Ghassan
27-12-2007, 08:38
OOC: Since everything involving British Londinium and Ghassan has ceased to exist, the country is starting anew with everything else in place, except there is no colonial rule. Therefore, the government is headed by the theocratic Emir and his loyalist legislature. His son is the only voice of reason in the country.
The desert winds pressed heavily against the meshing of the young boy's jersey. It bore the number and the name Ziyad, the captain for the Ghassani National Football Team. The jersey itself was the pale, sandy green that was found on the country's flag, along with white strips along the side. The boy, who was notably Ghassani in heritage, bore striking resemblence to the ruler of the theocratic nation, the most glorious and noble Emir Khameh Yasiri.
The boy's dark locks floated lazily in the morning gale, and he was running through a verdant garden and was surrounded by the serene music of his country. The buzzing and droning of insects also entered his mind, but he payed no heed to them, swatting at them with his miniscule hand. There were other children about him, smiling and laughing and walking hand in hand with each other. These children were mainly Ghassani, but there were others as well. These other children were caucasian, and a couple were of asiatic descent, and each stood out from the olive colored Ghassanis.
Parents were also adjacent, sipping champagne in ornate glasses and eating lavish finger-foods prepared by the Ghassani servants. These were mainly composed of Ghassani fruits, including the world famous pear, which were commonly seen as the fruits of the rich mercantile class of Ghassan. The boy had one of these in his hand, and threw it into his mouth, while he ran jubilantly around the central plaza, his jersey and his hair still swaying.
His name was Husni Yasiri, and he was the only son of the Emir of Ghassan.
----
It was this scene that flashed in his memory when he moved furtively through the streets of the Ghassani port of Abu Mazin. The sun-drenched parties spent with diplomats, the most appreciated offspring of his father's own hand. He had only been eight then, and he now was much wiser, and much more appreciative of the precious moments that life awarded him.
He was no longer Husni Yasiri, son of the Emir, but was now known as Sergeant Yasiri, one of the junior members of the Sarvan Guard, elite agents that were used for intel mapping and scouting enemy positions. He was a young captain, promoted only a few months previous. He was very elated to know that his position was not due to his father's influence, but rather because of his careful drive and determination. It were qualities like this, one of his commanding officers had noted, that prescribe a great leader.
Abu Mazin was a hub for incoming foreigners, and among that, associates and financers of the Ghassani Liberation Movement. These were a group that radically opposed the rule of the Emir, defacing his portraits and upheaving his statuettes. The Emir, who was a father to the country, was publicly destroyed by these men, who called him corrupt and oppressive. Husni had been taught from a very young age that they wished only to overthrow his father, and that they were power-mongerers, wanting only to fulfill their selfish goals. It was this compassion for the lower-classes, which was oft quoted as another of his myriad of leadership roles.
He did not dwell on these thoughts as his moved through the dock district. He was flanked on either side by corporals, men whom he had attended training with, and men that he had fought aside in the thicket of firefights. He trusted them with his life, as he understood that they would feel the same towards him. The moved close to their mission, which was to investigate a derelict warehouse.
The warehouse itself was two stories, and it was waterfront property, even though it had fallen badly into disrepair. The paint was chipping, and falling like snow, and there was an unidentifable grime that was encrusted around the perimeter. The three though, worked like clockwork as they approached it. The two corporals did a breach and clear on one of the side entrance's, while Husni used his scope to find potential snipers, or even civilians that would tip off their location.
After establishing their secrecy, their entered the warehouse, and prepared to scan its contents. Before anything could happen though, they heard the presence of others, and sulked to darkened corners, where they would be able to pick up on the conversation. Husni, utilizing one of his Westernized tools, recorded the conversation as best he could.
As he did this, he noticed something peculiar. The men that were speaking were not the run-of the mill terrorist suspects. A few were not even Ghassani, and yet all bore the marks of civilians, with their diminutive, glazed looks, and arms-free movement. There were four of them to be sure, two white foreigners, a third Ghassani who seemed like a reporter, and a forth who bore the markings and the robe of the Movement.
The two foreigners were indistinguishable, wearing identical buisness suits, which were not common in the Arabic society of Ghassan. One of the men, who was the more prominent of the two, had a brown mustache, which resonated under the flourescent glow of the warehouse. The mustache man, motioned to the other white man, who led the two Ghassani to a crate which was filled to the brim with old Vietnam era weaponry. Offering a handsome sum, the Movement official accepted them.
With another odd gesture, the white man smiled and handed the representative a letter, which he noted, would detail the alliance between the Movement, and various other countries who had similar goals for their assests in Ghassan.
And, before that sentence was finished, Hasni opened fire, not willing to see his people subjegated for any time longer. As his weapon burst automatically, the patch with the Ghassani flag that was embroadered onto his shirt, almost seemed to shine with nationalism.
----
The Emir was a large man, who towered at around six and a half feet. His palace was known for being one of the grandest places in the entire country, even at the expense of his peasantry and their income. He was known in the international spectrum for being almost heartless, and never respecting the human rights promises for the many documents he has signed.
His cruelty though, would never be acknowledged in his homeland, were lawlessness and anarchy served as political tools in his arsenal. He was fighting an invisible insurgency, and at the same time, ruling a country that was based on the ideals of religious principles. Therefore, as he sat at his desk, he pondered what the future of his country may be.
His health was fine, but his age was the problem, and his successor was key to his fragile country's continuation. His son, a beacon of hope, would be the guiding light for the country which had long been ravaged by the terrors it had created. From the extremity of poverty to the subtlety of terrorism, it would be a country that he would not miss much in the afterlife.
It was upon these thoughts that he began to write.
لفاثصةم ةةؤثغدك ى
Proclamation From the Most Holy Emir
http://i107.photobucket.com/albums/m284/007evan/GhassanEmblem.jpg
The theocratic nation of Ghassan shall now open its borders to immigrants and tourists, and the most glorious Emir Yasiri should hope that they will be welcomed to our vaulted shores. We ask only in return that they should abide to our Muslim law, which has long acted as a center of philosophy for our nation and its prosperity.
In this manner, our diplomatic chapter shall begin to work, and we offer embassies available in our capital of Al-Harith if it shall be requested. We ask though, that potential allies adhere to our customs, and that a mutual pact of nonaggression will be respected.
OOC: And how do I get the pictures to work! They used to do it for me but now will not.
Oh, and this is now open for those who wish to post.
The desert winds pressed heavily against the meshing of the young boy's jersey. It bore the number and the name Ziyad, the captain for the Ghassani National Football Team. The jersey itself was the pale, sandy green that was found on the country's flag, along with white strips along the side. The boy, who was notably Ghassani in heritage, bore striking resemblence to the ruler of the theocratic nation, the most glorious and noble Emir Khameh Yasiri.
The boy's dark locks floated lazily in the morning gale, and he was running through a verdant garden and was surrounded by the serene music of his country. The buzzing and droning of insects also entered his mind, but he payed no heed to them, swatting at them with his miniscule hand. There were other children about him, smiling and laughing and walking hand in hand with each other. These children were mainly Ghassani, but there were others as well. These other children were caucasian, and a couple were of asiatic descent, and each stood out from the olive colored Ghassanis.
Parents were also adjacent, sipping champagne in ornate glasses and eating lavish finger-foods prepared by the Ghassani servants. These were mainly composed of Ghassani fruits, including the world famous pear, which were commonly seen as the fruits of the rich mercantile class of Ghassan. The boy had one of these in his hand, and threw it into his mouth, while he ran jubilantly around the central plaza, his jersey and his hair still swaying.
His name was Husni Yasiri, and he was the only son of the Emir of Ghassan.
----
It was this scene that flashed in his memory when he moved furtively through the streets of the Ghassani port of Abu Mazin. The sun-drenched parties spent with diplomats, the most appreciated offspring of his father's own hand. He had only been eight then, and he now was much wiser, and much more appreciative of the precious moments that life awarded him.
He was no longer Husni Yasiri, son of the Emir, but was now known as Sergeant Yasiri, one of the junior members of the Sarvan Guard, elite agents that were used for intel mapping and scouting enemy positions. He was a young captain, promoted only a few months previous. He was very elated to know that his position was not due to his father's influence, but rather because of his careful drive and determination. It were qualities like this, one of his commanding officers had noted, that prescribe a great leader.
Abu Mazin was a hub for incoming foreigners, and among that, associates and financers of the Ghassani Liberation Movement. These were a group that radically opposed the rule of the Emir, defacing his portraits and upheaving his statuettes. The Emir, who was a father to the country, was publicly destroyed by these men, who called him corrupt and oppressive. Husni had been taught from a very young age that they wished only to overthrow his father, and that they were power-mongerers, wanting only to fulfill their selfish goals. It was this compassion for the lower-classes, which was oft quoted as another of his myriad of leadership roles.
He did not dwell on these thoughts as his moved through the dock district. He was flanked on either side by corporals, men whom he had attended training with, and men that he had fought aside in the thicket of firefights. He trusted them with his life, as he understood that they would feel the same towards him. The moved close to their mission, which was to investigate a derelict warehouse.
The warehouse itself was two stories, and it was waterfront property, even though it had fallen badly into disrepair. The paint was chipping, and falling like snow, and there was an unidentifable grime that was encrusted around the perimeter. The three though, worked like clockwork as they approached it. The two corporals did a breach and clear on one of the side entrance's, while Husni used his scope to find potential snipers, or even civilians that would tip off their location.
After establishing their secrecy, their entered the warehouse, and prepared to scan its contents. Before anything could happen though, they heard the presence of others, and sulked to darkened corners, where they would be able to pick up on the conversation. Husni, utilizing one of his Westernized tools, recorded the conversation as best he could.
As he did this, he noticed something peculiar. The men that were speaking were not the run-of the mill terrorist suspects. A few were not even Ghassani, and yet all bore the marks of civilians, with their diminutive, glazed looks, and arms-free movement. There were four of them to be sure, two white foreigners, a third Ghassani who seemed like a reporter, and a forth who bore the markings and the robe of the Movement.
The two foreigners were indistinguishable, wearing identical buisness suits, which were not common in the Arabic society of Ghassan. One of the men, who was the more prominent of the two, had a brown mustache, which resonated under the flourescent glow of the warehouse. The mustache man, motioned to the other white man, who led the two Ghassani to a crate which was filled to the brim with old Vietnam era weaponry. Offering a handsome sum, the Movement official accepted them.
With another odd gesture, the white man smiled and handed the representative a letter, which he noted, would detail the alliance between the Movement, and various other countries who had similar goals for their assests in Ghassan.
And, before that sentence was finished, Hasni opened fire, not willing to see his people subjegated for any time longer. As his weapon burst automatically, the patch with the Ghassani flag that was embroadered onto his shirt, almost seemed to shine with nationalism.
----
The Emir was a large man, who towered at around six and a half feet. His palace was known for being one of the grandest places in the entire country, even at the expense of his peasantry and their income. He was known in the international spectrum for being almost heartless, and never respecting the human rights promises for the many documents he has signed.
His cruelty though, would never be acknowledged in his homeland, were lawlessness and anarchy served as political tools in his arsenal. He was fighting an invisible insurgency, and at the same time, ruling a country that was based on the ideals of religious principles. Therefore, as he sat at his desk, he pondered what the future of his country may be.
His health was fine, but his age was the problem, and his successor was key to his fragile country's continuation. His son, a beacon of hope, would be the guiding light for the country which had long been ravaged by the terrors it had created. From the extremity of poverty to the subtlety of terrorism, it would be a country that he would not miss much in the afterlife.
It was upon these thoughts that he began to write.
لفاثصةم ةةؤثغدك ى
Proclamation From the Most Holy Emir
http://i107.photobucket.com/albums/m284/007evan/GhassanEmblem.jpg
The theocratic nation of Ghassan shall now open its borders to immigrants and tourists, and the most glorious Emir Yasiri should hope that they will be welcomed to our vaulted shores. We ask only in return that they should abide to our Muslim law, which has long acted as a center of philosophy for our nation and its prosperity.
In this manner, our diplomatic chapter shall begin to work, and we offer embassies available in our capital of Al-Harith if it shall be requested. We ask though, that potential allies adhere to our customs, and that a mutual pact of nonaggression will be respected.
OOC: And how do I get the pictures to work! They used to do it for me but now will not.
Oh, and this is now open for those who wish to post.