Haven

"I wouldn't mind having a Coke myself..." Ryan told the others as he grabbed a cool Coke out of the cooler and flicked it open.

Hoping to start discussion that didn't involve war, Ryan struck one up about their favourite local food.

"Ah..." Ryan said as he took a gulp of Coke. "Reminds me of home... Near Tenagra, my hometown, there was this famous restaurant well-known for making the best food in town, and maybe even the country.

The place was called The Ruby, and they made their own cola which everyone loved, and you'd get bottomless pitchers of it with every meal. It has this sweet, bubbly taste, better than normal Coke... It's hard to explain, you might as well try it yourself," Ryan said, smiling a little as he talked to attempt to lighten the mood.
"And that is back in Oslea, not in here in Djupesland, right? I assume you hail from Oslea?? Or do you hail from ?" Jerry asked. Pat, still very much hanging onto his hate towards the Oslean, refused to even look at him, simply watching the scenery go by. "How long until we arrive?" he said, refusing to entertain such a 'normal' conversation with what he viewed as a low-life murderous scumbag - something he felt like saying but knew better than to actually say out loud.

OCC: Toni, arn't the only ViZionarians in Refuge island the administration?

As Borish sat up on the chast metal seats, he saw Toni chained to the cabin roof.

"Hey Toni, It's me"

Borish could see the silhouette of Toni's chin lift up.

"I hear you wanna die, I can get you that without pain"

Toni rustled the chains

"it's simple, before you get to your cell, perform gudake (type of martial arts) on the bimbo guards, they'll transport you to the 3rd floor, this is where they put all da sociuo wierdos that like killin people. I'll meet yout there."

Toni still did not reply

Geez Borish thought, maybe if I think in his intelligence...

"Common, It's just like mama would say!"

"Like I said, Tenagra, Oslea," Ryan replied. Hearing Pat from behind, he got out his map and examined it, and looked out the window.

"Oh wait, we're already in Haven's outskirts," he said, pointing out a sign at the side of the road riddled with bullets that read Welcome to Haven.

"No one controls Haven," Ryan added. "The closest Oslean-controlled area here is a small port town up north, and the Rebels are scared shitless of coming here en masse since there's a freakin' aircraft carrier sitting outside of the city. Well not literally, but once we get reports of Rebels we bomb 'em to Hell and back.

Thing is, though, if we show up the Rebels will too and they'll push us out. They've got a camp somewhere near here but no one knows where, we've been searching for months."

Four F-18s flew in a tight, neat V-formation in the sky towards the west of Haven just as Ryan finished talking.

"They're probably patrolling the area in case anyone sees anything Rebel-related around town," Ryan said. "They're great for scaring Rebels as they always think that they'll get bombed next."

"So, anyway, what exactly are we doing in Haven?"

OCC: Toni, arn't the only ViZionarians in Refuge island the administration?

As Borish sat up on the chast metal seats, he saw Toni chained to the cabin roof.

"Hey Toni, It's me"

Borish could see the silhouette of Toni's chin lift up.

"I hear you wanna die, I can get you that without pain"

Toni rustled the chains

"it's simple, before you get to your cell, perform gudake (type of martial arts) on the bimbo guards, they'll transport you to the 3rd floor, this is where they put all da sociuo wierdos that like killin people. I'll meet yout there."

Toni still did not reply

Geez Borish thought, maybe if I think in his intelligence...

"Common, It's just like mama would say!"
The van, reading Port Patrol on the side of the van, pulled into an underground garage. As it stopped, the whistling sound coming from a silenced pistol could be heard. Once. Twice. Three times. Then the back doors were opened quickly with four men wearing black ski masks grabbed Borish and tossed him into another van, this being a black unmarked panel van.

They then proceeded to to unchain Toni to move him into the new van. These were no normal ViZionarian police officers. No badges, silenced guns, and not speaking at all, with their faces covered, no, these were no ViZionarian officers of any kind.

"Like I said, Tenagra, Oslea," Ryan replied. Hearing Pat from behind, he got out his map and examined it, and looked out the window.

"Oh wait, we're already in Haven's outskirts," he said, pointing out a sign at the side of the road riddled with bullets that read Welcome to Haven.

"No one controls Haven," Ryan added. "The closest Oslean-controlled area here is a small port town up north, and the Rebels are scared shitless of coming here en masse since there's a freakin' aircraft carrier sitting outside of the city. Well not literally, but once we get reports of Rebels we bomb 'em to Hell and back.

Thing is, though, if we show up the Rebels will too and they'll push us out. They've got a camp somewhere near here but no one knows where, we've been searching for months."

Four F-18s flew in a tight, neat V-formation in the sky towards the west of Haven just as Ryan finished talking.

"They're probably patrolling the area in case anyone sees anything Rebel-related around town," Ryan said. "They're great for scaring Rebels as they always think that they'll get bombed next."

"So, anyway, what exactly are we doing in Haven?"
"As I said, we heard about the bombing of a civilian housing project. Show us the way there." Jerry said, looking around at the city - the night sky beginning to turn day into dusk as it slowly creeped up on the city.

Both ViZionarian soldiers were on alert, keeping their eyes pealed outside the vehicle, ignoring the conversation between Jerry and Ryan.

OCC: Whoah wasn't ready for that one.

Toni could not believe his only way of leaving this hellhole was now dead.

Lucky bastard he muttered to himself

"So ughh, you guys gonna kill me?"

OOC: lol he isn't dead yet, I was simply unchaining him to put him in the new van, wasn't sure if you were gonna have him try anything - but ya, I like tossing in twists lol

OOC: K so Toni will think he's dead

"Whoops, I should better start muching on these" Borish said to himself, whilst pulling out a portfolio of documents labaled classified...

The men ignored his question of if they would kill him. But when he spoke again and noticed the papers, one of them quickly grabbed it from his hands and began looking it over. "What's this?" he asked in a gruff voice.

Just then, Toni was shoved into the van. One of the men quietly whispered something into one of the other men's ear, and they quickly closed the door. A few seconds later, the engine was started and the vehicle lurched forward. In the van, there was no light and no windows; they were blocked off from seeing into the cockpit of the van where the men were.

"You're probably talking about the Apache strike, huh," Ryan said. "Hold on, let me get the co-ordinates for that..."

Ryan took out a small device and switched it on. "It's a GPS system," he tells the others. "I keep it turned off when I don't think I'll need it to save energy."

The GPS device switched on, and pinpointed many important locations - the botched helicopter strike included. Conveniently the GPS also gave which streets were closest to the location.

"Crescent Street, head there," Ryan told the driver.

The darkening sky only invited trouble - this kept Ryan on his toes. He had lost a friend during a sneak attack while he was on patrol, and Ryan was nearly killed by a well-concealed Rebel sniper while on patrol duty himself. Luckily the sniper was a bad shot, and a teammate noticed the sniper and planted one right in his forehead.

Night was also the time when air strikes happened more frequently - since helicopters and jets weren't as easily seen commanders were a lot more liberal in their use of explosive ordnance at this time of day.

"Ahh shit" grumbled Borish.

"Hey toni, got some weed"

"ya how you want it?"

"I want it lighted"

"k, one se.., oh shi, AHH MY FRIGGEN PANTS, THER'RE ON FIRE'RE!!!!"

"Wait, I'll put it out"

Borish takes out the credit-note...

(Oslea)

The vehicle was nearing the location of the strike, and the vehicles lights were flipped on as it continued to get darker, although still natural light was still helping guide the way.

OOC: As you know the terrain better than me, and you know how quickly the night sky goes black, I'll let you take over RPing the drive...

(Kingarmy)

"Oh, now what the fuck are they doing in there?" mumbles the driver. The man next to him opened a small slit to see into the cargo area. "They're lighting a fucking FIRE!" he yelled. The van slammed on its brakes, and with the two in the back unbuckled, they were slammed against the metal divider.

One of the men got out of the vehicle, running to the back and opened up the door; however just then, a police car turned the corner, and seeing something going on turned its sirens on.

The man looked back, slamming the door, and taking a shot at the police car, then running to jump into the van, and the pursuit was on.

One of the cop's shotgun pellets went through the back door and burst open Borish's left thigh.

"Toni, it's either now or never!"

Borish took the burning weed and put it through the slit leading to the front cabin...

(Kingarmy)
"Shit, fucking shit!" the driver yelled as some of it fell on him. As he tried to brush it off, the vehicle began to swerve. As he tried to correct, the vehicle swung to far in the opposite direction, and loosing control, it began to flip over, rolling three times before coming to rest on the drivers side.

The police were running slightly late, given the one shot at the police car was a shot through the neck of the officer riding shotgun, and the radio call had just gone out about the vehicle.

Only one of the men in the cabin had survived, however was to injured to exit the vehicle.

"Toni where are your pants! that's disgusting!"

"Threw them out when the guy openned the door..."

"Toni, we make a run for it, but uhh gonna need some help, those copper pellets hit ma leg"

Toni walked out half naked and half burnt

"Borish, What have we here! It's one of the man in black"

"Burn him and take his weapons, quicky! The cops are commin!"

OOC: remember to slow down and add some depth into your posts. The more depth and creativity, the more enjoyable the RP and for readers. ;) Also, just FYI, you can still get your guys life on track if you dont run and fight the police... ;) if you want to turn this into a real, serious RP though, I'd suggest we open up a new thread for it, and leave it open for others to join.

"Borish! we can't run, we have no shitclue about this place, I say we ambush the coppers and head back to the pier and jack a ship to fuckin shitland of kingarmy!"

"Hey it's the shopping mall! There has to be something that can help us out!"

Borish and Toni, having shot and burnt legs respictively, limped towards a Wal-Mart.

A poster read: Haloween, get your costumes!

As Borish and Toni, brushed through the hordes of colorful fairy, witch, and startrooper costumes, Borish finally found something wortwhile.

"Hey, get into this Catwoman suit, I'll take Batman.

OOC: Check TG King

"Hey toni give me some weed"

Gives him weed

Frsst!!! Val-Mart goes on fire, Borish disappers never to be seen again, toni dead on sight.

OOC: hmm, k, lol that's not quite what I was meaning, but ok.

OOC: Do you mind the appearance of a single Dyellian 'refugee' who is actually trying to recruit people with nothing to lose into a group of persons who the Dyellian Government would alternatively call rebels or terrorists?

OOC: lol I figured it would only be a matter of time before someone would try the terrorist card, but I'd really prefer no terrorists.

With two men standing guard on the patrol boat, two men, armed with T.A.R. 21 assault rifles in hand, pistols in their holsters, and knives should the event require their usage.

"We wish to look over to insure there is no problematic cargo or occupants. Then you may proceed." stated CGM Jim Inslee.

OOC: Yes, I know... late. haha

Speyside and the boat's captain greeted the naval personnel respectfully, directing them to the cargo hold and passenger cabins.

SPeyside hoped that his people had not inadvertantly brought any contraband along. Items that the Kiravian government tended to legalise, ignore, or ban but not enforce (Small arms, marajuana, and the like) were oftentimes less tolerated in other lands.

Speyside and the boat's captain greeted the naval personnel respectfully, directing them to the cargo hold and passenger cabins.

SPeyside hoped that his people had not inadvertantly brought any contraband along. Items that the Kiravian government tended to legalise, ignore, or ban but not enforce (Small arms, marajuana, and the like) were oftentimes less tolerated in other lands.
After a short tour of the ship, the two men returned, "You're all clear. Thank you." they said before making their way off the ship.

Bump for Oslea... (Post 111)

Haven, being a former tourist attraction, had wider and easier to navigate roads than the ones in the small village. Stumps where trees used to stand remain in the small islands in the middle of the road, as heaps of refuse were piled onto the curb. Unlike Avilon, the city was relatively teeming with life - though it was unsavory.

Homeless men and women gathered around fires contained in garbage cans, and they glanced as the vehicle passed by. Some stared as they knew the vehicle wasn't Oslean - it wasn't of the same build, and certainly did not have the same logo. Prostitutes leaned onto the outer walls of buildings and hotels, hoping to get some business to be able to buy food with the money.

While the Oslean Army didn't travel often through here, the Air Force did. Jets and choppers often broke up the monotony of the night, which was now dark.

The driver drove on, following Ryan's directions, weaving through the rare night traffic of Haven, till they came to a leveled building.

"This seems to be it," Ryan told everyone in the vehicle.

(Oslea)

Bobbing his head up and down slightly, "This is it, huh?" Jerry said quietly. He then opened his door cautiously and stepped out, sniffing the air and looking around. He then turned around and grabbed his radio.

"We're here, got the location locked in?" he spoke into it. "Yes, location locked. Ready, Jerry?" asked a faint voice on the other end. "Yes." he said.

---

Back at the airport, a few men rushed quickly onto the Chinook. The pilot flipped the engine on, and the massive twin rotors began to twist. "Here we go, boys." he said loudly into his headset to the others.

---

Back at Haven, the two troops stepped out of the vehicle to flank Jerry as they kept their eyes open. Jerry turned around and put the radio back into the vehicle and honked the horn, knowing such a noise would come with a possible risk and knowing it would likely unnerve Ryan even more. But Jerry had been in much worse places then this, and he was not worried, standing tall like a war veteran.

Sgt. Rick, too, stood tall, having served in war zones as well, and he spoke softly to Pvt. Pat, who was a little worried having never been in such an uneasy position before, to calm him down.

OOC: Can I still join?

OOC: this is open to anyone who is looking to get people onto this island due to war, genocide, whatever. The island still has room on it. :)

Official Government Message

Recently, a large amount of harmless terrorists were detained in the east of Niraamaya. We do have a refugee city that belongs to you, but we do not want them to influence people who might sympathize with them- people who might not be so useless. Therefore, we wish for your refugee island to help keep them in line. Do not worry- they do not have any weapons or anything like that, and they also have no skill in CQC or CQB.

Ryan got out of the vehicle, and kept his holstered pistol close to his hand - Command didn't want Ryan to be intimidating so they declined to let him bring a standard issue rifle, but allowed him to bring an M9.

Wary of his surroundings, Ryan surveyed each and every one of the buildings around him, searching for any sign of a sniper. He was still in an Oslean Army uniform, which made him a valid target unlike the ViZionian soldiers, though in the dark Rebels probably couldn't tell the difference.

Sure, he fought in battle before, but he always knew when to expect the enemy. Even the patrols he went on were usually on the wide open roads, giving him time to react. He didn't like the fact that he was boxed in; that a threat could come in from anywhere and instantly.

"We should hurry up, the dark's great cover for the Rebels around here," he told the others.

"We wont be 'hurrying up' - if you're so worried, you may get back in the vehicle." Jerry said.

Two more IMF workers exited the vehicle. "Check the rubble." Jerry said to them without taking his eyes away from scanning the surroundings, referring to the building that had became an Oslean military target.

"Pat, come with me." he then said, bobbing his head to the left towards the building directly across from the rubble. "Ryan and Rick, I want you two to stay with the two IMF workers by the rubble and keep an eye on the vehicle. Any problems... I trust you'll get our attention somehow." Jerry finished, then heading slowly to the building.

OOC: I'm goin to bed now... not sure if the building is locked down or what and how its laid out. Jerry also is assuming not but positive this is where the two kids are at.

Ryan stayed on alert. Every second taken was another second available for a surprise attack. With no safe places to hide Ryan decided to get back into the vehicle and watch everything from the inside.

--

The apartment was a crowded place, as good (in Djupesland standards) housing was rare.. The tenants knew each other so well that they just kept all of their doors open, only closing them when they needed some privacy. They relied on each other, supported each other, and needed each other in this harsh war zone to survive.

Jonas and Rachel were busy cooking a can of beans on a heated stove in a dimly lit kitchen when a man came screaming into the corridor outside of their room. He nearly tripped on the myriad of cluttered possessions on the floor; ranging from toys to a television.

"Osleans!" he shouted. "Outside, on the street!"

Another man came over, looked outside, and examined the personnel and the vehicles below. He took out a pair of binoculars from a nearby table. "No way those are Oslean, they don't drive those. Neither do the Rebels."

"Jonas, wanna make yourself useful?" He asked.

Jonas looked up and stared. It was dark outside and even less safe than it usually was, for a city stuck in between a conflict. Though, he did owe the apartment tenants something for moving in after the helicopter strike.

"Sure," he said as he ran downstairs to find out who and what those people were doing on the street.

"I found someone!" yelled one of the workers. He had uncovered a leg, and a moaning sound could be heard. "I need some HELP guys!" Concrete and metal covered the person, and he knew it would be some kind of task to free the person - and even then, who knew if they would still be alive by then.
---
Jerry opened the door, Pat quickly moving into the building first to scan the halls, then nodding to Jerry. "Alright, I'm pretty sure this is the place we need to be at... but where in the world would they be?" Jerry wondered aloud. Just then they heard footsteps rushing down a set of stairs.

Training his AA12 automatic shotgun at the stairs, Pat waited until his potential target entered his crosshairs. "STOP RIGHT THERE!" he yelled as his 'target' entered the crosshairs of his weapon.

OOC: Insert "shot the handle and kicked down the door" if it was locked)

Greetings,
We are a small group of people called the Estevantionas who because of our persucution on account of our acestory to nobles and peasents who formed a rougue state within the Kingdom of Darkombye and were then crushed by the Army.
We would like to bring 400 of our kin to your Island.
We will provide our own transport.
Thankfully,
The Exiled Earl Davidas Von Easala-Darkombye of the Estevantionas

Greetings,
We are a small group of people called the Estevantionas who because of our persucution on account of our acestory to nobles and peasents who formed a rougue state within the Kingdom of Darkombye and were then crushed by the Army.
We would like to bring 400 of our kin to your Island.
We will provide our own transport.
Thankfully,
The Exiled Earl Davidas Von Easala-Darkombye of the Estevantionas
Davidas Von Easala-Darkombye,

We would be pleased to welcome your group to Refuge Island so you may begin a new life. Do you have your own transportation?

Jonas twitched, froze, and tripped as he heard the man shout at him to stop. He lost his balance, and fell.

--

Ryan heard someone shout for help, but being paranoid about the neighbouring buildings and the possibility of snipers he hesitated to get out of the vehicle. He quickly made a sweep of all the towering apartments and businesses (for what must be the hundredth time), and then hurriedly got of of the car and helped the worker.

Jerry stepped forward, pushing Pat's gun to point downward, "Do you know where we can find Jonas?" he then asked.

-----------

"Thanks." he said to Ryan as he was trying to push and pull the chunks of metal and concrete off that buried the person.

OOC: Off to bed again, this weekend I'll be up later...

"Um... That'd be me, I'm the only Jonas around here..." Jonas said, cowering under the sights of the shotgun that had pointed at him just moments ago.

(Sorry about the huge reply delay, had a hell of a lot of stuff to deal with lately.)

Jerry quickly came up to Jonas, "Pat, put that thing down..." he said before direction his speech to Jonas, "Jonas, it's ok. I'm Jerry, we speak in emails. You're ok now, son." he said as he crouched down an put his forehead to the boys. "You're safe now." he said quietly, almost in a whisper.

OOC: no prob, I know how it goes.

Jonas couldn't believe it. Ever since the start of the war, nothing was going in his direction; he lost his home, he lost most of his family, and he lost his friends. He never thought anyone would come back for him and his sister - all of these negative factors just swirled around in his head contributing to his disbelief, and he broke down and cried.

Jerry nodded to Pat as if it says 'It's ok' to him before embracing Jonas in a comforting hug. After a few seconds, Jerry began to stand up, helping the boy up too as he continued to embrace him. "Let's get your sister. Is there anyone else coming?" Jerry asked calmly.

---

The helicopter was making its way quickly over the country; it was only a matter of a couple more minutes before it was expected to reach the touch-down location.

---

Rick, Ryan, and the two IMF volunteers continued to struggle to get the large chunks of concrete and jagged scraps of steel and iron off the person, the moaning becoming more and more faint. "Hang in there! Hang in there!" yelled one of the volunteers, hoping the person could even hear him.


OOC: your call as to rather we get the random person - guy or girl, w/e - out of the rubble alive or if they die before getting them out.

"My sister's upstairs, as well as two very close friends to us. We wouldn't know what to do without them..." Jonas told Jerry, wiping his tears while regaining his posture. "They're orphans, just like us."

---

Ryan tugged with all his might on the rubble crushing the person underneath. Throwing off chunks of heavy debris one by one, he slowly brought the pressure off the survivor's chest.

He grunted as he threw the last of the rocks off and picked up the survivor - who turned out to be a young woman with cuts and bruises cluttering her skin. She moaned in pain as Ryan brought her into his arms.

"Very good. We don't have much time, we need to get you kids out of here as soon as possible." Jerry said, "Lead the way." He then waved for Pat to come over and follow them. "That's Pat, a ViZionarian soldier. He's simply here to make sure nothing happens to us, so don't worry about him." he said with a smile of reassurance, knowing he had scared the boy earlier.

---

"Ma'am, ma'am, can you hear me?" asked one of the volunteers while the other ran to grab some medical supplies out of the truck. "Thank you, Ryan." said Rick, giving him a nod.

Jonas led the way up into the stairs and into the part of the corridor where his sister and both of their friends were residing in. Other apartment tenants exchanged looks of confusion as they weren't sure why a soldier and a man were here - let alone the fact that their uniforms indicated they weren't Oslean in the first place (Though this wasn't immediately obvious).

"You did give me a scare there... It's the first time I've come face to face with a weapon," Jonas remarked.

He led them into a small room at the side of the corridor. Inside was a stove covered with burn marks, an old fridge, and various pieces of worn-down furniture. A teenage boy and two girls all seemed to be crowded around a computer. It was an old pre-war model, taken from an abandoned office.

They all looked at the doorway and saw Jonas as well as Jerry and Pat.

Jonas spoke to the others. "Guys... This is Jerry and Pat of the IMF, I told you about them earlier. They're here to help us."

---

Ryan carefully laid her down on the ground for now, as IMF workers gathered medical supplies to help the woman out.

"It's no problem," Ryan replied. "I think this is a more rewarding field of work... Might become an aid worker when I finish my tour here."

Pat's eyes jumped from person to person, and open room to open room, keeping an eye out for anything to happen. When Jonas made his remark, though, he wasn't sure what to say, just glancing at Jerry for a second before going back to scanning the people and rooms they passed.

"Sorry about that," Jerry said, "Just when you're in such a field of work, and knowing you're in a warzone, any noise or person puts you in a much more alert stage, ready for anything, as I'm sure you understand. I hope it's also the last time to see a weapon in your face."

After they made their way to the room and Jonas introduced them, "Alright, we're going to need to get you guys out of here quickly. I'd like you four to get anything you need that you can get right now. If it requires much time at all to get, please leave it so we can get you to safety." said Jerry as Pat turned around to face the hall to make sure no one would come up from behind them to do any harm.

At that point, a faint, steady thrumming sound was noticed by Jerry, who looked up towards the ceiling and began listening; the helicopter was near.

---

Outside, the pitter-patter of the helicopter rotors could be heard much clearer as it neared. The volunteer brought over some medical supplies, beginning first to secure the young womans neck and back with braces. "You're going to be ok." one of the volunteers said slowly to her, making sure to mouth out the words clearly since it seemed she might not be able to hear very well, if at all.

"That's good." Rick replied as he became slightly sidetracked by the sound of the nearing helicopter. He stood up and began to scan the skies for it. "Finally..." he said under his breath.

OOC: Gonna head to bed now... btw, I gotta say, I keep forgetting you're a Sept 08 nation with less than 100 posts. You're a very good RPer.

The four teenagers turned their attention to the ceiling as well. The volume of the rotors indicated the helicopter was flying unusually low for an Oslean Army chopper, which they had enough of by now.

Each of them packed all the clothing and small possessions they could into anything they could use. The other teenage boy, Max, stuffed all of his belongings into a black garbage bag, and the other teenage girl, Rosa, placed hers in a duffel bag salvaged from the streets.

Jonas and Rachel did not have much to pack; most of their possessions were in the other apartment which had been destroyed in the attack helicopter strike. They just helped carry the possessions of the other two.

"We're ready," Rachel said to Jerry and Pat after a couple of minutes of rushed packing.

---

Ryan looked above him just as Rick did, and roughly picked out the frame of a helicopter out of the dark night sky. Knowing it was friendly as the Osleans had air superiority in this part of the island, he switched over his attention to the young lady who was fitted with braces.

"She's going to be fine, right?" He asked. Ryan had no medical experience; the Army trained him to kill, not to heal, but even he knew she was in very grave condition.

(OOC: In truth I'm really a 2006 nation, as I recently 'revived' it from two years of inactivity. I've done one or two RPs back in '06 but they weren't that good, looking back on them (You can still find them using the search function, but I don't see why you'd want to, haha.) But thank you for the compliment, though.)

"Alright, let's head out." Jerry said, heading towards the door. Pat lead the way down to the door before, scanning outside then standing off to the side to let the group pass them.

Jerry walked out side to see the helicopter touching down near the vehicle. "Alright, I want the four of you to get onto the helicopter. We're going to get you out of here." he said.

Over at the razed building, the two IMF volunteers had just finished securing the womans back and neck. "I don't know, it doesn't look good. She needs immediate medical attention, and I'm not talking about the little bit of medical aid we've got with us..." one of them said, hearing Ryan's question. "We need to get her onto the helicopter now." he said.

Rick and the two IMF workers slowly and carefully slipping her onto a solid-backed carrying stretcher before taking her over to the helicopter, not but fifteen feet from them. As they got to the helicopter, "A surviver? Great!" Jerry yelled over the helicopters roaring engines, which remained on for a quick exit.

OOC: No prob, you clearly are better than a new person lol

The four teenagers ran into the Chinook, fighting against the force of the air coming from the helicopter's rotors as their unkempt clothes and hair ruffled in the strong wind. They lugged their bags inside and looked to see if there were any open seats to sit on.

Ryan shouted over the volume of the engines and asked, "What about us? Do we get back the same way we came?"

Jerry hurried over to Ryan, "Well, I would figure you wouldn't have any plans on returning with us to ViZion. I personally am going with these four kids and the injured woman on the helicopter to get them the help they need immediately. So you can stay with Pat and Rick here while they check the area out with one of the aid workers." he shouted over the roar of the turbines and wind.

"But I gotta go, we need to head out to get her medical attention immediately." he shouted, then turning to jump into the aircraft. "You can either leave this hellhole with us, or stay here and eventually make it back to your base. But if you come with us, you aren't ever getting back to base."

Ryan pondered for a second, but knew that he'd only have one answer to that question. "I'll stay here with Pat and Rick," he said, "If I never get back to base, I'll never get back to Oslea. But... Good luck anyway."

"Very well, I figured you'd choose that. I wish you well." Jerry said as he stepped onto the helicopter and giving the all-clear to take off. Within seconds, the massive twin-rotor helicopter began to ascend into the air.

---

Onboard, Jerry made his way over to the four kids. "How are you guys feeling?" he asks as an aide worker brought over some sandwiches for the four to eat if they were hungry, as well as giving them some bottles of water.

---

Pat and Rick watched for several seconds at the helicopter make its way higher and higher into the sky before looking back at eachother and then the surroundings before their eyes made landfall of the Oslean soldier, Ryan. "So... this is the kind of shit you guys do to these people, huh?" Pad remarks, starting to walk towards Ryan. Rick quickly grabbed Pats arm, "Stop there, Private. You're under my command, and you are to keep your mouth shut unless I give you permission to speak. Is that clear?" he scolds the private, Pat. "Yes, Sir." he responds simply, stepping back behind the Sgt. Rick then looks over at the volunteer, who shifted his attention back off the soldiers and to the surroundings. "Ryan, you know this region better than I do. Where should we go that could use our assistance most?" he asked.

OOC: might not reply to next msg, gonna go to bed soon...

OOC: also, happy 100th post :-p

OOC: Woah, I did not notice that. Awesome. xD

Jonas, Rachel, and the other two, Peter and Melina, accepted the sandwiches and thanked the aide graciously for the food.

"We haven't had such good food in a while," Peter remarked, biting into a sandwich. "The food we can scavenge here is usually horrible without any money to buy from the markets..."

"He's right... But we're extremely thankful that you came to bring us to Refuge Island... I don't know how to thank you and I can't show my gratefulness enough," Rachel told Jerry.

---

Ignoring Rick's remark, Ryan told Pat all he knew.

"I'm not sure, since I haven't been to the southwest much. I've served mostly in the west, and near Doman. Though from what I hear, this part's pretty messed up. If you really wanna help, you can go out to the countryside villages that get caught in the crossfire between Rebels and our forces, but one, you'd get shot, and two, you'd get shot."

"You don't have to thank me," Jerry said, "I'm just glad we got you guys out of that place. I'm sorry you kids had to go through what you did."

---

It was visually clear Pat wanted to say or do something after the last remark by Ryan, but knew his place and knew his orders, and as such kept him mouth shut and stayed put as he glared at Ryan.

"Know what? Why don't you go ahead and lead us to where we need to go. On foot." Rick said, nodding to where the volunteer was standing. "The three of us will follow you."

After a short tour of the ship, the two men returned, "You're all clear. Thank you." they said before making their way off the ship.

"Thank you very much, sir," said Speyside respectfully.

After the ViZion ships made way, the ragtag convoy continued to the island's harbour. The Anglo-Kiravians were already below decks, preparing themselves and their baggage to disembark.

"It's not your fault," Melina said. "In fact, I'm not sure who's it is... Either way, we're still very thankful that there are people like you, who care about the people who get caught in something awful as this."

"Everyone knows it's the Oslean's fault," Peter said. "Should've just let the Djupesland Army handle the pirates."

"Shush," Rachel told Peter. "All of that's behind us now..."

----

"Okay, I'm not sure if you seriously mean you want to go to those godforsaken villages, but to go into the villages? On foot? Without air support? Without armor support? Are you fucking crazy?" Ryan replied.

"Hell, even if we went by vehicle we'd get blown up."

OOC: I'm not sure if Rick meant to go to the villages on foot, so I just assumed that and replied as if that's what Rick meant.

"Well, it may be behind you now, but just don't let it build up inside you guys over time." Jerry said. "Just know that you're out of there and you're safe now."

---

"I mean where ever the hell there are some communities in this place that need help - lest you forget that we ARE here on a humanitarian mission and they DID send you to be our guide." Rick said.

OOC: My nation consists entirely of refugees gone gypsie after a combination of economic depression, foreign occupation, and mass emigration lead to a national collapse. How would Refugee Island handle a sudden rise in demand to come to the island and/or ViZion of nearly 5 billion? Assume they're scattered across NPC nations in ghettos and travelling nomadically at this point.

OOC: We're not setup to handle 5 BILLION people... heh The island can hold about 80 million, and we've had a city (and its surroundings) recently donated to us that I assume should hold several tens of millions more. Beyond that, with these being gypsies and being nomadic, would they come and go from the country?

After Jerry's slightly comforting remark, the four ate silently and reflected on their troubled past in their troubled country.

Jonas and the others realized that this was the end to their hiding and their fear, and was the start of a new life on Refuge Island. Maybe one day, they'd all come back and visit when everything is alright; but for now, as it has been for the last eight years, Djupesland was a living hell.

Someday.

---

"Well, look around you! I can see a hell of a lot that needs fixin' in this city. Though, like I said, the villages in the countryside are worse; they tend to run low on food as people don't go out there much. Their crops sometimes get ruined by combat, and the crossfire screws up some stuff for them," Ryan told the others. "The cities tend to be covered pretty good - our forces tend to drop by now and then and hand out bags of rice and soccer balls n' such to help the locals out."

Ryan immediately remembered something he heard from a briefing, and shared this with the rest of the soldiers. "Haven's got a tent city though, made by people who can't find housing due to... um... er... Lack of housing, let's put it that way. They've lost everything; you might wanna try there."

OOC: The nomadicism is a temporary setup, the long-term goal of the Golugani is settling down in a group of nations that can support roughly 5bil immigrants, or at least a sizable enough chunk that they can be the key points of gradual assimilation as the infrastructure expands for the steady wave of immigrants. That's why some have settled in nonplayer nation ghettos.

The CH-47 Chinook landed on its designated landing pad on the supercarrier finally. "Alright, we'll be heading back to ViZion in a couple of hours. I'll show you to where your living quarters will be for the next few days until we arrive back in ViZion." Jerry said.

---

"Well, show us the way." Rick said. "The sooner we do that, the sooner we get out of here."

OOC: The nomadicism is a temporary setup, the long-term goal of the Golugani is settling down in a group of nations that can support roughly 5bil immigrants, or at least a sizable enough chunk that they can be the key points of gradual assimilation as the infrastructure expands for the steady wave of immigrants. That's why some have settled in nonplayer nation ghettos.
OOC: Gotchya. Well, they can have a steady stream of a several million into Refuge Island, and as each wave moves from the island to becoming ViZionarian citizens (or leaves for another country) another wave of a few million came then come in.

OOC: Sounds good, although the initial wave will probably only be in the upper thousands so the Golugani can test the waters and the local administrative presence can prepare for the steady stream. Sleep comes now, though. Expect an IC post in under an IRL day.

OOC: sounds good.

"Follow me," Ryan said. He kept his hand on his holstered M9 in case any trouble came. It had happened before, when a few teenagers with Rebel ties attacked two Oslean soldiers on patrol in Haven 3 years ago with blunt weapons and axes.

Conveniently, the tent city was not far from where they were now. The former park was only a few blocks away from the decimated apartment building.

The streets were relatively empty in this part of town as not many dared to venture out in the dark; the few run-down cars out at dusk had driven back to their homes and most of the citizens strutting the sidewalks were gone. Prostitutes that were offering their services earlier in the night had gone home as well; they weren't going to get any service on an empty street. The complete lack of law enforcement in the city invited a lot of crime at night, such as kidnappings and rape, assaults, robberies, and even murders.

Surprisingly the trip went smoothly, as no violent events happened on the way there. Ryan got a few glances, scared faces, and malicious stares from people inside their, but other than that it was quiet and peaceful.

Ryan stood at the very corner of the intersection on the sidewalk, and pointed in front of him.

"There you go," he said. Ryan was pointing at a collection of various makeshift shelters and tents in a city park. A glow emanated from the various lanterns that people lit and hung outside their tents, and from fires in barrels. It was an untidy, filthy place that most likely harbored a disease or two in some of the inhabitants. A river ran beside the park, and across the river were relatively tall business buildings, the shine of their past pristine glass long gone.

"Well, let's go check in, then we can head back and report what we've seen." Ryan said, looking at the campsite.

OOC: sorry for crappy post, I'm tired and gonna head to bed here quickly...

Ryan led the way into the mini-city. It had a particular foul stench from the lack of hygiene of the inhabitants; Ryan scrunched up his nose and kept walking. Some people were still outside conversing around barrel fires until Ryan walked by, and they just paid him with cold stares. He watched everything around him, keeping all his senses alert.

"Isn't this place lovely," Ryan remarked.

ooc: No problem.

Osava Mella mira Teya was one of billions who had taken to a nomadic lifestyle after Golugan finally buckled in. She was also one of millions who had gotten word of Refuge Island and thought it might provide a place around which her people could recongregate. However, she was only one of less than a hundred going to Refuge Island who wasn't planning on setting foot on it.

Owner of an old yet sturdy civilian transport, Mella had made a living providing public transportation across the seas and oceans of the world. She had always made a point of charging her fellow Golugani less than standard, but even after what she called the Ancestral Discount, she would be coming away from this transit job with a hefty profit. She had already put a word out to other seafaring Golugani, just as she was sure that most (if not all) of her current passangers had spread the word to the clans along the way to the coastal cities.

"Mira! Mira! I can see it!" Osava Wehl mira Mella always liked to climb on to the roof of the bridge when the sky was clear so he could see things before his mother. Ever the adventurer, ever the seeker... The boy did his mother proud, and his clan. "I can see the island! There are some ships, too, new looking ones!"

Mella smiled and reached for the intercom that would hail the passengers, who numbered near a thousand. "Attention all passangers, this is your captain speaking. Our lookout has spotted our destination on the horizon, and so we should be arriving shortly." As cheers came from below, Mella hung up the intercom and whistled for Wehl to come down. "That's enough from you, young man, no need for a lookout now that we're under local watch."

Horizons away, several other civilian transports captained by Golugani were all making similiar trips. Horizons further to the shores of foreign lands, Golugani were congregating in hopes of making the next ship.

Ryan led the way into the mini-city. It had a particular foul stench from the lack of hygiene of the inhabitants; Ryan scrunched up his nose and kept walking. Some people were still outside conversing around barrel fires until Ryan walked by, and they just paid him with cold stares. He watched everything around him, keeping all his senses alert.

"Isn't this place lovely," Ryan remarked.

ooc: No problem.
"Wonderful..." Rick said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Rick, Pat, and the volunteer kept their eyes opened as they walked through the homeless camp. "Hey Oslean, why do you do this to these people?!" Pat yelled, making sure the people in the camp heard him, "If you were against this, you should have defected with Jerry when he offered to you go with him."

To: ViZionian Government Officials


http://www.usflag.org/history/images/guilford.gif
Official Diplomatic Communiqué

New England would like to establish an office in your Refugee Island. Think of it as a sort of New English consulate, however the main purpose would be to process immigration claims on Refugee Island, if they wish to live in New England. That is, if this is offer accepted or not. Also, we would like to set up an embassy in ViZion, as we are already interested in establishing consulates.

Signed,
New England Secretary of State
Samantha Kennedy

Suddenly the camp erupted into curious whispers and suspicious shouts. What used to be a quiet place came alive, buzzing with energy. A man shouted out, "Oslean? Where!" while brandishing a stick with nails.

A woman dressed in rags while sporting unkempt hair, who looked like she was in her 60s pointed Ryan out and shouted, "Over there!"

"Die, you Oslean shitbag!"

Someone charged at Ryan holding something in his hand. He couldn't see him clearly; the moment went by too fast. Almost by instinct he withdrew his pistol, aimed, and shot the man four times before he could even think.

"Oh, shit..." Ryan muttered to himself. "Oh, shit..."

It turned out the person charging at him was a young-looking teenager, holding in his hand a sword that he probably had in his possession before the start of the war. Four clean bullet holes perforated his head; blood oozing out of them, creating a puddle on the grass field.

Ryan took a look around him, and noticed the agitated populace rise and surround him. He started sweating; they started circling Ryan. How Ryan would get out of this was a mystery...

Rick shoved Pat to the ground, grabbed his pistol and fired one shot into the air, "Everyone! Stop!" he yelled as he began pointing his gun outward. "I repeat, do not move!" he wasn't sure if the sight of a different uniform would have any effect on the enraged population.

Samantha Kennedy,

We are willing to accept your request. You may setup at any time.

It was hard to see the different Vizionarian-issued uniform in the dark of the night, though Rick was lucky to be standing beside a lit fire in a barrel.

The crowd stopped advancing towards Ryan, and turned their attention towards Rick.

"Why'd you come here, Osleans?" A crowd member that didn't notice the different uniform asked the two Vizionarian soldiers outside of the ring of people that crowded around Ryan.

"I am not an Oslean. Nor are these two..." Rick announced, pointing to Pat, who was starting to get up off the ground, and the IMF volunteer. After getting up, Pat spat towards Ryan. "He is though!" he said, nodding over to Ryan.

"Shut up." Rick demanded in a whisper to Pat.

"Yes, he's an Oslean, but was nothing more that our guide. We came here to see what the situation is so we can deliver some aid. Food, water, medical supplies." Rick said to the crowd. He wasn't sure if the crowd would care - infact, he knew if he was one of them, he wouldn't care what the stranger would say. He knew Ryan was in extreme danger, and to a lesser extend, so was his own group of ViZionarians.

Soon, Osava Mella mira Teya's ship was approaching the docks of Refuge Island. It was a larger vessel, able to hold well over two hundred people. The ship looked slightly rusty, but those inspecting the interior (or in the case of the Osava clan, living in it) would find the ship to be well maintained and notably sound. Whatever ViZion vessel may approach would spot children on the deck, some running laps around the bridge, some jumping rope, and many gathered at the head of the ship along with some of the adults to see the island.

OOC: Shall Mella's ship just come up to dock, or is there protocol to follow offshore of Refuge Island?

OOC: Just broadcast your arrival from where/who you are, and go ahead and dock :) I'm goin to bed in a couple so I might not reply tonight

"That's what they all say. The Osleans said that as well eight years ago," the crowd member said, singling himself out of the crowd by leaving it and walking towards the Vizionarians. "We were foolish enough to believe them."

"Now, I suggest you leave, before you end up as unlucky as your Oslean 'friend' here," he said as he drew out a pistol.

Ryan knew this situation would not end well for himself. He had killed one of them; they wouldn't forgive him for that.

Noticing everyone's attention was placed on the Vizionarians, Ryan found an opening within the crowd and attempted to push his way out of it. He managed to get through, and ran for his life towards the exit of the park. The crowd erupted in screams and shouts, and transformed into an angry lynch mob.

"Get him!" One shouted.

Ryan had a lead of about a hundred meters in front of the crowd. He pulled out his satellite phone while running and attempted to call in air support.

"This is Corporal Ryan Dashen requesting helicopter support in the city of Haven! Being chased by an angry mob here!"

Seeing the mob charging after Ryan, Rick told the IMF volunteer to get to the vehicle immediately, and ordered Pat go with with him and get the hell out. "What about you?" Pat asked. "Don't worry about me, it's an order to get the civilian out of here now." he said, giving the two a push on the back.

Watching them to make sure they were heading out of the camp towards the vehicle, he then began to go after the mob chasing Ryan.

OOC: ok, officially my last post of the night in this thread... see ya tomorrow or whenever

Mella grabbed her radio, hailing the island's control station. "Attention Refuge Island Control, this is the Clan Osava, bringing in two hundred and thirty eight Golugani refugees plus crew, asking for direction to an available dock."

After a brief exchange with station control, Mella brought the Clan Osava to the specified docking area. The children on deck went below to join their families after a terse command from the loudspeaker to gather up their things and be ready to depart.

Upon docking, the twelve year old Osava Wehl mira Mella was the first to set foot on the dock. He wobbled at first, not used to the steady ground beneath him, then flashed a giddy grin at the various families of five to seven came up to the deck and started filling out, taking in the sights of the docks and island as they came out with suitcases, backpacks, and (with the exception of nineteen heads) paperwork for personal identification to facilitate immigration into ViZion.

Refuge Island, ViZion

The Anglo-Kiravian ships docked in the island-city's harbour. Abovedecks, wide-eyed children looked out upon what would be their home for the next year, while their parents looked upon the same city with fear and apprehension. They would be moving into a world so different from the Kiravian countries from whence they had come. They would not be shunned because of their language, but the elements of Kiravian culture that they had retained would render them strangers no matter where they went.

Speyside and the other leaders of the group went into the city first, to find out if any paperwork needed to be completed before their people could settle in.

Christopher Hutchins exemplified the new New English State Department officials. He was young, in his late twenties, as he just got his doctorate. Chris was optimistic for the future, he was untainted by the corruption in previous administrations' humanitarian aid programs. As a result, he has a strong desire to get things actually done. He is intelligent, he just got a doctorate in International Studies. He was cosmopolitan, most of these people went to college in big name cities like Baltimore, Charleston, Pittsburgh, Portland, Boston, or New York. And most of all, he was conservative, some voting for the first time when Blackmore and the "Republican Revolution" won in 2000, still supporting on to a federal government, active in foreign affairs but keeping taxes low and yet, were more socially liberal than other generations, not like the Christin conservatives of before. These young people had friends that were gay, black, Muslim, Mormon, lesbian, Scientologist, Asian, or atheist, and some of these were too.

These people were what President Landon Blackmore needed to shape New England. This "rainbow coalition" of all races, religions, and incomes, which not only helped Landon Blackmore win elections in 2000 and 2006, was evident in New England's diplomatic corps, too.

Christopher Hutchins got out of his plane which landed on the tarmac at Refuge Island. There was no complete airport there yet, however he walked down with stride, being a full consular-general was something to be proud about. He had no aides. He had no consulate. All of this was set to be built and hired. He needed to see with the governor of this island first, he needed his passport stamped and some things to talk about. Some things were going to be done around here, and he intended to do them.

Ryan was beginning to feel tired from running from the mob, as he was carrying 10-20 pounds worth of gear. Hell, he wasn't even carrying as much as normal Oslean soldiers do as he wasn't carrying a rifle and ammo. Ryan unclipped a flash grenade from his vest, and pulled the pin and left it behind him, leaving it to explode in a sudden burst of light blinding anyone close enough to it. Thinking it was a real grenade the mob stopped for a few seconds and ran back, and continued chasing Ryan after a couple of seconds after the grenade went off.

"God damn, Command!" Ryan shouted. "Where's that chopper!" Ryan used the precious seconds of time he bought to head right at an intersection and hide in an alleyway.

"It's on its' way! We're diverting Super Four-Nine to your location from around the countryside east of Doman, estimated ETA is about two minutes.

OOC: Replies to come tomorrow; been busy, sry for delay

Christopher Hutchins exemplified the new New English State Department officials. He was young, in his late twenties, as he just got his doctorate. Chris was optimistic for the future, he was untainted by the corruption in previous administrations' humanitarian aid programs. As a result, he has a strong desire to get things actually done. He is intelligent, he just got a doctorate in International Studies. He was cosmopolitan, most of these people went to college in big name cities like Baltimore, Charleston, Pittsburgh, Portland, Boston, or New York. And most of all, he was conservative, some voting for the first time when Blackmore and the "Republican Revolution" won in 2000, still supporting on to a federal government, active in foreign affairs but keeping taxes low and yet, were more socially liberal than other generations, not like the Christin conservatives of before. These young people had friends that were gay, black, Muslim, Mormon, lesbian, Scientologist, Asian, or atheist, and some of these were too.

These people were what President Landon Blackmore needed to shape New England. This "rainbow coalition" of all races, religions, and incomes, which not only helped Landon Blackmore win elections in 2000 and 2006, was evident in New England's diplomatic corps, too.

Christopher Hutchins got out of his plane which landed on the tarmac at Refuge Island. There was no complete airport there yet, however he walked down with stride, being a full consular-general was something to be proud about. He had no aides. He had no consulate. All of this was set to be built and hired. He needed to see with the governor of this island first, he needed his passport stamped and some things to talk about. Some things were going to be done around here, and he intended to do them.
While there was no official 'Governor' of Refuge Island, the woman who maintained the majority of oversight to ensure things went smoothly on the island, Ms. Wendy Turner, could be found seemingly all day and all night in her office in a small building along the northeastern coastline.

The building, Richardson Hall, tended to surprise newcomers, given that while it housed a couple of the most powerful offices on the island, was such a modest building, even in style, so unassuming. Yet this would be the building Christopher Hutchins would need to head to.

Ryan was beginning to feel tired from running from the mob, as he was carrying 10-20 pounds worth of gear. Hell, he wasn't even carrying as much as normal Oslean soldiers do as he wasn't carrying a rifle and ammo. Ryan unclipped a flash grenade from his vest, and pulled the pin and left it behind him, leaving it to explode in a sudden burst of light blinding anyone close enough to it. Thinking it was a real grenade the mob stopped for a few seconds and ran back, and continued chasing Ryan after a couple of seconds after the grenade went off.

"God damn, Command!" Ryan shouted. "Where's that chopper!" Ryan used the precious seconds of time he bought to head right at an intersection and hide in an alleyway.

"It's on its' way! We're diverting Super Four-Nine to your location from around the countryside east of Doman, estimated ETA is about two minutes.
Rick began to slow down as he began to consider trying to make his way to the vehicle. However, he knew he likely would not be able to get to the vehicle before they left, giving him only two options - try to catch up to Ryan and the angered mob, or try to make his way out of the area and to a safer area so it could be retrieved.

And thus, he began to give chase once again, choosing the riskier option of trying to catch up to Ryan and the mob.

Mella grabbed her radio, hailing the island's control station. "Attention Refuge Island Control, this is the Clan Osava, bringing in two hundred and thirty eight Golugani refugees plus crew, asking for direction to an available dock."

After a brief exchange with station control, Mella brought the Clan Osava to the specified docking area. The children on deck went below to join their families after a terse command from the loudspeaker to gather up their things and be ready to depart.

Upon docking, the twelve year old Osava Wehl mira Mella was the first to set foot on the dock. He wobbled at first, not used to the steady ground beneath him, then flashed a giddy grin at the various families of five to seven came up to the deck and started filling out, taking in the sights of the docks and island as they came out with suitcases, backpacks, and (with the exception of nineteen heads) paperwork for personal identification to facilitate immigration into ViZion.
While much of the population on the island, and a good majority of the workforce, including the island government, being refugees, it was still controlled by the ViZionarian Government, and as such those who were first to greet the newcomers tended to be immigration workers from ViZion.

A large building, two blocks long and eight floors tall loomed large. Modeled after classical Italian architecture, the building, while imposing in size, was overtly welcoming in look and feel.

Dozens of ViZionarian immigration workers welcomed the families at Pier 7 that Clan Osava docked at and directing them to the large building to quickly process their immigration onto the island.

Refuge Island, ViZion

The Anglo-Kiravian ships docked in the island-city's harbour. Abovedecks, wide-eyed children looked out upon what would be their home for the next year, while their parents looked upon the same city with fear and apprehension. They would be moving into a world so different from the Kiravian countries from whence they had come. They would not be shunned because of their language, but the elements of Kiravian culture that they had retained would render them strangers no matter where they went.

Speyside and the other leaders of the group went into the city first, to find out if any paperwork needed to be completed before their people could settle in.
Meanwhile, a Eastward harbor on the opposite side of the island welcomed a number of the Anglo-Kiravian ships. A similarly sized building with a distinctly more modern look took in the immigrants, directed by a couple dozen more ViZionarian immigration employees after being welcomed to Refuge Island.

The Golugani refugee immigrants are processed in a quick and efficient manner, in part due to the experience on the Golugani end in such matters. There isn't much to note, other than the naming convention (Family Name, Personal Name, Mother's Name) and that they all have the same religion: Other, Ancestor Worship. A vast majority of them, as previously stated, want to immigrate straight into ViZion.

While the ship was docked, Osava Mella mira Teya went out with her family to see about enjoying some local cuisine before shipping back out. The first step along this process would involve her partner, Golugan Karov mira Vulli, staying behind to tend to the boat while she and her four children would ask around for either a guide or directions to a restaurant near the docks before shipping out.

OOC: Feel free to RP w/ eachother, RP exploring the island, RP creating a family business or picking one of the pre-made homes, which obviously will be costly, moving into a much more affordable apartment, or building their own home on small plots of land - note that when I say small, they really are very small, able to fit a 1,000 square foot house, a small driveway for one car, and a small gardening plot essentially. However, it's the place to start for those who don't have the luxury of moving into nicer homes, apartments, or even condo's.

You're also welcome to build your own housing project - no neighbors, but anything from cheap apartments to lavish condo's for those who are more ambitious in their business plans...

^^ added to original post as an OOC comment, but wanted for people to see this if they don't look there. :)

While there was no official 'Governor' of Refuge Island, the woman who maintained the majority of oversight to ensure things went smoothly on the island, Ms. Wendy Turner, could be found seemingly all day and all night in her office in a small building along the northeastern coastline.

The building, Richardson Hall, tended to surprise newcomers, given that while it housed a couple of the most powerful offices on the island, was such a modest building, even in style, so unassuming. Yet this would be the building Christopher Hutchins would need to head to.

Christopher Hutchins walked out from the airfield and over into the main part of town, where Richardson Hall was. Such a bleak building and yet the headquarters of all of the island's government. Weird.

He walked in through the double doors. Something about the building reminded him about the '80s. It was just that something was off with the walls, the furniture, and the tiling. Weird.

He was old to sit in a chair and wait for a Miss Wendy Turner. He sat in a waiting room and... waited.

The lobby was not much more than a standard living room; a couple of couches and chairs arranged in a wide semi-circle around a couple of wood tables designed to look like old traveling cases, complete with stamps approved by Refuge Island immigration. A large fireplace, some pictures on the wall, and windows giving views of both the ocean and the streets in front completed the homely feel.

A tall man walled into the building, and seeing the man sitting there looking around, walked up to him. "Can I help you?" he asked.

The lobby was not much more than a standard living room; a couple of couches and chairs arranged in a wide semi-circle around a couple of wood tables designed to look like old traveling cases, complete with stamps approved by Refuge Island immigration. A large fireplace, some pictures on the wall, and windows giving views of both the ocean and the streets in front completed the homely feel.

A tall man walled into the building, and seeing the man sitting there looking around, walked up to him. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Chris noticed the man walking up next to him. He apparently wanted to speak with him. Chris grasped his briefcase and said,
"Oh, uhmm hi. I'm Chris Hutchins. I'm from New England. Is the uh... governor or ... mayor or whoever administers this place here right now?"

"Hmmm, I believe you'd be looking for Wendy Turner. She should be back in a couple of moments, she's on her way back from a meeting as we speak. Make yourself comfortable here. Did you want anything to drink while you wait?" the man asked.

"Hmmm, I believe you'd be looking for Wendy Turner. She should be back in a couple of moments, she's on her way back from a meeting as we speak. Make yourself comfortable here. Did you want anything to drink while you wait?" the man asked.

"That's okay I can wait.

Uhmmm... can I have 'uh' 'regulah' 'cawfee' please?"

OoC: Words in quotations are deliberately misspelled to reflect speaker's accent.

"Do you have a preference to what type of coffee? And do you add anything to it - cream and sugar perhaps?" the man asked before grabbing it.

"'Regulah' uhhh... with cream and 'sugah', please.", Chris said, opening his briefcase on a "table" and pulling out a copy of the morning's Christian Science Monitor. He then said to the man, "Would you like a 'papah', I picked up a few earlier today before my flight."

"No thank you," the man said as he went to grab some coffee for Chris. "Here you are." he said after returning. "I need to go finish up some work, Ms. Turner should be here in a moment or two." he said before walking off.

A couple moments later, Wendy Turner walked into the room, and seeing the man sitting there with his coffee, walked over to him, "Can I direct you anywhere?" she asked him.

Chris Hutchens, not knowing who was speaking to him, replied,
"Oh. I'm with New English State Department. I'm supposed to be waiting for Wendy Turner for a meeting."

Chris sipped his coffee.

Chris Hutchens, not knowing who was speaking to him, replied,
"Oh. I'm with New English State Department. I'm supposed to be waiting for Wendy Turner for a meeting."

Chris sipped his coffee.
"I... am Wendy." she said, a little surprised, "I wasn't aware I had a meeting. How can I help you?"

"Oh well, this is a little awkward, to say the least.", Chris said, taken aback a little bit. He pickes up the coffee mug, took a gulp, thinking that he would have to leave soon, and replied, "Oh, well I just came here for two things. One, I want to get all of the technical stuff done. I was told to be the official New English consular officer to cover Refuge Island. I have several things to talk about, actually where New England's consulate will be, information on my, and the consulate's, extraterritorialty and immunity. I also want to get this thing stamped...", Chris tapped a dark forest green, almost if not myrtle, book, labled, "DIPLOMATIC PASSPORT - Republic of New England"


"Two, I would like do develop a working relationship with each other. We both have similar, if not the exact same goals. We both want to see oppressed people have better lives, albeit, with diferent means. I think that we should work together on finding homes for the refugees, instead of being in some sort of... competition.

"You want to do this in your office, I mean, I would prefer a more private meeting."

Chris took another gulp of coffee. He was very confident in this meeting.

OOC: Sorry, was out of town, back now... I'm only makin a short reply, I'll make a bigger reply after I get home in an hr or 2..
IC:
"Well, why don't we go to my office then." Wendy said, nodding to a room to the right of the staircase on the second floor.

bump