Rammsteinburg
30-07-2007, 03:59
"It's been two years since Rammsteinburg's second civil war began, and it has been a year since the rebellious Blackcoats were defeated. But only now can the people of Rammsteinburg breath a sigh of relief, for since the war ended the nation has been in chaos. The government has been unable to keep order, clean-up the mess the war created, and make Rammsteinburg powerful again... Only now shall this once great nation return to a state normalcy... Only now shall it rise from ruins!"
Black cumulous clouds hover ominously above, and there is an eerie silence throughout the ancient city of Ark, broken only occasionally by the rustling of some leaves or the creaking of an old, rusty store sign. Königplatz, located just in front of the now abandoned royal palace that had housed twelve generations of Rammsteinburgian royalty, is completely empty. There had once been a time when the large square was filled with thousands of people shopping at various little stands set-up by the local populace. Farmers from the neighbouring rural areas would proudly display their fresh produce, while their wives sold beautiful quilts and articles of clothing they had made themselves; craftsman would offer some of the highest-quality tools in all of Rammsteinburg, and many entrepreneurs, young and old, prayed each day that their newest little trinket would be the one that finally leads them to riches. But those days are long gone now.
Adjacent to Königplatz lays the Freiheitstraße and the Prinz-Ruppert-Straße, both of which used to be congested with traffic at this time in the morning. Today there are many cars parked on the side of them, but they all remain stationary. Their owners sit in their houses, despondent and desperate for somebody to instill in the citizens of the Free German Commonwealth of Rammsteinburg a new sense of hope—some one to rise up and lead the nation back to its former state of glory, managing his government under the old motto of “Für das Volk!”
The silence in Ark is finally broken by a large blast of thunder and the sound of rain falling to Earth like miniature missiles. Lightning illuminates the city, and the wind begins to pick up speed. It’s clear that this storm is going to be fierce. Luckily for the people of Ark, and for those of all of Rammsteinburg, a much-needed ray of sunshine is on its way—in the form of a man with a dream and a plan.
Approximately thirty miles south-southeast of Ark, an armoured car is leaving Fort Blitz in the small town of Hüssen, escorted by ten military police vehicles. In the car is der Hauptgeneralfeldmarschall des Army (Chief Field Marshal of the Rammsteinburg Army) Klaus Brennermann and his assistants, Oberstleutnant [Lt. Colonel] Herbert Stein and Kaptain Benjamin Blaukopf. All three are dressed in their red ceremonial uniforms, which are used for only the most important occasions (generally the inauguration of a major official in the federal government). The Field Marshal possesses a remarkable set of decorations on his uniform—two Purple Hearts, a Royal Medal of Honour (presented by the King of Rammsteinburg), a Bronze Star, a Silver Star, the Medal of Excellence in Leadership during Battle. The three officers conversed.
“Today is a great day for Rammsteinburg, mein Herr,” Lt. Colonel Stein says. “I consider it an honour to be working under you, and I will consider it even more of one to have you as our nation’s leader! I am—“
Brennermann, who has a very stern look on his face (indicative of being in deep contemplation), interrupts his patronizing assistant. “Colonel,” the Field Marshal begins, “how long have you been working for me now? I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Two weeks, mein Herr,” the confused colonel answers. “Why?”
“Well then, you clearly haven’t been with me long enough to get a good understanding of my personality,” Field Marshal Brennermann continues. “As Captain Blaukopf can easily tell you, I absolutely hate being sucked up to. I am your superior officer, and am thus deserving of respect; but respect doesn’t mean smothering me with niceties and trying to get brownie points. If you’re looking to be a full colonel, then do your job and do it damn well. Understand?”
“Yes, mein Herr,” responds the now mildly embarrassed Lt. Colonel Stein.
The car passes a road sign indicating Ark is now 20 miles away. “We should be there very soon if this storm up ahead isn’t too bad, meine Herren” says the driver, a scrawny Staff Sergeant named Willmore.
“Mein Herr, I’ve been thinking,” says Captain Blaukopf, a very tall, broad-shouldered man with a voice like a freight train. “What is the legal basis for your appointment?”
Brennermann smirks. “Captain, no legal basis is needed. The old government is dead; the old constitution is dead. All that matters now is who can gain popular support, and I know that right now I am the only man who can do that. But if it’ll make you feel better, I will tell you that there is some legal basis for what I am about to. You see, the power to create a Wartime Council when the nation is at war is one of the very few powers the king is granted by the constitution that he can actually exercise. And until a royal decree declares otherwise, the Wartime Council has supreme power; it can veto any law passed by the legislature, and it can make any law without the consent thereof.”
The Field Marshal is interrupted by the driver. “Meine Herren, this is a pretty bad storm we got ourselves in. We might be a little late.”
“That is okay, Sergeant,” Brennermann assures Willmore. “Anyway, back to what I was saying. King Florian has yet to issue a decree dissolving the Wartime Council; so while in reality, the council is dead, since we haven’t convened since those bastard Blackcoats were defeated, technically it still has authority.”
Captain Blaukopf begins to show signs of vague comprehension. The Chief Field Marshal smiles at this. “Good, good,” he laughs. “And now to make you understand fully. You see, Captain, I’ve been in contact with every member of the Wartime Council, and they’ve all agreed to use the council’s powers to create a new government position—a combination of the offices of Hauptoffizier and Prime Minister: President of Rammsteinburg.”
Colonel Stein butts in. “Mein Herr, what if King Florian dissolves the Wartime Council? My understanding of the constitution is that once such a council is dissolved by royal decree, the government is to return to its normal state. A return to the normal state would mean the destruction of this new position, right?”
“Don’t worry about that, Colonel; there is a plan.”
Forty-five minutes later the car carrying the Chief Field Marshal and his assistants arrives at the royal palace in Ark, where the members of the old Wartime Council and the Chief Justice of the High Court of Rammsteinburg are waiting. A crowd is beginning to form in the Königplatz; and among this growing throng are various foreigners, for the Wartime Council had secretly sent invitations for international leaders and journalists to attend the historic occasion.
The storm in Ark has come to an end, and the sun is starting to shine through the clouds.
Meanwhile, the private jet of a furious King Florian is on its way to Ark International Airport. And right behind it is the Rammsteinburg Air Force’s prized G-79 Killjoy…
Black cumulous clouds hover ominously above, and there is an eerie silence throughout the ancient city of Ark, broken only occasionally by the rustling of some leaves or the creaking of an old, rusty store sign. Königplatz, located just in front of the now abandoned royal palace that had housed twelve generations of Rammsteinburgian royalty, is completely empty. There had once been a time when the large square was filled with thousands of people shopping at various little stands set-up by the local populace. Farmers from the neighbouring rural areas would proudly display their fresh produce, while their wives sold beautiful quilts and articles of clothing they had made themselves; craftsman would offer some of the highest-quality tools in all of Rammsteinburg, and many entrepreneurs, young and old, prayed each day that their newest little trinket would be the one that finally leads them to riches. But those days are long gone now.
Adjacent to Königplatz lays the Freiheitstraße and the Prinz-Ruppert-Straße, both of which used to be congested with traffic at this time in the morning. Today there are many cars parked on the side of them, but they all remain stationary. Their owners sit in their houses, despondent and desperate for somebody to instill in the citizens of the Free German Commonwealth of Rammsteinburg a new sense of hope—some one to rise up and lead the nation back to its former state of glory, managing his government under the old motto of “Für das Volk!”
The silence in Ark is finally broken by a large blast of thunder and the sound of rain falling to Earth like miniature missiles. Lightning illuminates the city, and the wind begins to pick up speed. It’s clear that this storm is going to be fierce. Luckily for the people of Ark, and for those of all of Rammsteinburg, a much-needed ray of sunshine is on its way—in the form of a man with a dream and a plan.
Approximately thirty miles south-southeast of Ark, an armoured car is leaving Fort Blitz in the small town of Hüssen, escorted by ten military police vehicles. In the car is der Hauptgeneralfeldmarschall des Army (Chief Field Marshal of the Rammsteinburg Army) Klaus Brennermann and his assistants, Oberstleutnant [Lt. Colonel] Herbert Stein and Kaptain Benjamin Blaukopf. All three are dressed in their red ceremonial uniforms, which are used for only the most important occasions (generally the inauguration of a major official in the federal government). The Field Marshal possesses a remarkable set of decorations on his uniform—two Purple Hearts, a Royal Medal of Honour (presented by the King of Rammsteinburg), a Bronze Star, a Silver Star, the Medal of Excellence in Leadership during Battle. The three officers conversed.
“Today is a great day for Rammsteinburg, mein Herr,” Lt. Colonel Stein says. “I consider it an honour to be working under you, and I will consider it even more of one to have you as our nation’s leader! I am—“
Brennermann, who has a very stern look on his face (indicative of being in deep contemplation), interrupts his patronizing assistant. “Colonel,” the Field Marshal begins, “how long have you been working for me now? I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
“Two weeks, mein Herr,” the confused colonel answers. “Why?”
“Well then, you clearly haven’t been with me long enough to get a good understanding of my personality,” Field Marshal Brennermann continues. “As Captain Blaukopf can easily tell you, I absolutely hate being sucked up to. I am your superior officer, and am thus deserving of respect; but respect doesn’t mean smothering me with niceties and trying to get brownie points. If you’re looking to be a full colonel, then do your job and do it damn well. Understand?”
“Yes, mein Herr,” responds the now mildly embarrassed Lt. Colonel Stein.
The car passes a road sign indicating Ark is now 20 miles away. “We should be there very soon if this storm up ahead isn’t too bad, meine Herren” says the driver, a scrawny Staff Sergeant named Willmore.
“Mein Herr, I’ve been thinking,” says Captain Blaukopf, a very tall, broad-shouldered man with a voice like a freight train. “What is the legal basis for your appointment?”
Brennermann smirks. “Captain, no legal basis is needed. The old government is dead; the old constitution is dead. All that matters now is who can gain popular support, and I know that right now I am the only man who can do that. But if it’ll make you feel better, I will tell you that there is some legal basis for what I am about to. You see, the power to create a Wartime Council when the nation is at war is one of the very few powers the king is granted by the constitution that he can actually exercise. And until a royal decree declares otherwise, the Wartime Council has supreme power; it can veto any law passed by the legislature, and it can make any law without the consent thereof.”
The Field Marshal is interrupted by the driver. “Meine Herren, this is a pretty bad storm we got ourselves in. We might be a little late.”
“That is okay, Sergeant,” Brennermann assures Willmore. “Anyway, back to what I was saying. King Florian has yet to issue a decree dissolving the Wartime Council; so while in reality, the council is dead, since we haven’t convened since those bastard Blackcoats were defeated, technically it still has authority.”
Captain Blaukopf begins to show signs of vague comprehension. The Chief Field Marshal smiles at this. “Good, good,” he laughs. “And now to make you understand fully. You see, Captain, I’ve been in contact with every member of the Wartime Council, and they’ve all agreed to use the council’s powers to create a new government position—a combination of the offices of Hauptoffizier and Prime Minister: President of Rammsteinburg.”
Colonel Stein butts in. “Mein Herr, what if King Florian dissolves the Wartime Council? My understanding of the constitution is that once such a council is dissolved by royal decree, the government is to return to its normal state. A return to the normal state would mean the destruction of this new position, right?”
“Don’t worry about that, Colonel; there is a plan.”
Forty-five minutes later the car carrying the Chief Field Marshal and his assistants arrives at the royal palace in Ark, where the members of the old Wartime Council and the Chief Justice of the High Court of Rammsteinburg are waiting. A crowd is beginning to form in the Königplatz; and among this growing throng are various foreigners, for the Wartime Council had secretly sent invitations for international leaders and journalists to attend the historic occasion.
The storm in Ark has come to an end, and the sun is starting to shine through the clouds.
Meanwhile, the private jet of a furious King Florian is on its way to Ark International Airport. And right behind it is the Rammsteinburg Air Force’s prized G-79 Killjoy…