Parallel Lives

Pelasgia · Nov 22, 2021

Nauplia, Caria
22/11/2021 - 11:30 AM

Some men live and die in the shade of their olive trees; some are meant for greater things. Thus went the old saying from Anaktora, though no man truly knew which was true of each of their fellow men until very late into his own life. Evagoras D. Kypselides, since the earliest days of his birth near a humble olive grove, had decided to be the latter.

The son of barely literate farmers, he had made a name for himself as the top student at the prestigious School of Jurisprudence of the University of Anaktora. Any job he could have wanted was his: the bench, the corner office at some corporate law firm, or, indeed, the podium of the distinguished attorney. Of all these, and many more, he chose perhaps the humblest: the public service. Rising through the ranks of the Superintengency General of the State, Caria's equivalent to a confederal cabinet and its underlying support structure, he had been named Superintendent General of the State (essentially, Caria's premier) at the young age of 31 years. His predecessor, Anastasios P. Pnevmatikos, also of Anaktora, had presided over the last stages of Caria's entry into full modernity (or, perhaps, post-modernity).

Kypselides had a far taller task ahead of him: the balancing of Europe's oldest confederation, which now faced the ill consequences of its own inherent contradictions (those very same contradictions that were, simultaneously, the author of its strengths). Taking a sip of warm tea with honey in the midst of humid, rainy weather of late autumn in Nauplia, Kypselides traded looks with Pnevmatikos, now a Professor of Civil Engineering at the Confederal Polytechnic of Caria in Nauplia (SPK).

"The Natalians have made public their desire for us to formally associate with the WOTO," Pnevmatikos said, reading out from his copy of O Logographos, the city's premier newspaper of record.

Kypselides set down his cup. "And the Whites have no intention of letting us get any closer to Natal--or any further from Tarusa."

Pnevmatikos' eyes continued scanning the pages of the newspaper, rising only to greet one his colleagues as he entered the faculty club, his entry announced by loud footsteps on the aged marble floor of the rectorate building. "They have the majority now. The Boule of Cordelium, the House, and the Senate. Before long, they'll reshuffle the Council of State."

"So we can't afford to oppose them openly," Kypselides said. His gaze fixed on the elegant blue patterns decorating the surface of his white porcelain cup, which came together to form the mythical scene of Odysseus' triumph against the Cyclops, Polyphemus. "Perhaps we can pretend to play along?"

Pnevmatikos' dark brown eyes finally shot up. "With whom? The Whites or the Blues?"

"Both," Kypselides replied. "Our goal is that Caria ought to be neutral. It is the only way that our small nation has ever survived in this perilous neighbourhood. One step in this direction, one in the other... and we're back where we started."

"You should be careful," Pnevmatikos remarked. "Wiggle around too much, and this delicate ship of a Confederacy might break into two pieces headed in different directions."

Kypselides shrugged. "Well, we have no choice but to try. Perhaps we can try talking to the First Archon, to see how he plans to react to the Coyotes' pleas?"

"You can talk to whomever you want," Pnevmatikos said, standing up. "I am retired. And I have a faculty meeting at noon. Don't you have a parliamentary session to attend anyway?"

Kypselides sighed. "That I do." Staring out the window, he caught sight of a mighty old olive tree in the polytechnic gardens. Sometimes one would wish to be back under the shade of the olives trees...

Pelasgia · Nov 26, 2021

Nauplia, Caria
26/11/2021 - 03:05 AM

The warm rays of the south Carian sun cut through the myriad little openings between the deep green leaves of the olive trees, whose plentiful branches formed a baldachin over the fertile fields surrounding Anaktora. In the distance, hidden under a tall, ancient olive tree right beside a clearing, the sound of running water emerged from behind the ceaseless noise of cicadae beating their wings against their bodies to cool down in the midst of a warm summer day. Running water--a fountain! Evagoras rushed to the source, eager to quench his thirst after a long day's walk through the endless fields around his hometown. As he gorged on the cool, fresh water, he closed his eyes, savouring a moment's rest under the shade of the old, near-grey olive tree.

"Mother said to take a short walk."

Evagoras opened his eyes to find a pair of dark brown eyes staring at him from a round, pale face--the unmistakable sight of his little brother.

"It was a short walk," he answered. "I only went to Ampelon and back. I'll be home for lunch."

Evogoras continued to quench his thirst, but felt that the burning gaze of his little brother was still fixed upon him.

"What is it, Neokles?"

"You said we'd go ghost-hunting in the old factory!" Neokles moaned.

"I did," Evagoras answered nonchalantly.

"But all my friends went with their old brothers, and I was waiting for you but you didn't show up, so they went without me!"

Evagoras sighed and stood up, walking toward his brother. "Is this why you're mad?"

"Yes!" Neokles cried at him. "You lied."

"I did lie," Evagoras admitted. "Whatever happened to your friends?"

Neokles froze. "Well they... they're... some of them are in the hospital."

"There's nothing but snakes and asbestos in that old ruin," Evagoras explained. "The only ghosts are in the empty heads of the municipal councilors who haven't demolished it yet because of some court case."

"But why did you lie? Why not just tell me that?" Neokles protested.

Evagoras touched his brother's shoulder. "Because you'd have gone anyway to spite me. Sometimes, if you want to protect someone, you have to not be honest with them--to not play fair."

Neokles did not answer.

"Come," Evagoras said after a moment. "Let's go home. I think mother made meatballs."

Neokles rushed forth, but Evagoras walked behind him more slowly. He wanted to take one last look up, into the light cutting through the space between the leaves of the olive trees. How tranquil it seemed, almost like the windows of a church. How, peaceful... How-

BEEEP.

Evagoras awoke. A single ray of light cut through his bedroom window from some car passing down the street. He had not fully closed the curtains again. Sighing, he rubbed his head and picked up his phone.

"Anathema!" he shouted, a Pelasgian word meaning "damn it". He had forgotten to turn of the wifi and sound on his phone and had been awoken by an email notification--even worse was the content of the email itself.

ENCRYPTED EMAIL COMMUNICATION
Date: 26/11/2021, 03:05
From: grammateia@koinovoulio.ca [Secretariat @Common Parliament of Caria]
To: gen.prov@kyv.ca [Superintendent General @Government of Caria]
Subject: To your attention

This will be tabled tomorrow or Monday before the Common Parliament. I wanted to bring it to your attention ASAP. As always, you didn't get this from me.
----

Act № 402/2021
Amendments to the Confederal Penal Code regarding the unlawful termination of pregnancy

THE COUNCIL OF STATE

We enact the following Law, which has been approved by the Common Parliament:

You must be registered for see links

(Act № 4855/2019) is amended as follows:

“Article 304 – Artificial Termination of Pregnancy

1. Whosoever terminates a pregnancy shall be punished by imprisonment* of no more than ten years.

2. A person terminating a pregnancy under this article shall not be punished if one of the following cases applied:

(i) According to the official opinion of a certified medical specialist, the pregnancy posed a real and significant threat to the pregnant woman’s life or health.

(ii) According to the official opinion of a certified medical specialist, which has been certified by a prosecutor, the pregnancy was the result of a crime.

In either case, the consent of the pregnant woman, and of her parents or guardians if she is a minor or otherwise legally incapacitated, shall be required.

3. If a person terminating a pregnancy under this article is a certified medical professional, a member of another regulated profession or a public servant, the offender shall be deprived of that status irrevocably and for life. Notice of this sanction and of the reasons therefor shall be made public and circulated by the Government and the appropriate regulatory authorities governing the offender’s professional conduct.”

*imprisonment (κάθειρξη), as opposed to incarceration (φυλάκιση), is penal detention of at least five years for the commission of a felony. The use of this term implies that (i) the crime punished by this article is a felony, and (ii) that the punishment therefor is between five and ten years in prison.

Evagoras slammed his phone down and exhaled loudly. "Anathema me," he said, damning himself. He forwarded the email to his predecessor, Anastasios Pnevmatikos, and tried to get some semblance of sleep. He really needed to talk to the First Archon as soon as possible.

Pelasgia · Nov 30, 2021

Anaktora, Caria
30/11/2021 - 12:05 PM

"Your Excellency, if I may," Evagoras said, chasing after First Archon Ioannes Notaras.

The chair of Caria's collective head of state paid the country's de facto premier no heed as he continued to inspect weapons and other equipment, arrayed perfectly on a series of tables to his right. He paused and picked up a sort of headset consisting of six binocular-like tubes.

"Peripheral nightvision goggles," explained General Nikitas Perikleous, the head of the Carian National Guard. "They prevent tunnel vision."

Notaras nodded and continued along. "The entire corps will be equipped with them?"

"Yes, sir," General Periklous answered.

"Your Excellency!" Evagoras demanded once more.

"Yes, Evagoras?" Notaras answered, finally pausing beside a series of machine guns.

"With all due respect, sir," Evagoras explained, "I must ask you to reconsider Act № 402/2021."

Notaras shook his head and continued his tour of the new spec-ops unit's equipment. "You're barking up the wrong tree, Superintendent General. This is a matter for the Common Parliament; I will merely sign what is sent my way, as will my colleagues on the Council of State, provided that it is in the interest of Caria."

"But it is not in the interest of Caria, Your Excellency," Evagoras protested.

Notaras stopped and gave him a stern look. "That is not for you to decide, Superintendent."

"Of course not," Evagoras admitted, almost with a bow. "But, whether we like it or not, such an Act could severely divide Caria--between factions and between religious groups. To say nothing of the overreach of the Confederal Government into criminal law typically reserved for the Polities... Your Excellency, your duty is to the Confederacy, and you must strengthen it, not weaken it over partisan victories."

"My duty is to the Confederacy, indeed," the other answered. "And the Confederacy is governed by the People. The Council of State has not vetoed a law in almost half a century--to veto a law that has been approved by a majority of both the House of Representatives and Senate over an unelected bureaucrat's assessment of its effects would violate the very essence of our form of government."

"But what if the law is unconstitutional by reason of confederal overreach?" Evagoras pleaded.

Notaras shook his head. "Then let the Consistorium strike it down. We have an independent judiciary for a reason--and a non-independent bureaucracy for another. I hope that I will not have to remind you of this fact again, Evagoras."

The two men's deep brown eyes met for a moment, until the Superintendent General looked away. "Understood, sir."

The First Archon and the General continued out into the main courtyard of the Confederal Military Academy in Anaktora, where a whole battalion of troops awaited in formation. Arrayed in olive green and black uniforms, the men formed the Special Corps of Gendarmes--the elite internal security force of the Carian National Guard, created in response to rising concerns of terrorism and organised crime due to the ongoing refugee crisis on the northern border. As Notaras moved to inspect the troops, Evagoras paused a took out his phone.

Navigating to his contact in the Common Parliament's secretariat, he typed a quick text: "He won't budge." He looked up to see the First Archon fixing the bayonet of one of the troops he was inspecting. With a deep breath, he navigated to his contact for Karolos Ioustinides, the Director of the Confederate Security Directorate (DAS) and sent another text: "Congratulations! I just heard about your nephew. Meet me for tea tomorrow?"

Just as he sent his text, Evagoras was caught off guard by the loud cheering and hoorah-ing of the assembled troops. Such a sound always had a profoundly revolting effect on him, ever since his days at boot camp during his military service. Weaponised ape-like behaviour, he thought to himself. Let's hope these "Gendarmes" don't turn into the White Guards' praetorians.

Pelasgia · Dec 5, 2021

Nikaia, Pierrheia, Caria
4/12/2021 - 20:47

Elpinike was a rarity among her people. Walking through the tight crowds cramming themselves into the bowels of the great city of Nikaia, she could not help but elicit countless looks from the metro's passengers, male and female alike. She was a tall woman and quite fair, sure, but that was not uncommon in Pierrheia; what was, on the other hand, was her fair features: pale skin, red hair, and striking blue eyes, all of which were rather rare in much of Caria, even in this northernmost of major Carian states. For most of her youth, people had mistaken for a foreigner (as of late, some had even taken to treating her as if she were some Thrakian refugee--one ambitious young man had even asked her out in the strange Slavic tongue of that suffering land).

"I love your new bag," she said to her friend, Andromache, who stood a full head shorter than her at her side. It was an expensive and fancy little thing, though it did little to divert the stares of the whole metro wagon from the tall ginger woman to her shorter, clearly Carian friend. "It goes well with your eyes."

"Oh thank you!" Andromache answered. "Maybe you can ask that guy staring at you from the other side of the train to get you one that goes with yours?"

Elpinike looked across the wagon at the staring man and smiled. Did she like him? Did she not? Even she did not know. But playing around was fun.

"Make sure it has a Thrakian flag on it!" Maria, their other friend, added, causing the trio to laugh.

A moment later, a soft feminine voiced announced the next stop over the loudspeaker: "Next stop: Anthoupolis. Please, mind the gap between the train and the platform."

As the three women prepared to exit the train, Elpinike looked up at the man. He was still looking... a he was a tad easy on the eyes. Not striking certainly, but he was tall, and strong, and had deep-set eyes. And that jawline... He smiled and she smiled back. She was starting to like him, perhaps. The train stopped, and the three women rushed out of the wagon, forming part of the human wave flowing through the metro. A few paces before the exit, Elpinike felt a vibration in her pocket and stopped.

"Your father?" asked Maria.

"As if," Elpinike said, before even looking at her phone. That was her other peculiarity, of course--the daughter of an Orthodox mother and an Catholic father, who had decide to celebrate their breaking of one great taboo by breaking another: divorcing in Pierrheia, the most pious Orthodox state, just when Elpinike and her twin brother were but seven years old. Elpinike had scarcely seen her father since he had gone back to Ambracia, and her mother had not exactly attracted respect for marrying out and then divorcing in the home state of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. "My brother," she said, reading out his text with a hint of irony. "'Promise me you'll be careful?'"

"Why does he care that much?" Andromache said, almost defensively.

"Oh he's always been the protecting kind," Elpinike answered. "Especially now that he's gone off to Anaktora to put on the olive drab*."
*a Carian saying meaning "to join the armed forces"

"Well, you do need a lot of protecting," Maria teased her friend. "I mean, have you seen all those creeps stare?"

Elpinike put her phone away and started to answer, but a male voice cut her off.

"Excuse me, are you students from PPN*?"
*The initials for Patriarchikon Panepistemion Nikaias, the Patriarchal University of Nikaia

Elpinike's jaw almost dropped. Right beside her stood the man from the train. He definitely had a nice jawline.

"What's it to you?" Maria demanded.

"Well, I figure you're going to that end of term party at Akrotiri, no?" the man answered.

"Yes," said Maria in an annoyed tone.

"Well, that club's nice and all, but have you seen the VIP section upstairs?" The man turned his gaze to Elpinike. "If you want, I could get you in, and we could have one last fun night before exams roll around."

Elpinike tried to put on a serious face but she could not. She really liked him. "Why not?" she responded, without even consulting her friends--not that they would refuse. "But how can you get us in... what did you say your name was?"

"Markos," the man answered with a grin. "And as for getting in, one of my friends is the son of the owner."

"Can we get a round on the house then?" Elpinike joked, her friends giggling beside her.

"Maybe," Markos retorted. "If you behave." He showed the way forward, and Elpinike started ahead, with Maria and Andromache in tow. It was a fun night already, and it was just getting started.

---------

Anaktora, Caria
4/12/2021 - 22:13

Aristoteles ran the small patch of fabric with the velcro on its back through his fingers one last time, before looking at its surface. "Why Cerberus?" he wondered out loud. "Why it of all the mythological beasts in the world?"

From the bottom bank, a loud sigh was followed by Stratis' bored voice. "Because it guards the gates of hell. Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

"Is Caria hell or is it Thrakia?" Ieronymos joked from the far side of the room, stretching his legs with the boots still on his feet off the edge of his bed.

Aristoteles shook his head. "Take your boots off before the Sergeant comes in and sees you."

Ieronymos groaned. "You've been corporal for a week and you're already ordering me around, gasmoulos*? What are you, my mom?"
*a medieval Carian slur for a half-Catholic, half-Orthodox person, also used for any other mixed Carian in modern times

"I'm not nearly ugly enough for that, Thoricus boy," Aristoteles fired back. "But if the Sergeant comes back and sees you like this, he'll kick both our asses, and, unlike you chicken nuggets down south, I don't like the feeling of a boot up my ass."

"Fine fine," Ieronymos moaned. "Anyway, you're pale enough to be a woman, so who knows what you're into?"

A string of laughter filled the chamber, followed by Stratis' intrigued interruption. "Speaking of pale women, did your sister get back to you, Aristoteles?"

Aristoteles put his shoulder patch down and checked his phone: no reply. "Nah," he said. "It's a Saturday night during exam period."

"Exam period?!" Ieronymos demanded, throwing one boot to the ground. "More like orgy period, knowing those university skunks."

"Skunks?" Aristoteles shouted at him. "Dude, your sister works at a fancy beach resort. Who the fuck are you kidding?"

The two men jumped up almost instantaneously, to the loud cheers of the room around them. In as boring a place as the Confederal Academy, cock fights between new recruits were the closest thing to fun the men could get.

Pelasgia · Dec 22, 2021

Classified location
22/12/2021 - 09:13

"Contact, 30 meters, bearing 5!" The deep voice of a man, filtered through a gas mask, echoed through the narrow hallway.

"Prosecuting," replied another. A burst of suppressed gunfire followed, slightly lighting the otherwise dim, crumpled hallway. Behind the two men, the silhouette of a dozen of their comrades appeared, all wearing the same black fatigues, gas masks, and night-vision goggles.

"Radial sterilized," the second soldier said.

"Advance," ordered a third soldier, who stood nearly a head taller than both of the men leading the column. A golden armband was tied around his right arm, right above a patch bearing the likeness of Cerberus--the three-headed dog guarding the gates of the mythical Carian underworld.

The two men complied heading through the hallway and turning into another, which was completely deserted. A single door of rusty metal lied at the end of this intestine-like arrangement of hallways, blocking their path.

"Hold," ordered the commander. "Dagger Two, pull back. Dagger Six, Dagger Four, breach and clear."

The first soldier retreated, being replaced by a wide man with a red armband and a shotgun--Dagger Six. The second soldier--Dagger Four--drew and prepared a flash grenade, moving behind Dagger Six as the two advanced on the door. Within a few seconds, the shotgunner aimed his weapon at the door's lock and blew it open, before kicking the rusty, thin sheet of metal down; Dagger Four threw the flashbang in, notifying his comrades "Flasher!"

As soon as the loud bang reverberated through the room, Dagger Six and Dagger Four moved in, weapon in hand, to clear the room. The rest of the column followed. "Radial appears sterile," Dagger Four opined.

"Verify absence of outbreaks," the commander answered, before radioing in. "Pythia, this is Dagger One Actual--Compound appears to have been sterilized, no signs of further outbreaks. Please advise."

"Hold," replied a cold female voice, with an almost mechanical hue. The commander's hairs stood on edge at the mere sound of it. "Atlas confirms no further activity in your sector. Advance to point Beta 9 for extraction. Warning: There is evidence of anti-civil activity in sectors near Beta 9. Designation: Malignant. If confrontation inevitable, Atlas recommends discretionary amputation from body politic. Otherwise, purpose-sent stabilization teams inbound."

"Noted, Pythia," replied the commander, before turning to his men. "You heard her. Check your equipment and prepare to move out. Dagger Four and myself will head our advance.

Dagger Four verified his ammo count--he only had two bullets left. He changed his magazine and recalled the compound's floor plan from memory. "There should be a door leading to an external ladder right here," he reasoned, moving to the edge of the room with Dagger One right behind him. Indeed, a door was there. Turning around, he nodded and removed his nightvision goggles. Dagger Four placed his hand on the handle and--it was unlocked! "Preparing to exit," he said, slamming the door open.

Dagger Four had scarcely placed a single foot on the metal grid right outside the room, when he heard the unmistakable ping of a grenade. "Shit!" he cried out, before a bright wall of white light overcame his vision and a loud bang overwhelmed his ears. He felt a heavy boot kick him in the chest, throwing him to the ground. An instantaneous, sharp pain on several points of his body followed--practice rounds. Once the time the tinnitus in his ears and the blinding white in his vision had subsided, he perceived a man in olive green fatigues standing above him, weapon in hand.

"Congratulations," said the man, whose voice belonged to none other than Colonel Milonas, the man in charge of training the new Gendarmes. "Aristoteles here just killed half your unit by failing to check for explosives. Ieronymos killed the other half when he failed to notice the heat signatures of half a dozen men outside the boarded up windows of the room. You are all officially dead or captured, in which case the former would have been a preferable fate."

The Colonel paused and shot Ieronymos with a training round in the testicles. "'Dagger One' my ass. Maybe I should re-designate you all as Unit Dufus and replace the practice ordinance with live ammo and TNT. Maybe then you'll run a simulation without fucking something up."

"Sorry, Sir," Stratis said. "We got overly confident near the end."

The Colonel shot him in the testicles too. "You should be sorry that your mother didn't miscarry, private. Run the simulation again. This time, don't fuck anything up." He turned to leave and murmured under his breath. "The separatists won't give you any re-trys..."

Nikaia, Pierrheia, Caria
22/12/2021 - 16:32

"And then, we're going to Andronikeia for the weekend," Maria said, practically glowing with excitement.

"Oh that sounds so fun," Andromache admitted. "I'd ask you to have Alexia invite Elpinike here too, but she's got other plans I think..."

Elpinike set her tea cup down to explain. "Markos and I are going to the White Mountains for skiing."

"Going?" Andromache said. "Or do you mean he's bringing you to the Blue Party Youth League's skiing trip?"

"Noooooooo!" Maria exclaimed. "So it's getting serious, then? He's introducing you to all the fancy doctors, lawyers, and engineers that will run Caria one day?"

"Showing her off, more like," Andromache jabbed, before taking a sip of warm tea.

"Well there's a lot to show off!" Maria answered with a stern look, as if she were Elpinike's lawyer. "Our Nike's quite the girl."

"Relax it's just a nice skiing trip," Elpinike explained, almost blushing. "I mean, I have to meet his friends at some point. He's already met mine. And, besides, if we're going to ever be anything, they need to like me... But, mostly, I wanna see the White Mountains, and the Blue Party's already hosting a free event."

"Free if you know the right people," Maria murmured, frowning. "Do you even know how to ski?"

Elpinike set her cup down so loudly that a passing waitress almost paused to see if she was well. "No, but-"

"But Markos will teach her," Andromache explained. "Make sure to fall a few more times than needed, will you? He seems to love picking women up."

Maria stepped on Andromache's foot. "I'm sure you'll do great. Anyway, we ought to go. Prof. Papaioannou is holding a revision session for Anatomy and Physiology."

Elpinike's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I can't go! I'm meeting Markos and his friends."

Maria gazed straight into Elpinike's deep blue eyes. "Isn't that what the skiing trip is for?"

"Well," Elpinike started, coiling her ginger hair around her finger. "That's for meeting his 'formal' friends--colleagues, I'd say almost. You know, the sons of his father's partners or other people from his school; party collaborators and all that. The thing today is to meet his 'real' friends, people he has fun with. I think it's technically a reading club, funnily enough."

Andromache sighed. "These private school boys--they even have cliques within their cliques!"

Maria whisked her away. "Have fun! Tell us how it goes!"

Pelasgia · Dec 29, 2021

Astarakas, Free Polity of the White Mountains, Caria
29/12/2021 - 08:08

A soft winter’s breeze whistled as it passed between the stony, towery manors constituting the town of Astarakas, on the southern slope of the White Mountains. The breeze rose at is climbed up the slope from the canyon of Oxia, the world’s deepest, at least according to popular legend. On and on it went, until it reached the snowy peaks of the White Mountains, where the snows never melted—the icy frontier between Caria and the lands of the northern barbarians through the ages.

It was a majestic sight, surely. Even more so for one who had never gazed upon it heretofore—and Elpinike was one such person. At the winter’s whistling breeze, she covered her neck with a scarf and kept her eyes fixed on the countryside below as the sun rose, illuminating the lightly snowed plain.

“You’d think a northernwoman would be more accustomed to the cold,” Markos said, emerging from the hotel room out onto the balcony. “Or less impressed by snow.”

“It’s not nearly as impressive when it covers some boring city street,” Elpinike replied. She fixed a momentary glance at Markos’ sweater. “I see you’ve changed out of your skiing clothes.”

Markos placed his arm around her. “They got wet from having to pick you up so many times.”

Elpinike giggled; she would have struck him, but she was far too fixed on the view to do so. “So I guess we’re a thing now?”

“Your friends certainly seem to think so,” Markos answered, unphased.

“Yours don’t?” Elpinike inquired, looking up at him. “They gave us lots of space…”

“Depends on which ones you’re referring to,” Markos answered. “Or which ones you think matter.”

Elpinike took a moment to reflect. “Your ‘friends’ here certainly treated us like a couple… but I think they wouldn’t have bothered to think too much into it even if you brought an escort along. Now, your reading pals—they liked me, I think. But they seemed not too sure of what we were. Maybe you should clarify it to them?”

“What should I clarify?” Markos answered, looking down at her in turn. “What are we?”

“A couple?” Elpinike asked back; she almost gulped, but she stopped herself at the last second.

A faint smile appeared on Markos’s lips. “Works for me.” He kissed her for a few moments, and then to walk back indoors but stopped halfway there. “By the way, they do like you.”

“Oh?” Elpinike asked.

“I know it for a fact,” Markos affirmed. “Which is why they asked me to invite you to our next little gathering.”

Elpinike half-turned to face Markos. “Another discussion on politics and the like?”

“Not quite,” Markos said, nodding negatively. “Check your phone.”

Elpinike complied. She pulled out her long, pinkish coloured smartphone—a rather pricey gift from her otherwise absent father—and turned on the cellular data. Immediately, a news notification popped up: O LOGOGRAPHOS: First Archon Notaras signs anti-abortion bill into law, dedicates it to the Birth of Christ.

Elpinike sighed with exacerbation—a bit extra exacerbation, since she knew that Markos was far from a fan of the First Archon, and being into politics seemed to be quite the thing in his circles. “That man is a caricature of himself.”

“He is,” Markos admitted. “And he’s turning Caria into a caricature of itself. Which is why we plan to make our dissatisfaction known to him in person. A protest of sorts. You in?”

Elpinike turned around completely, frowning. “We’re going to Nauplia?”

Markos shook his head. “No. He is coming to Nikaia—to pray at the Patriarchal Cathedral of Hagia Pronoia* for the Carian Nation’s salvation in the new year.”
*”Divine Providence” (Αγία Πρόνοια) in Carian, the name of Caria’s most important cathedral, built ca. 360 AD by the Nicene Emperors

Markos took a step closer to her and looked into her eyes. “So?”

Elpinike nodded, looking down and then back up at him again. “Let’s do it”

He smiled again, drew her closer, and— That was a kiss he actually meant.

Anaktora, Caria
29/12/2021 - 20:03

Aristoteles had run the brush through his rifle's barrel at least a good thirty times by this point. Convinced that it had to be clean, he mounted an unused cleaning patch on the rod and drove it through the barrel. The long black rod made its way through the elongated metal tube and exited at the muzzle. The lily-white patch of cloth had turned black from the soot and gunpowder residue inside the rifle.

Aristoteles slammed his fist on the table. “Anathema to!” he roared, damning the rifle. Thirty sweeps with the cleaning brush, and the cursed thing was still not clean. Reliable and durable as the

You must be registered for see links

was, it was quite a drag to clean. “Jackal II” most soldiers called, after its ancestor, the M1977 “Jackal” Assault Rifle; Aristoteles could think of less flattening names, “Bastard II” being the top among them.

Still, for all its faults, the Carians’ favourite bullpup was quite a weapon. The young corporal’s eyes scanned the rifles’s pieces, all of which were arrayed on the table: the bolt carrier group (including the firing pin, bolt, engagement device, gas plug, piston), the receiver, the trigger, and, of course, the much-hated barrel. Over a year of running through mud and dirt; through snow and ice; through sand and saltwater; over a year of combat drills and constant usage; over a year of live fire exercises and simulated operations; over a year of all that, and King Bastard II barely bore a scratch. In retrospect, the damned rifle was worth a good cleaning.

“Still working on that thing?” asked Stratis, the squad’s designated machine-gunner, who, ironically, always finished cleaning his weapon before everyone else.

“Yeah,” Aristoteles grumbled, preparing another sweep of the barrel. “It’s like EON* designed this thing to be dirty.”
*Ethniki Οploviomichania Neolkou (Εθνική Οπλοβιομηχανία Νεωλκού, ΕΟΝ), meaning “Neolcus National Armoury” is a Carian state-owned heavy industry group, which produces most Carian small arms

“Well, you better get it in order soon,” Stratis answered, picking up one of the rifle’s pieces to examine it.

“Why’s that?” Aristoteles demanded, running the rod through the rifle one last time.

Stratis frowned. “Haven’t you heard? We’re being deployed.”

“Deployed?!” Aristoteles asked almost shouting—he nearly dropped his rifle. “Where? When?”

Stratis set down the piece. “VIP security. Details aren’t clear, but, if I were to guess, it would be the First Archon’s little pilgrimage to your native town up north.”

Aristoteles set down his rifle and drew a deep breath. “I guess I ought to try reaching my sister again.”

“Isn’t she on a trip on some mountains near the border?” Stratis asked.

Aristoteles nodded. “Yeah, but she’s still got service. Anyway, she’s going home today or tomorrow.”

“Up to you, big bro,” Stratis joked. “But, truth be told, I doubt it’s warranted. This should be a routine assignment. You know, something easy to show us off so that the Colonel can demonstrate how much of a good job he’s done with us to First Archon Notaras.”

Pelasgia · Jan 1, 2022

CONFEDERAL SECURITY DIRECTORATE
Division IX - VIP Security
Doc. No. TVIII.43.87.B.2022.91
TOP SECRET - INTERNALLY LIMITED

Classification: A1
Internal Distribution Limitations: Maximum
Description: Conversation between Evagoras D. Kypselides, Superintendent General of the State, and Karolos P. Ioustinides, Director of the Confederal Security Directorate. See file attached to transcript for actual recording. Call placed from Kypselides's old, pre-public service personal cellphone to the home phone of Ioustinides's country phone in Platanies Village, Mizythras. Call started on 01/01/2022, 06:02 and ended on 01/01/2022, 06:13.
Acquisition: Intercepted by Division VIII, transferred to exclusive custody of Division IX pursuant to executive decision by Division Heads. Excluded from knowledge of all other Divisions as well as Directorate Central Authority.
Analysis: Highly compromising conversation directly implicating security of Class A persons within Division's protection mandate. Great risk to civic-political stability. Highly compromising admissions and statements by head of civil service and head of intelligence service. Likely criminal charges for political offences against both. Transmission to Council of State likely only way for Directorate to avoid fallout if plans contemplated in conversation fail; if plans successful, transmission could prove highly deleterious personnel of to both Divisions involved in conversation's capture. Recommend waiting and seeing before deciding how to proceed. (02/01/2022)

-----------------
START OF DOCUMENT
-----------------

(Legend: I=Ioustinides, K=Kypselides)

*mechanical sound*
K: Kypselides speaking. Who's this?
I: It's me. We need to talk.
K: Ka- Didn't I tell you not to call me? Just wait until tomorrow, we can talk in person.
I: You won't be in town tomorrow. Big Boss is changing his plans, he's bringing you along for the ride.
K: I'm going to hang up. If anyone even hears what we've said so far, we're fucked.
I: Stop being paranoid. Do you forget who you're talking to? The only people who could be listening are mine.
K: *sigh* Fine. What do you want?
I: I checked the lead your Blue Party contact sent me about those students in Nikaia. It's solid.
K: Solid? So they're the real deal? Seemed like a bunch of hoodlums to me.
I: They are. But some are more radical--which is what we need.
K: So? You're just gonna call Division IX off?
I: You know I can't do that. But I can relax them, reduce their numbers. The locals love him, so he barely needs a security detail there.
K: So why are you calling me?
I: The Gendarmes. Some Interior Ministry twat is having them accompany him.
K: I know. They'll just be providing "lethal overwatch" from nearby rooftops. By the time they get nearby, it'll probably be too late.
I: That's not why I'm calling. It's the twat.
K: You think it's the Krypteia?
I: I don't know. But I don't want to risk it.
K: You focus on keeping security lax. I'll look into the Interior Ministry people.
I: Deal. Anyway, I've got to go. Happy new year.
K: Same to you.
*sound of phone hanging up*
*beeping for approximately six (6) seconds*
*sound of phone hanging up*

---------------
END OF DOCUMENT
---------------

Pelasgia · Jan 6, 2022

Nikaia, Free Polity of Pierrheia, Caria
06/01/2022 – 09:00

The fanfare of ten myriad celebrating souls crowded the streets of Nikaia. First, the clergy, dressed in their long, gold-threaded, and colourful ceremonial robes, which were reserved for such special occasions; then, the still wet and near-shivering men who had jumped into the cold port to retrieve the cross thrown into the city’s waters every Epiphany by ancient tradition. And, finally, the rest of the populace, led by the dignitaries—the mayor, the Polity government officials, the board of the Chamber of Commerce and- there! There he was!

At the very head of the laity, dressed in a dark, wintery suit, and sporting the white handkerchief of the White Guards, standing half a head above everyone else, was Ioannes Notaras, First Archon and Chairman of the Council of State of Caria, and nominal hereditary Despot of Pierrheia. A handful of bodyguards surrounded him, dressed in plain clothes and trying their best to blend in. They stood out nonetheless, for they were the only ones on the street not rendered practically ecstatic by the mere presence of the Carian confederal leader. Given how the spectators were reacting, no further security detail seemed necessary.

Looking through his scope, Aristotelis could confirm as much. “Pythia, this is Dagger Four, sector appears stable. Advise.”

Stratis’s audible sigh overcame the static that preceded Pythia’s sterile, mechanic voice. “Please hold. Atlas confirms no signs of anti-civil activity in your area. Note: high concentration of unidentified persons makes verification of civic stability index impossible. Please confirm through direct proximate inspection.”

“Noted,” Aritostelis said over another audible sigh from Stratis. “Moving to inspect. Dagger displacing.”

He popped the magnifying scope behind his rifle’s holographic sight off and prepared to descend from the eight-storey rooftop down to the ground, to provide closer escort to the Head of State from behind the crowd. Unbeknownst to him, however, he was not the only one looking—nor the only member of the Frangopoulos family observing the festivities.

From across the street, at the ground level of another of Nikaia’s beautiful neoclassical eight-storey residential buildings, stood the otherwise innocuous café O Mermingas, or “The Male Ant,” a nod to Aesop’s famous fable of the ant and the grasshopper. Aptly named, perhaps, if one were to consider that it was mostly used as a group study hub by students of the nearby Schools of Philosophy of the Patriarchal University of Nikaia (PPN).

“They’re here,” said Anaxandros, Markos’s even taller friend, whose striking blue eyes and blond hair made him appear rather foreign, despite his most Carian of names.

Elpinike knew, of course, as did Markos. But they said naught. Under normal circumstances, Anaxandros would have made some smartass remark about the pornographic nature of mass politics; or about the dangers of Bonapartism, so perfectly incarnated by the reverence demonstrated by the Carian masses for Ioannes Notaras, their aspiring Caesar. Yet, he too, had naught to say. Such were the circumstances.

“Is Katerina’s team in position?” Markos asked, almost whispering even under the near-deafening cries of the crowd.

Anaxandros nodded.

Markos turned to Elpinike and looked her in the eyes. She, too, nodded. It was time.

“Let’s go,” Markos commanded and the whole troupe of PPN undergrads stood up, paint bucket in hand, to storm out of the café like a platoon of soldiers climbing out of their trench. Cutting through the crowd slowly but forcefully, they made their way to the front of the line, almost at the same time as the shivering men, led by the lucky one who had caught the cross, passed through the thoroughfare.

The cheering and clapping of the crowd got louder and louder, until—there! There he was!

“Now!” Markos shouted, stepping first out of the line to throw his paint on the man. He missed and succeeded only in covering the mayor and a handful of bodyguards in a coat of firetruck red. Anaxandros followed suit, having much the same effect on a few local officials and some businessmen. Then, it was Elpinike’s turn.

She stepped out into the crowd, shoving a teenage boy and his sister aside, and planted her dominant foot on the pavement, before raising the paint bucker over her head. Staring the wannabe Caesar directly in the eye, a faint smile appeared on her lips as she prepared to deliver the contents of the container on him. She had him, and there was nothing he could do about it—and they both knew it.

Yet, as she lunged forward to drop the paint, her faint smile disappeared, before morphing into a look of pure horror. Thanasis, one of the lads from Katerina’s group, emerged from behind the crowd, holding a small, black metal object in hand. Elpinike shook her head—she knew that object all too well from photos her brother had sent her in uniform. She tried to scream but not a sound came out. Thanasis raised his pistol in Notaras’s direction and took aim.

“Pythia, this Dagger One Actual, sector is not secure! Citizen One is being assaulted!”

A burst of automatic gunfire ripped through the air, dispersing most of the crowd in a panic.

“Dagger Nine, Dagger Two, take that Thrakian-looking blond guy with the bucket down!”

“Prosecuting,” Dagger Two responded.

“Remember,” Aristotelis said over the radio. “Non-lethal. We need them alive for processing.”

“Aristotelis!” cried Stratis, ignoring communications protocol to focus his friend’s attention on one of the attackers. “Isn’t that…”

Aristotelis’s jaw dropped inside his mask when he saw what his friend was pointing at: his sister, Elpinike, throwing a bucket of paint at the First Archon. Worse, yet, was what lied right across from the redheaded maiden: the barrel of a pistol, pointed right at her, with the First Archon’s body being the only thing separating the muzzle of the gun from his sister’s body. Without a second thought, Aristotelis threw his rifle on the ground and headed straight for the centre of the carnage. Jumping forward, he positioned his armoured torso right in front of Thanasis’s gun just as the bullet exited the muzzle. The bullet’s powerful thrust threw him back, directly onto First Archon Notaras.

A moment later, Aristotelis’s comrades, Stratis and Ieronymos entered the fray; the first blew the skinny, pale gunman’s head clean off with a precisely placed shot from his sidearm—and the other dropped Elpinike to the ground, kicking and screaming.

“Let me go!” Elpinike shouted. “That’s-

Ieronymos pressed her to the ground and forced her wrists into a pair of cold, steel handcuffs. “Shut your mouth! You’re under arrest for terrorism and assault against the First Archon of State!”

Elpinike looked around her as the unknown man in the dark fatigues and body armour pinned her to the ground to arrest her. In the distance, she could see Markos’s tall, wide figure running away with the rest of the crowd without even stopping to look at her. Would he have stayed had the black-clad troopers not intervened? Had he known about the attack? Why had he left her there? She had no answers to any of these questions, and she was not sure she wanted any either.

For now, as the detaining officer stood her up, all she had was the sight of the First Archon groaning on the ground under the heavy weight of a motionless security forces operative in black armour, gas-mask and fatigues, right beside the headless corpse of Thanasis. Even that was only for a moment: a thick bag soon covered her head, and all faded to black.

Pelasgia · Jan 15, 2022

Undisclosed location in Caria
14/01/2022 - 22:30

Elpinike awoke to the sound of water passing through pipes at rapid speed. It was the third time that sound, coming from within the ceiling above her head, had awoken her. How long had she been asleep in that sterile room, chained to that cold, steel table? Long enough to fall asleep in an otherwise lit room. She lied on the table to sleep again but the sound the thick metal door opening stunned her.

The figure of a man bearing a briefcase entered, walking, nay marching toward the table. A guard followed, dressed in all-black fatigues. The man took a seat across from Elpinike, obscuring her view of the Carian Phoenix that decorated the wall behind him. He wore a greenish grey uniform, no doubt belonging to the Krypteia, and had a pale, clean shaven face, which contrasted clearly with his dark, closely trimmed hair. On his shoulders were the insignia of a Lieutenant Colonel--Elpinike recognised them remembered from her favourite maternal uncle's military uniform. At the officer's nod, the guard removed Elpinike's restraints and went back to the entrance of the room, where he stood guard, weapon in hand.

“Good evening, Ms. Frangopoulou," the man started with a friendly demeanour. "I am Lieutenant Colonel Lambros Afxentiou of the Krypteia. How are you feeling?”

Elpinike nearly hissed with contempt. "Go to hell. Are you trying to play nice before you do-- whatever it is you people are going to do to me?"

Afxentiou grimaced. "What precisely is it that you think we're going to do to you, Ms. Frangopoulou?"

"The things your thuggish friends at the riot police did to that poor girl at PPN some months ago," Elpinike barked at him. "Are you going to be doing the deed, or is that what your friend with the gun is for?"

Afxentiou's grimace disappeared; he turned to the guard and motioned him out of the room. "I'm very disappointed to hear that that's what you think of the organs of public order, Ms. Frangopoulou-

"I'm disappointed that your colleagues couldn't keep their organs to themselves!" she interrupted, slamming her fist on the table.

"However," Afxentiou continued unphased, "we do not operate that way. We don't beat people; we don't torture people; we don't kill people; and we certainly don't do whatever it is that you fear we'll do to you. We don't need to do any of that. You know why? Because you'll help us of your own accord."

Afxentiou opened his briefcase and threw a document on the table. Elpinike only needed to read the first few lines to figure out what that was for: "CRIMINAL INDICTMENT ... Elpinike Frangopoulou, daughter of Matthaios and Theodora (née Mitropoulou), citizen of the Deme of Nikaia, stands charged ..."

"You think I'm afraid of your laws?" she said to Afxentiou. "You can hang me for all I care. I'm not betraying my friends."

Afxentiou smiled. "You're not betraying Markos, you mean. Am I correct?"

Elpinike remained silent.

"So let me get this straight--Markos indoctrinated you into joining a terrorist cell; then he had you participate in an attempt on the First Archon's life; and then he abandoned you. But you still won't give him up?"

"No!"

"Why?"

"Because-

"Because you love him?"

Elpinike blushed; she paused for a second before answering. "Yes. And? What's it you?"

Afxentiou shook his head. "What part of love is abandoning your lover to answer for your own capital crimes? What part is lying to her before it's too late to even flee?"

"Shut up!" Elpinike cried. "Do people like you even know how to love?"

Afxentiou raised his hand; the light of the interrogation room's lights reflected off his wedding ring. "Love--agape--is a noble thing. A Christian thing. Eros--lustful desire--is quite another."

"Pfft. You White Guards are all insufferable zealots. And you're Kyparissian on top of it--I'm surprised you can speak with a normal accent, hick. Did you finally work the Engells' boot out of your ass?"

"I'm a White Guard, yes. And a Kyparissian," Afxentiou answered. "But what about your boyfriend? Markos Samaras, son of Frangiskos. A Catholic, like your dad. Rich too--much richer than your dad. A Bluecoat, and a powerful one at that. Varsity football, leader of the Blue Party youth, private school, then law school... And handsome to top it off. Taller than even you. Seems almost too good to be true, wouldn't you say?"

"Are you saying he faked it?" Elpinike answered with scorn. "Because I looked him up, and he's legit. You need to get better lies."

"Oh he's 'legit' alright," Afxentiou admitted. "Your whole university knows him. What's not legit, on the other hand, are his feelings for you." He paused and smiled as he saw Elpinike's face change. "I mean--honestly? A man like that, an aristocrat if there ever was one... going for a woman like you? The half-breed daughter of a divorcée studying... eh, chemistry? Philosophy? What useless degree was it again?"

Elpinike turned red-faced with anger. "Shut the fuck up! Do you know how many men-

"Look at you? I can assure you, dear, we men look at anything that moves. And we want to fuck it too. But love, as I told you, is a different matter. Maybe that's why you went along with it. You knew that if you pushed back, even a little--poof! He'd disappear. And where would a woman like you find a man like that ever again?"

Elpinike stood up, throwing her chair back. Shaking, she stared Afxentiou straight in the eye. "You-- you're lying! You're a lying bastard! He loves me and he'll come back for me."

Afxentiou leaned in closer. "He's ditched you and he's never coming back. Unless he wants a night or two of..."

She slapped him so hard the sound echoed through the room. Afxentiou simply turned; his sardonic smile disappeared, to be replaced by a stern look. "You wish to play, then? Alright, let's play."

He threw a file on the desk. "It's the second page of that indictment I handed you. Read the last line: 'By reason whereof the Prosecution will be seeking, among other punishments, a penalty of death for one or more of the crimes charged.' You hear that, little 'nike? Death. That's what awaits you if you don't work with us. No glory, no story of a poor student abused by Archon Notaras's thugs; death by firing squad in a dirty prison courtyard. Your dreams, your desires, your friendships--all of that is over. You little fling with Markos is over. Your chances of seeing your brother again are over. Your life as you know it is all over. I'm giving you the only chance to get it back."

Afxentiou threw another piece of paper on the desk. Elpinike recognised the header--it was the phoenix of the government gazette: Decree of the Council of State No. 157/2022 – Pardon of Elpinike Frangopoulou. "The signature's missing," Afxentiou explained. "The signature of the man your 'friends' almost killed. Help me bring them to justice and I'll help you get out of here, back to a semblance of a normal life. And I'll help you get back at the man who used you and then abandoned you to his worst enemy's goons. How does that sound?"

Elpinike didn't make a noise. Her deep blue eyes scanned the uniformed man's face with a pained, fearful expression--almost as if they were about to burst into tears.

"You still don't want to believe it?" Afxentiou remarked. He leaned down and removed a folder from his briefcase, along with a tablet. "It’s all in there. I have videos, too, if you want. But it all leads to the same conclusion: Markos knew--and Markos lied. He knew and he didn't tell you. He left you here to rot while he run off to Navarone, and then to Ambracia, where his father's friends would keep him safe. We have logs of his internet history and his phone logs in there. He didn't even try to call you; he didn't even mention you in a 'dm' to his powerful friends. You're nobody to him."

Elpinike fell back on her chair. "I- I- you made this all up.”

Afxentiou leaned forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. "It's alright to not want to believe it—I wouldn’t either. Take your time, look through it all. You’ll see that I’m right. It was too good to be true, and now it has to end. Your delusions about it have to end. Because this is not a game. This will not get your mother to ditch her boyfriends, or your father to come back. This will not make you ‘cool.’ This will either end with you testifying against Markos, or with you in a ditch. And your blood will be on Markos’s hands. Am I clear?”

Elpinike felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She felt her face burn against the cold teardrops' path--she couldn't control it. A wail took over her.

"You're a good girl deep down, Elpinike. And I'm giving you a second chance. The First Archon's giving you a second chance." Afxentiou picked up his briefcase and turned to leave the room. "I’ll be back tomorrow. Sleep on it.”

Pelasgia · Jan 16, 2022

Undisclosed location in Caria
16/01/2022 - 09:30

Elpinike's eyes scanned

You must be registered for see links

up and down. "Any refusal to cooperate with the authorities ... shall lead to a complete renunciation of this pardon by the pardonee." She let out a deep sigh; she knew what she had to do. Not that she felt any inhibitions--not anymore at least.

The metallic door opened and the grey-uniformed Lieutenant Colonel Lambros Afxentiou entered yet again.

"No guard this time?" Elpinike asked.

"Our Gendarmes are otherwise occupied," Afxentiou answered. "Anyway, I think that forced won't be necessary--will it?"

Elpinike shook her head. "No, I... I've made up my mind. I'm going to work with you."

Lambros smiled. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I knew you'd see reason."

"What do you need me to do?" Elpinike asked, impassionately.

"Nothing right now," Afxentiou answered. "In a couple of days, the Procurator General's office will interview you and then send some affidavits your way to sign."

Elpinike raised an eyebrow. "Won't I need to testify in court?"

"This isn't a movie from the Federation, young miss," Afxentiou cackled. "In Caria, like most of the world, testimony is primarily in writing. If all goes well, you'll barely set foot in court."

Elpinike could not say a word. She had expected this to be much more than... signing a couple of papers.

"By the way," Afxentiou said, handing her a document. "The officer who was shot while saving Archon Notaras is making a speedy recover. He's set to be decorated by the First Archon in Nauplia in a few days. I've been authorized to book you a little trip to the capital to observe the formalities."

Elpinike frowned. "Why would he want me there?"

Afxentiou leaned down and pulled the morning's edition of O Logographos from his briefcase, placing it on the table. "Oh, I think we'd all want our family to see our proudest achievements."

Elpinike's jaw dropped. On the cover of the newspaper was a photo of her brother in a hospital bed, shaking the hand of First Archon Notaras. Beside it was a caption: "NOTARAS VISITS OFFICER WHO SAVED HIM IN HOSPITAL - OFFICER TO RECEIVE ORDER OF PHOENIX."

"Silver Cross, I believe," Afxentiou noted. "The highest decoration that our State can afford a mere serviceman. I guess, in a way, Anthypolochagos* Aristotelis Frangopoulos should be thanking you."
*Second Lieutenant, the lowest commissioned rank in the Carian military

Elpinike fell face-first on the table and started crying. She tried to speak but nothing but wails would come out. Afxentiou stood up and turned to leave the room.

----

Ambracia, Free and Most Serene Polity of Ambracia, Caria
16/01/2022 - 05:00

Frangiskos Samaras paced up and down, his footsteps echoing through the marble halls and across the tiled floors of the old Radillan Governor's Palace within the Acropolis (Citadel) of Ambracia. He felt the accusatory stares of the row of lifeless busts lining the main corridor outside the Senate Chamber, with its wide, aged windows. It was his negligence, and his negligence alone, both as a parent and as a statesman that had let things degenerate to this point. He had given those White Rubes, those primitive schismatic rustics, one opening, one chance--and they had exploited it to the max.

The Chamber doors opened, and an usher invited him. "Master Senator," the old but tall man said. "Their Lordships expecting you."

Samaras, himself of similar build, and with a strong aquiline nose and hawkish eyes followed inside. The seven members of the Ambracian Senate awaited. To their ranks were added the Special Delegate of the Free and Most Serene Polity of Navarone, the local Catholic Archbishop, and the representatives of the Polity governments of the Free and Most Serene Polity of Nydra and the Deme and Polity of Thoricus. Quite an arraignment of people--including most of First Archon Notaras's rivals.

"My Lords," Samaras said, having nearly forgotten to bow in respect. "It seems that Messrs. Ioustinides and Kypselides are missing."

"The former DAS Director and the former Superintendent General have been placed under house arrest by the Krypteia," answered Antonios Kornaros, the Presiding Magistrate of the Senate. "The First Archon has been quick to replace them both with trusted former Krypteia officers."

"There's no such thing as a 'former' Krypteia officer," commented Spyridon Dionysiou, the delegate of Navarone.

"So then the Whites have succeeded in turning the First Archon into Caria's de facto head of state and government," added Michail Patrikios, the delegate of Nydra. "There go the collective head of state and cabinet government. From what I'm hearing, it seems they won't be stopping at that constitutional reform."

"We're faced with faits accomplis, gentlemen," said Thoukydides Athmoneus, the delegate of Thoricus. "If you wish to fight with the Confederal Government, that is your prerogative. But I think that we'd better use what political capital we have left to try to moderate the Whites' centralisation proposals."

"So the Great Deme and Polity of Thoricus, home of democracy and school of Caria, will just lie down and take it?" Dionysiou demanded.

"You both know we'll lose if the Whites call a referendum," Athmoneus retorted. "And if they resort to that, they won't stop at a few centralisation efforts--they'll turn the polities into mere provinces of a unitary state."

"Or municipalities in your case," Karnaros offered.

"Yes, yes, indeed," Athmoneus barked at him. "With that in mind, I must return to the Boule of Thoricus to report on the results of my assignment. I wish you good luck and pray that you will be reasonable enough to join us in the negotiating table at Nauplia."

Samaras said nothing as the Thorican passed him and exited at a rapid, loud pace. His gaze merely shifted to the delegate of Nydra. "And you, sir?" Samaras asked.

The Nydran shook his head. "I do not agree with Ambassador Athmoneus's tone, but I agree with his message. If we're to oppose the Whites at all, we have to do so at the negotiating table."

"We're not negotiating a peace treaty to a war, Ambassador Patrikios," Samaras said.

"No, my Lord, we're negotiating the terms of our surrender," Michail Patrikios answered as he too stood to leave. "Thanks to your son, we lost this cold civil war before it even went hot."

Passed by yet another exiting delegate, Samaras finally turned to the delegate of Navarone--Caria's only other Catholic Polity apart from Ambracia, and his own native state. "I take it you'll be leaving as as well?"

"Thoricus, for all its talk of separation of powers is mostly Orthodox," Dionysiou answered. "And Nydra is dominated by a large Catholic minority, but the Orthodox can pull their weight if need be--increasingly, given the island's demographics. They can't fight anyway, and they know it. But Navarone and Ambracia are Catholic states, and so by a wide margin. We have to fight."

"Are you not afraid of the referendum mechanism?" Samaras asked in answer.

"I'm not afraid of the inevitable," Dionysiou responded in turn. "That there will be a referendum is certain, since we'll never sign off on any amendment that would satisfy the Whites. The other states' participation in the talks will merely serve to relax its terms a bit. Perhaps Notaras and company will agree to turning Caria into a very tightly-knit federation, rather than an outright unitary state--help a few of those Polity bigwigs keep their sinecures and pride and all that."

"But what about the referendum?" Samaras asked again.

"What about it?" Dionysiou demanded with annoyance. "We'll just contest its results and refuse to recognise its legal effect. Then, when the Confederals come to negotiate, we'll ask for concessions of our own--specific to the Catholic Carians."

Samaras frowned. "And you think that'll work?"

Dionysiou shrugged. "What other choice do we have? Let's just hope that we can get @Radilo and Tibur to rile up a bit of international sympathy for us. Notaras won't want to go too hard on us, for fear @Aresura might back out of the Pelasgian Union."

"I suppose so," said Samaras. Deep down, he feared that, though Notaras himself was a major proponent of Pan-Pelasgianism, there were others in the White faction who would welcome a decisive split with the Catholics, and a closer move toward Tarusa, if the Pan-Pelasgian initiative ever broke down. He just hoped that Dionysiou's gamble would not give them the opening they needed. Alas, he did not voice those concerns out loud--the only other option was joining the Thoricans into surrender, which, for him, meant certain imprisonment... or worse.

Pelasgia · Jan 23, 2022

Nauplia, Caria
22/01/2022 - 8:00

Snow was a rare sight in southern Caria. Whenever the soft, white mantle of winter covered the warm soil of that sunny land, every school and business in the city seemed to shut down for a couple of days, until everyone figured how to get to work without breaking a leg or causing a car crash. Truth be told, one could not be faulted for suspecting this to be a mere ruse, a lie by convention of all of Carian society, to just set everything aside and enjoy the rare natural marvel that was half-frozen water falling from the sky. Who could blame them? How often did most Carians see snow anyway?

"It's beautiful," Ioannes Notaras remarked gazing out the window of his office in the Palace of the Council of State, right at the heart of downtown old Nauplia. Hailing from northern Caria, he was no stranger to snow--and yet it never failed to impress him. What did impress him was the rushing of ambulances and police cars through the otherwise peaceful and half-empty city streets. "You'd think a car had swerved off and hit someone."

"You'd think so," Anastasios Kalamaras admitted.

Notaras turned around to face his most trusted subordinate--the man he had trusted to tame the Carian bureaucracy. He was a somewhat handsome man, with broad shoulders and well chiseled-face, but otherwise pale and just a tad short. He had an unmistakable bald patch in the midst of his otherwise thick, black hair, off which the light of the room reflect. Yet his eyes revealed a bright spark, and his calm demeanour showed signs of a sharp mind. Kalamaras was a man who knew much, understood even more, and revealed quite little, even to those he trusted. It was why, perhaps, he had risen so far in this world, coming from an otherwise unremarkable middle-class family that had risen up from peasant status but two generations ago.

"So," Notaras asked him. "How did you do it?"

Kalamaras did not even flinch. "Letter bomb. They opened it in the car."

"Did it do the job?"

Kalamaras shook his head. "Ioustinides died instantly, but Kypselides survived with grave injuries. We had to finish the job in other ways."

"So that's what I'm hearing about 'leftist radicals' firing a

You must be registered for see links

in downtown Nauplia?"

"Yes," Kalamaras admitted, nodding. "It got the job done."

Notaras turned around and stared into the reflection of his own two blue eyes in the window glass. "Unintended casualties?"

"The driver and the bodyguard on the two front seats. They're both Kypselides' loyalists, so not much loss there." Kalamaras paused and coughed. "Apart from the human aspect, of course."

Notaras exhaled deeply. "Of course."

-----

Ambracia, Caria
22/01/2022 - 8:30

Loukas Soteriou Notaras, Grand Logothete of the Free Polity of Pierrheia, did not resemble his brother very much. They were both tall, yes, and they had the deep blue eyes that characterised the Notaras family--but, apart from that, Loukas took after their mother, Maria, and Ioannes was the carbon copy of their father, Soterios. But where Loukas was barely discernible as a Notaras, his cousin, Senator Soterios Nikolaou Notaras of Pierrheia, looked more like Loukas's brother than he did. As the two men climbed up the stairs to the Ambracian Senate's chambers, one could have been forgiven for mistaking the one for the other; those awaiting them, however, had no such issues.

"You're here early, sirs," said Spyridon Dionysiou, the delegate of Navarone.

"If we start early, perhaps we'll finish before the referendum," Loukas, the younger of the two Notarades, joked.

"Perhaps," answered Antonios Karnaros, emerging from the shadows between two statues in the official robes of the President of the Ambracian Senate.

"Master President," the two men said, offering a slight bow.

Karnaros did not return the courtesy--Notaras could not tell if that was meant to be a sign of hostility or the result of his tall, old figure's frailty.

"You seem to be in a hurry about a great many things," Dionysiou continued, scanning the two men from head to toe with his deep, dark eyes. "Like what happened in Nauplia this morning, for instance."

Loukas and Soterios traded looks, unsure what to make of the rotund Navaronese's hostility.

"Oh don't act, that way," Dionysiou hissed at them. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Why wait for the referendum to occur before you gut us? You're already liquidating your foes."

Loukas got red in the face. "Sir, I have no ide-

"Do you honestly expect us to believe that?" said Karnaros. Loukas was now certain that his lack of manners had been a sign of hostility.

The doors of the Senate Chamber opened, and thence emerged Senator Frangiskos Samaras of Navarone, along with the rest of the Senate--and some two dozen Ambracian troopers.

"Colleague," asked Soterios, remembering that he was still a Senator. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You have my son," answered Samaras, whose somber face revealed a deathly look.

"We've nobody," retorted Loukas. "We're delegates, not gendarmes."

"More lies!" Dionysiou barked, now himself red-faced with anger. "The White Guards will never take us seriously while things remain as they are. They think that they have all the power, while we are impotent, held back by fear of their threats and their hostages."

"What do you propose?" asked Karnaros.

"That we show them that we're willing to play just as dirty as they!" Dionysiou snapped his fingers and the guards surrounded the two Notaras family members, who were by now morbidly pale.

Karnaros turned to Samaras. "Are you sure about this?"

Samaras sighed. "He's right. The White Guards will continue pushing us further and further unless we show them that we, too, can bite."

"And what of your son?" asked Karnaros.

"We're doing this for my son," Samaras responded. "It was a mistake not to draw blood when they arrested him right at the Polity border. We ought to show them that they should not touch him--or else."

The guards moved in to seize Loukas and Soterios over their screams and protests. "What use are we as hostages if you kill us?!" Loukas managed to cry out while being dragged to a large window and pushed them on the edge.

"We still have the rest of your delegation," Dionysiou answered with a dismissive gesture. The captain of the guards turned to Karnaros; at his nod, the guards threw the two men out the window, staining the coloured marble tiles of the Palace's internal courtyard with blood.

"A necessary step," Karnaros told Samaras. "But tragic."

Samaras turned around and started to leave. "Of course."

Pelasgia · Jan 30, 2022

Fanari, Ambracia, Caria
30/01/2022 - 05:30

“We are,” Spyridon Dionysiou insisted, “the legitimate government in exile of the Free and Most Serene Republic of Ambracia and Navarone.”

“We never actually proclaimed the Republic, Spyros,” Antonios Karnaros answered, using the diminutive of Dionysiou’s given name.

“In due time, Master President,” Dionysiou answered. “Once we’re out of the schismatics’ grip, we’ll proclaim it loud and clear and ask for the whole Catholic world—and Radillo and Aresura in particular—to come to our aid. Then, we shall see-

Frangiskos Samaras gruntled in annoyance. “For God’s sake, will you stop already?! We’re leaving Caria in the back of a truck like a bunch of illegals from Thrakia, and you’re dreaming of a government in exile?”

The truck came to a halt and their saviour, Leon, a Catholic soldier who had defected from the Federal Army, opened the door. “We’re here.”

Samaras was the first to exit, smelling the strong odour of the seawater to verify that they had, indeed, arrived. He looked around him and saw the dilapidated remains of the old industrial port town of Fanari, on the western tip of Caria, which had been abandoned in favour of nearby Ambracia as the region’s industrialisation progressed.

“Where’s the boat?” asked Karnaros, stepping out of the truck.

“Through here,” answered Leon, leading the separatist leaders into one of the ruined warehouses lining the old port. As the West Carians impatiently stood inside the empty husk of a building, Leon explained. “I’ll signal them to approach—waiting would have drawn too much attention.”

Samaras did not feel like trusting him, but he had little choice. He nodded, as if to signify the whole group’s acquiescence. Upon their saviour’s departure, the group’s ceaseless bickering restarted.

“We should thank the Radillans,” Dionysiou reasoned. “Their saving us will cause them many a headache with the Nauplian schismatic regime.”

“Thank them?” Karnaros demanded. “They plan to use us. Should a prostitute thank her John?”

“Our struggle is not to be likened-

“Oh, piss off with ‘your’ struggle! I was fighting this fight against the White Guards when you were still chasing coeds at university parties!”

“Listen here, you old fossil! It was your outdated, slow methods that cost us our edge.”

“Mine?! You were the one who insisted we throw Notaras’s brother and cousin out a window!”

“As revenge for Samaras’s son!”

“If you two had kept the party youth in line, we wouldn’t have needed to ever go that far!”

“Enough!” Samaras barked at them. “If we’re to achieve anything, we need to have unity. Spyros, who did you say your contact with the Radillans was?”

“A certain M,” answered Dionysiou.

“M?” Samaras asked. “You mean to tell me that the very top of Radillan intelligence contacted you directly?”

Dionysiou was taken aback. “Why… I suppose so. Why not? I am an important politician, after all.”

Samaras could not even respond before his voice was drowned out by the sound of metal objects hitting the concrete floor below. A moment later, a bright light and a deafening bang filled the room.

Samaras heard nothing for a few moments. Then, he felt a piercing pain in his chest, and another to his shoulder. He collapsed to the ground, clutching his wounds. His hands wet with blood, he gradually recovered his vision, only to find his comrades lying on the ground around him in pools of their own blood.

“Pythia, this is Dagger Four,” said the deep voice of a man from behind a gas mask. “Hostile pathogens have been neutralised.”

Samaras tried to shout, but only a faint, pained groan came out of his throat. He reached forward, trying to clutch one of the vague, black figures that surrounded the separatist leaders.

“Dagger Four,” said another man’s voice. “We’ve got a live one. You might want to enter the verdict for this one yourself.”

One of the dark figures approached; Samaras could now clearly make out a patch with the likeness of Cerberus, the mythical three-headed hellhound of Hades, on his arm—and, further below, a rifle in his hand.

“Pythia, one pathogen remaining,” the man said. Samaras looked up and gazed into the tinted lens of his gas mask. “Advise.”

A cold, mechanical voice sounded from the man’s communications headset. “Amputate.”

“Roger,” Dagger Four replied. He pointed the muzzle of his rifle straight into Samaras’ eye—and a sole gunshot thundered through the deserted warehouse.

Fanari, Ambracia, Caria
30/01/2022 - 9:00

"Nikos! Nikos!"

Nikos turned in his younger brother's direction. "What?" he barked at him.

"What are those?"

"Which ones?" Nikos hissed, practically stomping on the ground as he made his way to the quay to see what his brother wanted.

"Those!" his brother said, pointing ahead of him. "Are they sea monsters?"

Nikos' jaw dropped; he covered his brother's eyes and ran to call for help, dragging him along.

"Help! Help! There's bodies in the water!!"

Pelasgia · Feb 5, 2022

Nauplia, Caria
04/02/2022

A man dressed in gilded armour, ornately carved with geometric patterns, all of which came together to surround the relief of an eagle at the centre of his chestplate. Tall, with deep blue eyes, and a slightly aquiline nose; sharp features, almost like those of a predatory bird, and even sharper eyes. It took no genius to figure out who the man was; the background the portrait, a scene of Pierrheians and Thoricans crushing the Radillan fleet and the Catholic League's army off Neolcus was a further indication. Yet Ioannes Notaras had the advantaged of being the man's descendant. "Loukas Notaras," he thought to himself. "First First Archon of Caria. How fitting that his descendant should be the last."

Quite fitting indeed; the House of Notaras had served as heads of state of Caria in a de facto hereditary fashion, with little interruption since the inception of the office. Between 1721 and 1816, this heredity was even officialised, before the 1816 constitution decided to restore pretenses for the sake of appeasing the Old Carian cities and the Catholics. Yet, in truth, the Notaras family had been monarchs of Caria for centuries. Ioannes Notaras, King John I of Caria, had merely officialised this reality. The old Palace of the Council of State, now the Royal Palace of Nauplia, was not at all changed by this adjustment; most of the other members of the Council of State now served on Notaras's Privy Council. The regalia of the family was scattered throughout the palace, for its was the House of Notaras who had built it and occupied it in the first place. It was supposed to be temporary solution at first; but, as the anicent Carian saying goes, "nothing is more permanent than the temporary."

"In short," said Prime Minister Anastasios Kalamaras--now Lord Kalamaras. "We must pay close attention to our dealings with the Papacy. The Western Polities might be under solid control, but the international aspects of this crisis cannot be underestimated."

Notaras focused himself on the meeting, gazing away from the portrait and back at those assembled around the Privy Council table. "Thalassinos will handle the Papal Secretary of State personally. I entrust him to bind Caria fully."

"What of the Tarusans?" asked Thalassinos himself.

"What of them?" answered the King. "If a meeting does occur, I'll either go there myself, or have Kalamaras tend to it. The Tarusans have always been Orthodox Caria's closest ally. If we're to finally officialise this alliance, now that Orthodox Caria and the Carian State have merged, we must do so at the highest level."

"Does that include Vardarska?" asked Kalamaras.

The King turned to the man to his right: Anaxandros Koressios, the Minister of State Security. "The Krypteia has informed me that our fears are founded--the separatist remnants are trying to coordinate with radicals in western Vardarska."

"Just as I expected..." Thalassinos murmured. "This crisis just won't end, will it?"

"This isn't necessarily a problem," Kalamaras pointed out, rubbing his chin. He turned to the King. "If Your Majesty would permit me, I think we could leverage this in our favour."

"We permit you," Notaras said, frowning.

Kalamaras offered a slight bow before continuing. "The Vardar Republic is in our sphere, but it is also not. We hold the most influence there, certainly, but others also hold some sway. The Vardars' system, much like our erstwhile Confederacy's, disperses power, and thereby makes it influenceable by all sorts of outside and internal interests. We have used this to claim the greatest share of influence--but such a system always leaves Vardarska prone to being pushed one way or the other. Pushed sufficiently in opposite directions, it would erupt into open conflict with itself, as each faction tries to impose its will on the others."

"And we'd have a war on our border," Koressios pointed out.

"A civil war," Kalamaras corrected him. "One in which we would have a horse. If we backed our horse sufficiently, it could win, and give us full control of Vardarska in perpetuity."

"What if it doesn't go that smoothly?" Koressios pressed him. "What if our side fails to subdue the rebels and has to negotiate with them?"

"That won't happen," said Kalamaras. "Because, thanks to the links between the western Vardar dissidents and our own, we now have an excuse to intervene and settle the conflict precisely as we want to. Minister, you recommended to nip the link between those two problems in the bud; I recommend quite the opposite: allow it to fester in a way that shapes the conflict precisely as we would want it to, thus giving us the perfect pretext to intervene."

The King leaned forward. "So, Lord Kalamaras, your recommendation is to blow out the fire with dynamite rather than with water?"

"That is precisely my recommendation, Your Majesty."

The King took a moment to think on it, before finally nodding. "You have Our assent."

Kalamaras bowed. "Now as to the matter of our cooperation with the Patriarchate to sponsor and protect pilgrims to the Holy Land..."

"One fire at a time, Kalamaras," the King said. "Try to fight too many, and you'll find yourself in burning forest with not enough water--or dynamite."

-----

Ambracia, Caria
05/02/2022

"Pray, 'nike, you know I can't talk about that."

"'teliiiis," Elpinike answered, using her brother's diminutive. She was the only person he allowed to call him that.

"Anything else but that," he pressed her.

She crossed her arms. "I thought we promised to be honest to one another from now on."

Aristotelis knew that 'hurt puppy' tone all too well. "Yes, and I am honestly telling you that I can't answer your question, or else I'll be the next one to get washed up on a beach."

"So, it is true then!" Elpinike proclaimed, at once changing into a triumphant tone.

"What, that Samaras and company got what was coming to them? That was never in question... But as to whether the Special Constables were involved, that is a whole other story."

Elpinike paused for a second, having almost forgotten that the Special Constables were the Special Gendarmes, just under a different name. "So you expect me to believe that it was the mob?"

"I expect you not to think about it too much," Aristotelis answered. "Just focus on your studies, and try not to get in trouble this time."

"I'm sure being the sister of the man who saved the King would get me out of most trouble."

"In the White, or should I say Blue, Mountains, that might get you into more trouble than it would spare you..." Aristotelis sighed. "Are you sure you like it there?"

"Yes, yes," Elpinike affirmed. "It's peaceful, quite different from Nikaia. Fewer distractions, less noise, nice scenery, better food... I know almost nobody here... and I kind of like that. You told me that you also liked that about federal service, no?"

"Yeah," Aristotelis admitted. He looked into the camera, and then back down at his sister's image on the screen. "Just... promise me you'll be safe, alright? No amount of vocative offerings will save me from a second bullet. Or you, for that matter."

Elpinike laughed. "You worry too much. Anyway, I gotta go. Bye!"

"Bye," said Aristotelis, ending the call.

Stratis asked entered the room with a half-peeled apple in hand. "Your sister didn't go back to Nikaia?"

"She did, but she couldn't stomach it anymore," Aristotelis explained. "Got herself transferred to a clinical programme at a local university. She might be a brat, but she's smart--one look at her transcript, and they didn't even ask any questions."

Stratis took a bite from his apple. "You don't seem too thrilled." He quickly spat it out--he could never stomach the pale, all-white apples the Ambracians enjoyed. Far too sweet, and mostly imported from Occidentia or the Holy Frankish Empire.

"It's good for her. But I just hope she doesn't get herself into a new set of trouble over there. Where we're going to be deployed... I won't be able to help."

"Don't say that," Stratis answered. "The way things are going, you might meet again. The White Mountains are right on the border with Vardarska."

Aristotelis sighed again. "That is precisely my concern."

Search

Forums

What's new

Members

Parallel Lives

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Pelasgia

Established Nation

Forum statistics

Share this page