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| The Question of Solterran Independence | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 28 2017, 10:55 AM (790 Views) | |
| Anglea | Mar 28 2017, 10:55 AM Post #1 |
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The Federated Kingdom
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OOC: Immediately occurring after this (please read) Presidential Palace Lesa Powell, bored and impatient, lay covered in expensive silk sheets. She sipped on her moscato wine with indifference and repeatedly looked at the alarm clock beside her bed. As had become routine over the past few weeks, Lesa's lover and sole means of entertainment in her life had grown increasingly busy. No longer could the couple spend time in the garden's together, visit the theatre or partake in rambunctious intercourse. The decline of the President's youthfulness, drained from him with every speech and pressing decision to make, had left the First Lady without any form of joy. She found herself constantly alone despite being the country's most sought after celebrity. The attention of tabloids and socialites no longer mattered to her, it was all meaningless. Dwelling on all of this, Lesa sipped what was remaining of her wine and jumped out of the bed and paced into the hallway. Lured by the echo of assertive voices, she skipped in barefoot across the cold marble and into the President's study. Surrounded by at least a dozen standing advisers, Joseph looked up from his desk. In her pink nightgown, the First Lady knocked on the door and stepped forward. "Joseph. Bed." She demanded, skipping the pleasantries knowing too well of their efficacy. The President, frustrated with his wife's unhealthy desire for attention, gestured callously with his hand. "Leave us, Lesa." The President dismissed his wife, and had the door shut in her face. The First Lady ambled back to bed, defeated, and proceeded to drink herself to sleep for the remainder of the evening. Without any further thought of his spouse of 20 years, the President returned to the matter at hand and watched as the vote tally came in from Solterra. He was calm and unsurprised - the loss of the referendum did not significantly hinder his plans. In fact, he had accounted for the very real possibility of a defeat despite his efforts. Now was merely the time in which he moved to plan B. But first, he wanted an explanation. He motioned towards his Chief Counsel. "Why did we lose?" Powell inquired, "We had internal polling saying we would win by a fairly significant margin. Our media campaigns came back with very positive results. Our dissemination rate was through the roof! We had this in the bag, surely?" Maurice Whitmore, an intimidating and unpredictable man, adjusted his black framed glasses and leant on the desk towards the President. Whitmore was a man of great intellect and a very trusted friend of the President. An intelligence agent in the civil war and ultimately the Chief of the Austianese intelligence agency (ANI), Whitmore was also a mathematical genius and a revered political operative. "Well, this was not expected at all..." Whitmore began, "But from what ANI has told us, there was simply a large pushback against our propaganda. We didn't go hard enough. Cielo responded with their own government material. As I suggested repeatedly, ANI had the capacity to undermine the electoral database in Solterra and we could have used it. We could have altered the results of various districts to our favour and that could have tipped the referendum our way. But, as you decided Mr President, that wasn't in our interest." Powell thought Whitmore was always refreshingly blunt with his advice. When it came to dealing with the President, almost all public servants and advisers were very euphemistic in their approach and did everything in their power to utter words that were pleasing for the President to hear. But not Whitmore, who adamantly challenged the President whenever he thought he was wrong. "Yes, yes..." Powell said somewhat dismissively, unwilling to concede anything to Whitmore but knowing too well that 'hacking' the referendum was a viable possibility, "What's done is done. Now we ought to deal with the situation at hand, and that I assume involves moving to our alternative arrangements?" "Yes." Whitmore said, revealing a compendium with additional files that he handed to the President, "We are in close affiliation with at least 6 or so nationalist groups in Solterra. Two are political parties, one is a militia and the remaining three are activist groups. Some of these groups have Austianese agents among them. Electorally, the parties are fairly significant, the activist groups are fairly well organised and sizeable, and the militia is small but somewhat efficient. They have the ability to cause a bit of clout. Their media penetration is very high, particularly the leader of the Solterran National Party (SNP)... Douglas Silvius." Whitmore handed a printed black and white photo of the man. He was an obese, arrogant and bearded oaf who was incredibly popular in Solterra's north, so much so that he had won the SNP a number of seats in the national and state legislatures. He was eccentric, but somewhat well respected in Solterran circles - particularly ethnically Austianese Solterrans. He was a polarising figure, people loved him - or loved to hate him. "So, where exactly will this get us?" Powell retorted. "Well, through these groups and through much of the same media mechanisms through which we disseminated our propaganda, we will spread a great deal of material questioning the outcome of the referendum." Whitmore said, pacing around the office and a number of the advisers, "We will utilise our various contacts in Solterra to spread fabricated evidence showing that fraud had been committed on the day of referendum. We will cast a chaotic level of doubt on the result, organise disruptive protests and ramp up the pressure on Cielo. It simply will not matter what their government says is true, because by that point people will not know what to believe. It will be a media frenzy and total chaos." "And what about that fucking glutt?" Powell spat, his disdain for Douglas Silvius (and in general the democratically elected) clearly showing. "He will be the main spokesperson prosecuting the case stating that the election was rigged. He will use his social media mechanisms, media connections, public demonstrations and speeches in Parliament to spread the rumour." "And?" "And then we shoot the fucker right between his eyes." Whitmore slammed his open palm on the desk, "And that's our trigger. We frame their government for the murder, we frame their government for the fraud, and by that point we have enough chaos or enough popular opinion to ramp up our military pressure and prepare for our physical intervention." There was silence and uncertainty in the room. The plan was wild, but few had reason to doubt Whitmore. He was a mastermind. "This plan does not merely involve lies." Whitemore concluded, "It involves the complete destruction of the concept of truth." The President, impressed - or perhaps tired - ordered the plan to proceed. It would be fast moving and destructive. There were risks, of course, and Powell knew this too well. But a military opinion in the midst of either chaos or popular support would be far easier. Powell dismissed his advisers and finally pleased his wife by coming to bed. |
THE FEDERATED KINGDOM OF ANGLEA AND CAMBRIA | KING JOSEPH J. POWELL | POPULATION: 69M | CAPITAL: THE CITY OF CASTRATENE
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| Cielo | Apr 27 2017, 11:17 AM Post #31 |
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Dux Dilecto
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Queen’s Air Base Elysium, Orteio Metropolitan Area, Cielo 24 Kilometers North of the Royal Palace Queen Caroline and Queen Mother Adelaide stood on the tarmac of Queen’s Air Base as staff bustled about with the business of putting Adelaide’s luggage into her place. Adelaide’s hair fluttered along with the wind, following its path, whereas Caroline’s hair laid at rest in its stiff, braided style. “Your father always told me retirement was for the decrepit. I mean seriously,” Adelaide spoke, her voice barely reaching Caroline’s mind. After a moment’s hesitation, Caroline smiled, “Oh mother, can’t you just be thrilled about going on another expedition. You’ve been absolutely pesky about me not giving you any role in the government.” Adelaide smiled too and took her daughter’s hands into hers, “You’re right. I’ve missed the electricity of embarking on a journey which could change nations. Your Father...” “Yes,” Caroline interjected, “He treated you as the second head of your one body. You were far more than a Queen Consort. You made a difference. I know, mom. However, we are certainly not establishing this as precedent. This is a special trip that I simply can not have muddled by indelicate hands. So, when you get home, it’s back to retirement.” The Queen’s face was back to it’s stoic nature. “You’re your father’s daughter alright,” the Queen Mother responded. She gave her daughter’s hands a gentle squeeze, kissed her left cheek, then left to ascend the stairs of the jetliner. Stellarium Stadium Orteio, Primero, Cielo It was a busier than usual day in Orteio. Domoria’s great cultural center was in full swing as people came from all walks of life, all manner of ethnicities and nationalities, to attend or participate in the annual Tournament of Prowess. The tournament had its roots in the days of the Celestial Empire. In order to expunge the greatest skills and abilities from their people, the emperors would hold these tournaments to identify men who were the strongest, fastest, keenest of sight (long range archery), etc. Nowadays anyone could participate in the event. As a special treat, any foreigner who won an event could swear his/her fealty to the Crown and attain full citizenship in the Kingdom. Another change to the traditional rules is the subtraction of the rule than anyone who comes in last in an event is therefore exiled. High above the fray in the Royal Box of Sterllarium Stadium sat Prince Gregory, Queen Caroline, and Princess Eveyln respectively. They had already opened the games and were now watching the runners. Those who were paying attention would have easily noticed that the crowds were more often than not rooting against contestants from Solterra, especially those with Austianese sounding names. Division among her people was not something Caroline had expected to grapple with during her reign. Her father left her with a unified people, or so she thought. Hopefully that bible she sent to President Powell would find some use and assist in keeping the Austianese from continuing their aggressive behaviors. It was a simple bible, leather bound, nearly perfect translations. And on the first page she had written, “There is no godless man or state among us. There is simply the renaming of life’s purpose until we can rescue ourselves. I hope you find solace, Mr. President.” -Q. Caroline |
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United Kingdom of Cielo Solterra & Devinaria (aka Greg) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- | |
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| Anglea | Apr 30 2017, 02:02 AM Post #32 |
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The Federated Kingdom
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Castratene International Airport Austiana Powell gripped the railing of the stairs tight as he descended onto the tarmac from his luxurious government jet. With the Foreign Secretary on his left, Powell and Davis both appeared tired and solemn. To be able to arrive at a busy airport without members of the press and journalists snapping pictures and asking uncomfortable questions was a novelty only afforded to the most authoritarian of dictators. Powell, however, appeared to be disappointed to arrive in Castratene to only be greeted by silent soldiers and stoic officials. In Orteio, there were press members taking photographs and reporters asking questions. In Orteio he felt important, in Castratene he felt forgotten. "Send word to the Conference." Powell, upon ducking into the limousine beside his Foreign Secretary, "Inform the Chief Counsel of the deal I struck. Suggest he focus on Gliegen. Support of those in the Conference remains desirable." The Foreign Secretary immediately brought up his mobile phone and made the call. Also in the limousine, Powell's Castratene-based advisor greeted the President with a gift as the motorcade left the airport and onto the highway. "Welcome back Mr President." Janette Robinson, a senior advisor, smiled warmly and handed the President the leather-bound book, "It was amongst the diplomatic documents brought back on your flight. It was a gift the Queen wanted you to have upon your arrival here. Not entirely sure what it is, seems like a prohibited text. I can have it destroyed, if you would like?" The President waved away Robinson's offer and gently sat the book on his lap. He opened it, growing curious, and read the inscription on the front page. Usually, the President would be offended. 'Finding solace'? 'Rescuing ourselves'? Such nonsense would suggest imperfection in Austiana or within Powell, which obviously does not exist. Or does it? The President set aside his manufactured, internalised outrage and thought about the Queen Caroline's words. He also thought about theology, and skimmed a number of chapters within the foreign-looking book. Doubts, which had been amassing within Powell's head for quite some time - and which only continued to grow faster than the speed of a Lyskal bullet train - were only confirmed by the Bible. Holding the scriptures in his hand was instrumental in changing the President's entire view of the world. He had it all wrong. "Driver. I would like to make a stopover before we return to the Palace." Old Castratene "It is highly unsafe, Mr President, I hope you are aware of that." Robinson screwed up her face as she looked through the armoured glass. Powell ignored the advice and stepped out of the limousine, leaving both Davis and Robinson to sit anxiously within. Flanked by eight bodyguards, he stumbled across gravel and trash. Old Castratene was a run-down, ghettoised suburb that was once the nation's capital. Prior to the revolutions almost 30 years ago, the former democratic republic was entirely operated out of the district where Powell now stood. It had many churches, temples, a Parliament, courts and such. It was a vibrant hub for Austiana, thought at the time of the revolution it was largely despised by a population that had been tricked into giving up more freedom and had thought the current system did not work. Years of economic recession, due largely to Austianese de-industrialisation, and various Parliamentary scandals led to a public that loathed Old Castratene (which was simply 'Castratene' at the time) and democracy itself. A violent and bloody battle, the Siege of Castratene was the final battle of the Revolution that put Powell into power. As he walked down the deserted streets, passing 30 year old rubble and fallen lamp posts, he recalled the battle. A sense of nostalgia and dread came across him. The propaganda portrayed him as a valiant and selfless revolutionary who killed the traitorous government soldiers without fear, and almost won the battle single-handedly. In truth, while he was the leader he did very little of the killing or fighting himself. He stood far back from the frontline and shrieked whenever bullets or mortar landed nearby. Upon the Austianese soldiers being flanked, Powell was forced to fight - and did so terribly and with his eyes closed much of the time. The fake history books that he had manufactured after his ascendancy told a completely different story. After the battle was won, Old Castratene was abandoned. Much of it was demolished and destroyed and the capital was moved East. Old Castratene was a forbidden zone, where only government officials could visit and desperate destitutes could seek refuge. "Leave me. There's no one here." The President demanded his security detail stay away as the President approached a run-down but nonetheless standing building. The agents were uncomfortable, but they were even more uncomfortable with the prospect of defying the President's orders. It was 12am, and the President entered the ruins of the old St Peter's Austianese Church. There was no roof, two walls were missing and there was a horrible damp smell. Stumbling across the rubble, the President shone the flashlight from his phone but was still thankful for a full moon. He looked ahead at the remaining crucifix. All such symbols were meant to be removed after the revolution, but he recalled this particular one being neglected at the time. The desire to evacuate Old Castratene and build a new capital meant that much of the city still remained. Maneuvering himself between broken pews and rubble from the roof, he made his way to the alter and fell to his knees before the crucifix. "Please God. Please." Powell whimpered in prayer, his eyes closed and his fists tight together, "What did I do? What have I done? How can I fix things?" Pain and regret came over him. He knew he had sinned. He knew he tried so hard to make himself a God, when there was only one true one. He hated what he had done to Austiana. He saw Cielo for all of it's freedom and dignity, and hated that he had punished his own people with laws and tyranny for the sake of his own pride and false idolatry. His faith in God had never been strong, but combined with his emotional state and the Queen's bizarre influence, he had never felt stronger about anything in his life. "Lord, I need a sign. I want to have faith. Help me be better..." Tears rolled from the President's eyes. But he was suddenly interrupted. Rubble toppled from a heap pile in the corner of the collapsed Church. Powell turned, his concerns suddenly shifting from divine to personal safety. A bearded old man in tattered clothing with a wrinkly and dirty face ambled down the rubble staring, confused, at the President. The man clearly could not believe what he was seeing, but approached with such confidence that any other ordinary Austianese citizen should away from. Powell could be looked at, but not touched. And generally speaking, approaching the President in any manner is considered a physical violation and any such confidence is met with at lest a dozen security-guard tackle. The old, homeless man knelt beside the President and looked at Powell with tremendous curiosity. But the man's expression, a smug smile, also seemed to suggest he knew everything the President was thinking. "You have come... come.... come back, to repent... for your sins." The man's voice cracked and broke. Powell's anxiety subsided. He looked at the man up and down and noticed a sacrilegious armband on the man, tattered and dated. It was the armband of the previous government, the government Powell had toppled. Clearly this man was a former loyalist, now a disenfranchised separatist that lived illegal within the Church. The man would have been one of thousands that ended up in concentration camps, or executed, due to his political allegience. Usually the President demand the man's immediate execution. But his anger, his rage, his feeling of betrayal never came. Instead, at the sight of the armband and the state of one of his subjects, the President cried. "I am so sorry." Powelled cried, embracing the man without reluctance, "For everything... I truly am. I am going to make this better. I am going to undo what I did wrong. And I shall seek your forgiveness and the forgiveness of all Austianese people." The short embrace between strangers stopped abruptly and the man looked at Powell up at down. "It is not I who you should seek forgiveness from." The man looked up at the crucifix, "It's him." The man left as quick as he came. The President, wiping away his tears and still clutching the Bible, dusted himself off and returned to the limousine. Presidential Palace The President returned home at 1am. Leaving the many questions of his adviser and his Foreign Secretary unanswered, Powell shunned his wife and entered his private study. Grabbing a piece of paper and a pen, he began to draft a statement to be released to the Austianese people and to the world. Now was his chance at making things right. It began: "My dearest countrymen, I have forsaken you all on a quest for power. I have sinned, and we all have sinned. The last days and weeks have revealed my own inadequacies. I am thankful for the Queen of Cielo and our ability to successfully solve The Question of Solterran Independence. However, now we must all move onto a new challenge. That is, The Question of Austianese Independence..." Edited by Anglea, May 5 2017, 01:38 PM.
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THE FEDERATED KINGDOM OF ANGLEA AND CAMBRIA | KING JOSEPH J. POWELL | POPULATION: 69M | CAPITAL: THE CITY OF CASTRATENE
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| Cielo | May 2 2017, 06:48 AM Post #33 |
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Dux Dilecto
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Daleo City Hall Daleo, Radium, Solterra The Queen Mother stood with the Mayor of Daleo behind the closed doors of City Hall waiting for the right moment to emerge and address her daughter’s people. Adding to the drama of the day was peculiarly cloudy day, one coming at the end of a streak of sunny days, a trademark of Solterran weather. Whenever the clouds gathered after a sunny-streak, everyone knew that it meant that moisture had made its way from the western side of the Abbraciempre Mountains to the east and heavy rainfall was to be expected. Naturally, when Adelaide noticed beam of yellowish light creeping in from the windows facing the west, she knew it was time. She took a decisive step forward, and so the gears turned. Guards moved into position, the Mayor kept in sync with her steps, and the doors of City Hall opened to reveal a quieting crowd of thousands. One could no longer tell the ground was covered in asphalt, let alone see the ground. Amidst the tall commercial buildings of the city’s center, people crowded into each others space. Some people even poked their heads out from the windows of said buildings. Appearance of the Queen Mother The eyes of Daleo settled on their Queen Mother as she approached the transparent podium. She cleared her throat before getting into “earshot” of the microphone, then took the last step forward. “I wear today in continued mourning for the lives lost in that tragic event we try not to think about. Let us take a moment of due silence for those of ours we lost that day.” Feigning solemnity, she looked out across the crowds as many people looked skyward in silent prayer. If she was correct, it appeared as though she had cut down the apprehensive tension by some measure if only a little. A good start in her opinion. “Now, let me extend my own and Her Majesty the Queen’s greatest apology for the way in which the people of Solterra have been treated in the wake of the discovery of former Captain Drabick’s incorrigible actions driven by radical Solterran nationalistic ideology. Your should not and will not be targeted and degraded for the actions of one terribly lost soul.” There were a few claps coming from the audience as well as the mayor. No outbursts yet though. This was going good. It was now time for the plunge; she didn’t have all day. “However, the actions of that man were by virtue of his office the actions of Her Majesty’s Navy. Ultimately, they were, albeit indirectly, the actions of Her Majesty. It falls on her feet, and thus the nation’s, to accept responsibility for what transpired that day.” A great majority of the crowd erupted in an instant. How dare the culpability for a mad man’s actions be laid down at their feet. They weren’t yet physically hostile, but if looks could kill... After a sweeping glance over her audience, Adelaide continued her speech with a more pointed edge, one which she often used to whip her family into shape when they strayed too far from the common goals. “We are a country of honor! We are a land of justice! We made the mistake of allowing a sick man command a royal ship. As a result, we are responsible for the sinking of the RSS Lambert which led to the deaths of Austianese men who had done us no harm. In the spirit of our envied honor and grace, Her Majesty sought out ways in which to partially rectify the situation at hand. That is why she relinquished her sovereign claim to the lands of Newmo and Cape Saili. These lands are culturally beholden to Austiana, and their infrastructure is largely dependent on Austianase commerce, energy, water, and more. So, allowing these two cities to join the country wherein they rightfully fit was a convenient recourse which both the Queen and President Powell saw fit to release the militaristic tension which would have plunged us into a war which had the potential to become a new global conflict. We may lose some tax money, we may lose some resources, but in the end we will mostly lose our pride. Embrace this humility, Solterrans. We are not infallible. But we are at peace, and we are still as strong as ever. Remember who we are; a United Kingdom of Cielo, Solterra, and Devinaria. We must not allow division to be sown, especially in times of duress. We must stand as united as we stand when an enemy threatens us. We must accept our responsibilities with common mindsets to achieve our goals. We must embolden the Queen to act in our best interests at all times, and she shall continue to do just that. Peace and prosperity. Praise to the One and may we remain favored.” She took a curt step away from the podium and looked at her feet as she did so. Her head quickly lifted again at the sound of building applause. It wasn’t the rambunctious fanfare of celebration. Rather, it was a resigned agreement. She knew it wasn’t a rousing success, but she thinks she did enough to keep the tabloids of tomorrow from proclaiming Solterran uprisings. After a brief time of waving and smiling, she made her way back into City Hall while the Mayor remained with the crowds outside to speak on safety concerns regarding the new affiliations of northern neighboring cities. Eventually she got into her car and made her way back to Queen’s Air Base (Solterra) and got back on track to Mastropa, her least favorite country in the world, next to Gorvikia. Somehow she was still smiling. |
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United Kingdom of Cielo Solterra & Devinaria (aka Greg) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- | |
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7:50 AM Jul 11