NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Just want to say no assassination attempts, no invasions, not that stuff. If you want to get involved, feel free to RP tourists (Although there are very few in Sumer), or as foreign reporters watching the event. This'll carry into a few more detailed posts over the next few days covering the event.

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Uruk, capitol city of Sumer, late afternoon.

For a city of over forty million people, Uruk was very calm. Late afternoon, peak time for markets to be open after the mid-day nap, yet all was quiet. Shops, schools, businesses, all closed today. As the afternoon sun moved across the sky towards its resting place in the west a faint rumble began to be heard. Slowly the sun moved over the streets, highlighting the ocean of darkness which lapped at the banks of the buildings, millions of citizens lining the streets, all silent waiting in sombre anticipation as the gentle rumble grew ever louder. The rumbeling grew louder, suddenly breaking free of the muffled constraints of the buildings as it appeared, the mighty beast entering the city from the north west. One by one the five beasts appeared, moving quickly, puspousefully, through the city, checking every corner, ignoring the ocean of people which lined the streets. All eyes watching the movement. They made their way through the city, tanks, the latest of their kind, acting as if clearing the streets of enemy tanks. No shots were fired though, only the grumble of the engines, the noise of the tracks as they continued their quest, winding through the streets ever closer to the city centre. Light and shadow played along the lines of the metal beasts, massive eighty-seven tonne beasts moving through the light and shadow, through the streets and over the curbs as if they massed nothing, with complete ease. The path wound through the city, carefully, allowing time for the fall of the sun, the orange glow to raise up. As the five beasts came near the end of their journy, the ocean of people opened. Into the vast open space of the national parade square they drove, scores of people lined up along the edge as the centre remained empty. The five beasts made a slow circle of the area, sweeping the streets, the lines, as if to fight an enemy. They slowly spread as they came along the eastern side of the square, behind ten concrete colums raised at an inclination, atop nine of the colums a tank, one of historical signifigance, each inclined up towards the sky. The last of the five tank colum broke off as it bassed behind these concrete pillars, carefully edging itself up onto the tenth pillar, empty waiting for it's recipiant. Taking it's place as the monument it was destined to become, the vehicle went silent, joining it's nine brothers on the pillars, going back a century of armoured history in the nation, to the salvation of the nation. As if in unison the four remaining beasts, their colourful camoflauge schemes and unit insignia each different, and a stark contrast to the base sand colour paint of the one which had mounted the pillar, shut down their engines. Their guns pointed forwards, their hatches closed, not a person seen, not a person had stuck their head from these five beasts since before entering the city. All again went quiet, the masses of people lining the square, lining the streets, watching from their homes and community centres, all watched quietly.

At the western side of the square stood a podium, constructed upon the stairs of the Senate building for this very ocasion. Upon the podium sat the leaders of the nation, military leaders, department officers, the dictator herself. Kisikil Ninatuma, Ridingir of the nation, Dictator of Sumer, sat, her eyes moving slowly over the crowd before her. In her arms her newborn child stirred, Arwia Ninatuma, the first child born to a serving Dictator in over four centuries, sleeping silently. Kisikil moved, ever so gently handing her daughter to the careful hands of her aid, sure not to wake the young child as she stood up and slowly approached the oration podium in the middle of the stand. She looked out again, her plain black uniform showing the orange tinge of the setting sun behind her as her eyes followed the path of the square. Ringed around here were thousands of her people, citizens, as well as honor guards of the various Temple Guard units. Before her at the eastern end of the square was the Pedestal of Heroes, ten concrete slabs, each mounting a monument to a battle that declared the faste of the nation, each monument added every ten years. This was the last year which would be added, the end of an age, a century after. The monuments were tanks, from one of the nations first, the the latest, each honoring the sacrafice of those who fought and died to secure the natition a hundred years ago. Each standing in sombre honor of the battle of the Cedar Canyon, a turning point in the Great Europa war. Ahead of the ten pillars sat silently four tanks, the latest models, each a member of one of the first four Sumerian armoured brigades, each representing their lineage to that historic battle where armour took a prominent role in Sumerian history. She stood straight, her hands placed on either side of the podium as she gently cleared her throat to speak, her eyes never leaving the masses of citizens who had come to listen.

"Today," Kisikil began, a light pause in her speech, "we honor those who went before us." She looked about, at the millions of pairs of eyes watching her and her alone. "Today, we remember who we are, and where we come from. Today we mark the anniversary of the turning point against European aggression, the turning point where our nation realized the place it must play in the larger world instead of sitting on the sidelines." She paused a breif moment again, allowing that line to sink in. "Today we mourn, we celebrate, we remember. Today we bury the last survivor of that epic battle, and we remember her fellow soldiers, her friends and family who gave their lives. Today we pray for their souls, for their sacrifice." She let her eyes drop, below her an honor guard carried the body of an old woman, Ubalnu Munawwirtum, the last survivor of the battle of the Cedar Canyon, she had passed away of old age at a hundred and sixteen years old just one week before. "Today we ask great goddess Inanna to watch over our young, our current defenders, and to extend the care to them which she has bestowed upon the fallen." She watched, he eyes seemlessly and slowly moving accross the crowd as they watched the honor guard lay the body upon a wooden pyre. "Today we ask of great goddess Ereshkigal, to continue to accept and watch over those who have given their lives for us, to honor them as the heroes they are, to let them the peace in Irkalla that they did not know in their death." Once more a pause as she looked down at the honor guard, taking their positions to the north and south of the pyre, standing at rapt attention as they faced the fallen hero. "Today is a day of honor."

Kisikil nooded slowly to the lead honor guard, the only one standing to the east of the pyre. Loudly he bellowed out, "Ready!" and quickly the rest of the honor guard squads along the perimeter of the square came to attention, their rifles now clutched firmly in their hands. The four tanks which were sitting before the Pedestal of Heroes came to life, their engines groaning with life, still the crowd stayed silent, watching. "Ready arms!" the sergent at the pyre bellowed again, in unison every honor guard flanking the square raised their rifle and aimed into the darkening sky, the barrells of the four tanks raised skyward towards the setting sun, those around the pyre brought their arms to their chests in a rigid salute."Fire!" the sergent yelled, shots rang out. The rifle shots were drowned out as the four 140mm tank guns fired blank rounds towards the setting sun. The noise was deafening, and quickly woke baby Arwia, but all remained silent. Young Arwia, too young to understand what was going on, just laid there in the aids arms, watching her mother. "Salute!" The sergent yelled finally, the honor guard all returning their rifles to their sides, the tanks leveling their barrells, those around the pyre however did not drop their salute.

"Let Ereshkigal watch over Nin Munawwirtum in Irkalla. May her soul know the peace and joy she never had." Kisikil said again, this time not taking her eyes from the crowd as the honor guard sergent stepped forward, lighting a small ceremonial torch before setting the pyre ablaze. The fire lighting the area around it, casting a warm glow over the parade square as the sun completely dissapeared behind the horizon. Soft glowing lamps began to slowly warm on, aiding to the effect of the fire and bathing the crowd in a warm yellow light. Prayrs could be hurd, murmured throughout the crowd as the pyre burned, all night people would come and go, watching the funeral of a hero. All night people would pray to the gods for the lost, the fallen, they would make their supplications and return to their homes. The honor guard though, they never moved, never said a sound. Until the pyre had burned to ashes they stayed at rapt attention, their respect for the last of a generation undaunting. At dawn the square would be cleaned, the ashes collected and brought to the temple of Ereshkigal where they would be given to the goddess as an offering. Tommorow would begin the festivities. Tommorow would begin a week of public feasting, of speaches, shows, demonstrations. Tomorrow the heroes would be celebrated.

Uruk, capitol city of Sumer, late afternoon.

The worst of the summer heat was over now as the sun continued its slow trek across the clear sky. The parade square, only the night before a funeral, was now alive with activity. Vast tables were arranged within the square, allowing easily a hundred thousand people to sit. Still more tables lined the streets and other public areas of the city. Tonight would be a night of feasting, a night of joy for the whole city. The army engineers had worked tirelessly through the morning and hot noon sun, setting up the tables and turning the podium on the Senate steps into an elevated dining area. An unknown number of volunteers prepared food for the upcoming public feast.

As afternoon pressed on people began to come out, dressed casually as if meeting with family. Tonight all would be family as they gathered in the streets to feast. It would be a while for people to gather, whole families. Snacks and drink were placed on the tables, each family contributing something as the crowds began to grow slowly. A true community undertaking as rich and poor alike came together to eat drink and enjoy the times. Children played, adults talked, it was a kind of event that happened twice a year in Sumer, except this was not the time of year it happened.

As the sun slowly set seats at the tables became packed as the people of Uruk joined in. The parade square alone was packed with well over a hundred thousand people, seated, talking, laughing, as volunteers began to bring out the food. Whole herds of lamb slaughtered that morning for the event were roasted and served along with bread, dates, and an assortment of other foods. Everything was free and there was plenty for everyone tonight. Business were quiet as the city virtually shut down for the event and the stars one by one started to appear in the darkening sky overhead. With only torchlights to light the festivities the sky finally was dark enough to allow the starts to be viewed from the middle of the city.

Seated at the tables upon the podium tonight were the leaders of the nation, the Dictator and her daughter, her aids, as well as the families of her officers. Senators mixed with the crowds, a luxury those within the Office of the Dictator did not have. As the volunteer finished placing the first course of tonights feast on her place at the table Kisikil Ninatuma, Dictator of Sumer, stood up and slowly approached the edge of the podium, facing the people seated before her. She made no motion to speak, or to gain their attention, she simply watched the crowd of people enjoy their company. Slowly though the crowds dimmed down, turning their attention to her as she stood there, expecting her to speak. She knew all across the nation similar feasts were being held, in honor of the fallen. When enough people had turned their attention to her, and that crowd had grown silent enough, she simply raised her right hand. In her hand an ancient polished brass mug of fine beer, the ancient recipe used throughout Sumer for thousands of years. As she held it up the people before her began to raise their mugs in response. A cheer rang through the crowd, growing louder and louder until it echoed through the city's streets like no noise ever before had. The sound of people joyous and thankful to be there, the sound of a nation alive and well. Kisikil merely cheered with them, drowned out by the voices of the people she was sworn to protect and serve. When she had yelled her lungs out she lowered her mug, taking a big drink and raising it back up, crying out once more with the rest of the people before she returned to her seat and her meal.

The night progressed smoothly, people took turns entertaining each other, talking with others. Kisikil herself moved into the crowd and enjoyed conversation with her citizens as others would take turns telling stories and singing songs, playing music to entertain everyone young and old. The festivities would continue on long into the night. The cool night air providing a relaxing environment for celebration before the heat of the sun forced people back inside later on. All night would be the festivities, and by noon many of these people would be sleeping peacefully in their homes awaiting the next night, the night of stories.

Uruk, capitol city of Sumer, mid day.

The hot noon day sun burned into the air a typical Sumerian sumer day. Well over forty degrees centigrade the heat was the primary reason this time of day was usually used for a quick rest, a nap or relaxing bath. Today though, four days after the start of the celebrations, scores of people were lined up outside in the heat. The previos day's resting, and the day before that feasting and celebration, before that a funeral, all ended in today's heat. Today the people of Uruk, as with much of the rest of the country, made their way to the temples around the city with offerings to the gods. Today they braved the heat of the summer sun to pay their tribute. Many simply went to their community temples, specially built into the residential buildings which whole communities shared. Indeed many people were smart as such to avoid the heat by staying in the modern air conditioned areas for their dedications. Some still however, especially those who had to fullfill the obligation, went to the ancient temple sites. Thousands lined up for hours to climb the stairs to the mighty ziggurats which held the temples, both thousands of years old.

Kisikil Ninatuma was now, in the heat of the day, offering her items to the gods. Today, like many others, she was offering the gods her dedication and respect, only asking they take care of her ancestors in Irkalla, the netherworld. It was her mother especially whom she was asking for. Many around her, regardless of social status, money, rank, age, or gender, were doing the same. And despite the heat today had a sombre feel to it. Everyone dressed in their older casual clothes, the kind you would wear around the yard in most countries. They dressed this way to show their respect to the gods, that the gods were above them and they knew it. Religion runs deep in Sumer, and today it could be felt by everyone, regardless of wether they were a citizen or not.

The day lasted for hours as the lines slowly shortened. People made their offerings, their prayers, and returned home to be with their families. Tommorow all would return to normal. Buisnesses would open, schools would begin teaching again, and people would return to their lives. For these four days of state funeral though, a lasting impression would never leave their minds. Today the last chapter of an emotional epic for the nation had drawn to a close. The last of a generation, a generation that gave more to the future of the Sumerian people then any before or since, had fallen. The people knew why the last four days were important, they felt it. The closing of an era now over, they were to look forward to the future. Though they fell, they did not die. Those who die may some day be forgotten, but in the minds of those who live on, the fallen never die.

OOC: Well, no interest, oh well. Guess now what this is finished, it becomes a reference thread for more upcomming stuff.