Pelasgia
Established Nation
Welcome to my internal/government RP, where I flesh out my nation's day to day workings while giving a bit of background on my government's policy and decisions! Hope you find it interesting and helpful! Feel free to comment
25/2/1956, 8:06 AM
The Propontine winter was coming to its end. A light mist covered the Imperial Capital, while the temperature was slightly above ten degrees Celsius. Irakleios walked through the courtyard of the palace, his steps making a distnct sound as they touched the marble tiles of the floor, in the otherwise empty courtyard. The building that laid before him was the home of the Propontine Emperor, as well as that of all of his countless predecessors and successors. It was the epitome of Propontine Imperial architecture, a testament to the wealth of both the Basileuousa, the "Reigning" (Capital) City, as well as the Empire in its entirety. Fine corinthian pillars and ornate walls, decorated with geometric patterns, scenes from mythology and Tiburan history and plant shapes, covered the white and crimson surface of the gigantic marble structure that served as the centre of Pelasgo-Tiburan civilisation, or what remained of it.
Irakleios had gone through that very same courtyard for years, being dropped of at the gate by his chauffeur. And every day he did exactly what he was about to now; he stopped and looked at a large, marble statue that laid near the gate of the Palace: the statue of Empress Despoina, though the way the statue had been crafted could have very well fooled one into thinking it was a stutue of the Virgin Mary herself... if one didn't know ORthodox Christians did not make statues of religious figures. On the base of the statue there was an inscription with the words the Empress had told her husband, Emperor Sabbatius the Great, when he was considering fleeing Propontis to avoid "the burial shroud" during the Nika riots. «Κάλλιστον ἐντάφιον ἡ βασιλεία.»; "Imperialdom is the best burial shroud." Irakleios took off the Kepi that covered his head as part of his officer's uniform, slightly bowed his head and continued walking after putting his cap back on.
He moved past the statue and walked up the stairs of the Palace's exteriror, the Varangian Guards who stood guard near the door standing in attention at the sight of him. The men were all very tall, both for the southern lands of the Empire as well as their far away northern Fatherlands. Mostly fair and pale in all their characteristics and well built, the Varangian guards had been the Emperor's finest personnal bodyguards for centuries since their barbarian ancestors first caught the Emperors' interest due to their unmatched skill and ferocity in combat. Wearing grey winter uniforms, with golden threaded details and decorative patterns, as well as black Shakos with the Imperial sigil cast upon them in gold, the gaurds gripped their ceremonial bolt-action rifles with the fixed bayonets as the Marshal walked near them. He gave a small salute with his cap as one of them opened the Palace's door for him. Normally he wasn't supposed to, but he always made a point of being warm to the troops, especially the elite ones. Once into the lavish halls and upon the mosaic-covered floors of the Palace, Irakleios was greeted by a familiar voice belonging to the man Irakleios considered the finest, and only noteworthy, servant in the entire Palace.
«Καλήμερον, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε. Ὁ Βασιλεὺς καὶ οἱ Ἐοὶ Ὑπουργοὶ ἀναμένουσι ὑμὰς ἐν τῷ Θαλάμῳ τοῦ Συμβουλίου.»
"Good day, Sir Marshal. The Emperor and His Ministers await you in the Chamber of the Council."
They aren't waisting a moment Irakleios thought. He smiled and replied to the servant, who had become something of a friend after so many years. The man himself wasn't very impressive, at least for the standards of the Great Palace; he was dressed in a fine suit, probably an Atthine Aslanis or a Nymphene Raptopoulos, wearing golden glasses, probably Justine, and a small, golden pin, bearing the sigil of the Imperial Dynasty, a gift to him by the late Emperor-father for his long and excellent service to the Imperial family. He was rather short, at about 1,65 m, with a wrinkly old face, green eyes and grey hair. Yet his honesty was something rare within these mighty halls and that had captured Irakleios's attention from quite early on.
«Καλήμερον. Εὐχαριστῶ σέ, Νικόδημε.»
"Good day. Thank you, Nikodemos."
«Παρακαλῶ, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε.»
"You're welcome, Sir Marshal."
Irakleios moved forward, walking up the stairs of the palace with such familiarity one could almost think he was a machine programmed for that tasked or a Varangian doing his rounds. The soldiers opened the doors of the Chamber of the Imperial Council. The room was full of light, coming in from the large windows on its left side, which looked out to the sea, while being just as ornate as the rest of the palace, with tyrian purple mantles and curtains, mosaics, gold plated surfaces, crystal chandeliers and fancy wooden furniture. At the centre a large wooden table, covered with maps, documents and other belongings of the various Ministers and the Emperor who sat around it. He bowed and greeted the Emperor and the Ministers.
«Μεγαλειότατε, Ἀξιότιμοι Ὑπουργοί· Καλήμερον.»
"Your Majesty, Honourable Ministers; Good day."
The Emperor replied with a cordial smile, recognising the man who had served as a loyal general to his father and somewhat of a fatherly figure to him, too.
«Ἡράκλειε, εἶ, ἐπιτέλους, μεθ'ἡμῶν. Παρακαλῶ, κάθισε. Διψῇς, Ἡμέτερε φίλτατε;»
"Irakleios, you are, at last, with us. Please, take a sit. Are you thrirsty, Our friend?"
«Ὀλίγως, ναί, Μεγαλειότατε.»
"A bit, yes, Your Majesty."
«Πέμποιτο ὄλίγον ὕδωρ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ.»
"May some water be brought to the man."
A servant walked in with a glass of water, leaving it onto the table in front of where the Marshal was sitting, before exiting the room once more. The Emperor took a breath before speaking.
«Συζητούσαμεν, ὁρᾷς, περὶ ἀνέμων καὶ ὑδάτων. Μεταξὺ αὐτῶν παρήσθη καὶ τὸ θέμα τῶν ἐντάσεων ἐν τῇ Μαρκᾷ Θαλάττῃ, λόγῳ τοῦ ἀποκλεισμοῦ τῆς Ἰουστίνης ἐκ Καδικικῶν ναυτικῶν δυνάμεων. Ὁ ἔντιμος Ὑπουργὸς τῶν Ἐξωτερικῶν ἐνημέρωσε ὑμὰς πρὸ ὀλἰγον. Κύριε Ὑπουργέ;»
"We were discussing, you see, winds and currents (ie. current events). The issue of the tensions in the Long Sea, due to the blockade of Justiza by Kadiki naval forces, was among those which presented themselves. The honourable Minister of Foreign Affairs briefed us a bit ago. Sir Minister?"
«Ἐσμὲν ἐν μέσῳ ἐμπορικῆς προσεγγίσεως μετὰ τῶν Καρινθίων καὶ ἡ σφετέρα Αὐτοκρατορία ἐστὶ βαθυτάτως ἐνοχλημένη μετὰ τῶν Καδικίων. Ἐπιπλέον πολλά κράτη τῆς περιοχῆς, ὠς αἱ Πολιτεία τῆς Ἐγγοῦς Ἀνατολῆς εἰσὶ βαθυτάτως προβληματισμέναι καὶ ἐστὶ σχεδὸν σίγουρον ὄτι πράξουσι. Ἡ Ἰουστίνη ἐστὶ μία χώρα φιλικὴ μεθ'ἡμῶν λόγῳ ἱστορίας καὶ πολιτισμοῦ. Πιστεύομεν ὄτι μία συντονισμένη δράσις ἀνακουφήσεως πέμψει τὸ σωστὸν μήνυμα τοῖς Καδικίοις. Ἐθέλοιμεν ἴνα συντονίσωμεν μία τέτοιαν δράσιν.»
"We are in the midst of a trade rapprochement with the Carinthians and their Empire is most deeply annoyed at the Kadikis. Furthermore many states in the region, such as the States of the Near East (ie. the Levantine States) are most deeply troubled and its almost certain that they shall act. Justiza is a country that is friendly to us due to history and culture. We believe that a coordinated relief action shall send the right message to the Kadikis. We would like to coordinate such an action."
«Καὶ θέλετε τὴν ἐμὴ συμβουλὴ λόγῳ τῆς γνώσεως μου ἐπὶ τοῖς στρατιωτικοῖς τοῦ Κράτους;»
"And you want my advice due to my knowledge of the State's military affairs?"
«Ἀκριβῶς.»
"Precisely."
«Οὐ προτείνοιμι ἴνα ἄρχωμεν ἕνα πόλεμον μεγάλης κλίμακος, ὅμως, σιγούρως, μία κοινὴ ἐπίδειξις δυνάμεως βιβᾷ τοὺς Καδικίους εἰς τὴν σφετέραν θέσιν. Οὔτως ἢ ἄλλως, εἰσὶν ἤδη ἀπησχολημένοι μετὰ τῶν Καρινθίων καὶ τῶν Ἱβερνίων ἐθνικιστῶν ἐν τῷ Βοῤῥᾷ. Οὐ δύνανται ἴνα ὑπομένωσι μία σύγγρουσιν δύο μετώπων.»
"I would not recommend starting a large scale war, but, certainly, a joint show of force will put the Kadikis in their place. Either way, they are already busy with the Carinthians and the Ivernish nationalists in the North. They cannot withstand a two-front conflict."
The Prime Minister, who had been observing quietly, turned to the Emperor and spoke.
«Μία σύνοδος μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐθνοφρόνων δυνάμενεων εἴη μία καλὴ ἰδέα.»
"A summit with the other nation-minded (ie. very nationalist; euphemism for chauvinist/ultra-nationalist) would be a good idea."
The Emperor nodded by moving his head up and down before replying.
«Καλῶς. Τακτοποιεῖτε τήν.»
"Very well. See to it."
Elenonisos, Theme of Actaea
26/2/1956, 2:03 PM
Laonikos thrusted his pickaxe into the hard, solid rock of the island once more. The distinct 'clunk' sound was yet again followed by bits of broken rock flying here and there as he raised his pickaxe for another hit. He rested the tool on his right shoulder, while he wiped the sweat off of his forehead his his left hand. He looked away from the grey, rocky ground of the island into the Kymatian Sea, the ever extending Archipelago of countless Pelasgian islands that acted as the northernmost frontier of the Empire. As a kid, he always wondered if one could see the shores of Gallo-Germania if they were to swim far enough into the sea. Perhaps that was why he became a sailor... and then a smuggler. Perhaps it was just that almost everyone in his hometown, Thorikos, a small town on the rocky shores of Actaea, the region where Atthis is located, right under the Temple of Poseidon at Cape Sellion, was either a worker at a factory or a fisher, some doing both. Perhaps he had just wanted to be free, in true Actaean spirit. Perhaps he just liked having a girl and a bed at all noteworthy, and some less noteworthy, ports in the Long Sea. Perhaps it was none of that. Who knows? Yet one thing was for certain: that life was now long over; even worse it had landed him here.
All states need a way to take care of undesirables. Even the people in his homeland, Actaea, whose capital, Atthis, gave the world Democracy, did not hesitate to execute Socrates once he threatened the establishment. Nor did they hesitate to send countless more great Atthites into exile once they had outgrown their immediate usefulness. The country Laonikos had been born and raised in had no regard for petty inconveniences such as Democracy and Free Speech. There used to be a time when they did... but that time grew more distant, both literally and metaphorically, by the day, being replaced yet again, as it had been 1429 years ago, by the grand policy of "One Empire, One Law, One Church". This Empire, in all its majesty, took care of dissidents and other such 'scum' by shipping them off to the islands of the Archipelago.
For most foreigners and mailanders a trip to the Pelasgian islands meant a splendid summer... as long as they want to the fertile, big, well-known and inhabited islands. These islets on the other hand; they were simple pieces of rock, sticking out of the water like a skull that had been washed up on a beach, with a burning hot sun always above them, save for large storms during winter time, and nothing but countless rocks, wasps and a few wild plants here and there. This island had everything in short supply, save for misery. Then again, it was Helen of Ilion who gave her name to this island when she stopped here. It would only make sense that a person whose very name was associated with the plight and death of good Pelasgians, good people, would gift said name onto an island not so much unlike her. Then again one of the more educated people on the island, some Classicist scholar from Therme who went a tad too far with his love for all things Classical, spoke of how, according to some ancient playwright called 'Euripides' she was actually innocent and it was all a trick of the Gods. If you asked Laonikos, only a fool would speak of Gods and Ancients, having seen a place such as this; for such talk required hope and hope was in short supply in such a place.
Laonikos spat on the ground, in a silent show of contempt. Yet, just as he was done wiping his mouth, the feeling of the metal rod of one of the guards, made unbearably hot by the sun, was all that he felt right before he slummed into, or rather was forced to, the ground. The sharp rock gave him small cuts here and there, while older scars opened up once more, letting blood flow and mix with the sand, creating the sort of muddy colour that red paint has on traditional Propontine pottery.
«Ἐγείρου! Ὀρθώσου! Εἰς τοὺς πόδας σου!»
"Stand up! Stand straight! On your feet!"
Laonikos wanted to grab that man and restle him to the ground, to crush his skull in with a rock, to slit his throat with a broken seashell, to beat him with his own batton. But he had learned better than to do that, as the scars on his back and belly indicated. He stood up straight, raising his hands above his head, ready to take the beating that awaited him. While he waited for the guard behind him to hit his knees or the back of his head, he heard a foot slam into the ground as the guard stood in attention. A voice he did not know was heard.
«Ἀναπαύσου, δεκανέα. Χρειάζομαι ὀλίγον ἰδιωτικὸν χρόνον.»
"At ease, corporal. I need a bit of private time."
The voice had a cetain tone of authority to it. An officer? He had met most of the officers and none of them had such a voice. He could be a new man, seeking to meet the less collaborative prisoners, before he introduced himself to the entire wretched lot. Yet his impeccable Nymphene accent and proper use of Koine, unlike that bastardised Katharevousa the figures of authority used around here, indicated that he was far too educated, and therefore far to important, to be wasted in this craphole. The footsteps of the guard could be heard as he was leaving. The man spoke again, this time adresing his words to Laonikos.
«Δύνασαι ἴνα χαμηλώσῃς τὰς σεὰς χεῖρας, Λαόνικε. Ἐθέλοιμι ἴνα ὁμιλήσωμεν.»
"You can lower your hands, Laonikos. I would like us to talk."
Laonikos lowered his hands and turned to face the man. Average height, olive green military uniform, a Kepi with the Imperial Sigil on it, with the three golden stars of a Colonel on his shoulders. His hands were behind his back. He wore glasses and his uniform was perfectly ironed. He must be with Military Intelligence Laonikos thought. His skin was slightly whiter than that of your average Pelasgian, while his eyes and hair were brown. A small moustache rested over his lips. His face was serious, yet receptive, as if he was waiting for Laonikos to say something. Laonikos opened his mouth and spoke; he did not try to fake knowledge of or interest in archaic linguistic forms. He spoke in his local dialect of Demotic Pelasgian, known full well the man facing him could understand him.
«Τὶ δουλειά ἔχει ἐδῶ ἡ Στρατιωτικὴ Ἀντικατασκοπεία;»
"What job does Military Intelligence have here?"
A faint smirk covered the officer's face.
«Κατευθείαν εἰς τὸ θέμα, βλέπω; Μὴ φοβοῦ. Οὐ θέλομεν ἴνα βλάψωμεν σέ. Πρὸς τὸ παρόν, τουλάχιστον...»
"Straight to the point, I see? Don't be afraid. We don't want to harm you. For now at least..."
«Δῶσε μοῦ ἕναν καλὸ λόγο γιὰ νὰ μὴ σοῦ κάνω τὴ μούρη κρέας.»
"Give me one good reason not to turn your face into mincemeat."
«Πέραν τοῦ ἐκτελεστικοῦ ἀποσπάσματος; Εἰμί ἡ μόνη σου εὐκαιρία ἴνα ἐγκαταλήψῃς ταύτην τὴν ἄθλιαν νῆσον, ἥντινα μισεῖς βαθυτάτως.»
"Beyond the firing squad? I am your only chance to leave this island, which you so deeply hate."
«Πῶς ϗ̀ ἔτσι;»
"How so?"
«Ἀρκεῖ τὸ λέγειν πὼς αἱ σαὶ ἰκανότηται γεγένηνται ἐξ ἄφνου ἰδιαιτέρως... χρήσιμοι τῇ Βασιλείᾳ.»
"Suffice it to say that your skills have suddenly become... useful to the Empire."
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at anytime. A list of all major characters is available in the comments for anyone in need of it. ~ Demos Great Palace of Propontis, Propontis, Theme of Phryxaea25/2/1956, 8:06 AM
The Propontine winter was coming to its end. A light mist covered the Imperial Capital, while the temperature was slightly above ten degrees Celsius. Irakleios walked through the courtyard of the palace, his steps making a distnct sound as they touched the marble tiles of the floor, in the otherwise empty courtyard. The building that laid before him was the home of the Propontine Emperor, as well as that of all of his countless predecessors and successors. It was the epitome of Propontine Imperial architecture, a testament to the wealth of both the Basileuousa, the "Reigning" (Capital) City, as well as the Empire in its entirety. Fine corinthian pillars and ornate walls, decorated with geometric patterns, scenes from mythology and Tiburan history and plant shapes, covered the white and crimson surface of the gigantic marble structure that served as the centre of Pelasgo-Tiburan civilisation, or what remained of it.
Irakleios had gone through that very same courtyard for years, being dropped of at the gate by his chauffeur. And every day he did exactly what he was about to now; he stopped and looked at a large, marble statue that laid near the gate of the Palace: the statue of Empress Despoina, though the way the statue had been crafted could have very well fooled one into thinking it was a stutue of the Virgin Mary herself... if one didn't know ORthodox Christians did not make statues of religious figures. On the base of the statue there was an inscription with the words the Empress had told her husband, Emperor Sabbatius the Great, when he was considering fleeing Propontis to avoid "the burial shroud" during the Nika riots. «Κάλλιστον ἐντάφιον ἡ βασιλεία.»; "Imperialdom is the best burial shroud." Irakleios took off the Kepi that covered his head as part of his officer's uniform, slightly bowed his head and continued walking after putting his cap back on.
He moved past the statue and walked up the stairs of the Palace's exteriror, the Varangian Guards who stood guard near the door standing in attention at the sight of him. The men were all very tall, both for the southern lands of the Empire as well as their far away northern Fatherlands. Mostly fair and pale in all their characteristics and well built, the Varangian guards had been the Emperor's finest personnal bodyguards for centuries since their barbarian ancestors first caught the Emperors' interest due to their unmatched skill and ferocity in combat. Wearing grey winter uniforms, with golden threaded details and decorative patterns, as well as black Shakos with the Imperial sigil cast upon them in gold, the gaurds gripped their ceremonial bolt-action rifles with the fixed bayonets as the Marshal walked near them. He gave a small salute with his cap as one of them opened the Palace's door for him. Normally he wasn't supposed to, but he always made a point of being warm to the troops, especially the elite ones. Once into the lavish halls and upon the mosaic-covered floors of the Palace, Irakleios was greeted by a familiar voice belonging to the man Irakleios considered the finest, and only noteworthy, servant in the entire Palace.
«Καλήμερον, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε. Ὁ Βασιλεὺς καὶ οἱ Ἐοὶ Ὑπουργοὶ ἀναμένουσι ὑμὰς ἐν τῷ Θαλάμῳ τοῦ Συμβουλίου.»
"Good day, Sir Marshal. The Emperor and His Ministers await you in the Chamber of the Council."
They aren't waisting a moment Irakleios thought. He smiled and replied to the servant, who had become something of a friend after so many years. The man himself wasn't very impressive, at least for the standards of the Great Palace; he was dressed in a fine suit, probably an Atthine Aslanis or a Nymphene Raptopoulos, wearing golden glasses, probably Justine, and a small, golden pin, bearing the sigil of the Imperial Dynasty, a gift to him by the late Emperor-father for his long and excellent service to the Imperial family. He was rather short, at about 1,65 m, with a wrinkly old face, green eyes and grey hair. Yet his honesty was something rare within these mighty halls and that had captured Irakleios's attention from quite early on.
«Καλήμερον. Εὐχαριστῶ σέ, Νικόδημε.»
"Good day. Thank you, Nikodemos."
«Παρακαλῶ, κύριε Ἀρχιστράτηγε.»
"You're welcome, Sir Marshal."
Irakleios moved forward, walking up the stairs of the palace with such familiarity one could almost think he was a machine programmed for that tasked or a Varangian doing his rounds. The soldiers opened the doors of the Chamber of the Imperial Council. The room was full of light, coming in from the large windows on its left side, which looked out to the sea, while being just as ornate as the rest of the palace, with tyrian purple mantles and curtains, mosaics, gold plated surfaces, crystal chandeliers and fancy wooden furniture. At the centre a large wooden table, covered with maps, documents and other belongings of the various Ministers and the Emperor who sat around it. He bowed and greeted the Emperor and the Ministers.
«Μεγαλειότατε, Ἀξιότιμοι Ὑπουργοί· Καλήμερον.»
"Your Majesty, Honourable Ministers; Good day."
The Emperor replied with a cordial smile, recognising the man who had served as a loyal general to his father and somewhat of a fatherly figure to him, too.
«Ἡράκλειε, εἶ, ἐπιτέλους, μεθ'ἡμῶν. Παρακαλῶ, κάθισε. Διψῇς, Ἡμέτερε φίλτατε;»
"Irakleios, you are, at last, with us. Please, take a sit. Are you thrirsty, Our friend?"
«Ὀλίγως, ναί, Μεγαλειότατε.»
"A bit, yes, Your Majesty."
«Πέμποιτο ὄλίγον ὕδωρ τῷ ἀνθρώπῳ.»
"May some water be brought to the man."
A servant walked in with a glass of water, leaving it onto the table in front of where the Marshal was sitting, before exiting the room once more. The Emperor took a breath before speaking.
«Συζητούσαμεν, ὁρᾷς, περὶ ἀνέμων καὶ ὑδάτων. Μεταξὺ αὐτῶν παρήσθη καὶ τὸ θέμα τῶν ἐντάσεων ἐν τῇ Μαρκᾷ Θαλάττῃ, λόγῳ τοῦ ἀποκλεισμοῦ τῆς Ἰουστίνης ἐκ Καδικικῶν ναυτικῶν δυνάμεων. Ὁ ἔντιμος Ὑπουργὸς τῶν Ἐξωτερικῶν ἐνημέρωσε ὑμὰς πρὸ ὀλἰγον. Κύριε Ὑπουργέ;»
"We were discussing, you see, winds and currents (ie. current events). The issue of the tensions in the Long Sea, due to the blockade of Justiza by Kadiki naval forces, was among those which presented themselves. The honourable Minister of Foreign Affairs briefed us a bit ago. Sir Minister?"
«Ἐσμὲν ἐν μέσῳ ἐμπορικῆς προσεγγίσεως μετὰ τῶν Καρινθίων καὶ ἡ σφετέρα Αὐτοκρατορία ἐστὶ βαθυτάτως ἐνοχλημένη μετὰ τῶν Καδικίων. Ἐπιπλέον πολλά κράτη τῆς περιοχῆς, ὠς αἱ Πολιτεία τῆς Ἐγγοῦς Ἀνατολῆς εἰσὶ βαθυτάτως προβληματισμέναι καὶ ἐστὶ σχεδὸν σίγουρον ὄτι πράξουσι. Ἡ Ἰουστίνη ἐστὶ μία χώρα φιλικὴ μεθ'ἡμῶν λόγῳ ἱστορίας καὶ πολιτισμοῦ. Πιστεύομεν ὄτι μία συντονισμένη δράσις ἀνακουφήσεως πέμψει τὸ σωστὸν μήνυμα τοῖς Καδικίοις. Ἐθέλοιμεν ἴνα συντονίσωμεν μία τέτοιαν δράσιν.»
"We are in the midst of a trade rapprochement with the Carinthians and their Empire is most deeply annoyed at the Kadikis. Furthermore many states in the region, such as the States of the Near East (ie. the Levantine States) are most deeply troubled and its almost certain that they shall act. Justiza is a country that is friendly to us due to history and culture. We believe that a coordinated relief action shall send the right message to the Kadikis. We would like to coordinate such an action."
«Καὶ θέλετε τὴν ἐμὴ συμβουλὴ λόγῳ τῆς γνώσεως μου ἐπὶ τοῖς στρατιωτικοῖς τοῦ Κράτους;»
"And you want my advice due to my knowledge of the State's military affairs?"
«Ἀκριβῶς.»
"Precisely."
«Οὐ προτείνοιμι ἴνα ἄρχωμεν ἕνα πόλεμον μεγάλης κλίμακος, ὅμως, σιγούρως, μία κοινὴ ἐπίδειξις δυνάμεως βιβᾷ τοὺς Καδικίους εἰς τὴν σφετέραν θέσιν. Οὔτως ἢ ἄλλως, εἰσὶν ἤδη ἀπησχολημένοι μετὰ τῶν Καρινθίων καὶ τῶν Ἱβερνίων ἐθνικιστῶν ἐν τῷ Βοῤῥᾷ. Οὐ δύνανται ἴνα ὑπομένωσι μία σύγγρουσιν δύο μετώπων.»
"I would not recommend starting a large scale war, but, certainly, a joint show of force will put the Kadikis in their place. Either way, they are already busy with the Carinthians and the Ivernish nationalists in the North. They cannot withstand a two-front conflict."
The Prime Minister, who had been observing quietly, turned to the Emperor and spoke.
«Μία σύνοδος μετὰ τῶν ἄλλων ἐθνοφρόνων δυνάμενεων εἴη μία καλὴ ἰδέα.»
"A summit with the other nation-minded (ie. very nationalist; euphemism for chauvinist/ultra-nationalist) would be a good idea."
The Emperor nodded by moving his head up and down before replying.
«Καλῶς. Τακτοποιεῖτε τήν.»
"Very well. See to it."
Elenonisos, Theme of Actaea
26/2/1956, 2:03 PM
Laonikos thrusted his pickaxe into the hard, solid rock of the island once more. The distinct 'clunk' sound was yet again followed by bits of broken rock flying here and there as he raised his pickaxe for another hit. He rested the tool on his right shoulder, while he wiped the sweat off of his forehead his his left hand. He looked away from the grey, rocky ground of the island into the Kymatian Sea, the ever extending Archipelago of countless Pelasgian islands that acted as the northernmost frontier of the Empire. As a kid, he always wondered if one could see the shores of Gallo-Germania if they were to swim far enough into the sea. Perhaps that was why he became a sailor... and then a smuggler. Perhaps it was just that almost everyone in his hometown, Thorikos, a small town on the rocky shores of Actaea, the region where Atthis is located, right under the Temple of Poseidon at Cape Sellion, was either a worker at a factory or a fisher, some doing both. Perhaps he had just wanted to be free, in true Actaean spirit. Perhaps he just liked having a girl and a bed at all noteworthy, and some less noteworthy, ports in the Long Sea. Perhaps it was none of that. Who knows? Yet one thing was for certain: that life was now long over; even worse it had landed him here.
All states need a way to take care of undesirables. Even the people in his homeland, Actaea, whose capital, Atthis, gave the world Democracy, did not hesitate to execute Socrates once he threatened the establishment. Nor did they hesitate to send countless more great Atthites into exile once they had outgrown their immediate usefulness. The country Laonikos had been born and raised in had no regard for petty inconveniences such as Democracy and Free Speech. There used to be a time when they did... but that time grew more distant, both literally and metaphorically, by the day, being replaced yet again, as it had been 1429 years ago, by the grand policy of "One Empire, One Law, One Church". This Empire, in all its majesty, took care of dissidents and other such 'scum' by shipping them off to the islands of the Archipelago.
For most foreigners and mailanders a trip to the Pelasgian islands meant a splendid summer... as long as they want to the fertile, big, well-known and inhabited islands. These islets on the other hand; they were simple pieces of rock, sticking out of the water like a skull that had been washed up on a beach, with a burning hot sun always above them, save for large storms during winter time, and nothing but countless rocks, wasps and a few wild plants here and there. This island had everything in short supply, save for misery. Then again, it was Helen of Ilion who gave her name to this island when she stopped here. It would only make sense that a person whose very name was associated with the plight and death of good Pelasgians, good people, would gift said name onto an island not so much unlike her. Then again one of the more educated people on the island, some Classicist scholar from Therme who went a tad too far with his love for all things Classical, spoke of how, according to some ancient playwright called 'Euripides' she was actually innocent and it was all a trick of the Gods. If you asked Laonikos, only a fool would speak of Gods and Ancients, having seen a place such as this; for such talk required hope and hope was in short supply in such a place.
Laonikos spat on the ground, in a silent show of contempt. Yet, just as he was done wiping his mouth, the feeling of the metal rod of one of the guards, made unbearably hot by the sun, was all that he felt right before he slummed into, or rather was forced to, the ground. The sharp rock gave him small cuts here and there, while older scars opened up once more, letting blood flow and mix with the sand, creating the sort of muddy colour that red paint has on traditional Propontine pottery.
«Ἐγείρου! Ὀρθώσου! Εἰς τοὺς πόδας σου!»
"Stand up! Stand straight! On your feet!"
Laonikos wanted to grab that man and restle him to the ground, to crush his skull in with a rock, to slit his throat with a broken seashell, to beat him with his own batton. But he had learned better than to do that, as the scars on his back and belly indicated. He stood up straight, raising his hands above his head, ready to take the beating that awaited him. While he waited for the guard behind him to hit his knees or the back of his head, he heard a foot slam into the ground as the guard stood in attention. A voice he did not know was heard.
«Ἀναπαύσου, δεκανέα. Χρειάζομαι ὀλίγον ἰδιωτικὸν χρόνον.»
"At ease, corporal. I need a bit of private time."
The voice had a cetain tone of authority to it. An officer? He had met most of the officers and none of them had such a voice. He could be a new man, seeking to meet the less collaborative prisoners, before he introduced himself to the entire wretched lot. Yet his impeccable Nymphene accent and proper use of Koine, unlike that bastardised Katharevousa the figures of authority used around here, indicated that he was far too educated, and therefore far to important, to be wasted in this craphole. The footsteps of the guard could be heard as he was leaving. The man spoke again, this time adresing his words to Laonikos.
«Δύνασαι ἴνα χαμηλώσῃς τὰς σεὰς χεῖρας, Λαόνικε. Ἐθέλοιμι ἴνα ὁμιλήσωμεν.»
"You can lower your hands, Laonikos. I would like us to talk."
Laonikos lowered his hands and turned to face the man. Average height, olive green military uniform, a Kepi with the Imperial Sigil on it, with the three golden stars of a Colonel on his shoulders. His hands were behind his back. He wore glasses and his uniform was perfectly ironed. He must be with Military Intelligence Laonikos thought. His skin was slightly whiter than that of your average Pelasgian, while his eyes and hair were brown. A small moustache rested over his lips. His face was serious, yet receptive, as if he was waiting for Laonikos to say something. Laonikos opened his mouth and spoke; he did not try to fake knowledge of or interest in archaic linguistic forms. He spoke in his local dialect of Demotic Pelasgian, known full well the man facing him could understand him.
«Τὶ δουλειά ἔχει ἐδῶ ἡ Στρατιωτικὴ Ἀντικατασκοπεία;»
"What job does Military Intelligence have here?"
A faint smirk covered the officer's face.
«Κατευθείαν εἰς τὸ θέμα, βλέπω; Μὴ φοβοῦ. Οὐ θέλομεν ἴνα βλάψωμεν σέ. Πρὸς τὸ παρόν, τουλάχιστον...»
"Straight to the point, I see? Don't be afraid. We don't want to harm you. For now at least..."
«Δῶσε μοῦ ἕναν καλὸ λόγο γιὰ νὰ μὴ σοῦ κάνω τὴ μούρη κρέας.»
"Give me one good reason not to turn your face into mincemeat."
«Πέραν τοῦ ἐκτελεστικοῦ ἀποσπάσματος; Εἰμί ἡ μόνη σου εὐκαιρία ἴνα ἐγκαταλήψῃς ταύτην τὴν ἄθλιαν νῆσον, ἥντινα μισεῖς βαθυτάτως.»
"Beyond the firing squad? I am your only chance to leave this island, which you so deeply hate."
«Πῶς ϗ̀ ἔτσι;»
"How so?"
«Ἀρκεῖ τὸ λέγειν πὼς αἱ σαὶ ἰκανότηται γεγένηνται ἐξ ἄφνου ἰδιαιτέρως... χρήσιμοι τῇ Βασιλείᾳ.»
"Suffice it to say that your skills have suddenly become... useful to the Empire."
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