- Pronouns
- He/They/She
[X] Crown Prince Oscar and Third Princess Catarina of the Divine Monarchy of CanMexico, on behalf of His Divine Majesty and the faithful soldiers of Apollo-Mithras
Gundam Turn Alpha
- Thread starter BiopunkOtrera
- Start date
- IC
-
- Tags
- gundam gundam turn a
Theaxofwar
Definitely not a Bunny Cat in disguise.
- Location
- Standing right behind you
[X] Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah, His Imperial Majesty Salomon X, Emperor of Ethiopia, King of Zion, King of Shewa, King of Bete Amhara, Sultan of Somalia, High Commissioner of Water Rights, Prime of Holy Ministry, Stellar Lord, Lord of Conjunction, Messianic Lord, Defender of the Holy Peoples, Vessel of Divine Love, Elect of God
Business had given way to pleasure as the evening sun bathed the landscape of Goegap in a soothing orange glow. The delegation sat down to enjoy a picnic in prime position to watch the desert bloom. Vibrant flowers of innumerable species colored the sands. Birds and other animals scattering across the view added to the picturesque scene. All of this had been cultivated under the harsh eye of the de Jongh family—it was their mantra to allow only the chosen few to enjoy their rural affluence. The sound of clinking wine glasses rang out.
"The Royal Republic is often thought of as stubborn, even old-fashioned," the royal envoy said as a deck of cards was being shuffled, "since it took a year of Spacian trade and prosperity elsewhere to pry it open. But those who say so forget what this country is."
She brought the glass up to the sun. The blood red liquid swirled in response.
"Take this wine, for example. We can learn a lot through it."
Her lips savored the story that it told.
Putting the glass down, she said, "You cannot forget the Cape once you've tasted the muscularity and spice. The site, soil, and people speak fluently through it. Even the best Pinot noir in the Lagrangian colonies pale in comparison. Unlike those varietals grown on earth, the ones in space have only fruit charm and soft ease to them. Depth, structure, or age-worthiness sadly weren't considered during production."
The envoy interrupted her own sermon with a soft laugh.
"I mean no offense, of course. This is purely used to illustrate a point—one that'll be clear when you realize the vineyards weren't indigenous to the Cape. They were imported from Europe and adjusted to local conditions over time. As with wine, so with politics. The Royal Republic has never been stagnant. Waves of republicanism, socialism, and mondism were acclimated to be useful here."
Under the glint of the sun, Salsamille Ramba's orange hair and violet eyes looked very familiar to those from the colonies. Many of them shared the same features.
"I suppose we can say it is time for space too."
"The Royal Republic is often thought of as stubborn, even old-fashioned," the royal envoy said as a deck of cards was being shuffled, "since it took a year of Spacian trade and prosperity elsewhere to pry it open. But those who say so forget what this country is."
She brought the glass up to the sun. The blood red liquid swirled in response.
"Take this wine, for example. We can learn a lot through it."
Her lips savored the story that it told.
Putting the glass down, she said, "You cannot forget the Cape once you've tasted the muscularity and spice. The site, soil, and people speak fluently through it. Even the best Pinot noir in the Lagrangian colonies pale in comparison. Unlike those varietals grown on earth, the ones in space have only fruit charm and soft ease to them. Depth, structure, or age-worthiness sadly weren't considered during production."
The envoy interrupted her own sermon with a soft laugh.
"I mean no offense, of course. This is purely used to illustrate a point—one that'll be clear when you realize the vineyards weren't indigenous to the Cape. They were imported from Europe and adjusted to local conditions over time. As with wine, so with politics. The Royal Republic has never been stagnant. Waves of republicanism, socialism, and mondism were acclimated to be useful here."
Under the glint of the sun, Salsamille Ramba's orange hair and violet eyes looked very familiar to those from the colonies. Many of them shared the same features.
"I suppose we can say it is time for space too."
- Pronouns
- She/Her
SIDE 3 SPECTACLE
41st Edition, January 1002
- HARERE - Moralian Army Engineers oversee the construction of the Royal Republic's first Mobile Suit Factory following a landmark Trade Deal with the Royal Republic. The rich but relatively uninvolved Earthian Nation had long been passed over in the tumultuous affairs of the past year, but no longer! As foreign investment began to flow to the African South, the newly established Africa Office of Captain Pearl had made sure that Moralia was not left behind. One of many brand new trade agreements between Moralia and the various Earthian states, in exchange for a Factory of that ever reliable transformable workhorse T-Type, trade ties between the two nations will enter a new—cont. in pp.2
- ERESH CYLINDER - The arrival of the Lilium fleet to the inner Earth Sphere has sent shockwaves across Side 3, but nowhere is it more felt than in the former Liliam State, now referred to as The Eresh State. The certified Astartophiles of the Side 3 colony had, following the opening of relations with the newly arrived fleet, had swiftly seen a movement for a name referendum suddenly seize its populace. Within a week, the Eresh State, located in the Eresh Cylinder had been proclaimed, to the quiet congratulations of its allies and neighbors, most surprising among them being Moralia. This seems to be following a trend of detente with— cont. pp.3
- SECILLIA CYLINDER - The release of the Terminal Dossier and later the Erebus Conference had shaken all that had been known by Space and Earth of the Pre-Cataclysm. Most affected by these revelations is Side 3, the apparent birthplace of the ancient mass-murdering fascist conspiracy known as Twisted Tree. Not merely that, Side 3 had also been the homeland of the old Principality of Zodo, the leading member of the AFAN, the Anti Federation Allied Nations, the instigator of the cataclysmic 11 Month War. A pall now hangs over the Moralian Sphere, the incidents of the Secillian Revolution taking on a more sinister tone. Calls for Moralia to investigate Side 3's past are increasing both internally within its alliance and externally, as the other Side 3 colonies see the Ghost of Zodo in every corner. In response to this, Home Captain Ikuko Fujiwara has announced an expedition to the Gate of Zedan—cont. pp.6
- Location
- New England, State of Confusion
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The Lord Bless You and Keep You
In the cold northern waters of Earth, a song rings out from a handful of voices. Hard to hear and the exact source unclear, it echos across the steel cold waters.
The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
It is quiet and serene. It is a melody of peace and praise, though who the Lord in question is has been lost to time. What has not been lost is its beauty.
The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
As each verse flows steadily into the next those who hear it without doubt understand its meaning and its purpose.
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
It is a reminder.
The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
Whatever happens in this life or this coming moment, their purpose is to live a peaceful life.
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
That much is clear.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
All humanity that dwells in and beyond their cradles pull are the children of the song. It could be no other way.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
All generations and all children should be favored with peace.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
All generations and all children shall be favored with peace.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
It could be no other way.
May His presence go before you
And behind you, and beside you
All around you, and within you
He is with you, he is with you
It will be no other way.
In the morning, in the evening
In your coming, and your going
In your weeping, and rejoicing
He is for you, he is for you
And as the song fades to its ending, one singular feeling does not fade.
He is, He is
There will be peace soon.
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
In the cold northern waters of Earth, a song rings out from a handful of voices. Hard to hear and the exact source unclear, it echos across the steel cold waters.
The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
It is quiet and serene. It is a melody of peace and praise, though who the Lord in question is has been lost to time. What has not been lost is its beauty.
The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
As each verse flows steadily into the next those who hear it without doubt understand its meaning and its purpose.
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
It is a reminder.
The Lord bless you and keep you
Make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
Whatever happens in this life or this coming moment, their purpose is to live a peaceful life.
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
That much is clear.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
All humanity that dwells in and beyond their cradles pull are the children of the song. It could be no other way.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
All generations and all children should be favored with peace.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
All generations and all children shall be favored with peace.
May His favor be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children
It could be no other way.
May His presence go before you
And behind you, and beside you
All around you, and within you
He is with you, he is with you
It will be no other way.
In the morning, in the evening
In your coming, and your going
In your weeping, and rejoicing
He is for you, he is for you
And as the song fades to its ending, one singular feeling does not fade.
He is, He is
There will be peace soon.
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
Amen, amen, amen
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
"I... what?"
"Yeah, that was my reaction."
"We're not goth! I don't even wear eyeliner!""Well... that's a little reductive. Not all got-"
"I know! I went through a phase! We're not goth just because they don't understand that we're trying to help them all!"
"Ugh. You know what'd make you feel better? How about we get out of our Suits and go visit where your family came from? That might be more relaxing."
"It's not the same. That was a thousand years ago. The land looks the same but there's not even a town there anymore. I checked."
"Well, how about we go looking around nearby then? Anything's better than construction work. Not like we're finishing today. We could make it a date night, go shopping, maybe hunt for long lost relatives that look like little versions of yo-"
"Please never suggest little versions of me running around, you know that's basically already happening... but fine, it's a date."
- Location
- Minnesota
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The Second Red Sea Treaty
Being a modification by unanimous consent of the signatories, this treaty allows for the inclusion of the Algerian Socialist Republic in the Oceans, Seas, And Rivers Alliance, and the modification the treaty with the correct names of the signatories. As such, article one shall be modified thusly:1. The contracting parties are the United Federation of Islands, the Caspian Sea Republic, the Free Republic of Egypt-Arabia, the Amazon Territories, the Socialist Republic of Algeria, and the states of Kenya, Thailand, Chile, and Sudan, henceforth referred to as the signatory powers.
[X] United Federation of Islands
[] Caspian Sea Republic @SirLagginton
[] Free Republic of Egypt-Arabia @AMTurtle
[] Amazon Territories @Simpli
[X] Algerian Socialist Republic @Princess_Hex
[X] Kenya
[X] Thailand
[X] Chile
[X] Sudan
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- Pronouns
- She/Her
We have always been proud to stand with our Republican allies, and that they have voted unanimously to allow us to join the OSRA is an honour we wear with pride. Algeria stands ready to continue to support her friends, as she has always done.
[X] Lila Selem, Algerian Secretary of Foreign Affairs
Easter
Laziest lazier
- Location
- Bed
A Slice Of Earth
The city of Montpellier is now open to spacer visitors! A place where any spacer can enjoy a slice of earth, both its nature and its culture. No matter one's interest you'll be able to find it in this city along the southern Lilian coast, be it history, cuisine, nature, or any other delight.
Notable Locations:
City Square: The best place for one to enjoy the numerous events put on throughout the year, from concerts to festivals, something is happening nearly every other day or night here for both locals and tourists to enjoy and mingle. Within the square itself can be found numerous art pieces with small cafes and shops along the edges of the square.Market Place: An empty expanse of cobbled paths and small foundations with greenery in between, citizens of the city and the surrounding areas come to the market to rent these small pads to set up stands to sell various goods ranging from small handicrafts, paintings, fruits/vegetables, and other assorted goods These stands are a beautiful assortment of colored clothes and wooden skeletons.
Faculty of Medicine: A positively ancient monastery belonging to a pre-collapse religion that had been turned into a school of medicine long before humanity made it to space and continued its studies well until the collapse, luckily the structure survived the collapse well enough for the resettlers of the region to discover and rebuild the school to continue the ancient traditions of those hallowed halls, that had survived the fall of numerous nations and even the apocalypse.
Visitors can enjoy a guided tour of the faculty and learn about the facility's history, at least as far as is known.
Artisan District: Likely the most artificial of the various city areas, this street is full of the various arts and crafts that spacers might think of when they imagine "primitive earth". From potters and blacksmiths, goldsmiths or painters, and even tailors alongside "medicine women". While each ranges in their veracity, one can be sure that watching such professions work can be fun for all ages and groups. Especially since many of these craftsmen take requests from those visiting, allowing spacers to buy custom handmade pieces made before their very eyes without the expense of ordering them from Earth!
Beaches: Enjoy the nearby beaches of the French coast, with warm waters and beautiful sands there are few as beautiful and pleasant to enjoy. Visited by tourists and locals, one can find plenty of enjoyable activities outside of just swimming or getting a tan. From fishing or boat sailing to snorkeling and even underwater basket weaving classes. If one has an activity they want to enjoy in the sun and surf than they can find it along these stretches of sand.
Méjean Bird Park: A large stretch of land outside the city, this protected park is home to numerous bird species not normally easily seen. Visitors get the chance to see migratory birds, flamingos, herons, and noisy storks in their nests. Alongside these natural creatures are the rare genetically modified creatures that made their way into nature and actually thrived, such as the glimmer-hawk or humming chameleon. Allowing for a chance to see the exotic birds that might have been shown on a screen but not in real life. This is a favorite amongst children and nature lovers alike, especially as the city allows for those who want a more extended stay to camp at a nearby site in cabins or rentable tents.
Martial Park: A campsite near the city, where various minor nobles and enthusiasts still practice the ancient arts of melee combat and the Lilian traditional tournaments are still run. Jousting, melee duels, grand melees, one can find any and all here as knights, men-at-arms, and the occasional wrestlers in underclothes duke it out to their heart's content.
General details to be aware of before visiting:
Hotels: Visitors will find that there are two kinds of hotels in the city. The first are inns, the more authentic experience of staying in an, admittedly high-class, Lily Kingdom home. Those who stay in hotels will find themselves enjoying all the amenities of space, courtesy of a partnership with Zolon.
Security: Due to concerns of inter-spacer rivalries or cultural friction there will be a number of security stations around the city, which can be recognized by the multiple colored fleur-de-lis signs where one can find officers trained in dealing with spacer cultures, de-escalation, and non-lethal combat.
Psychic bracelets: Due to privacy concerns the Lily Kingdom is requesting that Psychics wear a lilac-colored bracelet to show that they hold said ability, this is not required. Merely a requested nicety.
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Treaty of Feodosiya
The recent actions of the Seraphim of Eden 511 against the people of the Cold League stand as a stark reminder of the fragility of peace in our tumultuous world. It is the solemn duty of the PUF to safeguard our member states against such aggressive acts, even as we grapple with the ongoing war against Eurobliberal forces.
In the pursuit of preventing further suffering for the citizens of the Cold League, and acknowledging their request for the Axis Seraphim to maintain their presence, the PUF has chosen the path of diplomacy. We seek a resolution that preserves stability while ensuring the rights of the people are upheld.
Thus, we extend an olive branch to the Axis Seraphim, establishing terms under which their presence in the Cold League will be accepted:
1. Oversight Council: An advisory council will be formed, chaired by representatives from the Algerian Socialist Republic, the Cold League, the People's Communes of China, and the Indian Councilist Republics—collectively referred to as PUF member states. This council shall possess the authority to veto any measures taken by the Axis Seraphim that threaten the rights and freedoms of the Cold League's citizens.
1.A: Veto Mechanism: This power is intended solely for the protection of the people. Should the Axis Seraphim contest a veto, they may petition the PUF member states for reconsideration, with a 2/3 majority vote required to overturn the oversight council's decisions.
2. Reparations: The Axis Seraphim shall provide reparations for any harm inflicted upon the Cold League during their incursion, acknowledging the damage done and reaffirming their commitment to peace.
In navigating these turbulent waters, the PUF remains resolute in its commitment to protect our allies while striving for a harmonious resolution. We hope this treaty will lay the groundwork for a more stable and just future for all involved.
[X] Lila Selem, Algerian Secretary of Foreign Affairs
- Location
- New England, State of Confusion
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Martina Grey, Chief Diplomat of Eden 511
VoidZero
Passing Flan 布丁魔王
- Location
- Anywhere but RL
"Many will make accusations of this and that, some will be not untrue but most will be viciously crafted half truths with sole purpose of destroying the Cold League to fill their endless greed. I will make no further verbal defense."
[X] Aage Erichsen Supreme Chairman Pro Tempore, Cold League
- Location
- America
[X] Bao Chang, Dedicated Standing Representative of the 11th People's Congress of the People's Communes of China for Foreign Affairs.
- Location
- New England, State of Confusion
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Eden 511 Department of Foreign Affairs
"Ductu Et Praesidio Posterorum"
"Ductu Et Praesidio Posterorum"
The Axis Seraphim of Eden 511 would like to announce to Earth, the cradle of humanity, a gift. We have watched for a year as countless struggles ignited and reignited, as the Spcians above have jostled and jockeyed for power. And we have worked. Both on the surface to see the scars of Calamity kept in the past, and above to see the dreams of the future able to be realized.
We are finishing in the Earths orbit a station. Furnished to our finest standards, maintained by our own hands, it is a path to building that future we wish to see come to pass. It is the Scientificum Academiae Domum Education and Discovery Asteroid Station (SADEDAS)SADEDAS is not associated with or represented by the SADE orginization.
Laboratory spaces, archives, lecture halls, gardens and more fill its space for the best and brightest of Earth. Every citizen of Earth may walk its halls if they wish, none shall be denied their birthright to walk and learn amongst the stars.
So with great pride we invite all that would learn and discover of Earth to its halls. We invite you to collaborate with us in building the future beyond. To those Spacians who wish to attend, tours or visits may be scheduled via contacting the SADEDAS administration office.
-Martina Grey, Seraphim of Eden 511 Chief Diplomat
Mission Statement of SADEDAS: To provide a scientific forum to the collective peoples of Earth without malice or extractive motive.
Conditions and Terms of SADEDAS: All technologies developed as part of the joint effort will be provided freely to those actively involved in their development, including the Axis Seraphim. However, only the Earthian powers have the right to proliferation under any circumstances. Any Earthian state that obtains the technology is free to transfer it between whomever it wishes, be they Earthian or Spacian. The purpose of this stipulation is to give the nations of Earth greater choice in the matters at hand. Only nonmilitary technologies will be supported by SADEDAS. Technologies and avenues of research to be prioritized [Read: treated as having a lab allocated] will be done by majority vote of 3 unranked choices, with the Axis Seraphim breaking ties.
Those Earthian states that wish to join simply need to send a diplomat or message to Eden 511 affirming their interest. No Earthian state shall be rejected. To maintain active membership once having joined, all one must do is contribute funds or researchers to the efforts as best they are able.
[X] Martina Grey, Eden 511 Chief Diplomat
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- Pronouns
- She/Her
Eden 511 Department of Foreign Affairs
"Ductu Et Praesidio Posterorum"
Humanity always strives to learn and do better than we did in the past. For too long has this been kept from too many, and we join this project in the hopes that it will help to correct this grave imbalance and bring the joys of knowledge to many new minds.
[X] Safia Chouikh, Algerian Secretary of Education
VoidZero
Passing Flan 布丁魔王
- Location
- Anywhere but RL
[X] Committee of National Education Boards, Cold League
"Did they really use tight beam to declare opening of space lab?"
"Got our attention didn't it?"
"That's the same as setting a mountain on fire to say you got laid nine months ago."
- North Sea Naval Group
Revisionism and Opportunism
A Publication of the European Socialist International
The events of the past months of the Axis Coup and the response of the PUF have called into the loyalty of erstwhile comrades to the project of socialism. All socialists have, of course, a set of guiding values which constitute their vision of socialism. It is reasonable for comrades to disagree (to a certain extent) on these. But what should the correct policy line be when one of these values conflicts with the other? Or when pragmatism conflicts with principle? It is foolish to believe that one can uphold all of one's principles maximally at all times. Nor is unrelenting hostility towards one's erstwhile enemies a desirable stance, even in principle. It is to this question we now turn.A Publication of the European Socialist International
It is of course, not feasible to reject cooperation with spacians altogether. This much is clear. We are guilty of doing so in treating with the mercenaries of Moralia to our mutual benefit, and to avoid ceaseless slaughter. It is not a crime to deal with spacians, even if we wish we could do without. However, these must always be treated as working relationships and alliances of convenience only. It is too easy for earthers to become unwilling puppets in the games of spacians, without proper barriers.
Even the lackluster response within the PUF to the military putsch by a small group of traitors within the Cold League, with Axis Seraphim support, can be attributed in large part to the ongoing conflict of the PUF against the Alpine Imperate and its allies. The military realities of the situation dictate that a coordinated socialist effort to drive the Axis Seraphim out of the Cold League and destroy the revisionist government would mean the abandonment of revolution across a broad swathe of Europe, and the potential rout of socialist armed power. This is regrettable, but comprehensible. While we may have our certain disagreements with our comrades-in-arms in the People's Communes of China and the Indian Councilist Republics, who have been fighting faithfully to defend revolution in Europe, we could not at this juncture criticize them for failing to act in good faith for the advancement and defense of socialism. However, we must criticize their lack of ideological discipline.
The recently signed Treaty of Feodosiya calls into question the commitment of the PUF to the task of resisting spacian imperialism. The Axis have deposed a socialist government, installed a government of puppets, and dealt a serious blow to the project of socialism in Europe. Under ordinary conditions, this would make them counterrevolutionaries and imperialists of the highest order. And, yet the Treaty of Feodosiya seems to let them off with a slap on the wrist and a stern finger-wagging. The PUF has failed to condemn the Axis Coup not only in deed but even in word. Some "socialists" have even praised the Axis for removing the Vangist government of the cold league! In particular, a primary source of this malign rhetoric is the Algerian Socialist Republics, who are themselves thoroughly penetrated by Seraphim influence. Failure to take a strong stand on this issue is no mere matter of doctrinal disagreement. It is the dividing line which separates socialists from opportunists. So blinded by the awesome powers of the Seraphim is the opportunist that they fail to distinguish right from wrong, earth from space, and loyal socialists from treacherous putschists.
Comrade Zi Hung has made his case in the Shanghai Worker's Gazette that the fall of the Cold League to Axis coupists demonstrates that the Vangist Party-State failed to secure socialism, and as such its excesses cannot be justified. We draw the opposite conclusion. Across the world, opportunism and revisionism have set in like a cancer in the minds of socialists. The only solution: the flame, the sword, to excise this tumor. The failure of the Vangist Party-State in the Cold League was in the failure to hold Party members to the same standard of discipline as the common people. In doing so, a revisionist tendency was allowed to form inside the Party. Furthermore, we should be clear in understanding that "moderate socialist tendency" deliberately betrayed the worker's movement by inviting in Spacian imperialists to take power. This was not a rot of the workers of the Cold League, but a betrayal from the very highest levels of the Party who sent the loyal off to die and create a vacuum for their imperialist Spacian masters to seize power.
The lesson is clear: Party members must be held to the utmost discipline in thought and in deed, to a higher standard than the workers they lead. The party must be forged through continuous critique and discipline into an unyielding, unitary body. We are at an inflection point, now, not just for the Cold League, or for Europe, but for the prospects of socialism across the world: do we abandon ourselves to the opportunists in our ranks who would surrender themselves to orbit? Or do we advance forward with clear eyes, a steady mind, and steel in our hearts for the task ahead?
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- Location
- New England, State of Confusion
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The Axis Seraphs of Eden 511 would like to request consideration of their application to the ECOTA organization. Any questions or clarifications requested by the body will be answered posthaste. We thank the body for its consideration regardless of the outcome.
-Martina Grey, Chief Diplomat of Eden 511.
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Arch-Queen of the North
To most of Sayla's subjects, the text on the wall was little more than illegible scribbling. Great, blocky characters without the soft curves of what they were familiar with, their angular turns and straight lines marked them as aggressive, almost intrusive.
Such characters adorned many walls of the Novgorod Military Complex, in deep reds that turned a wine-dark burgundy in the often-flickering lights of the lengthy corridors, which seemed to extend without limit in every direction like a labyrinth. The corridors themselves, she understood, had once been well-lit; the many doors built into the walls could once, by hydraulic power, silently open themselves at the mere swipe of a card, but now stood silent and ineffective, where they weren't caught on malfunctioning mechanisms, or ripped up by some ancient conflict, or vampiric frustration.
This corridor in particular, she knew, had once housed thousands upon thousands of soldiers in barracks and bunk-beds, which she knew must have been ready to exit upon the blaring of ancient alarms at the mere notice of a moment. Even now, still, she could gaze, upon the occasion of her long and lonely walks, through broken doors—each a flat and metallic surface emblazoned with letters and numbers in the ancient script—and see the signs of living where once they must have rested. Now, much like Sayla herself, they found little use, for this corridor was merely one of the Military Complex's many abandoned sections; not even the vampires found any use for it.
She was Sayla Sveaskiold-Gyldenløve, exile Archiregina-Queen of the fourfold crown of the North; crowned under the polar star, sanctified under the auspices of Apollo-Mithras, and confirmed by Royal Council. She was a failure, and it was a wonder she even found the strength to continue down the corridor, whose endless, and poorly-lit, pacing length seemed so similar to her own failed life. She, who was supposed to lead a charmed life of majesty, and whose crown should radiate with the halo of tremendous royal mystery, yet was crowned not in the storied halls of Stockholm, but the dank and dusty passages of Novgorod, where ancient men had made ready for the wars that would end the world.
Indeed, she had not just been rejected by those Northern subjects of hers, whom she was told should celebrate and acclaim her, but now struggled with the most basic task of hers to keep her own family safe. The great campaign, which—she was told—would have made her queen, had been little more than a farce, and she should have taken responsibility and led the charge had been a mere spectator. For though she had been uncrowned, a princess should always strive to be a queen. It had not been her to pay the price, but uncles and cousins, nieces and supporters, who now were sat in prisons that she imagined little better than the rooms into which she found herself staring.
Neither was it her who went across the great fallows to negotiate for the lives of her own blood ties, it was her cousin, the Lady Anna-Merete of Silfverberg, whom she had created Polar Knight of the North Star for the occasion, a title well-befitting the silver-haired eminence. Once Anna-Merete had been the closest which Sayla had had to a mother, a woman in which she could confide, who seemed less taken by the lure of power and dreams of manipulating policy. Now Sayla understood that her Knight was no less motivated by such desires than others, merely concerned more with stability and consistency than more short-sighted peers. Ironically, these days she looked more to the vampires who haunted the corridors in which she had become a refuge for such needs.
The vampires could not be counted to be trustworthy, merely to be faithfully untrustworthy. That was a pleasant consistency, she mused as she made a turn down the corridor and crossed path with one of the pale and crimson-eyed women that lived their unlives here, that these creatures so nakedly saw her for the puppet she was. They made no illusions as to whether they saw the strings affixed to her body, merely promised they would pull them wisely.
The creature before her, she knew, was by the dark veil covering her mouth and nose, no more than a thrall. She did not know what lay beneath those masks, but the thralls were always recognizable by it, the metallic arms of this one gleaming chrome-like in the hard and inorganic radiance of the bunker's lights.
"Waiting to drain and kill me, creature?" She asked the thrall softly, her voice gentle and expectant. Already before she withdrew back into one of the many poorly-lit rooms, all but disappearing but two symmetrical eyes of ember staring out at her, Sayla knew that no answer would come.
No answer ever came. A wind-up toy is not answered, even if she can speak and dutifully say her lines.
As she left the corridor for the great hangar-hall she knew awaited, her eyes instantly found themselves drawn to the first shape they could make out in the pale light from distant specks in the manmade cavern; the monstrous shadow of a great beast in a sea of murky blue. The sea-dragon's flanged wings cast a shadow dependent on no sun, its sharp talons the silhouette of a hungry predator's claws. In the flooded grotto built of glass and steel, the cyclopean leviathan below the still water laid in wait for her. This was the Mobile Armor Drakon, the beast of the depths ready to consume her as its prey. It sung to her like a siren from here, promising that should she enter its maw, in consumption she would find safety from all that plagued her. Let me eat you whole, you little queen, and you will forget yourself. She wanted it so bad. She wanted the dreadful eye to light up, to feel its maw close and lock her in the cockpit, its long arms to become hers, to surround herself in the scale of the Drakon's I-field.
As if they ever would let her, not after what the Seraphs had done to Princess Evangelista.
As she stood enraptured by the leviathan, her repulsive devouring beast which held no comparison to the chivalric knight that adorned her heraldry except perhaps in its capacity to destroy, she did not hear the determined steps that made their way towards her; the clacking of military boots against the hard surface of the floor. It was the firm voice of her brother Casval bearing news about Silfverberg's telegrams.
As usual, she had to suffer the indignity of his lecturing. Though she was the elder sister, and she was crowned and enthroned, he yet had the temerity to give his "recommendations", as if they were orders and directives.
"Yes brother." She replied as ever, not taking her eyes off her decametre leviathan, the Drakon's silent shape looming above them both within the safety of its coolant tank.
Queen Sayla, went his voice with far too little reverence, your highness must prioritize a more aggressive foreign policy against the mutual enemies of you and the monarchies of Europe. Her correct title was Majesty, she thought as he continued, talking now of conflicting legal interpretations and charges of high treason against the Imperate, of sowing discord between the monarchies of Europe. How dare he speak to her like that? And in the open too, so that any onlookers might get the wrong idea she was actually in control of anything. She wanted to ball her fists and turn on her heel and shout. She wanted to draw the thin sidearm blade by her side and show him she was his match in swordplay any day.
"Yes brother." She said, the sea monster in front of them looking down dumbly, impassively. It understood no subtleties of speech, only how to tear in flesh and metal.
Yes brother, yes brother, yes brother. We must present a more united front, brother. Yes brother, their aid would be imperative for the reclaiming of Our lands. Yes brother, we cannot let legal misunderstandings impede our ancient claim. Yes brother, yes brother, yes brother. There was no point in speaking her mind. She would probably make a mess out of that too.
The woman in front of her was nothing less than perfect. They were all like that, of course, Sayla knew, but it made it no less notable. Her eggshell-white cassock was wondrously unstained by the dusty bunker, even in the discrete meeting room that they had secured, and her curls framed her delicately angular face like a halo of night-black ebony. Her eyes, softly lidded, seemed at once both tired as well as focused. It was impossible for Sayla, somewhat gaunt and gangly under her royal parade uniform, to not feel inadequate next to her, and at least a little envious.
"There would be repercussions", she said, "a price only paid in blood if this is carried out."
Sayla nodded, more free with her expressions in the privacy of the appropriated office. Though it was nowhere in sight, it was as if she could feel the pulse of her Drakon's reactor from here, far above in its tank of coolant liquid.
"Repercussions are to be assumed from any action", Sayla countered, "if nothing is done, the price could well be carried out in blood nonetheless."
Anna-Merete's telegrams were getting more desperate. High treason was a serious charge in the Alpine Imperate, and according to her information, could mean execution or lifetime imprisonment, not to mention the intimidation that had been carried out against their supporters. They lacked any experts in Alpine law in the Novgorod Military Complex, so communications had slown down out of the need to telegram the Pallasi first, who could then procure an answer and telegram it back. And as the time between questions and answers had increased in duration, so Sayla's walks through the ancient corridors had as well.
It did not help, either, that Silfverberg disclosed in her telegrams, that the Alpine delegation seemed both desperate for their aid and unwilling to disclose much information about which fates might lay in wait for those so condemned. She hated it, and she had contemplated her hatred of it much as she had walked the lengthy corridors, but it only made sense. Though her collection of Mobile Suits was formidable, easily the equivalent of many Earthian powers, they were little more than squatters in their ancient barracks in the end. She was an unschooled and junior queen, who was only saved from presiding over one of the most miserable miscalculations in the history of the dynasty, and the Queen of the Imperate was Europe's senior monarch, a figure who commanded authority from sea to sea. She was not wrong to see the negotiations as a formality papering over command.
"A few could easily be extracted as described, but we must maintain a delicate touch, your Majesty", she said that title in the way they always said it, so matter-of-factly but without the respect it was supposed to contain.
"If we act too aggressively, the disturbance may cause suffering to fall on hundreds of thousands more." Not that she was owed much respect from the woman. If she wanted to make it so, she would never be seen again. Perhaps Sayla wanted that.
At the end of the meeting, if the woman knew Sayla's innermost thoughts, she made no sign of showing. She ended it with an amicable curtsy—as was protocol—and soon disappeared in her usual fashion. It had not been Sayla's first meeting with her, but they had gotten increasingly urgent and more and more frequent as of late. Silfverberg's confident assurances to her that the Alpine delegation seemed desperate were of little use when she was even more desperate, and it might as well be projection on the elder stateswoman's part.
"Will it be blood then, my delightful Archiregina?" The vampire's voice was as soft as silk next to her in the corridor.
There was a playfulness to the way the noble moved, her dark dress uniform which hugged her body perfectly—yet seemed to impede her movement in no way—hard to make out in the imperfect lighting of the lower Complex. Not that it would have helped her if the uniform had been white as a sheet; if she wanted not to be found, she would simply not see her.
"Blood for whom?" Sayla answered back, both avoiding the question and her eyes. When she caught her with those blood-red eyes, it was not always easy to tear herself away again. She focused her mind on the near-inaudible hum of her leviathan, now a mere few corridors away, the great machine like a focal heart for her.
"That should not matter much, should it? It could be blood for me…" The vampire's nails were touching her shoulder now, more sharp claws than human nails, the delicate chrome of her hand reflecting the light to be barely visible in the outer periphery of her vision.
"...Blood for them," the vampire continued, "or perhaps even blood for you." She finished, Sayla's other shoulder now also feeling the a hand. Touching her in this fashion was highly inappropriate, a breach of every protocol, and Sayla could feel her hairs rise, muscles clenching in anticipation as the other woman let her fingers play over her body. Sayla elected not to respond, her eyes narrowing.
"A bit of boldness could carry you far," a hand leaves her shoulder but a sharp and metallic claw remains, "could maybe even save them, or let you show that you will not bow to such demands. Don't you agree, your Majesty?"
Her voice was playful now, the knife-like finger moving down to play with her neck. Involuntarily, she felt herself suck in a breath of fresh air, gulping as the talon glided over, leaving a superficial red line. Sayla could hear the smile in her voice.
"It might also very well murder half my family for no gain at all." She responds, speaking as calmly as she can, and the finger withdraws from her neck; knife retracting with a click.
"It's not like they would have much to miss, would they, my Archiregina?" The insult stings, and she is gone once more. Her hand is clutching the sword-hilt at her side, her knuckles white. How long did she hold it like that?
Her steps carry her swiftly to the hangar once more.
The days of negotiation had turned into a week, and subsequent telegrams brought mixed tidings. Their offers of support had been accepted, and the argument now rested on the matter of fair compensation. While the Lily Throne had agreed on permitting her family to keep its lands, Alpine judges had already enacted mass confiscations, and now refused compensation beyond sentimentality. Having waited with bated breath for their lives, Sayla found herself frustrated that the dispute now rested on petty property. Was it not enough that they were alive? Could Silfverberg not see that they were testing the wrath of the Imperate?
No, the answer seemed to be. Indeed, while she appreciated the Polar Knight's deft negotiation skill, she increasingly found her assurances of Alpine desperation for help tiresome. Even if it was true, which Sayla did not believe, the desperate animal is the one that bites. If the Alpine delegation truly were so desperate for their aid, then her family's insistence on land compensation was playing a dangerous game, setting her dynasty up for inviting the wrath of Europe's mightiest monarchy.
Yet more hours became days, and she found herself meeting with the woman again. This time, it was not in a meeting room, but her favorite new corridor; a great walkway across a vast and open natural grotto, the sound of water playing throughout the emptiness. The walls here were not manmade, but coated in a thin layer of dampness, reflecting the light of neon lamps, which barely cast their feeble manmade flame on the vast and rusted corpses of mobile suits below, discarded parts with faded names reflecting the distant light, like their echoes reflecting off the wall.
"Will it be necessary?" The woman asked, already knowing the answer.
"No." She merely said. "There will be no need, except as a contingency."
"Your answer seems to contradict itself, your Majesty." The woman remarked, turning her cool face towards Sayla, the feeble light of a cavern lamp casting her as a haloed angel, rays of neon light burning through her night-like curls.
Once more, Sayla felt so terribly inadequate. Like words had been stolen from her. Why should she look like that? Why should such an elegant creature turn her dreadful attention on her. She wanted to crumple into nothing like a peace of paper set aflame.
"If God is kind," Sayla said and hoped He would be, "there will be no need. As it is already done, the contingency is moot. If not, we will proceed as agreed upon."
The woman merely nodded, her face impassive as ever. And soon the talks concern themselves with other matters, and their walking continues.
"Yes brother, the Cult's intervention was truly fortuitous." The words were well practiced from her mouth, she has said them so many times.
She was not lying, the Cult's offer to grant full recompense from its own coffers not only improved their position significantly, but allowed the establishment of normal relations. Silfverberg's telegrams did not want to admit it, but she must have overestimated the Imperate's desperation, substituting the reality of their position for what she wanted to happen. In Sayla's mind, there was no doubt about this, nor did she doubt that had this line of discussion continued without intervention, Silfverberg might very well have gotten her family killed. The Imperate was a proud monarchy, and with good reason, tempting its wrath for no reason was no sensible policy.
"Yes brother, you are right." They were standing above the cooling pool of the Drakon, she could feel its hum in her bones like a low, persistent roar. He was talking about potential relationships with the Lily Throne now, offers of trade and mutual exchange, but she could feel herself tuning out his impertinence, the shape of her leviathan slightly above the water to leave the cockpit—the maw of a deep sea fish with its gleaming lure—open and ready for her to merely jump in. She could all but feel the tickling of the I-field as it would expand about her steel body.
"Of course brother. For the lands lost to once more be regained; one by one, they shall return to us." She did not hear him anymore, her voice responding without prompting, and her eyes staring out at the great belly of the devourer-whale within the waters below.
Though he spoke, and spoke, and they discussed at length the approach of brother and sister to once more regain what was theirs, and of alliances and pacts of trade, Sayla felt the touch of a knife-like finger on her shoulder and dared not to shudder, seeing not even the Drakon, wishing she was elsewhere.
To most of Sayla's subjects, the text on the wall was little more than illegible scribbling. Great, blocky characters without the soft curves of what they were familiar with, their angular turns and straight lines marked them as aggressive, almost intrusive.
Such characters adorned many walls of the Novgorod Military Complex, in deep reds that turned a wine-dark burgundy in the often-flickering lights of the lengthy corridors, which seemed to extend without limit in every direction like a labyrinth. The corridors themselves, she understood, had once been well-lit; the many doors built into the walls could once, by hydraulic power, silently open themselves at the mere swipe of a card, but now stood silent and ineffective, where they weren't caught on malfunctioning mechanisms, or ripped up by some ancient conflict, or vampiric frustration.
This corridor in particular, she knew, had once housed thousands upon thousands of soldiers in barracks and bunk-beds, which she knew must have been ready to exit upon the blaring of ancient alarms at the mere notice of a moment. Even now, still, she could gaze, upon the occasion of her long and lonely walks, through broken doors—each a flat and metallic surface emblazoned with letters and numbers in the ancient script—and see the signs of living where once they must have rested. Now, much like Sayla herself, they found little use, for this corridor was merely one of the Military Complex's many abandoned sections; not even the vampires found any use for it.
She was Sayla Sveaskiold-Gyldenløve, exile Archiregina-Queen of the fourfold crown of the North; crowned under the polar star, sanctified under the auspices of Apollo-Mithras, and confirmed by Royal Council. She was a failure, and it was a wonder she even found the strength to continue down the corridor, whose endless, and poorly-lit, pacing length seemed so similar to her own failed life. She, who was supposed to lead a charmed life of majesty, and whose crown should radiate with the halo of tremendous royal mystery, yet was crowned not in the storied halls of Stockholm, but the dank and dusty passages of Novgorod, where ancient men had made ready for the wars that would end the world.
Indeed, she had not just been rejected by those Northern subjects of hers, whom she was told should celebrate and acclaim her, but now struggled with the most basic task of hers to keep her own family safe. The great campaign, which—she was told—would have made her queen, had been little more than a farce, and she should have taken responsibility and led the charge had been a mere spectator. For though she had been uncrowned, a princess should always strive to be a queen. It had not been her to pay the price, but uncles and cousins, nieces and supporters, who now were sat in prisons that she imagined little better than the rooms into which she found herself staring.
Neither was it her who went across the great fallows to negotiate for the lives of her own blood ties, it was her cousin, the Lady Anna-Merete of Silfverberg, whom she had created Polar Knight of the North Star for the occasion, a title well-befitting the silver-haired eminence. Once Anna-Merete had been the closest which Sayla had had to a mother, a woman in which she could confide, who seemed less taken by the lure of power and dreams of manipulating policy. Now Sayla understood that her Knight was no less motivated by such desires than others, merely concerned more with stability and consistency than more short-sighted peers. Ironically, these days she looked more to the vampires who haunted the corridors in which she had become a refuge for such needs.
The vampires could not be counted to be trustworthy, merely to be faithfully untrustworthy. That was a pleasant consistency, she mused as she made a turn down the corridor and crossed path with one of the pale and crimson-eyed women that lived their unlives here, that these creatures so nakedly saw her for the puppet she was. They made no illusions as to whether they saw the strings affixed to her body, merely promised they would pull them wisely.
The creature before her, she knew, was by the dark veil covering her mouth and nose, no more than a thrall. She did not know what lay beneath those masks, but the thralls were always recognizable by it, the metallic arms of this one gleaming chrome-like in the hard and inorganic radiance of the bunker's lights.
"Waiting to drain and kill me, creature?" She asked the thrall softly, her voice gentle and expectant. Already before she withdrew back into one of the many poorly-lit rooms, all but disappearing but two symmetrical eyes of ember staring out at her, Sayla knew that no answer would come.
No answer ever came. A wind-up toy is not answered, even if she can speak and dutifully say her lines.
As she left the corridor for the great hangar-hall she knew awaited, her eyes instantly found themselves drawn to the first shape they could make out in the pale light from distant specks in the manmade cavern; the monstrous shadow of a great beast in a sea of murky blue. The sea-dragon's flanged wings cast a shadow dependent on no sun, its sharp talons the silhouette of a hungry predator's claws. In the flooded grotto built of glass and steel, the cyclopean leviathan below the still water laid in wait for her. This was the Mobile Armor Drakon, the beast of the depths ready to consume her as its prey. It sung to her like a siren from here, promising that should she enter its maw, in consumption she would find safety from all that plagued her. Let me eat you whole, you little queen, and you will forget yourself. She wanted it so bad. She wanted the dreadful eye to light up, to feel its maw close and lock her in the cockpit, its long arms to become hers, to surround herself in the scale of the Drakon's I-field.
As if they ever would let her, not after what the Seraphs had done to Princess Evangelista.
As she stood enraptured by the leviathan, her repulsive devouring beast which held no comparison to the chivalric knight that adorned her heraldry except perhaps in its capacity to destroy, she did not hear the determined steps that made their way towards her; the clacking of military boots against the hard surface of the floor. It was the firm voice of her brother Casval bearing news about Silfverberg's telegrams.
As usual, she had to suffer the indignity of his lecturing. Though she was the elder sister, and she was crowned and enthroned, he yet had the temerity to give his "recommendations", as if they were orders and directives.
"Yes brother." She replied as ever, not taking her eyes off her decametre leviathan, the Drakon's silent shape looming above them both within the safety of its coolant tank.
Queen Sayla, went his voice with far too little reverence, your highness must prioritize a more aggressive foreign policy against the mutual enemies of you and the monarchies of Europe. Her correct title was Majesty, she thought as he continued, talking now of conflicting legal interpretations and charges of high treason against the Imperate, of sowing discord between the monarchies of Europe. How dare he speak to her like that? And in the open too, so that any onlookers might get the wrong idea she was actually in control of anything. She wanted to ball her fists and turn on her heel and shout. She wanted to draw the thin sidearm blade by her side and show him she was his match in swordplay any day.
"Yes brother." She said, the sea monster in front of them looking down dumbly, impassively. It understood no subtleties of speech, only how to tear in flesh and metal.
Yes brother, yes brother, yes brother. We must present a more united front, brother. Yes brother, their aid would be imperative for the reclaiming of Our lands. Yes brother, we cannot let legal misunderstandings impede our ancient claim. Yes brother, yes brother, yes brother. There was no point in speaking her mind. She would probably make a mess out of that too.
The woman in front of her was nothing less than perfect. They were all like that, of course, Sayla knew, but it made it no less notable. Her eggshell-white cassock was wondrously unstained by the dusty bunker, even in the discrete meeting room that they had secured, and her curls framed her delicately angular face like a halo of night-black ebony. Her eyes, softly lidded, seemed at once both tired as well as focused. It was impossible for Sayla, somewhat gaunt and gangly under her royal parade uniform, to not feel inadequate next to her, and at least a little envious.
"There would be repercussions", she said, "a price only paid in blood if this is carried out."
Sayla nodded, more free with her expressions in the privacy of the appropriated office. Though it was nowhere in sight, it was as if she could feel the pulse of her Drakon's reactor from here, far above in its tank of coolant liquid.
"Repercussions are to be assumed from any action", Sayla countered, "if nothing is done, the price could well be carried out in blood nonetheless."
Anna-Merete's telegrams were getting more desperate. High treason was a serious charge in the Alpine Imperate, and according to her information, could mean execution or lifetime imprisonment, not to mention the intimidation that had been carried out against their supporters. They lacked any experts in Alpine law in the Novgorod Military Complex, so communications had slown down out of the need to telegram the Pallasi first, who could then procure an answer and telegram it back. And as the time between questions and answers had increased in duration, so Sayla's walks through the ancient corridors had as well.
It did not help, either, that Silfverberg disclosed in her telegrams, that the Alpine delegation seemed both desperate for their aid and unwilling to disclose much information about which fates might lay in wait for those so condemned. She hated it, and she had contemplated her hatred of it much as she had walked the lengthy corridors, but it only made sense. Though her collection of Mobile Suits was formidable, easily the equivalent of many Earthian powers, they were little more than squatters in their ancient barracks in the end. She was an unschooled and junior queen, who was only saved from presiding over one of the most miserable miscalculations in the history of the dynasty, and the Queen of the Imperate was Europe's senior monarch, a figure who commanded authority from sea to sea. She was not wrong to see the negotiations as a formality papering over command.
"A few could easily be extracted as described, but we must maintain a delicate touch, your Majesty", she said that title in the way they always said it, so matter-of-factly but without the respect it was supposed to contain.
"If we act too aggressively, the disturbance may cause suffering to fall on hundreds of thousands more." Not that she was owed much respect from the woman. If she wanted to make it so, she would never be seen again. Perhaps Sayla wanted that.
At the end of the meeting, if the woman knew Sayla's innermost thoughts, she made no sign of showing. She ended it with an amicable curtsy—as was protocol—and soon disappeared in her usual fashion. It had not been Sayla's first meeting with her, but they had gotten increasingly urgent and more and more frequent as of late. Silfverberg's confident assurances to her that the Alpine delegation seemed desperate were of little use when she was even more desperate, and it might as well be projection on the elder stateswoman's part.
"Will it be blood then, my delightful Archiregina?" The vampire's voice was as soft as silk next to her in the corridor.
There was a playfulness to the way the noble moved, her dark dress uniform which hugged her body perfectly—yet seemed to impede her movement in no way—hard to make out in the imperfect lighting of the lower Complex. Not that it would have helped her if the uniform had been white as a sheet; if she wanted not to be found, she would simply not see her.
"Blood for whom?" Sayla answered back, both avoiding the question and her eyes. When she caught her with those blood-red eyes, it was not always easy to tear herself away again. She focused her mind on the near-inaudible hum of her leviathan, now a mere few corridors away, the great machine like a focal heart for her.
"That should not matter much, should it? It could be blood for me…" The vampire's nails were touching her shoulder now, more sharp claws than human nails, the delicate chrome of her hand reflecting the light to be barely visible in the outer periphery of her vision.
"...Blood for them," the vampire continued, "or perhaps even blood for you." She finished, Sayla's other shoulder now also feeling the a hand. Touching her in this fashion was highly inappropriate, a breach of every protocol, and Sayla could feel her hairs rise, muscles clenching in anticipation as the other woman let her fingers play over her body. Sayla elected not to respond, her eyes narrowing.
"A bit of boldness could carry you far," a hand leaves her shoulder but a sharp and metallic claw remains, "could maybe even save them, or let you show that you will not bow to such demands. Don't you agree, your Majesty?"
Her voice was playful now, the knife-like finger moving down to play with her neck. Involuntarily, she felt herself suck in a breath of fresh air, gulping as the talon glided over, leaving a superficial red line. Sayla could hear the smile in her voice.
"It might also very well murder half my family for no gain at all." She responds, speaking as calmly as she can, and the finger withdraws from her neck; knife retracting with a click.
"It's not like they would have much to miss, would they, my Archiregina?" The insult stings, and she is gone once more. Her hand is clutching the sword-hilt at her side, her knuckles white. How long did she hold it like that?
Her steps carry her swiftly to the hangar once more.
The days of negotiation had turned into a week, and subsequent telegrams brought mixed tidings. Their offers of support had been accepted, and the argument now rested on the matter of fair compensation. While the Lily Throne had agreed on permitting her family to keep its lands, Alpine judges had already enacted mass confiscations, and now refused compensation beyond sentimentality. Having waited with bated breath for their lives, Sayla found herself frustrated that the dispute now rested on petty property. Was it not enough that they were alive? Could Silfverberg not see that they were testing the wrath of the Imperate?
No, the answer seemed to be. Indeed, while she appreciated the Polar Knight's deft negotiation skill, she increasingly found her assurances of Alpine desperation for help tiresome. Even if it was true, which Sayla did not believe, the desperate animal is the one that bites. If the Alpine delegation truly were so desperate for their aid, then her family's insistence on land compensation was playing a dangerous game, setting her dynasty up for inviting the wrath of Europe's mightiest monarchy.
Yet more hours became days, and she found herself meeting with the woman again. This time, it was not in a meeting room, but her favorite new corridor; a great walkway across a vast and open natural grotto, the sound of water playing throughout the emptiness. The walls here were not manmade, but coated in a thin layer of dampness, reflecting the light of neon lamps, which barely cast their feeble manmade flame on the vast and rusted corpses of mobile suits below, discarded parts with faded names reflecting the distant light, like their echoes reflecting off the wall.
"Will it be necessary?" The woman asked, already knowing the answer.
"No." She merely said. "There will be no need, except as a contingency."
"Your answer seems to contradict itself, your Majesty." The woman remarked, turning her cool face towards Sayla, the feeble light of a cavern lamp casting her as a haloed angel, rays of neon light burning through her night-like curls.
Once more, Sayla felt so terribly inadequate. Like words had been stolen from her. Why should she look like that? Why should such an elegant creature turn her dreadful attention on her. She wanted to crumple into nothing like a peace of paper set aflame.
"If God is kind," Sayla said and hoped He would be, "there will be no need. As it is already done, the contingency is moot. If not, we will proceed as agreed upon."
The woman merely nodded, her face impassive as ever. And soon the talks concern themselves with other matters, and their walking continues.
"Yes brother, the Cult's intervention was truly fortuitous." The words were well practiced from her mouth, she has said them so many times.
She was not lying, the Cult's offer to grant full recompense from its own coffers not only improved their position significantly, but allowed the establishment of normal relations. Silfverberg's telegrams did not want to admit it, but she must have overestimated the Imperate's desperation, substituting the reality of their position for what she wanted to happen. In Sayla's mind, there was no doubt about this, nor did she doubt that had this line of discussion continued without intervention, Silfverberg might very well have gotten her family killed. The Imperate was a proud monarchy, and with good reason, tempting its wrath for no reason was no sensible policy.
"Yes brother, you are right." They were standing above the cooling pool of the Drakon, she could feel its hum in her bones like a low, persistent roar. He was talking about potential relationships with the Lily Throne now, offers of trade and mutual exchange, but she could feel herself tuning out his impertinence, the shape of her leviathan slightly above the water to leave the cockpit—the maw of a deep sea fish with its gleaming lure—open and ready for her to merely jump in. She could all but feel the tickling of the I-field as it would expand about her steel body.
"Of course brother. For the lands lost to once more be regained; one by one, they shall return to us." She did not hear him anymore, her voice responding without prompting, and her eyes staring out at the great belly of the devourer-whale within the waters below.
Though he spoke, and spoke, and they discussed at length the approach of brother and sister to once more regain what was theirs, and of alliances and pacts of trade, Sayla felt the touch of a knife-like finger on her shoulder and dared not to shudder, seeing not even the Drakon, wishing she was elsewhere.
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- Location
- Germany
Nagger & Optimist
A relevant chamber play.
Belém Press Association
"Have you heard the news about the Korean Undertaking? It seems to have been quite the success, the enemy has been smashed into pieces, their fortresses overrun and the fresh divisions they tried to bring into the game have been thoroughly cleaned up by the federations naval batteries. All in all, the news is good enough to be optimistic when it comes to that venture."
"Venture? I would say it's more of an adventure if anything."
"Ohh stop, in peace you were an endless nagger and now that we are at war… "
"...and now nagging can see you dunked into the waters of the canals by our much vaunted student defense organizations."
"You have to agree that they paid the price in blood when this war began and who can fault their righteous anger after seeing the bloom of their years cut down by the tyrant's weapons!"
"I would - if I hadn't run into Dr. Dehmel on the way to his literature lesson. There are types whose neither steel helmet nor rifle adorns in any way that can be praised."
"Dr. Dehmel is surely only serving as a good example for their students. Their patriotic feelings might be touched if their teachers would forsake their duties in the face of this great duel we have been forced into…"
"...I am more surprised that no one has touched on the Dehmels latest contributions to wartime literature."
"Passion must have gripped him!"
"Gripped him as tightly as his youthful rider gripped the reins of his brave horse, which rode through swelling rivers of blood to allow the radiant avenger to plunge the dagger deep into the stinking heart of the world-grasping Moloch? Trashing the mondists to one's heart's content, each the piercing lead for their chest?"
"But such an improvement to his original pieces about the hectic and slender blondes!"
"You forget the tulip coloured lips of said blondes. But I still prefer the hectics to his newest verses: Better bloodless than bloodthirsty!"
[Sound of a marching band, ranks of a newly raised battalion marching past the cafe to smatterings of applause from the passing citizens.]
"You may nag, but see how they are marching into the garrison and from there to the front!"
"To the contrary: they had been made to march into the garrison. Their will determines the cause and they were made to march and will be made to march."
"Because of the conscription…"
"Because of the conscription all of mankind has been turned into a passive, made to march, made to fight."
"You can't just claim that. Soldiers have to fight for ideals, have to see a greater sense in their struggle, otherwise they wouldn't risk their lives for the cause!"
"And this greater sense does blanket those that need a roof over their head as the Seraphim technologies revolutionize our industry! Would it also cover those who have joined up for base human desires like revenge for what they have lost so far? And do not the Siberian Cossack and the CanMexican Farmer have their ideals too?"
"My dear colleague, I am appalled at how you can compare the two. Our soldiers fight…"
"...for their love of the republic? I am sure we could run an inquiry among the troops and would find that not all of them will know for whom they could have voted last election - just as I am sure that many volunteers will have seen the bounty when they signed up as a small salvation in the middle of the spreading chaos."
"But you can't claim that our soldiers aren't healthier, better educated and more politically aware than their opposition!"
"Now you compare the two and do no service to our own soldiers that way. After all you compare them with the serfs of Siberia and the drugged masses of CanMexico, who wouldn't look like sterling examples of humanity next to them? But you are silent on the matter of the Spacians on the battlefield, whose health and education are superior to most of our conscripts by the time of their birth."
"No one doubts the gallantry of the Seraphim who have fought at our side…"
"...but the gallantry of the idealists who fight on the side of the Siberians or the Moralians who fight on both sides?"
"They are outliers for sure, but compared to the other powers of Earth…"
"...our modest republic seems large and powerful enough to war on the other side of the globe?"
"Our obligations to OSRA and the love between sister republics…"
"...does not change the fact that even the most ardent love can't burn its way through a mondist blockade should we repeat the steps of last year."
"The Federation has given their word and their presence at the canal assures our protection!"
"On paper - not if five million CanMexicans get whipped up by their priests to drown us in their blood - again. In that case the youths we sent to fight in Asia will sorely be missed."
"The Divine Monarchy, Tyrants and murderers they may be, won't dare to just overstep all conventions to do so."
"Overstep again you mean - or do you think the princess they have up north is any better than her sister? I would wager she has a different puppet master, but what does that change for us?"
"You are going too far, we have gone out of the last year victorious!"
"They have certainly lost more crowned heads than we did, but was that ever in doubt?"
"Our northern neighbors are finally at a position to choose their own future!"
"You mean they now have the chance to die at the bullets of ZOLON soldiers, as opposed to the CanMexican Royal Guards from before? Truly the health of the Republican movement can be seen at the vigorous discussion they have on the future name of their country - as one foreign group supporting their local tyrant gets replaced by another."
"You belittle the ideals and honest beliefs of our brothers and sisters again!"
"And like any siblings I shall watch them from a distance and shed my tears if their ideals get trampled beneath the armored boots of mobile suits."
"The world would not allow…"
"We allow our soldiers to fight side by side with the mercenaries who enabled such massacres in Morocco."
"That's not the same. To blame a tool…"
"...to call a human being tool is blame worthy enough."
"Talking with you makes no sense. You always nag and never see the needs!"
"On the contrary: I see the needs and I nag because we instead throw ourselves headlong into adventures called ventures, drunk on our own greatness. And with this, adieu."
A relevant chamber play.
Belém Press Association
"Have you heard the news about the Korean Undertaking? It seems to have been quite the success, the enemy has been smashed into pieces, their fortresses overrun and the fresh divisions they tried to bring into the game have been thoroughly cleaned up by the federations naval batteries. All in all, the news is good enough to be optimistic when it comes to that venture."
"Venture? I would say it's more of an adventure if anything."
"Ohh stop, in peace you were an endless nagger and now that we are at war… "
"...and now nagging can see you dunked into the waters of the canals by our much vaunted student defense organizations."
"You have to agree that they paid the price in blood when this war began and who can fault their righteous anger after seeing the bloom of their years cut down by the tyrant's weapons!"
"I would - if I hadn't run into Dr. Dehmel on the way to his literature lesson. There are types whose neither steel helmet nor rifle adorns in any way that can be praised."
"Dr. Dehmel is surely only serving as a good example for their students. Their patriotic feelings might be touched if their teachers would forsake their duties in the face of this great duel we have been forced into…"
"...I am more surprised that no one has touched on the Dehmels latest contributions to wartime literature."
"Passion must have gripped him!"
"Gripped him as tightly as his youthful rider gripped the reins of his brave horse, which rode through swelling rivers of blood to allow the radiant avenger to plunge the dagger deep into the stinking heart of the world-grasping Moloch? Trashing the mondists to one's heart's content, each the piercing lead for their chest?"
"But such an improvement to his original pieces about the hectic and slender blondes!"
"You forget the tulip coloured lips of said blondes. But I still prefer the hectics to his newest verses: Better bloodless than bloodthirsty!"
[Sound of a marching band, ranks of a newly raised battalion marching past the cafe to smatterings of applause from the passing citizens.]
"You may nag, but see how they are marching into the garrison and from there to the front!"
"To the contrary: they had been made to march into the garrison. Their will determines the cause and they were made to march and will be made to march."
"Because of the conscription…"
"Because of the conscription all of mankind has been turned into a passive, made to march, made to fight."
"You can't just claim that. Soldiers have to fight for ideals, have to see a greater sense in their struggle, otherwise they wouldn't risk their lives for the cause!"
"And this greater sense does blanket those that need a roof over their head as the Seraphim technologies revolutionize our industry! Would it also cover those who have joined up for base human desires like revenge for what they have lost so far? And do not the Siberian Cossack and the CanMexican Farmer have their ideals too?"
"My dear colleague, I am appalled at how you can compare the two. Our soldiers fight…"
"...for their love of the republic? I am sure we could run an inquiry among the troops and would find that not all of them will know for whom they could have voted last election - just as I am sure that many volunteers will have seen the bounty when they signed up as a small salvation in the middle of the spreading chaos."
"But you can't claim that our soldiers aren't healthier, better educated and more politically aware than their opposition!"
"Now you compare the two and do no service to our own soldiers that way. After all you compare them with the serfs of Siberia and the drugged masses of CanMexico, who wouldn't look like sterling examples of humanity next to them? But you are silent on the matter of the Spacians on the battlefield, whose health and education are superior to most of our conscripts by the time of their birth."
"No one doubts the gallantry of the Seraphim who have fought at our side…"
"...but the gallantry of the idealists who fight on the side of the Siberians or the Moralians who fight on both sides?"
"They are outliers for sure, but compared to the other powers of Earth…"
"...our modest republic seems large and powerful enough to war on the other side of the globe?"
"Our obligations to OSRA and the love between sister republics…"
"...does not change the fact that even the most ardent love can't burn its way through a mondist blockade should we repeat the steps of last year."
"The Federation has given their word and their presence at the canal assures our protection!"
"On paper - not if five million CanMexicans get whipped up by their priests to drown us in their blood - again. In that case the youths we sent to fight in Asia will sorely be missed."
"The Divine Monarchy, Tyrants and murderers they may be, won't dare to just overstep all conventions to do so."
"Overstep again you mean - or do you think the princess they have up north is any better than her sister? I would wager she has a different puppet master, but what does that change for us?"
"You are going too far, we have gone out of the last year victorious!"
"They have certainly lost more crowned heads than we did, but was that ever in doubt?"
"Our northern neighbors are finally at a position to choose their own future!"
"You mean they now have the chance to die at the bullets of ZOLON soldiers, as opposed to the CanMexican Royal Guards from before? Truly the health of the Republican movement can be seen at the vigorous discussion they have on the future name of their country - as one foreign group supporting their local tyrant gets replaced by another."
"You belittle the ideals and honest beliefs of our brothers and sisters again!"
"And like any siblings I shall watch them from a distance and shed my tears if their ideals get trampled beneath the armored boots of mobile suits."
"The world would not allow…"
"We allow our soldiers to fight side by side with the mercenaries who enabled such massacres in Morocco."
"That's not the same. To blame a tool…"
"...to call a human being tool is blame worthy enough."
"Talking with you makes no sense. You always nag and never see the needs!"
"On the contrary: I see the needs and I nag because we instead throw ourselves headlong into adventures called ventures, drunk on our own greatness. And with this, adieu."
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Addressing the Moroccan situation
It is with a deep sadness that Algeria has watched the situation in Morocco continue to deteriorate. Despite our best efforts at keeping the peace and good faith efforts to find compromise solutions, we have again and again been met with treachery and violence. The Yammacin Freeholds, once seen as the leader of Africa and as an even handed and dignified state that could be trusted to preserve the peace, has brought ruin and death to the people of Morocco.Let us be clear. Algeria has, at no point, advocated for violence in Morocco. We have not fostered violent revolt, nor have we used our forces, or forces hired by us, to attack the people of Morocco whose interests do not match our own.
The Yammacin Freeholds has hired mercenaries and poured in soldiers acting as volunteers, and in so doing have slaughtered countless innocent civilians. They have attacked our Moroccan allies, allies who were shielded by Algerian soldiers, deposing them to impose puppet dictators upon their lands. Their allies murder their civilians in the streets for the simple crime of protesting their treatment. This situation is entirely untenable.
While we remain forever committed to the ideals of peace and diplomacy, there are times when force must be applied. In order to save lives, Algeria must act.
Therefore, we make the following demands of the Yammacin Freeholds:
- The immediate withdrawal of the Yammacin Freehold and allied forces from Morocco and the Spanish state of Tangiers.
- The Yammacin Freeholds must agree to pay reparations to Morocco for a period of five years.
- The Yammacin Freeholds will cease all support and funding for groups in Morocco until the resolution of the crisis.
If the Yammacin Freeholds agrees to these demands, then the situation may yet be resolved with minimal loss of life.
If, however, the Yammacin Freeholds refuses, then all their forces within Morocco and the Spanish state of Tangiers will be considered hostile and will be destroyed.
In addition, if the Freeholds refuse our demands we call upon the Directorate of Hispania to uphold its neutral status and expel the Freehold army currently engaged in aiding in spreading terror and bloodshed in Morocco from their state of Tangiers.
-Lila Selem, Algerian Secretary of Foreign Affairs
@Nanolyte
You have until midnight of November 14th (PST) to respond. Failure to respond by the deadline will be seen as a flat refusal of the demands.
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- Location
- Germany
Even as war rages and consumes both countless and priceless resources, the Amazon Territories recognise the importance of research focused on non-military developments. Both the Seraphim Vaccine, as well as farming technologies and the Algerian antibiotics have saved countless lives both civilian and military. As such we pledge ourselves to support the SADEDAS project with as much expertise we can bring in.
Signed:
Senior-Professor Henry Pflaume, Minister of International Relationships