Faxanavia
16-03-2008, 15:01
To the south of Faxanavia, in the great state of Printernavia, where the winds blow and the mountains scrape the clouds with their immensity, there is a forest. In the long, low mountain rage called the Greenbriars, a vast forest grows. The huge trees tower over the forest floor, and the ground below is covered in needles from the vast conifers dominating this great forest. It is here where a man can get lost for weeks at one long turn. It is here that majestic streams run side by side with towering trees. It is here that the wild Ursidae Faxanavis or the Faxanavian brown bear run wild and free, scooping salmon from the river with their bare hands. And it is here, deep in this peaceful eden of a forest that a small cabin sits, undisturbed by the world around it. Built from the vast conifers of the forest, it is a small, unobtrusive cabin. A bit odd to be found so deep into these woods, but none the less no great marvel. Were by chance, a hunter or a forager to happen across the cabin, they would take it for some deserted living place, long ago forgotten by the sands of time. Little would they suspect that within this unassuming cabin lived a man who, had commanded great power and respect. A man who had fallen off of the face of the world a little more then a year and half ago, lost to his people in the face of a new age. It is here that this man waits, planning his next move.
The alarm clock buzzed in that annoying way that only alarm clocks can when one wishes to sleep another hour. A hand reached out and yanked the plug from the wall. The hand then proceeded to pick up the alarm clock and hurl it bodily across the room and into the nearby wall. Luckily, it was one of those specially made alarm clocks that was designed for use in combat, and could have survived being shot at with a tank- that is, if anyone ever became so aggrivated with their alarm clock that they took a tank to it. Sliding slowly out of bed, the man stood and retrieved the clock. plugging it back in, he pulled a long robe over his pajamas and went out of the back door of the cabin. Picking up several large logs of firewood, he carried them back inside, setting them on the large fire place. Shredding some old newspaper, he tossed it and a match onto the logs. As the fire began to crackle into life, the man slid open one of the many cupboards in the small corner of the cabin which was the impromptu kitchen area. lifting down one of the many boxes of instant oatmeal stacked there, the man pulled it open and sniffed with apprehension. Assured that it had not gone bad and placing it on the small wooden table, the man proceeded to a large tank sitting in the corner. He pushed down on a small leaver, and water flowed out of the faucet of the tank into another, small round container the man had picked up. Hanging said container over the fire, the man went to get dressed. He returned to find his water heated. Pouring the water over the instant oatmeal, the man sat and began to eat. It was the same routine he went through every single morning. Every single morning since that faithful day more than a year and a half ago. He ticked off the date on his small calendar. 1 year, 7 months, 16 days since that day. The day that the Imperator had taken power. The day Hephaestus dissolved the government. And the day he had gone into hiding with the aid of his closest friends and confidants. His name was Ivansky Bochick, and up until that faithful day, he had been Prime Minister of Faxanavia.
A deer grazed quietly in the forest. It was a beautiful creature, its silky fur a beautiful light brown and its eyes a deep green. It chewed contentedly in the clearing, while around it birds sang sweet songs, and in the distance a vast river ran. The clearing was peaceful and serene. With a loud bang of gunfire, two bullets lodged themselves in the deer's head. The birds scattered and the beautiful creature fell to the forest floor, leaking not so beautiful blood. From behind the tree where he had been waiting for the past 15 minutes, Ivansky walked forward to observe his kill. The creature was large, and looked young enough that the meat would be tender and not stringy. Swinging his AR-15 over his shoulder, he lifted the deer with some difficulty onto the small wheeled cart which he had pulled behind him. Sighing, he grabbed the cart and began to pull it, heading back for the cabin.
He returned home mid day, and had just skinned the dear when a loud roaring interrupted his work. Gripping his AR-15 lightly and insuring a fresh clip was loaded, he slowly slid towards the front of the cabin. Sliding one of the curtains ever so slightly aside, he released a great sigh of relief. It was a helicopter, its down draft pushing the trees aside as it came in for a great slow landing in the clearing outside of the cabin. On the side of the helicopter, a UH-60, was imprinted the vast black and gold lion crest of Ottomautics Weapons Inc. As the helicopter landed, Ivansky opened the door, striding out to meet the man climbing down from the pilots seat. He was about 40, as was Ivansky, yet his hair was already streaked with gray. His suit was immaculate, and bore the same symbol as the helicopter, albeit as a pin clipped to his lapel. His eyes were a light green, and behind them one could almost see the spark of imagination at work. This was Red Ornot, founder of Ottomautics Weapons Inc, and one of three men who knew Ivansky's location. The two men greeted each other, and together they walked into the cabin. Several minutes later, the two were seated at the table, sipping instant coffee as Red told Ivansky of the world outside.
"He's getting worse, Ivan." said Red, using his old nickname for Ivansky. "We always knew he was a little off his rocker, but that was before he came to power. That whole autocratic thing he always tried to sell to you, he's putting it in place all right. Its working well enough, I guess- if you can say a nation so brainwashed that murder is considered justifiable if the victim is a communist is working well." He stopped to sip his coffee, and Ivansky thought back to Hephaestus Blackforge, the Imperator of Faxanavia. The two had known each other long before their carriers in politics had begun. In fact, Ivansky, Hephaestus, and Red had shared a dormitory junior year of college. They had all attended the University of Vallingard, one of Faxanavia's premier universities. Ivansky thought back to long nights of debate, where Hephaestus would go on for hours about, "The greater good" and "for the people, by one" and how his autocratic system would rule the world. Red would sit quietly in the corner, always sketching some plane or gun or boat, and Ivansky would listen, and give his own views on Hephaestus' ideas, and how the Faxanavian democracy was working. Red began to speak again, and Ivansky dragged himself back to listen to what he was saying. "The longer Hephaestus stays in power, the worse it gets. You can't go out on the streets anymore without seeing some poor sap being beaten by a gang because they claim he's a communist. I'd have gone into hiding long ago if you didn't need me to connect us to the outside world." Ivansky nodded grimly. His beloved Faxanavia was crumbling, and he could do nothing to stop it. "And what of William? What information has he given us?" The third man to know of Ivansky's location was William White, the Minister of Defense. He had been a close friend of Ivansky's, and when he'd gone underground, White had continued to feed Ivansky information. Between the three of them, Red, William and Ivansky represented the meager few who wished the return of democracy. "William is worried about our international appearance. No one is taking action against Faxanavia's new strict policies." Ivansky nodded. "And what of our plans?" At this, Red smiled. "Well, on that last note, things are going quite well." He smiled a mysterious smile. "In fact, I would suggest you start packing. The plan gets started tomorrow..."
Shirt, shoes, socks, pants, books, water bottles, ammo... Ivansky ran once more through his mental check list. Everything he needed was there. As he lifted the two duffel bags from the bed, he looked over to the bedside table. There, sat a photograph of five years earlier. A woman, with long red hair and a beautiful smile. He smiled wistfully. How he missed her, his Teresa. He sighed. She had gone into hiding but two months after he, happily on "vacation" in Calizorinstan since the Imperator had taken power. The rise of Hephaestus had torn them apart. Sliding the picture into his duffel bag, Ivansky made a silent vow that the Imperator would pay.
As he looked about him, Ivansky felt the pain of his once-beloved nation ripping itself apart. Yet, what must be done must be done. He had returned to Vallingard, his beloved city. The sky was grey and dark, and rain fell from the sky in large, wet droplets, as though the sky itself was crying for Faxanavia. Somewhere in the distance a fire burned as the riots continued. But for now, Ivansky had a job. Dressed in an impeccable grey suit, he was walking into the belly of the beast. He looked at Imperial Hall, remembering it from the days before, when it was Freedom Hall. The vast columns still stood, the huge water fountain dominated by the statue of Charles L'Enphant still gushed water from his sword. But, something was different. Instead of a home of democracy and equality, Imperial Hall had become what it should never have to be- a fortress. Everywhere, armed guards patrolled. Ivansky approached a receptionist. "I'm here to see the Imperator." he said, matter-of-factly. The woman looked up, startled. "Certainly, sir. Do you have an appointment?" Ivansky smiled in that way that had won him his third re-election. "Not as such. I am an old friend from his college days. Just tell him Ivan is here to see him." The woman nodded with some trepidation, and tapped the intercom. After a hurried conversation, she nodded to Ivansky, and to two burly guards over his shoulder. The two men stepped closer, their guns swinging menacingly. One on either side of Ivansky, they escorted him up the long flight of steps that would lead to the Imperator's office. He climbed the vast marble steps, and was passed through several metal detectors as guards leared menacingly at him. Finally, he had reached the sanctum sanctorum- the office of the Imperator. It was a surprisingly small office, and was sparsely furnished. The walls were thick wood, and the desk was made of some dark mahogany with a marble top. The Imperator sat quietly at his desk, fingers steepled, awaiting Ivansky. The man's eyes bore into Ivansky like twin emerald knives. However, Ivansky walked tall and showed no fear- it was vitally important that he did not. One of the guards pulled up a chair for Ivansky, across from the Imperator. Sitting, he placed the briefcase on the desk.The Imperator smiled a very slight smile. "Mr. Bochick. What a surprise to see you after all of this time." Ivansky simply nodded, and began to click open the briefcase. The two guards fingered their weapons, but the Imperator raised a hand to calm them. "Gentleman, relax. Mr. Bochick is a..."he paused, almost as if to consider the word. "friend." The two guards hesitantly lowered their weapons, but their fingers remained, hovering over the triggers. Ivansky looked up, right into the Imperator's grey eyes. "I have no doubt that you're wondering why I'm here- how I'm here." The Imperator nodded icily. In fact, he had been wondering just that. Ivansky had been left for dead in some god forsaken wilderness to the south... Ivansky lifted from the briefcase a manilla envelope. "I wish to discuss with you the state of your nation. It has come to my attention as to what, exactly, has been going on. To be frank, Faxanavia is falling apart." He sifted through the paper in the envelope, and drew several out. "Private prisons, slave labor, riots, brutal killings, all in the name of the 'Motherland'" The irony was heavy in his voice, but his words were true. Faxanavia was in a steep downturn, and he knew only he could stop it, in this office. "And so, I've come to you today, returning from the dead, to ask for you to turn this around." The Imperator looked surprised- no threats? No cajolorisms? Who was this? He quickly regained his composure, and said, "What are you talking about? Faxanavia is in a fine state. Taxes have been cut, and the people love it." Ivansky scowled. "They love it because you brainwash them! Because otherwise, they dissapear in the night!" The Imperator laughed derisively. "No such thing. The people have all the freedom they could want." "Yes," countered Ivansky, "but not all the freedom they need."
The Imperator frowned with growing annoyance. "Mr. Bochick, I grow tired of these false dealings. I must ask you to leave my office. Now." Ivansky sighed. "I thought you would say that." Several papers slipped from the desk, and Ivansky bent down to pick them up. Then, in a heartbeat, two things happened. The first that happened was that Ivansky ripped from his boot the concealed 9mm pistol that had been hidden there this entire time. He emptied two shots into the guard's chests. The second thing that happened was the armor piercing bullet which punctured through the reinforced glass and impounded itself in the Imperator's skull. Ivansky rose, and put 2 more rounds a piece into the guards, this time going for between the eyes. Brushing himself down, he surveyed the mess. All was according to plan...
Within 35 minutes, phase two was over. Ivansky had assembled as many of the ministers as he knew were on his side, and had been selected as an interim leader. Now came the hard bit. The nation would have to learn of the Imperator's death, and the upheaval would be quite a challenge to surmount. It was now, broadcast on live television, radio, and across the web. And, Invansky waited patiently. He waited for the roar of anger. He waited for the mobs at the gates, ready for his head. Yet, they did not come. It seemed as though the whole nation had gone quiet. The nation was not in an uprising, but in mourning...Ivansky was shocked. Still, he gathered to him the members of the new interim government. Upon the news of the loss of the Imperator, the current governmental figures were offered a choice- they could step down, or they could side with Ivansky. Fearing for their pension plans, they chose the latter. Now, the ministers, Ivansky, and Red (for it was he who had fired the shot that took the Imperator) were gathered about a table, anxious to hear what Ivansky had to say. The new interim leader (there was, as of yet, no title, as there was no official government.) cleared his throat, and began. "Friends, what we have created here today is a new chance for a nation. Is a new chance for Faxanavia's rebirth. And I, for one, say we take it." There was a murmur of approval around the table, and Ivansky began to explain his new plan. Papers were drawn, written, and re-written. Discussion was made. While the country mourned the death of their leader, Ivansky prepared to give it a rebirth.
A tiny wooden platform had been erected in L'Enphant square, the center of Vallingard. It was here that Ivansky Bochick stood, quietly. A crowd had amassed since the early hours of the morning, watching the face that had been lost for so long. A murmuring was passing through the crowd. The loss of the Imperator was still heavy in their minds, but something new was about to take place. Ivansky stood, looking out over the crowd. The vast clock that overlooked L'Enphant Square chimed 10 o'clock, and Ivansky began. "Ladies and gentleman, we stand here today at the crossroads of a nation which has been marred by war, peace, slavery, freedom, and all that makes us a great people." He looked at them, and each felt that he was being singled out, an individual in Ivansky's eyes. "When our nation was freed from the tyranny of the regime of the Grand Vizier Leon de Lecantus, our most noble leader William Pendragon told us that we stood on hallowed ground, hewn by our own hands for our own freedom. And now, today, we stand on that same hallowed grounds, and we are to now accept that same freedom, hewn with our own hands for the generations to come." A murmur was passing from the crowd. What was going on? "As such, I am here as an emissarry who comes to you to offer you something. Something that you had once, but was lost. That something, ladies and gentleman," he paused for effect, " is freedom." The murmurs grew to a great intensity as the people heard him. Those who had lived through the past year and a half remembered what he spoke of. And now, it seemed, the crowd was making a subconscious decision. Slowly, it quieted, like some great beast being tamed. And, as if from far away, a single voice began to cheer. Then two. Then four. Then eight. And suddenly, the entire crowd began to yell, cheer and shouting. It was like the largest crowd at the greatest sporting event seen. And Ivansky smiled.
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|Official Declaration of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia|
Greetings, nations of the world. My name is Ivansky Bochick. Many of you may know me, but many more will not. I speak to you today as the new leader of a new Faxanavia. a Faxanavia unmarred by tyranny, by oppression, and by the evils perpetuated by the previous regime. My friends, Faxanavia has been reborn as a nation, and as such we wish the world to know. We now re-open our gates to the nations of the world, and hope that all will accept this offer.
Respectfully yours,
Ivansky Bochick
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanvia
The alarm clock buzzed in that annoying way that only alarm clocks can when one wishes to sleep another hour. A hand reached out and yanked the plug from the wall. The hand then proceeded to pick up the alarm clock and hurl it bodily across the room and into the nearby wall. Luckily, it was one of those specially made alarm clocks that was designed for use in combat, and could have survived being shot at with a tank- that is, if anyone ever became so aggrivated with their alarm clock that they took a tank to it. Sliding slowly out of bed, the man stood and retrieved the clock. plugging it back in, he pulled a long robe over his pajamas and went out of the back door of the cabin. Picking up several large logs of firewood, he carried them back inside, setting them on the large fire place. Shredding some old newspaper, he tossed it and a match onto the logs. As the fire began to crackle into life, the man slid open one of the many cupboards in the small corner of the cabin which was the impromptu kitchen area. lifting down one of the many boxes of instant oatmeal stacked there, the man pulled it open and sniffed with apprehension. Assured that it had not gone bad and placing it on the small wooden table, the man proceeded to a large tank sitting in the corner. He pushed down on a small leaver, and water flowed out of the faucet of the tank into another, small round container the man had picked up. Hanging said container over the fire, the man went to get dressed. He returned to find his water heated. Pouring the water over the instant oatmeal, the man sat and began to eat. It was the same routine he went through every single morning. Every single morning since that faithful day more than a year and a half ago. He ticked off the date on his small calendar. 1 year, 7 months, 16 days since that day. The day that the Imperator had taken power. The day Hephaestus dissolved the government. And the day he had gone into hiding with the aid of his closest friends and confidants. His name was Ivansky Bochick, and up until that faithful day, he had been Prime Minister of Faxanavia.
A deer grazed quietly in the forest. It was a beautiful creature, its silky fur a beautiful light brown and its eyes a deep green. It chewed contentedly in the clearing, while around it birds sang sweet songs, and in the distance a vast river ran. The clearing was peaceful and serene. With a loud bang of gunfire, two bullets lodged themselves in the deer's head. The birds scattered and the beautiful creature fell to the forest floor, leaking not so beautiful blood. From behind the tree where he had been waiting for the past 15 minutes, Ivansky walked forward to observe his kill. The creature was large, and looked young enough that the meat would be tender and not stringy. Swinging his AR-15 over his shoulder, he lifted the deer with some difficulty onto the small wheeled cart which he had pulled behind him. Sighing, he grabbed the cart and began to pull it, heading back for the cabin.
He returned home mid day, and had just skinned the dear when a loud roaring interrupted his work. Gripping his AR-15 lightly and insuring a fresh clip was loaded, he slowly slid towards the front of the cabin. Sliding one of the curtains ever so slightly aside, he released a great sigh of relief. It was a helicopter, its down draft pushing the trees aside as it came in for a great slow landing in the clearing outside of the cabin. On the side of the helicopter, a UH-60, was imprinted the vast black and gold lion crest of Ottomautics Weapons Inc. As the helicopter landed, Ivansky opened the door, striding out to meet the man climbing down from the pilots seat. He was about 40, as was Ivansky, yet his hair was already streaked with gray. His suit was immaculate, and bore the same symbol as the helicopter, albeit as a pin clipped to his lapel. His eyes were a light green, and behind them one could almost see the spark of imagination at work. This was Red Ornot, founder of Ottomautics Weapons Inc, and one of three men who knew Ivansky's location. The two men greeted each other, and together they walked into the cabin. Several minutes later, the two were seated at the table, sipping instant coffee as Red told Ivansky of the world outside.
"He's getting worse, Ivan." said Red, using his old nickname for Ivansky. "We always knew he was a little off his rocker, but that was before he came to power. That whole autocratic thing he always tried to sell to you, he's putting it in place all right. Its working well enough, I guess- if you can say a nation so brainwashed that murder is considered justifiable if the victim is a communist is working well." He stopped to sip his coffee, and Ivansky thought back to Hephaestus Blackforge, the Imperator of Faxanavia. The two had known each other long before their carriers in politics had begun. In fact, Ivansky, Hephaestus, and Red had shared a dormitory junior year of college. They had all attended the University of Vallingard, one of Faxanavia's premier universities. Ivansky thought back to long nights of debate, where Hephaestus would go on for hours about, "The greater good" and "for the people, by one" and how his autocratic system would rule the world. Red would sit quietly in the corner, always sketching some plane or gun or boat, and Ivansky would listen, and give his own views on Hephaestus' ideas, and how the Faxanavian democracy was working. Red began to speak again, and Ivansky dragged himself back to listen to what he was saying. "The longer Hephaestus stays in power, the worse it gets. You can't go out on the streets anymore without seeing some poor sap being beaten by a gang because they claim he's a communist. I'd have gone into hiding long ago if you didn't need me to connect us to the outside world." Ivansky nodded grimly. His beloved Faxanavia was crumbling, and he could do nothing to stop it. "And what of William? What information has he given us?" The third man to know of Ivansky's location was William White, the Minister of Defense. He had been a close friend of Ivansky's, and when he'd gone underground, White had continued to feed Ivansky information. Between the three of them, Red, William and Ivansky represented the meager few who wished the return of democracy. "William is worried about our international appearance. No one is taking action against Faxanavia's new strict policies." Ivansky nodded. "And what of our plans?" At this, Red smiled. "Well, on that last note, things are going quite well." He smiled a mysterious smile. "In fact, I would suggest you start packing. The plan gets started tomorrow..."
Shirt, shoes, socks, pants, books, water bottles, ammo... Ivansky ran once more through his mental check list. Everything he needed was there. As he lifted the two duffel bags from the bed, he looked over to the bedside table. There, sat a photograph of five years earlier. A woman, with long red hair and a beautiful smile. He smiled wistfully. How he missed her, his Teresa. He sighed. She had gone into hiding but two months after he, happily on "vacation" in Calizorinstan since the Imperator had taken power. The rise of Hephaestus had torn them apart. Sliding the picture into his duffel bag, Ivansky made a silent vow that the Imperator would pay.
As he looked about him, Ivansky felt the pain of his once-beloved nation ripping itself apart. Yet, what must be done must be done. He had returned to Vallingard, his beloved city. The sky was grey and dark, and rain fell from the sky in large, wet droplets, as though the sky itself was crying for Faxanavia. Somewhere in the distance a fire burned as the riots continued. But for now, Ivansky had a job. Dressed in an impeccable grey suit, he was walking into the belly of the beast. He looked at Imperial Hall, remembering it from the days before, when it was Freedom Hall. The vast columns still stood, the huge water fountain dominated by the statue of Charles L'Enphant still gushed water from his sword. But, something was different. Instead of a home of democracy and equality, Imperial Hall had become what it should never have to be- a fortress. Everywhere, armed guards patrolled. Ivansky approached a receptionist. "I'm here to see the Imperator." he said, matter-of-factly. The woman looked up, startled. "Certainly, sir. Do you have an appointment?" Ivansky smiled in that way that had won him his third re-election. "Not as such. I am an old friend from his college days. Just tell him Ivan is here to see him." The woman nodded with some trepidation, and tapped the intercom. After a hurried conversation, she nodded to Ivansky, and to two burly guards over his shoulder. The two men stepped closer, their guns swinging menacingly. One on either side of Ivansky, they escorted him up the long flight of steps that would lead to the Imperator's office. He climbed the vast marble steps, and was passed through several metal detectors as guards leared menacingly at him. Finally, he had reached the sanctum sanctorum- the office of the Imperator. It was a surprisingly small office, and was sparsely furnished. The walls were thick wood, and the desk was made of some dark mahogany with a marble top. The Imperator sat quietly at his desk, fingers steepled, awaiting Ivansky. The man's eyes bore into Ivansky like twin emerald knives. However, Ivansky walked tall and showed no fear- it was vitally important that he did not. One of the guards pulled up a chair for Ivansky, across from the Imperator. Sitting, he placed the briefcase on the desk.The Imperator smiled a very slight smile. "Mr. Bochick. What a surprise to see you after all of this time." Ivansky simply nodded, and began to click open the briefcase. The two guards fingered their weapons, but the Imperator raised a hand to calm them. "Gentleman, relax. Mr. Bochick is a..."he paused, almost as if to consider the word. "friend." The two guards hesitantly lowered their weapons, but their fingers remained, hovering over the triggers. Ivansky looked up, right into the Imperator's grey eyes. "I have no doubt that you're wondering why I'm here- how I'm here." The Imperator nodded icily. In fact, he had been wondering just that. Ivansky had been left for dead in some god forsaken wilderness to the south... Ivansky lifted from the briefcase a manilla envelope. "I wish to discuss with you the state of your nation. It has come to my attention as to what, exactly, has been going on. To be frank, Faxanavia is falling apart." He sifted through the paper in the envelope, and drew several out. "Private prisons, slave labor, riots, brutal killings, all in the name of the 'Motherland'" The irony was heavy in his voice, but his words were true. Faxanavia was in a steep downturn, and he knew only he could stop it, in this office. "And so, I've come to you today, returning from the dead, to ask for you to turn this around." The Imperator looked surprised- no threats? No cajolorisms? Who was this? He quickly regained his composure, and said, "What are you talking about? Faxanavia is in a fine state. Taxes have been cut, and the people love it." Ivansky scowled. "They love it because you brainwash them! Because otherwise, they dissapear in the night!" The Imperator laughed derisively. "No such thing. The people have all the freedom they could want." "Yes," countered Ivansky, "but not all the freedom they need."
The Imperator frowned with growing annoyance. "Mr. Bochick, I grow tired of these false dealings. I must ask you to leave my office. Now." Ivansky sighed. "I thought you would say that." Several papers slipped from the desk, and Ivansky bent down to pick them up. Then, in a heartbeat, two things happened. The first that happened was that Ivansky ripped from his boot the concealed 9mm pistol that had been hidden there this entire time. He emptied two shots into the guard's chests. The second thing that happened was the armor piercing bullet which punctured through the reinforced glass and impounded itself in the Imperator's skull. Ivansky rose, and put 2 more rounds a piece into the guards, this time going for between the eyes. Brushing himself down, he surveyed the mess. All was according to plan...
Within 35 minutes, phase two was over. Ivansky had assembled as many of the ministers as he knew were on his side, and had been selected as an interim leader. Now came the hard bit. The nation would have to learn of the Imperator's death, and the upheaval would be quite a challenge to surmount. It was now, broadcast on live television, radio, and across the web. And, Invansky waited patiently. He waited for the roar of anger. He waited for the mobs at the gates, ready for his head. Yet, they did not come. It seemed as though the whole nation had gone quiet. The nation was not in an uprising, but in mourning...Ivansky was shocked. Still, he gathered to him the members of the new interim government. Upon the news of the loss of the Imperator, the current governmental figures were offered a choice- they could step down, or they could side with Ivansky. Fearing for their pension plans, they chose the latter. Now, the ministers, Ivansky, and Red (for it was he who had fired the shot that took the Imperator) were gathered about a table, anxious to hear what Ivansky had to say. The new interim leader (there was, as of yet, no title, as there was no official government.) cleared his throat, and began. "Friends, what we have created here today is a new chance for a nation. Is a new chance for Faxanavia's rebirth. And I, for one, say we take it." There was a murmur of approval around the table, and Ivansky began to explain his new plan. Papers were drawn, written, and re-written. Discussion was made. While the country mourned the death of their leader, Ivansky prepared to give it a rebirth.
A tiny wooden platform had been erected in L'Enphant square, the center of Vallingard. It was here that Ivansky Bochick stood, quietly. A crowd had amassed since the early hours of the morning, watching the face that had been lost for so long. A murmuring was passing through the crowd. The loss of the Imperator was still heavy in their minds, but something new was about to take place. Ivansky stood, looking out over the crowd. The vast clock that overlooked L'Enphant Square chimed 10 o'clock, and Ivansky began. "Ladies and gentleman, we stand here today at the crossroads of a nation which has been marred by war, peace, slavery, freedom, and all that makes us a great people." He looked at them, and each felt that he was being singled out, an individual in Ivansky's eyes. "When our nation was freed from the tyranny of the regime of the Grand Vizier Leon de Lecantus, our most noble leader William Pendragon told us that we stood on hallowed ground, hewn by our own hands for our own freedom. And now, today, we stand on that same hallowed grounds, and we are to now accept that same freedom, hewn with our own hands for the generations to come." A murmur was passing from the crowd. What was going on? "As such, I am here as an emissarry who comes to you to offer you something. Something that you had once, but was lost. That something, ladies and gentleman," he paused for effect, " is freedom." The murmurs grew to a great intensity as the people heard him. Those who had lived through the past year and a half remembered what he spoke of. And now, it seemed, the crowd was making a subconscious decision. Slowly, it quieted, like some great beast being tamed. And, as if from far away, a single voice began to cheer. Then two. Then four. Then eight. And suddenly, the entire crowd began to yell, cheer and shouting. It was like the largest crowd at the greatest sporting event seen. And Ivansky smiled.
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|Official Declaration of the Promethian Republic of Faxanavia|
Greetings, nations of the world. My name is Ivansky Bochick. Many of you may know me, but many more will not. I speak to you today as the new leader of a new Faxanavia. a Faxanavia unmarred by tyranny, by oppression, and by the evils perpetuated by the previous regime. My friends, Faxanavia has been reborn as a nation, and as such we wish the world to know. We now re-open our gates to the nations of the world, and hope that all will accept this offer.
Respectfully yours,
Ivansky Bochick
Prime Minister of the Promethian Republic of Faxanvia