Clarenthia
Establishing Nation
- Joined
- May 4, 2010
- Messages
- 1,148
- Capital
- Alaghan
- Nick
- Jurzidentia
Great Gate Bridge
48 km from Cewher City
North Jurzan
The roar of the engine and the oppressive Jurzani sun could hardly damper the ecstasy of Zakir Mojaddidy. He and his men had just secured one of the largest deliveries that has ever crossed the Jurzani-Kadikistani border and he was soon to be an even richer man. Nothing, not even the threat of a large scale war, could prevent the free trade of the drugs.
“It’s a magical thing you know,” Mojaddidy exclaimed, placing his hand on Zalmay Pazhwak’s shoulder “Two people bred to hate another can be so close when it comes to cocaine.”
“The glory of the revolution!” Pazhwak joked.
Zakir Mojaddidy is a well-known, powerful man. He had not always been that way though. Born in Sharjah, Mojaddidy arrived in Cewher when he was only twelve years old. Now, thirty-two, he had gained the reputation of the undisputed drug lord of the Herat – the northern mountains along the Kadiki-Jurzani border. Often times, he would be called “His Royal Excellency, Zakir Mojaddidy, the King in the Herat.”
His dedication and loyalty to his allies is matched only by his brutality to those who fight him. Zakir himself never talks about his exploits mostly because those around him are more than happy to hype his name. If you ever met the man, you’d never know what he is capable of or the kind of atrocities he’s ordered. Some new people would try and impress him by threatening his empire or – hilariously – acting as though they were equals. Zakir would laugh and embrace the individual. “You’re a funny man!” Zakir would exclaim, pledging a long friendship. Then, as the man went home, he’d find his wife’s throat slit and his child hung to the wall by a machete through the heart.
“Sir!” the driver called out “There’s a checkpoint up ahead!”
Zakir maneuvered through the van to get a better look through the windshield. Sure enough, three men were standing at the edge of the bridge. This would be a usual checkpoint, especially due to the heightened tensions lately, however the men were not police officers – they wore the uniforms of the Green Army. Zakir smiled, grabbed the driver’s shoulder and said:
“Pull over my friend, let us see what they have to say.”
The van pulled to the side and turned off. The three soldiers stood, holding their rifles at ease. Their faces did not move, did not react when the young, suave, and criminal Zakir Mojaddidy emerged from the van and approached them without hesitation.
“Gentlemen!” he exclaimed “Allow me to be the first to say thank you for your service to the Republic. Your sacrifice is what guarantees our freedom.”
“My name is Sergeant Jalaluddin Jadoon of the Green Army of the Islamic Republic of the Jurzan,” the sergeant stated, walking forward “And you are Zakir Mojaddidy.”
“My reputation precedes me, Sergeant,” Zakir stated “How may I help you today?”
“You’re coming with us,” the Sergeant stated.
Almost immediately, the other two soldiers approached the van, which prompted Zakir’s men to draw their weapons. Zakir immediately rose his hand to cease any hostilities.
“I am not confident that you want to do this, Sergeant,” Zakir stated “Let us pass and we can reconnect when my work here is done.”
“I do apologize if at any time I lead you to believe this was a negotiation,” Jadoon answered.
“I see, I see,” Zakir through his hands in the air and laughed at the Sergeant “You want a cut, I get that. You know, I am surprised that members of the Armed Forces would actively get involved in this sort of thing, but I welcome the decision. Tell me, what percentage do you want?”
Jadoon remained stone cold, unmoved.
“Maybe you don’t,” Zakir’s tone slightly darkened “but I’m sure your children do. You wouldn’t want to upset them, because that is surely what would happen.”
“A tantalizing offer, Mr. Mojaddidy,” the Sergeant stated “I’ve grown tired of this.”
The soldiers opened fire on Zakir’s men, killing them with incredible ease. Zakir wasn’t unarmed, but he wasn’t stupid either. He stared at the Sergeant who had just killed his men with a look of disgust.
“You’re a criminal, Mr. Mojaddidy,” the Sergeant stated “I would put a bullet in your head right now, but unfortunately we need you alive. So, you’re coming with me.”
The soldiers threw a black hood over Mojaddidy’s head and knocked him unconscious.
48 km from Cewher City
North Jurzan
The roar of the engine and the oppressive Jurzani sun could hardly damper the ecstasy of Zakir Mojaddidy. He and his men had just secured one of the largest deliveries that has ever crossed the Jurzani-Kadikistani border and he was soon to be an even richer man. Nothing, not even the threat of a large scale war, could prevent the free trade of the drugs.
“It’s a magical thing you know,” Mojaddidy exclaimed, placing his hand on Zalmay Pazhwak’s shoulder “Two people bred to hate another can be so close when it comes to cocaine.”
“The glory of the revolution!” Pazhwak joked.
Zakir Mojaddidy is a well-known, powerful man. He had not always been that way though. Born in Sharjah, Mojaddidy arrived in Cewher when he was only twelve years old. Now, thirty-two, he had gained the reputation of the undisputed drug lord of the Herat – the northern mountains along the Kadiki-Jurzani border. Often times, he would be called “His Royal Excellency, Zakir Mojaddidy, the King in the Herat.”
His dedication and loyalty to his allies is matched only by his brutality to those who fight him. Zakir himself never talks about his exploits mostly because those around him are more than happy to hype his name. If you ever met the man, you’d never know what he is capable of or the kind of atrocities he’s ordered. Some new people would try and impress him by threatening his empire or – hilariously – acting as though they were equals. Zakir would laugh and embrace the individual. “You’re a funny man!” Zakir would exclaim, pledging a long friendship. Then, as the man went home, he’d find his wife’s throat slit and his child hung to the wall by a machete through the heart.
“Sir!” the driver called out “There’s a checkpoint up ahead!”
Zakir maneuvered through the van to get a better look through the windshield. Sure enough, three men were standing at the edge of the bridge. This would be a usual checkpoint, especially due to the heightened tensions lately, however the men were not police officers – they wore the uniforms of the Green Army. Zakir smiled, grabbed the driver’s shoulder and said:
“Pull over my friend, let us see what they have to say.”
The van pulled to the side and turned off. The three soldiers stood, holding their rifles at ease. Their faces did not move, did not react when the young, suave, and criminal Zakir Mojaddidy emerged from the van and approached them without hesitation.
“Gentlemen!” he exclaimed “Allow me to be the first to say thank you for your service to the Republic. Your sacrifice is what guarantees our freedom.”
“My name is Sergeant Jalaluddin Jadoon of the Green Army of the Islamic Republic of the Jurzan,” the sergeant stated, walking forward “And you are Zakir Mojaddidy.”
“My reputation precedes me, Sergeant,” Zakir stated “How may I help you today?”
“You’re coming with us,” the Sergeant stated.
Almost immediately, the other two soldiers approached the van, which prompted Zakir’s men to draw their weapons. Zakir immediately rose his hand to cease any hostilities.
“I am not confident that you want to do this, Sergeant,” Zakir stated “Let us pass and we can reconnect when my work here is done.”
“I do apologize if at any time I lead you to believe this was a negotiation,” Jadoon answered.
“I see, I see,” Zakir through his hands in the air and laughed at the Sergeant “You want a cut, I get that. You know, I am surprised that members of the Armed Forces would actively get involved in this sort of thing, but I welcome the decision. Tell me, what percentage do you want?”
Jadoon remained stone cold, unmoved.
“Maybe you don’t,” Zakir’s tone slightly darkened “but I’m sure your children do. You wouldn’t want to upset them, because that is surely what would happen.”
“A tantalizing offer, Mr. Mojaddidy,” the Sergeant stated “I’ve grown tired of this.”
The soldiers opened fire on Zakir’s men, killing them with incredible ease. Zakir wasn’t unarmed, but he wasn’t stupid either. He stared at the Sergeant who had just killed his men with a look of disgust.
“You’re a criminal, Mr. Mojaddidy,” the Sergeant stated “I would put a bullet in your head right now, but unfortunately we need you alive. So, you’re coming with me.”
The soldiers threw a black hood over Mojaddidy’s head and knocked him unconscious.