Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Handles national defense and recwars
User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

This thread is a continuation of the "Official Battle Thread" on MCS, which is currently both plagued by Jeremy and threatened with closure by the MCS authorities. Anyone with sense may participate, even (especially) foreigners, but it's kinda limited to people who have a reason to be there.
The Story Thus Far: The Wider War

An attempt to expand the Shirerithian Empire turned ugly when a Shirerithian fleet (played by Erik) sent to drive Britannic forces off Redoubt Island (Maraguo) was fired upon by the forces of Bosworth (played by King Edward), an ally of Britannia.

The attack set off a war across Benacia and the Great Wesern Sea. On one side was Bosworth and its ally, Nova England. On the other was Shireroth and its ally, Batavia. Shireroth and Batavia won a quick victory over the Duchy of Gascony, a Bosworth colony on Benacia, and took control of the territory. Gascony was divided into a series of occupation zones, with Batavia getting the southern part and the various Shirerithian divisions, especially the Atterock forces led by Mel'Kat (played by Andreas), dividing up the north. The west was given to a Shirerithian puppet regime, the Gascon communists under Dennis Moore (played by Jacobus), and patrolled by the formidable Elwynnbrigaden (played by the Khan). The island of St. Jean, around the center, was occupied by the Shirerithian county of Hyperborea (played by Scott). A group led by a Nova English commando named Richard (played by King Josephus) continued to make trouble in the Shireroth-occupied region, but his forces were gradually whittled down by the Khan's patrols.

With the death of Edward, the King of Bosworth, resistance collapsed, and Bosworth formally surrendered to Shireroth. Shireroth received poorly-defined powers over Bosworthian affairs; however, the new king, Dominique (possibly played by Jeremy), repudiated the treaty. Kaiser Hasan declared himself King of Bosworth, causing several foreign nations to protest. Bosworth denied the move, and the status of the peace treaty between Bosworth and Shireroth became in doubt. Around this point, Antica, a friend of Shireroth's, sent a fleet (played by Chris and Braden)to Gascony to aid in any trouble there.

Richard's guerilla activities ceased when Mel'Kat, head of the Atterock forces, made a gentlemen's agreement with him to accomodate him and his people in exchange for peace. With Benacia pacified, action continued only in the east, where Interland attacked the Bosworthian capital of Shrewsbury. The Hyperboreans launched a raid on the Britannic colony of Darwin, hoping to find evidence that the Britons were illegally aiding Bosworth, but failed to do anything besides embarrass themselves. With Shrewsbury successfully defending itself from the Interlanders, and international condemnation of Hasan's occupation growing, the Shirerithians started a second round of negotiations with Bosworth's new king, Wentworth (played by ???), . The results were a second, more robust peace treaty, the Khan-Bellamy Accords, in which Shireroth promised to withdraw from the majority of occupied Gascony by June 29th, and from the Isle St. Jean on July 1st. Shireroth's allies Batavia began negotiating a similar document.
The Story Thus Far: The Isle St. Jean

The occupation of the Isle St. Jean, a small island in the center of Gascony, was left to Hyperborea, a island county from the far north of Shireroth. The Hyperborean forces (played by Scott), under noted commander Rhoti Inkenion, were appalled by the poor conditions in the island (which they called Sanyyikoth), and decided to aid its economic and social development.

A civilian government was set up, with Hyperborean priestesses Tenre Spinrion and Dale Arkion as unofficial leaders. Gascons were also accepted into high positions. Sosni Iudekion, a Hyperborean soldier, began training a Gascon militia to guard the area once the Hyperboreans left. Their efforts were moderately successful. Classes were set up to educate the Gascons, new agricultural techniques were introduced, some basic infrastructure improvements were effected, and the militia began to take shape. The Hyperborean occupiers became popular among many Gascons, especially their leader Rhoti Inkenion.

When the Hyperboreans left to raid the Britannic base on Darwin, the Khan of Vijayanagara sent in the ethnic-Babkhan Elwynnbrigaden (played by the Khan)to replace them as guardians of order. The leader of the Elwynnbrigaden, Hafiz Rhodri, was a mediocre and little-regarded officer with outstanding debts to a vengeful criminal mastermind, "The Badger". Hafiz was baffled by his appointment as leader, but hoped to use the profits from his position to pay off his creditor, who would certainly otherwise murder him.

The Babkhans proved unpopular among both the local Gascons, whom they treated roughly. They were also unpopular with the Hyperboreans, who had a centuries-long conflict with them over Elwynnese politics.

The Badger approached Hyperborean Sosni Iudekion, suggesting he bribe Hafiz to acknowledge Hyperborean leadership of the occupation. The Badger hoped that the bribe would enable Hafiz to pay him back. However, leaving Sosni's quarters the Badger was arrested by Babkhan forces, who had set the entire situation up as a "sting operation" to gain control of his criminal empire. In the disturbance that followed, the Badger managed to escape, and Sosni was shot in the legs.

Meantime, the Hyperborean forces under Rhoti returned from Darwin, badly humbled. They had found no evidence of Britannic violations, although only Atterock historian Kel'Jar (played by Andreas) understood what was really going on. Rhoti, in disgrace, returned home and resigned the command in favor of his unlikeable and neurotic subordinate, Kalon Lusav, whose fear of Babkhans mostly paralyzed him and prevented him from making important decisions.

Meanwhile, the Anticans, led by Commander Octavius (played by Chris)and Commander Indianensis (played by Braden) arrived at the Isle with a large fleet. They had joined the war out of long alliance with Shireroth, but with the signing of the peace treaty found themselves left out of the action. They waited and stewed in their quarters for a while, trying in vain to seek an audience with the unamenable Kalon, but were eventually approached by the Hyperborean priestesses and representatives from the Gascon militia. Alarmed by the approaching handover to Bosworth, as well as by the increasing aggressiveness of the Babkhans, they wanted to declare St. Jean a free state. They sought Antican protection against Shireroth, Babkha, Bosworth, and the various other groups likely to be offended by this. The Anticans discussed this with their Speaker, Aryeztur, and appear willing to talk.

Then Jeremy started being, well, Jeremy, and we had to move it all here.
The Cast of Characters (St. Jean Storyline Only)

Anticans
Commander Christopher Octavius, Antican commander
Commander Braden Indianensis, Antican commander (with an alcohol problem)
Ensign Katherine Valeria, assistant to Commander Octavius
Nelson Werner, assistant to Commander Indianensis

Atterockians
Mel'Kat, commander of Atterock forces
Kel'Jar, historian

Babkhans
The Khan of Vijayanagara (Ardashir Osmani), Minister of Military Affairs and governor of Elwynn
Hafiz Rhodri, Commander of Babkhan forces and military governor of St. Jean
Lt. Edward March, Zjandrian County Security Officer
Hatim al-Rashid ("the Badger"), Crime lord and loan shark, wanted by the government

Hyperboreans
Rhoti Inkenion, disgraced commander of the Hyperborean forces
Kalon Lusav, current commander of the Hyperborean forces
Tenre Spinrion, Priestess of Truth
Dale Arkion, Priestess of Beauty
Sosni Iudekion, Paladin, commander of the Free Gascon Militia
Lusyya Tartakion, Paladin Lotter (commander of a small unit)
Nithi Kirenion, Kyyrhasi (governor) of Hyperborea
Useful Cultural Information

Ardashir has posted a map of St. Jean and some information about its culture two posts below.

Aside from what has been posted, the Gascon culture of the Isle St. Jean should be considered similar to medieval France, although with some modern technology (especially the weaponry).

Although we will probably be making a lot of stuff up for this story, Bosworth of course has final say on all aspects of St. Jean culture.
Unfortunate Political Issues

Shireroth has promised to withdraw all forces from St. Jean by July 1st. Anyone still operating after that point had better find another country or a false flag to do so under, or risk annoying both the Kaiser and the Bosworthians.

Bosworth has flatly refused to have this storyline affect reality in any way, no matter how trifling, so at the end the island had better either belong to Bosworth, or not belong to Bosworth in a way that allows us to still tell Bosworth and the MCS that really it belongs to them.

Although we've signed peace treaties with Nova England and Bosworth, I've invited citizens from those nations to participate here in a military role. In-character, they will have to come up with an explantion for violating the peace treaty; out-of-character, we don't care.

KingJeremy
Posts: 16
Joined: Thu Jan 25, 2007 9:42 am

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by KingJeremy »

Despite the couple of vaguely insulting comments about me made in the opening post, I will consult His Majesty King Wentworth on the idea of indefinately continuing in-character story writing efforts such as this on Isle St Jean. I can't imagine he'll object providing it remains the case that the island remains both de facto and de jure Bosworthian through-out.

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »

It's not defacto Bosworthian again until the 1st of July. :p
KingJeremy wrote:Having only been Duke for just over a week i haven't had time to invest substantial amounts of time in the Island, which is after all just a small part of the Duchy as a whole, however here is what is currently availible:

Zoomed in map:
Image

Flag of Isle St Jean:
Image

Brief profile:
Isle St Jean fact file

Capital City: Pierrefeu
Region: Duchy of Gascony
Area: 12,600 Square Miles
Population: 169,245 Approx
Status: Overseas Territory of the Kingdom of Bosworth
Head of State: King Wentworth I
Head of Ducal Government: Duke Jeremy of Gascony
Geography: Isle St Jean is generally a reasonably low lying island with its highest point, Mont St Jean just outside of Pierrefeu, rising to around 784ft above sea level. However the most noticeable changes in elevation occur at the coast where sea cliffs measure up to 140ft above sea level giving the island a spectacular appearance from the ocean and distant mainland. Much of the once forested landscape has now been turned over to farming and so the rolling hills of Isle St Jean often support crops such as wheat and barley, however in some areas the once vast Forest of St Michael survives still to provide islanders and visitors alike with a stunning wooded landscape. Residents on the island must endure harsh winters and scorching summers in addition to constant high wind speeds all of which make life of Isle St Jean tricky, however these conditions have proved to be ideal for many species of native plants and animals. The River Fraternité is Isle St Jeans main natural waterway with its delta located slightly north-west of Aspremont while its source can be found near Silignac.
Backstory to the foundation of Gascony (no specific reference to the island)


Literary Reference in a backstory about Finistere
http://www.kingdombosworth.proboards60. ... &thread=94



Obviously more will be produced in time

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

Thank you, Jeremy. You have my apologies if I was excessively mean to you, and my apologies for underestimating the existence of Bosworthian culture. I appreciate your cooperation here, and if you made all of what Ardashir just posted in the last week, I appreciate that too.

Does Wentworth have another identity, or are we foreigners not allowed to know that kind of information?

KingJeremy
Posts: 16
Joined: Thu Jan 25, 2007 9:42 am

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by KingJeremy »

I made everything bar the backstories in the half an hour or so between you asking and me posting it :P That's largely down to the fact Isle St Jean has never been prominant in Bosworth previously so it wasn't the first choice of cultural development.

Wentworth is Scott Cairney, formerly of Greenuk

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

I am the singer of starsent songs
I am the seeker of the source of secrets
I am the center of the symmetry
I am the spark that spins the spiral


He visualized first the spark, then, at the bottom of his spinal cord, and began to draw the spiral from it. The first sweep circumnavigated around his waist, the second burst out into the empty space of the surrounding room. The third took in the whole of his villa. The fourth took in the gardens and a bit of the surrounding danze. The fifth circle included only barren tundra, but the sixth included both the city of Tala and the slopes of Mount Yaanek. The seventh included the entire island of Hyperborea, and the eighth (his visualization was starting to waver now) got a bit of Elwynn. Still he continued, holding each segment of the spiral independently in his mind. The ninth his Ardashirshahr and the Babkhan-occupied areas, the tenth got to Shirekeep. The eleventh almost perfectly followed the Shirerithian-Gralan border on one side, and the ancient boundaries of Treesia-nomai on the other. By the twelfth, he took in the Isle of St. Jean. He was visualizing the circle hitting the old stone cathedral in Ville St. Jean when the whole construct nearly collapsed. Better make it fast, then. He changed the angle of the spiral until it shot straight off Micras, straight through Chrono, beyond the fixed and dancing stars, and off the edge of the Universe.

Then he began to draw power inward through it. It oozed out of the void surrounding time and space, through the twelve concentric circles, and into his spine. He began to control the flow, creating nine smaller circles within his body, almost hugging the inside of his spinal column until they reached his brain. When the power had reached a sufficient level, he released his grasp on the construct, snapping the spiral inward until the entire Universe flowed in a single fluid motion into his mind. When he could bear the intensity of consciousness no more, he vibrated the sacred mantra <i>kai</i>, shot it out in the sacred mantra yyon, briefly united with the the aphaimek-zirandorthel that transcended the Universe, and opened his eyes.

All he saw was the full moon. In his briefly heightened consciousness, he recognized the moon, his perception of the moon, his perception of his perception of the moon, and so on in an infinite array, and then suddenly collapsed back into himself. Who was he? Oh yes. He was Rhoti Inkenion.

He sat for a few moments upon the rooftop of his villa, savoring the sight. He'd bought the home a few years earlier, as a retreat from even the comparatively tame politics of Tala. It was in the tundra outside his home city of Talisre, and had a good view of both Mount Yaanek and the sea on a clear day. It was quiet, clean, built of white marble and had a terrace on the roof for meditating, where he was now sitting.

He had come here often over the past ninefold, both to clear his mind and to forget about life. He had followed the penances set to him by the Priestesses, and they had helped. Not solved his problem. Helped. His own meditations had helped also. But he still refused to read newspapers. And he still refused to answer any of his calls. Any of the fifty eight calls addressed to him over the past ninefold.

Somewhere, someone was calling him.

The calls, he knew, were Kalon Lusav. First he'd shut off his cellphone. Then he'd turned off his landline. Then he'd told his email to send all emails from Kalon straight to the spam folder. It was of no use. The last time he'd received mail, there'd been a letter from Kalon.

I do not want to think about the Isle St. Jean he repeated, like a mantra, each morning.

Kalon would not have been his first choice to replace him. He had a good heart - and a good mind - but he was insecure and downright dependent on Rhoti. And Rhoti would have none of it. He was on "administrative leave", and he was going to recover his wits without Kalon asking for his advice on every single decision. He was going to spend his days meditating, walking, writing his memoirs, and NOT thinking of the Isle St. Jean.

...he gave up as he knew he would, went downstairs, and finally told his computer to give him all the information it had on the Isle St. Jean conflict. Had he really only been away for a few days?

Images of the Babkhans marching in and setting up camp. Babkhans. That explained Kalon's desperation, all right.

Images of the Antican fleet arriving, along with a brief speech by Speaker Aryeztur about friendship with Shireroth the brotherhood of nations peace for all people blah blah blah.

A picture of Sosni, his bottom half covered in blood.

A wanted notice, distributed by the Babkhan government, warning that a dangerous criminal was loose on the island.

The text of a treaty, and a picture of Ardashir Osmani and Jeremy Bellamy reluctantly shaking hands in a swanky resort outside Willow.

Posters by a group calling themselves Free Gascony, demanding the immediate independence of the island. Clashes between the Free Gascons and Babkhan patrols. A suspicious absence of clashes between the Free Gascons and Hyperborean or Antican patrols, which made Rhoti think of Tenre Spinrion. She was the blood-sister and name-sister of Valena Spinrion, one of the Nine, and had depths of deviousness and political intrigue that Rhoti knew he had yet to fully plumb.

All of the ingredients of a tinderbox, and the Withdrawal Orders coming in just a few days to light it. And it looked like no one had a backup plan besides "descend into chaos."

There really was no rest for the weary, was there?

Rhoti picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. Nothing. Oh, right. He reconnected his phone, dialed the number again. "Truth and Beauty warm," came the voice on the other end. "This is the Spiral Tower. How may I direct your call?"

"This is Commander Rhoti Inkenion," said Rhoti. "I'd like to speak to Kyyrhasi Nithi Kirenion. I suppose I have a favor to ask of him."
Summary: Backstory

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

I made everything bar the backstories in the half an hour or so between you asking and me posting it :P That's largely down to the fact Isle St Jean has never been prominant in Bosworth previously so it wasn't the first choice of cultural development.
HA! I KNEW IT! I'M ALWAYS RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING!
...I mean, thank you.

User avatar
Andreas the Wise
Posts: 5253
Joined: Sat Oct 27, 2007 10:41 pm
Location: The Island of Melangia, Atterock, Kildare
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Andreas the Wise »

Scott - if it's not too much work, could you copy and paste (either here or in Hyperborea) all the relevant posts up till this point? I just know you put so, so much work into and I'd hate to think of them just sitting in an MCS archives somewhere, and not on the Shirithian forum where it appears they belong.

Now, IC
Kel'Jar hadn't left with the others. It's not that he wasn't interested in Jasonian history ... but he was sure, with so many great people around, a little historian wouldn't be counted very highly, and the Baron or similiar would record the history. But here, he had a job. Here, he had a role - official historian of the War. The War was not over, and so neither was his charge. And when the war finally was over, would the history books record all the arguing? The honourless attacks in the last hours? No, they would finish by recording here, the Isles of St Jean, the place that (almost) worked. Melangians were fine swimmers, and slipping off the ship as it passed the island, had not been hard. He had made his way up the shore, dripping, but clutching his waterproof satchel containing all his notes, papers and squid ink pens, dry as a bone. For a moment, he turned around to face the water, and muttered a brief prayer to Sakat. "May I record with the wisdom that history is made, not written," and then turned back to face the island, missing the slight ripple in the water, as if an unseen beast had just touched the surface.

He strode up the shore and onto the island proper. It seemed different from when he had last been here. There were far more Elwynns patrolling the street, the Gascons didn't look as happy, and libraries did not appear to be being built at the rate they once were. What had happened to this place? He needed somewhere to stay ... swimming several miles was nothing too difficult for a Melangian, but he did require food and rest soon, or else he would not be in a good condition to record his histories. And to dry - the northern waters were far, far colder than those around Melangia. People barely seemed to notice the diminuitive, dripping figure stumbling his way up until he reached the one building he recognised clearly - the temporary temple set up by the Hyperboreans, and, verging on collapse, sat down outside, waiting.
The character Andreas the Wise is on indefinite leave.
However, this account still manages:
Cla'Udi - Count of Melangia
Manuel - CEO of VBNC. For all you'll ever need.
Vincent Waldgrave - Lord General of Gralus
Q - Director of SAMIN
Duke Mel'Kat - Air Pirate, Melangian, and Duke of the Flying Duchy of Glanurchy

And references may be made to Vur'Alm Xei'Bôn (a Nelagan Micron of undisclosed purpose).

User avatar
Braden Indianensis
Posts: 1378
Joined: Tue Dec 20, 2005 2:06 pm
Location: Number 12 Concord Street, Nafticon, Republic of Antica

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Braden Indianensis »

Braden and Christopher had been wrong about the name of the island's capital. It was Pierrefeu, not Sanyyinkoth; the latter was the Hyperborean name for the whole island, not its seat of government specifically, but the conversation they'd had with the Hyperboreans had been rather hurried and details beyond the immediate goal of the discussion were (perhaps intentionally) left vague.

Colonel Munier and Braden had recognized two components of the town's name: "pierre", meaning either "stone" or "Peter", and "feu", "fire." Because of the two possible meaning of "pierre", the the city's history could not be determined conclusively simply by examining its etymology.

The truth of the matter was that Pierrefeu was not the city's original name. Indeed, it had not even always been part of the domain of the Count of St. Jean, whose grim, grey castles peppered the island's landscape. It had been, rather, an extremely wealthy royal burg, owing its allegiance directly and only to the King of Bosworth; the Count had always coveted the town, and the lucrative wool trade of which it was the hub.

Now, all this happened some six centuries ago, and during that time, the central administration in Shrewsbury had little control over the king's most powerful and distant vassals, of whom the Duke of Gascony was usually one of the greatest. However, the ducal coronet was, in that period, worn by a succession of foppish and corrupt men, none of whom could successfully extend his rule over the fierce, cunning, and cruel Peter, Count of St. Jean.

Count Peter began by demanding that the town surrender without a fight, and by so doing retain its priveleges and the lives of its citizenry. However, they felt secure that, if the Count ever did attempt to breach their walls, the mighty Duke of Gascony would come immediately to their assistance, as it was his duty to defend the domains of his lord, the king.

The Duke did not come, and the King had no way of compelling him. The king's own forces were vastly outnumbered by those of his greatest nobles, on whose loyalty he largely depended in crises. Nevertheless, the town managed to hold the Count and his vassals off for more than two years, during which time Peter constructed a large, imposing castle about a mile and a half outside its walls. In later times, that castle would be the best preserved of all those he built.

When the king's city did finally capitulate, Count Peter showed no clemency. He burned everything that could be burned, pulled down the walls, and even ransacked the old cathedral, leaving nothing left of the town but little, flaming embers and scorched stones--hence the name "Pierrefeu."

The cruelties he inflicted on those suspected of disloyalty were many, and best summed up by the fact that the Babkhans stood in fear and wonder of him.

The most outstanding of these tortures, visited most notably on all the burghers of the city, was what would later be called "Peter's fire": the victim was bound hand and foot, his mouth held open with iron clamps, and was force-fed white hot coals. Once again, "Pierrefeu."

One might think that this cruelty and oppression would breed discontent and rebellion. It did cause discontent among the peasantry, but their rebellions were easily squashed with that cold-heartedness for which Peter had become famous. He never had to worry about a revolt by his vassals, who were genuinely frightened of him, even if they had little respect or love for the man. In a letter to the Duke of Gascony, explaining the difficulties that would be involved in any attempt to depose the count, the Viscount of Les Orrés wrote: "It is fitting that his blazon should be a leopard, for that is the animal to which he is most similar. 'Leo', proud, brave, and fierce; the 'pard', wily, devious, and treacherous."

"And that is the man at whose statue we are looking," finished Kel'Jar.

The statue was rather green and oxidized, depicting a man, dressed in full plate armor (of a very late model, produced just before gunpowder rendered it useless for practical military purposes), the shield of Isle St. Jean leaning against his legs, an unsheathed sword, tip against the pedestal, in one hand, and the other hand outstretched, thumb pointing down, to match the devious, mustacchio'd face revealed by the casket's lifted visor in an expression of doom.

"Reminds me of the statue of myself in Amity." Christopher stated.

"They depicted you in full plate armor?" Braden asked facetiously.

"No, but it looked absolutely ridiculous and got absolutely nothing about me right. Ended up looking more like a cross between Delphi Augustus and Steven."

"Aie," said Braden. "Unfortunate. Don't feel bad, though: at least someone erected a statue of you. The closest thing I ave is a bust in the Speaker's quarters, and it makes me look more like Ruth than anyone."

Kel'Jar coughed to regain the attention of the two Anticans. "If you'll excuse me, I have some things to attend to."

"Very well." said Christopher, "take care."

The Atterockian scholar made a slight bow, and hustled off in the direction of the south gate, hoping not to run into any Babkhans along the way.

"He seems to be headed for the castle," Braden said. "Perhaps it would be as good a time as any to examine its status, unless you've got to head back to the Bellerophon? I'm quite satisfied that the Guardsmen here are aware of their duties, and need no more lecturing from me." He was referring to the three Home Guard battalions he had ordered to patrol the city in conjunction with the Babkhans and Hyperboreans. An additional battalion was stationed in and around the Antican headquarters, acting as sentries and patrolling, meaning that the entire First Infantry Brigade was active around Pierrefeu.

"Eh, I don't think I'll be heading back to Bellerophon just yet."

Braden's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"Oh, they can handle things themselves. I had Ensign Valeria go ahead to send Bellerophon instructions on deployment and landside transfers."

"Alright then," said Braden. "Nelson, pull the jeep around."



The jeep squeaked to a halt. It could go no further without tumbling into the green, slow-moving waters of the moat (which were still very stagnant and smelly, despite all attempts to rid the ditch of obstructions), whereupon it would have been dashed to pieces on the moss- and algae-covered stones which protruded from the moat-bed.

The gate-house which rose on the opposite side was three stories tall, and made of grim, dark grey stone. The drawbridge and the chains which held it up were entirely new replacements. The gate-house was one story taller than the five-foot-thick wall which it ajoined, and one could pass between the two by means of doors on the second story which led out onto the ramparts.

The winched and cogged machinery which controlled the raising and lowering of not only the drawbridge, but also the iron portcullis which lay behind it, were housed in the second story, which also had tall, narrow windows with latticed, iron bars in them, out of which sentries could keep watch, and challenge any comers, as well as sleeping and eating space for them. The third floor had similar windows, but they were open, allowing for archers--or, in the case of the current occupants, riflemen--to shoot out.

This wall, which had formerly been the strong, outmost bulwark of the castle, had fallen victim to the same crumbling obsolescence which smote all traditional designs of that type. Not wanting to abandon the sheer terror value of a traditional castle, but also wanting to reequip the fortification to handle new types of weaponry, a later Count of St Jean had an additional perimeter wall erected. Relatively short but very thick, it could withstand cannon fire. It effectively made the moat utterly useless, but one must keep with the times. The eight corner towers were just large enough and strong enough to support the weight of the Home Guard's anti-aircraft guns.

"Who goes there?" demanded the sentry, a man with a deep, growling Korhalli accent, who had once been a lumberjack and was well-accustomed to this sort of yelling. Before anyone could call back, he said, "Ah! It's the Commanders! OPEN THE GATES!" Braden shouted his thanks, but the sound was lost amid the din.

"How long until you think you'll have the anti-aircraft batteries in position?" Christopher asked to fill the wait.

"Well, I ordered the guns to be placed on the outer towers this morning, before we left to supervise the deployment, so they ought to be nearly finished by now. They all seemed to be in place when we drove in, but the towers 'round back might not be outfitted yet."

The jeep passed over a single, long wooden causeway, which spanned a deep earthwork ditch (the bottom of which was lined with sharp, deadly wooden stakes), and passed through the open gate of the inner court. Men off duty were relaxing in the barracks, while those on duty were running about busily under the watchful eye of Ensign Valeria, who was supervising the whole, seemingly-orderless, but ultimately machine-like business from the steps of the keep. She stood waiting, hands clutched firmly behind her back, while the jeep rolled up and crunched to a halt on the flagstones, and then saluted as its occupants got out. She looked like she just ate a maggot-infested sewer rat.

"Close, sir. The Babkhans have been using the castle." Everyone knew how bad that could get. A very detailed account of everything the Babkhans had done was listed, despite everyone's reluctance to hear it, especially Nelson.

"Barbarians." Nelson said to himself. "Why a bathtub. You'd think that even savages on their level knows what a toilet is..."

"The only way I could get these soldiers to dispose of it was by promising hazard pay..." Ensign Valeria said, her voice trailing off at the end.

"Indeed," concurred Braden. "Back in Sylvania, even those poor rubes who have never seen a bathtub know what the outhouse is for."

"And then there's the matter of the Mayor of the House."

Christopher and Braden glanced at each other and then back to the Ensign in order to say in unison. "Mayor?"



"Hé! Quelqu'un est là? J'entends les marchepieds!"

The footsteps grew louder, and then a slipping sound before Roger Beaumont came face to face with someone.

"Bonjour! ou Bonsoir... je ne sais pas."

"Bon Jour, Monsieur. Je m'appelle Braden Indianensis... ehh... je regrette... je parle la dialecte Sylvanienne... pouvez-vous me comprendre?"

Roger squinted a little, and went over what had been said tbe sure he understood. "Oui, mais je me suis jamais rencontré avec un Sylvanien. Vous êtes très rustique." The man, Braden Indianensis, backed away from the door of the oubliette, and for a moment, Roger panicked that he may have been abandoned yet again. He could hear whispering in the distance, but he could not make out what was said.

"How long has he been in there?"

"It's hard to tell. The Babkhans aren't exactly known for their meticulous record keeping."

"Why hasn't he been let out yet, then?"

"The lock's been rusted from the recent rain showers. We accidently broke it earlier. We're supposed to be getting a technician up here soon with an electric saw."

"He seems a little off of his rocket, but who wouldn't be after being thrown in an oubliette by a bunch of filthy Babkhans?"

"Even if he is crazy, we can't keep him in an oubliette." From what Roger could make out, there were at least three people, two men and a woman. If only he could understand what they were saying, it would help calm the anxiety out of him a bit.

"Indeed. Besides, if he's harmless otherwise, he'd be a great help in managing this pile.

"Well, it would be good to have the majordomo around when we're cleaning up the place. He should at least know where the mop is."

"Allô?"

A man, a different man, bent down over the door of the oubliette. Roger smiled for a moment. "Oh don't worry. We'll have you out in a few hours." The man stepped back and out of view.

Roger's smile vanished. What did he say? What did he say!?

"Je parlerai avec vous dans une minute!" The first man, Braden, called from outside of view. "Chris, he doesn't understand Antican."

"So?"

"All you're going to do is make the prisoner panic."

"He's a 'prisoner', now?"

"He is obviously imprisoned, that makes him a prisoner."

That was now the third time in short successthat he had heard that word, and Roger was sure. "Prisoner" sounded like "prisonnier."

"S'IL VOUS PLAIT!" he cried. "S'IL VOUS PLAIT! LAISSEZ-MOI ALLER! LAISSEZ-MOI ALLER!" He began picking up bits of rock and throwing them at the trap door to the oubliette, kicking up quite a racket. "LAIS--"

"SILENCE!" Another man's voice barked. "Ou vous irez jamais de cette oubliette!" How many people are standing out there discussing him, Roger wondered.

The noise stopped, replaced by soft weeping, and the quiet, repeated, "S'il vous plait...s'il vous plait..."

"Merciful heavens, where is that fool?" Braden demanded, referring to the locksmith. "How long until that saw gets here?"

"Not sure, sir. Perhaps it would be for the best for us to continue onto the next matter?" The female voice again. A voice of calm as the male voices seemed to get more irritated. Obviously she was good at disarming potentially bad situations.

Beaumont could tell that even these new people were beginning to get worried. He heard their footsteps retreating from the trapdoor. He was doomed... "--POURQUOI, O CHERE SEIGNEUR--"

"Well," began one voice, barely even detectable anymore. "We can't just go on and leave him there, he's obviously distressed."

"Sure we can. Nothing we can do until they saw him out." The door at the far end of the hall opened with the cry of rusted metal against rusted metal.

"S'IL VOUS PLAIT! VOUS ETES SI CRUELLES!"

"So what's next on the list?"

"Umm... there's always the fu--" The door slammed shut. And locked. A cold silence descended upon Roger Beaumont, Mayor de la Chateau des Comtes de St Jean. The constant dripping of condensed water. The awkward constriction of the oubliette.

"...je partirai jamais... tout nous serons ici pour l'eternite..."

"C'est vrai. Nous parterons jamais. Les Anticans nous ont laissé, et nous mourrirons dans cette trou."

"Oui, je suppose que tu as raison. Mais, au moins, tu es ici avec moi, Gigi-Jizbelle..." Even if everyone else left him, his dearest Gigi-Jizbelle would be with him forever, her angelic little voice soothing all worries. Roger stared into her beautiful, glittering eyes as the rest of the day drifted away.



Colonel Makarios nodded as Captain Miranda briefed him, a faint smile painted upon his face. He was uncomfortable hearing that the Bellerophon was going to be operating alone. He was even more uncomfortable about the fact that Commander Octavius was not the one briefing him himself, but instead he passed it on rather casually through the senior Tactical Officer.

Aurora and Astreus were already in position, patrolling the waters around Martigues. Bellerophon was designed to take punishment, but her focus was not on anti-submarine warfare. That was the job of her accompanying destroyers. Instead, she was left with her helicopters to handle potential submarine threats.

Bellerophon's entire airwing was being transferred landside, along with half of her early warning aircraft. It made sense, so that no matter the direction, any would-be attacker would be confronted as early as possible. But Makarios was used to having all of that power concentrated on the relatively small area of the Bellerophon. If-- no... when an attack comes, Bellerophon would be operating more or less on her own, relying on nothing but what she herself came with.

The more Captain Miranda told him, the more Makarios felt uncomfortable about the situation they were being set up for. The more uncomfortable Makarios felt, the more he smiled to shrug off the myth that he might be uncomfortable.

"Ensign Valeria said that the Commander is leaving the remainder of the defense planning to you, but that he did recommend a good spread of sonar buoys around the entire island for the guardians to tune to."

Makarios nodded. Great, so it wasn't even direct frm the Commander to Captain Miranda. He flashed another grin. "Well, if we're sending our vipers landside, we should probably also transfer some of our tech crew. I doubt the Gascons are proficient in servicing them." They've probably never even heard of duct tape...



The sun was sinking low, disappearing below the shimmering sea. Lieutenant Philip Temwold reached up, and wiped sweat with a weary, shaking hand from his brow. It seemed unnaturally, baking hot for such a temperate, wooded landscape. Back home, around Marco, it would've been reaching peak humidity by this time of the evening, and the fireflies would be coming out. There were no fireflies in Gascony.

His platoon was making the return journey, on patrol between Aspremont and Frejus. Both of those towns had two battalions stationed within, to complement the existing Shirithian forces. Two battalions of Antican infantry had been stationed in all the major towns of Isle St Jean, except Pierrefau, which had a whole brigade, Salignac and Carcassone, each of which had one battalion.

There was supposed to be one platoon patrolling the road between each town at any given time, and it made for exhausting work, but it was vastly superior to doing nothing. Lieutenant Temwold took a quick swig from his cantine, and then called to his men, "Well, come along! Only a few more miles. We've got to make sure it's safe for the Jeaniards to vote, or whatever the hell they plan on doing." A hot wind blew the road dust as the platoon marched by.
SUMMARY: Some backstory. Defenses prepared.

OOC: If it helps you visualize, inspiraton for the statue of Count Peter was taken from this rather fanciful statue of King Arthur, by Durer: Image
Antican Ambassador to Shireroth and Babkha
Former Speaker of the Assembly of the Republic of Antica
Reporter for the Antican Liberator
Elder Guard of the Order of the Vorpal Blade

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »

During the course of the day the MoMA at Fort Foley, highly irritable after his discomforting trip to Willow (the food was awful, the vegetables were boiled to mush and everything was drowned in this thick black muck they called 'gravy'), had cause to send out several telegrams to various people concerning recent developments that had occurred while he was away.
From: MoMA
To: Commander Christopher Octavius, Office Commanding 'Bellerophon'

Your forces are operating in the Shirerithian Occupation Zone/Gascon Marches without authorisation. Withdraw to international waters immediately or else you will be designated as hostile forces and treated accordingly. Under any other circumstances your conduct would be considered to constitute an act of war. However I am feeling generous and will merely attribute this to a misunderstanding. You have twenty-four hours in which to leave.
From: MoMA
To: Kalon Lusav, Officer Commanding, Hyperborean Forces, Pierrefeu

Reports concerning your recent conduct have reached us from a number of sources. We are not impressed. A formal complaint has been drafted for presentation to the Kyyrhasi. Antican forces operating on St. Jean without MoMA authorisation have been given twenty-four hours to quit the Island. Your forces are to assist in the expulsion of the Antican Forces if, after that time has elapsed, they do not withdraw. Any failure to act on your part or any conduct that can be interpreted as collaboration with the Antican Forces shall be interpreted as treason against the Imperial Republic. Similarly if it is revealed that you have entered into any sort of local alliance or understanding with the Antican Forces that the Port Illumination Accords and Protocols and all other associated documents shall become null and void with consequences that shall be immediately felt. The survival of Hyperborea rests on your conduct in the coming hours and days.

Paladin Sosni Iudekion has been implicated in thwarting the arrest of a wanted criminal. He is to be surrendered to Hafiz Rhodri within forty-eight hours for trial.
From: MoMA
To: Nithi Kirenion, Kyyrhasi of Hyperborea

Kyyrhasi, may the truth and beauty of Zurvan warm your heart.

Antican Forces have been reported to have come ashore on the Isle St. Jean with the active cooperation of your officers on the ground. This is in clear violation of the spirit of the Khan-Bellamy Accord. Unless the officer involved, Kalon Lusav, takes a hand in effecting the expulsion of the Antican Forces it will be presumed that his act of revolt has the implicit support of Hyperborea. After which point the understandings reached at Port Illumination concerning Elwynn shall be a dead letter. It is for you therefore to ensure that Lusav complies with any orders he receives to assist the Elwynnbrigaden and Imperial Volunteer Forces in expelling the Antican Forces from the Island.
From: MoMA
To: Hafiz Rhodri, Military Governor of St. Jean

1. Report on status of preparations of defensive positions around Neu Rennes/Vacqueyras.
2. Avoid confrontation with Antican Forces until further notice. Use of lethal force to be authorised only in defense of currently occupied positions and or if fired upon.
3. Report on progress towards the arrest and detention of Hatim al-Rashid.
4. Await further orders.
OOC: I'm out tonight so no long posts I'm afraid. But you can rest assured I will make up for it later.

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

OOC @ Andreas: Cross-posting everything from the MCS thread would be an nightmare. I don't have time or energy for it now. Maybe later. BTW, please remember summaries on your posts.

OOC @ Ardashir: : I was under the impression that the Anticans had joined the war with an invitation from Shireroth and were therefore our allies and therefore had permission to use our military bases, of which St. Jean is one. Please explain more clearly what your view of the Anticans' position is.

By the way, Kalon Lusav doesn't know anything about this particular plot (or about a lot of what's going on on the island), but I guess your character has no way of knowing that.

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

Sosni woke up and immediately regretted doing so.

His leg was killing him. He supposed for a limb that had been shot only 48 hours ago, it was pretty good, but his brain was incapable of making those kinds of distinctions. He was going to have to open his eyes eventually, wasn't he? Oh well, nothing to it...

Right. He was in a dark, wooden room that looked nothing like the hospital and smelled of beer. That made perfect sense. Perrrfect sense. He was going to go back to sleep now.

"He's awake." It was Iusi Alision's voice.

"Good," said Lusyya Tartakion. "Listen up, Sosni. Don't try to talk to me, you'll only exhaust yourself. The Babkhans have put out an order for the arrest of Sosni Iudekion, and Kalon, may he be carried off by ice demons, ordered us to comply with it. Unfortunately, before Sosni could be sent to Shirekeep, he died of his injuries. Although the bullets hit only his leg, the blood loss was too much to bear, and it was compounded by several mistakes in the military hospital, which are being investigated. His body has been cremated in accordance with the tradition of a small Hyperborean sect that the Babkhans have never heard of and Kalon can't be bothered to look up. Luckily, none of this concerns you, because your name is Tori Edaktion, and you are a Paladin recruit wounded in an accident with heavy machinery aboard the ice-ship. Say "yes" if you understand.

"No," said Sosni.

"Well, you'll have a lot of time to think about it, I suppose. We're in a Free Gascon safe house in the north of the city. You're in a secret basement previously created by smugglers to house contraband alcohol. Just one of the many lovely places our new contacts have given us access to."

Sosni examined the cellar. "Well, there are worse places to be than locked alone in a big room full of beer...and paper. What's with all the paper?" There were stacks of it that reached almost to the low ceiling.

"Take a look."
Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!

Since the time of Peter the Cruel, our fair Isle has been under the yoke of foreign oppressors. Now we must seize our own destiny!

Free Gascony Day is June 29th. All patriotic Gascons will take to the streets demanding that Shirerithian, Babkhan, and Bosworthian forces leave us alone! After the demonstrations will be an independence referendum. Polling places are being kept secret to avoid foreign interference, but will be revealed on Free Gascony Day.

Organize cadres of Free Gascons among your friends and relatives. Those showing their dedication to the cause will be approached by our representatives.

Long live the St. Jean Republic!
Solidarity with our Antican comrades!
Death to the Kaiser, the Khan, and the King of Bosworth!

Image
"That's...weird," said Sosni. "Say, doesn't the Temple of Truth control the only printing press on the island?"

"Maybe," said Lusyya. "I hope you don't mind if Pierre, Richard, and Simon come in later. They're going to be distributing these around the city and the cadres across the island. Especially on" (and she emphasized the name) "Rhoti Inkenion Way."

"Man," said Sosni. "We're all going to die, aren't we?"

"Trust Tenre," said Lusyya. "She's Valera's blood-sister, after all. Oh, and now that you're injured, I've personally taken over the training of the Free Militia."

"Oh Sacred Truth and Beauty..."

"That's right. Anyone who confronts them is going to have a very nasty surprise."
Summary: Kalon will follow with Babkhan order to hand over Sosni, but Hyperboreans under Tenre and Lusyya fake Sosni's death to avoid compliance. Free Gascons are printing and distributing fliers advertising island-wide protests and referendum on June 29th.
Hatim had slept in a ditch last night. It was a nostalgic feeling. He hadn't slept in a ditch since his teens, when he'd been a drug runner for one of the half-caste youth gangs back in Elwynn. But those were memories he could have done without.

After the run-in with the Babkhan guards, he'd crouched in a barn for a few hours until he suspected they were gone. He didn't go back to his house; he assumed they knew where it was. He went first to an abandoned field where he'd cached most of his useful goods in preparation for exactly this occasion. Most important were the various currencies and promissory notes, some real, some counterfeit, all believable. Then he devoted himself to the task of getting the hell off this island.

It was no use. The Babkhans almost certainly had a watch on him. He tried to bribe the Hyperboreans on the daily airship flight, but they just told him that as far as they knew there was no rule that one could buy an unscheduled berth on the airship by offering extra money. When he tried to explain that he was breaking the rules, they kindly explained that there was no rule that extra money allowed one to break the rules. After a few minutes of this, his exasperation was such that he tried his luck with the Antican forces, only to learn that none of them were leaving the island in the next few days.

For his next step, he returned to his cache and touched up his disguise. Nothing fancy, but enough extra hair and tinted lenses that the Babkhans who had seen him before wouldn't immediately recognize him as the same person. There was that damn gold tooth, but if he kept out of trouble and kept his mouth shut, no one would need to see it. Then he went searching through the city's bars, evaluating the damage to his team of henchmen.

It had been a good move, sending them all through different routes. Fat Omar was gone, but Big Dan and Little Dan had avoided capture. He cursed under his breath. Fat Omar had been his first henchman, all those years ago. He vowed that when this situation was over, he would personally kill whoever had touched him.

So Big Dan, Little Dan, and the Badger sat down at the pub and plotted their next move. Big Dan was a Stormarker, whose real name was some like Viking polysyllable like Donderthrottirsomething. He was remarkable mostly for his stature of seven feet, his skill with an axe, his skill with a rifle, and his ability to out-intimidate the large burly henchmen of other crime lords.

Little Dan was a Gaeltachtan, a member of the degenerate race that had succeeded the ancient Treesians in their northeastern isle. His real name was something like Daenir, and Hatim suspected he had more Treesian blood than most of his countrymen - his calculating demeanour could be downright Vembrian at the best of times. Little Dan was smarter than the Badger, which would usually have earned him a quick shot in the back before he tried to betray his employer; in Dan's case, his status as a member of a slave race meant he could never become a crime lord himself and the Badger was in no danger of him outgrowing his subservient role. Just in case, Hatim made sure to pay him a salary higher than any three of his other servants; just in case just in case, Hatim had his aged mother locked up in a dungeon off in Islus, where she was treated with the utmost care and respect contingent on his continued loyalty. Or so he told Little Dan. In fact, he'd killed her a few years back when she started getting annoying.

The Badger started. "I tried to find us a way off the island this morning" (he neglected to mention he'd had no intention of bringing them along), but -".

Little Dan interrupted him, one of his annoying habits. "I already investigated that. The Babkhans are too suspicious, the Hyperboreans are too honest, and the Anticans' timetable doesn't work for us. We're stuck."

The Badger showed his usual grimace of annoyance at being pre-empted. "Exactly. So now we've got to -"

"Excuse me," said Little Dan. "I've found us some friends who might be useful. Hatim, Dan, please, meet Simon."

A Gascon came to their table. "How do you do?" he asked, in a terrible accent, and then reverted to Gascon. "Parlez-vouz Gasconais?"

"No," said the Badger.

"Oui," said Little Dan. "I will be interpreter. Simon here represents the Free Gascon movement. He hopes to cause chaos for the Babkhan forces and organize an election. I have told him that we might be able to help."

"Oh, yes," said the Badger. He'd been causing chaos for the Babkhans for fifty years, and had no intention of stopping now. He'd even organized an election once, for Mayor of Islus. He'd organized it so well that three of the four candidates (the "get tough on crime candidates, if he remembered right) had had to regrettably drop out of the debate due to pressing family business, specifically the need to attend their own funerals.

"Do you know the time and composition of each of the major Babkhan patrols around Pierrefeu?" asked Hatim.

"...no," admitted Simon. "Is that important?"

"Simon," said the Badger, "please take the three of us to the safest, best hidden place your people can find, and bring enough beer to last twenty grown men a week. I have a feeling this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Summary: The Badger signs on as an advisor the Free Gascons
From: Kalon Lusav, Officer Commanding, Hyperborean Forces, Pierrefeu
To: MoMA

Sosni Iudekion died from injuries your people inflicted upon him.

I will assist in expediting the speedy departure of the Antican forces with pleasure.

However, please confirm that in the case of Antican noncompliance you are explicitly ordering I use military force against an allied nation with superior naval firepower.

I humbly repeat the request of my past three communications with you that Rhoti Inkenion be restored to his previous position and that I be relieved of command.
Summary: Kalon wants the Anticans out, but understandably thinks the Khan is insane for suggesting he fire on an allied force

I will be in Amman, Jordan tomorrow, and may not have access to the Internet for two to three days. If there's anything that desperately requires action by the Hyperboreans, someone else is welcome to take control of them as long as they can have them act in-character.

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »

OOC @ Scott: The Khan was terribly grouchy after the long flight back from Willow and various digestive problems associated with the poor quality of British cuisine. As a Babki the Khan has an instinctive antipathy towards and paranoia about the Anticans, one of his ancestors was humiliated by the outcome of a duel with an Antican Naval Infantryman at the Battle of York which resulted in the loss of the Terre d'Riches. With a chip like that on his shoulder the realisation that the Anticans are technically allies would only return to him fitfully, if at all.

KingJeremy
Posts: 16
Joined: Thu Jan 25, 2007 9:42 am

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by KingJeremy »

This is meant to be fun you say? What the hell do you call this?

http://www.micras.org/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1364

That is far beyond the lines of roleplay and fun, this is malicious spite! If i wanted to spend my time with nobs who're trying to do me over constantly i'd go and live near an egyptian souvenir market and walk around that all day. Harald and Hesan, you make me sick, literally sick, how you can even call yourself human is beyond me. Especially Hesan in fact, (because i always knew harald was a dick wad) because I actually looked up to you a bit as someone who'd achieved a decent military career and seemed to be an alright guy, but now I see that i might as well of flown over to toronto and asked a convicted drug dealer questions about life in Canada because you've turned out to be just as spiteful towards anyone who even shows signs of opposition to you as some thug in the street.

I urge all remaining human beings in Shireroth (everyone but aforementioned pair and the predictably untrustworthy ardashir) to exorcise your nation of these scum and send them back to which ever hell hole they crawled out of before they ruin your nation all together, and in that respect time is short.

User avatar
Chrimigules
Posts: 473
Joined: Sun Jan 08, 2006 8:28 pm
Location: Ano, Kaikias, Antica
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Chrimigules »

TO: Minister of Military Affairs for the Imperial Republic of Shireroth

Firstly, the Antican taskforce currently operating in the vicinity of Isle St Jean was deployed for the purposes of restoring the peace. Following the signing of the Khan-Bellamy Accord, it was deemed that the abandonment of the island by Shirerithian forces would be detrimental to the peace.

Secondly, Antica has had a long-established goal of defending the desire for popular sovereignty in a people who wish to reject oppression. The return of Isle St Jean to Bosworth control would only serve to crush any popularly supported progress made during the Shirerithian tenure.

Thirdly, the nascent independence movement in Isle St Jean, recognizing that it was being abandoned by Shireroth and that they cannot defend themselves without foreign assistance, has explicitly supported the current Antican presence.

Fourthly, not being a signatory to the Khan-Bellamy Accord, the Antican Commonwealth is not required to heed its advice.

And so, with consultation with the Free Gasconian Government based in Pierrefeu, there are a few items being requested and required of you.

Firstly, should any Shirerithian molest or harass the people of Isle St Jean, or destroy Jeaniard property before their required departure time, they will be dealt with creatively.

Secondly, if the Shirerithian forces present in Gascony attempt to push the Antican taskforce and/or the Free Gascon Movement off of the Island, it will not accomplish this before the departure time as required by the Khan-Bellamy Accord.

Thirdly, the required departure time will be enforced.

Thank you, and you can expect an official send off on the morning of 1 July. We will have our artillery prepared for a gun salute, should you choose either to leave or to stay.

Respectfully Yours,

B. Indianensis, Commander, Home Guard
C. Octavius, Commander, Bellerophon Carrier Group
To all Shirerithian soldiers stationed on Isle St Jean

Should you feel an overwhelming moral obligation to stay and defend the sovereignty of the People of St Jean from the tyrannical oppression of Bosworth, do not fear the Khan-Bellamy Accord. If your cause is true, if you truly care about the great works you have done for us, works which you are being wrested from unfairly, you will not be cast away when your less passionate brethren abandon us.

The Free Gascon Militia welcomes all with a noble heart to join our ranks.
BY ORDER OF THE CIRCLE OF FREE GASCONS:

Be it known that no disorder from any quarter shall be tolerated during the demonstrations and referendum.

All demonstrations shall be peaceful, and no one shall attempt to obstruct the demonstrations or the referendum as long as this is the case.

Any one protesting in such a manner as would cause a breach of the peace, or generally upset the public safety, or anyone attempting to harass protesters operating within these restrictions, enlisted or otherwise, shall be arrested for riot.
SUMMARY: Antican defense preparations continue. The independence demonstrations and referendum are scheduled for tomorrow.

OOC: Braden and I will be working on a second post later today, to provide some more meat.
Image

User avatar
Andreas the Wise
Posts: 5253
Joined: Sat Oct 27, 2007 10:41 pm
Location: The Island of Melangia, Atterock, Kildare
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Andreas the Wise »

KingJeremy wrote:This is meant to be fun you say? What the hell do you call this?

http://www.micras.org/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1364

That is far beyond the lines of roleplay and fun, this is malicious spite! If i wanted to spend my time with nobs who're trying to do me over constantly i'd go and live near an egyptian souvenir market and walk around that all day. Harald and Hesan, you make me sick, literally sick, how you can even call yourself human is beyond me. Especially Hesan in fact, (because i always knew harald was a dick wad) because I actually looked up to you a bit as someone who'd achieved a decent military career and seemed to be an alright guy, but now I see that i might as well of flown over to toronto and asked a convicted drug dealer questions about life in Canada because you've turned out to be just as spiteful towards anyone who even shows signs of opposition to you as some thug in the street.

I urge all remaining human beings in Shireroth (everyone but aforementioned pair and the predictably untrustworthy ardashir) to exorcise your nation of these scum and send them back to which ever hell hole they crawled out of before they ruin your nation all together, and in that respect time is short.
Jeremy, your concern about exorcism is noted. However, jumping on to take this as a Shirithian move is innapropriate. I refer you to this. I understand your feeling of disgust and do not personally approve of the Stomarkian actions, but I also don't like you cluttering up a thread devoted to the Isles of St Jean with a matter that isn't Shirithian, and affects the whole of Bosworth. I appreciate you're probably going to tell me to stuff something somewhere. Ah well, I'm trying to be nice about this, and don't want to argue it.
In summary: Concern noted. Wrong thread to comment. Not our problem, but I'm still going to try and help you solve it.

And since I'm taking this time to do an OOC post, Braden, that use of Kel'Jar was done beautifully :thumbsup
The character Andreas the Wise is on indefinite leave.
However, this account still manages:
Cla'Udi - Count of Melangia
Manuel - CEO of VBNC. For all you'll ever need.
Vincent Waldgrave - Lord General of Gralus
Q - Director of SAMIN
Duke Mel'Kat - Air Pirate, Melangian, and Duke of the Flying Duchy of Glanurchy

And references may be made to Vur'Alm Xei'Bôn (a Nelagan Micron of undisclosed purpose).

User avatar
Braden Indianensis
Posts: 1378
Joined: Tue Dec 20, 2005 2:06 pm
Location: Number 12 Concord Street, Nafticon, Republic of Antica

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Braden Indianensis »

OOC: Thanks, Andreas. I do what I can. :angel

@Jeremy: As Andreas said, neither Hasan nor Harald is involved in the recwar, so please don't beclutter us with your loquacity, or somesuch.
Antican Ambassador to Shireroth and Babkha
Former Speaker of the Assembly of the Republic of Antica
Reporter for the Antican Liberator
Elder Guard of the Order of the Vorpal Blade

User avatar
Andreas the Wise
Posts: 5253
Joined: Sat Oct 27, 2007 10:41 pm
Location: The Island of Melangia, Atterock, Kildare
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Andreas the Wise »

And before you say something obvious, he means this recwar thread on Isle St Jean, not the whole thing :rolleyes
The character Andreas the Wise is on indefinite leave.
However, this account still manages:
Cla'Udi - Count of Melangia
Manuel - CEO of VBNC. For all you'll ever need.
Vincent Waldgrave - Lord General of Gralus
Q - Director of SAMIN
Duke Mel'Kat - Air Pirate, Melangian, and Duke of the Flying Duchy of Glanurchy

And references may be made to Vur'Alm Xei'Bôn (a Nelagan Micron of undisclosed purpose).

User avatar
Braden Indianensis
Posts: 1378
Joined: Tue Dec 20, 2005 2:06 pm
Location: Number 12 Concord Street, Nafticon, Republic of Antica

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Braden Indianensis »

"Madame Voleuse a volé mon chèvre," testified Jean-Paul de Moreville.

"Madame Voleuse stole my goat," Colonel Munier translated. Her voice caught up with that of de Moreville as the two echoed around the chamber, dancing amid the soaring, girthy columns and booming impressively off of the ribbed ceiling. The great hall was rendered of pale grey stone, and, while impressive and beautiful, lacked, due to Count Peter´s limited budget and (somewhat uncharacteristic) humility, the space and grandeur of a cathedral nave.

This was fortunate, in a way, for the presence of some of the things within it would´ve marred such divinity: several wooden tables which, while intricately carved with great skill, were still comparatively quite earthy and would´ve seemed out of place, especially considering that the surface of one had been deeply scorched by the bottom of a Babkhan kettle, and would not come clean despite all the Amazing Citrus Furniture Polish in the world; and the two unscrubbed peasants standing at them, their faces smudged with grime, their fingernails black into the quick, their dreadful odor much offending the heavily-perfumed (though, in reality, no-less-unwashed Colonel Munier.)

Up at the high table (the scorched one), which was raised up on a dais at the far end of the chamber, Christopher and Braden sat. Commander Octavius´s forehead lay resolutely in his hand.

"Why are we dealing with this?" he moaned.

"Who else would deal with it?" Braden asked.

"It´s a goat!" intoned Christopher.

"It´s HIS goat."

"It´s just a goat!"

"Try telling him that.&e told, they were dragged, kicking and screaming to take up the administration of justice. The Circle couldn't be counted on to do it: they were corrupt and hypocritical, and what's more, now that they were in control, everyone was starting to realize it. Yes, they might dispense a ruling, if they could be bothered to even hear a case, but not justice. By mass petition, the two Antican Commanders somehow found themselves handed emergency judicial power over the entire vicinity. Christopher was quickly thinking up ways to defer this responsibility elsewhere. He came there to keep the peace, not decide whether someone had stolen a goat or not.

"Why do you think she stole it?" Christopher asked, his head still in hand. Munier translated the question, and the answer.

"She stole one of my kids last year."

"What!?" demanded Braden, sure that he had misheard.

"You know, a baby goat."

"Ah."

"And then, a few days afterward, I saw her churning butter!"

"What does that have to do with anything? A lot of people churn butter, Christopher said.

"Well, whre did she get cream to put in that butter, eh? From my goat, that's where!" Madame Voleuse started up at this, and began protesting her innocence. Colonel Munier, somewhat annoyingly, shifted from one to the other.

"That's not true, I bought it at the cremerie, I--"

"They sell butter at the cremerie," Munier translated his interruption, gaining a sharp warning from the commanders addressed to nobody in particular, annoying her more. "Why didn't you buy some there?"

"Maybe I like the taste of homemade better!"

"A likely story! Besides, you can't afford the cremerie!"

"You don't know that! Your honors, he is attacking my credit history--"

"She is obviously a witch, why else would a woman argue so much?" Braden stood up from the table and banged his gavel for silence.

"Enough of this! Monsieur de Moreville, since you have no more compelling evidence than what you´ve just offered--which is circumstantial, to say the very, very least--then this case is dismissed. Good luck finding your goat." He sounded the gavel once more. The door opened, and Ensign Valeria slipped through before pushing it closed again. Both of the Commanders noticed her unexpected entrance. "Court is adjourned!"

The chamber descended into momentary chaos as Ensign Valeria quickly made her way to the Commanders. "Sirs, something happened to Count Peter." Both raised their eyebrows simultaneously.



Christopher took another bite out of the apple he picked up on the way. He took another bite, and chewed on it as he looked up. Count Peter's statue. Sort of. What only a day or two can do to such a thing. From the look of it, the head was removed with a hand saw. That sort of thing was almost expected. But the person who worked on this was definitely creative. The left arm, whose hand had originally signalled with a thumbs down to indicate that the city was to be razed to the ground, had been cut off at the elbow and melted back on with what looked like a blowtorch. What was different, however, was that the hand now gave a thumbs up. Comic genius.

Braden was not as amused. "Do we have any leads on who has done such a thing?" He asked the nearest person, who simply shrugged. "Despicable."

Édouard Poulin said, "oh come now, Commander. Even you can understand the passion of the People to strike out against symbols of oppression! I think it looks much more fitting this way. I vote it be left that way."

The two Commanders could not help but think at once. Great, the Circle has arrived to pontificate.

Claude Tolbert nodded, followed by André Boucher, and so forth. The Circle ended up voting unanimously, each proud of their own, great effort in this spontaneous act of liberation. They then vanished back to their home base as quickly as they appeared.

"Sys of oppression... it's a statue! And it was a perfectly good one until recently." Braden looked over to the Militia Captain. "Investigate this. Find out who did it and arrest them."

"But, Monsieur, the Circle--." He said, struggling to get it out in what Antican he had learned on short notice.

"I don't care." Braden interrupted. "Indulge my curiosity." He waited until the Captain had walked far enough away before he leaned in to speak with Christopher. "This is ridiculous. Every bit of vandalism these people commit gets sanctioned by the Circle. Next they'll tear down the castle and declare it a holiday celebrating the Overthrow of Cruel Architecture."

"You know, for all of the rhetoric they espouse, they're already reversing the benefits the Hyperboreans were starting to give them, all the way down to local democratic government. They call for independence and a republic, but absolute power at the top is always expected to fall on them. And they can't even do anything properly. They're ransacking abandoned palaces like Babkhans. They're accepting bribes like... Babkhans. They're..." A third one failed to enter Christopher's head, but he didn't really need one anyway. "They've already replaced over half of the members of the City Council with stooges, without any sort of permission whatsoever... They've appointed officials to govern each of the other towns in lieu of a democratically elected town council. The Circle of Free Gascons is little more than a euphemistically named cabal through which its members would rather rule Isle St Jean rather than govern it."

Braden could only nod his agreement. "Well, this vandal, whoever he is, ought to watch himself. Gods help him if he falls into my hands: the legal system is foggy here, and there's nothing specifically forbidding hanging."



The gentle rolling of a stream. A gust of wind, causing the trees to sway but not entirely bending to its will. Few times is such an opportunity presented to leave the metal confines of Bellerophon. Indeed. Peace of mind was usually hard for Captain Hayes to find.

The rubber squeal of a boot. A rustling of clothing, when the legs swish one in front of the other. Hayes opened her eyes. "What do you want, Lieutenant?"

"Just wanted to see if the rumors were true, sir." Lieutenant Alexandra "Stinger" Peneus, as usual.

"And that was?" Captain Hayes closed her eyes.

"That you were disappearing fairly regularly into this park for some reason. No one was sure why, though."

"Gasconians don't exactly have anything appropriate for a Kaikian. The Hyperboreans were nice enough to accomidate themselves, and I'm sure the Babkhans simply took over a place for themselves, but Antican needs are a little different. Perhaps if we're lucky,though, a section of this park will be donated to the founding of a temple, even just a small one. I think Pallas would take a liking to this place. Separated from the noisy bustle of the port area, tucked into a bit of park. I can just imagine her welcoming the caress of rain drops sprinkling down, on the leaves, on the branches, on the rocks. The air cool and rich with moisture. Just as the Stormbringer likes it, undoubtedly."

Lt Peneus sat down near Captain Hayes, not quite sure what to do now. Halfway in, she began to listen to what her Captain had to say about the place, and tried to take it in.

"I apologize for the black eye. I assume it shouldn't be there for much longer, though."

"I was looking for a fight, sir."

"Yes you were." Lt Peneus... Stinger... Alexandria closed her eyes and let the sound fill her attention. Time seemed to slow down. The span between a moment and the next stretched out. She wasn't much to visit any temples, even for the more popular festivals. It was just not something she did too often. Which meant not since her parents were the ones who took her. But that experience was different from this. That was full of boundless, exciting energy, with little booths offering all sorts of fun and food. This was calming. The stream washed through her mind, and let it all unwind. Perhaps Pallas was there with them, enjoying the scenery, relaxing and conversely helping them to relax and open to her. Before long, though, they would probably call upon Pallas to be by their side, in battle.



The doors to the war room, seated in the lowest parts of the castle, parted to allow Édouard Poulin to come storming through, papers in his hand. He slammed it on the table right in front of the two Commanders, who looked back up at him.

"Outrageous! Absolutment! The Militia is for me to command, not some Antican!" Poulin said. Braden leaned forward to read the petition. There had been a lot going around recently, so it wasn't all that unexpected.

"That Antican Commander Octavius be given immediate command over the entirety of the Free Gascon Militia, the doubling of the size of the Militia, and a request that a Battalion of Antican soldiers be assigned to provide new Militia units with proper training."

"Outrageous!" Édouard Poulin repeated, as if it made any difference. Christopher sighed.

"You wanted democracy? Well, until you have a proper legislature working, this is the best you're going to get." Christopher ignored the petition and concentrated back on the map of Isle St Jean. They had bigger problems than politics.

"Chris, it has at least a few thousand signatures here. I'm not sure we can just ignore it."

"I'm busy." Christopher insisted. It was at this moment that a Militia officer stepped in. He obviously did not know Antican, so Christopher looked to Braden to translate.

"As per request of the People, he is ordered to escort you to the Militia Headquarters... and ask me to redeploy a battalion. I suppose we don't need a whole brigade in Pierrefeu..."

"Well, who's going to help out planning here?"
Braden looked over at the opposite side of the planning table. Standing there was Roger Beaumont, who appeared to be talking to someone who was not there. Édouard Poulin was sneering. First, this traitor of the People, the Major of the House of the Counts of St Jean, is publically exonerated after being tortured by the Babkhans and somehow surviving, and now the Militia was falling out from under the command of the Circle.

"Alright." Christopher said, placing the pencil he was scribbling notes with on the table. To the Militia officer, he said, "olé!"



Lousy peasants, André Boucher thought. Saying a thing like that with tension so high was undoubtedly going to spark something, so it was not spoken. Edouard had summoned the seven members of the Circle to meet again in the early evening. The location was different. It was not on the itinerary. This was off the record, not that the Circle needed to bother with records. But at least the official meetings were commonly known when and where. Almost no one knew beyond the members themselves.

On his way, he passed a couple of Anticans who were conversing in their god-forsaken language. It may have seemed better than letting the Babkhans free range without anyone to balance them out, but the Anticans were quickly becoming more of a pain and harder to predict. André passed by the Count's statue that had made such a fuss earlier in the day. As ordered, by now, slogans of independence and democracy had been painted on it. After all, if it weren't being orchestrated directly by Edouard Poulin, he would be more worried. But then he saw another thing that was most definitely not Poulin's work. EN BAS LA CIRCLE sloppily painted on a wall, in bright red.

That was a first. We had better act quickly, André thought, to reestablish control of the situation. A side street and a couple instances of doubling back to ensure no one followed, he came to the back door of a seemingly regular building.

He looked around, just to be sure, and then knocthree times fast and then four slow. The door was opened by another member of the Circle, and entering the dark, dripping, mildewed room, Boucher saw that the others were already there. They sat around on stools and empty crates, dimly lit by a single candle.

The room brightened for a brief moment, exposing its sheer ugliness, as Edouard lit up a cigarette.

"The Anticans are quickly outliving their welcome and their usefulness, but their popularity among the People negates the possibility of simply pushing them back out."

"Besides, we couldn't hope to defeat them in open war, and we need them to keep control of the country. The Shirithians would have no qualms about wiping out the resistance completely."

"Something must be done! We've effectively lost our teeth when that petition put control of the Militia in Antican hands. I have spoken with some of my men. They are confident that they can convince their soldiers to break ranks and stay with us. The problem is the Antican Commanders. They have more resources, meaning that anything conventional would be doomed to fail, and we would lose credibility among the People."

"This is why I have brought a guest with us. I am sure you have all heard of le Blaireau. He is quite sneaky. Even when he is marked for dead, he has the tenacity to live and escape. Le Blaireau, what do you recommend?"

Le Blaireau was not the most reliable option. If the Anticans knew what was coming, they would easily be able to outbribe them and have the entire Circle eliminated without a blink. But a carefully orchestrated assassination, framed to make it look Shirerithian in origin, that could help rally the People against them, enable the Circle to regain control lost, and perhaps even keep the Anticans, to ensure their commanders' deaths were not in vain. For le Blaireau was the Gasconian word for "Badger".
Antican Ambassador to Shireroth and Babkha
Former Speaker of the Assembly of the Republic of Antica
Reporter for the Antican Liberator
Elder Guard of the Order of the Vorpal Blade

KingJeremy
Posts: 16
Joined: Thu Jan 25, 2007 9:42 am

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by KingJeremy »

Well if you want Bosworth to play ball by letting you do this then you play ball by stopping your insane fellow citizens posting random crap.

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

OOC @ Jeremy, please take your protests to the Kaiser's Court. You have a legitimate grievance, but the only two people in all of Shireroth who seem to support that move are the Kaiser and Harald, and neither one of them reads this thread.

OOC @ Braden Summaries, in bold, at the bottom of posts. Especially when they're that long.

OOC @ Ardy Well, now Kalon's reminded the Khan of that point. I'd appreciate either a revocation of the order or a legal framework confirming it by the next post, so I can plan accordingly.

KingJeremy
Posts: 16
Joined: Thu Jan 25, 2007 9:42 am

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by KingJeremy »

Having thought about it, it wouldn't be entirely fair of me to withdraw isle st jean from this and punish all of you for the anality (looked it up, apparent it is a word) of a few petty individuals. With this is mind i shall rise above the human dirt that is harald (who has no problem taking out his personal grievances on by-standers) and allow this to continue as previously agreed.

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »


Pierrefeu
To: B. Indianensis, Commander, Home Guard
CC: C. Octavius, Commander, Bellerophon Carrier Group
From: MoMA

Thank you for your earlier communication. It's content has been noted. I also note your non-compliance with my earlier instructions. You may therefore consider all that follows to constitute my reply.
From a small alcove set within the Gothic spire of the Chartered Brewers Guild Lieutenant Hunza peered though the little arrow slit "window" that to anyone in the street below who chanced to look up would have simply appeared to have been some kind of ornate decoration. Sat beside Hunza, with his feet sat resting on the ladder which led down from the steeple alcove and back into the tower proper, was Eddie March, who was at that moment contentedly munching his way through a bowl of 'potage' and a mug of beer of almost the same thick consistency - both of which had been taken from the kitchens of the guild, whose cooks along with the master brewers had been trussed up like turkeys and cast into the gloom of the vaulted cellars beneath the building.

"Hey Eddie, pass me the range-finder thingy will ya."

Putting down the bowl of potage for a moment Eddie reached across and picked up a device that looked not unlike a curious combination of a digital video camcorder and a pair of binoculars welded together and mounted on a pistol grip. Holding it for a moment as though still unsure of its use, Eddie passed it across to Hunza who, pausing to have a last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the ancient stone work, pointed it out the little arrow slip and lent his face forward to look through the eye pieces.

"Can you see it?"

"Its a fuck off massive castle... it's pretty hard to miss."

"So how long does it take to get a bearing?"

"Already done. Pass me the palmtop device."

"Modern technology eh? Before you'd have had to find a runner to get in touch with the nearest radio operator to broadcast that to a headquarters unit which could then relay it to guys who needed the info."

"Yep."

"Now you can just fire a signal up to that there satellite - 2 minutes until its overhead incidentally - and it'll broadcast it straight back down to whoever needs it."

"Yep - could you just hand it over?"

"Oh? Yeah - certainly."

Hunza then plugged a cable from the palmtop into the rangefinder which enabled the rangefinder to transmit the coordinates of the castle, via bluetooth to a small discrete satellite dish, that had been bolted onto the spire the night before, and thence up to the MoMA reconsat which continued merriy on its way, oblivious to the importance of the signal it now relayed back down to Upper Elwynn.
From: MoMA
To: Kalon Lusav, Officer Commanding, Hyperborean Forces, Pierrefeu; Hafiz Rhodri, Military Governor of St. Jean

1. Antican Forces have defied instructions to quit island in compliance with twenty-four hour deadline.
2. This island remains under Shirerithian jurisdiction until July 1st.
3. Antican Forces present on the island are therefore to be considered hostile. Efforts to commence their expulsion are to begin immediately.
4. After July 1st, responsibility for the expulsion of any remaining Antican Forces shall be transfered to the Kingdom of Bosworth.

Vacqueyras

"This is intolerable! I will not stay ashore a moment longer!" Yelled Hafiz at the top of his voice as he stormed up the gangway and back onto the Spirit of Elwynn with his rather nervous looking XO running after him.

"But Sir, must I remind you, this is technically desertion. You're abandoning our men on the island, and not to mention the unanswered telegram from the Khan."

"You can write the replies once we are at sea."

"Sir, with respect I am going to be a little busy."

"Fine. You can carry on with your orders, I'll write the reply myself. I simply will not stay on that ghastly island a moment longer while the Badger is ashore."

Leaving the XO standing there flustered, Captain Rhodri stormed off to his cabin. Exasperated the XO cast his eye around for someone to take it out on. Alas it turned out to be a choice between the ship's mascot, a two year old black retriever called Tahmaseb and the Powder Monkey... so he pulled out his revolver and shot the Powder Monkey, as cruelty to animals is never justified, and set about drafting in his mind the letter of condolence to the boy's parents... 'fell in the line of duty, giving his life bravely for his country and his khan... err... Kaiser..' or something like that.

This unfortunate episode over with the Spirit of Elwynn slipped out of port and into the straits between St. Jean and Gascony. Not long afterwards the order to go to alert was given.

Meanwhile the sound of gunfire began to echo through the streets of Vacqueyras as Lieutenant Gholam and the 4th Platoon of Delta Company, Elwynnbrigaden, entered into a lively dispute over jurisdiction with an Antican Patrol.

User avatar
Scott of Hyperborea
Posts: 2816
Joined: Wed Mar 24, 2004 5:17 pm
Location: Ireland
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Scott of Hyperborea »

EDIT: I wrote this before I saw Ardashir's latest message. This should be considered to predate the Khan's post above. I'll reply to his latest actions later.
Lusyya, Iasi, and Tari came down the stairs into the cellar, coughing and wheezing conspicuously. They surrounded Sosni's bed, and coughed and wheezed some more.

"Truth and Beauty warm," said Sosni, deliberately not asking them about the illness they were clearly trying to show off.

"Aren't you going to ask what's wrong?" asked Lusyya.

"No," said Sosni.

"It's the Lusav Flu," responded Lusyya. "Kalon's pretty much rubber-stamping everything the Babkhans send him these days. Recently we were ordered to report any suspicious behavior among the Anticans to him, in preparation for their pending withdrawal tomorrow. The Anticans! Can you believe it?"

"Yes," said Sosni.

"And it's only a matter of time before the Khan tells Kalon to pit us against the Gascons. You know, making us do his dirty work. So we've all fallen sick. Paladin units are at 25% strength and falling. If we get the order to move against the Gascons or Anticans, we'll just cough a lot and say we don't feel up to it."

"So in the final climactic battle against good and evil...we'll be at home, faking coughing so we don't have to participate?"

"Better than fighting on their side, isn't it? I mean, Kalon and the Khan are our superiors. If we fight for the Free Gascons, even on the off chance they win we'll never be allowed home again. Do you want to stay on this island forever, or get court-martialed, or just plain be shot? I'd rather fake sickness."

"It's a bit dishonest, ne?"

"Rumor has it the Priestess of Truth has given us a special dispensation. She was up all night doing the calculations, but she says it's for the best. We think."

"You haven't asked her?"

"Well, that's the other bad news. She's disappeared. Some people say she's gone underground before the Khan orders Kalon to hand her over. Other people say she was abducted by the Babkhans directly."

"The fact that we're still alive and safe suggests the former, unless Babkhan interrogation techniques have gone soft since the last time anyone checked."

"Not necessarily. She's a Priestess of Truth, you know. You remember the ninth stage of your Paladin training, I taught you the Lesser Eclipse of the Inner Sun technique."

"Mmmhm. Something about resisting excruciating pain by transforming negative feelings into love vibes, that kinda thing."

"You don't remember, do you?"

"I remember that you said it wasn't going to be on the test."

"Every time I consider that an island is about to declare itself an independent country, defended solely by people trained by you, I shudder for the future of West Benacia."

"I love you too, Lusyya."

"Anyway, Tenre's one of only a few hundred people in all of Raikoth who can do the Greater Eclipse of the Inner Sun. Even if the Babkhans have her, they won't get anything out of her she doesn't want to give."

"That's...good to know, I guess."

"Anyway, we're just here to give you the news. We were at a meeting of the Circle earlier. There's a bit of a split between the pro-Antican and anti-Antican factions. Now that Tenre's missing, I'm pretty much in charge of the Hyperborean side of the conspiracy, so I've got some clout in the Circle deliberations. So far we've been taking the pro-Antican side. If you've got any objections to that, now would be the time to voice them."

"Nah, the Anticans seem nice enough."

"Yeah, well, I wish all the Gascons had the intelligence to see that."

"So. Kalon's become a Babkhan stooge, the Khan's trying to evict the Anticans and maybe cause a civil war, Tenre's gone missing, and the Circle's getting fractured. Any GOOD news?"

"Well, one bit. Your old friend the Badger is a Free Gascon now."

Sosni almost gagged. "HIM?"

"Yes. He and two of his henchmen have made a deal with the Hyperboreans. He will do everything in his power to frustrate the Babkhan forces on this island - I have a feeling he is looking forward to this part - and when we retreat, we will take him off the island with us. He's already done some good work. He was on the commlink with some of his friends back in Elwynn all night last night, and he says he's arranged for the next few supply shipments from Babkha to be late, insufficient, or rotten by the time they get here."

"He has that kind of influence?"

"He says we're still only seeing the smallest glimpses of the amount of influence he has; although of course he WOULD say that, to appear more valuable to us."

"Anyway, it'll be a waste of energy. The Babkhans will just order Kalon to share our supplies with them."

"Ah, yes. Remember when you said it was stupid to include the agricultural engineering section in our conspiracy?"

"Yes..." Sosni had a feeling this was going to end the same way as most of his disagreements with Lusyya - with him being made to look like a fool. He was right.

"Aphri Enseinion gave us a quick lesson in ethnography. Hyperboreans are of the Apollonian-Elw racial group, Babkhans of the Babkho-Euran group. Along with the obvious physical differences like skin color, there are some biochemical differences as well. The protein kapsin is easily digestable by Hyperboreans but mildly toxic to Babkhans. If you've ever had food seasoned with kapsrang grass, those are full of kapsin. So Aphri's told some of his agriculturalist friends in Tala to ensure that all Hyperborean food shipments in the next few weeks are heavily seasoned with kapsrang. The Babkhans should end up with severe headaches at best and maybe even some mild delusions at worst, with our people suffering nothing worse than overseasoned food."

"Ha. So you think that'll cripple them for a while?"

"Probably not. But it'll at least inconvenience their people at a crucial time."

"Right. I need some sleep. Wake me up when the demonstration starts."

"Right. And stay away from that beer. We need you sober for the next few days. Besides, get a bad enough hangover and people will start mistaking you for a Babkhan."
Summary: Hyperborean forces are playing sick to avoid Kalon's Babkhan-friendly orders, but will not actively fight against their commanders. Tenre has gone missing. The Circle is split between pro and anti-Antican factions, as mentioned by Braden. The Badger and the Hyperborean agriculturalists are leading a plan to disrupt Babkhan supplies and replace them with Hyperborean supplies indigestible by Babkhans.
Kalon Lusav was engaged in his usual pasttime, feeling sorry for himself, when a loud noise shook him out of his thoughts.

His window was broken. A brick lay on his floor. Tied to the brick was a message. There was a picture of a grinning camel, and the note "Babkhan Stooge".

Kalon ran to the window, to see if he could catch the perpetrator running away, but he saw nothing. It was half-dark now, and there were a million places for anyone to hide.

He called someone up to replace the window, and returned to his work, shaking. Several orders from the Khan relating to the preparation of what he was still euphemistically thinking of as "the assisted retreat of Antica", a report from the chief doctor that Paladin sick reports were spiralling out of control, and a letter with a REJECTED stamp - his own most recent attempt to get the Nine to replace him with Rhoti. He tried to concentrate, but the tears welling up in his eyes made it impossible for him to get any work done.

Oh no, he wasn't a Babkhan stooge. He was something much, much, worse.
Summary: As far as you know, just backstory. Kalon has a Terrible Secret.

User avatar
Braden Indianensis
Posts: 1378
Joined: Tue Dec 20, 2005 2:06 pm
Location: Number 12 Concord Street, Nafticon, Republic of Antica

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Braden Indianensis »

OOC: @Scott: Sorry about the lack of summary, I posted it rather early this morning. Won't happen again. More to come later.
Antican Ambassador to Shireroth and Babkha
Former Speaker of the Assembly of the Republic of Antica
Reporter for the Antican Liberator
Elder Guard of the Order of the Vorpal Blade

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »

Fréjus

Alexandre Lebed-Cygne, Chevalier d´Arkan, sat on the veranda of his chateau polishing his favourite hunting rifle as he watched the sun set over the vineyards of his estate, set amongst the terraced hills south east of Fréjus. Putting the gun to one side he once more re-read the pamphlet that he had confiscated from the discarded trousers of one of his villeins who had been operating the wine press by the manual dexterity of his feet.
Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!

Since the time of Peter the Cruel, our fair Isle has been under the yoke of foreign oppressors. Now we must seize our own destiny!

Free Gascony Day is June 29th. All patriotic Gascons will take to the streets demanding that Shirerithian, Babkhan, and Bosworthian forces leave us alone! After the demonstrations will be an independence referendum. Polling places are being kept secret to avoid foreign interference, but will be revealed on Free Gascony Day.

Organize cadres of Free Gascons among your friends and relatives. Those showing their dedication to the e will be approached by our representatives.

Long live the St. Jean Republic!
Solidarity with our Antican comrades!
Death to the Kaiser, the Khan, and the King of Bosworth!

Image
The Chevalier was disgusted by what he read. It was one thing to wish for the foreigners to depart, the Bosworthians had never been anything but useless as overlords - indeed their one redeeming feature had been their absence; the Shirerithian occupation had been rather contradictory, the benevolence of the Hyperboreans being matched by the unbalanced bloodlust of the Elwynnese and their euphemistic `anti-partisan´ actions. But at least both the Bosworthers and the Shirerithians had respected the principle of nobility and understood the need for a hierarchy based on mutual obligations; certainly the Hyperboreans and the Elwynnese differed in their attitudes towards the class structure, the fair skinned folk from the northern wastes had taught the folk to accept their lot in life through the means of a serene philosophy whilst the swarthy Elwynnese seemed to regard indiscriminate slaughter as the most appropriate method for dealing with unruly plebs. Both strategies had their merit but the Shirerithians as a whole had understood the need for wise lordship exercised over the common man.

These Anticans however! Their doctrine of egalitarianism was truly diabolical, they would in their arrogance propose not only to give power to the middling sort, the petty town merchants and grocers, but also to the common illiterate rabble in the street, smeared with dung and besotted with their own base passions. The thought that such scum could become electors in the community of the realm represented such an upheaval in the natural order that it made the Chevalier fell physically ill at the very prospect.

"Non par Dieu que ceci ne fera pas!" He exclaimed, startling the truffle-hound that had started to dosleep beside his feet.

An hour later the Chevalier drove over on his motorcycle, a horse would have been more fitting but he was in a hurry, to the residence of the Maire of Fréjus, a certain Jean-Marie de Balzac - a bucolic Gascon nationalist and the author of a series of garrulous plays which only his status of Maire could force the local amateur dramatics society to perform.

"Well, you must understand Chevalier that your proposition presents me with certain difficulties." Said Jean Marie as he devoured a roasted chicken drowned in a thick and creamy garlic sauce. "It so happens that I have been rather instrumental in organising that poll which you now seek to disrupt."

The Chevalier, who had claimed to be not hungry but had nonetheless been presented with a glass of red wine and a thick slice of bread onto which had been spread a cheese full of flavour and stinking to high heaven, made a noncommittal gesture. "Since you organised it you can now un-organise it."

"It would be a betrayal of my Free Gascons."

"This would be the same electors who receive a brown envelope every year as a token of gratitude for turning out the vote early and often that returns you to office each year would it?"

"Naturally I reject such a preposterous suggestion."

"As well as you might. Say what you like, I am the principle employer in this commune, if I had a mind to I could out bid you. You may not like it but your tenure continues at my sufferance."

"So what do you propose?"

Alexandre paused to take a sip of wine before replying, "Firstly I want you to take those ballots for this town and burn them in the town square. Explain that you are doing so because you realise that the Republic is merely a front for yet another foreign take over. Next you are going to bring your men and as many of the townsfolk as can be gathered together to join my retainers and I in a descent on Pierrefeu and there we are going to rally the people to the simple and timeworn faith in God, teen us through times of adversity since ages past."

"And what if they don´t want to rediscover the virtues of piety and obedience?"

"Well then, we break their scrawny necks. Naturally the property of the rebels will be liable for confiscation by the lawful authorities."

The venality latent in any career politician was at this point aroused.

"A fascinating prospect, and tell me how would we go about legitimating this takeover?"

"Why we shall raise a posse comitatus and call a hue and cry against the Circle of Free Gascony who violate the peace of the realm by stirring revolution at the behest of foreign atheist devils on the very eve of the return to the established ancient order."

"You know they might even buy it."

"They might just. Shall we get to it?"

So it was that very night that, under the careful supervision of Monsieur l´Maire, the hitherto carefully concealed ballot boxes of Fréjus were carried out into the town square and their contents tipped out and promptly burnt under the uncomprehending and slightly alarmed gaze of the town folk. Fortunately the local holy father, a Friar by the name of Jean Francois de Balzac, who only by the merest coincidence happened to be the brother of Monsieur l´Maire, happened to be on hand to explain to the assembled plebs that the Republic had in fact been a diabolical plot to ensnare the people in the schemes of the Antichrist and that those who had ticked the ballot sheets now carried against their souls the very mark of the beast. Luckily for all concerned the Maire had been subject to divine revelation and by casting the Luciferian pieces of paper into the purifying flames the people of Fréjus were now released from their terrifying pledge to the dark lord. Just to be on the safe side the Friar conducted a communal exorcism, liberally applying holy water while the crowd fell to their knees crying hallelujah whilst falling into a collective hysteria.

There had been one voice of reason who had attempted to pouped into betraying the ideals of the revolution by their blatantly corrupt mayor, but the wisdom of the crowd saw to it that this lone voice of sanity was savagely beaten to death.

The morning afterwards two hundred and forty men from Fréjus set out armed with shotguns and blunderbusses in a convoy of tractors and trailers from the town and in the direction of Pierrefeu. They were joined by the Chevalier d´Arkan and his retinue of sixty two men on horseback, armed with hunting rifles and pig-sticking spears. The Chevalier had also during the night sent messengers out to the estates of landowners around Carcassonne and Aspremont to raise them in revolt against the great unwashed who were poised to take power and indulge in who knows what egalitarian rubbish at the behest of the godless foreign swine.

The convoy out of Fréjus was led by a tractor from which fluttered a new crude flag underlying the credo of the incipient counter-revolution.

Image
Summary: An uprising has begun in Fréjus against the new diabolical doctrine of liberty.

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »

Fort Foley, Nr. Shirekeep

At 2153hrs the General Staff reported back to the MoMA that in their latest replay of the earlier tactical scenario directed against the Bellerophon Carrier Group they had been unable to break Antican tactical air superiority over the Isle St. Jean without the deployment of the experimental technologies hitherto prohibited. The MoMA affirmed that the embargo on the use of the experimental technologies would remain in place until further clarification had been sought. With that in mind it was considered that no likely operation to evict the Antican Forces from Isle St. Jean before July 1st. Accordingly Operation "Steven's White Horse" was postponed indefinetely and the order for Shirerithian forces to withdraw issued.
OOC: Switching over to native led guerrilla warfare which may or may not include Elwynnese personnel left behind in the evacuation in order to comply with the Khan-Bellamy Accord.

User avatar
Chrimigules
Posts: 473
Joined: Sun Jan 08, 2006 8:28 pm
Location: Ano, Kaikias, Antica
Contact:

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Chrimigules »

Sunday
In every town square on the island, demonstrations were held. At designated places, Jeaniards were voting on the referendum. Everything seemed to be going according to plan.
Salignac

Chief Grayson was not used to working on land. After serving such a long time aboard Antica's primary carrier, Bellerophon, it was strange to service his planes on solid earth. Specialist Hoshino sat down beside him, and the two of them began to eat their lunches. It was silent, but that was no bother. Upon reflection, it was actually enjoyable to sit under the sun, with trees and grass around.

"All pilots to your fighters! All pilots to your fighters!" The loudspeakers announced. Chief Grayson put his sandwich down. Something was obviously a problem.

"Captain Hayes!" He shouted. The Captain, as well as the rest of her pilots, were running to the airfield from their barracks, all of them in some state of undress from the necessary flight suit, all of them hurrying to fix that.

"Not sure. All I know is that half of the squadron needs to be in the air in the next few minutes. That's all I got from Pierrefeu. I'm sure even they don't know what's going on." She said, zipping up her flight suit and slipping her helmet on. She was mostly ready since it was her flight that was due for the next Air Patrol. Sitting in her cockpit, she plugged into the radio, and immediately heard a steady stream of chatter.

"Ok pilots, keep it down. Stinger, where are you?"

A moment's pause before a response. "Currently off near the southern tip of the island."

"Captain, Pierrefeu just sent new information. Antican platoon pinned down somewhere in Vacqueyras. Unknown number of casualties. Attackers are... Shirerithian. Babkhans, probably. They're requesting support. Orders are to give them some."

Vacqueyras

Lieutenant Hendricks is dead. Ensign Beckett could barely see his still body laying in the middle of the street, accompanied by a number of other Home Guardsmen. A burst of automatic fire convinced him to bow his head back and away. He looked at the rest of the platoon. He was the junior Ensign.

"How's Ensign Faye?" He asked. Ensign Faye, the senior of the two, was hit by the same initial burst that took out a squad's worth of men, including the Lieutenant, but was lucky enough to still be on his feet when they took cover in... what is this?

A number of Gasconians were there, backed away from their tables against the far wall. A restaurant, from the look of it.

"Can somebody alert the Militia?" He asked. Nobody moved. Nobody seemed to understand. "Est-ce que... allez... a la Militia?" This is what he got for not paying attention in class.

"La Milice?"

"Yes! La... Libre Gasconienne Milice!" One of them seemed to understand what Ensign Beckett was going at and went to find a back door to the restaurant, if there were any. The rest, however, stood motionless, fear in their eyes.

"Don't worry, sir. I got Pierrefeu on the radio, asking for some backup. They've probably already alerted everyone on the island." Another burst of fire broke through one of the windows and into one soldier's head, who slumped onto the shoulder of the man next to him. It was not taken well.



"Sniper Team Alpha is in position. I have them in my sight."

The radio clicked on. "Who are they?"

"They're Babkhans alright."

"Fire at will."



Caporal Favreau crouched down behind a crate and looked at what was going on in front of them. The sound of gunfire could be heard for blocks in every direction, attracting the attention of him and his patrol. "Private, radio to Headquarters. Babkhan soldiers are firing at a Gasconian restaurant. One does not know who is inside."

Private Emile nodded and pulled out his hand radio when a single clean shot rang out. Caporal Favreau looked out and saw one Babkhan land flat on the ground, his helmet bouncing away, material oozing out a very large hole in his head. The rest of the Babkhans were taking cover, but it was obvious that they did not know where it was coming from. A second shot, and a second Babkhan tumbled over. The remaining Babkhans fell back to an alley.

An Antican soldier positioned himself at the doorway to the restaurant and layed down some automatic fire in the direction that the Babkhans moved back to. A number of Gasconians then fled out of the door and in Caporal Favreau's direction.

"The Babkhans!" One of them cried out.

"What are they doing?" Favreau asked them.

"I don't know, but I think they killed both Gasconians and Anticans."

"They're trying to overthrow the Revolution!" Another cried out.

"Private Emile," Caporal Favreau said. Emile had yet to communicate anything to the local Militia headquarters. "Tell them that the Babkhans are suppressing demonstrations and killing innocent people. An Antican unit is trying to push them off. Request back up." Private Emile nodded and relayed it through his hand radio.

Overhead, a group of aircraft flew low. One of them broke formation and swung back around, closing on the ground. It vanished behind some buildings which blocked Favreau's view. Soon after, a loud buzzing sound.


Stinger released her trigger and rolled her fighter into another large loop, circling back on the position. It was a fairly inaccurate shot, but it did put the Babkhans on notice.

"Ok guys, just provide me some cover. Babkhans have aircraft, after all."

"Wilco."

Stinger switched channels.

"Beckett, do you read?" Fan doors open. Lift fan up to speed.

"Uh, yes ma'am-- uh, sir."

"Tell your boys to stay low and hold position." Engine nozzle swiveled to vertical. The main street that the fight broke out on was large enough to fit a Viper, but not the alleyway the Babkhans have been pushed into. With a bit of fine adjustment, Stinger was in position, and tilted her right wing down. Two- and three-story buildings comprised this section of the town, just low enough to make a quick getaway easy, just in case.

Another nudge rightward. The Viper drifted right, and then balanced itself out close enough for the job to be done. Stinger pressed down the trigger, laying down a spray of automatic fire down the alley. It was not well illuminated, so Stinger was firing more or less blind, but the large amount of dust, wood chips, and flesh that she could make out was telling. Gunfire was returned and ricocheted off the canopy.

"Alright, Beckett, let's see if that helps you any." Stinger said, pulling back on the trottle and tipping the fighter forward, clearing a two-story building before switching back to horizontal flight.
Summary: Antican forces in Vacqueyras converge on the firefight begun on the streets. The Free Gascon Militia in the town are activating, believing that the Babkhans are attempting to stomp out the Independence movement for their own uses. Air support is being provided by Blue Squadron, based in Salignac.
The War Room, Chateau des Comtes de St Jean, Outside Pierrefeu

A large map of Isle St Jean was spread out on the table. It was new, but one wouldn't have known it: its surface was already covered in pencil marks, circles, arrows to indicate unit placement and troop movements.

"I think we sort of figured that the Babkhans would make their move." Braden said. It was undisputed.

"Their transports are all in Vacqueyras's harbor, as well as a majority of their forces in preparation for departure." Valeria stated, reading off of the clipboard in her hand. The echo of rapid footsteps preceeded Commander Octavius's entrance.

"Sorry I'm late." He said, doing the buttons of his jacket up, quickly covering up the t-shirt he had underneath.

"It's quite alright," said Braden, who'd been up since five that morning, plotting strategems. "We've got a rebellion on our hands, to add to the Babkhan troubles." He took an unabashed swig from his flask (finally recovered from the Steward's Department aboard the Bellerophon), and pointed toward the southern region of the map, whose borders had been rather roughly drawn on in red.

"One of the local potentates, a certain, ehh..."he fumbled for the name, making a wheeling movement with his hand, until Ensign Valeria came to his assistance.

" 'Alexandre Lebed-Cygne, Chevalier d´Arkan,' she read off the clipboard.

"Thank you. That fellow. He's gone around to all the local lords in the south--those viscountcies are mostly vacant, you know, so most of his accomplices hold no rank higher than baron--gathering up a feudal levy, and has begun a counter-revolution in Frejus." He indicated the city. Chris looked at the confused, tangled markings near it, and asked,

"Have they engaged our troops in those cities?"

"Yes, said Braden, "and they've killed a few. I think it isn't worth it to try and wrangle for them now; I think we should order our forces to withdraw from Frejus and Carcassonne, and regroup at Salignac with the units already stationed there."

Chris thought about it for a moment. "Frejus is the base of the rebellion?" Braden nodded. "Bellerophon can position itself here..." he took one of the grease pencils and drew an X in the water almost directly south of Frejus, "...and bombard them into submission."

Braden shrugged. "Perhaps, but I don't want to do that unless it's absolutely necessary. If possible, I'd like to buy this fellow off, and not have to fight him at all."

"Well, it never hurts to provide a little encouragement, plus, it could help give us more time to focus on the Shirerithians."

"I'm afraid we'll be fighting them both simultaneously. The Babkhans have units spread over the entire island. Plus, who knows where the Hyperboreans stand on this. The Shirerithian MoMA said that the following actions would be considered their response, but the only Shirerithian units that have been reported in action are Babkhan."

"That can be easily solved." Christopher added. Everyone looked at him, puzzled. "We also have troops stationed in all major towns, plus the Free Gascon Militia. To simplify matters, we should try to drive the Babkhans out of them and forcehem into a confined area. We can begin with the Capital, since that's our highest concentration."

"We have a full brigade and half the Militia. The Tank Regiment is also stationed in full outside the city. It's about time we used them." Braden concurred with the plan. First the Capital, then work on the area to the north. Vacqueyras would be tricky, since it was where the Shirerithians were mostly gathered in preparation to leave. Braden began to write out a set of general orders.

"Relay the order to put both Red and Blue Squadron on hot standby. Half on the ground, ready to launch. Half in the air to provide area denial, ready to shoot anything not Antican and sees fit to fly." Christopher said to Valeria.

"Actually, I already relayed that order for you." She responded.

"I see." Christopher wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I don't know what I'd do without you." Katherine awkwardly wriggled herself out of the hold.

"Alright." Braden began, reading off the last bit of his orders. "All Babkhan units are to be commanded to surrender, and be escorted to the departure point in Vacqueyras. Those that refuse are to be engaged. Deadly force is permitted. Do not engage Hyperborean units unless fired upon first."

He passed the dispatch to Nelson, who gave it to the radio operator and instructed her to inform the commanders outside the rebel zone of their new orders. Braden called over, "Also, order the retreat from Carcassonne and Frejus, and tell them to regroup at Salignac." It was done.

"Alert the local Militia headquarters that I will be there presently!" Christopher added. The radio operator, beginning to think she deserved hazard pay for this kind of work, saluted.
Summary: Antican and Free Gasconian units in the area of Pierrefeu prepare to flush the Babkhans out of the capital.
Pierrefeu

The sky was dark, heavy, the color of insistent pencil lead. A deep humidity hung over Pierrefeu, deeply bothering some Antican soldiers, but hardly affecting the Sylvanians, who really found the sensation quite soothing.


Nelson Werner took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping perspiration from his brow, and casually remarked, "I do believe it could rain."

Braden threw back his head and laughed. "Dear Werner, you do provide the most excellent comic relief."


"Whatever is that supposed to mean?"

"Remarking on the weather as if it might ruin a croquet match. We ride out to battle, to agony and death, blood running in the gutters, and what have you to say but, 'Ah, I do think it might rain, Mr. Indianensis, would you care for another mint julip?' like this were some social call back home."


"Forgive me for trying to lighten the mood," Werner said, a little resentfully. "It does remind me of home, though. A sticky, oppressive day, when it seems it might rain, but never does. Maybe the rain would cool things off a little."

"You always say that, Nelson, and then when it does rain, you're astounded that it's only more humid. Besides, a rainstorm is the last thing we need, slicking up streets and generally frustrating the course of urban warfare. It would be a better dramatic affect, I cannot deny: besides, it seems better, if I'm to die on the scimitar of some uncouth Babkhan, to do it during an extraordinary rainstorm, than in a spell of mere wet heat."

Nelson couldn't deny this.

Turning to Ensign Valeria, Braden said, "You know, my great-grandfather died on a summer's day almost exactly like this one, back at Poplar Hall."

Katherine was taken aback by Braden's wistful spinning of family anecdotes in the midst of impending slaughter and certain doom, and could only manage a faint, "Oh, really?"

"Yes, ma'am, indeed he did. He fought in Terre D'Riches, you know, and had a bullet lodged in his stomach. It didn't penetrate any of his organs, but it began to slowly burrow into him as the years went by. I was very young when he finally did die, but I can remember Dr. White riding up from Vincennes with his medicine bag and probe, and my poor old granddad--Silas Praisegod Indianensis--being stretched out by the front stairs. They took me outside, but I could hear him scream something fierce when Dr. White began to probe for that bullet. Never did get it out, and he died right there in the entry hall. Blood loss. Dreadful stains all over the woodwork, took weeks to scrub out."

Ensign Valeria regarded him blankly. "Of course," he said, "medicine has improved inestimably since then, but it's still not good to take a bullet to the abdomen."

"I'll remember," she said uncomfortably

There was a moment of more or less complete conversational silence, the sound of a running jeep engine and boots marching over cobblestones and the rumble of the tanks being the only sounds heard as the Anticans began to spread out from the cathedral in the center of the city, each battalion taking one of the four main streets that spread out from there, and splitting up into platoons to cover side streets. The quiet calm was so deep, in fact, that both people and pidgeons were startled when Colonel Munier's voice boomed over the megaphone: "Attention citizens! Ze Babkhan counterrevolutionaries wizin zis city are being dealt wiz. Stay eenside your 'omes. Zees ees for your protection."

"Perhaps it would be better to speak in Gascon," Christopher suggested to her, without adding that her accent was so thick that she might as well have been. He couldn't figure out, for the life of him, why she'd been given the job of warning the citizenry of Babkhan dangers: he supposed it was because her voice was easily the loudest.

Munier held the megaphone away from her face. "Hein? Oh! D'accord." Moving it back into position, she shouted, "Attention les citoyens! Les contrerevolutionnaires Babkhans..."

From the direction of the Castle, the first properly assembled regiment of the Free Gascon Militia quickly marched into the square, closely followed by the first troop of tanks. One of the officers stepped forward with a couple of ballistic vests and helmets.

"Merci." Ensign Valeria said as she took the helmet, rested it on her head, and then proceeded to put the vest on. Christopher did the same after pausing for a moment.

"I wasn't aware you spoke Gasconian, Kate."

"I studied Alexandrian when in college. Functionally, they're almost the same. After talking with Mister Beaumont, I think I've gotten some of the proper dialectal differences hammered down, but they understand Standard Alexandrian as well."

"You shouldn't talk too much to that man. He's absolutely crazy." Next, a pistol and holster. Valeria took it unquestioningly, but Christopher decided to check it. "Oh bullocks... I should've asked Bellerophon to drop a shipment of its Armory."

"What's the problem?" Valeria asked.

"No problem," He said, slipping the pistol back into its holster. "I just prefer our guns." He turned back to Braden and Nelson and shouted over the sound of tanks in motion. "We'll take over the push southward, if you don't mind. Take some work off of your back." Braden, who did not make the attempt to shout over the noise, simply gave the OK sign with his hand.

Braden noticed that the square was beginning to empty of soldiers, and made the decision to continue on with Munier.

The battalion proceeded west, creeping along slowly, Munier shouting out her warning at regular intervals, and signalling for a platoon to depart down a side street from time to time, lieutenants taking up her call, until "Les Citoyens!" could be heard all over the western part of town.

It was hardly necessary to repeat; everyone was inside, firmly latched in. No immediate danger from sniper fire was detected, although the men kept anxious eyes directed upward, and then darting back down to ground level to assess the dangers there.

It happened, in fact, that they almost ran into the first Babkhans they met: an entire platoon, visible behind the wall of rubble they'd erected; it was plainly obvious which two houses they'd decided to dynamite especially for the purpose.

Everyone knew that violence was inevitable, but Colonel Munier was nothing if not obedient to her orders. "Your unconditionelle surrender est demandé. Lay down your arms, and report eemeediately to ze 'olding center een thees city, from where you weel be taken to--" A burst of gunfire interrupted her. "I take zat as a No."

She crouched down. Braden and Nelson joined her, and listened attentively to the speech she gave. "Eh bien, les hommes! Ve are come to eet at last. La bataille. I do not know eef you seenk thees eez a juste cause, and eef you do or not, I am glad to see that la patriotisme 'as made you brave eenough to fight for Antica regardless. I 'ave nothing else to geeve you, but zat."

"On my signal," said Braden, "Launch a volley of grenades into them. After that, we charge them."

There followed a great shuffling about, an assessment of the grenades, many of them held by inexperienced young men and women with shaky hands and sweaty palms. Braden saw one of these right near him, and placing his hand on the man's shoulder, said, "Just remember, pull the pin, count to three, and lob the bastard as hard as you possibly can--in that direction." He nodded, and the man nodded back.

Then, taking one in his own hand, he waited until he was sure. Sure of what, he didn't know exactly. Then, he shouted, "NOW!" pulling the pin from his grenade, he counted, and threw it as hard as he'd ever thrown anything, in the direction of the foe. His was first, and the explosion that roared out, the burst of fire and screams of agony were all his. He saw, in th corner of his eye, Munier and Werner pulling theirs, and then, everyone else, and soon, the opposing force was rendered a mob of screaching, wailing, and fiery torment. Before a counterratack could be launched, Braden drew his saber, pointed in toward the other side of the barricade, and positively hollered, "CHARGE!"

He distinctly heard Munier's voice begin a battle cry, only to be lost in the mass of the others' voices; he saw her flashing saber, waving the men on, as the woman was the first to dash over the barricade.

Braden breathed a silent prayer, summoning up all the courage he possessed: "Lady Pallas, our defender in times past, let your blessing fall upon me this day, may your spear be mine, and may your shield guard my life and those of my comrades. Forsooth."

"Our lady breathes scorn upon the enemy!" he called to the men, before scrambling over the barricade himself. It wasn't clear to them, nor really to him, if he meant the Colonel, or the Goddess.

Braden beheld a scene of horrid majesty. Fires burnt everywhere. Men lay dead and smoldering in the street. There were sounds of shouting, commands being yelled, and then, gunfire as battle was joined in earnest. Colonel Munier beheaded one particularly bold Babkhan who rushed out from the line, parrying his bayonet thrust with incredible ease, and slicing off his head as if she were swatting a fly.

She took the severed extremity by its beard and flung it into the Babkhan ranks.

Nelson, who had never fired a gun at a person, and whose only experience beyond pheasant shooting had been a few weeks of training, shouldered a rifle and began firing randomly at the Babkhans, letting out a howl that seemed totally alien to him.

Braden's preferred weapons, for the moment, were two single action Dinarchial Army Officer revolvers, "peacemakers" in the vernacular. Steadying himself as much as possible, he aimed, and shot a Babkhan officer in the shoulder. Not where he'd meant for it to go, but it did the job sufficiently. Between him and Nelson, a man crumpled down, shot through the neck. He was a sergeant, an old man of sixty years, his silver hair spattered with crimson. Nelson saw the soldier who fired, shouting, "I got one!" to one of his fellows, and slapping high fives; Nelson shot the man's arm off, and then shot the man whom he'd high-fived.

Munier was going into a positive trance. She took another grenade from the pouch of a dead man, pulled the pin, and tossed it generally into the midst of the Babkhans. She shot off a quick succession of rounds into the front lines, as distance combat faded and hand-to-hand became the reality. As the ranks of the enemy moved forward, she clubbed a Babkhan in the face with the butt of her rifle, laughing gaily as his jaw crunched.

Meanwhile, Nelson found himself pushing the stock of his rifle against that of a particulary greasy, fat corporal; he was practically borne to ground, when he managed to kick the man's legs out from underneath him, and shoot the fellow in the back of the head as he struggled to extricate himself.

Meanwhile, Braden was locked in single combat with the enemy lieutenant, parrying a heavy scimitar thrust with his saber, getting in a small leg-wound, eliciting a gasp of pain from his oppent, receiving a deep wound in the shoulder in retaliation. He stabbed the lieutenant through his flank, then picked up his sword, and threw it into the chest of the fellow who came to avenge him.

Clutching his wound, he cried out, "Where are those bloody tanks, for the love of God!"



With the firing of the lead tank's gun, the corner shop burst open. A small group of isolated Babkhan soldiers were seen going inside; the first hostiles they had seen that day. Christopher looked out from behind the lead tank. Curious quiet.

A couple of guns interrupted the silence from inside the remains of the store, which the Militiamen quickly responded to in kind.

"Move in!" Christopher cried out.
"Avancez!" Katherine translated for him.

One of the platoons moved up and encircled the shop, a second providing covering fire. Once in position, the second advanced, with the first covering them. Everyone paused for a moment, and then more fire was poured into what little was left of the shop, followed by a column of militiamen pouring in through the torn open doorway. More firing.

"Position units to cover every direction of is crossway." Christopher said. Valeria nodded and provided the proper order, pointing and shouting in turn. He followed the column into the store. After all, it was not in his nature to let action get away from him willingly.

The shop was that of a local barrel maker. How such a small-scale business could be maintained itself in a city, with the expected demands, made Christopher wonder and he stumbled through bits of shaped wood and pieces of iron hoops. As he made his way further in, squeezing through the overzealous Militiamen who saw fit to pile into the shop even though there was little space for them, he could see that the shop was actually bigger than it seemed. In the next room, there were a couple random shots being taken, rattling through the air at two different and distinct frequencies. One was the standard firearm that the Militiamen were distributed. The other, with more of deep rat-tat-tat, must have been the Babkhan firearms.

The back door was opened, squeaking as it went, and again the Militiamen charged through the back area to catch up. Christopher made his way through as well, until something got in his way, bringing him face first into the dirt floor.


"Commander! Are you alright?"

Christopher opened his eyes. It began blurry, but quickly focused into the face of Ensign Valeria, an extra bit of blood splashed on her, from her helmet, down her left cheek, and onto the ballistic vest. "Present and accounted for." Christopher replied. "I tripped on something."

Christopher rolled into a sitting position to see what it was. It had rolled a bit away, thanks to the momentum his running foot provided. Christopher rolled it back into place and looked at it. A green, rusted metallic head.

"Count Peter." Katherine noted, a touch of surprise in her voice. It continued to look out with its cold, emotionless eyes. Under his moustache, it continued to have a slight snear to its lips, somehow detachingly content with the horror that had been commanded. Katherine lent Christopher a shoulder to lift himself up on. His foot was not broken, but the pain indicated that it was not exactly as it had been a moment before. One more victim to the cruelty of Count Peter. Christopher pulled out his pistol, chambered a round, and fired straight into Count Peter's face. No one who was not carefully watching expected a gunshot to ring out after the Babkhans had been smoked out and killed, so most instinctively jumped.

Christopher looked at the gun, and then holstered it again. "I don't think Braden would have appreciated me doing that..." He bent down and picked it up. Whatever, he thought to himself, tossing it to the nearest Militiaman.

"For Commander Indianensis."
"Pour Commandeur Indianensis."



The situation was bleak. A line of fallen corpses delineated the boundary between the Babkhans and Anticans, almost forming another barricade; but it wasn't much of one, considering that the Babkhans were treading across it with little difficulty on that account, although what awaited them after was rather painful. Nonetheless, the Anticans were being pushed back up and over the rubble barricade, and it looked as if they might be driven back, or Gods forbid, overwhelmed. A man fell dead to Braden's right, shot through the stomach, and another fell directly in front of him , wailing in agony, clutching his stump of a leg. Another soldier shot both legs off an advancing Babkhan.

Colonel Munier was positively panicking, speaking completely in Alexandrian, barking at the men to hold the line, to advance, not to retreat. A bullet whizzed by her, leaving hole in her uniform, just about an inch from her side. She grabbed one man and practically threw him down the rubble stack, slipping and sliding herself as bits of chalky, white dirt crumbled around her.

"Allons-y, les hommes! Allez, allez!"

She was largely ignored, and that was infuriating. She began shooting near the feet of withdrawing men, pushing them forward into the fray, taking at least one by the scruff of the neck and tossing him back, headlong. "Allez, ou je vous tuerai moi-meme!" Most of the soldiers had no idea what she was saying, but it sounded stern.

One man turned, and broke into a dead run, bolting up the side of the heap. "Come on!" he called. "It's hopeless! Retreat!" Munier grabbed him by the hair, threw him upon the ground, and cracked him across the face with the hilt of her saber, knocking out a few of his teeth.

The withdrawal slowed, but even Munier could not halt it, as the Babkhans approached. She began to know an emotion almost alien to her: despair. She would not allow herself to be captured by Babkhans. She'd take twenty of them with her before killing herself. Braden, lower down on the slope of the heap, fired off at a few of the Babkhans who'd broken the line and were trying to storm the hill. More came. He looked to the skies, waiting for deus ex machina, and then...

The roar of tank engines, and the cry of the advancing Gascons. It might have been the Lady herself, descending upon the host of Babkha, shield and spear in hand, with Dike and Nemesis in tow.

For indeed, Justice and Retribution now fell upon the foe, and struck them deep with terror; the course of the engagement was reversed, the enemy put to flight, and chased down before they could make good their escape. The Gascons gleefully set themselves to the slaughter of the Babkhans, and Munier, recovering from her frenzy, did little to stop them.
Summary: Antican and Free Gascon units fight with Babkhan units in Pierrefeu, in an attempt to clear the Capital of them.
Next Day

Christopher stepped through the infirmary with a stiff gait. His ankle was still a little sore, but nothing could be done about that. He found the space that Commander Indianensis had been alloted while his wounds were being tended to. He lifted up the clipboard in his hand. "Reports indicate that the majority of the Elwynnbrigaden has retreated from the entirety of the island except for Vacqueyras. Earlier, there was a de facto ceasefire between one of your battalion commanders and some Babkhan officer. Antican and Free Gascon forces control the western and northern sections of the city, allowing use of the southeastern portion for the Babkhans to load up their transport ships for their scheduled departure by tomorrow."

"Well, that's good news," Braden said. "Now, if we can manage to gain control of the whole island again. Do not forget the insurrection. Thank you, ma'am," he said to the nurse, who had just finished cleaning and wrapping the shoulder wound.

"Not a problem at all, she said, scrubbing her hands with zeal. Christopher looked at the pattern of Braden's wounds.

"It's stuff like running around with swords that'll get you cut up like that, you know."

"I have a fondness for hand-to-hand, pitched battle. You can't behead somebody and fling it into the host of the enemy in the age of modern warfare." Braden said, defending himself. He looked at the large, green head sitting at the foot of his cot. It was scratched, pitted, and beaten. But the bullet right between the right eye and the nose caught his attention. He looked up at Christopher. "Was that really necessary?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Commander Indianensis put his arm back through his sleeve, wincing a little, and buttoned up his shirt and waistcoat, before securely fastening his overcoat and wide-brimmed hat. "Well, let's be off to Salignac."

Exiting the tent, the Gascon militiamen were in a state of rapture, singing, and shaking hands with their Antican comrades. "The referendum has passed!" someone called. "VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE ST. JEAN!"
Summary: Babkhans have been driven from almost the entire island, with a ceasefire in place to allow for their scheduled evacuation through Vacqueyras. The referendum has passed, declaring Isle of St Jean an independent country. Facing the Anticans now: the insurrection led by Chevalier d'Arkan.
Image

User avatar
Aurangzeb Khan
Posts: 3251
Joined: Tue Jan 30, 2007 12:22 pm
Location: The Citadel, Ardashirshahr

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Aurangzeb Khan »

Pierresfeu, Tuesday Morning


Eddie March had implored Lt. Hunza not to go out into the street to fight, the Brewer´s Guildhall had been a perfectly defensible position, but the Lieutenant had already made his mind up that he was not going to get out of Pierrefeu alive. After that it became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, they had dynamited two houses to form a crude defensive position and waited for the enemy to storm their positions - which duly happened. The primitive Gascons had whipped themselves into a furious bloodlust and, under the covering fire laid down by the Anticans, had surged forward to complete the slaughter with hand to hand fighting. He was not sure if there had been any survivors, but the fighting had been so frenzied that he doubted it.

Eddie had seen Hunza take a slug to the shoulder and crumple into the ru. What became of him after that Eddie could not discern for he had taken the only prudent course of action left open to him, and run for his life.

For once in his life Eddie was grateful, genuinely grateful, that it was Elwish blood which coursed through his veins - ethnographic hierarchy be damned - the natives were actively hunting down and butchering anyone with so much as a hint of swarthy skin and the Anticans were in no particular hurry to stop them.

It was lucky as well that the militia uniform, essentially the old Bosworth uniform with a strange Hyperborean style spiral emblem in place of the cap badge and an armband the colour of the Gascon Flag, was an adequate, if slightly snug, fit. Eddie had been fortunate to chance upon the militiaman who was taking a leak up against the wall at the end of the alleyway which he, Eddie, had just stumbled into in his headlong flight away from the carnage. Eddie had been almost on autopilot, he did not recall picking up the brick from the pile of rubble he passed as he stealthily advanced towards the unsuspecting militiaman, and it did not even register that he had calmly proceeded to dash out the Gascon´s brains with repeated frenzied blows. Nor that he had then stripped the corpse naked, dressed it up in the CSD field operative´s suit, the quality of the tailoring had meant he was no longer save wearing it in such a primitive backwater, and then dressed himself up in the dead man´s clothes. It was as if he had been another person entirely.

The state of the uniform was no particular concern - there were enough soldiers stumbling around the town caked in blood, dirt and gore, for Eddie to blend in. The Lingo, now that could have been a problem but when he had been compelled to select a Cibolan language to study while at the County Security Department Training Academy, Eddie had been fortunate in choosing Alexandrian. It can hardly be said that he chose the language with a view to his life depending upon the mastery of it at a later date when he sighe module, rather it had simply been that he had noticed that the Babkhan instructors were giving anyone who chose to learn the Matbaic language an exceptionally hard time - on account of their disdain for the `Syriac dogs´.

It was only when he got around to doing up the flies of the dead man´s trousers that Eddie realised that there might be a chance that the fellow´s comrades might start to wonder where he had gotten to. Then again they might not have. There was every indication that the Anticans and their Wee Free allies had seriously overestimated the size of the Elwynnbrigaden detachment on the island, which had been at most two companies of infantry supported by a squadron of Leviathan helicopters. The only Elwynnbrigaden force present in Pierrefeu had been 1 Platoon, Echo Company, under Lt. Hunza, which had been helping Eddie in his search for the wretched Badger, yet the enemy had sent a force sufficient to see off an entire battalion. The enemy therefore would hardly be ready to accept that the platoon it had just overwhelmed constituted the sole Elwynnese detachment north of Vacqueyras. They would be jittery and on edge waiting for a counter-attack that would likely as not never materialise. They would hardly have time to go searching for some deserter who made a feeble excuse about going to the toilet.

There was no guarantee of that however. Eddie therefore deemed it appropriate to scarper once more. It would have helped if he had remembered to pick up the soldier´s rifle, which had been propped up against a piece of guttering, but he was, in fairness, in a hurry to get away.

He was relieved to see that, even as he ran further and further away from the now fading and intermittent sounds of gunfire, that the streets remained empty - the civilians seemingly taking heed of the instructions to stay indoors that he had heard bellowed before the start of the slaughter, curiously it had been shouted by someone speaking what could have almost been Common with a heavy accent. Nonetheless d been internalised and accepted on the part of the populace.

Round the next corner Eddie found a big steaming manure pile, clearly awaiting the dung cart, and into this he unhesitatingly thrust his CDS Identity Card and OAH 9mm Pistol. A horse drinking trough was close by, this street was perhaps close to stables, and Eddie was able to wash the filth from his hands in that stagnant, algae ridden water. Running further down the street, his newly appropriated boots clattering on the cobbles, Eddie was starting to imagine that he might just be able to keep on running, to the very edge of the town, perhaps even into the open countryside when, just as he turned another corner, he heard an urgent shout of command cried out.

"Halte!"

Eddie froze in horror at what he saw. A road block - operated by Gascons in Free Militia uniforms, not an Antican in sight. Four tense and resentful looking men. Eddie could have done without their attentions.

"Oui. Vous là. Je te parle."

Eddies, heart was pumping furiously, every fibre in his being was telling him to turn round and start running in the direction he had just come from. Yet he remained rooted to the spot as the one who seemed to be in charge, or at least certainly issuing the instructions, walked over.

"Moi?" - was all Eddie could muster by way of reply.

"Oui vous. Où la baise vous pensez-vous allez-vous?" The Gascon gentleman was seemingly not impressed.

"Pardonnez-moi. Je suis un peu perdu." Again, a hopeless reply.

"Un peu perdu!" repeated the Gascon in a mocking tone. "un peu abandonnant plutôt."

"Pardon?" Eddie was starting to panic, he had very nearly answered in Common, which under the present circumstances would have been about as advisable as sauntering into view wearing a turban and riding a mange ridden camel.

"Vous êtes un déserteur êtes vous pas?"

At last - an opening, a question onto which Eddie could thread such lies as might prove necessary to avoid a summary execution.

"Mon Dieu! Pas du tout. J'essaye de retourner à mon régiment."

The Gascon´s eyebrow arched in a manner that suggested that he was either doubtful, quizzical, or about to have a heart attack. "Quelle régiment?"

Now Eddie was in trouble. He had no idea what the units of the Free Gascon Militia were called. He only had one chance, and he had to make an inspired guess if he wanted to stand any chance of survival at all.

"Les Tireurs d'Inkenion," he tried desperately to make it sound like an answer rather than a question.

The Gascon however was beaming. In a rapid gabble of words he explained to Eddie that while permission had not yet been formally granted to name the regiment after the revered Rhoti it was more or less a done deal and that everyone had already started calling the unit by that name so there was no need to sound so hesitant. Seemingly without pausing for breath, although there was a great deal of nasal flaring, he went on to point out the spire of a nearby Church, there he said a soup kitchen was being run by the local Père, and if one were unable to stomach the fighting one could at least help with providing the sterner souls with the sustenance to carry on the good fight. If he caught the drift.

Eddie did, and promptly volunteered.

However one thing flabbergasted him and as he walked off he couldn´t stop himself from blurting out the question. He had, in spite of himself, just asked why they hadn´t checked his papers, indeed they hadn´t asked him his name.

`Why should we?´ Replied the incredulous Gascon `in this new age of liberty no man doubts the integrity of his fellow citizens and to insist on proof of identity is an insult against a man´s very freedom.´

Eddie just walked on shaking his head in disbelief, convinced now more than ever that liberty was just a licence for grown men to act like fools.

Summary: Lieutenant Edward March is the only Elwynnese Officer to escape the doomed last stand of the Elwyu and has, largely down to carelessness on the part of those who should be keeping an eye out for fugitives, made good his escape to the rear disguised as a militiamen in a sector where everyone has got the idea into their heads to burn their ID cards as an expression of liberty and a rejection of serfdom.

MoMA Main Building, Shirekeep

Image

The MoMA Spokesman today denied reports circulating in the unregulated media that Imperial Volunteer Forces had come off the worse in recent skirmishes with the Antican Home Guard and indiginous Gascon militiamen. Denying that any fighting had taken place the spokesman went on affirm that the Imperial Republic of Shireroth had faithfully complied with the terms of the Khan-Bellamy Accord and that the internal security situation on the Isle St. Jean was a matter for the government of the Kingdom of Bosworth. When pressed to state who the present King heading the government of the Kingdom of Bosworth might be the spokesman declined to comment.

Further questions were fielded concerning the persistent rumours of heavy fighting on St. Jean prior to the handover. The Spokesman went on to state categorically that bodybags were not being brought ashore at Corrigible, that there had been no fighting during the night in Vacqueyras or Pierrefeu, that there had been no ceasefire to end the fighting that has not been happening and that there was no truth to reports of a Leviathan helicopter crashing, and that if there was it would be because of mechanical failure rather than enemy action because there was no action and no action by the enemy that was not there.

When asked how forces from the Commonwealth of Antica were able to install themselves on an island under Shirerithian occupation without the knowledge or consent of the Shirerithian Ministry of Military Affairs the Spokesman went on to say that the Military Governor of St. Jean, Captain Hafiz Rhodri, had been recalled to Shirekeep as part of a routine internal auditing process and that there would be ample opportunity during this to review the conduct of the occupation up until the point of the entirely peaceful and unforced evacuation. Beyond that however, the matter was sub judice and any further unauthorised discussion in the media would see the culprits referred to the appropriate authorities for actioning.

User avatar
Braden Indianensis
Posts: 1378
Joined: Tue Dec 20, 2005 2:06 pm
Location: Number 12 Concord Street, Nafticon, Republic of Antica

Re: Redoubt Island Recwar II: Withdrawl

Post by Braden Indianensis »

Vacqueyras Harbor

There were still a few fires left to put out all throughout the town, the last remnants of the battle that had taken place. After a day of solid fighting, an unofficial truce was made, on the understanding that the Shirerithians needed Vacqueyras if they were to do as was demanded of them and leave. L'Avenue du Nord was the makeshift border between the two side's spheres of control, a line which continued right through the Town Square and the adjacent dock area, where the Shirerithian transports awaited.

One by one, the Companies of Elwynnbrigaden marched silently, assembling at the Town Square with their equipment, and then boarding their ships to return home. On the side of the Town Square held by the Anticans, a sandbag wall divided the two forces, the line covered by Home Guardsmen. They were armed, but were not in firing position, nor did they intend to fire. Their only function there was to ensure that order was maintained and that the Shirerithians left without leaving any goodbye gifts. In the middle of the sandbag line was perched a white flag of truce, fixed there as a reminder to the Babkhans, who had a tendency to forget such things as ceasefires and friend versus foe.

Colonel Sebastian Kevinson stood with members of his staff, staring down the Babkhans as they made their way out, his arms crossed. Once the Anticans reasserted a level of control over the situation in Vacqueyras, he was put in charge of all units, Antican and Free Gascon.

The next company of the Elwynnbrigaden ordered itself into a column. Its commander, a Captain from the look of it, ordered for forward march, and then led the column through the opening on the southern side of the square to the docks. For a moment, he glanced at the Antican line, and his eyes met those of Colonel Kevinson. The expected disgust, but even at that distance, Sebastian could see some hint of remorse. Perhaps, he considered, he regrets having to pull out before he had the chance to kill off as many people as possible. Filthy bugger. The Colonel turned to Captain Merfield, his logistics officer.

"How much more of Elwynnbrigaden is left?"

The Colonel had asked Captain Merfield this several times already, but he checked over his information one more time to be sure. "I do believe this is the last unit, sir. All of their other equipment is aboard." Kevinson nodded.

After the minutes ticked by, the eastern side of the Town Square began to refill with Hyperborean Paladins. It looks like their supposed mass epidemic has vanished, Sebastian mused. One of them, who looked a little older than the rest, moved amongst them, speaking in their tongue. Chances were firmly against any Antican knowing Hyperborean, but the tone was one of orders being given. He was probably their commander, whatever the rank was. "Lotter" or something along those lines. Sebastian could not remember. Once the Paladins of that particular unit had properly assembled themselves, the same officer called out, and they formed their own column. He then looked over to the Antican side of the Town Square, and called out one last thing. The group of Paladins began to move.

"Anticans!" Colonel Kevinson called out. "Stand at Attention!"

After a moment of slight disorder, the entire Antican contingent present stood. Soldiers presented their arms. Officers unsheathed their swords. The Hyperboreans chose to stay out of the unpleasantness of the past few days, and Colonel Kevinson was grateful for it. Unlike the Babkhans in the Elwynnbrigaden, the Hyperboreans would leave with their honor respected. They would return to their... Iceberg, and make their way home recognized as friends and allies.

Salignac

"To His Excellency the Chevalier d'Arkan, greeting, authority is granted to me-"

"Wrong!"

"What's wrong with this one?" Braden asked.

"Not the proper style," said Roger Beaumont. "Not at all." He paused for a moment to think. "Here," he said, "I will dictate."

" 'Christopher Octavius and Braden Indianensis, by the Appointment of the Assembly of the Commonwealth of Antica, Commanders of Antican Forces in Isle St. Jean and Defenders of the Peace Thereof, to Alexandre Lebed-Cygne, by the Gift of the Baron of Mouilles, Vassal of the Late Viscount of Frejus, Now in Rebellion, Greeting.' "

Braden finished this, and clutched his wrist. "Damn quill pens!"

"Quiet! New paragraph. 'For to prevent the unnecessary effusion of blood, and for the avoiding of all other inconveniences likely to grow by the wars and rebellions now levied in the realm and county of St Jean, it is our pleasure to invite your excellency to a formal truce and parley, whereupon the terms of peace shall be expounded by Commander Indianensis, and your rebellion swiftly appeased, Gods willing. If not, the recourse shall be to arms, and this would not go well for you. Given at the Chateau des Comtes de St. Jean, on this Second Day of July, the Year 2008 in the Common Reckoning.'

"Do you have a coat of arms, Commander Octavius?" Roger Beaumont asked.

"Uh..." Christopher fumbled for a moment while the question, to which he was not paying attention, caught back up with him. "Not exactly. There's a sigil belonging to the old Basilei of Kaikias which I could use, but I'd feel--"

"So you don't have one. Commander Indianensis?"

"Well, yes, but I haven't got a seal of it with me, or anything like that--"

"What is its blazon?"

"Pardon?"

"What does it look like?"

"Well, it's a sort of green, with a white serpent--"

"--vert, a serpent argent..."

"...between two apple trees--"

"--between two apple trees proper. I'll have the tool and dye fellow make one."

"I also have a small Seal of the Assembly somewhere... it could prove useful..."

"What's the need for it, anyway?" Christopher asked.

Roger Beaumont stared at him, blankly, and began talking to nobody. " 'What's the need,' he asks, my dear Jezebelle. Can you believe this silly man?" He chuckled.

She nodded back and, grinning all along the way, added, "He's absolutely clueless, no?" before giggling some more.

Christopher cleared his throat. "Yes. What is the need?"

Beaumont seemed annoyed at being interrupted. "The need is that the Chevalier d'Arkan is famous for flashing his arms around--some say, because he had to buy them--and we can't be outdone. Standards! We need at least three. More than he has, preferably. You know, Jezebelle, he ought only to have that one of his absurd arms, and that crude flag of the rebellion."

"So tacky!" she agreed, placing her hand over her mouth and giggling.

"Meanwhile, we have Commander Indianenses' arms, the flag of the Antican Commonwealth, the flag of the new St Jean Republic, and the standard of the Assembly. Ha! Four!"

"That's two more than that silly Chevalier," added Jezebelle, her purple, cartoony eyes flashing with delight, extending two fingers from her hand for emphasis.

"You're absolutely right, my pet, it is!"

"You're absolutely barking loony," said Commander Indianensis.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're talking... to nobody."

"You shouldn't call somebody nobody, especially when they're in the room. It makes a personage of your stature look very pretentious."

Braden took another swig of whiskey. Maybe he'd see her, too. Christopher looked at his watch.

"I had better head back to Pierrefeu, actually. There are a few... court martials that need to be taken care of, and the Circle is probably already going through them in the belief that they still have the jurisdiction."

"Very well, Christopher," said Braden. "You'd better hurry up, they'll have the firing squad assembled before you can say 'kangaroo court.' " Christopher bowed his head to the two, and headed out.

"Anyway, you've already got the flag of Antica and the Assembly's standard here, so I'll get Madame Tricoteuse--the finest weaver in Pierrefeu, I assure you--to make the others. She can be done by tomorrow, if she gets her assistants together," Beaumont continued, as if Commander Octavius had never been in the room.

Braden thought that was rather rude, even if Roger Beaumont was crazy: he was related to a lot of mad people, and they were never that impolite.

"As well, you need four pages--preferably coming from the higest-ranking families--to carry the standards. But I can take care of that. And a pavilion! Luckily, I know where a very large one is. It's down in the dungeons, Jezebelle lives there, don't you, dearest?"

"Yes," she said, "it's a lovely house!"

"I know, dearest, that's why I pitched it for you!"

Braden was glad Nelson was there; he didn't want to be left alone in the same room with this fellow.
Summary: The Anticans prepare a request for audience with the Chevalier d'Arkan.
Braden took a final look at himself in the mirror. His dress uniform was quite the anachronism, and while fun to wear, was such a hassle that it was rarely worn in full. It consisted of knee-high boots, slacks, a starched, white, high collared shirt that he would probably have worn anyway, a spectacular knee-length overcoat, with eighteen brass buttons ascending in groups of three on either side, shoulder straps to indicate his rank, the whole ensemble rendered in a dark blue, his signature bow tie, and a black, wide-brimmed hat.

"Well," he said to himself, "if they're not impressed by this, then they're obviously too stupid to worry about."

"The Chevalier has arrived, 'fashionably late'." Nelson announced.

Nelson turned and left, Braden following close behind, and then proceeding up through the ranks, walking between two tanks onto the edge of a large, open field, in the middle of which was a large, red pavilion, and beyond that, more field, and then, the ramshackle assembled host of the enemy. The Home Guard, fitted out in their dress uniform of four-button coat and slouch hat, stood in array behind him.

Gunpowder, Braden's middle-aged, slightly corpulent, dark grey steed, looked positively patrician in the company of five thoroughly-aristocratic pages, one holding his reigns and four others the essential flags, much more so than when he'd munched grass back in Sylvania. Braden swung himself over onto the horse's back, into the freshly-polished saddle, nearly kicking the page in the face in the process; the boy was used to kneeling and making himself a human stool for his lord.

Braden made a hasty apology, which highly shocked the half-genuflected youth.

A drummer and two trumpeteers from the Home Guard's band proceeded to belt out a very energetic march, and then, nudging Gunpowder with his spurs, the van began its advance toward the pavilion. Braden felt rather silly and pompous the whole time, but managed to pull of what looked like a very masterful grimace. The enemy, at any rate, looked positively sheepish.

The group halted, and Braden managed to dismount without assaulting any of the attendants. He lifted the flap of the tent, and walked in, to find the Chevalier already there.

The man rose from his seat, slowly--partly because he was hesitant to recognize this Antican as his equal, and thereby worthy of respect, and partly because he was wearing a gilded suit of three-quarter plate that must've weighed fifty pounds. He had, at least, shed his gauntlets and vambraces.

Upon viewing Alexandre Lebed-Cygne, Braden sought for an adjective to describe him. He'd have been arrogant, had it not been for his rank; pretentious didn't describe him, since he wasn't pretending anything; haughty, then. Yes, he was the very picture of haughtiness. Shoulder-length, white-blonde hair, very light blue eyes, and skin so pale that his veins--literally coursing with blue blood--were plainly visible. He had all the weasely cunning and good looks one associates with the lower aristocracy.


Having seen Braden, Alexandre's first thought was that the Antican forces were commanded by a peasant. He might've been a freeholder of some kind--perhaps just a cotter who'd gotten a little prosperous--and the suit he was wearing was probably his only one. He noticed the Antican's face, and the tops of his hands, were tanned the color of clay: he obviously spent time out in the sun, probably oper
ating a plow.

"Good morrow," he managed. "I am Alexandre Lebed-Cygne, Chevalier d'Arkan. You are Braden Indianensis, is that not correct?"

"Yes, sir, I am," he said, extending his hand. Alexandre looked at it with disgust.

"Please address me as 'milord.' It is proper. And what titles do you hold?"

Braden was highly offended, but he told himself there was no need to get excited, and possibly ruin the whole negotiation. "Well, milord, I hold no nobiliary title, myself--"

"You are a commoner, then? They sent a commoner to negotiate with me?"

Braden continued as calmly as possible, "--but I have held the office of Speaker of the Assembly, I hold a commission from that body granting me supreme command over all land forces on Isle St Jean, I own five hundred acres, and my family is very old, and highly respected."

"But," d'Arkan sneered, "you are not noble."

Pushing down his urge to backhand His Lordship, Braden said, "Perhaps we'd better turn to the matter at hand, negotiating a peace--"

"I see that you are armigerous. Well, I presume you bought that, even the petty bourgeois types are doing that now. I saw a green grocer the other day, nailing a sign bearing his 'acheivement' above his store. If they can do it, I suppose it's only a short jump to yeomen and dirt-scratchers--"

"I wonder WHY you ask me to call you 'milord.' You said your title was 'Chevalier'...you're a knight, aren't you? A knight of the shire. Why, then, you aren't a lord, you're not noble, you're..."Braden smiled wickedly, "...a member of the gentry, aren't you, sir?"

"You shouldn't parade your ignorant assumptions about rank and dignity in front of your superiors--"

"What do you mean, 'my superiors', you impudent whelp? I am a descendant by blood of prefects of many a vast district in Kaikias, kinsmen of the Basileis of old, their trusted counselors and governors, men who were given the name of prince.

When my forebears poured wine into the cups of kings, dispensed their justice and led their armies, yours painted themselves blue and howled at the moon. And do you not think I know your recent history, as well? The hirelings of baronial warlords, bringing sword and fire against rustics, and thereby gaining the title 'knight,' and a fine manor house, vineyards and fields and serfs.

"And now you undertake to violate the peace and dignity of this realm, ostensibly in the name of restoring the law, and yet it is plain that you mean only to prop up the system that has thusfar yielded ill-gotten treasures to you. Well, Sir, a prince of Kaikias far outranks a knight of Arkan in the Barony of Mouilles in the Viscountcy of Frejus, and so on. How dare you raise your vassal hand to arrest my progress?"

Alexandre stood, silent, suddenly feeling quite foolish in his finery, and wishing he could sit down again.

"Well," Braden said, "I am come today with two courses to offer you. One is that battle be joined here, and now. As you would surely have seen outside, and as I said in my letter, it would not go well for you. Know as well that a ship stands ready to bombard the city of Frejus, and could commence at a word from Commander Octavius.

"The second is the one I hope you shall take. If you will lay down your arms and submit to the authority of the new government, and lead your army off field, dispersing your men immediately to their homes, I will grant you the title Viscount of Frejus, the last possessor of that dignity and his progeny now being extinct--"

"How can you offer noble titles? Where do you gain that authority? Any title you presumed to grant would be tainted, and unlawful."

"I have a mandate from the Assembly," Braden said. "I can do anything."

"As well," continued Braden, holding up his signet ring, "you will present yourself before both armies present today, kneel, and give me the kiss of peace."

"That is outrageous, it would--"

"I'm sure one of your subordinates would love to be Viscount of Frejus," Braden said.

He gestured toward a Patence of Nobility and a copy of the truce, neither of which was signed or sealed yet. "The choice is entirely yours. I warn you, however, that I have very limited patience."
Summary: Commander Indianensis is outside Salignac, negotiating with the Chevalier d'Arkan. He, the Home Guard, and the Bellerophon await his response.
Pierrefeu

"Bring in the accused."
"Amenez ici les inculpés."

Three Gasconians, all in Militia uniform, were walked in. The three were cuffed at the hands and the feet and chained together. Christopher thought it was complete unnecessary, but, as he had already learned, if he were to order that their bonds be released, or even replaced with something only moderately lighter and more comfortable, it would essentially be the equivalent of freeing them without even hearing their case. Those bonds are supposed to weigh them down. They're supposed to hurt.

"These Three are accused of cruel and unusual punishment of two unidentified individuals." Ensign Valeria read in Antican for the sake of the Commander, and then again in Gasconian. Claude Tolbert stepped forward to represent them.

"Bring in the evidence."
"Apportez ici la preuve."

On wheels, two large lumps of cement were wheeled in, and on sight of them Christopher struggled to keep himself from yarfing. The first one was the most expressive. It was the form of a man, on his knees, his arms held out (and probably in place while the process was being taken out), and his head cocked back. The large amount of cement poured over him made his expression impossible to read, but the body language said it all. Held against his will, he was buried alive in quick-dry cement. The very same stuff that the Shirerithians had brought in en masse as part of their initial building efforts. The second one had a similar, but less striking pose.

"These three militiamen were found with these two piles of cement shaped like people following the truce in Vacqueyras. After an initial period of speculation, they were subjected to testing. Inside each one is encased an adult man. It also appears that before being covered on the outside, they had the same type of cement poured down their throats. Their identities are yet unknown, as we have yet to burrow inside." As the statement was translated into Gasconian, the next set of evidence, the bags of cement and the mixing container that were found on site. "These materials are believed to have been used, and they have all three militiamen's fingerprints on them. They were found at the scene."

Christopher nodded to Claude Tolbert, signalling for him to begin his defense. Claude Tolbert was best known as being the Yes Man for Edouard Poulin, the de facto leader of the Circle of Free Gascons. It was no coincidence that he was here. Edouard Poulin had plans.

Tolbert began. "Monsieur Commandeur, zese sree men have done no crime. Ze two men encased are Babkiennes soldats. Ze Enemy. Zis kind of... eh... horseplay is expected in war."

Well, that was unexpected, Christopher thought. "Horseplay!? They poured cement down their throats and encased them in it! That's torture, and murder! Do your clients admit their guilt to these crimes?"

Claude Tolbert whispered to the three men, then turned back to the Commander. "Zey do not only admit zat zey did this, but zey are proud of it. You see, zey are brozers, and zeir niece had been... eh... taken by ze Babkiens. It is no crime in St Jean to punish ze enemy, or to obtain revenge. It is expected."

This is a problem, Christopher thought to himself. He could not rightly let these men go, especially with such... gruesome acts committed. And yet it was true... as a rightful act of revenge, it was perfectly fine. These people are absolutely barbaric... And then, he thought of something.

"Babkhans took your niece and did what they willed with her, and the best you could do was cement? Against Babkhans who most likely didn't even do that? You people really have no imagination. These two Babkhans only suffered for only a relatively short time. How long were you bothering with the two of them, from the beginning until they stopped moving?"

A pause to allow for translation. One of the militiamen nodded, and with a smile, "Une heure. Je pense..."

Another added, "Approximativement."

"Zey did not begin with ze cement. Zat was Ze very end."

Christopher nodded. He could not believe that he was going along this line of thinking. "During the time of the Dinarchy in Antica, there was a method of execution. It was not used very often, but it was always on the table. Slow slicing. You begin..." Christopher emphasized by indicating on himself with his hand shaped like a blade, "...by cutting away a little at a time. At first, paper scratches along the skin. After a bit of bleeding was allowed, the wounds were cauterized with red hot iron--without anesthetic, by the way--and then was continued to extend to the removal of fingers. Wounds were again cauterized..." He could see that Valeria was getting queesy translating all of that. Even the Gasconians were being weighed down with imagination of the pain.

"Anyway, the whole process lasted a few days on end, depending on how thorough a job was done. Eventually, when there was nothing left but stubs for appendages and a repeatedly cut and cauterized body, the person was put out of his misery with a large mallet, straight to the head. The leftovers were then put on display as a warning to whoever might decide to do... whatever it was that that particular person had done to merit the punishment.

"Now, the reason why I bring this up, is because you wasted your opportunity for revenge on cement. You did it on individuals who most probably hadn't committed what you were avenging, and it only lasted an hour at the maximum. And now, of course, all of the Babkhans have left, meaning that you can't obtain any others for your needs. What a waste." Christopher picked up the gavel. "One month in solitary confinement. I hope you think about that pitiful action you took that you call revenge." He slammed the gavel down, and the three were taken away. Claude Tolbert stood there, motionless. Eventually, he, along with everyone else, was made to vacate the chamber, leaving Christopher and Ensign Valeria.

It was silent for a while, until Valeria asked, "Sir... was that true?"

"Was what true, Kate?"

"The... ummm... slow slicing."

"No, no it wasn't. It only happened once, and it wasn't done by Anticans."

"Then why--"

"The Circle is trying to regain power for themselves. They do not want us Anticans to implement the changes in St Jean that we plan, because they will lose power for good. Unfortunately, the Jeaniards almost totally support our democratization program. In fact, much of it was demanded by mass petition. So essentially, the Circle is attempting to prevent exactly what the People want to happen. They will end any real semblance of democracy in St Jean, if only to preserve their power over the people. The only way they can do that is by regaining the reins, and the only way to do that is to get rid of us. The only way they'll be able to do that right now is to discredit us.

"How would it look to the people of St Jean if we prevented a family from perfectly legal and expected revenge?" He looked up at Katherine.

"I would imagine that it would not be taken well."

"It could very well be the start of eroding the people's confidence in us. After all, it would be disrespecting their long-held traditions. A bunch of heathenous foreigners, trying to change them. No, it would not be taken well. How the Hyperboreans managed to come in and do the exact same thing is beyond me. But then again, they respected the Circle. They gave power to the Circle, so the Circle protected them from criticism. We aren't so lucky."

Again, silence. Christopher sat there, his gaze revealing that while he was there in body, his mind was elsewhere. Katherine let the time pass, thinking on how best to provide some relief before acting. Her final choice was not the best, but it was at least something.

"Lunch?" She said.

Christopher smiled, nodded, and stood up. "Lunch."
Summary: Commander Octavius is in Pierrefeu, working on the training of new parts of the New Gascon Militia. He suspects that the Circle of Free Gascons is working to retake power, but is unsure of what exactly they intend to do.
Antican Ambassador to Shireroth and Babkha
Former Speaker of the Assembly of the Republic of Antica
Reporter for the Antican Liberator
Elder Guard of the Order of the Vorpal Blade

Post Reply

Return to “Ministry of Military Affairs”

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests