The Devil Went Down To Mukarras


The following is a joint post with @Stander0945


July 27th, 1920

  In a dimly lit room in the city of Mukarras in the middle of the blazing summer sit two people who will have a hand in deciding the fate of the Anabat desert and the Aldaari people for the next eighty years. The first, an orc by the name of Takuhii Hatem, is the current president of the Republic of Mukarras, the most powerful of the seven Aldaari republics. With the grace of middle age she sat calmly, wearing a neatly ironed blazer, blouse, and slacks, waiting for her “guests’’ to arrive. Next to her sat her husband, a tiefling named Robert Smith (although he just goes by Bob), who is wearing a white polo and khakis. He’s fidgeting, twirling a pencil between his fingers, when he notices a spot of ketchup on his shoulder from that morning’s breakfast. He thought about taking his shirt off but opted against it, instead deciding to just lick it off. Yes, these are the two of the people who will have the fate of an entire culture in their hands. Truly inspiring. After a brief period of waiting, the guests they’d been waiting on walked in.

  It was a treacherous if not incredibly uneventful trip to Gondwana on the glorified ammunition transport repurposed into a cruise ship that they journeyed on. While in any other cases, it would’ve been somewhat troublesome image-wise for them to arrive in such a vessel, it did not matter here in Mukarras where the most they were expected to do was to squeeze the natives as much as they could through a treaty that they already knew they had no power to reject. Dressed in her uniform adorned with the ornaments fitting to that of a peeress including a sword neatly swung on her side, Ciorstaidh walked into the room followed closely by Gillebeart who had resorted to a simpler version of the attire with no discernible insignias but that of the Diplomatic Corps and a nameplate sewn above his breast pocket. Flanking them were two record-makers tasked with vigorously observing the meeting as additional evidence to back the soon-to-be-finalized treaty if needed. They, and, of course, a translator.

  As a sign of respect, Ciorstaidh and Gillebeart removed their caps as they entered the room and courteously bowed their heads slightly to Takuhii. The man beside her, however, they had little idea as they were not informed of his presence. Ciorstaidh moved her eyes to look at Gillebeart who read through a page on his clipboard before shaking his head. Still, they both needed to begin the meeting. Perhaps Takuhii would introduce them to him as it goes.

  Taking a seat opposite of Takuhii and whoever that man was, warm smiles appeared on their faces as they began the formalities,
  “It is a pleasure to be in the presence of Your Excellency today,” Ciorstaidh said, “My name is Ciorstaidh Ailis Samatadh and this is my assistant, Gillebeart Ailbeart Deòireach”.
  Gillebeart nodded his head when his name was mentioned,
  “As you already know, we represent the Federation of the Mirhaimian Realm in the negotiations kindly organized today.”

  Without breaking her warm smile or her cool gaze, Takuhii responded
“Oh yes, I’m well aware. And please. ‘President’ will suffice. This is my husband, the First Gentleman…” here she sighed, and under her breath said, “Bob.”
  “Hiya, pardners! So stoked to be here wit’yinz!” Bob said, smiling from ear to ear. Takuhii gently placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
  “Bob… why don’t you go fetch us some tea while we make introductions?”
  “Oh, gladly!” He moved to plant a kiss on Takuhii’s cheek but was stopped by his wife, who closed her eyes for a long moment and sighs tiredly. Bob goes off out a side door into the hall to try to find a kitchen. As he was leaving, Takuhii vaguely gestured to a room with a tea kettle already on, but he didn’t seem to notice her and began walking the complete opposite direction. Takuhii returned to her seat and looks at Ciorstaidh.
  “Thank you for your patience. His plans to golf today were ruined by the heat.”

  Gillebeart couldn’t help but look at Ciorstaidh, his eyes seeming to question how casual these two were, especially considering the circumstances surrounding the negotiations. The war, though swift, did see plenty fall in the fields of battle and yet still now warships still roam the coast outside of Mukarras unopposed. Ciorstaidh had met people like them before in her various tenures and already she liked them and how they went about their conduct - so much so that she relaxed her posture and broke away from the awful formalities that she carried with her into the room.

  “Though the tea is much appreciated, we’d have to decline,” Ciorstaidh said with a smile, she knew better than to drink the tea offered perhaps out of the age-old fear of it being poisoned in a final act of national vigilantism.
  “Though now with both sides well acquainted, would you like for us to move onto the terms of the negotiations?”

  “I suppose we must, Mutj Samatadh.”

  Ciorstaidh’s eyes once again landed on Gillebeart’s as he nodded, bringing from the satchel that he brought along with him a leather-bound folder neatly kept together by a golden lock. If there was one thing that the Mirhaimians were good at, it’s making things such as this seem especially formal. Gillebeart, with both hands, handed the folder to Takuhii.

  Within were fine print written in Fefsen, Asahri and the Haqen tongue. The treaty establishes Mirhaime’s influence on territories held by the Republic of Mukarras.

  Thus, major restrictions were demanded to be set in place on Mukarras ability to trade. The treaty effectively demanded that all traders from the Republic be required a license in order to do business in regions it controlled from the appropriately named Western Gondwanan Economic Company (WEGEC), one of the subsidiaries of which is Golden Oil.
  Any fool would be able to realize what all of these meant: Mirhaimian colonial domination of Mukarras. And yet, their invaders did not wish to disband the Republic but rather turn it into a protectorate under which its will could be superimposed on the natives. Its institutions would remain, only under new management.

  Patiently, Ciorstadh and Gillebeart looked at Takuhii’s side of the room, their eyes occasionally shifting between Tahukii and the guards who stood at attention within the room. Even as the supposed winners of the war, they were anxious as the seconds passed by.

  Slowly and with utmost caution, President Takuhii read over the document, searching vigorously for any attempts to harm her people. And oh, what she found. While the promise of maintaining the institutions seemed good on the surface, Takuhii recognized the underlying implications: Mukarrasi businesses would be pushed out of the mainstream by increasing regulations, and the government would have very little power after the proposed land grants went through - not to mention the power granted exclusively to Ciorstadh herself as overseer of all Mirhaimian companies in the nation. And yet, Takuhii knew that just a few miles away lay Mirhaimian warships, with crews still well-trained from the Great War. She had to choose her next words carefully. Finally, after several painstaking minutes of complete silence, she spoke.
  “I know what you are trying to do here.”

  Ciorstaidh supposed there were little ways that she could sugarcoat what was happening and the demands made. Her people had expected to be a meeting regarding the organization of a capitulation rather than a negotiation and, even through her formalities, the tones of those that Takuhii or any locals may have spoken to show that attitude well. The promises of investments, and the signing of Mukarras to a grander economic dominion that extended from Novaris to Western Gondwana which the Mirhaimian themselves knew was unattainable in the current economic climate were vague; the promises of independence vaguer still.

  The minutes of awful tensions that filled the air were finally broken when Takuhii spoken her words, to which she only sighed in response.
  “So it would seem our intentions have been seen through,” she said, muffling the sounds of the translator speaking in the background, “And yet our leveraging power lies just off the port of this city in a blockade.” From Takuhii’s eyes, Ciorstaidh could tell that she’d taken a tone for better or for worse after she’d realized that she was chosen to be the executive of WEGEC for the next term if the negotiations reap favorable results. The woman sitting right in front of her will, as Ciorstaidh knew well, become the bane of her people. It was the Lewydh’s command - one that she could not bring herself to deny even when she could.

  “Oh, do not get me wrong; I have no intentions to block Mirhaime or her economic ambitions. Any one of us could see that the wastes are in a sorry state right now, far fallen from grace in the past century. But do not take us for fools merely because of our international state; us Aldaari enjoy our non-interference.” Takuhii responded with vigor and a cold glint in her eye, the sort that made clear to most that she was in control now. “I am certainly no fool. I know exactly where both of us stand; I know that we can not handle the burden of a full-frontal assault by your marines, just as I know that Mirhaime cannot handle a decades-long guerrilla war across a desert that was considered unlivable for most of history. We must reach a quid pro quo, which is why I note your intentions. If I have seen through your thinly-veiled attempts at economic imperialism, surely my people will too. And then, the other six presidents. Surely Mirhaime’s ambition doesn’t stop at our small corner of the Anabat?” The president of Mukarras, the Jewel of the Desert, stopped momentarily returning to silence, until all that can be heard is the gentle thrum of a machine working in the background. When she speaks again, the volume is barely above a whisper, and yet the words are perfectly clear: “There are those among my people, those in my government, who will never accept control by any power. I am the best chance you have at access; to our land, to our resources, to our people. But I cannot sign anything that so blatantly exploits my people as this, and not just for morality’s sake, no. If something this overt is allowed to go through, it will not just be my head on a pike, you understand.” She sat back, leaving space for Ciorstadh to think.

  And think, Ciorstadh did, if only for a moment as she revised the terms of the treaty which she had already well-memorized word-for-word beforehand. Though it indeed amounted to the colonial domination of Mukarras and the rest of Aldaar in the near future, its terms did offer the fair treatment of the natives in return for access to the nations’ natural resources which scatter in abundance across the deserts. If it weren’t the Mirhaimians, Ciorstadh was certain that the colonial powers of Aurora or, worse, Mirhaime’s own rivals would eventually engulf the entirety of the Anabat. With a sigh, she replied.
  “Perhaps there are room for elaborations…” she said, pausing on her words for but a brief moment, “…and revisions if need be. I see that you are a well-informed woman,” She complimented Takuhii, and a small smile appeared on her face. “Though it is undeniable that the Anabat’s sovereignty will be interfered by our presence, we have no intentions of exploiting the common working people for our current institutions were born from the dismantling of a regime that exercised such cruelty,” She elaborated further, touching upon the events of the past century in Mirhaime which she had hoped that Takuhii, with any luck, would know, “If your demands are for the sake of morality, then we are willing to revise our terms if need be.” Her eyes shifting between Takuhii and Gillebeart to compose herself, she finally gathered her strength to speak her mind. “Your Realm is one of beauty and wealth in abundance in the rolling dunes that you call home. With all due respect for a person of your prestige, Mestres President, it would be a matter of time until the imperial powers of Aurora take notes of your land; your resources and your people.” She paused with a sigh.

  “If it would help reassure you on the future of your people, I could give you the solemn promise that we, the Mirhaimian Fefsen, are to see you as equals. Always have been, and forever will be.”

  “It is not me you have to convince, but my people. For example, this requirement of a license. What is to stop the company you have cut out to control the Republic of Mukarras specifically - I believe you called it Golden Oil? - from denying someone based on any number of factors? And here you want to assume control for some education; a noble goal, but you have no assurances you’ll respect our cultural values! At this point, you may as well just take over the government.”

  “Golden Oil and its mother company, the Western Gondwanan Economic Company, will not be aiding in the tasks of maintaining law and order in the Republic of Mukarras but rather an independent council with the assistance of national military forces. Indeed, Aeter’s wish is for old local legal institutions to remain and work in conjunction with the new,” Ciorstaidh paused for a moment and looked at Gillebeart who gave her a small nod after reviewing his personal note. “Need not you fear, Mestres President, scrubbing away local culture is the last thing we would do.”

  It was a promise though the weights supporting which were unclear even to the Mirhaimians whose Saenad had only recently begrudgingly met to discuss matters that had somewhat relieved it of the crisis that yet still hang over the nation like the Blade of Zerka.

  For a split second it looked like Takuhii is about to retort, but suddenly Bob walked in, holding 5 cups of tea very carefully.
  “Oh, hiya! I, um, I gotcha that tea you was askin’ for!” He handed a cup to Takuhii, Ciorstadh, and Gillebeart, looked confused for a second with two cups remaining, walked over and handed one to a guard (who respectfully takes it), and set the last one at his place. “I shore hope I didn’t go and miss anythin’ important!” He chuckled slightly, not noticing the subtle tension that exists in the lack thereof. His wife sighed again.
  “No, of course not, Bob, Ms. Samatadh and I were just chatting.” She turned back to Ciorstadh. “Speaking of which, while I still have my reservations, I trust” - said with a heavy emphasis on trust - “that Mirhaime knows what they’re doing. If you think that, as it stands, this agreement will be accepted by the Aldaari people, then I will sign. Of course, assuming I maintain my position.”

  Ciorstaidh gracefully accepted the tea with Gillebeart following her. Though their positions were weaker than what they had expected, they were not at a point where they’d allow themselves to drink the tea which they only placed down so that none may spill onto something important. Takuhii did not drink it, so they figured they probably shouldn’t either.

  “We sailed here to Western Gondwana,” Ciorstaidh said with her eyes landing on Takuhii, referencing the abnormally long voyage from Mirhaime to Mukarras, “Trust and mutual confidence shall form the basis of our relationship as I am sure you would soon find out.” With her hand, she gestured subtly towards the document which still laid on the table. One signature was all that she and Mirhaime needed.

  Takuhii was, in fact, not drinking Bob’s tea, as she had never actually seen him make tea - and that security guard was beginning to look a little green. With a heavy heart, she picked up her pen. Looking at the two colonizers, she shrugged and said,
  “Hey, it’s your funeral.” And she signed the document.