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Pelasgia

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Athens, Greece
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Demos
Imperial Naval Base, Telmessus, Theme of Opsicia
6/7/1956, 6:54 PM

Pelasgia's summer was right at its heart, with the entire country boiling with heat and the days so long that night seemed to have disappeared altogether. Propontis itself was experiencing record high temperatures and public services were putting their emergency drought plans into effect. Further north, in Telmessus, things weren't much different. As most people from major urban centres went to the provinces to enjoy their holidays and thousands of foreign tourists poured across the country, the busy port city was bustling with life. Telmessus (Telmēssos or Telmissos in Pelasgian) was an ancient city, built so long ago that nobody exactly knows when it was founded, being one of the earliest Pelasgian colonies. The oldest mentions of the city dated back to the 5th century B.C. but it was safe to assume the area had been inhabited long before that time, due to its natural port, easily defensible location and fertile ground. Apart from being a major centre of trade, tourism and industry, it was also home to one of the largest and most historic bases of the Imperial Navy, its port being used by Imperial vessels since the Pelasgistic and Tiburan eras, its residents being the first Karabisianoi (Imperial sailors before the establishment of the Theme System). Opsicia itself was the first and most prominent Naval Theme.

The
day was winding down as Colonel Leandros Komnenikos waited for his contact from the Imperial Police to arrive. He stood beside a recently repainted sign, whose message had been changed from Katharevousa to Demotic, near the entrace to the base, right beside a guard post painted in yellow and black stripes.

ΝΑΥΣΤΑΘΜΟΣ ΤΕΛΜΗΣΣΟΥ
ΑΠΑΓΟΡΕΥΟΝΤΑΙ ΟΙ ΦΩΤΟΓΡΑΦΙΕΣ

NAVAL BASE OF TELMESSUS
PHOTOGRAPHS ARE PROHIBITED

In front of him a group of sailors, returning from a nearby café, sang an old song of the Imperial Navy, refering to the Nymphine sailors who took back Propontis from the Crusaders.

«Ἔγια μόλα, ἔγια λέσα, φύσηξε βοριᾶ,
σπρῶξε κῦμα τὸ καράβι, βόηθα Παναγιᾶ.

Στὴν Ἁγιᾶ Προνοιᾶ νὰ πᾶμε, ἔγια μόλα γιά,
γιὰ νὰ πάρουμε τοῦ Φράγκου τὰ χρυσὰ κλειδιά.

Νὰ καθήσουμε τὴ σκλάβα πάλι στὸ θρονί,
νὰ τὴν προσκυνήσῃ ὁ κόσμος, ῥήγισσα τρανή!»


"Egia molla, egia lessa (rowing commands), blow o northern wind,
push, o wave, the ship, help us, o Virgin Mary.

Let us go to Haghia Pronoia, egia mola gia,
to take the Frank's golden keys.

Let us sit the slave back onto the throne,
so that the world may bow before her, the migthy queen!"

As the white mass of the sailors, in their uniforms, left the side of the Colonel's eye, he was certain that his contact was at least half an hour late. It didn't bother him, too much, though. In this line of work being panctual was extremely important, but he did understand that half an hour's delay for somebody coming from the other end of the country, during a period when the roads were clogged with travellers and tourists, was but a minor nuissance. As he was pondering the endless congestions of highways, he realised that he might have had forgotten to lock his car's door. Pelasgia was a rather safe country; people rarely locked the doors of their homes and, by extent, their cars. If anything, it was a local costume to let the door of the house open, so if neighbours needed to borrow something they could do so. Yet when one had classified documents in their car, such habits went straight out the window. As Colonel Komnenikos approached the car, he heard the voice of a man behind him.

«Κύριε Συνταγματάρχα.»
"Sir Colonel."

The Colonel turned around to see a man dressed in a grey suit, with a small violet flower in his suit's pocket: his contact from the Imperial Police.

«Φίλτατε Ἀστυνομικὲ Διευθυντά.»
"Police Colonel (Director), my good friend."

«Ἔμαθα ὄτι ὁ Συνταγματάρχης Παπαναστασίου ἀντικαταστάθηκε μετὰ τὸ κίνημα. Φαίνεται ὄτι ἡ Στρατιωτικὴ Ἀντικατασκοπεία καὶ ἡ Ἀστυνομία Ἐνόπλεων Δυνάμεων πήραν ἐπιτέλους διαζύγιο.»
"I learned that Colonel Papanastasiou was replaced after the coup. It seems that Military Intelligence and Armed Forces Police are finally divorced."

«Πράγματι. Ὅμως ἡ Στρατιωτικὴ Ἀντικατασκοπεία καὶ ἡ Αὐτοκρατορικὴ Ἀστυνομία συνεχίζουν τὴν συνεργασία τους μέσῳ ἡμῶν.»
"Indeed. Yet Military Intelligence and Imperial Police continue their cooperation through us."

«Τῶρα ποὺ ξεφορτωθήκαμε τοὺς μεσάζοντες, νομίζω ὄτι ἡ συνεργασία αὐτὴ θὰ εἶναι πολὺ πιὸ ὁμαλή. Γιὰ νὰ τὸ γιορτάσουμε, σᾶς ἔφερα ἕνα δῶρο.»
"Now that we've gotten rid of intermidiaries, I think that this cooperation will be much smoother. To celebrate I got you a gift."

«Καταφέρατε νὰ κάνετε αὐτὸν τὸν ἀλήτη νὰ μιλήσῃ;»
"You got that punk to talk?"

«Ναί. Κελαήδησε σὰν ἀηδόνι.»
"Yes. He sang like a bird."

«Καί;»
"And?"

«Δὲν μᾶς εἶπε πολλά. Μᾶς εἶπε μόνο ποιὸς τὸν ἔβαλε στὴν ὀργάνωση, ποιὸς ἦταν τὸ ἀφεντικό του, ποὺ τὸν στρατολόγησαν καὶ τὰ λοιπά. Ὠς ἀντάλλαγμα θὰ πάρῃ χάρη καὶ θὰ ἐπιστρέψῃ πανεπιστήμιο.»
"He didn't tell us much. He just told us who got him into the organisation, who his boss was, where he got recruited and so on. In return he'll be pardoned and he'll return to university."

«Ἡ Βασιλεία ἔγινε ξαφνικὰ πολὺ γενναιόδωρη...»
"The Empire has suddenly become rather generous."

«Πρέπει νὰ φτιάξουμε τὴ φήμη ποὺ ἔδωσε στὰ σώματα ἀσφαλείας ἡ Στρατονομία. Στὸ κάτω κάτω, δὲν εἴμαστε καὶ ἡ ΑΣΑ, ἡ νέα διοίκηση εἶναι πολὺ αὐστηρὴ σε θέματα πρωτοκόλλου.»
"He have to fix the reputation the Army Police gave to the security forces. After all, we're not ASA, the new administration is much stricter when it comes to protocol."

«Ποὺ εἶναι καὶ ὁ λόγος ποὺ ἦλθες σ' ἐμένα.»
"Which is the reason you came to me."

«Ἀκριβῶς. Γιὰ νὰ ἀξιοποιήσουμε τὶς πληροφορίες ποὺ πήραμε πρέπει νὰ παίξουμε ἐκτὸς τῶν κανόνων. Ἡ Στρατιωτικὴ Ἀντικατασκοπεία μπορεῖ νὰ τὸ κάνῃ αὐτό. Ἀφοῦ βρεῖτε κάτι χρήσιμο, μᾶς τὸ λέτε καὶ κάνουμε μία ψεύτικη, νόμιμη ἔρευνα με τὰ ἴδια ἀποτελέσματα.»
"Exactly. In order to make use of the information we got, we must play outside the rules. Military Intelligence can do that. After you find something useful, you tell us and we conduct a fake, legal investigation, with the same fingings."

«Καὶ ποιὸ ἀκριβῶς εἶναι τὸ δῶρο ποὺ μοῦ ἔφερες;»
"And what exactly is the gift you got me?"

The man pulled a folded piece of paper from within his jacket.

«Μάντεψε ποιὸς εἶναι αὐτὸς ποὺ τὸν στρατολόγησε...»
"Guess who recruited him..."







 

Pelasgia

Established Nation
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Location
Athens, Greece
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Demos
Imperial Armed Forces Police HQ, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
7/7/1956, 6:12 PM

The Imperial Military Police, commonly refered to by its infamous acronym, ASA, had recently been integrated into the new Imperial Armed Forces Police (Ἀστυνομία Βασιλικῶν Ἐνόπλων Δυνάμεων - ΑΒΕΔ), often shortened to ABED, along with the Imperial Naval Police and the Imperial Aviation Police. The HQ buildings of the three former forces had now been joined into the HQ of the ABED. Security in Belissariou Square, where the buildings were located, was much less draconian, while records of the once infamous 'basement of ASA,' had been opened to the public, as part of the new régime's transparency policy. Galatopyrgos seemed much calmer, now that permanent roadblocks near the square were no longer needed.

In this seemingly calmer Galatopyrgos, Communications Officer Milōn Tagmatikou had just finished his shift for the day, walking out of the elegant Neoclassical Mansion that housed the HQ, walking towards the train station of Belissariou Square. The building itself was like most others in the area, painted in vibrant colours, with occasional white from the marbles of the pillasters and decorative details on the pediment and windows sticking out, along with golden or green coloured metal and glass on the doors and window frames. Pots with flowers hanged from the upper part of the bars of every balcony, while colourful tents above the balconies and café tables, along with large trees planted in regular distances around the square provided shade for the countless people who walked through it every day.

As Milōn was about to touch the green, metal bars of the staircase leading down into the Propontine metro, he heard the sounds of sirens behind him. He turned around, seeing the blue and white cars of the Basilikē Astynomia stopping by the pavement, with a dozen officers running out. He looked to his front only to see officers rushing his way from both the ground level and the metro station. As one officer pulled out his service sidearm, Milōn dropped his suitcase to the floor, as officers rushed around him to handcuff and aprehend him.

«Ψηλὰ τὰ χέρια! Πάνω ἀπ' τὸ κεφάλι σου, νὰ τὰ βλέπω!»
"Hands up! Above your head, where I can see them!"

«Μεῖνε ἀκίνητος!»
"Stand still!"

Imperial Ministry of Defence, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
7/7/1956, 9:12 PM

Min woke up in the middle of a large room, with tiles covering the floor and walls and a mirror, almost certainly one way, on one of one of the walls, with a steel grid in front of it. Opposite to the mirror was a green steel door. Light in the room mainly originated from a single large lamp hanging from the ceiling. Even the lamp has bars in front of it he thought, as he noticed the steel table and chair in front of his own, no doubt bolted to the floor. He looked down, to see his hands and legs tied to the chair, suddenly hearing the door opening and the voice of a woman, no older than thirty.

«Συγνώμη γιὰ τὰ δεσμά, ἀν καὶ νομίζω ὄτι καταλαβαίνεις τοὺς λόγους ποὺ τὰ κρίναμε ἀπαραίτητα.»
"Apologies for the restraints, even though I think you understand the reasons we judged them necessary."

«Ποῦ εἶμαι; Θέλω νὰ δῶ τὸν δικηγόρο μου!»
"Where am I? I want to see my lawyer!"

No response came from the woman. As his blood boiled he looked at her and was about to shout again, but he just noticed something; her olive drab uniform with several colourful ribbons. A small laugh overtook him, before he spoke again.

«Τῶρα κατάλαβα. Στρατιωτικὴ Ἀντικατασκοποία... δὲν ἔχει δικαιώματα γιὰ προδότες καὶ τρομοκράτες, ἐ;»
"Now I understand. Military Intelligence... not rights for traitors and terrorists, eh?"

«Ὁ δικηγόρος σου ἔχει... ἀργήσῃ λίγο. Ἀν θέλῃς νὰ συνεργαστῇς, τῶρα εἶναι ἡ ὥρα. Ἀλλιῶς, θὰ δικαστῇς αὔριο, ἀπὸ ἔκτακτο στρατοδικεῖο, ἐντὸς κλειστῶν θυρῶν.»
"Your lawyer is a little... late. If you want to cooperate, now's the time. Otherwise, you'll be tried tomorrow, by a special military tribunal, within closed doors."

«Δὲν ἔχουν καταργηθῇ αὐτά;»
"Haven't those been abolished?"

«Γιὰ τοὺς πολίτες. Ἐσὺ εἶσαι στρατιώτης.»
"For civilians. You're a soldier."

Milōn looked at the officer's shoulders. Two golden stars and a golden grenade, almost certainly newly stiched.

«Συγχαρητήρια γιὰ τὴν προαγωγή, Ἀντισυνταγματάρχα.»
"Congratulations on the promotion, Antisyntagmatarchēs (Lieutenant Colonel)."

Lieutenant Colonel Pheraia started walking towards the door, ignoring the restrained officer. Just as she was about to open the door, he spoke once more.

«Ξέρεις, εἴμουν ἐκεῖ ὅταν ἔδωσαν τὴν διαταγὴ γιὰ τὴν Ἐπιχείρηση Φοίνηξ. Τόσοι ἀθῶοι: παιδιά, γέροι, γυναῖκες... ὅλοι νεκροί. Καὶ τὶ ἔκανε ἡ νέα 'Βασιλευομένη Δημοκρατία;' Δὲν δημοσίευσε καὶ δὲν ἀποκάλυψε τίποτε. Ἀπλὰ ἔκαναν κάποιες ἀλλαγὲς προσωπικοῦ.»
"You know I was there when they gave the order for Operation Phoenix. So many innocents: children, old men, women... all dead. And what did the new 'Crowned Republic' do? They didn't publish anything, they didn't reveal anything. They just made some personnel changes."

Anromachē looked back towards the restrained man and spoke one last time, before walking out.

«Ὁ πατέρας μου ἦταν ἕνας ἐκ τῶν ἰδρυτῶν τοῦ Τμήματος Ἐσωτερικῶν Ὑποθέσεων, ὅπως τὸ ξέρουμε. Πῆγε νὰ ἀποκαλύψῃ στοιχεῖα γιὰ τὸν Ἱερὸ Λόχο καὶ τὸν διέσυραν. Ὕστερα τὸν ἔστειλαν σε ἕνα ἐπαρχιακὸ στρατόπεδο ἐκπαίδευσης στὴν Μελιγγία. Ὅταν πρωτομπήκα στὸ στράτευμα νόμιζα ὄτι θὰ ἐξέθετα ὁλόκληρο τὸν Ἱερὸ Λόχο μόνη μου. Δούλεψα γιὰ ἀρκετὸ λόχο με διοικητὴ ἕναν ἀπὸ τοὺς ἀξιωματικοὺς ποὺ ἀτίμασαν τὸν πατέρα μου καὶ βοήθησα στὸ κίνημα ποὺ ἔριξε τὴν Χούντα τοῦ Ἱεροῦ Λόχου. Ἀν θὲς νὰ φέρῃς ἀλλαγή, σχεδὸν ποτὲ δὲν θὰ τὴν φέρῃς ἀκριβῶς ὅπως θέλεις.»
"My father was one of the foudner of the Internal Affairs Department, as we know it. He tried to reveal evidence about the Sacred Band and they made a fool out of him. Then they sent him to a provincial training camp in Melingia. When I first joined the military, I thought I would expose the entire Sacred Band by myself. I worked for a long time under the command of one of the officers who dishonoured my father and I helped instigate the coup that topled the Sacred Band's Junta. If you want to bring change, you'll almost never bring exactly as you would have liked to."



 
Last edited:

Pelasgia

Established Nation
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Athens, Greece
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Demos
Imperial Armed Forces Police HQ, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
12/7/1956, 12:27 PM

Antisyntagmatarchēs (Lieutenant Colonel) Andromachē Pheraia stood in attention in front of Stratarchēs (Marshal of the Army) Hērakleios Artopoiopoulos' desk. The desk itself, which had, up until recently, belonged to former Marshal Tzimiskēs, was vacant; Antisyntagmatarchēs Pheraia had arrived early, as always. Andromachē's hazel eyes, a gift from her Eurypelean mother, scanned the room: painted in a scarlet colour, with some surfaces left white, the ornate interior of the room was much like that of the rest of the 18th century building. Slightly darker curtains hanged from the side of the room she was facing, though they had been opened, letting in plentiful light from the large windows that seemed to cover that side, almsot exclusively. Shelves with books flanked her on both sides, with busts of generals and paintings of battles from various periods of Pelasgian history taking up the space between the shelves. Among them she recognised one of Herclius. For a man who hates puns, he surely has neglected to have this one removed, she thought. The wooden desk was surmounted by a metalic lamp, golden in colour, but probably bronze in material, with a green, glass cover over the light. Pens and papers and a typewriter from Orestiopolis' factories took up most of the space on it. Among the pens was one with the Emperor's personnal sigil: a gift. She had wondered why Artopoiopoulos had not been given the position of Megas Doux, but, then again, the Megas Doux was the ceremonial commander of the Navy, first and foremost. It had to be a naval officer and Kallergēs seemed like a solid choice. After all, he had been raised to the post of Stratarchēs, being in command of the entire Army. He was also the Archistrategos, meaning he was in command of the entire Armed Forces, until the Emperor's recently born son came of age and climbed through the ranks. Both Herakleios and Andromachē were confident that if he was even remotely as good as the Emperor, he'd get there fast enough. As she thought about these things, the door behind her, surmounted by a fanlight, opened and Herakleios, along with his personnal aide, Tagmatarches (Major) Alexandros Akritides, walked in.

«Καλημέρα, Ἀνδρομάχη. Βλέπω πὼς οἱ παλιὲς συνήθειες καλὰ κρατοῦν.»
"Good day, Andromache. I see old habits die hard."

«Καλημέρα, Κύριε Στρατάρχα. Συγνώμη γιὰ τὴν ἐνόχληση.»
"Good morning, Sir Marshal. Sorry for the bothering you."

«Μὴν ἀπολογεῖσαι, ξέρουμε καὶ οἱ δύο ὄτι δὲν τὸ ἐννοεῖς· Ὄχι ὄτι μὲ νοιάζει, βέβαια.»
"Don't apologise, we both know you don't mean it. Not that I care, of course."

Herakleios sat down behind his desk and handed Nikolaos a baklavadaki, a smaller, rectangular, version of baklavas, a traditional Pelasgian pastry, mixing Propontine and Middle Eastern pastry through centuries of trade and interactions with the nearby Himyari and overseas Eastern cultures. In this case, he was offering it to celebrate the birth of the Imperial family's firstborn Basilopais, Eumenes.

«Νὰ σοῦ προσφέρω τίποτε; Μπακλαβαδάκι; Τσάϊ;»
"Should I get you anything? Baklavadaki? Tea?"

«Σᾶς εὐχαριστῶ, Κύριε Στρατάρχα, μὰ δὲν πεινάω. Ἔφαγα ἕνα ἀρκετὰ μεγάλο πρωινό.»
"Thank you, Sir Marshal, but I'm not hungry. I had a rather large breakfast."

«Ὅπως θές. Ἀν δὲν σὲ ἤξερα καλύτερα, θὰ ἔλεγα ὄτι δὲν χαίρεσαι γιὰ τὴν γέννηση τοῦ Βασιλοπαῖδος Εὐμενοῦς, ἀλλὰ οἱ Λευκτριῶτες τρῶτε μόνο μέλανα ζωμό.»
"As you wish. If I didn't know you, I'd say you aren't happy for the birth of Basilopais Eumenes, but Leuktrans only eat black broth."

«Ὄχι πάντα, ἀλλὰ συχνά.»
"Not always, but frequently."

«Καλῶς. Τέλος πάντων, πῶς μπορῶ νὰ σὲ βοηθήσω σήμερα;»
"Very well. Anyway, how can I help you, today?"

The Lieutenant Colonel placed a sealed folder on the desk.

«Ὀρίστε ἡ ἀναφορά μου γιὰ τὴν ὑπόθεση Ταγματικοῦ.»
"Here's my report on the Tagmatikos case."

«Ἄριστα. Μία περίληψη, παρακαλῶ;»
"Excellent. A summary, please?"

«Κράτησε τὴ σιωπή του. Τὸν καταδίκασε εἰδικὸ τριμελὲς στρατοδικεῖο, κλειστῶν θειρῶν, παραπροχθές, σὲ εἰσόβια κάθειρξη χωρὶς ἀναστολὴ σὲ φυλακὴ ὑψίστης ἀσφαλείας γιὰ ἔσχατη προδοσία.»
"He kept his silence. He was convicted to life in prison without parole in a high security jail for high treason, by a special military tribunal, behind closed doors, four days ago."

«Λύγισε;»
"Did he bend?"

«Ὄχι. Ἦταν ἐκεῖ ὅταν... ξέρετε. Εἶναι ἰδεολόγος.»
"No. He was there when... you know. He's an ideologue."

«Φάνταζομαι τὰ λεφτὰ ποὺ ἔπαιρνε ἀπὸ τὸ ΔΚΚΠ, με τὴν εὐγενικὴ χορηγία τῆς Καδικίδας, βοήθησαν τὴν 'ἰδεολογία' του.»
"I imagine the money he received from the DKKP, courtesy of Kadikistan, help his 'ideology.'"

Andromache held back a small grin. She did always enjoy the Marshal's cynical humour.

«Θὰ ἔλθῃ με τὸ μέρος μας, ἀργὰ ἢ γρήγορα. Ἡ φυλακὲς εἶναι ὁ θάνατος τῆς ἰδεολογίας.»
"He'll come to our side, sooner or later. Prisons are the death of ideology."

«Διαβάζεις πολὺ Βίκτωρα Οὑγκώ, τελευταῖα. Βρήκατε τίποτε στὸ γραφεῖο του;»
"You read a lot of Victor Hugo, recently. Did you find anything in his office?"

«Ἡ μητέρα μου δίδασκε κλασσικὴ φιλολογία, Κύριε Στρατάρχα. Τὸ γραφεῖο του ἦταν ἄδειο, ὅπως καὶ τὸ σπίτι του, ἀλλὰ βρήκαμε πολλὰ στὸ πατρικό του, στὴν Μοψία. Ἔγγραφα, ἀλληλογραφία, κώδικες καὶ κλειδιὰ κρυπτογράφησης. Τὸ ποιὸ σημαντικὸ εὔρημα ἦταν ἕνας παράνομος στρατιωτικὸς ἀσύρματος καὶ ἕνα ῥαδιόφωνο συντονισμένο σε κρυφὲς συγχνότητες. Θὰ χρειαστοῦμε τὴ βοήθεια τοῦ 476ου Τάγματος Σημάτων.»
"My mother taught classical literature, Sir Marshal. The office was empty, just like his house, but we found lots of things in his ancestral home, in Mopsia. Documents, correspondence, codes and encryption keys. The most important finding was the an illegal military communication radio and a radio tuned into hidden frequencies. We'll need the help of the 476th Signals Battalion."

«Ὁ Ταγματάρχης Ἀκριτίδης θὰ τὸ φροντίσῃ.»
"Major Akritides will take care of it."

«Με ὅλο τὸ σεβασμό, Κύριε Στρατάρχα, με τὸν Ταγματάρχη εἴμαστε φίλοι καὶ αὐτὸ μπορεῖ νὰ ἐπιῤῥεάσῃ τὴν ἔρευνα.»
"With all due respect, Sir Marshal, I'm friends with the Major and that might affect the inquiry."

«Ἀντισυνταγματάρχα, μετὰ ἀπὸ τόσα χρόνια ὑπηρεσίας, ἔχω μάθῃ ὄτι εἶναι καλύτερο νὰ ἐργαζόμαστε με αὐτοὺς ποὺ ξέρουμε σε τόσο εὐαίσθητες ὑποθέσεις. Ἀφοῦ εἶστε φίλοι, μπορεῖτε νὰ συζητήσετε καὶ γιὰ 'κλασσικὴ φιλολογία.' Καλὴ σας ἡμέρα, εἶστε ἐλεύθερη.»
"Lieutenant Colonel, after so many years of service, I've learned that it's better to work with those we know on such sensitive cases. Since you are friends, you can also discuss about 'classical literature.' Good day to you, dismissed."





 

Pelasgia

Established Nation
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Demos
Great Palace, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
11/8/1956, 1:12 PM

The Imperial Palace of Propontis seemed to have changed very little since the May Coup. The insignia and uniforms of the gaurds had changed; dark blue now replaced gray, while red details replaced black and white ones, though some golden ornamental elements were retained, signifying the change from the foreign Varangian Guards to the Pelasgian Guards. A double headed eagle replaced the single headed, bolt-holding eagle of the Komnenoi, signifying the change in the Empire's dynasty. Different flags flew, with the quartered standards of the Laskaris and Komnenos dynasties (for the Emperor), the Rhaoules and Palaiologos Dynasties (for the Empress) and the Laskaris and Palaiologos Dynasties (for the Vasilopais). Yet, other than that, the Great Palace stood as it had stood for nearly two millennia: solid, built in hard, colourful rock and marble, with numerous corinthian pillars, Tyrian purple curtains and all sorts of extravagant chandeliers and furniture, showcasing the overabandance of wealth that characterised New Tibur. As had been done for so long, the Emperor and his trusted advisors, including his wife, met in the Great Hall of the Palace, discussing what they had to. First on the list of issues was the formation of a Coalition against Kadikistan. The Prime Minister was the first to speak, once the formalities of welcoming the advisors had been dealt with.

«Μεγαλειότατε, εἶμαι σίγουρος ὄτι ἔχετε ἁκούσῃ γιὰ τὶς προσπάθεις τῶν Κυμβρίων νὰ ὀργανώσουν μία συμμαχία ἔναντι τῆς Καδικίδας.»
"Your Majesty, I am certain that you have heard of the Cumbrians' attempts at forming a coalition against Kadikistan."


«Πράγματι. Ὑπῆρξε κάποια πρόσκληση ἀπὸ μέρους τους γιὰ νὰ συμμετάσχουμε σε αὐτὴ τὴ συμμαχία;»
"Indeed. Was there any invitation on their behalf for us to take part in this coalition?"


«Ναί. Ὁ Ὑπουργὸς Ἐξωτερικῶν τῆς Ἀναξίας ζήτησε τὴν συμμετοχή μας, καθῶς καὶ αὐτὴ τῶν Ἀϊφελλανδῶν, τῶν Μελοδορφίων, τῶν Βουργουνδῶν, τῶν Ἰουστινίων, τῶν Ἐγγελλεξαίων, τῶν Νυφρυεδανῶν, τῶν Κυμρεγαίων, τῶν Ἱβερνίων καὶ τῶν Καρινθίων. Μέχρι τῶρα, ἔχουμε δεχτ
νὰ συμμετάσχουμε μόνον ἐμεῖς, οἱ Ἀϊφελλανδοί καὶ οἱ Μελοδόρφιοι καὶ ἡ συνάντηση θὰ λάβῃ χώρα στὸ Μέγαρο Λόγαναχ, στὸ Δῦν Γλάς τῆς Κυμβρίας.»
"Yes. The Minister of Foreign Affairs of the High Kingdom asked for our participation, as well as that of the Eiffellanders, Mehldorfians, Burgundians, Justianians, Engellexians, Nufruendanians,Cymregs, Ivernians and Carinthians. So far, only we, the Eiffellanders and the Mehldorfians have accepted the invitation and the meeting shall take place in Loganach Hall, in Cumbria's Dun Glas."


«Καλῶς. Ὅσο περισσότερο περιορίζουμε τοὺς Μαρξιστὲς-Λενινωφιστές, τόσο τὸ καλύτερο. Τὶ συμβολὴ θὰ ἔχουμε σε αὐτὴ τὴ συμμαχία;»
"Good. The more we contain the Marxists-Leninovists, the better. What participation will we have in this coalition?"


«Τεχνολογικὴ, διπλωματικὴ καὶ κυρίως στρατιωτική, γιὰ τὴν ὑπεράρσπιση συμμαχικῶν χωρῶν καὶ τὴν βελτίωση τῆς συνεργασίας μεταξὺ τῶν στρατευμάτων τῆς συμμαχίας. Τὰ ἐπίσημα ἔγγραφα θὰ ὑπογραφοῦν διακριτικὰ στὴν Κυμβρία.»
"Technological, diplomatic and, mainly, military, for teh defence of allied countries and the amelioration of the cooperation between allied troops. The formal documents will be signed discretely in Cumbria."


«Τότε θὰ ξαναμιλήσουμε μετὰ τὴν ὑπογραφή. Ποιὸ εἶναι τὸ ἐπόμενο θέμα;»
"Then we shall speak again, after the signing. What's the next topic?"


The Minister of Defence had been waiting to bring this topic up eagerly, as it was rather urgent.

«Οἱ συγκρούσεις μεταξὺ Ἐβραίων καὶ Μωαμεθανῶν στὴ Φιλισταία, Μεγαλειότατε.»
"The clashes between Jews and Mohammedians in Philistaea, Your Majesty."


The Empress spoke while looking at the Minister of Defence, briefly glancing at the Minister of Civic Protection, whose Minsitry was in charge of the security services, including the Police and the Minister of the Interior, to whose Ministry the Imperial Intelligence Agency belonged.

«Ὑπὸ ἄλλες συνθῆκες, θὰ θεωροῦσα ὄτι οἱ κύριοι Ὑπουργοὶ θὰ ἤθελαν νὰ ὑποβάλουν τὶς παραιτήσεις τους γιὰ τὰ εὐτράπελα στὴν Ἱερὰ Πόλη, ἄλλα τὸ ὕφος σας ὑποννοεῖ ὄτι ἔχετε κάτι στὸ μυαλό σας.»
"Under any other circumstances, I would think that the Ministers would like to submit their resignations for the events in the Holy City, but your tone indicates that you have something in mind."
he Emp

«Πράγματι, Μεγαλειοτάτη, ἔχουμε ἕνα σχέδιο γιὰ τὴ Φιλισταία.»
"Indeed, Your Majesty, we have a plan for Philistaea?"


«Τὸ ὁποῖο εἶναι;»
"Which is?"


«Νὰ χρησιμοποιήσουμε αὐτὴ τὴ σύγκρουση γιὰ νὰ δοῦμε ποιοὶ Ἐβραῖοι καὶ Μωαμεθανοὶ εἶναι μαζί μας καὶ ποιοὶ ὄχι. Οἱ αὐτονομιστὲς θὰ σπεύσουν στὴ μάχη γιὰ τὴν ἀνεξαρτησία, ἐνῷ οἱ πιστοὶ πολίτες θὰ μᾶς στηρίξουν ἢ τουλάχιστον δὲν θὰ μᾶς ἐναντιωθοῦν.»
"To use this conflict to see which among the Jews and Mohemmedians are with us and which are not. The seperatists will rush to battle for independence, while the loyal citizens will support us or at least not oppose us."


«Ἕνα ἄριστο σχέδιο. Με τὴν ἐνδυνάμωση τῶν ἐθνικισμῶν τῶν χωρῶν ἐκτὸς τῆς Δύσης, οἱ αὐτοκρατορίες τοῦ Παλιοῦ Κόσμου ἔχουν ἀρχίση νὰ διαλύονται. Ἀν θέλουμε ἡ δική μας, ἡ ἀρχαιοτέρα ὅλων, νὰ έπιβιώσῃ καὶ νὰ ἡγηθῇ τῆς μετά-ἀποικιακῆς Ὁμηρείας, πρέπει νὰ ἔχουμε ὅλες τὶς μειονότητες μαζί μας.»
"An excellent plan. With the strengthening of nationalisms outside the West, the empires of the Old World have started to collapse. If we want ours, which is the oldest of them all, to survive and lead post-colonial Himyar, we must have all minorities on our side."


«Ποιὸν σκοπεῦετε νὰ βάλετε νὰ καταπνίξῃ τὴν ἐξέγερση, ὅταν ἔλθῃ ἡ ὥρα;»
"Who do you plan on having to subdue to the revolt, once the time comes?"


«Ἔχουμε ἕναν συγκεκριμένο Ἐβραῖο Συνταγματάρχη στὸ μυαλό. Θέλουμε, βλέπετε, νὰ δοκιμάσουμε τὴν πίστη του.»
"We have a certain Jewish Colonel in mind. We want, you see, to test his loyalty."

 
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Pelasgia

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(Note: This post is directly linked to my post from the same day in . Please see post #5 of "In the Shadow of Leontius" for clarity. ~ Demos)

Imperial Ministry of National Defence, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
21/8/1956, 2:15 PM

Seeing the new ships of the Imperial Fleet on his way to Propontis had taken Syntagmatarchēs (Colonel) Iakōvos Levēs's mind back to his early days in the city, right before he joined the Imperial Military Academy, when he had arrived to Propontis along with a group of cadets of the Imperial Naval Academy on a civilian ship. To him, everything in the Vasileuousa, the Reigning City as they called Propontis in the Empire, seemed to be a display of power. Perhaps, it is that feeling of awe, along with a wish to get as far away from Hierosolyma as possible, which motivated him to join the Imperial Land Army. Thinking of all the training he had to go through and the rigid structure of the world's oldest fighting machine, he could not help but think of how desperate the position of his fellow Hierosolyman Jews was, should they decide to keep going with their revolt. He had met a few Jews, both in Propontis and in Therme, where he was stationed, but they were far less religious and had been integrated much better into society. To those people, their faith was just that: a religion. They were citizens of the Empire and they proudly ticked 'Pelasgian' for their ethnic group once the papers for the census came every four years. One of the children of a family which had invited him over once even wondered why they needed such a category. In her little eyes, they were all Pelasgians, through and through. If only it were that simple, the Colonel thought. All he could wish for is that Rabbi and his fanatics wouldn't do anything stupid. Avraam Bakas had been locked up now, at least that could have put some sense into his mind.

After getting off the passenger ship that took him to Propontis, he was driven by a taxi to the the building of the Imperial Ministry of National Defence, in Propontis's historic city centre. Pelasgian taxi drivers seemed to know and to have done everything in the world, or at least their endless desire to speak and their teacher-like tone made one think as much. And in the Vasileuousa, it was worse than anywhere else. Having survived a fourty minute taxi ride, in which he was informed of a taxi driver's most educated opinion on the Burgundian-Serenierrien dispute as well as his proposed plan to "smash the commies with bombs" (which were guaranteed to come along the moment the driver saw the Colonel's uniform) and his personal story during the time of the terrorist attacks by the DKKP in Propontis, the Colonel was finally dropped off outside the Ministry, paying the driver with a bill and some coins. The bill was adorned with an image of the Imperial University of Propontis and the likeness of the Pelasgian grammatician and lexicologist Dr. Krios. After paying and telling the driver goodbye, the Colonel looked at one of the coins; on one side it bore the likeness of the Emperor, with the inscription «ΑΤΤΑΛΟΣ Α' Λ.-Κ. - ΒΑΣΙΛΕΑΣ ΤΩΝ ΠΕΛΑΣΓΩΝ» ("ATTALUS I L.-K. - EMPEROR OF THE PELASGIANS"). On the other it bore the Imperial Eagle, surrounded by the words «ΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΑ ΤΩΝ ΠΕΛΑΣΓΩΝ - 1 ΥΠΕΡΠΥΡΟ» ("PELASGIAN EMPIRE - 1 HYPERPYRON"). Gripping the coin, he showed a sentry his papers and his summons, being allowed into the Ministry's courtyard. There he saw, the Taxiarchos (Brigadier) who had been his superior for years upon years, dishonoured in the courtyard: he had been stripped of his shoulder insignia and the Imperial Eagle on his kepi, the ceremonial cap of the Pelasgian Army since the late 19th century. A member of the Imperial Land Army's Ceremonial Guard broke the man's sword with his leg, as the entire guard and multiple officers were assembled in the courtyard. The eyes of the two men crossed, but the Colonel kept walking, being flanked by his escort, Colonel Pheraia of the Army's Internal Affairs Department. She spoke to him, as they were going up the stairs.

«Θὰ βρεῖτε τὸ γραφεῖο τοῦ κυρίου Ἀρχιστρατήγου στὸ τέλος του διαδρόμου.»
"You will find the office of the Marshal at the end of the hallway."

«Σᾶς εὐχαριστῶ. Μήπως ξέρετε τὶ γινόταν στὸ προαύλιο;»
"Thank you. Would you know what was going on in the courtyard?"

«Ναί. Δυστυχῶς, δὲν δύναμαι νὰ σᾶς πῶ τίποτε πέραν τῶν ἀπαραιτήτων γιὰ τὴν ἐπισκεψή σας. Καλή σας ἠμέρα, Συνταχματάρχα Λεβή.»
"Yes. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you anything more than what is absolutely necessary for your visit. Good day to you, Colonel Levēs."

«Καὶ σε σᾶς, Συνταγματάρχα Φεραία.»
"And to you, Colonel Pheraia."

The Colonel knocked on the office's wooden door, being flanked by a guard, who wore an olive drab uniform just like everyone else in the Imperial Army.

«Ἐλᾶτε.»
"Come in."

Walking into the room, the Colonel stood in attention, with a guard right next to him. Marshal Herakleios Artopoiopoulos greeted him.

«Συνταγματάρχα Λεβή, καλό ἀπόγευμα. Βλέπω ἤλθατε, ἐπιτέλους.»
"Good afternoon to you, Colonel Levēs. I see you've finally arrived."

«Συγνώμη, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε, ὑπήρχε μία καθυστέρηση στὸ πλοῖο ἀν καὶ ἡ Βασιλεύουσα ἔχει λιγότερη κίνηση ἀπ' ὄτι συνήθως. Περίμενα νὰ δῶ τὸν κύριο Ὑπουργό.»
"I'm sorry, Marshal sir, there was a setback on the ship even though the Reigning City has less traffic than usual. I was expecting to see the Minister."

«Λογικὸ εἶναι, ἐκεῖνος σᾶς προσκάλεσε. Ὁ κύριος Ὑπουργός εἶναι ἀπασχολημένος με μία ἔκτακτη σύγκληση του Ὑπουργικοῦ Συμβουλίου. Θὰ σᾶς μεταφέρω τὰ λόγια του, ἐγώ.»
"That's reasonable, he was the one who invited you. But the Minister is busy with an emergency meeting of the Council of Ministers. I will relay his words to you."

«Ἔκτακτη σύγκληση τοῦ Ὑπυργικοῦ Συμβουλίου; Ἔχει νὰ κάνῃ με τὰ γεγονότα στὰ Ἱεροσόλυμα;»
"An emergency meeting of the Ministerial Council? Does it have to do with the events in Hierosolyma?"

«Φυσικά. Ὅπως καὶ ἡ παρουσία σας ἐδῶ.»
"Of course. As does your presence here."

The Minister put down the men with which he had been writing and looked at the Colonel.

«Συνταγματάρχα, φαντάζομαι εἴδατε τὶ ἔγινε στὸ ἀνώτερό σας;»
"Colonel, I imagine that you saw what happened to your superior?"

«Μάλιστα, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε.»
"Yes, Marshal sir."

«Καλῶς. Ξέρετε γιατὶ ἔγινε;»
"Good. Do you know why it happened?"

«Κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε, με ὅλο το σεβασμό, ὁ Ταξίαρχος Καβαλάρης εἶναι ἕνας ἄριστος ἀξιωματικός-»
"Marshal sir, with all due respect, Brigadier Kavalarēs is an excellent officer-"

«Ἡ ἰκανότητά του ποτὲ δὲν ἀμφισβητήθηκε. Μόνον ἡ ἀκαιρεότητά του.»
"His competence was never of question. Only his integrity."

«Δηλαδή;»
"Meaning?"

«Δηλαδή παρέβηκε ῥητὲς ἐντολὲς γιὰ νὰ βάλῃ κατὰ κακοποιῶν στοιχείων ποὺ παραβίασαν τὸ διάταγμα τοῦ Κυβερνήτη τῆς Φιλισταίας.»
"Meaning that he disobeyed direct orders to open fire against deliquents who violated the decree of the Governor of Philistaea."

«Κατὰ τὴ γνώμη μου, κύριε-»
"In my opinion, sir-"

«Δὲν μὲ ἐνδιαφέρει ἡ γνώμη σας. Οὔτε αὐτὴ τοῦ πρώην Ταξιάρχου. Ἔχετε διαταγές. Εἶμαι κατανοητός, Συνταγματάρχα;»
"I don't care about your opinion. Neither do I care about that of the former Brigadier. You have orders. Am I clear, Colonel?"

«Πλήρως, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε.»
"Fully, Marshal sir."

«Καλῶς. Τῶρα, θὰ στείλουμε τὴν Ταξιαρχία σας στὴν Τιβεριάδα, ὅπου θὰ ἀναμείνετε διαταγές. Προσωρινά, τὴ διοίκηση τῆς Ταξιαρχίας θὰ ἔχῃ ἡ Συνταγματάρχης Φεραία, ἡ ὁποία θὰ λαμβάνῃ διαταγὲς κατευθείαν ἀπὸ ἐμένα. Ἀν κρίνῃ ὄτι δράσατε ἄριστα καὶ ὄτι δὲν παραβιάσατε καμία διαταγή, βάζοντας τὸ καλὸ τῆς Βασιλείας πάνω ἀπὸ ὁποιαδήποτε προσωπικὴ μεροληψία, θὰ γίνετε ὁ νέος Ταξίαρχος. Ἀλλιῶς θὰ ἔχετε τὴν ἴδια μοίρα με τὸν προηγούμενο Ταξίαρχο. Καταλαβαίνετε; »
"Good. Now, we will send your Taxiarchia (Brigade) to Tiberias, where you will await orders. Temporarily, command of the Brigade will be given to Colonel Pheraia, who will receive orders from me. If she judges that you acted excellently and you did not disobey any order, putting the good of the Empire above any personnal partiality, you will become the new Brigadier. Otherwise, you will share the same fate as the last Brigadier. Do you understand?"

«Ναί, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε.»
"Yes, Marshal sir."

«Καλῶς. Γιὰ ὁποιαδήποτε άπορία, ἀπευθυνθεῖτε στὴν Συνταγματάρχη Φεραία. Ἐλεύθερος.»
"Good. For any questions you might have, speak to Colonel Pheraia. Dismissed."

 
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Pelasgia

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Imperial Armed Forces Police Headquarters, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
31/9/1956, 10:25 a.m.


Colonel Leandros Komnēnikos was enjoying the rare comfort of a Saturday morning, a time so relaxing that even criminals seemed to calm down. Galatopyrgos was truly the most pleasant of places in Propontis, or the world for that matter, during those times, at least to Leandros; far fewer people would be up so early, making his ride to work slower or mildly enraging, allowing him to wake up later and come to Asēmenios Mansion, the headquarters of the Imperial Armed Forces Police (VAED) in Velissariou Square, with greater speed and comfort. He could at least pretend to be working at a normal job, or even a less stressful job within the Military, since there were few posts as hectic as that of the VAED’s Intelligence Chief. That is, he could pretend to do so on any other Saturday; for today he was meeting with Imperial Police contact once more, as part of the agreement between the two agencies to cooperate, which had come into existence following the abolition of the Imperial Army Police’s authority in civilian affairs when the Junta fell.

Opposite him was the contact in question, a Police Colonel (or Police Director, as a more accurate translation of the Pelasgian title would be) who was in charge of the Police’s Anti-Terrorism division. Sipping some morning coffee, the two men enjoyed a moment of silence, while the Police Colonel looked through the day’s edition of the Propontios Logothetēs.

«Λοιπόν;»
“So?”

«Ἕνας ἄτυχος Ἐβραῖος τραπεζίτης βρέθηκε σε μιᾶ ῥεματιᾶ στὴν Πιεῤῥεία χθὲς τὸ πρωί.»
“An poor Jewish banker was found in a stream in Pierrea yesterday morning.”

«Ὅσοι χρηματοδοτοῦν ἐξεγέρσεις ἐναντίον τῆς Βασιλείας κρυφὰ ἔχουν τὴν τάση νὰ τὸ παθαίνουν αὐτό.»
“Those who secretly fund revolts against the Empire have a tendency to suffer that fate.”

«Λέει ὄτι ἦταν αὐτόχειρας. Δὲν τυχαίνει νὰ σχετιζόμαστε με αὐτὸ το τραγικὸ γεγονώς, ἔτσι;»
“It says that he took his own life. We don’t happen to be connected to this tragic event by any chance, right?”

«Σκανδαλωδέστατον. Φυσικὰ καὶ ναί.»
“Most scandalous. Of course we are.”

The two men grinned and took another sip of coffee before putting their caps down and getting down to business.

«Λοιπόν, στὸ θέμα μας. Πῶς πάει ἡ ἔρευνα γιὰ τοὺς ἀναρχοκομμουνιστές;»
“Well, moving on to our topic. How is the investigation into the anarchocommunists going?”

«Ἀρκετά καλά. Ἔχουμε σημαντικὴ πρόοδο: λίστες μελῶν, φακέλους, σχέδια, κοριούς, συχνότητες, χάρτες καὶ τὰ συναφή. Ἀπλῶς δῶστε τὸ πρόσταγμα καὶ θὰ βάλουμε τοὺς μισοὺς μέσα.»
“Quite well. We have significant progress: lists of members, files, plans, bugs, frequencies, maps and so on. Just give the signal and we’ll take half of them them in.”

«Θὰ τὸ λάτρεβα, ὅμως ἡ Βασιλεία ἔχει σημαντικότερους ἐχθροὺς ἀπὸ λίγους Φιλοκαδικίους. Οἱ Ἐγγελεξαῖοι ἔχουν γίνῃ ἰδιαίτερα ἐνοχλητικοί, τελευταῖα, καὶ οἱ μοῦλοι τους στὸ Νότο θέλουν νὰ πάρουν τὴ Φιλισταία.»
“ I would love to do so, but the Empire has bigger enemies than a few Kadikophiles. The Engells have became particularly annoying, as of late, and their bastards down South want to take Philistaea.”

«Πάνω ἀπ' τὰ πτώματά μας.»
“Over our dead bodies.”

«Συμφωνῶ, μὰ γι’ αὐτὸ πρέπει νὰ ἠρεμήσῃ ἡ κατάσταση με τοὺς Καδικούς. Προσωρινὰ, τουλάχιστον, θὰ σεβαστοῦμε καὶ οἱ δύο τὶς ἰσοῤῥοπίες ἰσχύος στὴ Μακρὰ Θάλασσα.»
“I agree, but for that we need to situation with the Kadikistanis to calm down. Temporarily, at least, we will both respect the balances of power in the Long Sea.”

«Κατανοητό.»
“Understood.”
 

Pelasgia

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Great Palace of Propontis, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
23/10/1956, 10:27 p.m.

The Grand Imperial War Council had been convened for the second time in a year; the first time it had been convened, it was to deal with Kadikistani aggression against Justiza, and it had set the stage for the most dramatic change in the Empire's politics since the establishment of the short lived Pelasgian Republic. This time, the stakes were even higher; Kadikistan had openly stated that failure to abandon the Imperial Base on Justiza’s Baia di Spigola (or Vasē Kolpou Spigolas, as it was known in Pelasgian), would lead to open war. Of course, this was not a threat of war; Pelasgia and Kadikistan had both committed themselves to non-aggression. No, this was a statement of fact.

The so-called “Socialist World Republic” had tried to set up a meeting, with the stated goal being a peaceful settlement of the Kalahari crisis. Yet, as shown by the very fact that a nation with no place in the Kalahari had tried to orchestrate a meeting to determine the fate of the Kalahari, this was but a sham. First and foremost, the invitation to the meeting contained highly negative and damning assumptions about the Empire’s base on Justiza which made it impossible for the Empire to attend without abandoning her whole foreign policy. Furthermore, the meeting would deal with the “legitimate interests” of the “Republic” and others who tried to change the balance of power in the Kalahari Sea. To call this farce of a position unacceptable would be the definition of an understatement.

Thus, it was becoming increasingly clear to the Empire’s government that war was soon coming. It had never been the intention of the Engello-Socialists to avoid it. In fact, the Neo-Imperialists of Deliverance, in the guise of liberators and while spewing the typical nonsense of “oppression” and “elites” that their like seemed to use as standardized responses in any debate, were actively seeking armed conflict. Not unlike the Antheneans of old, in the time of their First Empire, their belief in their own moral superiority had left their minds and perceptions defenceless, easy prey to Atë. And with their minds under Atë’s spell, their hubris was bound to come. As such, it was the duty of the Pelasgians, like the Cydrelians unto the Antheneans, to bring down Nemesis upon them, so that they might be reminded of their mortality and their place. And if these would-be Cydrelians were fortunate, they would find their Leuktrans to deliver Tisis.

Yet, just like the state of affairs which had initially led to division among the Cydrelians and the Leuktrans, the states of the Kalahari, those with a rightful stake in its affairs, were too tied up in their own affairs to join their efforts against the respective Hubrists of their times. As such, it was the task of the Pelasgians to join the efforts of the Free World and Europe’s lesser evils against a villain whose sole goal was to hold dominion over all the once free and proud Nations of Europe, to make of them slaves who would be deprived of their culture and liberty, all in the name of a “peaceful coexistence”, whose condescending and oppressive nature wholly escaped its perpetuators, along with its sheer hypocrisy.

Emperor Attalos Laskaris-Komnēnos, Empress Maria Eirēnē Palaiologina-Rhaoulina, Prime Minister Sophoklēs A. Krevatas, Megas Doux & Minister of National Defence Nikolaos Kallergēs, Minister of Foreign Affairs Ikaros Dragasēs, Marshal Hērakleios Artopoiopoulos, and VYP Director Vasilios Stavrou, all found themselves seated around the large, round, oaken table at the centre of the domed room of the Great Palace of Propontis, where the Council was held. Surrounded by pale white marble, majestic chandeliers, ornate mosaics, detailed frescos, especially on the dome, and the purple curtains which flanked the room’s two large windows, the men were about to make a decision which would shape the future of Europe for centuries to come. The room itself was located between two large doors, as it located between two large sections of the palace. One window provided a view to one of the palace’s internal courtyards, where the Pierrhean Guards were assembling in formation, while the other provided a view to the palace’s central gardens.

“’Everything changes’ Heraclitus used to say,” the Emperor said, breaking the oppressive silence which had dominated the room.

“And so does our world,” the Empress added; “Once we used to viciously hate the Kadikistanis, yet now the Engello-Socialists have earned that honour.”

“We still hate the Kadikistanis, Your Majesty. We just hate the South Himyari State more; or perhaps we care more about affairs which are closer to us than those which are further away, like any reasonable human being,” the Megas Doux replied.

“Perhaps,” said the Emperor; “Now, let us see how we shall adapt to this Brave New World, lest we perish. Mr. Prime Minister?”

“We cannot sustain our base on Justiza, Your Majesty. It is in direct violation of the Status Quo Treaty and it shall surely bring about war,” the Prime Minister said; “The Junta might have had the privilege of disregarding the Treaty, but we do not.”

“War shall come either way,” the Emperor replied; “It is the manner in which it will come and that in which we shall receive it which concerns Us.”

“Abandoning our base on Justiza would be the best course of action,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs interjected; “Of course, we should make it clear that it is out of a newfound resolve to respect the Status Quo Treaty and not out of any reaction of the pleas of the Engello-Socialist scum. We ought to make it very clear that they have no place in the Kalahari; that should earn us the support of the other states in the region.”

“I agree,” the Megas Doux pointed out, “the base cannot be held, and if it must be sacrificed now for the sake of a greater coalition against Engello-Socialist aggression instead of two weeks from now, during a hopeless war on all sides, so be it. At least nobody can accuse us of be aggressors.”

“And we can retain our alliance with Justiza and our commitment to protect her,” the Prime Minister added.

“Very well,” the Emperor replied, with a compromising tone; “what of our allies and our military?”

“We can expect support from all of our allies, even our most recent friends across the Long Sea,” the Minister of Foreign Affairs stated, while pulling out a large stack of documents, probably containing diplomatic correspondence and Ministerial reports; “While we had counted on Burgundian support, it seems we shall not see any of it, for now at least, but we can do without it.”

“As for our military,” the Megas Doux added, somewhat hastily, “a moderate mobilization, along with a major reinforcement of the southern border, should take care of most of our needs on land. Reservsists should be called in, immediately. The Second Fleet should patrol the waters to our west, in case anybody, like the Engells or the new Saaremaan regime, is crazy enough to attempt hostile action against the Empire. The Fourth Fleet should focus on patrolling the Kalahari, while the First and Third Fleets should be ready to support the rest of the Imperial Navy, by being on constant alert.”

“Our position on the Horn of Himyar, in Lauenburger Himyar, should be quickly and decisively strengthened, so as to be able to check Engello-Socialist shipping and fleet movements and, if need be, disrupt either one, or both,” the Marshal added; “The Lauenburgers would also play a pivotal role in checking Southern Himyari naval incursions.”

“We should also increase monitoring of the Engello-Socialist embassy and consulates,” the Director of VYP said; “They will probably be trying to monitor our own movements and communications, so I motion that we immediately switch to computerized and upper-tier encryption for all crucial communications, while switching all classified or sensitive communication to increased, wartime encryption.”

“All this seems feasible and necessary,” the Emperor said, after listening attentively; “See to it.”

Keras tēs Homēreias Base, Horn of Himyar, Lauenburger Himyar
24/10/1956, 11:03 a.m.

Lieutenant Valentios Kastanos, of the 5[SUP]th[/SUP] Marine Division, had been serving in the Imperial Marine Corps for nearly two months by the time he had found himself standing on an airfield, near the coast of Lauengurber Himyar. In the absence of a family, the Corps had become his family; the blood relations and bonds of common experiences, social norms, and love which connected a normal families, had been replaced by an ironically homoerotic-like reverence for masculinity and manly bloodlust. Like a child wishing to impress his father, Valentios, whose last name meant “chestnut-brown”, in reference to his hair and eye colour, stood next to Captain Telamōnas Spanos, a Melingian beast of a man, with an appropriately Leuktran name, was almost like a father to the Marines, a perfect specimen of pure manhood. Spanos, whose last name was a Pelasgian word for a grown man who remained hairless or barely haired (ie. lacking in facial and body hair), was as hairy as he was muscular, which is to say extremely. Military regulation demanded that he cut his beard, but the old Hound of Leuktron could not “give two shits” about regulation; the Leuktrans who had fought with Leonidas had had beards, as had his namesake, and he was not going to give up on centuries of Melingian military tradition for the sake of the rules some feminine Propontine or Anthenean thought up, in between bedding boys and barbarian servant girls, the likes of which were the only woman he could get to bed. After all, the Emperor himself, literally a divine being to both Christians (Orthodox Christians that is, but to Spanos all others were just moribund heretics) and Pelasgian Polytheists (such as the Captain’s parents), had a magnificent beard, the likes of which one could only see on statues of Medieval Sovereigns in other countries.

“Good morning, Captain, Sir,” the Lieutenant said, in full attention, wearing his regulation khaki uniform, with a wedge-cap, a short-sleeved shirt, and short pants, along with long socks, since only the Captain was allowed the privilege of breaking uniform regulations.

“How’s the installation going, my boy?” the Captain said, with reference to the massive missile system which was unloaded onto a platform, next to a brand new long-range radar, from a crate which had arrived from the Fatherland a couple of days in advance.

“Excellent, Sir. It’s ahead of schedule, with no errors,” Kastanos replied, quickly suppressing a treacherous smirk.

“Perfect,” the Captain said, being a man of few words, like any true Leuktran.

“Requesting permission to ask a question, Sir,” the young Anthenean Marine said, after gathering the appropriate courage.

“Granted.”

“Is it true that we’re abandoning our base of Justiza, Sir?” Kastanos asked, unabated by the Captain’s unchanged tone, too consumed by his dream that one day he would be a Legend like Spanos, which seemed all the more likely considering that the Corps was exclusively made up of professionals, giving him all the time in the world to achieve his dream.

“As true as you’re standing on this airfield,” the Captain said, following up his disheartening remark with an epic speech of pure virility, so as to prevent even the slightest drop in his subordinate’s morale; “But make no mistake, these anti-air systems are the best in the world, nearly unbreachable; and they’re here to guard a refueling and landing station for PHE long range, super-sonic, high altitude bombers. These babies fly so high and so fast that they’re practically invincible, and they can deliver any payload across half the globe, without refueling or ever stopping. What’s more is that these new rockets we shipped in recently can track and hit a ship 900 miles away, so you can damn well guarantee that if any stinking barbarian ship comes to start trouble, we’ll get those commies a date with Poseidon, and they won’t even see us coming. Even if they did, they can’t do jack shit about it. Furthermore, my dear Lieutenant, if they decide to try hitting our base, not only will our ships be constantly rotating on patrol, so we’ll catch ‘em early, but our new radars and air defences will turn their joke of an airforce into rubble. And if need be, we can use our PHE bombers to pay their pathetic cities a visit and kill off every single last mother-fucking Commie populating their disgusting, Jew-infested dystopia.”

The Captain was a bit overconfident and far from anything resembling a politically correct or impartial speaker, but he had basically outlined Imperial strategy with pertinence to the Horn of Himyar: keep us in and them out, but fire no first shots… for now, at least.
 
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Pelasgia

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Ecumenical Patriarchate of Propontis, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea
6 /12/1956, 11:54 AM

Over a thousand years had passed since the foundation of the Archbishopric of Propontis, by Valentian the Great[SUP]1[/SUP]. The Patriarchate itself was almost a hundred years younger than the Archbishopric itself, and its history was neither short nor without troubles. It had started out as a mere set of bureaucratic offices to accompany the Archbishoprics dominance over Christianity, grown to act as a second Logothesion of the Road[SUP]2[/SUP], seen the Great Schism of the North and the South, been exiled to Nymphaeum by the Heretical Crusaders, and returned bit by bit to its former glory, though it had obviously never attained its original place in global Christianity.

The building of the Patriarchate itself perfectly reflected that reality, if one knew where to look. Though the nominal seat of the Patriarchate was the majestic Imperial Cathedral of Hagia Pronoia[SUP]3[/SUP], where the Patriarch’s throne was located, most of the Patriarchate’s actual business went on in the nearby administrative offices owned by the Orthodox Church. Its hallways, built mostly of the red Tiburan bricks on which Propontine architecture was largely based, the various differently coloured bricks which originated from repairs or architectural changes all reflected the various moments of the institution’s history.

In one such hallway, on the second floor of the Patriarchate’s offices, Bishop Sophrōnios of Theake and Bishop Chrysostomos II of Telmessus sat and looked at the Imperial Cathedral, which could be seen from clearly from the window-less, balcony like space of the hallway, which led to the Great Patriarchal Library. For quite a few moments, the two men stood silent, with their wrists on the balcony-like wall in front of them, listening to the sounds of the birds in the lush gardens which covered the area around Hagia Pronoia and the Patrirchate.

“His All-Holiness’s physician has been summoned to the Patriarchal residence,” Sophrōnios said, breaking the serene silence of the scene.

“His All-Holiness is a strong man, in faith and in spirit,” Chrysostomos replied; “But the years have taken a toll on his body.”

“Even so, bearing an office of such gravity to the age of ninety-one is worthy of praise,” Sophrōnios said, shifting his tone from one of pessimism to one of mild admiration.

“Patriarch Gregory shall go down in history as one of the great defenders of the Great Church of Christ[SUP]4[/SUP],” Chrysostomos added; “Yet His All-Holiness’s time to meet the Lord is drawing closer, as much as it pains me to say so.”

“And the Great Church of Christ shall be left to the devices to rascals and lackeys, men who would reduce the House of the Lord to a House of Merchants and Thieves. They care not for their souls or those of their flock, but for earthly status and pleasure.”

“You speak of Metropolitan Archbishop Eustathios II of Therme,” Chrysostomos said, gently moving his head up and down, to indicate his approval.

“Indeed, I most regrettably do,” Sophrōnios retorted; “Since when does licking the hand of an Emperor who seized the throne grant one the right to the Patriarch’s Throne?”

“It has happened in the history of the Great Church of Christ, more than I would like to admit,” Chrysostomos pointed out, “but the thought that we should go back to those times of centuries ago, when the depravity of the Clergy and Rulers brought the Fourth Crusade upon us, is one that I do not entertain pleasantly.”

“How would the idea of the next Patriarch coming from Opsicia seem to you?”

“It would seem like a welcome change,” Chrysostomos replied; “One that could save the Great Church of Christ from the decline that it has been cursed with.”

“I see no reason why Theake should be opposed,” Sophrōnios said; “Or any other Metropole and Bishopric in Old Pelasgia for that matter.”

“Then send my regards to the Archbishop of Anthene,” Chysostomos said, as he turned to walk back towards the library.

“And mine to the Metropolitan of Nymphaeum,” Sophrōnios replied, as he turned towards the door leading to the Patriarchal Archives.

FOOTNOTES
1. The Archbishopric of Propontis was founded upon the city’s refoundation under the name “New Tibur” by Valentian the Great in 330.
2. The Propontine Imperial equivalent to aMinistry of Foreign Affairs, which was replaced by the Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs as part of a general modernization and westernization effort in the late 19[SUP]th[/SUP] century by Imperial decree. The Junta later reinstituted it as the Logothesion of External Affairs, but it was once again abolished and replaced by the Imperial Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 1956, after the Laskarid Restoration.
3. Literally meaning “Metropolitan Temple of the Divine Providence”, the Cathedral of Hagia Pronoia is the largest Orthodox Church in Europe and was for a long time the largest single building in the world. A massive structure, it was rumoured in medieval times that its dome was indistinguishable from heaven itself. Built by Sabbatian the Great to show off the Empire’s wealth and might, it is widely considered to be the epitome of Propontine Architecture, as well as the most emblematic structure of Propontis and Pelasgia as a whole.
4. The “Great Church of Christ” (Μεγάλη τοῦ Χριστοῦ Ἐκκλησία), also referred to as the “Great Church of Christ in Propontis” (Εν Προποντίδι Μεγάλη τοῦ Χριστοῦ Ἐκκλησία), is a term used to refer to the Southern Orthodox Church by Imperial authorities, the Orthodox clergy, and many religious Pelasgians, similar to how many Catholic clergymen refer to their own Church as “Our Holy Mother Church”.
 
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Pelasgia

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Metropolitan Temple of Hagia Pronoia, Therme, Theme of Pierrheia
10/12/1956, 3:34 PM

To say that Therme had a plethora of temples would be an understatement; from Jewish Synagogues for Orthodox and Reformed Jews, to countless Churches for Catholic, Orthodox, and Haydian Christians lined the wide streets and overshadowed the open squares of the Symbasileuousa. Among them were the Rotunda, originally an ancient Tiburan mausoleum for an Emperor, which was connected to an Arch and two large Colonnades, right next to the ancient forum, rumoured to be the oldest Christian Church in Pelasgia proper, the Church of Saint Demetrius, an ancient Basilica that had been the first building built specifically to be a Church from scratch in Pelasgia proper, and the Hagia Pronoia of Therme, the temple that had served as the Imperial Cathedral of many of the Empire’s successor states while the Latins were holding Propontis after the Fourth Crusade.

Hagia Pronoia bore the name of its counterpart in Propontis, but it was not nearly as massive. It was still an awe-inspiring structure, exemplifying Propontine architectural skill in its right, but it was the cathedral of the Empire’s second largest city, and thus it sized appropriately. While the administration of provinces in the Empire had always been rather centralised, Demes, save for the of Propontis, had always had a rather great deal of autonomy, and the public works of the Deme were indicative of the city’s wealth, culture, piety, and prosperity. Each Demos (from the Pelasgian work Demos, meaning people) had control over its own Polis, which often included the city proper, as well as many suburbs and surrounding areas. These Demes were distinct from, though often confused with by foreigners, the Demes of the Hippodrome, which were athletic and, up until the previous century, political associations in each Imperial city, named after a specific colour (Propontis had the Prasinoi/Greens, Venetoi/Blues, and so on). In a theocratic society such as that of Propontine Pelasgia, the cathedral each Deme managed to construct was directly proportional to its prestige and respect.

Hagia Pronoia of Therme was constructed in the style of a domed Pelasgian cross basilica, its dome’s four main supporting pillars being positioned in such a way that the central part of the temple, which resembled two perpendicular and intertwined parallelograms, had the shape of an isosceles cross (commonly referred as the “Pelasgian Cross” outside of the Empire, due to the Pelasgians’ intensive use of it in architecture and religious symbolism). The dome itself bore the likenesses the apostles, the Virgin Mary, the two Archangels, and, surrounded by all the aforementioned figures, Jesus Christ “Pantokrator” (ruler of everything), whose image always adorned the centre of all Pelasgian churches’ domes, save for those whose mosaics had been permanently ruined by iconoclasts and replaced by geometric patterns and motifs. From the dome hanged a massive golden chandelier, whose curved arms were shaped like oriental birds, each supporting a single candle, all of which numbered in the tens if not hundreds together, adding to a dim yet not dark, semi-mystical atmosphere of the Cathedral.

Unlike the oriental and non-realistic design of many Pelasgian churches, principally those outside of Pelasgia proper, the figures and images in the Cathedrals and Temples of major cities in the Empire’s heartlands, like Therme, Anthene, Acroterium, or Propontis, were much more classical and realistic, though their distinctiveness from Catholic and other non-Orthodox Christian iconography was evident to any eye. Unlike the Churches of other varieties of Christianity, most Orthodox Churches bore mosaics and frescos on every single one of their surfaces; on the ground level, these consisted of the images of the various Saints of the region and the city, whose names were written in traditional Ecclesiastic Uncial Calligraphy, that often joined many letters into one monogram or omitted letters and placed a tilde over the word to signify that some syllables had been skipped between the first and last letter. Above these images were biblical scenes, mostly from the New Testament, to emphasise the difference between the Jews and the Christians of the city, and to illustrate the life of Jesus, concluding with a mosaic the of the Resurrection near the altar. Light came into the church through the coloured windows on its sides, which were few and thin, along with a series of smaller windows on the circular wall which supported the solid dome. Pillars and pilasters of the Codrian style, the kind which was especially adored by the Tiburans, lined the church’s interior, both for decoration and for support, though their capitals were much more oriental in their style, being indicative of the Christianised Southern Empire’s more oriental attitudes than those of its Classical predecessor which was based on the other side of the Long Sea. The Hagia Pronoia of Therme, like most Pelasgian Churches, was built out of bricks and Tiburan mortar, and while that was not evident in the smooth and mosaic-covered internal surfaces of the Temple, the exterior showed it rather obviously. The Pelasgians often decorated the exterior of their churches by having bricks of different colours, mostly shades of ochre, brown, and red (on the mainland, not the islands, that is) form geometric shapes.

Within the Cathedral, Metropolitan Archbishop Eustathios II of Therme, along with Bishop Ephraim III of Sabbatiopolis, a city to the south of the Therme, walked between the rows of wooden seats, each one carved in such a way its part which was meant to support the back of whoever was sitting on it shaped like a double headed eagle, opposite to the altar. Silence reigned in the Church, as nobody save for the two men was in it at that time in the afternoon. Since no outstanding official ceremonies were schedule for that day, the two men wore the common priestly dress of Pelasgian Orthododx clerics: long, black robes, without any decoration of any sort, coupled with a conical black hat covering their heads, and an ornate golden cross on their chests. The only article of clothing (of the “amphia” as Pelasgians called clerical dress) separating the Archbishop from the Bishop was an omophorion, which was mainly white but decorate with golden string, having two large brown crosses, one on each side of the body, worn around the neck and over the shoulders and chest.

“It would seem,” said the Archbishop of Therme, “that His All-Holiness is nearing the time that he shall come to meet the Lord.”

“Indeed,” replied the Bishop of Sabbatiopolis, “I have heard that we shall soon be called to the Basileuousa.”

“First to the chambers of the Patriarch, then to the table of the Synod of Bishops,” Eustathios retorted.

The Archbishop’s tone was indicative of his sadness at the knowledge that the Patriarch was about to die, though how much of the sadness was an artificial veil to cover the anticipation of his greatest ambition’s fulfillment was unclear. The Bishop made no comment on that aspect of his fellow clergyman’s speech; the hierarchy of the Church had always involved competition, though he always tried to console himself by thinking that the Bishops competed out of a desire to save the Church in their own way, rather than out of pure greed and vanity. Sometimes, he had trouble believing these thoughts himself.

“The Synod of Bishops should not concern Your Eminence, for you already have the support of His Imperial Majesty,” the Bishop pointed out.

The Archbishop stopped walking for a second, just next to the stairs leading to the altar, and turned to face the Bishop of Sabbatiopolis.

“O my dear friend, if only it were that simple,” the Archbishop pointed out; “The Emperor might have the last word, being the Sole Representative of God on Europe, but I do not recall an Emperor going against the advice of the Synod since the beginning of the previous century.”

The Bishop was silent, and the Archbishop spoke again.

“Come, now. All the Bishops and the Patriarchs[SUP]1[/SUP] have a vote, and that includes you. Though, we must earn the support of the Patriarchs of Hierosolyma, Edessa, and the like, if we are to ensure our success. An Emperor’s word is as good as gold, and yet I have not seen his promise on a Chrysoboulon[SUP]2[/SUP].”

FOOTNOTES
1. The Bishops or Archbishops of certain historic cities and regions of Christianity, these being: Edessa, Hierosolyma, Anaxandria, and Propontis (the first among equals). There are also “junior” Patriarchates, created after the consolidation Pentarchy: the Patriarchate of Hiberia, the Patriarchate of Haydia, the Patriarchate of Chetnik, the Patriarchate of Kadikistan (in exile), the Patriarchate of Novozelenyrus, and the Catholicon Patriarchate of All Marken in the North.
2. An Imperial Decree sealed with a thin layer of gold, to which a strip of Tyrian purple and gold Propontine silk is attached, and signed with once expensive red ink, to signify the official and eternal nature of an Emperor’s pledge that the Empire shall abide by its contents forever, unless otherwise specified within the document itself. It is often metaphorically used to signify an explicit promise/command of something, or the absence thereof.
 
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Pelasgia

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Asbestopyrgos, Anthene, Theme of Aethyia
26/12/1956, 8:56 PM

Asbestopyrgos is one of the most well-known, or, rather, infamous, parangoupoleis of Pelasgia, its population numbering over one hundred thousand people despite its rather small size. How all these people, a combination of peasants who moved to Anthene during its industrialisation, Kadikistani Pelasgians who fled to the city following the Communist revolution, and all sorts of destitute people and immigrants, managed to live in this tiny spec of land was perfectly explained in the suburb’s name: “tower of lime.” Most buildings in this densely populated area were rather tall, usually at least five floors tall, some up to twice that number, if not more, their surfaces being routinely covered with white lime to combat the already rampant spread of pestilence and other unsanitary conditions in this wretched slum.

Along with carriers of disease, such as rats and flies, the worst of all the predators of Asbestopyrgos roamed its streets and occupied its crowded buildings. The lowest of the low classes, consisting of anybody from petty swindlers and prostitutes to gangsters and terrorists, called this area home, preying on or leeching off of the already miserable and hopeless neo-plebeians who called this district home. Families not fitting the ideal of traditional Pelasgian nuclear or extended family, either through death, abandonment, or divorce, couples that came together illegitimately, men and women who were born and raised in this slum and knew no world but this urban jungle, senile and lonely elderly, who would occasionally be fortunate enough to be just insane enough for the authorities to take them away to some nice, spacious facility out of town, possibly run by some order of magnanimous nuns, though increasingly under direct Imperial medical control, orphaned or abandoned children, and countless others kinds of people whose lives and deaths meant nothing to the Antheneans living a few districts away, much less to anybody else.

Perhaps the industrial capitalists, who lived and prospered in the nearby industrial district, the likes of which had magnetised this unlikely troupe of a macabre circus to the region of Atthis in the first place, would care if their workforce disappeared or was bold enough to strike, though replacements were always abundant and cheap.

Christmas was upon Europe, and as the Emperor’s address was simultaneously broadcasted on every radio available, and on public loud speakers for all to hear, one had to wonder whether this lonely hole in the face of the world, this perilous gash in Europe’s fair likeness had been forgotten by that supposed God amongst men, and all those around him. A century ago, long before the parents of most of these people had even been born, talk of a golden age of unprecedented progress and universal prosperity had reached the ears of every Pelasgian. Where was this “golden age” then?

Eustratios “Strates” Phournaropoulou, a large, dark-skinned, and muscular man, whose intimidating and towering appearance could not be further from his gentle nature, looked around him, in one of the laconic cafés of Asbestopyrgos, and he could not help but silently repeat that question. Startes bore the last name of his mother, for his father had died in war, or so he had been told by her. She had never provided more details, and he always feared to ask for more, for being the bastard son of a dead soldier was better than being the bastard of just another drunkard. Up until this very year, with the passage of the new constitution, Strates had lacked a last name, bearing the simple yet painful term “of an unknown father” (agnostou patros) in its place. That shameful set of words still appeared in all government documents, due to the nature of full Pelasgian names, but he could go about most of his life without needing to let anybody know of his bastardry.

In a way, all people in Asbestopyrgos were bastards; bastards of the nation’s “father,” the Emperor, bastards of the Church, bastards of the political system, bastards of the bourgeoisie, bastards of the world’s thoughts. Of course, the Asbestopyrgiots were partly to blame, as was often the case with the denizens of such places: whenever one among them managed or even tried to rise up, they all pulled them back down into the pit. It took near super-human strength to climb out of that venomous well, in a feat that matched the mythical Labours of Hercules. They were bastards in that, when things were going smoothly, these people would be entirely invisible, but as soon as war, election time, or some other rare occasion came about, they would be called upon by the idealistic and inspired leaders of the nation to “do their part for the Fatherland.” At least they were not entirely abandoned, so a bone might be thrown their way one time or another.

And as bastards commonly did, these men and women looked for a father. Some found him in the godless cults of the political fringes, worshipping Comrade Leninov or Marshal Tzimiskes, who would come to save the proletariat or the Pelasgian race, which was being exploited by the upper classes or the minorities, respectively. These men would choose their faction, memorise its sole book, and take up arms, which is to say Molotov cocktail and shank, to fight for a “greater cause,” comforting themselves in the illusion that they were somehow meaningful now, whilst being completely ignorant of the fact that they were going to be the first to be harmed if the vitriolic groups they supported took power, either through the first’s purges of the “enemies of the revolution” or through the latter’s social Darwinism. Other sought salvation and hope in the arms of a Church whose preaches in a long dead dialect of Pelasgian were entirely alien to them, and whose rituals, elegance and calls to humility seemed to be in sharp contradiction.

Each one of these outlets for the Asbestopyrgiots’ desperation was crumbling more and more by the day: the far left had lost the face of representing an ideology of love and compassion ever since the bloody terror attacks in Propontis, and its greatest advocate, the DKKP, had temporarily seized all attempts at rallying the proletariat since the once-revered Leninov had come to an understanding with the Empire’s ruling class; the far right had shown everyone its true colours during the repressive and neo-obscurantist rule of the Junta, its apparatus seen as the brutal face of those same “bosses” who exploited the Asbestopyrgiots and those like their ilk; the Orthodox Church now concerned itself with the election of a new Ecumenical Patriarch, its corruption, hypocrisy, and lust for power being more on display for all to see. Everyone was in desperate need of hope. But where would that hope come from?

Strates waited for the waitress to come along and handed her a single coin, with a hole in its midst, representing a value exactly equal to that of the coffee, along with two smaller ones, being her meager tip and stood up after a short greeting. He walked out and headed straight home. He had no time for such questions; he had to work at a nearby printing house the day after.
 
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Pelasgia

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Anaxandretta, Theme of Mopsia
3/1/1957, 7:00 AM

Anaxandretta was one of the most diverse areas in the Empire, in all possible meanings of the word. Meaning “Little Anaxandria,” originally founded and officially known as “Anaxandria on the Pinarus” as yet another model colony of Anaxander the Great, Anaxandretta had grown from merely being the port town of the sprawling urban centre that was nearby Edessa on the Orontes, into a city of considerable size and wealth in its own right.

Everything from its impressive theatre, whose rooms had seen the premieres of countless operas and plays of note, and its majestic city hall to the “Archontitka” mansions of the rich merchant and shipping magnate clans that resided near its seafront, and its very own official municipal cemetery, a city of marble and limestone, of statues and tombs whose style imitated the Pelasgistic origins of the city, created an image of wealth and prestige that few ports across the globe could boast of.

Yet, near these affluent northeastern regions of Anaxandretta, were located its poorer southwestern districts, whose laconic, functional simplicity contrasted sharply with the Neoclassical beauty and style of the aforementioned wealthier areas. Constantly growing, sometimes beyond the boundaries the Deme[SUP]1[/SUP] of Anaxandria on the Pinarus, the industrial and working class suburbs, most of which were thankfully not Parangoupoleis, at least not in the most direct sense of the word, consisted of tall, nearly identical, simplistic, and overcrowded buildings, with little space between them, save for some larger roads which were used for transit through the districts. Most of the smaller roads in these areas were wholly unpaved, being referred to as “chomatodromoi” (literally “roads of dirt”), housing a rather diverse population consisting of Pelasgians from various areas of the Empire, Kyphts, Aethiopians, Jews, Muslims, Urodoah, Haydians, Hiberians, and countless others. Truth be told, the wealthier segments of the population were also rather diverse, though in all three strata of Anaxandretta’s society, ethnic Pelasgians were the dominant majority.

Such was the environment into which Pēnelopē Kokkinou had been born. She had inherited neither of her names from her parents, whom she never met, her mother dying at childbirth; and her first name she had gotten from the nurse who brought her into the world. She had learned that the only thing that had kept her mother from getting an abortion was the speech of a local clergyman, the man who had adopted her and raised her as his own, teaching her along with a plethora of other students in the local Ecclesiastic School of Our Lady the Saviour. It was in that very school that she had learned to lover her own name, a name that had previously been nothing but a constant reminder of her sad origins, through her study of Homer’s Odyssey.

In a way she was more fortunate than the other children of the district; she had grown up far from the “core” of the local Ergatoupoleis, in an area quite close to the middle class districts of Anaxandretta, and she had gone to a school whose standards were much higher than even those of the fanciest private schools in the Northeast of the city, since the Patriarchal Order of the Mother of God, which operated the School, was renowned across the world for its top-notch education.

The Order had been established by Saint Nestorius of Heracleopolis in 1789, under the direct authority of the Patriarchate of Edessa on the Orontes, and had since focused on providing high quality education to all Europeans. Nestorius, a famed Pelasgian Orthodox theologian, linguist, hymnologist, had established the Order after noticing, in his many travels, that a great many of the faithful lacked sufficient knowledge of Pelasgistic Koine, the language in which the New Testament had been written, and thus were unable to read the Bible, since the Empire and the Orthodox Church only allowed the Sacred Texts to be printed and read in the original, official Koine version that the Church itself had approved.

Spreading quickly as a missionary and educational organisation after receiving Patriarchal sanction, the Order had established schools and universities in every corner of Europe, from Huaxia to Trivodnia, attracting both locals and Pelasgians of the diaspora. The schools of the Order in Pelasgia itself were even able to attract foreigners from their communities’ individual schools, which is how Pēnelopē had met some of her closest friends.

Pēnelopē had always been thankful and near perfectly honest to Father Panteleēmōn… near perfectly; save for the occasional white lies children always kept from their parents, Pēnelopē had a rather big one, one that threatened to change her very view of the world. Of all her friendships, that which she shared with Theresa, a classmate whose family were from northern Germania, had always been the deepest. Among the countless conversations Pēnelopē had had with Theresa, a few stood out light bright lighthouses in a stormy sea. And among those, a single one shined, like the sunrays piercing the cloudy mantle of the early spring’s sky after a storm.

That conversation, which she kept hidden so deep inside her she could swear it was right next to her heart, was the one that had brought her into contact with the ideas of the Protestant Reformation. She had heard of the Reformation many times before, not in the least bit because she had been brought up and educated in a religious environment, but she had never truly touched upon its ideas. That one day, she had truly discussed the ideas of the Reformation with Theresa, the belief that Faith alone could lead to salvation, the conviction that Christian practice could be guided and ruled by the Scriptures alone, and so many more arguments, both theological and practical in nature.

Since then, Pēnelopē had read of Luther’s admiration of the “Pelasgian Church” and its practices, many of which were precisely the same as important changes that he had hoped to bring to the Catholic Church, and of his hopes to spread the Reformation to Pelasgia, by entrusting a translated copy of Augsburg Confession, the Augustana Pelasgica, to the noted Theologist Georgios Misos, though the latter’s death prevented him from reaching Propontis.

That conversation had taken place six years ago; since then, Pēnelopē had completed her secondary education and had moved on to the Patriarchal Academy of Our Lady the Preserver, a university of the Patriarchal Order of the Virgin Mary, where she was studying Medicine and Theology. Since then, Theresa had left Himyar for Germania, returning to her home city, though the two still exchanged letters and planned to see each other again one day.

However, Theresa’s departure, though heartbreaking, was far from the greatest of her troubles: her father in all but ancestry, Father Panteleēmōn, had been diagnosed with a deadly disease for which there was no known cure: Adrenocortical carcinoma. The near-seventy year old man, who had been well above the age of her biological father when he had adopted her, was slowly but surely fading away, with his fellow brothers, his students, and his secular colleagues, many of whom deeply loved and appreciated him, as did quite a few people in the local community, being unable to do anything.

The twenty-three year old girl, who had not yet found her “womanhood,” so to speak, though she was far more mature than many who had, was determined to become an oncologist precisely to find a cure for the disease in question… or so she told herself. The world lacked a cure for most forms of cancer, let alone such an anomalous and rare form of it.

Every day she would tend to her father as well as she could, with the help of Sister Ambrosias of the Patriarchal Order of Saint Catherine[SUP]2[/SUP], and his faith in God, as well as his trust in her, seemed as unshakeable as ever. Every time she looked at him, she would feel a nigh irresistible urge to kneel before his bed and tell him of all she had done, asking for his forgiveness: she had translated the Augsburg Confession into Pelasgian, both Pelasgistic Koine and Standard Demotic, she had compiled treatises upon treatises on Theological issues from a Reformist point of view, she had written long proclamations on the need for Reform in the Orthodox Church, attributing the decline in religious faith in Pelasgia, along with the Empire’s subsequent moral and spiritual decline to Ecclesiastic corruption, fanaticism, and superstitious neo-idolatry, and, worse of all, she had committed a sin the likes of which was punishable by Imperial Law, its prohibition being written into the Article Three of the Pelasgian Constitution: she had translated the Bible into the people’s language, Demotic Koine, so that every man could read it without the Clergy’s help.

The sun of morning broke again, and it would be two more days until classes would recommence in the Academy. Pēnelopē awoke to sound of an alarm clock, which she had set out of habit, even though the extra hours of work she did during her winter break had ended the previous week. She reached out to turn the alarm off and looked to her left, expecting to see an angry face, only to realize that Sophrosynē, her roommate, had gone off to Anaplia to see her family. She fell back onto her pillow and looked at the large windows at the back of the old building, which had a view to the gardens at the centre of the square-shaped dormitory building in which she lived ever since she had moved out of her boarding school. Being too awake to go back to sleep, she looked around the room and her eyes stopped after stumbling upon her old school uniform in a wardrobe, which she still kept as a souvenir. A visit couldn't hurt, she thought.

FOOTNOTES
1. Deme (Δῆμος) is used here in the sense of "the people of [city]," the official form of all Pelasgian municipalities' name. Alternatively it can be used to refer to political parties, athletic associations, and the people in general (though laos/λαός is usually preferred to convey this meaning in everyday speech).
2. The Patriarchal Order of Saint Catherine the Healer (Πατριαρχικὸν Τάγμα τῆς Ἁγίας Αἰκατερίνης τῆς Θεραπεύουσας) is an Pelasgian ecclestiacal order of nuns under the authority of the Patriarchate of Edessa on the Orontes. Having been founded in 1811 by Saint Ariadne of Astros, the Order mainly focuses around providing nursing and care to children, patients, orphans, and the elderly.
 
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Pelasgia

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Asbestopyrgos, Anthene, Theme of Æthyia
9/1/1957, 10:32 AM

Stratēs looked out the window of the monotonous prinery where he spent his days working, to a majestic sight the likes of which were rare to every Anthenean, as to most Pelasgians: snow. Snow now fell on the soil of northern Pelasgia, a rare sight, made even more awe inspiring by the fact that the snow did not melt on impact with the ground, but had instead started piling up on it. The slowly growing white crust that covered Anthene, which looked quite a lot like the white sugar that engulfed kourampiedes, a traditional almond-based Pelasgian sweet for the winter holidays, meant that ice had formed on the otherwise warm soil of Atthis[SUP]1[/SUP].

The young Asbestopyrgiot looked away from the snow-covered ceiling of the building that stood right to the west of the Angelopoulos prinery, to the interior said prinery. All its walls were gray, with their bottom one third being painted in a vomit-inducing, ugly shade of green, the likes of which was reminiscent of hospital paper towels, with numerous cracks. What little light could come into the brutally austere building did so through the small, short windows that were placed with equal distances between them on the top segment of the walls, right below the ceiling, illuminating the countless particles of dust that filled the prinery.

The machines that kept the place running were massive and completely functionalist, their workings surfaces being covered only where safety and operation absolutely required it, their repetitive and charmless motions being openly visible to the army of faceless uniformed workers that operated them. In the centre of the prinery was a large row of steel shelves, onto and around which numerous cardboard boxes served to store stacks upon stacks of papers which were to be used for printing, or of already finished printed materials. Cans of paint, glue, and ink, as well as a sheer plethora of various containers for other necessary elements of the prinery’s operation lined this section of the building, which was approached by the workers only when absolutely necessary.

Upon looking down at the working station in front of him, Stratēs realised that he had ran out of papers to stack; the pages of the small booklets he and a few other fellow workers were making that day were initially stacked on top of each other by hand, then to be glued together in huge stacks on a wooden closet-like device, only to be split up into individual brochures by hand later on. The printing work and cutting into shape had, thankfully, been already completed by another group of workers who were fortunate enough to have the industrial machines on their side. Upon looking up again, this time towards the cart onto which the pages were loaded, Stratēs realized that he was not even close to finishing his assigned work for the day; by the size of the stacks of pages on the cart, he could come up with a rough estimate of about six thousand booklets for him alone. Five more carts, one for each of the workers next to him, were lined up.

He sighed, resulting in an almost instant tap on the back. The young Asbestopyrgiot did not have to look back to know who that was; the hand had touched him from under his shoulder, meaning that it had come from a person who was shorter than him; Stratēs was far from the tallest one in that factory, and since Maria, the only fellow worker whom he knew for a fact was shorter than him, was working next to him, that tap could have only come from one source: the foreman.

«Πάψε νὰ ξεφυσᾷς καὶ δούλευε.»
“Stop sighing and work.”

«Μάλιστα, ἀφεντικό.»
“As you say, boss.”

The foreman, a short, bald, but remarkably fit man from Leontis, the port of Anthene, who went by the name Eustathios “Stathēs” Maketanios, was a unionist and SEKP member who had more or less been kicked out of his work at the docks by his fellow port workers when his association with the local employers had been made public. He had then been given his current job at the city’s printing industry, conveniently located at the other end of the city, having been promoted to the position of foreman with remarkable, and rather suspicious speed after a mere month at the job. He had no special skills, yet he had been among the first new workers to join the union and had gotten himself elected to the ranks of its leaders. One might have been alarmed at the similar personal histories of affiliation with employers and political parties that many of Pelasgia’s union leaders had, but, to the average Pelasgian worker, crippling corruption in the unions was far from news.

«Με τὸ ῥυθμὸ ποὺ δουλεύετε θὰ χρειαστεῖτε πάλι ὑπερωρίες.»
“At your rate of work you’ll need to work overtime again.”

As the foreman started walking away, a feminine voice whispered to Stratēs.

«Νὰ δοῦμε πότε θὰ μᾶς πληρώσῃ ὁ Ἀγγελόπουλος τὶς ὑπερωρίες τῆς Παραμονῆς τῶν Χριστουγέννων.»
“Let’s see when Angelopoulos will pay us for our overtime on Christmas Eve.

Maketanios stopped walking and turned around; Maria had spoken too soon.

«Τὶ εἶπες;»
“What did you say?”

Stratēs sighed once more and prepared for the inevitable fight that was bound to come, for he had never known Maria to be one to silently hold her rage, as her most recent outburst had aptly demonstrated. He walked away from his station, to grab another pile of pages.

«Εἶπα ὄτι θὰ δουλέψω ὑπερωρίες μόνο ὅταν ὁ κύριος Ἀγγελόπουλος μοῦ πληρώσῃ ὄτι μοῦ χρωστάει ἀπὸ τὴν Παραμονή τῶν Χριστουγέννων!»
“I said that I’ll only work overtime when Mr. Angelopoulos pays me what he owes me since Christmas Eve!”

«Ἤδη χρωστᾷς πολλὰ στὸν κύριο Ἀγγελόπουλο καὶ μόνο ἐπειδὴ σοῦ κάνει τὴ χάρη νὰ σὲ ἔχῃ γιὰ ὑπάλληλο. Ξέρεις πόσοι ἄλλοι θὰ ἤθελαν τὴ δουλειᾶ σου;»
“You already owe Mr. Angelopoulos quite a lot because he does you the favour of employing you. Do you know how many others would like to have your job?”

«Ναί. Ξέρω ἐπίσης ὄτι μοῦ χρωστάει τὰ δεδουλευμένα μου!»
“Yes. I also know that he owes me my work’s dues!”

By this point, Stratēs and the other workers in that part of the prinery had turned around and were observing the exchange between Maria and the foreman, which had become loud enough for all of them to hear it, despite the constant roaring of the printing presses and cutting machines. The foreman looked at the assembled crowd and realised he had to deal with Maria’s rebellion swiftly for all to see.

«Ἀκοῦστε ἐδῶ, ὅλοι σας: τὸ τυπογραφεῖο μας εἶναι σε δυσκολίες λόγῳ τῆς γενναιοδωρίας τοῦ κυρίου Ἀγγελοπούλου πρὸς κάποια ἄτομα ὅπως ἡ παρούσα κυρία. Θὰ πληρωθεῖτε γιὰ τὶς ὑπερωρίες σας ὅταν τελειώσετε αὐτὴν τὴν παραγγελία βιβλιαρίων. Ἀν ἔχετα κανένα παράπονο, ἡ πόρτα εἶναι ἀνοιχτή καὶ ὑπάρχει ἕνα πλἦθος ἀνθρώπων ποὺ θα σκότωναν γιὰ τὴ δουλειᾶ σας.»
“All of you, listen here: our prinery is hard-pressed due to Mr. Angelopoulos's generosity towards certain individuals such as this lady. You’ll get paid for your overtime when you finish this order of booklets. If you have any problems with that, you all know where the door is, and there’s a crowd of people who’d kill to have your job.”

Stratēs and the others went back to their jobs, as did Maria, and the foreman walked away, almost certainly to report what had just happened to his own supervisor. It was true that the prinery was going down like sinking ship, but it was not in any way, shape, or form due to any generosity on the part of “Mr.” Angelopoulos; it was, rather, due to his own, and his son’s, failures to properly compete with the more modern prineries that operated nearby, which had been wise enough to invest into new equipment, unlike the Angelopouloi. In any case, Stratēs did not expect to keep the job forever, and, truth be told, neither did Maria or any other worker in there for that matter. Even Stathēs, the foreman, probably was headed for some other job after this, with the blessing of the current boss and those like him.

It was getting paid before the prinery closed down that concerned Stratēs; quite often, a failing business would liquidate many of its assets, putting the cash into the bank accounts of its shareholders, file for bankruptcy, and then not pay the vast majority of its workers, to whom it owed money, leaving them in debt and powerless to pursue legal action against their former employer, whose shareholders could easily start a new company with the cash they had on hand from their previous venture. The Angelopoulos family prinery was already a corporate entity, due to its founder wish to equally distribute its shares to his male children, instead of outright giving the whole company to one of them, and an entire section of the factory had been closed down last month, after the loss of a contract with a publishing house, paving the ground for the kind of scum Stratēs feared.

FOOTNOTES
1. Atthis (Ἀτθίς), or Atthida (Ἀτθίδα) in Demotic Pelasgian, is the fertile peninsula in which Anthene, Anaktora and a few other cities and towns of Æthyia’s northern tip are located. Traditionally, it has been known for its wine and olives, both of which it owes to its temperate climate.
 
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Asbestopyrgos, Anthene, Theme of Æthyia
21/1/1957, 7:45 AM


The dawn was breaking on Anthene once more, and Stratēs, just like most working Pelasgians, was headed to his job, for the first day of work. He was suffering from an acute case of Overtime, as his depressed expression indicated, since he had to work extra to ensure that the shipment was not late, something which would result in a dock of his pay. However, he did not owe his sour mood to his early awakening and the fact that he had to work on a Saturday alone. As he scanned the tram in which he was standing, the events of Friday came back to mind. He had punched out at 4:00 pm sharp, and had gone over to administration to receive his weekly paycheck. There, however, he had been greeted by his supervisor, and told to go home; he had protested and demanded his pay, but he had been promptly “convinced” by two of Maketanios’s associates to leave and pick up his pay on Monday.

That wanker Maketanios
, he thought. was standing right next to the window of the tram, a relatively new vehicle, produced by Hippolochos Motors A.E., painted in a light shade of red, with the emblem of the Deme of Anthene on it, his hand tightly griping a metal bar as the tram moved. Asbestopyrgos and the Demes of many other parangoupoleis could not afford to cover the cost of their own public transport, so they had handed control of it, along with a certain percentage of their funds, to the Deme of the city proper. Thus the tramways fell under the jurisdiction of Anthenean Demotic Police[SUP]1[/SUP], a fact of which the Asbestopyrgiots were reminded by the presence of a pair of Anthenean Astyphylakes[SUP]2[/SUP]. The two men could be told apart by the beret that they wore, as opposed to the kepi of the Imperial Police.

Before long, Stratēs realised that he had been staring at one of the two officers, who was not, as he had previously thought, a man, but, in fact, a woman. He quickly gazed away, as the other officer had turned his gaze towards him, and looked at the bland, tall buildings that lined one of the few wide streets in Asbestopyrgos. He noted that it was still dark, the only light available coming from the large lights that were suspended from cables which were attached to buildings on both sides of the road. The road had once used to be smaller, but it had been widened, both to allow for easier policing and fire extinguishing, as well as to make way for the tram tracks. The hasty demolition of a few dozen apartment buildings and the accompanying shacks that were supported by their walls had left a mark on some of the nearby buildings, their white exterior having certain dents and gaps, which exposed cracked walls of brick or mortar.

As the tram slowly decelerated and steadily grinded to a halt, the young prinery worker started walking to the exit, along with a sizeable group of passengers. While the three men in front of him walked out easily, the olive-skinned man was stopped by the male officer’s bat, forcing him to look at the man’s face. They must have thought I was scared of them, he thought before noting how stupid of him it was to stare, as if he did not have a ticket.

«Τὸ εἰσητήριό σας, παρακαλῶ.»
“Your ticket, please.”

Stratēs pulled out the small piece of paper, its white surface covered in light red ink, its eloquently designed but roughly printed and uniform markings obviously the work of some printing machine. In red ink of a deeper shade, the date 23/01/1957 was stamped on the ticket.

«Ὀρίστε, κύριε ἀστυφύλακα.»
“Here you go, Mr. Officer.”

The officer scanned the ticket, taking slightly yet noticeably longer than was necessary, and handed it back to Stratēs. The latter placed his thumb, index, and middle fingers on it to take it back, and wished the officer a good day before rushing out. He ran through Leōphoros Proodou , the large avenue, named after the Pelasgian word for progress, through which the tram tracks ran, turning at the corner where it intersected Odos Ergatopaterōn, a narrow street named after union leaders[SUP]3[/SUP], and then at the corner between that street and Odos Hagiou Ioannou Chrysostomou[SUP]4[/SUP].

Running anxiously, so as to avoid the typical scolding that would come with being late by the foreman, or even the boss himself, Stratēs did not even have time to look in front of him properly, bumping, or rather crushing, into another worker as he turned around the corner. He looked up next to him as he struggled to stand, realizing that the other worker had been Maria.

«Στραβὸς εἶσαι;;»
“Are you freaking blind?”

Stratēs was slightly dumbfounded; he had known her to have the tongue of a port worker, as the saying went in Pelasgian, but her rage seemed rather extreme.

«Συγνώμη, δὲν ἤθελα ν’ ἀργήσω, δὲν σὲ εἶδα.»
“Sorry, I didn’t want to be late, I didn’t see you.”

His words failed to elicit a response, and he looked up at the old, metallic clock which hanged from the factory’s exterior.

«Εἶναι ὀκτὼ καὶ πέντε! Τὶ κάνεις ἐδῶ ἔξω;»
“It’s five past eight! What are you doing out here?”

«Ψάχνω τὸ Μακετάνιο γιὰ νὰ τοῦ κόψω τὰ ἀρχίδια. Ἐσύ;»
“I’m looking for Maketanios to cut his balls off. You?”

Stratēs was dumbfounded, or he had at least purposefully tricked himself into thinking that he was. He knew what was going on, he knew perfectly well; he had known the young half-Jewish half-Arab woman before him for long enough to see through her sudden murderous tendencies towards the foreman to ignore what was going on, or, more accurately, what had happened, but, like a child trying to piece a broken vase back together, he did not want to admit it.

«Γιατί;»
“Why?”

Maria, or Mariam, as her mother had called, since she was one of the few people in Asbestopyrgos lucky enough to have grown up in a relatively functioning family, was outraged at this faux-ignorance of the man before her. One could swear she had been confronted by one of her extended family members, those who ostracised her mother and father for their choice of marriage partner.

«Χάζεψες; Ὁ Ἀγγελόπουλος ἔκλεισε τὸ τυπογραφεῖο. Ὁ μαλάκας ὁ Μακετάνιος μᾶς εἶχε πῇ πὼς θὰ μᾶς πλήρωνε σήμερα ἀλλὰ εἶναι ἄφαντος. Νὰ εὔχεται νὰ μὴν τὸν πετύχω!»
“Have you gone dumb? Angelopoulos shut the prinery down. That wanker, Maketanios, had told us that he would pay us today, but he’s nowhere to be found. He should wish I don’t find him!”

Another worker, Ēlias, walked up behind the two, and joined in.

«Σιγὰ καὶ μὴν τὸν βρῇς! Πῆγε στὰ λατομεῖα τοῦ Βριλησσοῦ.»
“As if you’ll find him! He went to the quarries of Brilessus[SUP]5[/SUP]!”

Stratēs felt a fire in him. He felt a rage like he had never felt before; he had used some of the little money he had saved away to make up for the overtime he had not been paid by Angelopoulos. Not only that, but without his wage for the two past weeks, he had essentially been cheated of what little remained of his savings. As more and more workers gathered around the two men and Maria, who were the most senior workers in the prinery, in hopes that they would have some words of salvation to offer, he spoke, nay he shouted.

«Γάμα τον! Δὲν χρειαζόμαστε τὸν Μακετάνιο οὔτε τὸν Ἀγγελόπουλο γιὰ νὰ τρέξουμε τὸ τυπογραφεῖο! Ἐγὼ λέω νὰ τὸ τρέξουμε μόνοι μας!»
“Fuck him! We don’t need Maketanios nor Angelopoulos to run the prinery! I say we run it ourselves!”

A lone voice protested.

«Καὶ γιὰ ποιὸν θὰ δουλεύουμε; Ποιὸς θὰ μᾶς πληρώνῃ;»
“And who will we be working for? Who’ll be paying us?”


«Θὰ δουλεύουμε γιὰ τοὺς ἐαυτούς μας καὶ θὰ πληρωνόμαστε μόνοι μας!»
“We’ll be working for ourselves and we’ll be paying ourselves!”

A loud roar of applause and agreement followed, as the men, moving like a single being, cut the lock of the factory’s doors open and rushed in.

FOOTNOTES
1. Demotic Police (Δημοτικὴ Ἀστυνομία), formerly and colloquially also known as City Guard (Ἀστυφυλακή), is the municipal police force of Pelasgia. Each Pelasgian Deme of an urban area has its own or delegates the duties of said police to the Demotic Police of a nearby deme, usually the “core” Deme of its metropolitan area. It should not be confused with the former Imperial Cities Police (Βασιλικὴ Ἀστυνομία Πόλεων), which was integrated into the Imperial Police along with the Imperial Gendarmerie (Βασιλικὴ Χωροφυλακή).
2. Astyphylakes (ἀστυφύλακες, sing. astyphylax/astyphylakas, ἀστυφύλαξ/ἀστυφύλακας; also known as astyphylakai/ἀστυφύλακαι; lit. “city guards” and often used with the meaning of “constables”) is the basic rank in most Pelasgian police forces, especially so in municipal police. It is commonly used to refer to Police personnel in general
3. The street owes its name to the ergatopateres or “fathers of the workers,” the historic leaders of the first unions in Pelasgia, many of whom were killed by Imperial troops during strikes in the very late 19[SUP]th[/SUP] and early 20[SUP]th[/SUP] century. The local union offices for several Demes and unions are located there, though the men currently staffing them are ironically as removed from the street’s name as the workers themselves. The term "ergatopateres" is commonly used to refer to union leaders, though it is increasingly gaining an ironic or sarcastic association when referring to current union leadership.
4. Literally “Saint John Chrysostom(’s) Street”, named after a small shrine that exists there since the 12[SUP]th[/SUP] century. The shrine is now outside a local orphanage, which is operated by the Sisters of a nearby convent which is dedicated to the Saint.
5. Brilessus (Βριλησσός) or Brilettus (Βριληττός) is a large mountain outside of Anthene. Named after a nearby river, it is the source of the famed Brilessic Marble of Atthis, the most expensive white marble in Europe, being the location of countless quarries of immense size. The quarries are known for their harsh working conditions, having been manned mainly by slaves until the abolition of slavery in the 19[SUP]th[/SUP] century.
 
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Pelasgia

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IMPERIAL MINISTRY OF PUBLIC ORDER AND CITIZEN PROTECTION
GENERAL POLICE DIRECTORATE OF ÆTHYIA
POLICE DIRECTORATE OF ATTHIS


Subject:
Report on the illegal occupation of the Angelopoulos Prinery
Classification: Top Secret
Location & Date: Anthene, 8 February 1957


It is esteemed that fifty-six of the sixty workers formerly employed by Typographia Angelopoulou A.E. are currently actively engaged in the illegal occupation of the factory. While the group prides itself in having no official leadership, we believe that Eustatrios Phournaropoulou, Maria Sarakenou, and Elias Katopolites, the three most senior workers in the prinery, are the de facto leaders of the so-called "Independent Labour Union of Prinery Workers of Asbestopyrgos" (AESETA); our sources within the factory have confirmed this assumption.

While rumours of the takeover and the ensuing financial success of the prinery, which were boosted by leaflets printed by AESETA itself, had already generated great and growing public support for the workers within Atthis, since the publication of an article titled "WORKERS SEIZE THE MEANS OF PRODUCTION!" [sic] on February 6, 1957, by the left-wing daily newspaper Laokratia, support has spread far beyond the region, across the Theme of Æthyia, to the rest of Old Pelasgia, and possibly to the rest of the Empire, though to a lesser degree.

The workers themselves have been peaceful, but a small but growing crowd of unemployed or illegally fired individuals has started to assemble outside the prinery, being gradually joined by locals with entirely other grievances, such as the lack of access to public services or voting to the citizens of parangoupoleis such as Asbestopyrgos. Yesterday, insults where hurled at the small contigent of unarmed police officers who are permanently patrolling the area. The sight of their de jure union leaders angered the crowd into throwing rocks and bottles towards said leaders and the nearby officers of the law, proving that the widely despised ergatopateres cannot be of much service in calming the crowd in question.

To avoid the occurrence of similar incidents, the incitement of a mild riot, coupled with the presence of riot police has been recommended. However, that might prove to be a double-edged sword, as the riot might backfire into a wider workers' rebellion in metropolitan Anthene. In any case, two divisions of riot police have been placed in permanent reserve approximately one urban block away from the area, while the officers patrolling the area are now armed. A squad of mounted riot police officers has also been brought in. The Ministry has taken direct interest in this incident and the state's response, so our hands are tied without direct orders or a parameter shift from HQ. We await further developments.


Charalampos Katopolites
Intelligence Division
Sector ΑΤΘ-Π-12
 

Pelasgia

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Asbestopyrgos, Anthene, Theme of Æthyia
15/2/1957, 12:01 PM

The rough, dully-coloured, think cement walls of the Angelopoulos Prinery seemed slightly more vibrant with every day; as the Atthic spring started to set in, the ice and snow that had once covered every surface and corner of this emotionless industrial structure was melting, forming small vertical streams as it flowed down the walls, across their occasional cracks, and down onto the floor. Certain unpaved areas were now covered in mud, while the poorly paved lesser roads of Asbestopyrgos had little lakes here and there, these puddles serving to annoy many a housewife as the local children ran through or near them. Of all the roads in the area, only the main avenue connecting Asbestopyrgos to the rest of Anthene and Atthis were cleared, salted, and paved properly, preventing the concentration of snow, mud, or half-melted ice on them.

One of the walls was partly covered in a shade of green which one could describe as neither vibrant nor entirely dull, its colour resembling that of a dated billiard table. This peculiar stain had originally arrived on its current surface by accident, when the workers had tried to bring an old printing machine back into operation, only to discover that its paint container had been damaged, with paint covering the entire upper front body of one of the workers, rendering a slender silhouette on the wall behind him. After having a laugh about it over lunch, the workers had decided to fill the gap of the stain, while replacing its rough edges with straight lines, resulting in a mass of colour in the shape of a rhombus or a square (nobody being able to precisely tell which, until Maria used a spirit level that had been left behind by a repair worker a few weeks ago and proudly declared that it was the latter). This earned her the nickname “Alphaditissa” from the demotic Pelasgian word for spirit level: alphadi.

The workers had then decided to stamp the green square on all the proclamations of the self-proclaimed “Independent Labour Union of Prinery Workers of Asbestopyrgos”, with the organisation’s initials (ΑΕΣΤΕΑ) printed in golden letters in a serif font on the square. The square itself had been thus defaced and was, since then, used as the point where all the employees met to make collective decisions about their shared business.

Elias sat across from that very wall, staring out of a small window which was located near the upper left side of the square, his gaze falling upon the top of two citrus trees. The two trees in question, known in the area simply as “Oi Neratzies” were among the only trees in the whole area, being located to the left and right of a small shrine where half a dozen children had been killed by car about two decades ago. To this day, the children of the area would pick up Seville oranges, or “neratzia” as they were called in demotic Pelasgian, to fight each other in the infamous “neratzopolemoi” or “citrus wars”that excited children and enraged adults across the nation.

This image brought a smile to Elias’s face: he had grown up in one of the less densely populated suburbs of Anthene, near the mountain range to the south, in the area of Athmonon[SUP]1[/SUP], were his family worked as servants to a family of local nobles, before they were unemployed and homeless when the family bankrupted itself and the new owners of the mansion, some wealthy merchants from Lythe, had decided to bring their own staff along with them. Before he had been forced into an early adulthood, working in industrial jobs without any sort of serious education, Elias had spent his time engaging in the neratzopolemoi just like any other kid, the ammunition of these small, harmless wars being ubiquitous to the point of apparent infinity thanks to the innumerable citrus trees that dominated Athmonon along with pines and olive trees.
The sound of a bell took Elias out of his silent meditation, returning him to the present, as the short lunch break of midday, which he had spent keeping watch in case the Imperial Police decided to pay the workers a visit, came to an end. He stood up and went to help some other workers with a crate, Strates being among them. The latter inquired as to the nature of the former’s watch, as the men carried the crate to the back of the factory, where it was to be loaded onto a truck.

«Εἶδες τίποτα;»
“Did you see anything?”

«Μπά· οἱ μπάτσοι ἔχουν μείνῃ ἀκίνητοι στὴν γραμμή τους.»
“Bah; the coppers have stayed on their line without moving.”

The line Elias was referring to was the cordon that the Imperial Police had formed to isolate the prinery, so as to prevent any workers from demonstrating their solidarity by marching to prinery, ever since a small riot had erupted when one such demonstration of solidarity had resulted in a small riot when debris was thrown at a union leader who had come to meet with the prinery workers, along with the two officers of the law who were escorting him.

The workers put the crate down next to the back exit of the prinery; several other crates were stacked there, with two doors creating a closed, warm, dry space between the elevated platform where the crates were stacked and the door through which the trucks entered and exited the prinery to load or unload. The internal door was wooden and painted in the same colour as the emblematic square on the wall, with some small glass windows above its locking mechanism, while the external gates where entirely metallic, the large windows above them serving to let light into the factory.

As the external door lay open, the internal door was also opened by the workers; every day, on that same time, they would take out supplies from the truck, and fill it with the fruits of their own labour. Elias and Strates greeted the drivers and walked to the back of the truck, a blue Pegasos model from the 1940s, where they raised the cloth that was covering its cargo, as they had done for weeks. Suddenly, a canister of teargas flew into the prinery’s back, followed by multiple others from various windows of the large industrial building. Elias looked forward, but he was struck by a bat to the head, knocking him to the ground, as riot policemen wearing surplus gas masks with tubes rushed into the factory; Strates tried fighting off the officers, knocking one to the ground, but four of them ganged up on him and knocked him down, before carrying him away.

Some of the workers tried to close the interior door, but it was too late; more officers rushed in from the wide open external gate, into the prinery, overrunning the disoriented and surprised workers, who had been used to police inactivity for weeks. As the gas cleared and the arrested workers were marched or carried out of the building, the body of a lone worker laid near the emblematic green square of the main printing room, his life taken by a combination of asphyxia and allergic shock, as well as more than a few hits by batons, as his bloody forehead indicated.


FOOTNOTES
1. Athmonon (Ἄθμονον) is a loosely populated area on the southern outskirts of Anthene, famous since ancient times for its pottery. Beyond the wealthy “town” at the centre of the area, various mansions, mental hospitals, orphanages, old churches, lone houses, and nursing homes fill it, along with open fields, a couple of small ponds and thin streams, and pine forests.
 
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Pelasgia

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Anthene, Theme of Æthyia
7/3/1957, 11:47 AM


Despite their de jure separation, Police Directorate of Anthene and the General Police Directorate of Atthis were housed in the same building and operated more or less as if they were the same body, with the latter acting as if it were a mere department of the former, instead of a distinct and yet subordinate Directorate. Their relationship was rather emblematic of the centralisation and top-down nature of Pelasgian administration, which, in a country whose residents had always prided themselves in not being ruled seemed a whole lot like the opposite.

Indeed, the Pelasgian public might have held control over the central government, but the state held control over the peripheral branches of its apparatus, and when election time wasn’t near, or when the central government had no direct control over the periphery, this apparatus was, in a way, ruling over the locals without the slightest semblance of institutional accountability to them. The devolution of certain powers to the Themes, and the delegation of several others, had helped to alleviate that problem in many sections of public administration, but the Imperial Police was still very much a top-down kind of force, leading to friction with the locals.

While units of the former Cities Police, which were now simply regular Imperial Police units, had transitioned seamlessly and enjoyed more or less the same respect as before the integration of the two forces, the former Gendarmerie units, which were now known as “Special Constables” or “Special Guards” (Eidikoi Phrouroi), were received by the Pelasgian public with much more skepticism and reservation which, in some cases, amounted to near hostility. Though their placement under de facto Cities Police control ensured their conduct would not be as violent, ideologically biased, or arbitrary as before, in fiercly indpenendent parts of the Empire, such as Euroia, Euxenia, Chandax, Philistaea, and Pierrheia, the Special Constables where practically seen as an occupation force by many of the locals in more rural and isolated areas. The fact that their uniforms, equipment, and training was more akin to that of a paramilitary or military force certainly didn’t help their case.

The building of the two Directorates, which was simply referred to as "to Dioiketerio", or "the Directorate", by the locals, was built in the style of “simplified classicism” (similar in concept but not to be confused with the “stripped classicism” of certain Gallo-Germanian and Skanian nations), which had dominated Junta-era construction of large public works. Though its features were certainly enough to barely classify it as neo-classical (hence the name of its style), the sheer size of the giant building and its rough shape had essentially done away with all principles of classical moderation and balance in building design.

In the words of the Dean of the Polytechnic of Atthis, though, this “eyesore of a building” had to be built thus, and to be built quickly; due to the growth of Anthene and Atthis’s population at an unprecedented rate thanks to Junta-era industrialization policies, the former buildings of both services had to be expanded; this new building was completed a few months before the Junta’s fall, originally being meant to house only the Cities Police and the then still extant Asphaleia (the regime’s secret police that had actually been founded by the father of the current Prime Minister to crack down on Socialist revolutionaries before the Junta). Thankfully for those trying to enjoy the scenery of downtown Anthene, the Police HQ was securely located between a rather tall and ornate yet solid fence of metal and marble, along with armed guards. The old HQ of the Gendarmerie, which had once been at the outskirts of the city and was now at around the middle of its metropolitan zone, was still in use by the Special Constables, reducing friction between them and the other officers, as well as the city’s civilians.

As the sun beaconed with both arms of the clock nearing the twelve marker, rain poured down from the near clear skies, in a rare phenomenon which the Pelasgians had dubbed “a Jurzani was baptized”, due to the rarity and unlikelihood of both events, two officers, armed with a semi-automatic rifle and a sub-machine respectively, stood outside the HQ on guard. While their being armed in such a fashion, along with a couple more of their fellow officers within visible distance, was an unusual event, it was an unusual day. As he dropped a cigarette bud down on the floor and stepped on it, one of the men, Apostolos, spoke to the other.

«Ῥε Ἀνδρέα, πότε εἶπε ὁ Λοχίας πὼς θὰ φέρουν τους ἄλλους γιὰ τὴν ἐπιτροπή;»
“Hey Andreas, when did the Sergeant say they’re bringing in those guys for the committee?”

Andreas faced Apostolos for an instant, and then looked back at the road.

«Τοὺς Εἰδικοὺς Φρουρούς; Στὶς δώδεκα καὶ τέταρτο. Τὰ κλαπαρχίδια ἤθελαν νὰ πᾶνε οἱ Ἀξιωματικοὶ στὰ παλιὰ κεντρικὰ τῆς Χωροφυλακῆς.»
“The Special Constables? At quarter past twelve. Those nutsacks wanted the officers to go down to the old Gendarmerie HQ.”

«Γιατί; Γιὰ νὰ ‘χουμε πενήντα νεκρούς ἐργάτες ἀντὶ γιὰ ἕναν ἀν γίνουν ἐπισόδια;»
“Why? So we can have fifty dead workers instead of one if there are disturbances?”

«Μάλλον. Ἀναθεματισμένοι χωροφύλακες.»
“Probably. Damn gendarmes.”

«Τοὺς λένε Εἰδικοὺς Φρουροὺς τῶρα.»
“They call them Special Constables now.”

«Θὰ ‘λεγα κάτι γιὰ μεταξωτὰ βρακιά, ἀλλά ξέχασα τὴν παροιμία. Μιᾶ φορὰ χωροφύλακας, γιὰ πάντα χωροφύλακας.»
“I’d say something about silken underwear, but I forgot how it goes. Once a gendarme, always a gendarme.”

«Γιατὶ δὲν μποροῦμε ποτὲ νὰ φυλάμε κάναν ἀκτοφύλακα;»
Why can’t we ever guard someone from the Coast Guard?”

«Γιατὶ οἱ ἀκτοφύλακες δὲν ἔχουν σκατὰ στὸ κεφάλι τους. Τέλως πάντων, εἴμαστε ἤδη δύο ὤρες μὲς τὸν ἥλιο καὶ πρέπει να καθόμαστε σ’αυτὸ τὸ σκοπεῖο γιὰ να μὴ βραχοῦμε.»
“Cause people from the Coast Guard don’t have shit in their heads. Anyway, we’ve been in the sun for two hours, and we have to sit in this post so we don’t get wet.”

«Γιὰ νὰ μὴ βραχοῦν τὰ ὅπλα. Χέστηκε ὁ διοικητὴς γιὰ τὶς στολές μας.»
“So our guns don’t get wet. The commander doesn’t give a shit about our uniforms.”

«Δὲν τὰ φτιάχνουν γιὰ νὰ ἀντέχουν στὸ νερό;»
“Don’t they make them water-resistant?”

«Ποιὸς νοιάζεται; Θὲς νὰ πᾶμε στὴ βροχή;»
“Who cares? Do you wanna go into the rain?”

«Θὰ μᾶς ξεδροσίσῃ μετὰ ἀπὸ τόση ὥρα στὸν ἥλιο. Ποιὸς βλάκας ξέχασε νὰ βάλῃ τέντα σ’αυτὸ τὸ σκοπεῖο;»
“It will hydrate us after so much time in the sun. What moron forgot to put a cover on this guard post?”

«Εἶχαν ἐλλήψεις. Οἱ νέες τέντες με τὰ χρώματα τῶν Λασκαρίδων θὰ ρθοῦν τὴν ἄλλην βδομάδα.»
“They had shortages. The new cover in the Laskaris dyansty’s colours will arrive next week.”

«Ῥὲ δὲ μᾶς χέζουν με τὶς δυναστεῖες τους; Ἐγὼ σκιὰ θέλω.»
“How ‘bout they go shit themselves and their dynasties? All I want is shade.”

That last remark was met with silence, as nothing but the sound of swallows, which had started to return for spring. A few minutes of this silence went on, until suddenly the sound of footsteps could be faintly heard. The sound grew louder and louder, closer and closer, to the point where the two men exchanged looks before looking at that direction with their weapons aimed. The sound grew even closer, from just around the corner, and it was now clearly that of a line marching. Fifty men? Apostolos thought; A hundred? As he took aim with his gun, his already sweaty body becoming even more so from fear and suspense, a lone figure, holding a baton and a shield, in repurposed surplus military gear and a gas mask which was hanging from its neck, not being fully tightened around its neck, emerged from around the corner. Both men stood stunned, as a few more men moved near them, until they lowered their rifles.

«Χαλάρωσε. Δικοί μας εἶναι.»
“Relax. They’re ours.”

«Ναί. Ἀλλὰ μετὰ τοὺς δικούς μας, ἔρχονται πάντα καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.»
“Yes, but after ours, the others always follow.”

«Ναί, ἀλλὰ ἐμεῖς σχολᾶμε σε δέκα λεπτά.»
“Yes, but our shift’s over in ten minutes.”

The rising sound of another crowd had the two sighing in frustration instantly.
 
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Pelasgia

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Perdiccas, Anthene, Theme of Æthyia
11/3/1957, 3:00 PM


Perdiccas, whose name was that of a long lost semi-mythical Pierrhean viceroy of the city, was at the border of Metropolitan Anthene. In early antiquity, the area had been loosely populated and cultivated, despite its fertile ground, due to the danger of raids by brigands, invaders, and barbarians. Essentially a plain flanked by mountains and run through by two of Anthene’s rivers, Phrasimos and Didymos, Perdiccas had always served as more of a buffer between Anthene proper and the rest of Atthis, with the Antheneans preferring the more secure areas to the southwest and northwest for farming. The only real fortification and settlement of the area came under Pierrhean rule, during the Pelasgistic period after the death of Anaxander, by Perdiccas of Therme, who settled many Pierrhean soldiers and their families, as well as loyal Antheneans in the area; following his death, however the area fell back into depopulation and abandonment, a trend which continued into Tiburan and Medieval times, with constant conflict in Atthis during the period, especially during the Crusades, only serving to compound the problem.

By the time of Pelasgia’s modernization in the late 19[SUP]th[/SUP] century, the area had been reduced to a vast farmland owned by a few local nobles and a small village of less than thirty houses and a single church, which had been built on top of a crumbling ancient temple sometime during the 11[SUP]th[/SUP] century AD. By decree of the local Theme’s Strategos, two hundred families of veterans were given land in the area to settle it, followed by another four hundred, in hopes of eliminating brigandry by certain Muntenian[SUP]1[/SUP] chieftains, which had been plaguing the area, in response to punitive Imperial taxes of their villages in an attempt to urbanise and Pelasgise the Muntenians. The settlement served to bring order to the area, as a railroad connecting Anthene and the port of Leontis brought the large scale presence of Imperial gendarmes and troops, putting a permanent end to Muntenian raids.

As Anthene’s population grew due to industrialisation and an influx of people from across the Empire, like many other Northern Pelasgian cities, its borders expanded, to the point where Perdiccas had gone from a middle ground between the asty and its harbour to being an industrial suburb of Anthene. As Leontis too, grew, it was expected by everyone that the two metropolitan areas’ borders would touch in the foreseeable future. Despite being an industrial, working-class area, Perdiccas was not nearly as badly planned or tightly inhabited as Asbestopyrgos, partly due to the nature of its terrain, which was, essentially, one huge plain, and partly due to the more gradual and planned out settlement of the area.

It was in this area, near the very point where the rivers Didymos and Phrasimos met, that the Perdiccas prison complex stood. A massive, unsettling cement structure, painted over in white, to reflect the light of the scorching Pelasgian sun during the summer, spring, and early autumn, it was built in one of the few elevated areas of Perdiccas, giving it a clear view of the surrounding area. Despite its white exterior, the overall structure of the jail made it hard to keep it cool, earning it the nickname “to kazani” meaning “the cauldron.” Ironically, like much of the infrastructure projects of Atthis, the “Perdiccas Correctional Institution” had been been built by the donations of Muntenian notables, who had come to be among the Empire’s most prominent shipping magnates, industrialists and statesmen since their integration into mainstream society.

The complex was among the largest in all of Pelasgia, housing prisoners from nearly all of Old Pelasgia, with sections for both men and women, ranging from facilities for underage offenders to high security wings. It was in one of the cells on the third floor of the medium security wing of the men’s ward that Strates laid on his bed, in the relative silence that dominated the afternoon in the prison, right after the end of lunchtime. In his all-white cell, with its tile-covered floor, he could only hear the occasional water drop from his sink, with light pouring into the room from a small, elevated window in its back wall, which faced the bars on the other side directly. Looking forward, the lone Asbestopyrgiot could see a lone guard reading the Hē Karyatis[SUP]2[/SUP] silently while sitting next to a bare table, while the small window behind him provided him with a view of the city’s rooftops and the shoreline to the distance, all behind two tall cement and stone walls, topped with barbed wire and guard towers.

While there would normally be two people in every cell, the workers had been placed in individual cells to prevent them from supporting each other. Strates was unsure of who was in the cell next to his; as his trial grew closer, and with the prison overpopulated already, he was not even allowed to leave his cell to eat, being brought the meager prison rations in his cell, like most prisoners in the wing had been doing for months. It probably was for the better, anyway; other prisoners would not take well to the workers getting their own cells while everyone else had to deal with up to four people being crammed in a cell meant for two. All female prisoners were to be transferred to Eurypyle by the end of the month, freeing up space for the male prisoners. The female prinery workers, however, would be kept in Perdiccas for a few more weeks, until their trial was over.

Suddenly Strates heard the sound of footsteps and a metal door being opened and shut again, before the prisoner in the next room fell onto his bed. Strates new that tired fall very well; while the Imperial Police had supposedly stopped violent interrogations of prisoners, in reality, they had merely become more discreet. It was far from surprising to any Pelasgian to see mugshots of people whose faces were bruised nearly beyond recognition, at least when the criminal in question was arrested for illegal strikes, terrorism, or anything of that sort. One of the Red Argonauts, for example, had to be hospitalised before his trial, leading to the trial’s postponement for a whole week due to “administrative reasons”. Strates knocked on the wall a couple of times, with the man on the other side responding in kind. For anybody else, it was a pointless gesture at best, but for the two men, it was a source of courage. The knocking went on for nearly ten minutes, until a guard got tired of it and shouted at them to stop; nobody who had been in the wing for more than a week dared defy a guard, or even talk back, as that usually got them another round of “questioning”.

FOOTNOTES
1. The Muntenians (Pelasgian: Μουντένοι; Muntenian: Munteni) are an ethnic group residing in the mountainous areas of Old Pelasgia. Speaking a language descended from Vulgar Tiburan, they reside in small, isolated villages, living mainly as shepherds, giving rise to the use of their name as a synonym for “yahoo” in Pelasgian. Due to their sharing the Pelasgian Orthodox faith, as well as their leaders’ frequent integration into the local ruling classes of other ethnic groups, they have never tried to assert their independence. Most Pelasgian historians consider them to be descended from a mixture of local non-Pelasgian peoples and Tiburan soldiers who married Pelasgian women, though their roots are unclear.
2. Hē Karyatis (Ἡ Καρυάτις; The Caryatid) is conservative newspaper from Anthene.
 
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Pelasgia

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Curium, Kyparissos
12/3/1957, 8:36 PM


Petros “Petrakes” Tzanetakes was far from a virtuous man. As he walked through the rain-soaked, darkened streets of Curium’s industrial port, he reflected on a life of sin and debauchery, his soul conflicted between regretting and savouring these memories. He could have tried to blame his troubles on his rejection by a Francolythean[SUP]1[/SUP] woman in his youth, but even a man like him was honest enough to himself to admit that that was not the case; besides, he though, it would all have ended like any other romantic affair in his life: either in sudden abandonment or abuse.

Tzanetakes had always lacked any resolve or ideology of his own: he was, in the wording of his fellow men, a “chameleon”. During the first period of Crowned Democracy, he had altered between singing the Emperor’s praises in conservative ouzeries[SUP]2[/SUP] and chanting slogans in favour of quasi-dictatorial Liberal Union of Prime Minister Krevatas and his lackeys in the Senate. After the Junta came, he informed on any and all Socialists he could find, always carrying the revolver and badge of the TEPA[SUP]3[/SUP], while dressed in normal clothing, as if nobody could recognise the crowd of commando veterans and off-duty gendarmes he hanged out with. And once the Megaloi Komnenoi gave way to the Laskaris dynasty and the new Pelasgian Empire, he once again sold his soul to the local commander of the Special Constables.

As he was in his politics, he was in his personal and business life: he could and would swap friends within a day, if necessary, and he had offered his allegiance to about a dozen criminal clans, always siding with their rivals once they lost power. This choice of lifestyle had forced him to move between a number of cities, from Acroterium on his native island of Chandax, to Leontis in Aethyia, to Propontis in Phryxaea and Heracleopolis in Mopsia, then to the isle of Lythe, and then, finally, to Curium on the great island of Kyparissos.

And yet, as the vulgar Pelasgian saying went, “shit floats” and Tzanetakes had always managed to stay afloat, regardless of the storms that surrounded him, as men and women many times his betters drowned.

Nobody knew precisely what kept Tzanetakes going, though some speculated that it was a deep hatred against a mother which abandoned him to a travelling troupe of actors, as if he were determined to live on for the sole purpose of spiting her.

In any case, “Petrakes” had gotten himself a new set of marching orders, prompting him to drug himself out of his apartment in a half-crumbling building near the local station of the Special Constabulary, on through the streets of Curium’s industrial port district. Rows of traditional Cyparissian buildings, whose style was unique in the entire long sea, combining elements of Pelasgian, Islamic, Propontine, and Crusader architecture, coexisted with the much newer, laconic buildings of the mainland, which were painted in a colour reminiscent of Cyparissian limestone, but were, otherwise completely alien structures, meant to house the city’s surplus of population. The populace in question had come to include several alien ethnic groups, ranging from certain Engellexian traders and Eiffellandian archaeologists in the city’s consular district to Haydians in the middle class port area and Christian Urudoah in the very harbour Tzanetakes was making his way through.

Adjusting his hat sideways, to appear less like a TEPA informant and more like one of the denizens inside the building he was about to enter, Petros moved to the side of the sidewalk and climbed down the stairs leading to a tekes[SUP]4[/SUP]. The door was green and metallic, its paint having rusted off in some places, though these, like the rest of the door, and the surrounding walls of raw cement painted over in light brown, were covered with half-tattered posters. The posters in question advertised anything from the upcoming performances of various rembetes[SUP]5[/SUP] to new shaving razors “produced by Danellos Bros. & Co. in Eurypyle since 1889.”

A knock one the door, a couple of words, a coin to the bouncer for his coat, and Tzanetakes was inside the tekes, navigating a small labyrinth of tables, sofas, and wooden chairs, supporting men intoxicated by a variety of substances, and they semi-predatory troupe of prostitutes, scammers and dealers of illegal goods that frequented these sorts of places looking for customers. Near the centre of the store, right next to the small stage where some apparently important though previously unheard of rembete from Leontis was singing his lungs out to the sound of tampourades[SUP]6[/SUP], was Konstantinos Phlamoulakes.

Phlamoulakes belonged to the Melingakes Clan, a disreputable clan from Chandax, that was more akin to a criminal gang than a family, engaging in smuggling, prostitution, and other such illegal activities. Having been driven out of Chandax by their rivals, combined with an Imperial crackdown on their smuggling activities after the Red Argonauts’ attacks in Propontis, the Melingakedes were much weakened, but to be feared, having quickly grown in strength in the slums of Curium, a city which, for all its faults, had a lacked a significant presence of organised crime up until that point.

Gathering the closest thing he had to courage, “Petrakes” stood next to the table, in the clear view of Phlamoulakes, silently waiting. Konstantinos, a half grey-haired, short, but bulky and strongly built beast of a man nodded with his head, prompting those in the table to turn towards Tzanetakes, with one of the standing up and leaving an empty spot for the man. Tzanetakes sat down, and the man who had given him his spot stood next to him, reaching into his coat’s pocket.

Phlamoulakes shouted an order at one of the servers before speaking to Tzanetakes directly.

«Ἕνα ποτήρι ρακὶ γιὰ τὸ κοπέλι. Πῶς καὶ ἀπ’ τὰ μέρη μας, Πετράκη; Σοῦ ἔλειψε ἡ πατρίδα;»
“A glass of raki for the lad. To what do we owe the pleasure, Petrakes? Do you miss the fatherland?”

«Ναί, λίγο.»
“Yes, a bit.”

Tzanetakes, heart raced, but he did not allow it to be seen. He kept his cool, and spoke in short phrases, ignoring the obvious mockery in Konstantinos’s words.

«Λίγο; Μόνο λίγο; Τὶ Χανδακαῖος εἶσαι ρε;»
“A bit? Just a bit? What kind of Chandacian are you?”

His drink having been served, Petros remained silent without touching the glass.

«Πιές το, εἶναι ἀκριβὸ ἐδῶ. Ἀν εἶναι νὰ σὲ φᾶμε, θὰ σὲ γδάρουμε. Τουλάχιστον, ἐμεῖς κρατᾶμε τὶς παραδώσεις τοῦ Χάνδακα, προδόταρε.»
“Drink it, it’s expensive here. If we’re going to do you, we’ll skin you alive. At least we keep Chandax’s traditions, you traitor.”

Tzanetakes drunk a sip before speaking.

«Κοίτα, ξέρω ὄτι μὲ μισεῖς, ἀλλὰ ἦρθα γιὰ δουλειά.»
“Look, I know you hate me, but I came here for work.”

Phlmoulakes spat right into Tzanetakes’s face.

«Σκατὰ ξέρεις καὶ ἐχεις καὶ τὸ θράσος νὰ μοῦ ξανοίγεις μετὰ ἀπὸ τὶς πουστιὲς ποὺ κάνες στὸν ξάδερφο μου με τοὺς χωροφύλακες.»
“You don’t know shit and you even have the audacity to look me in the eye after that chicken nuggetry you pulled on my cousin with the gendarmes.”

Tzanetakes knew he stood no chance in a fight; all the men around him were Chandacians, carrying long traditional knives with poetic inscriptions carved into their blades, and they certainly knew how to use them. They were probably packing too, but for a man who had betrayed the clan, like Tzanetakes, the traditional punishment of traitors on Chandax was the only suitable one: being skinned alive.

«Ἀν θὲς γδᾶρε με. Ἀλλὰ σοῦ χῶ μιᾶ δουλειά ποὺ θὰ σε βοηθήσῃ νὰ ἐπιστρέψεις στὸν Χάνδακα.»
“If you want, you can flay me. But I have a job for you that will help you get back to Chandax.”

Now he had their attention, and he knew it.

«Γιὰ τοὺς μπάτσους;»
“For the cops?”

«Πιὸ πάνω. Ἡ δουλειὰ ἦρθε ἀπὸ πολὺ ψηλά. Ξέρεις τὰ δίκτυα ποὺ εἶχες γιὰ νὰ φέρνεις φορτιὰ μέσα στὴ χώρα γιὰ τὰ κομμούνια;»
“Higher. The job came from very high above. You know those networks to had to smuggle payloads into the country for the commies?”

Phlamoulakes nodded in agreement.

«Θέλουν νὰ πᾶς κάτι ἔξω. Ἕνα δωράκι γιὰ κάτι φίλους μας στὸ Βοῤῥᾶ. Ἐνδιαφέρεσαι;»
“They want you to get something out. A gift for some friends of ours in the North. Interested?”

«Ναί. Μὰ θέλω νὰ ξέρω κι ἄλλα.»
"Yes. But I want to know more."

Tzanetakes threw a piece of paper onto the table and stood up.

«Θὰ σ'τα ποῦν αὐτοί, ἐγὼ μόνο αὐτά ξέρω. Εὐχαριστῶ γιὰ τὸ ποτό καὶ χαιρετίσματα στὸν ἀδερφό σου.»
"These guys will tell you, I only know what I told you. Thanks for the drink and send my regards to your brother."

Phlamoulakes picked up the piece of paper and opened it.

Βιβλιοπωλεῖο «Ὁ Σαρακηνός», κοντὰ στὸ Παλιὸ Τζαμὶ τοῦ λιμανιοῦ, αὔριο τὰ μεσάνυχτα. Ἔλα μόνος καὶ ἄοπλος. - Ῥοῦσσος
Bookstore "Ho Sarakenos", near the Old Mosque of the port, tomorrow at midnight. Come alone and unarmed. - Rhoussos


FOOTNOTES
1. Francolythean (Φραγκολύθιοι, meaning “Frankish Lytheans”) is a term used by Pelasgians, mainly those outside the island of Lythe itself, to refer to Lythe’s quite sizeable minority of Catholics. The vast majority of them are Pelasgians following the Propontine rite of Tiburan Catholicism, along with the descendants of certain settlers from Latinium and southern Gallo-Germania.
2. An ouzeri(e) (Ουζερί), also known as a mezedopoleio (μεζεδοπωλεῖο), among other names, is a small store selling small portions of meat and other foods served with ouzo and other traditional insular Pelasgian drinks.
3. TEPA (ΤΕΠΑ), standing for Defensive Volunteer Militia Detachment(s) (Τάγμα/-τα Ἐθελοντικῆς Πολιτοφυλακῆς Ἀμύνης), refers to militia groups of individuals allowed to carry concealed wepons along with a special badge, to assist the authorities in guarding against potential Socialist and other anti-government insurgencies in loosely policed areas. Membership is restricted to “nationally minded” individuals (ie. those who have gone through appropriate ideological screening), with the TEPA being considered to be de facto loyalist right-wing to far right-wing militias.
4. A “tekes” (τεκές, pl. tekedes/τεκέδες), also known as a “koutouki” (κουτούκι), is a store somewhat like an ouzeri, but of bad repute, commonly associated with hookahs, cannabis and other drugs, as well as the “rembetika”, a kind of Pelasgian folk music originating from Opsicia, known for its mix of Propontine-Pelasgian and urudoah musical motifs. Tekedes are technically illegal, though, after the fall of the Junta, they are tolerated, except when the authorities need an excuse to take somebody in. They are still widely infamous, as many criminal elements of society’s lower classes tend to hang out there.
5. Rembetiko singers (see 4 for more details on rembetiko).
6. A tampouras or pandouras, also known as a bouzouki (a term that came for the instrument much after its creation from the Urudoah) is a Pelasgian string-based musical instrument dated to Pelasgian antiquity, mainly in the Archipelago and Opsicia, which is associated with Pelasgian folk music. In mainland Pelasgia, it is mostly associated with rembetiko and similar styles of low-class music, earning it a partly undeserved negative connotation, though that trend is starting to change.
 
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Pelasgia

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Athens, Greece
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Demos
Curium, Kyparissos
13/3/2017, 11:58 PM

Konstantinos Phlamoulakes felt a feeling that was all but alien to him: fear. Of course, he had always experienced some reservation, some light form of fear, bastardly mixed with anxiety and anticipation, but he had never felt true, blood freezing, sweat-inducing fear; until that night of March 13[SUP]th[/SUP], 1957, that is.

Waiting silently in a car, all by himself, his old Chandacian knife, and his dated M. 1899 six round revolver, made by some factory in Anthoussa, serving as his only company. Phlamoulakes would peak out from the windows of his black Adamidēs-Aetos 640 every now and then, scanning the street nearby for the figure of his partner, Nikolaos “Nikos” Charalambakes, who had gone out to make a call in the nearby booth slightly less than ten minutes ago, all the while nervously peaking at his watch, its long arms growing ever closer to the twelve marker, where their shorter counterpart already lay.

He glanced at his watch one more time; it was 11:59 PM, and Nikos was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, Phlamoulakes struck the wheel before him, letting out half a minced oath in the process. Annoyed, he walked out of the car, and slammed the door behind him. I may not have that fool with me, he thought, but I still have a knife and a gun.

Walking quickly, to the point of nearly running, the lone boulder of a man made his way to the bookstore “Ho Sarakenos”, which was housed in an old, nigh ancient traditional Curian structure, its sharp arches and limestone walls concealing rows upon rows of ornate wooden shelves, in which thousands of tomes were stacked in near perfect order.

Knocking on the door, an amalgam of white-coated metal and semi-transparent glass, the former shaped in the form of plant-like geometrical decorative motifs, Phlamoulakes looked around, like a deer scanning the wood before drinking from a stream. After another knock, he turned the door’s handle, discovering, much to his surprise, that it had in fact been unlocked, though the sign on the door would seem to indicate otherwise.

Walking into the store’s first floor, Phlamoulakes walked by the marble bust of the man who had established the city’s most famous bookstore nearly five generations ago, Anastasios Sarakenos. Save for the dim light of a green-covered Engellexian-style lamp accidentally left on on the second floor of the bookstore, visible from its balcony, the store was completely dark. For a man who had lived his whole life hiding what little semblance of fear he had felt between an image of strength, drowning the rest in blind self-aggrandisement, Konstantinos Phlamoulakes sure was scared. Suddenly, voice shook Phlamoulakes’s spine, spinning his whole body around.

«Καλό σας βράδυ, κύριε Φλαμουλάκη. Ψάχνετε κάποιον;»
“Good night, Mr. Phlamoulakes. Are you looking for someone?”

The dimly visible figure of a slender man, slightly over one point eight metres tall, dressed in a grey suit, veered into Phlamoulakes’s field of vision, the kneeling, bound and blindfolded Nikos Charalambakes lay. Shocked and visibly sweating, though not so visibly in the dark of the rainy night, save for the occasional thunder burst, Konstantinos collected himself just enough to remember that not coming alone was not the only rule he had broken; he reached into his coat, tightly clutching the grip of his trusted old revolver, only for the sound of a rifle being cocked to pause his move, as if he had been turned to stone by Medusa herself.

«Κύριε Φλαμουλάκη, ρίξτε κάτω αὐτὸ τὸ μαραφέτι. Δὲν θὰ σᾶς βοηθήσῃ.»
“Mr. Phlamoulakes, throw that piece of junk down. It won’t help you.”

Phlamoulakes scanned the room one more time. In the left side of his field of vision, he noticed the edge of another weapon, most probably a pistol, aimed right at his upper body. The accent of the man speaking was one of the mainland, though he could detect some slight remnants of Kyparissian intonation; no doubt a local who had spent a lot of time on the mainland, probably in a profession were non-standard dialects were not tolerated, like the public service or the military. Now that he thought of it, all three men had the posture of the commando veterans he had worked with in the TEPA, though unlike those retired rascals, these men were in shape, probably still in active service. Indeed, the sound of that rifle was one he would never forget, for he had heard it too many times before the TEPA opened fire on some crowd of strikers: a HĒTT 49/56 semi-automatic service rifle.

Realising what he had gotten himself into he dropped his gun, all the while pondering on the words of Petrakes Tzanetakes: “The job came from very high above.”

«Καὶ τὸ μαχαίρι.»
“And the knife, too.”

The knife hit the floor.

«Ξέρετε γιατὶ εἶστε ἐδῶ, κύριε Φλαμουλάκη;»
“Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Phlamoulakes?”

«Γιὰ μιᾶ δουλειά.»
“For a job.”

«Πράγματι. Ξέρετε τὶ εἴδους δουλειά;»
“Indeed. Do you know what kind of job?”

«Λαθρεμπορία.»
“Smuggling.”

«Ναί, μὰ αὐτὴ δὲν εἶναι ἡ μέση σας δουλειά. Δὲν περνᾶτε ἕναν Καδικικὸ ἀσύρματο σε κάτι σχολιαρόπαιδα ποὺ τὴν εἶδαν ἐπαναστάτες.»
“Yes, but this isn’t your average job. You’re not getting a Kadikistani radio across to some schoolchildren who think they’re rebels.”

«Ἀπλῶς πεῖτε μοῦ τὶ θέλετε νὰ πάω καὶ σε ποιόν.»
“Just tell me what you want me to get and to whom.”

The voice sounded noticeably pleased.

«Κάτι ὅπλα χωρὶς συριακοὺς ἀριθμούς, λίγα μετρητά δίχως σύμανση, ὅλα τὰ κλασσικὰ ‘ἐπαναστατικὰ ὑλικά’. Μὰ θέλουμε νὰ τὰ πᾶτε σε κάτι φίλους μας στὴ Σερενιέῤῥη.»
“Some unmarked guns, a bit of unmarked cash, all the classic ‘revolutionary materials’. But we want you to get it to some friends of ours in Serenierre.”

«Ἀν μπορεῖτε νὰ βρεῖτε τέτοια πράγματα, γιατὶ δὲν τὰ στέλνετε μόνοι σας;»
“If you can get that kind of stuff, why don’t you send it yourselves?”

«Γιατὶ δὲν θέλουμε νὰ μποροῦν νὰ βροῦν πὼς προήλθαν ἀπὸ ἐμάς.»
“Because we don’t want them to be able to find out that it came from us.”

«Πότε θέλετε νὰ τὰ στείλω;»
“When do you want me to send it over?”

«Θὰ σᾶς ποῦμε ὅταν ἔρθῃ ἡ ὥρα. Ἡ Πατρὶς σᾶς εὐχαριστεῖ γιὰ τὴν συνεργασία σας.»
“We’ll tell you when the time comes. The Fatherland thanks you for your cooperation.”

The use of the archaic form for Fatherland instead of the Demotic one made the man’s origins all the more clear. The owner of the lone voice turned around and started walking away, and then suddenly stopped and spoke one last time.

«Ἀ ναί. Τὰ συλληπητήριά μου γιὰ τὸν φίλο σας, τὸν κύριο Τζανετάκη.»
“Ah yes. My condolences for your friend, Mr. Tzanetakes.”

Phlamoulakes was taken aback.

«Πέθανε; Τοῦ μίλησα χτές. Ἀπὸ τὶ πέθανε;»
“He died? I spoke to him yesterday. What did he die of?”

«Ἀπὸ φλυρία. Ἐλπίζω νὰ εἶστε πιὸ τυχερός.»
“Of being a blabbermouth. I hope you’re luckier.”

The man’s steps kept getting less and less loud, fading away into the silent darkness, which was occasionally broken by the muffled sound of the rain outside, followed by those of the two gunmen. Nearly after a full minute after the steps had faded, Phlamoulakes rushed to untie his friend, who had been kneeling on the floor silently.
IMPERIAL INTELLIGENCE SERVICE
EXTERNAL OPERATIONS DIRECTORATE
CLANDESTINE OPERATIONS SUB-DIRECTORATE

Subject: Report on the progress of Operation LONCHOPELEKYS.
Classification: Top Secret
Location & Date: Propontis, 14 March 1957


The acquisition of five thousand (5 000) foreign small arms of various origins without markings from the weapons seized by the insurgents of Philistaea following the Augousto-Septemvriana has been confirmed. The weapons have been stripped of their serial markings by the rebels, making them suitable for use by Burgundian insurgents in Serenierre. The weapons have been removed from the official final report on the crisis, which remains sealed and classified. Avraam Bakas was particularly good at covering his tracks when arming the Jewish insurgents, probably due to his cooperation with Jewish diaspora links within the international arms trade, so his weapons are practically untraceable; the fighters of ISLAM who managed to flee the country sold much of their equipment to rebel and criminal groups in Eastern Himyar, particularly pirates harassing shipping in the Kalahari Sea, many of the weapons having been captured by our fleets in the area during anti-piracy operations, also rendering them untraceable. We are also entertaining the prospect of acquiring surplus Cumbrian arms due to the disorganised state of the country at the moment. One hundred thousand (100 000) Engellexian Pounds Sterling, one hundred thousand (100 000) Eiffellandian Marks, two hundred thousand (200 000) Burgundian Livres and one million (1 000 000) Serenierrese Livres have also been acquired in unmarked bills and cover bank accounts. More weapons and funds are available, but they have not been requisitioned for use in this operation as of now.

Markos Leon,
Bureau of Procurement
ΔΚΛ-Π-1249
 
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Pelasgia

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Anthene, Theme of Æthyia
30/3/1957, 10:35 AM

Among Pelasgians, it was often said that a man’s worth was determined by the people who attended their funeral; though that element of popular wisdom was often the subject of debate, if it were ever true, then the two prinery workers who had breathed their last whilst being force-fed in the prison of Perdiccas were among the most important men to ever walk the ancient streets of Anthene.

Indeed, from the very morrow of March 30, 1957, a crowd of twenty thousand workers from all parts of Anthene had begun their march to the soon-to-be final resting place of the two dead men, holding the banners of the DKKP, the SEKP and various unions. And yet, as the march drew closer to the grounds that housed so many deceased Asbestopyrgiots, its ranks started to be filled by tens of thousands of common men and women, their banners not displaying the logo of some party, some union or some other official group but, rather, the single four letter word that had become a second prayer for the plebeians of the Empire: «ΖΟΥΝ» (lit. “THEY LIVE”, pronounced ‘zoon’).

Growing with every street it crossed, the march had swollen to at least a hundred thousand, and possibly way more, progressing through metropolitan Anthene like a tidal wave in a sea of men, led by a single boat in the form of the two coffins of the workers, and with cries of «ζοῦν» as the roar and thunder of the storm that pushed the wave forward.

Such clamour, such ruckus, such commotion had not been seen since the funerals of great poets and statesmen in the 1[SUP]st[/SUP] Cemetery of Anthene. And yet, these two coffins which seemed to have replaced the Easter epitaph in the hearts of common Pelasgians as an object of veneration, were not headed for the marble tombs and well-kept grounds of the City of the Blue Lily’s oldest resting place; they were headed for the Cemetery of Asbestopyrgos, an unpaved, dusty collection of laconic gravestones cut from surplus local marble, surrounded by a brick and cement wall covered in white lime and surmounted by shards of broken glass. Equally simplistic was the tiny Church, the “Sacred Temple of Saint Gregory”, where the lone priest servicing the cemetery was waiting, dressed in his humble black amphia.

As the funeral procession passed the entrance of the cemetery, those in it could clearly see the men of the riot police and the special constabulary assembled on the side of the street leading to it, as well as the nearby bystreets; even the most reckless and combative of the special constables, who would have once smiled at the prospect of a riot, silently watched in half-visible fear as this yet unsprecedented mass of men and women walked by them.

They needed not worry; there was not going to be any trouble. There was no loud protestation as the union leaders or politicians gave half-hearted speeches in support of the dead. There was no mass wave of rage as the families of the dead said goodbye to their loved ones for one last time. There was no cry for revenge as mothers, wives and sisters clad in black cried over the two coffins. There was mere silence, deafening silence. And finally, once the old priest finished the deliverance what seemed to be the most important funeral rite in his entire life, the crowd waited for the two families to lead the way, and headed out of the graveyard, the gaze of the marchers and officers crossed once again.

Then, once again, the same cry started echoing through the streets of Asbestopyrgos: “They live!”

And no further revolt or protest needed to take place, for the revolt had already taken place in men’s hearts; and once it had succeeded there, it was only a matter of time until it succeeded in everywhere else, in one way or another. And that was because “they” were not only the two martyred strikers of Asbestopyrgos; “they” were the dreams of all those assembled and many more, their hopes, their desires, their complaints, their anger at injustices they had endured. “They” were far more than two men: they were symbols. And symbols held the privilege of immortality, as they lived in the hearts of all those who believed in them.

That day, or the one after, or two centuries later, the two buried men would still live on, as would everything they had come to symbolise and carried with them. And it was, thus, far from surprising when those same officers who had witnessed the procession and were relieved to have avoided clashes started spotting the very first writings of «ΖΟΥΝ» on walls across the capital of Atthis.
 
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