Wolves in the Lodge at Banner Elk

Discussion in 'The World Stage' started by Beautancus, May 19, 2019.

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  1. Beautancus

    Beautancus Timeout

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    Summit of the Ængellexian States of the Thaumantic Horizon at Banner Elk 2019

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    Banner Elk Lodge, Orton Freehold,
    Bluehills Canton, Commonwealth of the Avery Settlements, Confederated Republic of Beautancus
    May 20-24, 2019

    "I laughed and shook his hand and made my way back home,
    I searched for form and land,
    For years and years I roamed I gazed a gazeless stare, We walked a million hills I must have died alone,
    A long, long time ago,
    Who knows? Not me, I never lost control,
    You're face to face With the man who sold the world..."
    - The Man Who Sold the World, David Bowie

    PART ONE

    "Come, come, make yourselves at home. I can't tell you what a true pleasure it is to have everyone here together tonight, under a single roof. And my own roof at that. It's a special enough treat for me to be able to spend a night here as is, given the breadth of country between here and the austere severity of Welmonton." A measured voice, a flowing baritone with just a bit too much edge to be called silken broke the deceptive silence of the Hangedman's Parlor. A familiar voice for the parlor and its famous lodge, to the proud commonwealth beyond its walls, out and among the vast country beyond the ancient and dreaming hills and vales of Avery and wider world beyond, for that matter. Everyone knew what the First Citizen of the Confederated Republic sounded like.

    Edward Ceneric Orton, or merely Ed as he insisted most of the time, gestured around the chamber broadly as he entered, elbow held just so to avoid losing the contents of the tumblerclasped in the adjoining hand. The Hangedman's Parlor was the finest of thelodge by a fair margin, a favorite for all but two in the succession of Banner Elk's eleven holders. That was of course to be expected, given the gravity of the conversation and personalities now hosted. Not quite so richly adorned, capped and furnished now as it had been just after the lodge’s construction, the parlor yet still retained much of the original epicurean vitality that Landgrave Diogenes Bawdewynn had imparted it with.

    Old Lord Bawdewynn himself was on hand to offer some measure of approval tonight even, after a fashion -with the gilded frame of his great oil and canvas portrait mounted to be seen by any who entered the parlor. Wisened eyes, as perpetually solemn and by all accounts more vivid in oil than here they had ever been in-flesh, awaited Orton’s gaze. The long-dead statesman yet remained unblinking and untroubled before the passing of the century since his artistic composition.

    "The pleasure is all mine, and may I partake in one of your fine Cussian cigarettes? We aren't getting every import through the border from Sylvania these days." Edwin Grafton, Commonwealth Commissioner of the West Engell Republic, was the first of them to speak again, casting an obvious eye and arched brow towards the carved door of the parlor and then back to the Cussian Executive, hand caught in his coat’s pocket in the briefly resurgent quiet.

    "Of course," Orton proffered the hammered silver cigarette case, after taking one for himself as well, and lighting it with a match that might as well have appeared from nowhere for the apparent effort he put into it.

    Casting no more than an over-shoulder glance back in the samedirection as Grafton, the balding and famously fussy man that remained at the threshold nodded wordlessly and left.
    As the hulking facade of masterfully carved cherry and aged oak clicked into place behind Orton's Chief of Staff and majordomo, a nondescript green light ensconced above the door frame pulsed into life. An assurance of privacy, here in these four walls, at least, and barring the ceaseless gaze of those assembled on the walls.

    Eleanor Sinclair smiled, swirling the wine glass she’d brought in from the reception. "Likewise, Ed. I have to say it has been ages since I've had a Cussian cigarette...Jonathan frowns on such athing and he's getting more difficult to sneak one around the residence. While we're at it, let's dispense with as much of it as we can, please call me Elle." The Clarenthian Governor General was a famously even-tempered woman, cordial but firm - a reputation she had more than lived up to at the Summit so far.

    "A difficulty I must admit to having precious little experience with," Orton grinned at his own joke, made at the expense of his own single status, and one that he'd never dream of making in less illustriouscompany.

    Seraphina Underwood nodded in appreciation and surveyed the room before smiling for her host. “Thank you, Excellency.” Though having waited to speak last among their quartet, the voice of the Southern President of the First Republic - mighty Engellex Herself - was far from the least of them. Among those voices in the Engellisc-speaking world, hers was one on the short list that could reasonably claim ever better recognition than their host. First among equals here, as ever.

    "Ed while we're here, if you please ma'am, away from the prying eyes and ears ofthat pack sycophants and bureaucrats. At least half of every person outside those doors harbor some measured aspiration of treason behind every baited breath,mark my words.” Orton emphasized his drawled contempt with a final nod back tothe wider ballroom and population of guests, setting a few strands of increasingly “salted and peppered” loose and precariously close to the cigarette he'd already mostly burned through.

    The Southern President nodded curtly, the genuine warmth of her smile something that could and had rendered many a soul witless beforehand. "As well then that you should call me Sera." She turned his gaze, and extended this permission to their other counterparts wordlessly.

    "This was a wonderful moment in history," Elle chimed, a precise melody in its own right, well belying the experienced quality of herown lifetime of political artistry. "I believe our presence here today is a strongmessage of solidarity in a world that otherwise so painfully lacks for it."

    "Quite right, ma'am. You may call me Ed as well - I'll be the Ed without the mighty beard,” Grafton's practiced chuckle eased him into the next of it, “...now, last year, if you’d told me I would be the Engellachian in a room with the three of you, I would have thought us both mad. This is a wonderful moment for our many Republics. Andnecessary, what's more."

    "As historic a moment as the world has seen for sometime, I think it safe to venture." Absently stroking his beard, a juvenile fidget turned habitual if practical device in majority, Orton flashed a Cavalier smile at the other Ed in acknowledgement of that well-stated, if difficult truth.

    A tip of the brow and Grafton continued, aiming directly at one of the greatest unknowns of the Summit's proceedings. "I cannot also go without remarking that it is a pleasure and honor to be in the presence of Madame Underwood again, a vision and essence of the very First Republic."

    Orton's interest was immediately piqued, the Engelleachian now presaged one of the more important matters to be handled, and upon which much else beside had and didnow hinge. Elle nodded in approval as well, having the significance of the moment not lost on her.
    All the same and nevertheless, she did and would for sometime remain moderately jealous of Underwood's much thinner waste.

    "There is of course the matter of formal relations between the First Republic and its West Engell descendant. You and I, as well as Madame Siward, stood together at the Lord & Lady of Peace Monument in the Two Kingdoms last month, yet there is the reality of the embassy ruins in Vesper." Edwin coughed a bit, worried the others may think it was a sick joke. "The grounds are cleared, and I believe that we are ready - with all of your approval - to begin construction on what we call Thaumantican Square."

    Orton moved on to pouring drinks, by this point, preferring to defer to Underwood for further commentary on this matter, and thankful the matter rested primarily between the West and South Engell leaders.

    Grafton continued, heedless of any drink for the moment, "It is meant to be a business and diplomatic district, modernized to hold secure rooms, and cordoned off by a commonly shared or rotating security service."

    Underwood leaned slightly forward, careful to ensure understanding here, now. “Yes, we must attend to that matter.” Almost murmured, the words lingered between them all far more deeply in their passing. She then turned to Orton, hand partly outstretched to accept a glass of her own from their host, the Southern President paused, politely if abruptly continuing on to Grafton, “Madame Siward is not present.” Her smile returned to the bearded Ed with the same abrupt precision. Something in her regard animated the Cussian, if all but imperceptibly.

    "I think, for our part, that is something that we canmake proper use of, in material and political terms. It was never more than our intention to safeguard the interests of all our kindred peoples in those confusedand murky days, as I'm sure you're well aware.”

    There was something to be said for the practiced ease with which Orton turned the remainder of his tumbler back, though not one of them could say what. “Popular regard for our northern cousins has never been higher, and by any measure is certainly improved since."

    Underwood picked up smoothly from there, forming a rhythm in the moment with her Nativist counterpart. “I apologize that the Republic has not engaged this concern sooner.”

    Her expression softened and tone warmer, she continued, “It hurts our chances to remain so distant. We need this Thaumantican Square.”
    Sera smiled at the Engellachian again before turning to the window, and the lakeside vista that waited beyond.

    "I believe that would be an extremely positive step toward restoring normalcy," Elle added, unspeakably thankful she wasn't the one navigating her way out of this mess. "Thaumantican Square is an important physical, yet symbolic victory for the Engelkin. Where others clamored for our division, and to exploit and grow strong from any continued strife between us, it is important for them to see that we've righted course, doubly so now that their own houses are in such a state of disorder."

    Turning back and taking a step back towards Elle and Grafton, hands together before her and blonde hair bobbing with nodded agreement, Underwood met their eyes. “We have held ourselves from Europe abroad, as problematic as that is, as it would not be right to consider otherwise until we have reformed our bond, our mutual regard and shared affection repaired before all powers and principalities of the day.”

    Much of a year's worth of uncertainty perished with those words - so elegantly and precisely spent. The tremendous gravity of the once very nearly fatal unease fell away from Grafton's countenance, his face almost visibly brightened.

    There passed a moment in which none of the four spoke, the only sounds of the chamber coming from an enormous Grandfather Clock, dominating a corner unto itself, older than Banner Elk and carved with scenes depicting the Wild Hunt afield, and of the Great White Owl and Oldman of the Rivers in council with the Hooded Stranger and Wayland the Smith. A timepiece cast in the likeness of the Engellexian peoples peculiar institution of Thaumantic Rite Masonry, the very force that had seen this lodge raised up from the rocky face of a once remote mountainside.

    Being the most acutely aware of them how little time remained to seize and make the most of the opportunities at hand, Ed Grafton was the first to speak again. “It is also in the interest of the Republican Legislator - and myself - to begin pursuing the adoption of the Engellexian Pound.” He breathed deeply and managed to hold another cough at bay. “The Engellmark is an unfortunate legacy of the 19th century’s own ‘Era of Chaos’ that may actually trump last year's catastrophe, if I may say so."

    "To say the least, Ed. That would be truly well received in these quarters, and is likely to have our businesses falling over themselves to get a foot in the door. A true bonanza, of the kind that might well see people having a hard time remembering there ever was a...thing, in Vesper." Orton tried his best not to look too much the part of the wolf on receiving an invitation to supper in the barnyard.

    “A shared currency?” Underwood hadn't seemed to be talking to any of them in particular, her face a flawlessly passive mask as she side stepped toward the parlor's centerpiece table, taking a seat for herself before Grafton or Orton could move to do so for her. Her legs folded to the side, and pulled out a silver cigarette case of her own, adding a further layer to the gently surging fog above their heads.

    Edwin nodded and took in a drag of the Cussian cigarette, that while always strong, had never seemed quite so strong as they did now. It had been since dimly remembered youth that a brief parting from the Cussian leaf came with this much coughing in the course of reunion.

    Wordlessly, the Summit's host nudged a tumbler to Grafton, a tonic of some sort and timely. The merest fractional lowering of an eyebrow spoke silent volumes between the two men, and a slight nod before Grafton took a seat himself.
    "Thanks Ed, if it seems like I'm champing at the bit - it's because I am. I'll try to relax and let the professionals plan a bit." Grafton said with a smile, joining the others at the table.

    It was Orton who found himself considering the pond downhill from the lodge some ways. Regarding his domain still, mane and beard casting his gracefully aged features in an almost leonine silhouette in the face of the early Summer Cussian Sun. He began to speak before looking back again. "This leads us handily into some of the more delicate - and unpleasant if I'm to be honest - matters at hand. Farther abroad and afield, the madcap clansmen and the Germanian Cofictionalists play the part of principalities in the very pinnacle of Misrule, profiteers enriching themselves from the cascading disintegration of neighboring states. If their wilder ambitions are fulfilled, it will quickly come to pass that our own family of nations will be joined, or perhaps better said as rejoined by another such. I imagine this development of a sentiment for wider, pan-national unionism in the Fictional strongholds on The Continent have not escaped your notice?"

    Head shaking slowly and deliberately, “It has not,” Underwood answered simply. Opening the case and pulling out another cigarette, stopping short of lighting as she gestured up at the ceiling with it. “We cannot stop them from forming a union, but I can and will make it hurt should that formation prove to be of any inconvenience.”

    Grafton's smile returned, "I know you will, ma'am!"

    "The fall of the Trier Concord has destroyed any unified sentiment in that continent, now regional alliances are forming to replace the old guard," Elle puffed on her own cigarette, "I'm not sure what ambitions they will conjure with that new found unity."

    Clapping the table once, Orton schooled his momentary enthusiam into an open handed gesture. "The mad ambitions of the Gunns have never been well tempered by a sense of what is prudent or reasonable. I think the events in Himyar bear out the potential for far greater and wider ruin better than anything else in recent memory. Nothing good will come from their machinations, and I fear it may soon venture into territory that cannot but effect us."

    President Underwood hesitated and didn't, the cigarette returning to its case. “Their hope is distraction.” Stated matter of fact, she rose from the chair, Orton making no secret of following her movements as she did, such never being his or the Cussian way.

    Even so entertained, the Cussian plowed onward. "I fear it is as much a message for us as it is a matter of playing upon their past, in cleaving to fictional terminology and institutions, in seeking a means for this Union. Their Church has never forgotten our liberation from its tyranny, and has never viewed the matter as settled. As ludicrous as that is to say, so many centuries after the fact." Shaking his head with the poor regard in which he held the Tiburan Institution, he scoffed, and checked himself. Half-formed thoughts made for even poorer words, and were best left to pickle themselves.

    Sipping at her wine, and remaining seated, very aware of the Cavalier's attentions, Elle put the obvious question to her counterparts. "Why should we concern ourselves with them so tenaciously now? Our World is unique in that it is free from their doctrines. Allow them to sink further into this despair and division, it makes little difference to us, does it not?"

    "Premature as it may be, I consider the recent clash in the Dark Continent to be one of a growing conflict between multiple civilizations already amounting to an undeclared war - only not all of the spectrums of the conflict are burning bright yet." Edwin said with another cough.

    "Elle, I believe in the ascendancy of the Thaumantican Civilization on and beyond this planet. Even if they sat over there and allowed us to be free, it is going to take some degree of uncomfortable confrontation between us to get passed and over them - sorry to say."

    Pointing steepled fingers towards the Engellachian in agreement, Orton picked back up. "I agree, wholeheartedly, and would extend it even further to say that they have already begun to test the waters, meddling in affairs that were and remain matters clearly between the members of our kindred. The Previous Year's Crisis can, and should be viewed as a product of this meddling. An attempt to divide our family."

    "You and I know quite well that the Engellachians have the spirit for the fight to come, as I said a full spectrum clash, but we are dreadfully under equipped for all of it." Grafton reminded a touch sheepishly, "I have a mind of privatizing much of this, with trusted military companies or merchant marines, to begin seeking retired equipment from your caches to reinforce parts of the Thaumantic or elsewhere for the greater forces at play to have an ability to maneuver."

    "I don't think anyone here will be surprised to say that this news would be even more favorably greeted in Welmonton, or any other far corner of Beautancus, than the notion of a currency union." The Cussian sat back in his own chair, eyebrows still arched with the thoroughly pleasing play.

    Elle nodded in agreement herself this time. "I am very much of the belief that the two worlds, the one where Gallo-Germania rules and where the Thaumantic is ascendant and breathes free, are mutually exclusive. The disparities between our ways of life are and have ever been so profound as to render some eventual conflict inescapable. I must say that the Engellachians and the Treatyfolk share similar dilemmas, there similarity overtakes disparity. My people left the comfort of SoCRER to forge a civilization in a savage west, but have since gained an unhealthy level of comfort."

    The Clarenthian leader paused to pour herself another drink, offering to anyone who wanted it.
    Both men accepted, happy to not be seen as taking too strong a bead on it for themselves. Sinclair continued then, "Modernization, as well as a general expansion of the Commonwealth's capabilities are essential to our ability to assist in protecting our own civilization and I am hoping that the Cussians and the First Republic would be amenable to such a request."

    Underwood now paced back toward Elle, fingers tracing the minute carving at the tables edge, and accepted a drink herself - and waited, having grown accustomed to the Engellachian's body language enough now that she could tell he meant to speak.

    Nodding along, Edwin pushed forward with more plans cooked up by his Chief Advisor - Bruce Steinvasser, who was likely bouncing off of the walls outside impatiently. "We are excited to participate in the coming exercises in the Implarian, a capital opportunity, and we would like to observe the results of who arises as a natural commander in the theater. We are not the leaders, Engellachians, I know that - we all do. But I'll be honest here, we need guidance to make sure when we go after something or someone like a mad dog it's the right target." Edwin winced for a moment at Seraphina, "Ilchester chose the wrong target, and he's lucky to be alive."

    "I cannot help but feel there is some blame there myself. Felix and I had the sort of personal history that I felt left him above such...behavior." Orton lingers on his own reticence for a moment, before plowing ahead. "We can of course facilitate all manner of expansion for the Commonwealth, and Engellachia. We do so abroad, even now, among those Fictionals not directly beholden to the Papal Miter."

    Seraphina's finger ringed the edge of the glass she was to drink from, and pulling a lean smile from Elle before turning to regard the two gentlemen. A sidelong step, or two, and she was returning herself to the table. “I must apologize, Ed, she begun with a soft sincerity I fear I have not been equally gracious a guest as you are a host.” She paused to acknowledge the presence of familiarity, and to not otherwise been felt lacking respect for her friend and ally. “I want the Four Nations to announce the organization of a formal alliance. It harms the independent and collective interest of all here to remain pliable in appearance; for we are not.”

    Turning to Elle, Seraphina offered, “Clarenthia should be concerned with her security, but I assure you, the First Republic would be destroyed before you are independently required to consider the protection of your own civilization, and people. Timing may not be perfect - domestically, on a level - internationally,” she paused to return her address to Orton directly, “we cannot wait. Doing so may exacerbate the situation. Gentlemen, Elle - I do not want us to waste time, when collectively we could all be acquiring real experience - together - on the international stage.” She eyed each, figuring a thought or reaction, and then downed her whiskey in one.

    “This sort of thing is precisely why I ran for office and what I was elected for: stability and security for Engellachia as an asset for Engellkind rather than an outlier.” Edwin Grafton then moved his gaze between Underwood and Orton and thought ‘a two headed lion, with Elle and I as the two tails...'

    His face betrayed nothing of the sense of elated achievement and success that surged through him, heart and soul. Orton had just seen very nearly the whole of the the "wildest dreams" of his agenda fulfilled. "Hear Hear! indeed, dearest colleagues and kindred! To have called this historic seems now to be an understatement."

    Pausing, Orton found he was putting intense effort into drawing the last acrid life from his cigarette before stubbing it out too. "The Confederated Republic is prepared to give everything for the realization of this Great Work, one worthy of all the ages of human history."


    OOC: Please refrain from making any replies to this thread. Only the leaders from the four Engellexic nations represented in the above text are present, and any errant or uninvited posting will ruin the flow of this affair - so please don't for now.

    @Engellex @Clarenthia
    W. Engell Republic">@W. Engell Republic
     
    Last edited: May 20, 2019
  2. Fiannia

    Fiannia Administrator

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    Outside in the Lobby

    Karl Heydendahl, or for a simple introduction Mister Hyde, presented himself to his hosts not as an Ostmarkian or Engellachian from Eisgarten, but as the most ambitious young Thaumantican Oligarch any of the Engellexians present could ever meet. He could be pegged correctly as smug or arrogant by male counterparts, yet that would not prevent him from charming the feminine ones with his well tailored suit and perfectly groomed presentation.

    He took every opportunity to smile and shake hands with Cussians, Clarenthians, and the Engellexian Merchant Class who he explained he would be one of if not by choice, but necessity. His service was security through Heydendahl Defense Solutions, and he was perfectly ready to explain why this industry or that port anywhere in the world possessed a glaring defense shortcoming and how his company might remedy them. Something he loved about these Engellexians was that they were always impressed by a business man with a plan. In other parts of the world one needed a hundred bureaucrats and a thousand kilometers of red tape to put an armed helicopter in the air.

    Karl’s main selling point was that Eisgarten possessed a shipyard and naval academy facility that he had bought during the economic fallout from the Catastrophe, and that he was already training Merchant Marines to man protective vessels at a lower rate than anything others were offering - let alone the burden of State Naval assets. He also explained, quite confidently, that individual shipmates from their companies could be sent to his academy to attend a condensed training course for basic ship defense tactics against pirates.

    Behind him in every social engagement and one minute business pitch stood Bruce Steinvasser, who conspicuously kept refreshing his phone either to check for domestic news updates, or to type orders to moving pieces of the Thaumantic Civil Service which was working around the clock in Engellachia and beyond. As Karl pressed flesh with a Cussian Knight, who he was unabashedly attempting to recruit as an arms instructor, Bruce tapped on the young entrepreneur’s shoulder to say: “It’s happening, keep a warm face!” in German.

    Karl kept his conversation going, but more and more the room was transitioning from boisterous talk into low whispers, and a crowd was gathering around the two and some were pointing. They were all receiving or sharing the news that once again Vesper was descending into chaos at the hands of Socialists and their erstwhile enabler, Felix Ilchester. Bruce held up a Vesper 24 headline to Karl’s gaze, “REPUBLICAN TRAITORS ARRESTED AT LAST!”.

    The two shared winks at each other and nodded before facing the crowd. Karl tapped his wedding ring on his whiskey glass to center attention to re-assure as best he could the many who would be assuming the worst about yet another “Engellachian Trailer Park Fire” as one other guest had aptly labeled the fiasco. “Ladies and Gentleman, Bruce and I deeply embrace the philosophy of justice set out by your forefathers: in other words, the ringleaders of this little insurrection shall be arrested, hung, or afforded the role in human commodity that they deserve by midnight,” Karl declared with certainty, “or you may hold the two of us to this same just standard for failing to deliver!”
     
    Last edited: May 21, 2019
  3. Fiannia

    Fiannia Administrator

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    Confronted by the Cussian Spy Chief, Doctor Cypreau, Bruce Steinvasser sacrificed himself to sidebar questions to he and anyone else that would seek to debrief them. He also possessed a URL and codes that could patch them into livefeeds of streets, aircraft, and operator cameras on the ground.

    The Prince that never would be, and would never try, Heydendahl proceeded to find Prime Minister Edwin Grafton who was sitting alone yet surrounded by standing Presidents and Chiefs with their arms crossed over him. Edwin was coughing again, he would be better soon Karl knew, but the poor man could not find his words to respond to their questions.

    “Public problems demand private solutions,” Karl began, “it’s the new Thaumantican way, and the only way Engellachians can nip this in the bud within a day without wasting the resources of our allies!” Karl then produced a document containing ‘Executive Orders to Quell Insurrection & Adjust Commodities’.

    “It should have never come to this, but we gave Felix and Madam North an opportunity to act honorably as we strive to,” he continued, sliding a pen towards the Prime Minister, “this nightmare can be over by dawn, and the rise of a Vesper as the bright star of Thaumantica in a fortnight . .”

    “As you so contemplate, HDS operators are surrounding the homes, workplaces, and schools of your enemies and their families.” Karl stated as a matter of fact, “We must be ruthless in our pursuit of Thaumantic Order, so that none among us who strive to ascension to . .”

    Edwin cleared his throat and threw back the whiskey Elle had given him earlier, “Enough Karl, can you kill them or not?”. Karl grinned eerily without showing his teeth, an unbecoming facial tick that could make most others skin crawl, “Every last one, Ed!” Mister Heydendahl offered. Edwin capitulated and signed the orders aggressively, Karl offered a second copy for them to keep before marching away immediately to find Steinvasser. Before exiting completely Karl turned back once, “The Doctor should be rigging up a situation room, for those who wish to watch the show tonight?”
     
  4. Fiannia

    Fiannia Administrator

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    Karl and Bruce exchanged pipes with each other after packing, an odd Eisgart tradition Engells winced at. Doctor Cypreau, who the two now saw as a mythical extension of themselves, was piecing together technology to set up multiple. The two sucked on tobacco and counted down minutes until they were joined by a host of others behind. Karl turned around to meet their crowd, Edwin Grafton centered and looking healthy for once.

    "It's 2047 in Vesper, sunset . . " Karl began with a laser pointer marking the clock, "We now see video feeds turning on - yes, a helicopter rising at the port, she'll circle in search of small vessel escapes - kill that until that happens. Pull me up a drone cam, we call this thing a lawnmower - it's loud and obvious, but it's an eye in the sky!" Karl scoffed.

    This lawnmower like drone cam displayed a convoy of police SUV's barreling down the international highway away from Sylvania, back towards Vesper's city center. Karl Heydendahl snickered to himself and pressed the laser pointer at the third of five vehicles, "That's the Metro Police Commissioner, he's gone against us and said all Republicans need to be arrested; well, we can patch into his car right now and ask him about it, can't we?" On the video representation the third car visibly rocked, "The fuck was that?" someone in the SUV yelled for the entire remote crowd to hear.

    "Good evening Chief Westcott, how's the Revolution treating you?" Karl queried with a smile towards his crowd, "Sorry, not sorry, Westcott but we have your wife and sons . . They are boarding a ship for the Sunset Islands, commodity unless you care to capitulate, what do you say?" The police cruiser sailed forward for awhile, then Westcott replied: "I'll fucking . . ", suddenly the police cruiser seized its front brakes and flipped forwards, tumbling and crashing to ruin. "So that's the Chief of Police, his lieutenant is also desperate for money - but he and most are going to realize the Pound is greater than the Engellmark. That's the key, isn't it?" Karl asked aloud perhaps to himself, "Violence and money, it's an equation, we can't be timid about that . ."

    The next video patched into a helmet cam, the carrier's modern rifle sprung up and cracked two shots into a police dog, its unarmed controller simply threw his arms up. The cam holder pointed his index finger, telling him to turn around, then looked down to kick the back of his legs forward before stepping on his back. Suddenly he was aiming his rifle at the back of the man's head, and the crowd gathered in Beautancus began to stir, "HALT!" Karl shouted, patched into the man's earpiece radio, "festhalten und zum nächsten übergehen". The operator slammed the butt of his rifle down into the officer's skull gingerly, but the impact between plastic and pavement was enough to incapacitate the victim. "We are cheaper, more effective," Karl reminded his audience, ". . but this is still war and ultra violence, please keep that in mind."

    "Transitioning to the Port of Vesper, this one will get a bit hairy . ." Karl introduced with the perspective of a helicopter barreling towards the sea on screen. Shipping containers were being loaded with riches and human commodity of an illicit nature, the helicopter began descending and the screen view transitioned to an operator perspective, the operator jumped to the ground before the helicopter was landed via a rope and was running down his victims like a wolf - raising a rifle from time to time to pepper ones with guns, but for the rest he would drop his rifle to the sling and produce a tomahawk to hack into a skull or throat. With the Engells organizing this atrocity murdered or incapacitated, only the many races of Gallo-Germanic and Himyari remained cornered in shipping containers.

    "Diese illegalen Waren zu liquidieren," Karl ordered with a gulp. The operator threw a phosphorous grenade into the shipping container without hesitating, slamming the door shut and locking that door. As he turned around others were racing to catch up, he flashed them the okay symbol with his hand before noticing a fallen police officer starting to reach for a baton - he raised his rifle and buried a shot into the man's ear. "Sehr gut!" Karl exclaimed.

    Next the screen would show a needle tower, also being approached by a helicopter, this time multiple operators dropped together on rope lines. "I show you the Vesper Broadcast Tower," Karl narrated, "owned by the Tidewater family, who stands against our Thaumantican Order - show me a live feed of their station . . "

    Piped in from Vesper 24 was a host with a picture of red X's over the flags of SoCeR, Beautancus, and Clarenthia. The host then shrugged, papers in his hand, and laid out the case for a socialist Engellachia. Pictures displayed the dilapidated trailers that many Engellachians live in, the skinny soldiers of the Combined Armed Forces with holes in their uniforms, and the ruins of the First Republic Embassy. "The Socialist Revolution in Engellachia is now!" the TV host declared with a fist in the air.

    Just then the screen went black, then displayed a television test pattern. For the audience in Beautancus, they now saw Heydendahl's operators shuffling through the media tower pointing rifles at cowering socialist sycophants, no violence necessary. The lead camera proceeded to the control room, pushing a technician away roughly, before inserting a disk into the feed . . .
     
    Last edited: May 21, 2019
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