A Red House of Cards

2nd September, 2023
Ny’Mkborg, East Atlalandr

(This rp like others are written with Cowlass)

“Do you need something to drink, Mister President?” Ørn heard someone asking, though it took him a moment for him to process it. Just nodding his head.

“J-Just glass of water darling.” He said, giving a weak pained smile as he reached into his bag, pulling out medecine. Nodding his head towards the nurse as she gave him a glass of water. Taking his pills into his mouth and taking a sip of the glass to swallow it down.

“Just call for me whenever you need anything. Alright?” He once more heard the nurse say, only nodding his head towards her in response. Barely noticing her walking away.

The East Atlalandian president leaned his head against the train’s window, feeling its cold surface against his forehead. He looked longley towards his side, even though it has been over six years, he still misses her. “Happy anniversary, Annette.” He said with a weak chuckle imagining his wife leaning against his shoulder. It has been over ten years since she died, and not a day went by that he didn’t think about it. He knows for certainty that she’d be there to give tips on talking with Brewmasters, he remembered the days before the civil war on how Annette would read about Akuan cultures. Specifically about Mkænian culture. He remembered seeing how angry she was when the Våldist dictatorship decided to burn records and archives about Mkænian culture, all in a paranoid action to get rid of ‘counterrevolutionaries’. Made further worse by Våld having promoted state atheism, forcing Akuanists to stop following their own religion. To this day he does not understand why so many among his old party defended such policies. Nor why the Einarists in parliament want the repeat of the dictatorship.

“Mister President, we have arrived at the destination. Do you want me to carry your bag, sir?” The nurse asked, giving a concerned look towards him. Ørn took a moment to answer, taking a moment to look over the nurse. The nurse was a light gray skinned tiefling with dark eyes, with horns of that of a goat. With a necklace that had the symbol of the Sun next to a half moon. With her looking to be around her 20s.

“It is good that you’re not afraid of showing your faith, kid.” Ørn said as he stood up, keeping a hand on his cane. He had a smile on his face though one that while not in pain showed the tiredness behind his eyes. “If you could be a darling and grab my bag it would be wonderful.”

The nurse just nodded her head as she took hold of a bag putting the strap over her right shoulder to carry it better. “I remember my parents talking about how it was before you took over, on how the Atlalandian Religious Uprisings had to be done.” She said in a nervous tone as she followed the aging president.

“Oh? Was your family in the Darwalac?” Ørn asked curiously as he walked towards the train’s exist.

“W-Well, um…” The nurse started to stutter, not sure if she really should talk with the president about her parent’s involvement in a religious group that used to violently oppose the government.

Ørn chuckled at her nervousness before letting out a series of harsh coughing fits. “I-It is quite alright, kid. There’s a reason why I wanted to have peace with them, Våld didn’t give you much option.” He said in a weak tone as the two exited the train, in which upon immediately leaving it there were dozens of cameras taking pictures of them. Reporters and journalists being held back by security guards.

An old looking kemonomimi holding onto a cane, was there to greet his fellow old man. Giving a half-body bow of respect, having to be held up by a strangely intimidating fellow. Pulling him upwards, and giving a pat on his back. “Greetings, President. I hope you don’t mind my assistant here, they were rather insistent on having a few assistants with me.” He gave a warm smile, “I’m Brewmaster Ny’Zekkial.”

The President gave the kemonomimi a bow though having to be helped in keeping himself up as he did so with the nurse ensuring to have an arm around his own. “It is quite alright I have my own assistent.” He said, giving a warm smile on his own, though a clearly weaker one. “It is a pleasure to meet you brewmaster, I thought it would be wise to give your Republic a visit before the election campaign starts.” Ørn let out a chuckle at the notion of needing an election campaign, though one broken by another series of pain coughing.

“Ah, yes elections. I have heard the federal Government has those sometimes.” Brewmaster gave a small laugh before coughing himself, the assistant padding him on the back. “Mr. Ørn, Brewmaster Ny’Zekkial, lets make our way to the car.” The other kemonomimi spoke with an aura of authority.

“Lead the way.” Ørn gestured with his free hand towards the black SUV waiting for them, one that had some small level of armor on it as all high government offical’s cars had.

They get into the seat, the ‘assistant’ of the brewmaster being the last one to enter into the SUV. Inside of the SUV, there was two more kemonomimi with the same disposition as the assistant. “Like I said, a few assistants.” The Brewmaster gave a chuckle, “I hope you can understand why.”

The President sat next to the Brewmaster while his nurse sat next to the rather intimidating assistants, with the nurse trying not to focus on said assistant scars. It went quite against her perception of Akuanists. Ørn shook his head in amusement. “I do, don’t you worry.”

The SUV pulled into a small rural forest. There was no parking here, only a footpath. It was a shrine, an old one to an old spirit of the woods and mountains. Vengeful spirit that wouldn’t think twice about smiting a foolish introlooper which did not pay its respects. Yet, the shrine seems peaceful and quiet. Birds chirping away, and the little woodland creatures roaming the woods. One could assume industrial revolution or war has never happened here and yet, it only took a keen eye to see bullet holes and burn marks on the woods. In particular, an old rope in the fashion of a noose is still hanging at the entrance. The government would claim that it was used for religious extremists but the people who tend to the shrine know the truth.

The truth being a commander who was ordered to burn the shrine to the ground, was found next day naked and filled with stones jammed into his mouth, tree branches piercing through their body. No Ny’Sænuri clan nor foot soldier has ever claimed to kill the commander, not under pain of torture or under the influence of the drink. It was simple to the Akuanists of the land. The spirit of the woods and mountains will not tolerate such imprudence in its home.

The president took notice of the old noose but decided to not say anything as his nurse helped him out of the car. Taking a small moment to get a good footing, as they walked towards the shrine entrance. Though stopping for a moment to let out another series of coughing fits. “Sorry, just a small cough.” He said bowing his head towards the brewmaster as an apology.

Brewmaster gave a pat on the old president’s back. “That’s alright, I been there and still am.” He remarked, one of his assistants handing a reusable water bottle to the president. “Take a drink, it helps you. If you want, I can ask for a wheelchair to be brought but you find the trail to be quite rough.”

The president weakly grabbed the water bottle taking a sip from it before giving it to his nurse. “I’ll be alright, just give me a small moment.” He said with a weak smile on his face as he slowly followed after his fellow old man.

“There is a bench near us, just after the entrance. Do you believe you can make it?” The brewmaster waves away the assistant taking out a wheelchair in the back of the SUV. Speaking briefly in Nys’tat’en towards the man. Another assistant took a moment to check the entrance to the shrine just in case.

“I think so, let’s rest there when we get there.” He gave a nod towards the Brewmaster as he took another sip from the water bottle.

The old people, and their assistants made their way past the gates. The Brewmaster takes a moment to bow before the entrance, having to be helped back up by a scary assistant he ever-so often traveled with. Then taking a seat at a bench crafted out of fine wood. “There is enough for three if you wish child.” The brewmaster spoke to the nurse, being helped down by his assistant.

The nurse just nodded as she helped the president down into the bench, sitting down next to him. “I used to have a far easier time walking this path.” Ørn said in a joking tone as he let out a tired sigh. “How the times have changed.”

The brewmaster started to have a coughing fit himself, two assistants jogging over to him. “Spirits be kind to me, so have I. Didn’t need ‘assistants’ and nurses back then. No offense to my child.” He accepts a reusable water bottle from the assistant, drinking it down after taking a few pills.

“As much as time hasn’t been kind to us, I do genuinely think it has been kinder towards the people.” Ørn said a weak smile. “Young folk have an actual future to look to now, one they hadn’t had for a long while.” He lets out a weak chuckle. “Well I guess the reforms were over 20 years ago, but still.”

“Young folk don’t have to hide in the woods or the mountains, having to hold your breath everytime a car passes the Drek pass.” He takes a drink of his water, “Don’t have to worry about seeing your family again.” He gives a warm smile, “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“I only wish I could have done it earlier.” Ørn said, letting out a sigh as he shook his head. “But I’m glad I was able to do it, you all deserve the right to practice your religion. No more secret police to hinder your practice.” For a moment almost a small bit of youth came back to the president as he spoke as he straightened his back, though he was quick to slouch over again.

“There is an old story, about a boy and a tree. The boy planted a sapling, watering it and caring for it. As the tree grew old, and its trunks grew stout the boy failed in love with a girl. Yet he cared for the tree regardless. Everyday, the boy thought about planting another sapling, yet never did he have to work for his family and when he became a man. He had to provide for his wife and children. Yet, the thought never stops coming in his mind about planting more trees in the forest. When he was old, children cared for him. He asked the tree he planted all so long ago for forgiveness that he didn’t plant more trees so the tree wouldn’t be lonely. Yet, the tree waivered spoke to him in the tongue of the spirits, then have your children plant them, I can wait.” The old man gave a smile, “I always like thinking about that old story.”

“It at least has a good message.” The president nodded a long, his smile being a bit warmer now. “Thank you, oh before I forget. I had a gift for you.” He gestured to his nurse to give him his bag, so he could look through it to find the gift for the Brewmaster.

“Oh a gift? It’s not even my birthday.” The elder kemonomimi gives a chuckle.

Ørn chuckled alongside the Brewmaster as he took out a small book. One with the title of ‘Early Mkænian Forest Spirits’, written in Nys’tat’en. “Found this when I looked through my wife’s old belongings. Should have given it earlier but well, my wife’s death was a hard thing to deal with.” He said with a sigh. “My wife studied Mkænian culture a lot when she was young, even learned Nys’tat’en. Though from what I’ve heard she had issues with pronunciation.” He let out another weak chuckle as he gave the book to the Brewmaster. “I think my wife would have liked you to have it, a lot of these books were erased by Våld.”

The old man held the book closely to him, his fingers feeling across the edges and the title. His fingers flipping it open, checking a few pages. Quickly closing it, handing it to his assistant. Speaking something in Nys’tat’en when he tried to put it into a bag. Requiring the assistant to place it in a plastic bag that would cover it properly. Trying to hold back a few tears, but a few of the salt droplets crawled down his face. “That… Might be one of the best gifts my people have received in a longtime…”

The president placed a hand on the Brewmaster’s shoulder, patting it. “I’m glad I could give it back to the people who deserve it.” He said with a warm tone. “Shall we continue on into the shrine?”

“Just… Give me a moment, that was… Quite a gift, not even the Grand Shrine of Lilith held it in its vast libraries. We won’t make that mistake again.” He said in a shaken tone, simply looking at the forest, at all the small squirrels roaming the grounds.

“We can wait here for as long as you need to, my legs certainly won’t be complaining.” Ørn said in a joking tone, keeping a hand on the brewmaster’s shoulder as the two sat there in silence.

5th September, 2023
MIP Meeting, Ny’Mkborg, East Atlalandr

“We cannot be hasty.” Ny’Zekkial said in a tired tone as he stood up from his chair having to place a hand on the chair to keep himself standing. “If we are to be successful in granting the independence of Mkæniszna then we must establish the necessary trust and promise from government officials. At the current moment we have our biggest supporter within the president himself, through him the prime minister will feel compelled to allow it.”

Ny’Isnzki shook his head, “We can pray to the spirits for their blessing of peace. However we must be prepared for conflict, the president doesn’t rule alone and the imperialists will not allow us to go.” Ny’Sænuri was fit kemonomimi, tall by kemonomimi standards and strong frame. His face was stereotypical for a member of the Ny’Sænuri, cold and emotionless. Where Akuanists were warm and loving the Ny’Sænuri was cold and uncaring. Ready to fight within moments in defense of the spirits and their estranged kin.

“Nor can we try to restart an uprising that had limited success.” Ny’Zekkial replied trying to raise his voice but was limited by his own old age. “Look, when the moment for its need be rises I will call upon Ny’Akide Brigade to safeguard our independence, to ensure our people is heard. But until then stay and train in Kaldrbuth.”

“We gather strength everyday, when you call for us. We will be there though we should be here already, just in case.” The strong man crossed his arms. “I saw the president, he is frail and will soon pass. What are to-do if he dies before independence is secured?”

The Brewmaster let out a sigh as he sat down rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was not the same young man he used to be. One who could stand on a stage to motivate his fellow Akuanists to protest against an authoritarian government. One who stood proud when negotiations came to give his people autonomy. He looked up at the Ny’Sænuri general, then towards the rest of the party who was waiting in anticipation. “We will ask for a referendum after the presidential election.” He said in a tired voice, not wanting this discussion to go on for several hours. “Once President Gerjikdal is re-elected I will personally request an audience with him in which I will require his support for the referendum. If we ask before the election then his approval might cost him the vote, we cannot risk Erik Tårnet, of all people, in winning the election. A presidency led by the National Bloc would be a disaster for us.”

“In that case, if National Bloc wins the election. I would like to motion, we don’t ask for additional autonomy nor independence. We start moving our forces in the country right away before nationalists can send their forces to beat us down. If we ask, then we end up at a disadvantage and losing the element of surprise. We need a plan if and when it goes wrong.’ The clan leader spoke with a clear aura of authority. “If he does get reelected, I would like to be there for it.”

“I remind that legally the Ny’Akide is under the command of the Kaldrbuthian Armed Forces. Any movement of troops into Mkæniszna will be seen as a military intervention into the region by Kaldrbuth.” Ny’Zekkial immediately re-asserted his authority, not wanting this military commander challenge his leadership in the party. “If you can get the Kaldrbuthian Queen to approve and support us then I will support the motion.”

“It will happen now or later, the only difference is when do we lose our advantage. We both saw the president as not in any condition to fight for us. As for the queen, my brother’s roommate is the servant to her husband, if you wish this to be done quietly.” The strong kemonomimi stared at the aging brewmaster, he respects him of course but history has shown what happens to Akuanists when they trust in others and he won’t let it happen again.

“All that I am urging is patience. We must be careful to increase the opposition against us. For the current moment the president and prime minister would support our right for independence, with polls showing growing sympathy and understanding towards our movement among the Atlalandian public. If we were to invite the Ny’Akide into Mkæniszna right now we only anger that public, who more likely turn towards the nationalists and Einarists. If worse was to come and Tårn gets the presidency then we will immediately declare our right for independence.” The Brewmaster could feel his shoulders relax as he heard other members voicing their approval of it. “Actions we do prior to the election will affect the sympathy we have earned.”

“We don’t announce it, we can do such things quietly. To be frank, how good is sympathy when the other side won’t care about using tanks to end a protest, the public doesn’t care about us only what we give them. Where was the public out crying during their genocidal campaign to end us? It was the president who ended that, not the people feeling as if there was an injustice towards us, it was a side-effect of a minor benefit to them liberalizing. The current president has some power, yes, but can he trust his successors when he dies? What’s to stop them from turning around if he grants our requests.” The clan leader took a sip of his water, “Nothing, absolutely nothing other than us and our will.”

“Times have passed, Ny’Isnzki. The people now have access to information and knowledge about us. Before that they had nothing, the Einarists used to have complete control on the media. The people were fed nothing but propaganda.” The Brewmaster took a sip from his water, letting out a cough before continuing on. “I am taking your ideas into mind, it is wise to prepare. All I’m saying is to avoid provoking this, we need support both internally and externally, pushing away those who can help us legitimize ourselves to not just the Atlalandian public, but internationally as well.”

“It is as you say, then it is your order. We will wait but let us pray to the spirits we will not be too late.” The kemonomimi reached over on the table, lifting up the water jar to pour into brewmaster’s glass. Keeping it full for the old man.

“Then I shall pray that the spirits be kind and help us in our ways in gathering allies.” The Brewmaster said in a simple nod as he took a sip from the water. He would also be praying for having more party meetings without the Akuan Socialists being with them during it.

10th September, 2023
Presidential Palace, Veridal, East Atlalandr

Ørn took a sip from his glass of water as he sat in his office waiting for the prime minister to arrive. Taking his moment to look at the various photos in it. Some of it was of him and old wife Annette, many of said pictures were them in their youth being part of the original Socialist Republican Party. Young ambitious, in the belief of a better tomorrow. He didn’t think it was possible at first, to establish a republic in Atlalandr. Though Annette was always an optimist, they were even among the 150 MPs who voted in favor of the establishment of the Republic. He remembered quite fondly that day, they went home to celebrate with a bottle of wine. He remembered the private speech his wife made that day, though one she was quite drunk during said speech, proclaiming the vote an beginning for a bright future. He remembered believing so too… Unfortunately they were quite wrong.

He looked at a picture of his wife as a medic for the Republican Army, having a bright smile despite it all. Despite all the slaughter that was the civil war. Couldn’t have a peaceful republic, greater powers had to involve itself in their affairs. He remembered being enraged at the Royalists who rose up in the west, conservatives who refused to let the monarchy be abolished. His wife however was not like him at all. He remembered the stories he heard from his wife’s colleagues of her treating the POWs kindly and how she intervened when others tried to kill or torture them out of revenge. Oh how he wished he was like his wife in that. But he wasn’t, far from it actually. He remembered those days too well. How he would beat POWs, shoot them out of anger. More so when it was Norgsveltians that they had captured. It disgusted him now of course, how much he let himself be controlled by rage. He remembered justifying to himself that he was ridding the world of imperialists… How can any man look at the eyes of a terrified 19 year old boy, bleeding out and proclaim them as imperialist?

He let out a sigh before he moved to look at another picture, this time of him and his wife joining the Atlalandian Einarist Party. Taken back in 1973, three years after Veri Våld was elected. He looked oh so proud in the picture, wearing the party’s arm band and the party. His wife was smiling in the picture, but he knew very well that she genuinely didn’t want to join. He remembered them having arguments at their 25th anniversary about Våld, Annette being adamant about how Våld was turning this country for the worse. He remembered having swallowed up all the propaganda about how great their country was, and how they needed to crush ‘counterrevolutionaries’. How his wife kept staying by his side he has no idea, but he was forever grateful for it. After a while, well, the veil was lifted. One which wouldn’t happen if his wife didn’t lift it for him. Showing him pictures of secret police burning archives and historical records about Mkænian and Soportisk cultures. Of the brutality enacted by security forces. It made him question Våld’s war against religion, and with it almost everything he thought Våld stood for.

“I was such a fool…” He said to himself looking down at the desk. He would forever be thankful that he had such an amazing wife. By no means was he a man to believe in religious superstition, yet he genuinely started to believe there must be someone that ensured his fate was tied with his wife. His thoughts about his past were however interrupted when he heard a knock on his door. He took a pair of some strong painkillers and swallowed it with a sip of his glass of water. “Come in, come in!”

A blonde woman around her late 40s in a dark gray suit walked in giving a respectful nod towards her president. “President Gerjikdal, thank you for having me today.” She had hands behind her back as she walked closer.

“Oh no worries, Comrade Vakrela! It is always a pleasure to know I can do some real work.” He said with a warm almost grandfatherly smile as he took hold of the kettle to pour themselves two cups of coffee. His hand shook for a moment before stabilizing it with the use of both his hands. Putting down the kettle he then clapped his hands together letting out a small chuckle. “I forgot about the cheese and cookies! Give me a small moment.” He stood up from his chair and leaned himself on a walking frame as he went to the other end of the room to a closet where he had kept some snacks.

“Mister President that really is not needed-” The prime minister said, speaking up being a bit concerned about the president’s health. Almost about to stand up to go get it for him.

"Nonsense, lass! A bit of snacks with some coffee is always needed when talking about the dreary topic of foreign policy!” He joked before letting out a small laughter as he got the cheese and cookies on a plate. Before walking over back to the desk.

The prime minister let out a sigh and took a small cookie from the plate taking a bite out of it. “Well I guess the most important aspect would be the matter about our current ice cold relations with the Kaldrbuthian government.” She said in a serious yet also hesitancy in it.

“Not surprising, your government is partially responsible for the terrorist attack at Ishindale.” Ørn said not really showing any specific emotion as he took a sip from his coffee cup.

“Well that is not entirely correct, it was a rogue general who-” Sanna started saying before being interrupted by the president.

“Who is meant to be under your control. It is a job of the civilian government to keep the military under check is it not?” He raised an eyebrow at the prime minister.

“Well I mean yes, but-”

“No excuses. Your government’s lack of control of our generals has led to the deaths of hundreds in our neighbors.” He took another sip from his coffee, before standing up and relying on the walking frame. “Hmmm, I should go get some cream.”

“Look I’m not here to make excuses, but you know just as well as me that the military is hardly neutral in our politics.” The prime minister spoke up, taking a sip of her coffee cup, being a little bit annoyed at the president’s attitude. “Our military is filled with Einarists who want to go back to the one party state. To abandon the democracy you helped to rebuild.”

“Perhaps so, but I still expect a better response from you. You should put a major focus on ensuring the relations calm down. We must ensure that a second Cold War doesn’t start up again.” He walked back to the desk with a carton of cream, placing it gently on the desk again.

“That I would agree with, though that might become quite a bit harder.” She said with a sigh as she pushed a document towards the aging president. Which he grabbed slowly, having to readjust his glasses to get a better read. “In recent days the negotiations between the Federation and UCCS have been completely frozen. With even consultants between the two being closed. This is not to mention other diplomatic spats between the two powers.”

Ørn let out a sigh reading through the document, it being different reports and rumors about the two powers diplomatic relations. Including accusations of the Federation’s support to militant separatists within UCCS’s territory. “That is… going to be hard to deal with. Both are currently our largest investors and trade partners if I remember correctly?” Ørn asked, looking up from the document and towards the prime minister.

“Quite so, the Federation has also been quite important in terms of economic aid. While the UCCS has been vital in terms of military aid and equipment. Only reason we are able to keep such a large military is because of the UCCS.” Sanna finished her cookie before taking a sip of her cup.

“Hopefully we don’t have to pick sides…” Ørn said adding a bit of cream to his coffee so it wasn’t as dark anymore.

“Hopefully not. In matters that are at least in a more positive direction.” Sanna took out another document which the president once more would have to read through. “We have increased our trade output this year, and the suggestion for an Concordian Conference to lower militarisation on the continent is being openly discussed within many countries.”

The president grinned happily at that with him clapping his hands together. “That is indeed wonderful to hear! If we win through on that then maybe there may still be hope.” He said, taking a sip from his cup before holding it up. “For peace on Concord!”

The prime minister let out a small chuckle as she herself also lifted up her cup. She wasn’t as optimistic as the president but it couldn’t hurt to have hope. “For peace on Concord.”

The Chantilly; Twenty-First Pepin Street; C.D.; Federation of the Southern Coast

Akuan Socialism, something most considered to be an oxymoron. Given how many people think Akuanists are already by default. Even stranger is how other Akuanists treat them which is something that could only be described as they all were diseased monsters. They didn’t quite trust Brewmasters, viewing them as too reserved and even Borean Akuanists wouldn’t consider them kin given the inheritable violence Akuan Socialists. They are not like the Ny’Sænuri with their code of conduct or honor. Their only ‘code’ is how hard the Federation pulls on their leash. Where Akuanists were accepting of newcomers and shared their community openly. Akuan socialists would sooner beat the foreigner to death with a brick. Where traditional and progressive Akuanists open themselves to the committee, allowing all to come and join them in their shrines. The Akuan socialists would slam the door closed for anyone coming from a non-Akuan ethnic group, assuming they’re being polite about it.

Yet Akuan socialists had one thing going for them above the Ny’Sænuri and that was cold pragmatism. Yes they are more akin to national syndicalists than any other theo-socialist, but they could be reasoned with. Despite their bastardization of the faith, they could be molded into a fine dagger to cut and bleed imperialists. They could work with others, provided they get their little Akuan ethnicities state. Frankly for a low price from a military budget wise, you equip them, train them and they will grow in number with fanatic pacing given the right environment. Where the Ny’Sænuri require years, if not a life-time of training and moral coding, a handful of Akuan socialists in the right environment can raise a small army, and teach the lessons they learned from the Federation without too much trouble.

They weren’t the favorite tool of ‘liberation movements’ in the arsenal, given how quickly they will butcher people in what they see as their ‘rightful’ borders. Yet for the madam Federal Prime Minister, it was the perfect weapon to continue the growing proxy conflicts between Corporate States of Concord and the Federation. Not to mention how Mkæniszna is covered in mountains and the remoteness of it would make it hard to dig out a training camp there.

Jeanne’s wired phone rang, she already knew who was on the other side and was rather annoyed by her assistance on calling her rather than through the established channels. She raised the phone up to her ear, “Bonjour-hei Mrs. Ny’Mkæn.” She wanted to roll her eyes at the name, but the socialist leader renamed herself after the country and demanded to be called by it.

“Madam Pierre, I always wondered what your voice sounded like when it’s not from a screen.” Ny’Mkæn gave a cheerful tone, “I wanted to speak to you about when we can finally enter our homeland and take it back from the imperialists.”

“When the East Atlandr President dies, then you are authorized to enter into your occupied country.” Pierre stressed East Atlandr, spirits know she will get into enough hot water with Norgsveldet as is by supporting them. Even more so given the recent fortune events happening in CSC.

“Yes, the red imperialists first. Other only when provoked or our siblings vote for it.” Pierre could hear Ny’Mkæn tone of upsetness at being held back. “Our hosts have been watching us heavily, though at least they gave us a decent temporary base here, despite the leaky pipes.”

“That was expected and discussed, but I understand if you and your troops are getting stir crazy.” Pierre kept her ‘normal’ tone.

“Well, we’re stacked like tuna and a little too close even by our standards.” Ny’Mkæn gave a chilling chuckle. “At least we have plenty of space to drill and train, can’t let my troops get weak. Though our ‘kind’ hosts refuse to let us practice with live rounds. So all that additional ammo you’ve been sending has just been stockpiling.”

Pierre thinks about it for a moment, then speaks up. “I will have a talk with the hosts, see if they’re willing to allow firearm exercise. Have you made contact with the Ny’Sænuri clan leader and the Brewmaster in charge?”

“Yes, the brewmaster looks just like the president in all due honesty. He most certainly made the president pass, and probably after the liberation war however after that. Well his health is uncertain.” Ny’Mkæn gave a matter of fact tone.

“No harm will come to the Brewmaster, understood?” The FPM gave an authoritative tone.

“Understood sister. The Ny’Sænuri clan leader, is… Well he’s a bitch to be honest, too much talk about honor and not enough about strategy to remove the settlers from our lands.” Ny’Mkæn gave a chuckle, “I seen what our hosts have been equipping them with, it is pretty good but still dated. Someone of them are handy-me-downs unlike our fantastic equipment, which again thank you for your generous gifts and training sister.”

“How are the drones?” Pierre read over some papers.

“Quite well honestly, we have been putting our pilots through their paces in training and using rocks as payloads. Our kind hosts supplied us with some civilian models for us to remold and keep up our practice.” Ny’Mkæn gave a prideful tone, “They can put a thread through a needle’s eye with their eyes closed.”

“Good, we’re interested to see how they operate in the field.” Drones have been a small personal project of the Federation military, while legally they can’t create their own military aircraft. Drones however, didn’t exist back in that kind of scale when that damnable treaty was signed. With the recent plethora of civilian drones and the growing hobby, the Federation took a keen interest in how to adapt it into a more militaristic weapon. Norgsveldet of course, had their own interest in it as well, despite it originating from a treaty they helped create. Though they focused more on strict military drones rather than being able to adapt civilian drones into tools of war.

“I bet you are sister.” Ny’Mkæn gave another chuckle, “Gotta say, I can’t wait to drop explosives onto those bastard heads.”

Pierre spoke up again, “How is the tourist?”

“He’s doing well enough, still a grouchy bastard but he’s just as ready as we are to move in for the reclamation of our homeland.”

“He is your contact, anything you say to him, you say to me.” Pierre didn’t want another call with the woman, there is an order to such things.

“Alright, alright. I just wanted a personal call between me and you. I have nothing else Madam Pierre.” Jeanne could feel Ny’Mkæn roll her eyes. “For a free Mkæniszna, a socialist tomorrow and an Akuan future.”

“For a free Mkæniszna, a socialist tomorrow and an Akuan future.” Jeanne repeated.