Aksoem
08-06-2008, 22:35
Some Said that Aksoem's civil war had lasted for seven years, that was a lie, it had started when the Nationalists came to power, well over fifty years ago, and it came to an end, well, it never came to an end, but let's focus on the start shall we, 1951, with the end of massive warfare amongst the developed nations of the world, came a rise of bloated liberal gas, the developed nations were pinned down by their own citizens and forced to hand over their colonial possessions to a caste of people far too undeveloped to take control of their affairs.
IndentA puff of white smoke left the mouth of the aged Colonial War veteran, it seemed to hang in the air far longer than expected, "I've been there." He lamented, "Through every asset of the war, and aside from my little indroduction there, my story starts April 1952." the crowd was intent on hearing this story, the bar quieted by his words, "I was just a Desk Sergeant for the colonial administration, ninteen years old, fresh from College, of course, I only got in a months work before the bastards left, hung us out in this hostile country, the mainlanders only cared for their own lands and could watch us rot for what they cared.
IndentOf course, the blacks tried to take us unaware, bloody chaos it was, the streets rang with blood and bullets, we tried to teach them about Democracy, about how they'd have equal sufferage in this country, but they didn't care, just wanted to see us whites out of their homes, bloody rude is what it was, we tried setting up elections, but the bastards kept disrupting them, the more intelligent of them were rigging them, beating up the people who didn't vote for them, well finally we managed to get an election through, would have been anarchy if we hadn't." Another puff of smoke, he relit his cigar, having gone out through his long explaination, "Maybe it was because most of the blacks were dead, or scared to vote, I tend to think it was because we were so sick of them disrupting our elections, the Nationalist Party came into power.
IndentPersonally, at that point I was pissed off with them, and ready to have the Nationalists put together whatever they wanted, so they did, called it Segregation, of course, we all knew that had been going on for years, they just rebranded it and stuck up "white only" stickers wherever there was a clean wall, to be honest, we ought to have voted more peacefully, cos this really pissed them off!" A man in the audience got up, Sgt Jarrett closed his book.
IndentThe audience applauded, there were whistles of the short excerpt, Jarrett got up and took a few bows, the man from the audience walked in front of him, "Sergeant Jarrett, reading from his memoirs, A White Cloud at Night, the book has already obtained some controversy, which is why we are holding this private meeting for him, Jarrett will be answering questions later, until then, the signing booth is now open." The man smiled, moving aside, and letting Jarrett move over to a table finely clothed, the crowd too moved over, handing over three copies immediatly.
IndentThe sun had now risen past the window, indicating that it was lunch, Jarrett was still busy answering questions better saved until later, and signing books until his arm fell off, a book was tossed in front of him, a copy of the 1952 Nationalist Manifesto, "You want me to sign this?" He asked, that was the trouble with writing a book of this subject, you got a lot of nutcases.
IndentThe man stood before him was middle aged, he looked a little more like an accountant than a nutcase, but you could never tell, he wore horn rimmed glasses and brushed his grasy hair back with his palm, "No Sergeant Jarrett, We've read your book, we found it interesting, we'd like to offer you a political role." Jarretts eyes shrank, he pierced into the horn rimmed glasses of this obnoxious racist.
IndentJarrett stood, placing his hands on the table, "I am 76 years old, for the past eight years I've been apologising for my actions, for the past twenty I've been living in regret, my Grand-daughter still asks her parents, "Is grand-daddy a murderer?" My son won't speak to me, this book is an apology, I don't care what role you have lined up for me, or what thuggery you have intended for me if I say no, you won't have my soul back!" He kept his voice calm, trying not to alarm the rest of the group, "Get out, before I have you arrested!" He demanded.
IndentThe nationalist picked up his manifesto, "Rest assured Sergeant, it's no great tradgedy that we don't have you on our side, you and your family are safe." He left the room, not expressing any emotion as he turned away.
++++ ++++ ++++
Two Weeks Later,
Katlego, Financial District
The Financial district was home to row upon row of offices, they performed menial tasks each day, distribution, accounting and other tasks involving big numbers, it was a scorching hot day, Christmas had just ended, and everyone was still miserable about the return to work, not that they ever got happier about it, a group of men walked into the largest glass building on the street, in green blobk writing was writen the company name, Zacchaeus, a charity, dedicated to helping poor blacks out of the Slums post Civil War.
IndentThree white men stood opposite the street, one had the recognisable walnut panel sticking from the tip of his backpack, a beep on one of the mens wrists indicated that it was time to go, a deep breath before the action, the man was no older than 16, his presence on the street itself a mystery, due to be explained, he took the pack off his back, and tore out the loaded RPG-7, there was one immediate shriek, before the weapon was launched, the Rocket Grenade scooting over the street and piercing the glass framed front of the building, impacting on the interior and sending a fireball of glass and artex raining down.
IndentGunfire erupted from the center of the street, panic spread, the Police leaping into action, but unable to control the situation, as the smoke cleared, it became clear that the suspects had fled the scene, leaving behind three sports bags, an RPG-7 and two Kalashnikovs, Jarrett watched the scene on his hotel room TV, looked out the window at the pillar of smoke, maybe there would be an epilogue to his story.
(OOC: Thread for the ongoing civil war in my nation, between the Black Minority and the White former ruling power, if you'd like to get involved, I'm looking for people to be funding the White Radical group, or for counter terrorists to help find whoever did this, before Blackhelm comes asking, yes there is Oil, but it doesn't play an important part, and so help me if you come here and twist this story towards another Oil war I will find you! So you know everything, enjoy.)
IndentA puff of white smoke left the mouth of the aged Colonial War veteran, it seemed to hang in the air far longer than expected, "I've been there." He lamented, "Through every asset of the war, and aside from my little indroduction there, my story starts April 1952." the crowd was intent on hearing this story, the bar quieted by his words, "I was just a Desk Sergeant for the colonial administration, ninteen years old, fresh from College, of course, I only got in a months work before the bastards left, hung us out in this hostile country, the mainlanders only cared for their own lands and could watch us rot for what they cared.
IndentOf course, the blacks tried to take us unaware, bloody chaos it was, the streets rang with blood and bullets, we tried to teach them about Democracy, about how they'd have equal sufferage in this country, but they didn't care, just wanted to see us whites out of their homes, bloody rude is what it was, we tried setting up elections, but the bastards kept disrupting them, the more intelligent of them were rigging them, beating up the people who didn't vote for them, well finally we managed to get an election through, would have been anarchy if we hadn't." Another puff of smoke, he relit his cigar, having gone out through his long explaination, "Maybe it was because most of the blacks were dead, or scared to vote, I tend to think it was because we were so sick of them disrupting our elections, the Nationalist Party came into power.
IndentPersonally, at that point I was pissed off with them, and ready to have the Nationalists put together whatever they wanted, so they did, called it Segregation, of course, we all knew that had been going on for years, they just rebranded it and stuck up "white only" stickers wherever there was a clean wall, to be honest, we ought to have voted more peacefully, cos this really pissed them off!" A man in the audience got up, Sgt Jarrett closed his book.
IndentThe audience applauded, there were whistles of the short excerpt, Jarrett got up and took a few bows, the man from the audience walked in front of him, "Sergeant Jarrett, reading from his memoirs, A White Cloud at Night, the book has already obtained some controversy, which is why we are holding this private meeting for him, Jarrett will be answering questions later, until then, the signing booth is now open." The man smiled, moving aside, and letting Jarrett move over to a table finely clothed, the crowd too moved over, handing over three copies immediatly.
IndentThe sun had now risen past the window, indicating that it was lunch, Jarrett was still busy answering questions better saved until later, and signing books until his arm fell off, a book was tossed in front of him, a copy of the 1952 Nationalist Manifesto, "You want me to sign this?" He asked, that was the trouble with writing a book of this subject, you got a lot of nutcases.
IndentThe man stood before him was middle aged, he looked a little more like an accountant than a nutcase, but you could never tell, he wore horn rimmed glasses and brushed his grasy hair back with his palm, "No Sergeant Jarrett, We've read your book, we found it interesting, we'd like to offer you a political role." Jarretts eyes shrank, he pierced into the horn rimmed glasses of this obnoxious racist.
IndentJarrett stood, placing his hands on the table, "I am 76 years old, for the past eight years I've been apologising for my actions, for the past twenty I've been living in regret, my Grand-daughter still asks her parents, "Is grand-daddy a murderer?" My son won't speak to me, this book is an apology, I don't care what role you have lined up for me, or what thuggery you have intended for me if I say no, you won't have my soul back!" He kept his voice calm, trying not to alarm the rest of the group, "Get out, before I have you arrested!" He demanded.
IndentThe nationalist picked up his manifesto, "Rest assured Sergeant, it's no great tradgedy that we don't have you on our side, you and your family are safe." He left the room, not expressing any emotion as he turned away.
++++ ++++ ++++
Two Weeks Later,
Katlego, Financial District
The Financial district was home to row upon row of offices, they performed menial tasks each day, distribution, accounting and other tasks involving big numbers, it was a scorching hot day, Christmas had just ended, and everyone was still miserable about the return to work, not that they ever got happier about it, a group of men walked into the largest glass building on the street, in green blobk writing was writen the company name, Zacchaeus, a charity, dedicated to helping poor blacks out of the Slums post Civil War.
IndentThree white men stood opposite the street, one had the recognisable walnut panel sticking from the tip of his backpack, a beep on one of the mens wrists indicated that it was time to go, a deep breath before the action, the man was no older than 16, his presence on the street itself a mystery, due to be explained, he took the pack off his back, and tore out the loaded RPG-7, there was one immediate shriek, before the weapon was launched, the Rocket Grenade scooting over the street and piercing the glass framed front of the building, impacting on the interior and sending a fireball of glass and artex raining down.
IndentGunfire erupted from the center of the street, panic spread, the Police leaping into action, but unable to control the situation, as the smoke cleared, it became clear that the suspects had fled the scene, leaving behind three sports bags, an RPG-7 and two Kalashnikovs, Jarrett watched the scene on his hotel room TV, looked out the window at the pillar of smoke, maybe there would be an epilogue to his story.
(OOC: Thread for the ongoing civil war in my nation, between the Black Minority and the White former ruling power, if you'd like to get involved, I'm looking for people to be funding the White Radical group, or for counter terrorists to help find whoever did this, before Blackhelm comes asking, yes there is Oil, but it doesn't play an important part, and so help me if you come here and twist this story towards another Oil war I will find you! So you know everything, enjoy.)