A Spot of Tea

[Ashkelon]

This quaint little travel agency stood at the end of a little street along the eastern Scanian coast, within the confines of the Warreic High Kingdom. Its windows were adorned with signs promoting flights and boat trips to that exotic nation across from the Thaumantic, the Pan-Oceanic Federation. One might think this would be a strange place to meet, but then one had to understand the history behind this travel agency. It was once a tea shop that catered to various interests, started and owned by an elderly Tizonian couple that used to profess the Jewish faith, before changing to the ways of Tiburan Catholicism before migrating here to Warre to start this business.

In a word, this little travel agency encompassed aspects of at least four nations, three of which intended to become involved in the affairs of the nation across the Long Sea, a @Borovanger caught in the troubles of Socialists attempting to maintain control of their nation from uprising Communists. It is with this context in mind, that our story begins.

Heinrich Gotthold, Archduke of Ascalon, and CEO of Dragonheart International, sipped from his cup of First Flush Darjeeling before setting it and its corresponding saucer down on the table. "So, then. We have a certain affair to discuss, and I'm sure we've all been briefed by those we represent. We have three potential factions to support, and my benefactors believe that the mild mannered clerical order would be ideal persons to cooperate with."

[MENTION=978]Warre[/MENTION] [MENTION=945]PanOceania[/MENTION] [MENTION=2096]Tizona[/MENTION]

 

[Bergenheim]

Swaggering into the cafe with characteristic flair, Lord-Colonel Juan Varela y Cardone handed his dusty road-gloves to one of his aides, who flanked him silently. His tanned skin seemed waxy in the winter-light, and his immaculately crisp moustache seemed like it belonged to another era. Tizona was very much a country of yesterday in this modern world, and the swaggering pseudo-Mezhist bearing of the fanatical catholic militarists of Tizona was practically a national stereotype.

Seating himself with exaggerated care, taking care not to crease his khaki pantaloons, the Lord-Colonel dropped his swagger-stick on the table, and clicked his fingers to get a waiter's attention. "Two shots of your blackest coffee, pronto, pendejo." He instructed, sneering down his moustache at these ex-patriates.

He shrugged off his thick, light-brown dust-cloak, letting his aides grab it before it fell to the floor. He leaned heavily across the table, staring at the Ashkeloni representative with a steely green eye and one glass eye. The man could not have been more theatrically a Tizonan officer if he had tried. He even had a duelling scar across his right cheek. All that was missing was the thick cigar clamped tightly between gold teeth.

Thankfully, Lord-Colonel Cardone did not light up, and seemed to have all of his teeth. Instead, he launched himself into a furious and arrogant tirade.

"Mild? Mannered? CLERICS? This is nonsense. The Holy Commonwealth may respect the good work of the clergy, but when it comes to ACTION, it takes men of NOBLE bearing and the Will to make their way in the world...Santa Maria... I propose we move to immediately support the Grand Duke Ortega and his faction. A bit of Iron and Blood is exactly what those damned Rojas need!" He punctuated his words by thumping his fist on the desk, making the tea-cups rattle.

One of his aides coughed politely. "The Holy Commonwealth is open to the possibility of clerical support, but would prefer to discuss a more millitant option first." He translated to the other representatives who did not speak the Lord-Colonel's curious mix of Andaluzian and English.

 

[Warre]

The third entrant to the meeting wasn't really an entrant at all. He had been in the building of the tourist office & tea shop the whole time; stooped at a book shelf and trying to pick through it's various vinyl discs on offer. They were all musical discs from various countries and locales which the travel office offered up vacation arrangements for. On the twentieth disc found; a choice was made and the stooped figure put the pin on the disc and turned on the record player.

As

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from the heavily Frankish influenced province of Clarent, down in Solyr, the leather jacketed wearing figure shifted his posture and came up to stand at his six foot and one inch height, maybe taller if you counted the partially slicked back, almost pompadour styling of his 'Himyari' black hair. The man strode to the counter and hopped over it, before grabbing a tall, thin glass half-liter bottle of the Warreic 'national soda pop', Siriceo, a spicy cherry flavored cola; and after popping it open, strode to the colonel and the duke.

"The more obvious option is to just support all the resistance factions we can, after forcing them together as an unified force. If we prop up one, or the other, we only open the gates for them to pop into Civil War 2: Electric Booooogaaaloou, in no time."

The man's icy blue eyes, like the frozen winters of the furthest northern reaches of Warre, looked at his counterparts; and the man, the second cousin to Kings of Tizona and Warre, took a swig of his soda.

 

[Ashkelon]

Duke Heinrich calmly sipped his tea as he listened to the Lord-Colonel rant off his disagreement. It was very considerate for the Holy Commonwealth to include an adjutant to translate the officer's angrish rambling, although the Duke understood enough to be able to get the gist of the statement.

His ears perked up, however, as someone in the back switched on the record player, and made his presence known in short order. The Duke recognized this tall man dressed in a certain casual, yet stylish set of attire. This man was a Prince, a relative of the Kings of both the Commonwealth and High Kingdom, and as such, the perfect intermediary between the two.

It didn't take much thinking to see the simple wisdom in the Prince's words. And why not unite the resistance? "His Highness has a very simple yet profound point, would you not agree, Lord-Colonel? It brings to mind the image of a bunch of sticks tied into a bundle, as opposed to a single one you can easily snap."

It was a clichéd analogy, of course, but that was the first one that came to mind. "My benefactors and associates are prepared to provide this joint resistance with assets of air power. According to our intelligence reports, Borovanger has a heavily outdated air force, a fact that we can exploit if we can incapacitate their air power entirely. Perhaps even personnel from the Combine's list of Armed Charity Groups." The duke chuckled.

The ACGs were officially unaffiliated with the Ashkeloni government, but they were very much favorite customers of the Combine's arms industries, who sold them military hardware. When push came to shove, the ACGs operated on their own mandates, and spent much of their spare time feeding the hungry, but their true speciality was combat. After all, the Knights of St. George of the Dragonheart, the New Zealots, and other such groups were first and foremost, descended from warrior factions and knightly orders of the ancient days... modern crusaders who swore to uphold the values of their predecessors.

And they were more than willing to get into trouble whenever the Ashkeloni government did not want to. Their lack of affiliation with the government also gave the Combine a certain degree of plausible deniability. After all, they did not answer to the Principal, or any of the Combine's official authorities.