AN OPEN MESSAGE FROM VERREN PATRIOT FERGUS DANTE TO THE PEOPLE OF THE NATION FORMERLY KNOWN AS 'THE GREAT KINGDOM.'
As someone who has suffered under the Kingdom's tyrannical reign, I understand that you may have, as I do, much wrath you wish to vent against your former rulers. This is welcome, and anyone neighboring Verren lands wishing to properly do so may feel free to join my regiments, and we shall throw down what remains of the Kingdom together. HOWEVER, I will NOT tolerate those who use this GLORIOUS REVOLUTION as an excuse for PETTY BANDITRY. Already I have engaged one such force of men. I plan to crush them utterly for their transgressions against their kin and country. It is one thing to crush the Kingdom and put the wealth back into the hands of the people, but it is quite another to crush the Kingdom only to steal what they have stolen for your own.
If I hear of men engaged in banditry, I will crush them. In these trying times, we must push to cleanse the plague of the fallen Kingdom from our lands. To any Bandit forces still out there, consider this your warning to give up your wicked ways. If you simply seek a cause for which to fight, then join me as we reclaim the lands of our ancestors and forge a better, brighter tomorrow.
May the Old King burn in the afterlife for his crimes against us,
"HELLO COMRADES WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE FROM THE GENITALS OF WHORES,
REVOLUTION CONTINUES TO GO WELL YES?
WE ARE ALL HAPPY IN OUR SLAUGHTERING OF LOYALIST BASTARDS
OR ARE WE?
NO WE ARE
OK THANK YOU FOR LISTENING TO ME COMRADES I MUST GO RIDE BEAR INTO THE GREAT ICY WILDERNESS ACROSS BORDER BETWEEN MY COUNTRY AND NEIGHBORS WHILE AVOIDING CAPITALIST BULLETS OF WHORISH SOLDIERS OF VAESTGARD NOW GOODBYE
Allerzietian Head of Diplomacy
Dusk falls, the sun beginning to set on the Plateau of Wrin, casting a golden-edged shadow onto the velvet snow-capped mountains. The sound of hooves click-clacking against stone resounds over the walls of the city Wrin as the official courier delivers the Allerzeitian letter into the Royal Office of the Crown of Wrin.
"Salutations and good hopes, friend!" the gatekeeper says. The standard greeting. He pushes on the gate, creaking open, and the courier rushes into the building grounds.
It is a brick building, rather humble and small compared to the surrounding locale, but still noticeably distinguishable from the nearby bombed-out and burned-down buildings, formerly of the Old Kingdom, by a large gold-fringed flag hanging from a tall flagpole sitting upon the construction. The old gate sitting in front of the place, however, is heavily guarded by an organized troupe of former rebels.
The courier finally enters the office. "Fulte, your letter from Allerzeit," he announces with extreme respect, and kneels, presenting the letter to the seated monarch.
"No need for such humility, courier," King Wroth responds. "Rise. Look me in the face. It is no problem. I know you respect me, but I wish to not be a king as the so-called 'One True Monarch' was. My subjects are not to be trampled on, nor should present themselves to be done to in such a way."
The courier silently stands up and hands the letter to King Wroth with his right hand, and it is received by the weary ruler. "Thank you, my lord," he says. "Ah, titles. They would be fine to speak without," the King replies with a wave of the hand and a joking grin. However, the courier has already begun his departure down the steep streets of the ancient city.
"So now, it appears that our overseas revolutionary friends have sent a public letter to all of us other revolutionaries," mumbles Fulte, turning the closed letter around in his hands. He turns his head towards a man sitting by the table he stands over. "Adviser! What shall we make of this?"
"Yes, King Wroth," the adviser replies. "I do believe that this is the first time you have handled one of these, erm, letters." Slowly, an exceedingly nervous smile crawls across his face. "Yes, ah, in one of the previous Allerzeitian letters... um, it... I would not recommend reading it, um, quite so much. Ahh, I know I am making a request here, your highness, but, could, hmm, could you please hand over that letter?"
Fulte raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but is there anything that is not fit to read within this envelope? I'm sure it's perfectly fine. If it were poisoned, my courier would have seen to it already." Suddenly, he takes off a pair of gloves that had not been visible earlier. "Precautions, of course, are usually never forgotten," he comments as he returns his gloves to his hands. "Now, let me have a look at this letter. A revolutionary leader should know the matters of his contemporaries, correct?"
"I... suppose so, king," hastily replies the adviser, as Fulte cleanly separates the envelope open with a handy blade. "How is it? As, um, expected?"
A quick scour. A disapproving glare. Then, maybe -
"Ha, quite the letter! This is a very, very incredible piece of, a-hah, LITERATURE! Shelve this in the museum libraries. Go on! Do it!"
The King, quite pleased with himself, silently agrees. " 'Revolucion go well, yes.' Ha! 'Happy in slaughtering loyalist bastards?' Of course! And the great icy wilderness, how amazing a sight it must be on bear-back! However, though... it does bring up a point. The problem of Vaestgard. Having already established a now-defected colonial city, we'll have to see what they do later on. Those far northerners, ruling lands not rightfully theirs... pah. We shall see what happens, but for now we have more important issues, such as freeing our homeland from rulers not rightfully entitled." He looks towards the adviser, who still stands by, nervously smiling as usual. "Why don't you go and put that in the museum already? Shoo, go on. Let everyone read it and have a nice laugh."
Tives, Tivesran Republic
Summer, First Year of the Third Era
Aristide stepped through the front gates of the Citadel, his usual gleeful smile gracing his face. He donned his typical attire: a rather old-fashioned gentleman's suit and a black top hat. It was a clear day out, with very little wind. The birds were chirping merrily in the trees, and the flowers were blooming brightly in the gardens. It was a wonderful time to indulge in some purification. In the courtyard, multiple guillotines were set up, each manned by an executioner. Lines of captives led up to each, and the executioners awaited their instructions. Without further delay, Aristide walked over to each guillotine in succession, cycling through them with great pleasure.
The efficiency was astounding, and the crowd cheered as Aristide worked. They were a bloodthirsty lot, or perhaps they were driven by the loud and passionate speeches he gave when reading the crimes off. Eventually, to one of the guillotines, a young teenaged girl was brought. She was made to kneel under the blade as Aristide read her crimes. Her parents had been Loyalists, and that marked her for death. She sobbed and begged for her life, but Aristide paid her no attention. Eventually, he turned to the executioner.
"Off with her head!" roared Aristide.
The executioner reached towards the lever with blind obedience, but was stopped by the authorative shout of a man from the crowd.
"STOP!" the man roared. The executioner hesitated, and the man yelled it again as he walked across the courtyard. It was Émile Maheu, the Colonel in charge of the Tivesran militia. He was flanked by four armed militiamen.
"How dare you?" asked Aristide, growing visibly angry. "What is the meaning of this?"
"This girl is innocent, you fool," the Colonel replied, turning to look at the executioner. "Release her."
The executioner hesitated, looking at Aristide for confirmation.
"No, leave her there!" Aristide said, his eyes displaying great fury. "Colonel, you are out of line, overriding my orders in such a manner. One would almost assume you're a Loyalist yourself!"
Émile responded to this accusation simply: by punching Aristide in the jaw. The President fell to the floor, his bodyguards doing nothing to stop the Colonel. Aristide, humbled by this assault, remained on the ground feebly as Émile approached the executioner. Words were exchanged, and the girl was released. The Colonel helped her to her feet and led her off without a word to the defeated Aristide.
Several days went without incident for Émile. Aristide made no public appearances in that time, and the executions in Citadel Square had stopped. While Émile was paranoid at first, his paranoia eventually departed, leaving him tense and nervous. Aristide, he knew, would not let him get away with what he'd done, but could he run? Not while the madman reigned over the city. He had helped Aristide come to power, and he would fight the monster he'd unleashed.
The third evening after the incident, Émile returned to his home where he was greeted by his wife. The evening progressed normally, with his wife cooking dinner as Émile socialized with his family. It was pleasant, but the feeling in Émile's gut did not subside.
Dinner was laid out on the table, and the family began eating and continued their conversation. Multiple topics were discussed, including his young son's new friend at the school, and his daughter's love of puppies.
"Can I have one, pleeeaaase?" asked his daughter.
Émile smiled at that. "Not yet, darling...what is that noise?"
He heard footsteps outside the house. Running, along with horses, and a carriage. Émile stood up, his face displaying his panic.
"Take the children upstairs, NOW!" he yelled to his wife.
His children were suddenly terrified, and his wife's face was one of shock and horror. "No..." she said.
"GO!" he yelled, turning towards the door as it flew from its hinges. Numerous uniformed militiamen entered as his wife took their children away.
"I love you all!" yelled Émile as the militiamen ran towards him. He punched and kicked, trying to push them away. Trying to hold them off as his family escaped.
As they escaped, running for their lives, a gunshot rang out. An execution in the house. A death without trial. Colonel Émile Maheu, one of the revolution's foremost heroes, was killed by a pistol shot to the neck.
Last edited by Cidellus; 04-09-2012 at 02:00 PM.
Grouvlo Marziet sits in his office, head pounding after another sleepless night. A knock rings out on the door. Unusual for this time of night.
Upon opening it, he sees the great, mustachioed face of Head of War Raspvu Stalstien.
"Welcome, comrade Stalstien! What brings you to my quarters at this time of ni----"
Grouvlo is interrupted by an echoing from outside the office. Another volley of gunfire. More loyalists executed. The executions didn't seem to cease, since the capture of the city of Ostziet. They were what kept Grouvlo up at night. He hadn't meant to start a real revolution- he just thought that, perhaps, his ideas could give people a view of a more hopeful world, one that might one day come about. Now, being thrust into the actual position of premier in the midst of a bloody revolution seemed a most terrible fate. He did not doubt that the executions were just- the Allerzietian legal system had been fair in its treatment of the prisoners, unlike certain other revolutionary courts- but he could not help but feel sympathy for even the most steadfast loyalist.
Stalstien twitches his mustache ever-so-slightly, somewhat perplexed by Grouvlo's sudden silence. He then continues on, saying, "Sir, we are about to capture the final Allerzietian city from the imperial scum. General Bluker wishes to know what you'd like him to do next. Are we invading the Vaestgardians? Are we going to try and continue spreading the revolution? What is your plan, Herr Marziet?"
Grouvlo rubs his temples. "Comrade Stalstien, how many times must I ask you to stop using such an archaic term for me? 'Herr' hasn't been used since the time of the last Allerzietian monarch."
Stalstien twitches his mustache again, this time more noticeably. "My apologies, Herr Marziet."
Grouvlo sighs, resigns himself. "We shall station the armies along our borders once the city is caught. We need time to recuperate, build up our forces, and give our troops some legitimate training. And what of those bear soldiers you mentioned?"
Stalstien grins, a hideous and unusual sight indeed. "Ohhh the bears, Herr Marziet. You will enjoy the rise of the bears. The whole world will. Our bear cavalry shall be the greatest units known to man- elite squadrons of men riding bears across all terrain- Mountains! Forests! Fields! Deserts! Great tundra! Our bear cavalry shall rise up and maul all who oppose it! The whole world will know, once you see the Allerzietian Bear Cavalry, you know you're fu------"
"yes, yes, you've mentioned this before. I have to say, I still think you're exaggerating their strength, but I look forward to their completion. How comes the training?"
"It has just begun, Herr Marziet."
"Very well. Take this message to my brother, kra-----"
Kral bursts in through the doors, carrying a piece of parchment with him. He says in his grim voice, "It is finished, brother."
Grouvlo lights up. "Very well! Let us review it before publishing it for all to see!"
And so an emergency call-to-council is issued.
In her home, Ella Goldviet lies restless. The executions have bothered her, just as they have Grouvlo. But she shows no signs of weakness. Her femininity has already come as a political disadvantage, with most of the council questioning almost every point she proposes. She had latched onto Grouvlo's ideas of equality for all, and the dissolution of the exploitative state, but it appears now that her comrades in office are having a harder time adjusting.
A knock on the door wakes her from her reverie. As she rises to open it, she finds Comrade Levozolern.
"HELLO COMRADE ELLA IT IS GOOD YES I HAVE COME IN NIGHT TO DELIVER VASTLY IMPORTANT MESSAGE OF GREAT VITALITY TO YOU AN----"
"hello vlayitir, what is it this time"
"IT IS COMPLETE, COMRADE ELLA. COMRADE KRAL HAS FINISHED THE CONSTITUTION."
The Constitution of the State of Allerziet
As time progresses, societies evolve as per their needs. The position of the ruling class shifts from one set of hands to the next as the means of production evolve. We, the people of Allerziet, have reached the doorstep of the stage of socialism, the system in which the workers shall truly rule as one class. To sustain the continuation of this socialism, we, the Vanguard, have convened and settled on the following constitution.
Article I - The Legislature.
Article II - The Premier
Article III - The Rights of the State
Article IV - Responsibilities of the State
Article V - The Definition of a Citizen
Article VI - The Treatment of Non-Citizen Immigrants.
Article VII - The Rights of Citizens
Article VIII - The Responsibilities of the Citizen
Article IX - On How to Handle Amendments.
Last edited by Protoman; 03-30-2012 at 09:21 AM.