NationStates Jolt Archive

The sun beat down fiercely on the small peninsula jutting out from the Zukariaan mainland, temperatures reached record highs for this time of the year. The province had seen numerous changes in her history, not limited to the extreme temperature change. The peninsula went from Zukariaan territory to Cohenian-leased Zukariaan territory to Cohenian annexed territory to a province in the Cohenian Empire. The area had seen numerous wars: the Zukariaans trying to reclaim what's rightfully 'their's' and the Cohenians trying to keep what they 'fairly conquered'. On the eve of the ten year anniversary of the Zukariaan defeat at Port Rosbanin, news came that the Zukariaans had encompassed the small Shansekian nation into their evil grip. The Zukariaans were always imperialist people, as shown by their countless invasions of the small peninsula. Why would they want Shansekia though? The only thing that the average Rosbani could think of was that they were next - the Zukariaans would try and annex Rosbaningrad to be a part of their growing empire.

Most of mainland Jaredcohenia (including the major cities of Brooklyn-Stuyvesant, Hamilton, and New Knox) approved of the Zukariaans. Their glorious Emperor, Ferrin, was related to the Zukariaan emperor. Many Cohenians had enjoyed Zuko-Cohenian relations, Zukariaans imbibed more Cohenian vodka and wore more Cohenian jewels than most other nations. If not for the Zukariaans, the Cohenian economy would probably be much different. Most veterans of the 1998 Rosbani Conflict had forgiven the Zukariaans for their actions, but there was a steady anti-Zukariaan sentiment in Jaredcohenia. Veterans protested at the Zukariaan imperialistic ways in regards to Shansekia, but there was nothing they could do. Ferrin and his government had approved of it.

On the day of the anniversary of the 1998 Rosbani Conflict's start, a crowd of Rosbanis and veterans stood outside the Zukariaan Consulate building. In the crowd was Governor-General of Rosbaningrad, Alexei Druzban. He held a sign with Conrad's face on it and a giant red slash through it. He wasn't the only one with a sign like this - plenty others had the exact same sign. Another had a sign stating "RELEASE SHANSEKIA" and "END THE PAGAN MADNESS". They torched a Zukariaan flag and pelted the building with rocks. Books of the Zukariaan religion were burned in front of the building, the fire adding to the above-one hundred degree temperature. Men were drenched in sweat, but they didn't care as they screamed louder and louder. A man fired an automatic rifle in the air, others cheering him on. Soon more and more men fired their rifles into the air in an angered frenzy, but ever present Cohenian police were there to make sure no Zukariaan was harmed. The Police of Cohenia were mainly from the Brooklyn-Stuyvesant/Hamilton metropolitan area - they were all pro-Zukariaa. "GET BACK TO ZUKARIAA, IMPERIALISTS!" a protester yelled. Others joined him. More rocks were chucked at the building, one striking and breaking a window. The man was cheered at by his fellow protesters and dragged away in hand cuffs by the police. This, sadly, was only the beginning of a series of events that the protesters had planned for the day.

Richard Watt was drinking a nice, cold, foamy class of beer and watching the news, since it was presently his break for the day, when a rock suddenly smashed through the window of his office and right into his glass. Glass flung around the roam, and his palm was sliced open and quickly filled with alcohol.

"By Gods what's happening here?!" Richard stood up from his seat, clutching his hand, when he noticed for the first time that a massive protest was happening outside. Suddenly gunshots were fired, followed by cheers,"Godsdamned Rosbanis."

Several security guards rushed into his room as he shuffled through several drawers, pulling out a hand towel and several documents.

"Consul, we heard the window smash, are you alright?" a guard asked, noticing the consul's bleeding hand.

"Yes, yes. Do me a favor and bludgeon some of those fellows over the head," Richard said arbitrarily and distracted as he dialed a number into his cell phone.

"Yes, Consul," the guards took a bow and exited, leaving Richard waiting for the other line to pick up.

It did,"Yes, Consul Watt?" a woman's voice rang in from the other side.

"Yes, do me a favor and inform Pime Taradox that some bloody protesters have gone and assaulted my consulate. They injured my hand!"

"Oh my. Will do, sir."

"Thank you, dear," Richard hung up and turned around, watching the scene from his broken window.

Several guards in riot gear and wielding batons moved towards the crowd of protesters, quickly colliding with and bludgeoning several of them over their heads. A blockade was set up while they beat several Rosbanis severely, and then retreated behind it, yelling out orders to cease and scatter.

"Get your mongrel asses out of here! You're lucky we don't arrest the lot of you for injuring the Zukariaan consul!" one screamed at the Rosbanis, only to receive a hail of insults and a rock to his face, causing him to fall over and on to the pavement. It was only after he was lifted up that it became clear how on the mark that rock had been, as his head left behind several teeth and his eye swelled into a massive, pussy, purple bulb. Needless to say, this received several more beatings on the Rosbani's part. Richard Watt could only hope this silliness was taken care of quickly. If they were throwing rocks and firing off guns, who knew what an angry mob could do.

"Death to the Zukariaan Czarists!" A bludgeoned Rosbani screamed as sweat and blood dripped from his forehead. He continued screaming until he died from severe head trauma, his death quickly being 'avenged' by another Rosbani with an automatic rifle. Another rifle was heard, the Zukariaan shooter fell to the black asphalt with a piercing crack. His skull had split from the fall, and for some reason it seamed that all else had stopped. A Cohenian officer screamed "all of you Rosbanis stop if you don't want the same god damned treatment!" Another bullet rang out, another earpiercing crack was heard as the officer's skull smashed against the concrete he was on. Blood poured out of his skull, another officer squatted next to his friend's lifeless corpse. Either a tear or a sweat drop fell from his face to the concrete, his fist clenched as he stared. A camera snapped of the crying officer and his dead mate - the crowd still stood silent. The silence was broken within ten seconds, five officers opened fire on the protesting crowd. The Zukariaan guards soon joined in on the attack, killing the terrorist protesters. The 'terrorists' fired their rifles at the Zukariaans and the Cohenians, the formerly peaceful square was now a battlefield. Admist the storm of bullets flew a molotov cocktail into the Zukariaan Consulate's broken window, an explosion soon followed. Rosbanis attacked Zukariaan guards with the butts of their rifles and shooting them when they were helpless on the ground, a tactic they learned ten years prior.

As time passed, more and more Rosbanis arrived and more and more Cohenian officers came. A helicopter flew overhead from the Jaredcohenian News Network, recording the carnage occurring below. "A once peaceful protest turned into what seems to be a war in the span of a few hours." The rat-tat-tat of gunfire broke his speech. "We have conflicting reports that the Zukariaan Consul was killed..." The camera zoomed in on smoke rushing out of the lone broken window, a worker in the Consulate jumped out an adjacent window still in the camera's shot. Thick, black smoke exploded violently out of the newly opened window. The camera zoomed out, back to the street where the 'battle' raged on. Nearly all of the Zukariaans had lost their lives to the Rosbanis and friendly fire from the Cohenians, the camera showed Rosbanis running into the Consulate and no one running out. More windows were opened, Zukariaans hopping out of them into the safety of the war zone.

Rosbanis shot at every Zukariaan in the consulate, but they were soon running out of bullets. By the time they reached the building's third floor, all of their magazines were empty. One screamed "spraying the Naairakuzees with lead was a waste of resources!" but was ignored. They had reached a locked door, they banged on it. "Open up, pizza!" A Rosbani yelled sarcastically. The door wouldn't budge, "who makes doors out of iron?" They smashed the butts of the rifles into the door to no avail. "Open up god damnit!"

Mondothian National Commission Building

Co-Chair Salhadin glanced at his watch, the other chairs were already at the airport and the plane was only awaiting his arrival. Looking around the room, it was mostly empty, the seats around the table were mostly vacant, with commissioners attending a variety of domestic and foreign meetings and events.
"Make it quick please, I have a plane to catch." he said brusquely to the presenter, some nameless acolyte of the priesthood that seemed to rule the foreign intelligence commissions.

The presenter bobbed his head, a poor choice of movement revealing just how poorly his suit fit.
"Yessir" he said nervously. "news from Jaredcohenia is that they're having a spot of trouble in Rosbaningrad." Behind him, the wall lit up with pictures taken from the news mixed with a few high quality overheads taken from satellite imagery.
"Rosbani protests regarding Zukariaan imperialism, started peaceful, but turned violent pretty quickly, we had a photo-sat passing through just as the violence broke out and we caught a bit of it before the news went out, seems that rioters stormed a Zukariaan consulate and it looks like most of the staff were killed."

The Co-Chair spoke up. "Interesting timing eh? Perhaps fortuitous, what's relations have to say?"

"It seems that most of Cohenia has no problems with the Zukariaans, but that their response could potentially tip that attitude one way or the other.Their advice is not to bring it up or pick sides just yet, but be aware of any dynamics and be aware of the situation, there will of course be advisers from intel and relations at the conference to keep you apprised."

Thank you very much, I'll be sure to let the other co-chairs know, now, I must get to the airport."

With the Co-chair gone, the National Commission meeting sighed collectively in relief and quickly got under-way

Consul Watt sat in the corner of the last untouched room of the entire building. He could hear the Rosbani's outside banging on the door, and several of his guards were sitting, ready to fire on anyone that got in. He had barely escaped his room. When he was watching the happenings outside, he had had enough time to duck when the Molotov came towards him. It passed over him and had hit his case full of things from home and his book shelves. Since then, most of the Consulate was dead and the outside area had become a battlefield. He could still, even now, hear gunshots and screams of pain. What was going on outside? Were the Rosbanis assaulting Cohenian police officers all over, now?

Suddenly, outside the room, there was a shot. There was a low creaking sound, the door slowly opened. Outside someone yelled,"Happy birthday!" and a grenade rolled threw the crack.

"Holy shit!" was all one of the guards had time to scream before shrapnel cut into his body and killed him. The other one was badly injured and dropped to the ground and began to gurgle on his own blood. The floor had been blown away, revealing the floor below where several bodies lay near a slowly approaching fire. Consul Watt, who had only survived because a bookcase had hit him, pushed debris away and stumbled to his feet. His ears were ringing and his nose was broken and bleeding in torrents. He wiped it away on his sleeve and stumbled towards the dying guard. Outside the room there was a great shuffling, but all he could hear were low thuds as his eardrums stopped ringing.

He fell to his knees and shuffled threw the guard's pockets, pulling out a key. He pocketed it and grabbed the guard's pistol. He could finally hear clearly. Then he understood what was going on outside. The grenade had not gone far enough away from the door and had blown it off its hinges-directly into the Rosbanis-and brought the walls with it. They were pushing rubble out of the way. It was only a matter of minutes before they would get in. Consulate Watt knew what he had to do, but could he?

He forced himself on his feet and to the window of the room. He was three stories up, and there was nothing at the bottom to catch his fall. Whatever. He had a better chance surviving this than with the Rosbanis. A chair later and the window was gone. He pulled himself to the sill. He had a lucky break. A floor below, the fires had caused an iron bar to jut outwards. If he could grab that it would lessen the fall greatly. He took the chance and dropped, but miscalculated and hit his groin on the bar. With a grunt he readjusted himself and dropped again, no longer really caring about the pain.

The fall snapped his shin in half and broke several ribs. He was almost unconscious, but he still had to move. Three stories above, the Rosbanis had broken in and were searching for his body. Consul Watt heard a gunshot. They must have shot the dying guard. With great pain he pulled himself to his feet and used the walls of the Consulate to keep himself up as he dragged his broken leg. He had to get to the front of the Consulate where a security vehicle would be. He could only hope that the fight had died down.

He reached the corner and found a massacre. Dead Zukariaans, Cohenians, and Rosbanis littered the courtyard and street. The guards and police officers had managed to mow down a good portion of the protesters, but they must have been overwhelmed when the Rosbanis turned on them. He stumbled now across the courtyard towards a security van. He had to get out of the area and fast. He reached the door, unlocked it, and pulled himself to the seat.

Home free. His mind filled with thoughts of home, of how amazing this story had been.

"There he is!" a Rosbani screamed, coming out of the main doors of the Consulate.

"Bloody hell!" Watt turned the ignition and was about to drive away when several bullets penetrated his van and into his side. His leg dropped to the accelerator and the vehicle lunged forward several dozen feet before smashing into a brick wall.

Consul Watt was dead.

The Stuyvesant Times
Hundreds killed in riot, 24 Cohenian soldiers killed

The Stuyvesant Daily Herald
Twenty four Cohenians killed, Rosbani terrorists slaughtered

The Daily Hamiltonian
Popinski: "Rosbaningrad Will Suffer" for riot

The Rosbaningrad Truth
War on Zukariaa? Druzban missing

It was a week after the massacre. Cohenia had lost nearly thirty men in the scuffle with total losses for the Zukariaan consulate and near decimation for the Rosbani terrorists (if you were reading the Herald) / liberators (if you were reading any Rosbani newspaper). Military presence had increased in the seven days, the Cohenian military even announced an annexation of land that was about to get destroyed by other Havenites. The military was to show the Rosbanis who, in a sense, was boss. The military in Rosbaningrad that once held two hundred thousand soldiers doubled her population, bombing flyovers were now a daily happening, the border between Zukariaa and Rosbaningrad was shut. Rosbanis had been screaming for war as the Zukariaans opened fire first and initiated, and they had been screaming for the federal government to intervene on their side for the attack on Cohenian soil - their pleas were ignored. Cohenia and Zukariaa were two peas in a pod, two nations allied from the start of the fifteen hundreds. The Rosbani State Militia was forced to be disbanded by Ferrin's decree, and without Druzban there was no government. Rosbaningrad was now the way it was before it was granted regionhood - Ferrin's puppet. In order to scope out the damage, Ferrin found it neccessary to see what had happened himself. Parliamentary elections were coming soon as well, by visiting Rosbaningrad himself he could promote the Monarchist Party and view the damage done to the Zukariaan Consulate.

Random location in the Bruxellan countryside, Bruxella

Alexei Druzban, thought to be dead by the Cohenians, sat in a computer chair in front of a metal desk alongside numerous other Rosbani 'liberators'. He tapped his cigarette on an ash tray, "men, the time to strike is now! The man who had held us like clay in his fist is in our home yet again, ignoring our cries for war!" He slammed his fist down. "Elections are soon, should the asshole be killed and the Republicans installed, Zukariaa's fate will be sealed!"

Another Rosbani spoke, "sir - the Cohenians and Zukariaans are both in APOC, wouldn't that lead to an invasion of the mainland?"

"No, you fool!" He screamed again, "Rosbaningrad Republicans will win the Rosbani elections! The Rosbani State Militia will be reinstated, you mustn't forget about those missiles that Ferrin placed near the border. They will strike Aiur, Rosbaningrad will triumph!"

"How will we go abouts offing Ferrin? Wouldn't that, you know, anger all of Cohenia and lead them to march their multimillion man professional army across the seas and into Port Rosbanin and rape our wo" a gunshot ended his conversation.

"Any questions?" No one spoke. "Good. Here's the plan." Druzban pulled down a map of Cohenia and Rosbaningrad. "Ferrin will be making a speech in Monarchist Port Rosbanin, at the Uranian Amphitheatre. There is a perfect location here" Alexei smacked a metal rod on the map "to place a sniper and end the totalitarian regime once and for all. We already have men in Stuyvesant to seize the royal family and kill Mikhail and do what every Rosbani male wants to do to Elisa and Kristina."

"Lucky bastards."

"Men, this will be the defining moment for the Rosbani Republic - something all of us have dreamed of since those imperialists took our land! God Bless Rosbaningrad!"

"God Bless Rosbaningrad!"

Uranian Amphitheatre, Port Rosbanin, Rosbaningrad Autonomous Province

As scheduled, Ferrin was to make his speech. He was initially in a dressing room, smoking a cigar and talking on the telephone. "No, honey. I can't be home for dinner. For God sake, Lisa, I'm in Rosbaningrad. Don't give me an attitude. I'll be home tomorrow, I promise." He placed his hand down on something, "yes, I'll be sure to bring my sex drive with me. I love you too, bye dear." Ferrin's hand rose and he moved it, it was placed on the head of a twentysomething year old girl who was 'servicing' Ferrin before his speech. She wiped her mouth and smiled at him, leaving the room. The Emperor stood up and rezipped his pants, taking out a glasses case from his pocket and removing the contents. The glasses case was repositioned in an inner pocket in his jacket, and he left the room to the stage. He emerged to cheers from the people, the Monarchist Party of Rosbaningrad. Ferrin's popularity with the people (at least the Monarchists) was very high. He went up to a podium and raised his arms in the air to their cheers, "people of Rosbaning-" a bullet ran out. Ferrin fell over in a loud thump.

At the same time, the Royal Family was ambushed in the Royal Palace. The guards were all overpowered by a large group of Rosbani Republicans. Her Majesty Elisa (Ferrin's wife) managed to escape with all of the toddlers, and William and Michael escaped too. Unluckily, Kristina remained in the palace. She tried to hide, but each room was sacked by the terrorists. She was found and raped. The princess was the only loot that the terrorists took - all of the gold and gems of the Royal Family remained in the castle.


Chaos ensued throughout the Cohenian Empire, from Rosbaningrad to Hamilton, from Estonsko to Knox people were going nuts. Not making the situation better, Druzban later appeared on television. He proclaimed a free republic for the Rosbanis - and said that they were responsible for the kidnapping of Her Highness Kristina and the assassination of Ferrin.

"At this time, the People of Rosbaningrad sever all relations with the Cohenian Empire and establish their own independent state, the Rosbani People's Republic. We are a republic by the people and a republic for the people, a republic that will not be abused by the Zukariaans nor neglected by the Cohenians! Without Ferrin, there can be no abuse! Without a royal family, there can only be success! We have left the former princess, Kristin, alive." The camera was moved to a hog tied Kristina, hanging from the ceiling with a metal hook going in her. Her makeup ran down her face from her crying. "Her life can only be guaranteed if Cohenia allows the Rosbani Republic to exist!"


Inside Hamilton, Michaell cried watching the video. He was alone - his sister being tortured by some BDSM freaks and the location of the rest of his family unknown. He didn't know the state of his father, either. Ferrin was shot in the chest, that's all he knew. It was now Michael's turn to lead his nation - but his attire was hardly that of a royal. He was wearing a pair of flanel pyjama pants and a tee shirt with "University of Cohenia" on it. He hadn't shaved, either - making him look less like he normally did. In his escape from the palace, he was cut by a bayonet wielding terrorist who Michael had subdued. With a rifle slung on his arm and his hand pressed against his wound, he stumbled into a square of the city. The majority of the Hamiltonians had been watching a large television screen that broadcast the news twenty four seven; Druzban had been on it explaining how the royal family had died. Michael listened and screamed "people of Hamilton! It is I, your prince!" They stopped and looked at him as if he had twelve heads. "I am Michael, Duke of Rosbaningrad and son of Ferrin! My father has been shot and I'm unaware of the rest of my family!" Someone screamed "like hell you are!" Police went to arrest him, a 'mad man' holding a gun. "Listen to me, I am Michael, Duke of Rosbaningrad! Lift up my shirt!" The police did, for some reason listening to the mad man. On his stomach was a strange, genetic birthmark that all of the Cohenian Royal Family had. "Your Highness!" a police officer exclaimed, bowing his head. The crowd followed suit, obeying the Duke. "My people, this is no time for us to riot! We have a problem to deal with!"

"What can we do, Your Highness?" a man yelled.

"We must show the Rosbanis who's boss." A bullet rang out, another came afterwards.

(OOC: if anyone wants to comment on what's going on, go ahead.)

“Essentially the problem is, we simply don’t know if they’re interested” said Fenlon sipping coffee. The Chancellor had a point. There was no formal interest expressed by the Doomani’s into what had, so far, been a matter between soley the Cohenians and the Zukaarians.

“We can’t interevene directly, since we’re going to offend both the Cohenians, the Zukaarians, let alone the Questarians, and there’s enough trade there that they could do us a fair bit of hurt. On the flip side, if we don’t do anything, the Doomani’s could have a fleet heading there, and we’ll be none the wiser until one of our subs detect it, or, worse, one of our trade convoys. If they land there, we’ll have to write any idea off, since, as I’m sure General lampeeter will tell you, it simply isn’t clever to lock horns with the Doomies on land”, he added, summing up the previous five minutes of conversation nicely.

“Indeed” said Pembers, somewhat gravely. “I still think we should be able to do something, I’ve been reading reports from various contacts we have inside Cohenia… a lot of people think things are at boiling point. If we can assist them until, assuming there indeed is a risk of, civil war breaking out, then we can intervene, in the name of ‘Internal APOC security’. Not that it’ll mean much, but I think we might get some implicit support from the Cravanians there, since they don’t have any interest in seeing things around here go further south.”

“The Cravanians would help?” asked Fenlon, somewhat cautious. Barring co-ordinating their pirate controls in Arterus, military co-operation had been somewhat short on the ground after the Haven War, “and besides, surely it’s too far away from them?”

“No idea,” commented the foreign minister truthfully, “ but they might have ears in the region…Boomers, and the such…if we’re doing this quietly, we’re going to need every bit of data we can get, from flotillas of Submarine tenders in the open ocean to anything we can pick up from land based planes in Aunesia. If the Cravanians have got ears in that part of the world, they could at least pass on what they figure from passive SONAR. I was looking at the opinion polls recently… it doesn’t seem they take the Doomani bastardisation of Catholicism too fondly, they might even lend us a bit of Sat time.”

“Sats?” asked the Chancellor, remembering he himself had authorised many billions of Northfordian pounds himself for the large Northfordian Satellite network.

“Yes, Sats.” said Pember quietly. “Satellites aren’t magic, and we would need to move our geostationary ones to get a good look at the Doomies. The world is a big place. If we got caught repositioning them… questions could be asked. The Cravanians on the other hand… being in NATO, they could do something with relative ease, after all, they’re supposed to spy on us.”

The chancellor paused for a moment. There was no “Deputy” Prime Minister in Northford, rather, if the PM was unavailable, the Foreign Minister and Chancellor were to ‘guide’ the Cabinet to a consensus, The Foreign Minister was to have jurisdiction over ‘external’ issues, while the Chancellor was to have control over domestic issues. The system worked well, if one ignores the Haven War. Here, the whole nation was on a war footing, and with Brookes gone, Tricker was able to effectively sideline the ‘check’ on his power.

Using the pause in conversation the chancellor took the moment to pause and think. There was no good reason not to support the idea. Brookes was in a convention at the moment, and realistically was as close as any Northfordian was going to get to the Cravanian government in these troubled times. Militarily, it seemed like a wise idea, the hadn’t fully drafted up the plans yet, but from what he could grasp, the key was non intervention and helping the Rosbani’s effectively to fend for themselves. Economically, he was not bothered, either, the Northfordian Government was prepared to foot the bill, after all, the cost of aiding an ailing state was likely to be several orders of magnitude less than funding another a war, and, realistically, had a good chance of turning a “profit”, if the government managed to get trade deals.

“Right.” said Fenlon, having made up his mind, “lets do this. You message Brookes, and I’ll message the Rosbani’s”

Pembers smiled, withdrawing two slimline laptops out of a drawer. Technology, despite being remarkably present in Northford, tended to remain low key.

Powering up the laptops, they both entered the secure Government wireless networks. Pembers contacted Brookes, who would hopefully get the message during the conference on his PDA. Fenlon contacted the Rosbanis, who would receive the following message wired directly by secure satellite to their governments front desk:

Provincial Governor of Rosbaningrad, Alexei Druzbin:

Greetings, friend. I am Chancellor Fenlon representing the Northfordian Government. While, officially, our Head of Government is presently unavailable, I contact you in the strictest confidence that I have the full backing of the Government, and, more importantly, the Northfordian people.

These are troubled times, and in troubled times, one must take exceptionally prudent actions in order to maintain security in all regions of the world. As wonderful as this ideal is, however, one realises the forces a state has to its disposal can not, readily, be deployed to accomplish this, since beyond a certain range, distance ‘from home’, if you like, the expenses significantly outweigh the benefits.

This is usually a satisfactory system. Problems in politics arise similar to nature. Politics evolves as species evolve, through competition with peers. In order to survive, maintain, and expand its position amongst the natural order, a species must adapt its tactics, and seek to exploit opportunities where they arise. Similarly, a nation-state must seek to do the same, ensuring that it can expand its presence where-ever possible, to ensure that is place in the world is not threatened, but rather maintained, and, if possible, advanced.

Rest assured, Mr Druzbin. We have no urge to colonize you, or exploit you for our own purposes. You are facing a situation where your character, strength and guile of not only you as an individual, but also of the population under your command, will be tested again and again. We seek to help you in these challenges, through friendly aid. Let me make this clear, we do -not- plan to intervene in your situation directly, but rather better equip you with the means to do it yourself. This does not simply mean guns, missiles and artillery shells. As neighbours to the Questarian Commonwealth and crucially close to our trade lanes you are in the unique position of being geographically local to a great deal of vital military, and intelligence infrastructure.

Should you be interested, please reply, with haste. In situations such as the one you find yourself in… wasted moments are very approximately equal to wasted lives.

With the most respectful of regards,

Chancellor Fenlon,

Northford.

Conrad looked down the sights of his hunting gun, aiming quite carefully at a rabbit (he did so because the gun would probably ruin the meat if he didn't specifically aim for the head) and rested his finger on the trigger. His german shepherd Rex stood attentively by his side, ready to retrieve his master's kill. But it was not to be.

"Sire! Sire!" the rabbit burst away as Conrad's assisstant ran towards him, where he stood in his personal hunting grounds (which were actually within the Palace itself).

"Oh for crying out loud!" Conrad screamed,"I hardly get any time to myself as it is! What the bloody hell do you want?!"

"I apologise majesty. I have dire news for you," the assisstant bowed his head in apology as he spoke,"It would seem that your cousin in Jaredcohenia, Emperor Ferrin, has been shot while in Rosbaningrad. We have no news on his condition at the moment."

Conrad's heart sank and his gun dropped from his hand. It hit the ground, causing it to fire into a bush nearby (where, incidently, a dying rabbit could be heard). The assisstant jumped at the noise, as did Rex, but Conrad's eyes were blank. He began to walk towards the exit, first past the assisstant from whom he snatched several papers and shoved out of the way, and then into the halls where he made his way to the main entrance. Anyone who passed by him saw his icey glare and moved to the side. When he made it into the main entranceway everyone seemed to want to watch what he was doing.

There in the middle of the main hall he began to scream,"WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY MINISTERS?! WHERE ARE MY GENERALS?! GODSDAMN IT ALL! I WILL KILL EVERYONE OF YOU IF YOU DO NOT GET MY THEM IN HERE TO TALK TO ME RIGHT NOW!"

It took several hours for his rage to die down, and only when his ministers and top military commanders were with him in his office.

"We're destroying Rosbaningrad. Right now," was the first thing he said as they all finally seated themselves,"they exist because we allow them to."

"Sire, are you sure?"

"Mobolise the military. I will not let the assassination attempt on my cousin pass without punishment. Every Rosbani is a threat and will be dealt with, understood?" Conrad looked each in the eye. They knew he was serious. He wanted every Rosbani in Zukariaa and Rosbaningrad dead,"One does not simply shoot at my relative and get off easy. I want each one of them to fucking suffer."

"Of course, Majesty."

"You know what to do. I will not interfere in anything but this," Conrad made this an extremely important point,"No Rosbani is to live."

"None sire?"

"None. Not one man. Not one woman. Not one child. Pull no punches."


Message from the Emperor
TO: Public Statement, Specifically targeted at those in Rosbaningrad and Alexei Druzban
FROM: His Majesty By the Grace of the Gods Emperor Conrad II
RE: This is War!

I don't know how you are still alive, Mr. Druzban, but you have officially crossed the line. You think you can simply run around your little corner of the world, which my dear friends in Jaredcohenia and myself have allowed much liberty? You think you can just go out and kill sovereigns? Well I have news for you, Mr. Druzban, you can't. And you will never do it again. No Rosbani will, this I can guarantee you. If my cousin is found to be dead I will personally see to it that you suffer a long and horrible fucking death, do you understand me you little shit? And if his daughter is harmed when she is recovered safely I will make sure that everything the Rosbani people have worked for is utterly destroyed. You will be but a whisper in the pages of history.

I will not be giving you a chance to surrender, maggot. Dead men don't surrender.

http://i277.photobucket.com/albums/kk47/Zukariaa99/miniconradlol.png?t=1207691625
SIGNED,
By the Grace of the Gods His Imperial Majesty Emperor Conrad II
Emperor of Zukariaa
Emperor of Shansekia
Emperor of Arterusia
King of Aiur
Duke of Taradoxica
Baron of Kahserbirg
Head of the House of Hüron
Head Monk of the Zukariaan Temple
42nd Sovereign Ruler of Zukariaa
Licenced Barber


In cities near the Rosbani border, such as Seslia, Rosbanis were rounded up in the streets and publically shot. Police officers burst into apartment buildings and forced all those registered with a Rosbani ethnic background outside. In some extreme cases people were thrown from roofs. It was an outright ethnic cleansing. It was the wrath of an absolute monarch such as Conrad that put such a horror into motion, and almost immedietly throughout the nation certain groups made an outcry at the treatment of the Rosbani people. Though the common belief was that Rosbaningrad needed to be taught a lesson, many people were against what Conrad was ordering.

Meanwhile the military went into overdrive. The entire thing remobolised for war. The Rosbaningrad situation was bad enough, but Zukariaa currently had what the government described as a 'hostage situation' in Romandeos as well. The fourth army moved to the border of Rosbaningrad. Several hundred thousand men and several thousand Nakils (as well as some smaller tanks) and Praetor IFVs awaited the order to cross the border and destroy everything in their path. Artillery was given the order to fire across the border into highly ethnic-Rosbani population dense areas and tall buildings.

Several hundred B-22 bombers began hitting high density Rosbani areas as well, but for the most part targeted areas that were believed to be likely hide outs of Alexei Druzban. Where he was expected, fuel air explosives were dropped. They would suck the air out of his hiding place and fry him. Little did they know that Druzban was actually somewhere in the middle of Bruxella being a douchebag.

General Imperial Prince Ferdinand, commander of the fourth army and first son of Emperor Conrad, simply waited for the moment. After these first strikes the command wanted to make sure they weren't going to cause a massive feud with the Jaredcohenians over attacks into their sovereign territory. It pissed off his father greatly, but none the less they did not wish to anger their good friends. A letter was sent to the Jaredcohenian military and Mikhail, asking permission to enter the territory and subdue what they called a possible 'Rosbani threat to Zukariaa'.

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Imperial Prince Ferdinand, General of the Fourth Army