Milking a Goat

[Khemia]

Her options were growing fewer and fewer. Now, even Belmont, famous for throwing it's weight around and assisting countries in need, had failed to support Sinhai where and when it counted. Aid now was far more valuable than aid tomorrow, and infinitely more valuable than aid when the country was in shambles. What good would a nuclear reactor be if the state, nor the people, had the money for an education. Marjhan sighed and rubbed her palm against her forehead, as though to push an invisible pressure out of her skull.

She looked over a dossier provided to her by Sahmhang on the basics of relations with Zivontje; they were probably the last option available to her, though by far not the least valuable. They seemed to have a definite interest in putting down extremist factions, both fascist and communist, around the world. She'd looked just about everywhere, the CoN had delayed her membership and was hardly the effective body it was praised to be. Belmont was too pressured by public opinion. If anyone cared less about foreigners opinions on national policy, it was Zivontje. Plus, they'd help supply her troops with a moderate number of body armor, any country that saved her soldiers lives was valuable in her mind.

But there was one thing she knew about Ziv's, and that was they hated formal meetings. They'd rather be kicking up dust in some goat-ridden salt flat than sit at an oaken table. Unless the table had plentiful quantities of liquor, all Sarmatians could be found patient enough to sit at a table if liquor was involved, she knew that much from meeting with Sarmatian tourists.

Meeting with them herself wasn't the best plan, such a formal meeting would pressure them into being overly polite, putting them off their game and drawing attention away from the real issue, assistance to Sinhai. Still, it was the only way to guarantee that she was guaranteed to put her best effort towards accomplishing her goals.

She started by writing a letter she imagined would be quite boring. A video conference would be too impersonal, a phone call would be too quick, a letter and meeting the Ziv's in person would enhance attention for both parties. Besides, it'd been a while since she'd been out of the country.




To the State Officer in Zivontje,

I write on behalf of my nation, my people, and their plight. Zivontje is well know throughout the world, and especially within Sinhai, for their exploits and crusades against the extremist fanatics that seek to revert this world from civilization into chaos. Both communists and fascists alike deservedly tremble when Union sabres rattle and the Blues go to war.

With memory of aid in the recent past, and with hope that the Union seeks to continue their campaign for humanity, it is with the greatest humility that I request an audience with the leadership of Zivontje to discuss terms that may find our two Unions standing side-by-side in Sinhai and beyond against depravity, fanaticism, and anarchy. Should you accept this request by myself, I would happily meet you at any location of your choosing.

Sincerely,
Marjhan Visariya
President of the Union of Sinhai

 

[Thaumantica]

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The State Officer in Životinje
to the
Union Ambassador to the Sinese Union​

Dispatch No. 14
SJADNBRDO, August 26, 2010
Intended for the Sinese Presidential Staff:

In late 2009, Životinje failed the Volgan peoples entrapped by the clutches of authoritarian communism by not taking force to liberate their homeland from the crimson scourge of Communism nor the Oikawan Entity and its Imperial outpost in the eastern half of the former Volgan Kingdom. In this, however, the captive peoples of Communist Dictatorships everywhere were illuminated by the flickering blue flame of this Virtuous Republic for the first time in decades, a cleansing wave of warmth in their raw benumbed existence. A third tragedy was encountered, intended to dissuade an independent power from sticking to its convictions; appeal to the Council of Nations, the true puppeteer of third-world instability and suffering.

Just as Viorel the Stouthearted Wolf stages his momentous advance in the flowing majesty of our ravishing blue banner, we dare to standalone against the Council of Nations to any consequence or loss, so let the Union of Sinhai be assured of this: the Gods hath no fury, like a Životun with vows to exterminate.

Fate intertwined our Unions in the Battle of Abruzicstan, where the quartermasters of our blue throng tapped elements of the Sinese Navy to facilitate maritime security of shipments aimed for Operation Trumpet of Liberty. The solace attained from our partnership has roused this Republic to not only accept the President, Marjhan Visariya, in our Virdisian cordillera, but also for strands of Task Force Deliverance' immediate dispatch to assess ground-level circumstances required to facilitate a repaid sense of solace.

To lend an acronym from the business world, this Presidential envoy is expected in Životinje as soon as possible (ASAP). Humbly, we ask that the President refrain from expectations of extravagance, unnecessary luxury is not the Blue Union prerogative, though that is not to say her attaché should expect squalor or lapses in security. On the contrary, this Foreign Office is in the process of coordinating an awe-inspiring Mountain Retreat reserved for the honorary Margraf of Virdisia, who wishes only to attend this summit for his vouchsafed inconvenience. His is a rustic lifestyle, tributary to the Viridisan Age his titular hails from, an underscore of his enthusiasm for Mountaineering which he passes on to the Third Militia Brigade (Third Herd) which has only just returned from voluntary border patrols along the Barazi border.

This locale is historically inaccessible for even our most devout rivals, the Empires of Sarmatia, Oltremare, Wiese, and Oikawa. Freedom from disturbance will be an easily met objective, if the President should seek low-profile visitation while her country experiences high-profile disorder. We shall however maintain a mobile Command Center, so our torchbearers can lead from afar, a privilege we wish to extend to the President of Sinhai for the duration of her visit.

Freedom First,
Vestitor a Doctrinei,
Marjan Pantoš

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

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The State Officer in Životinje
to the
Union Ambassador to the Sinese Union​

Dispatch No. 16
SJADNBRDO, August 26, 2010
Confidential to the Eyes of Dr. Iosif Teodoz:

A timely review of assets in the faraway Sinese Office leads the home office in Sjadnbrdo to encourage a progressive augmentation of its current composition, as overseen by yourself, Doctor Teodoz. The Maresal has asked us to make the point that this forced modification does not reflect as a criticism of your superintendence in Sinhai, rather the authentic confidence his Administrative Union has learned by your exemplary service in Touyou, where we feel a more vigorous commitment is required in this virtuous year.

Core Office arrogance will not permit our venturing to lecture you on the Sinese Union, yet we do wish to reiterate the principle on which we function, as a significant flux of funding and manpower embarks assertively east. To state that we cannon fully grasp the Sinese mindset is a crucial understatement, their intentions are expectedly veiled by wartime propaganda, which we expect your office to mull through directly with swelling investigation and entrenchment in the Sinese governing complex. Discretion is called for, as we do not wish for our so called 'engineers of democracy' to encroach upon the infamous Sinese paranoia, this is not a nation-building commission, as Operation Steadfast Liberty, so prepare your conscious for recurring compromise as we do not wish to aggressively impose.

Životinje is inclined to shy from regional statecraft at this time, and will not levy for emulation in this Eastern Union. Our Economic integrity has already been compromised by the escalating notion that our sole ambition is to conduct ourselves in an Imperial manner, which is warranted to a certain extent, considering the 'unlawful' sack of Milliyetci Barazi. Consider instead the Belmontien faculties in Abruzicstan, where the Francophone Empire propped up the most desperate moderate in Chieti to assure both a loyal and lucrative Government manifested. We are to influence, not lead, if a stable Sinese Union is to be achieved; this is to say, this Core Office shares the racial theory of the Sarmatian Emperor, that Centrjzieman Civics cannot be translated practically abroad, without disfiguring bastardization of the core tenets. Simply put: we cannot kill, buy, or teach the sort of Government we would consider ideal to these people, so do not undertake such a futile mission in our name.

Finally, an association with Task Force: Deliverance, dormant from their completed mission in Barazi, should be considered your secondary objective, Doctor Teodoz. Afford this unit the same due regard given to this Sjadnbrdo Office, and prepare to collaborate data as it is procured in our renewed inquiry in to Sinese affairs.

Freedom First,
Vestitor a Doctrinei,
Marjan Pantoš

 

[Khemia]

To the State Officer in Zivontje,

I thank you very much for your prompt reply and for your generous consideration and invitation. I will adjust my schedule to immediately permit this venture to your nation and to this no doubt exceptional estate. I look forward to seeing the countryside of Zivontje, which I have previously only been graced with pictures of. I have heard that it is quite a contrast with the verdant jungles-strewn hills and rice paddy fields of Sinhai, and I can only state that broadening not only my nations interests, but my own natural affinity, is a great honour.

Sincerely,
Marjhan Visariya
President of the Union of Sinhai




She read over the letter at least six times, hoping that her English was satisfactory. Despite having studied the language itself for six years at university, she had little practice in using it, and was never quite sure if the words she used were correct. She decided to stop second guessing herself and handed the letter to one of her assistants who immediately faxed it to the Zivontje Union ambassador.

"Alright," she looked at the assistant as he finished, "inform Sri Rama Int'l to have my 737 prepped and fueled, I'll be there in a matter of hours. Oh, and clear your schedule. We have matters to attend to, have all military matters that require my attention forwarded to the General Changathorn. If anything comes up that absolutely requires my attention, he can page me directly."

She moved back to her office and picked up the phone to make a call to her chief of staff. She needed to bring with her at least two security officers for her and her assistant, she wasn't quite sure how many people would comfortably travel to this mountainous estate. She briefly wondered whether or not the press would catch wind of her trip, as well. She smiled and hoped so, a proactive image for the President of Sinhai was something that was needed for her nation. For too long the people's last real memory of her was her little stir with the police in Sri Rama.

 

[Thaumantica]

Emerging from the cave with an uneasy smirk, Mister Pacurar trotted back to the troop of Militiamen patiently curious about what their comrade had found. Upon reaching them, Pacurar's face intensified further in to his most boyish rendition of a twinkling smile, ruined only perhaps by his sour mustard colored grin.

"Well? . ." Ilie whispered as the entire formation encircled them, "What'd you find?", it suddenly became quiet enough to hear a mountain goats whimper.

Pacurar erupted in an uncomfortable laughter, "Ohhh . ." his smile disappeared, face somberly sinking in on itself, "It happened here, right here comrades" he replied by pointing down towards the stony earth "our ancestors marked this site with tributary markings to the dark-god Žanu!". Excited once more, he clapped his hands together as the Militiamen erupted in a round of "Roo-Roo-Roo" chants.

"What remains did they leave him, oh Pacu" asked Illie in a cracking whisper "what was their offering to the black god?". The entranced rabble let off another series of "Roo-Roo-Roo" cheers and jeers.

Pacurar nodded and motioned his hands to hush his captivated audience, "Our Forefathers and Foremothers carried their deceased here, balancing the dead weight over their backs, fearlessly climbing these Virdisian Mounts to reach this very spot" he proclaimed, interrupted intermittently by sighs and gasps. He went on to describe the stone or iron urns laying dormant for centuries within this natural catacomb of natures natural architecture, lasting tributes to those long passed.

Arching effortlessly through the sky, an orange flare round beckoned the groups attention upwards to the steadily glowing orb. Tenderfoot Militiamen, while at first confused, fell in behind their Veteran Comrades in an adrenalized charge to reach the Third Militia Cabin, from which the recessed flare had originated from. Petrovik Fedzinski, made Markgraf of the Sangemuntenian Line on merit alone, met the short breathing Militiamen between two boulders on the returning path. Aloof, Fedzinski let out a rare and uncharacteristic yawn, surprising enough for the veteran crowd to question their leader over whether or not he had come down with the Muntenian Flu, all too common in the early fall spelunking season.

"Take a knee, and . ." Fedzinski yawned once again, roughly rubbing fatigue from his eyes "Long night, last night. That somehow extended in to the late morning before I collapsed beside some mountainside piece of ass they rustled up for me in one of the local villages" his men chuckled, sheepishly concealing their jealousy after their extended morning and afternoon of vigorous hiking. "Say" the Markgraf exclaimed in an excited burst, "Who here has met the President of Sinhai?". A sweat covered lard of a man raised his hand, "I've met the pregnant Svetlana. It's not mine, sir, I am almost certain" he nodded, making eye contact momentarily before closing his eyes to regain his composure, "I used a condom, I am almost certain". Petrovik Fedzinski raised his eyebrows in disbelief, "I suggest that you square that away immediately, slick. You won't be able to pay that support check between the beer, strippers, and fat filled rations I have seen you consuming". Pressing on, Markgraf Fedzinski turned back towards the cabin to return, meanwhile musing as to how many other Svetlana's there must be, if the one in question had to be referred to as the "pregnant Svetlana".

Aerial Lift - 1 came to a steady well greased halt at its final destination outside the Guests Quarters, much larger in comparison to the standard lodges that Fedzinski's Militia occupied for these training weekends. Intending to dismiss the Markgraf, Maresal Dionis Huszar sidestepped Fedzinski's open arm greeting, and weaved straight through his dumbfounded Militiamen towards their empty beer-hall, which he chose to promptly occupy with the accompaniment of his staff. "Not even an insult, sir? I know I've been off the radar awhile, but the least I think I deserve is a threat to carpet bomb the premise".

Huszar made a grunting noise to compliment his lazy nod, body and mind fully preoccupied by the lukewarm mug he had yet to emerge from out of. While the two men settled on to their respective barstools, the Militiamen took to a loose formation by the order of the Maresal's Valor Guard, who were insisting that they shower down and change their clothes before the Sinese arrived. "If they have come to see Sangemuntenia, they will have to smell Sangemuntenia" Fedzinski suggested when his mens protest turned physical, "Stand your ground, gentlemen". Huszar simply shrugged, once again ignoring the situation, and ventured to immerse himself in to dialogue with his advisory team, using these last minutes before the Sinese President ascended to their position high in the Mountains of Virdisia.

 

[Khemia]

The fresh air of the mountains was something new to her, cold and sharp, her throat felt cracked and her eyes felt dry. The warm humidity of her homeland was definitely not what she'd found here in Zivontje in the time she'd stayed. This visit was completely unlike her other ventures into foreign politics, she knew the Ziv's had no fondness for offices, but she'd almost expected that one meeting at a large, oaken tables was mandatory.

Well, tables were made of trees, and trees were not lacking out here. The mountains provided behemoth walls, and the sky a great ceiling. She rationalized to herself that maybe to the Ziv's, nature was the largest and most grand office around. Still, she almost missed the incessant rain of Sri Rama. Almost.

Most of her peers had 'opted' to take the more practical path and stay within the cities of Zivontje. She was no coward, and though her ordinarily slender eyes were wide with amazement, she kept in the back of her mind the realization that this trip was actually for politics. Though she did lose herself in nature once in a while, stumbling on a broken limb or shrubbery here and there. She politely smiled to those that looked at her concerned, shrugging off her mistakes with a flash of her pretty smile.

They arrived at the cabin, her peers more tired than she, her youthful vigor keeping her ready for more. She was, afterall, only in her mid-30's; and her political career had not been the most relaxed of jobs in the world. She could hardly say she spent all day writing letters.

Her retinue opened the door and she entered, the smell of ripe young soldiers something that she was both familiar with yet found surprising. The Zivontje loved their rustic land, that was for sure. No offices, and now the guardsmen were authentic, rugged soldiers. At least she knew these boys knew how to shoot rifles and hide in mud, even the ones that looked almost as shocked as she felt. That was better than most Guards at diplomatic sessions, who seemed more like butlers or overpaid chauffeurs. Still, they were a bit ripe, and she had to wrinkle her nose once in a while, dismissing the rude act with a big smile and flash of her pretty and rare sapphire colored eyes, a trait that was a genetic defect in her people, yet had probably afforded her more than a few male supporters.

She put her palms together in front of her face and genuflected politely to the soldiers, speaking the word "Wai" as she tilted down. She brought herself back up with a pretty smile and turned to the man who must have been the Maresal Huszar, mimicking the gesture but this time the bow slightly lower, her hands slightly higher, she left the greeting for her diplomatic counterpart for last as it would then be the most recent in his memory, directly leaving him with an ability to respond.

 

[Thaumantica]

Walking in a straight line while he still could, Maresal Huszar offered his bow, learned from an Eastern Affairs Advisor, and an assuring nod. Markgraf Fedzinski shook his head in disgust at the Maresal, not one to break tradition so easily, instead offering an outstretched hand to shake. They hailed from this same region, whether the people of their nation could bring themselves to believe it or not, born in the Village of Hladnmopot only a few miles away from this mountain retreat. One ascended to oversee the nations most prestigious position as Sindikat Maresal, the other ascended the Mountain of his boyhood dream with his convictions intact.

Fatigued no longer, and followed by a Maresal nod to Fedzinski, the Markgraf called his group to attention, from which they exclaimed their Mountaineer Militia Motto brazenly: "Climb High, Fight Low!" an homage to their backgrounds as patrons of the Virdisian Mounts. Not one to be showed up by a rag-tag Militia, the Maresals Valor Guard snapped to attention at their Commanders fervent order, "First to Fight, Fight to Finish!" they responded at a decibel not quite as booming, but worthy of reverence from Maresal Huszar who delivered his final nod in their direction. Trim and neat uniforms were afforded to this Guard, who likened themselves with the Vicgardă of Ancient Virdisia, an Elite Honor Troop attached to Haralamb the Merciless. With irony intended, Fedzinski's Militia vied to impress themselves after the same Axe Wielding Infantry that struck down their rivals with scarce displays of mercy.

"That said, President Visariya. Let there be no mistake as to who we are, and what we do" Huszar calmly uttered through pursed lips, "An immovable Union between our Republic, Military, and Citizens Militias permits the formation of what Europeans perceive as Životinje". True unity was but a facade Europe had chose to recognize in hand with the implied similitude of Pan-Sarmatian solidarity with Greater Sarmatia, elements of which were congruent for the time being, but nevertheless strained by a milieu of splintering distrust. If Životinje was truly the immovable Blue Union it professed to be, Fedzinski would have been dismissed for this encounter with the Sinese, by Maresal Dionis Huszar -- a relatively friendlier face to present to allies. "Mister Bakanow has been charged to facilitate as our MC, or Mobile Command" a pencil of a man emerged from the shadows of the forest with a briefcase in each of his whitish pasty hands.

Airborne Command Post 'Sustainment' coasted past overhead, close enough to be seen and heard by the group. Huszar led his party outside to Bakanow, who could not shake an irking smug visage for the the life of him as his mistress of the skies drifted overhead. "We can have you speaking to a curry house in Sai Yok at a moments notice, Madame President" Mister Bakanow asserted. With sharpness, Maresal Huszar rudely ordered Bakanow to return to the forest "as fast as your puny arms can carry my heavy cases".

He began to wonder what was keeping Fedzinski, the unrelenting Maverick, from outbursts of chauvinism of his own. Still inside, the Markgraf was scolding a member of his Militia for breaking rank to instigate with a Valor Guardsmen, "You can show him up when we take to drinking later, under the table we will, won't we boys?". Entirely interested in that competition, Huszar consulted their guest on the matter, "Whether you learn to love or hate us by the end of the afternoon, we ask that you join in for the evening spirit." And he truly hoped she would, it was a monumental challenge finding an ally that he could stand to drink with, as much as he was inclined to fight with. This common ground had only been met with the "Good Doctor" in Stary Hrodno, or the Emperor of Greater Sarmatia, and to an extent the President of Andaluz.

 

[Khemia]

While she was momentarily caught offguard by the Markgraf's blunt approach and disregard for her respectful bow, she knew that no disrespect was intended. She took his hand and gave him a full, if feminine, shake. She then quickly turned to one of her tired aides, who handed her a dark bottle of sato. Her countries rice wine was more akin to beer, something she thought would be at least a respectable gift for her first meeting with the Blue Union. It was a custom for her to gift new people; she would've brought something nicer, but bottles of alcohol were the most effective gift she was able to carry up a mountain.

She was taken outside shortly after, and found herself impressed not only by the sight of the natural beauty of the place, but the thunderous craft that roared above. "You can tell your soldier that any plane that takes me to Sai Yok better have more bombs than advisors," she joked to the Maresal. "And I would gladly join you for a drink."

She knew that the real diplomacy here was not about writing or signing pieces of paper, but holding her liquor and her dignity. She wasn't quite worried, she might be youthful and a woman, but she knew that the Ziv's would give that as a handicap to her. All she had to do was exceed their expectations, not exceed their own drinking. Still, she was a bit afraid of how red she'd get. She'd heard that her people always grew bright red when they drank, but she'd never heard. Hopefully they'd just find it charming...

 

[Thaumantica]

With the party moving gradually moving down a beaten path, Dionis Huszar asserted himself, Fedzinski, and the Sinese President in to the back center of this rather large hiking group. Elements of both Fedzinski's Militia and the Maresal's Guard spread out to comb well known ridges, bottlenecks, and potential ambush spots by running far ahead the pre-determined paths. Two forks existed along the way, where the Maresal himself would choose at that very moment which whey they would venture, so as to complicate matters for an enemy who was small in number, or by dividing a larger group over an unfamiliar terrain.

"This hike will last no longer then an hour and one half" Fedzinski kindly informed, "if members of the foreign attaché cannot go any further, remind that our journey is a full-circle" he said while pointing to Huszar, intending to insult the Maresal.

Shaking his head violently, Dionis summoned the nearest Guardsmen to confront Fedzinski. "You owe this man an apology, Petrovik" Huszar ordered. Petrovik Fedzinski rolled his eyes in dismissal and pushed the Guardsmen aside, "I will do no such thing Dionis, your lackey is weak in body and mind!". In their last meeting, the Guardsmen in question had erupted in a mysterious fit of uncontrollable vomiting and diarrhea, which Huszar felt must have been the result of poisoning. "Leave it to the leader of our Union to suggest a conspiracy when one of his men is proven not to be up to snuff" Petrovik smugly repeated, a statement similar to what he had responded with the first time Huszar accused him of this scandal.

The Guardsmen was ordered back to his position in the chain by Huszar, who could only poorly veil his dissatisfaction. "Our personal rivalry may have matured in mere decades, though the rivalry between Militia and Guard is as ancient as the Životun Race" Huszar added, trying to bring the President back to the conversation, "Saying that, it would do each of us a service if you were to explain the quarrel in Sinhai" he asked bluntly, "How has a rumble in the jungle, brought you to a stroll through these Virdisian Mounts?".

 

[Khemia]

"Ah," she flashed a large smile as she negotiated herself around a number of fallen trees. "Straight to the issues I see," she smiled as she took in the fresh air. A number of her retinue, though brave enough to scale the mountain, had stayed behind. Now it was only her and one other. She felt it probably had much to do with the pressure of the mountains, something most bureaucrats had never experienced. Even she felt light-headed, but she willed herself past it.

"So, as you may or may not know, Sinhai has been for nearly seven decades in a state of on-and-off war," she sighed as she looked at some trees. "The past few wars varied in their intensity, but they were all short and had little-to-no impact on the people."

She continued to march, working her legs. She had been smart, choosing a pair of fairly comfortable yet supportive boots for this journey. She wore a relatively comfortable jacket that was still dark black, but her hair still shone in the sun. The complexion of her skin set her apart from the men around her, already giving her a level of distinguishment.

"The north was weak, though. A poor economy, unable to sustain even it's own people. When it collapsed, the Union attempted to fill the vaccuum. However, renewed insurgency and an insufficient budget prevented our Union from finding success, the population became disgruntled and reacted. Violently. Now we face the greatest crisis since '43."

She continued to trek along, trying not to sound too concerned and distracted from the beauty of the mountains. This was, afterall, a hike through a country she'd never seen before. She carried herself a few more paces before she put in one more remark on the subject. "I doubt we'll ever be able to make the North stable again, and right now we're mostly just fighting to preserve what we have."

 

[Khemia]

By now they had reached the end of the path, and though her lungs screamed at her to stop in the thin air which was much colder in comparison to that of the jungles and rice fields of Sinhai. She took a moment to breath, casting smiles at the military men aside from her who were far better trained than she for such hikes, but still she was ready for more. Far more than that that could be said of her companions, who had turned back many minutes ago.

"Your country is quite beautiful," she noted almost musingly. "If I might ask, what does this area mean for the Zivontje people?"