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MISSION: The Dissolution of Drachma and RIOTE's Rebirth

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MISSION: The Dissolution of Drachma and RIOTE's Rebirth

Post by Guest on Mon Aug 15, 2011 8:48 pm

The time was nearing and all the pieces were beginning to fall into place. Drachma was going to be hers, and Vanity knew it. Aurelius and Hild had both approached the homunculus several months prior, inquiring her skills for gaining momentum with RIOTE! Naturally, Vanity joined with the agreement that she would be taking full control over the country. Of course, it was all for the fame and glory. Her conceited ways flowed throughout her blood, like an addiction that never ceased.

She was patiently waiting in a small vintage car that pulls up to the large stairs to the Capitol of Drachma. The building was breathtaking. It was graced with long white stairs, massive columns, and a large dome to cover the center roof. The grand building was five stories high, with a glass wall that filled the entire length of the back lobby entrance.

The driver quickly scurries out of his car and runs to her side. He bows his head as he opens her car door. Her slim figure looked extravagant in a floor length, white mermaid styled ball gown. Slowly, she begins to climb the stairs. Step by step she went, as she progressed towards her objective. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but think of past revolutions. Just like the storming of the Bastille years prior, there would be a vicious battle that took place; with blood oozing in all directions painting this landmark a crimson red, and staining the prestige white walls with the torment and horror of battles. What lied ahead could be worse than anything that has happened in the past.

Her seductive figure stood proud as she marches up the stairs into the Capitol. She knew nothing in this world would get in her way today. Drachma was filled with militants, that would all be suckers for her. They would be no match for the venomous homunculus, all would be begging for her mercy before the end of the day. The first was easy to get by due to all the men were distracted by her elegances and grace. Her long locks fell just below her collarbone, exemplifying them sexually.

She made her way into the elevator, just how she did in central a few months earlier. The elevator operator was alone with her, and he was complete trapped in her web. The moment she stepped foot into the tiny box, the two made eye contact. Vanity bit her lower lip playfully, winking ever so lightly towards the man. Beads of sweat began rolling down his face, and his knees gave out from her presences. She request to be taken to the fifth floor, and he does so without any hesitation. The moment the doors open, she emerges. Just as the door began to shut; Vanity blows a kiss into the elevator and waves goodbye. The door shuts, and the man fell to the ground dead. Her kiss was toxic, killing the poor operator immediately.

Vanity flutters down the long empty hallway towards Loki’s office. The black widow was moving quickly towards her prey. Once inside his office, Loki was in shock. He didn’t have a meeting today, and knew that something was terribly wrong. His body was nervous, and he attempted to call the militants to his office. However, the muscles in his body wouldn’t move and became stiff. He was paralyzed. Just being within breathing distances of the homunculus was dangerous, and he was subjected to her as prey. Her eyes narrow in as she walks over to his frozen body, and takes a moment to pull out a knife from his pocket. With his own knife, Vanity jabs the blade into his gut, spewing the organs onto the ground. Blood fell out of his mouth and he roll hard to the ground.

Vanity sighs slightly out of annoyance and tosses the blade onto his back. Luckily for her, none of his blood stained her white dress. She quickly reaches for the phone and calls Aurelius.

“Aurelius, it’s over. He’s dead. Now make your way up to the office. Riote needs to begin moving into the city. I’ll stay put until you and the rest are here” Her voice was calm and collected as she spoke over the phone to her brother she didn’t know existed.

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Re: MISSION: The Dissolution of Drachma and RIOTE's Rebirth

Post by Reila Tsukino on Mon Aug 15, 2011 9:02 pm

RULES:

  • PUT WHERE YOU ARE IN THE TITLE OF YOUR POST AND THE NAMES OF THE CHARACTERS WHOM YOU ARE SPEAKING/INTERACTING WITH. Example: "DRACHMA BATTLE FIELD - Reila, Dai, Alex, Viktor".
  • If you post here, you must exit the mission before it ends or your character will die.
  • There is a posting order with a limit of 5 days.
  • If you miss your turn posting, you will lose 5 points.
  • If you miss your turn posting, you are allowed to upset the posting order by posting as soon as you can. But everyone then must take into consideration that a new posting order will be birthed.
  • At the end of this mission, everyone who posted will be rewarded with 30 points.
  • Those with multiple characters in this mission, you have the choice of mish-mashing your posts/intermixing them or posting them all at once so when you have time you can sit down and get them all out at once. CHOOSE WISELY.
  • If you find you are too busy, you can make a post and exit the mission. Make sure it makes sense. Get shot or something. DO NOT MAKE PEOPLE WAIT FOR YOUR SHIT. I know I'm worried about being busy too, but JUST DO IT DAMMIT.
  • School comes first. I'm watching. D<
  • End your other threads ASAP and don't start new ones unless you aren't in the mission. I want everyone's focus on this so we can insure that it doesn't die due to school starting.


NOW GO AND DON'T STOP!

Now, I want all of these people to post FIRST (in order):
  • Hild
  • Ivanka
  • The rest of the Drachman Militants
  • The rest of RIOTE
  • Tristao (who is with his guild who are already with Ivanka where ever he is in his post)
  • Valentin
  • Esparians


THEN:
  • Spade (passing the text about RIOTE to Jet)
  • Jet (receiving info and getting ready to set out)
  • Shula (setting out with Spade to Drachma--feel free to control him and Central)
  • Reila (already knows the info and is out the door while telling Dietrich)
  • Dietrich (talking to Reila and getting ready)
  • Reila (possible dialogue)
  • Dietrich (possible dialogue)
  • Ace (getting a text from Spade saying to head out and mention that he was told about it in the Siblings thread)
  • Amestrian militants
  • Cretan militants
  • Xingese militants


Then stick relatively with the posting order. Though it's basically a free-for-all. This was just to start smoothly and get things going.



Last edited by Reila on Sun Sep 18, 2011 5:57 pm; edited 4 times in total

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DRACHMA - THE KREMLIN

Post by Aurelius Schwartz on Thu Aug 18, 2011 6:53 pm

Mismatched eyes stared pleasantly at the slick Blackberry sitting in his lap. Its black, plastic back stuck to his elevated thigh that was wound in leather pants. He drew in a sharp breath and sunk further into the carpeted seats. The anticipation was killing him. A splay of raven hair fell long against his shoulders, only slightly tousled from the wind outside tinted windows. Royally, his head rested on his hand, which jabbed into his vertical knee. Any moment now and the Czar would be dead. Two countries would have fallen to RIOTE...another step into the progression of ultimate peace. So many people didn't understand their way. The meaning was lost upon the deaf ears of human ignorance and hypocrisy--stuck into an age of anti-adaption. It almost made him want to laugh--laugh vigorously in the name of stupidity. And even the detonation of the bombs Chronos (Lyte) spent years planting did nothing to ease the hunger of normalization lying thirstily in Amestrian spirits. But the Drachmans would be different, Aurel was sure. His master plan never failed and recruiting a homunculus was no doubt one of his greatest achievements...so far.

They had met on the street in the middle of the evening... A day he embraced the normalcies that nearly killed him all for the sake of Hild's happiness. Hild's happiness...she was happy now, sitting beside him. They no longer had to ask--put on fake masks in a parade of politics and unwanted power. In a sense, they killed themselves in the destruction--wrecked the Amestrian government from which they had once stood. Just a few stones killed not the bird, but the dragon of the world. No one had dared to attack Amestris before now... And the pride was overwhelming--overwhelming and somewhat gaudy. He had wondered who would come to their rescue or if Creta would invade...maybe even Aerugo, but nothing of the sort occurred. Why, he wondered, pondering all aspects. Had human greed lessened while he was cackling over the skies in hiding? No matter. Amestris would rebuild itself and never be the same. Scars drew people together... The perfect example rested in the West City Cretan invasion. Had that not immediately ended? A common enemy? It was only a matter of time. And with this move, he would have checkmate.

A country belonging to RIOTE in name--a country that supported them unquestioningly. Blood would be split. Aurelius licked his lips and side-glanced Hild, the one he didn't deserve to love, but loved anyway. All those dull years spent in suicidal mannerisms, holding guns to the head and laying on the roof like a lizard hoping to slide off and never wake up were fading into the perfection of ultimate rule. The world was changing...and RIOTE was the cause. No longer would people throw around sorcery meant for Pandora's Box, but would learn to enjoy the pleasantries of life without magic--without the pain and suffering it brought. The higher the power, the further the suffering is dragged on and on until there is no end but absolute destruction and agony beyond any plausible measure. Aurel breathed out.

Then the phone started buzzing. He held it to his ear and listened. "Aurelius, it’s over. He’s dead. Now make your way up to the office. Riote needs to begin moving into the city. I’ll stay put until you and the rest are here." The smirk stretched across his venomous lips, fingers pressed into the phone, leaving prints that marked who exactly he was. But no one would ever know but himself.

"Aphrodite, my goddess, well done. I ask you to take a moment to lather yourself in glory. I want to see it when I come up." He opened the car door of the black Audi and stepped out into silver boots. Eyes narrowed into the midday sun, struggling to focus against the hated glare of heat. He shifted his gaze to the fifth floor of the building known to all as the Kremlin. That was where the man lay, dead by the hands of one of the most beautiful women on Earth, lucky bastard.

But she was inhuman--a homunculus whose kiss could kill. And the irony made him roll his eyes to Hild standing beside him on the curb. He took her hand in his and a step to the glorious staircase that barely impressed him. They weren't human either, no. He flicked his callused tongue over pristine fangs and ascended the stairs. They ate stones--stones that would have made them homunculi, but didn't. Father only had so many sins. So what did that make them? Chimera able to perform nearly limitless alchemy? An extended amount of time gifted to those who were only half human... He called them...The Bearers. Only he, Hild, and Lyte seemed able to possess such odd power. Everyone else they had tried died while their bodies rejected the stones. If Aurel had known--if he had known the danger of death whilst ingesting the stone, he never would have let Hild attempt it. The mere thought of her dying because of his error cracked his mind more... But it was meant to be. They possess this power now... RIOTE possessed it. And now...

"I will contact them all. Until then." He hung up and pressed a single button that connected him with all of RIOTE's integrated communication devices. The terrorist group would be waiting nearby as well. It was better to enter before the shock tore through the country. His lips curled into the speaker. "M.I.O." The Mission Is On, his voice cooed. It was time to go--go to the fifth floor and claim the country as their own--as the second step on the map of euphoria. He thought back briefly to all the achievements Creta gave him from their invasion into Amestris and smirked. Thank you, he wanted to say. And they thought the decision was all their own. Kufufufu... He had gained another RIOTE member from the leftovers of Dietrich's force. Daemon was his name, though hardly a name it was. It showed the worth of trash--trash that should be reigned upon the kings of war until no longer is there bloodshed. Be the enemy in order to erase the name--be the taker in order to give rise to what the greedy never thought they desired. The perfect picture of misery. His life was worth only that and her smile.

The glass doors opened ornately for them, parting way for the bringer of death. His trench coat billowed in the air conditioning and he stopped only upon reaching the elevator. It opened with a man laying on the floor. Well, that wasn't obvious. He stepped inside with Hild and pressed the button for the fifth door, careful to shield the body from view. "Aphrodite left us a gift," he said to Hild, expecting the same laugh that tinged his voice from her. They ascended.

It was almost time to inform his contact in the Drachman military--time to turn the tides and prevent civil war. He lifted his phone once more and pressed a different button, listening to a ring this time. "Ivanka, it's done." The elevator door opened and the man clad in black kicked at the dead doorwaiter like he was a soccer ball until he flopped out into the hall. He hung up. Aurel headed forward with Hild in tow and glanced behind him just in case. He found the room as if he had lived there all his life and entered to find blood spilled all over the Czar's desk. Aurel smiled.

"I like this one much more than the last." He pointed with his eyes at the body outside the elevator. Loki here, died as a work of art--the first of many to come.

.....................................................................................................................................


For -Aurelius Carston Schwarz
Fluent in | Amestrian (brown) | Drachman (darkgoldenrod) | Cretan (midnightblue) | Rouenian (Gelemortian Dialect) (darkmagenta) | Everything has a thick Amestrian accent.
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DRACHMA - THE KREMLIN

Post by Guest on Thu Aug 18, 2011 10:19 pm

Opening her mouth, Hild let a small breath travel out before her, wisping out in a small white mist of steam. Her soft lips were curved in a small smile, single eye watching the wall before her with impunity, long fingers tapping against the seat beneath her at a steady rhythm, a march. Despite everything, she still couldn't force the song out of her head. It was always that song. Every time, the National Anthem of Amestris forced it's way into her head, playing over and over again. She shook her head, trying to get the damnable song out of her head. With a small and frustrated sigh, Hild sat right up; dissipating the mist that she had created with her breath into nothing. It was that simple. Humans... they were as fragile as that mist that crossed before her face. Her one blue eye blinked lightly and she raised up a hand, reaching out to grab something that wasn't there. She turned away from the seats before them, and took a single look at her lover, Chaos.

Chaos. The Greek Primordial being. The Nothingness from which all else sprang. She took a single step, the sound ringing out amongst the silence of the room. Nothing made a noise despite that, save for the light motion of their breathing. It had been a short time since then. A short time since they had shed the facade of kindness and love; taking control of RIOTE permanently. She could only let out a small smile at this, thinking over the fate of the world which had been in their hands on that day. They had left that day with a ruined country, and a final realization of what they truly wanted. The Death of Alchemy. The world's demise. It was well within their grasp.

The country was now theirs to wield as a weapon, it seemed. Or at least it was to be, when Alena took her control of this land. She let the small smile widen, flashing white teeth in a small and subtle grin. That grin... it was uncharacteristic of her former mask. There was no kindness in that face anymore. Only pure and unbridled evil. She let a small laugh escape her throat and her eye that was staring kindly turned into a sharp orb. She leaned over and looked directly into the mismatched eyes of Chaos and let her tongue snake out from between her lips, sliding over the soft lips and onto the teeth, just as the sound of the buzzing of the cellular phone of Chaos' lap. She watched him raise it to his ear for but a second.

"Aphrodite, my goddess, well done. I ask you to take a moment to lather yourself in glory. I want to see it when I come up." She smirked and turned forwards, reaching a single arm up to flick piece of hair off of her face, the piece of hair moving behind her ear with a quick motion. Her eye was cold and cruel, and she stepped backwards to let him stand up. She nodded at him and let a single word leave her lips, moving out into the air and sending a wave through the mist.

"Chaos..." She took his hand in her own and began to consider their unique situation. There were eight Homunculi in total, the children of the sins of Father. They were strangers to this, although they had taken in the Philosopher's Stones to save themselves from this Hell known as humanity. Or whatever humanity that they held within. Now, they were all-powerful beings. Aurel had suggested the name Bearers--the Bearers of the Stones. She had grinned at this, flashing her teeth and showing off a pair of sharpened fangs within her mouth. A hand went to the holster on her leg, feeling over the shape of the metallic gun that she used for her Specialty Alchemy. Alchemists were a scar on the world; so they would die with them in the fires of Hell and Wrath.

As Chaos announced the opening of the Mission, Hild could only let that cruel smile on her face grow into something purely evil and true. Her eye was wild with fire now; as they began to approach the stairs and enter the complex, her face returned to it's original kind visage. Hild... Hild was lost to the winds forever. Hild was but the name that her father had given to her before he turned her into an inhuman creature. Even if she answered to this name, she never saw herself as it anymore. No, she was Mnemosyne, named for the Goddess of Memory in Greek Mythos. The pair entered the elevator and started to climb, reaching the fifth floor and being met with a rather beautifully-dead body.

"Aphrodite left us a gift," She chuckled and smiled. Yes, yes she had. The woman stepped over the dead body and spoke quietly, a small laugh at the end of her words, "So she has. I appreciate her generosity," They ascended towards the main office, walking through the corridor with her love and continuing with their footsteps. Her face was slowly growing into a more contorted and ugly grin, holding her head high as they approached the room. And when they walked in... she was greeted with blood. Blood, blood, glorious blood. She walked towards the window and placed her hands on the cool glass, leaving slight fingerprints from her touch. As Aurel made his call, she felt it welling up inside of her. Her mouth contorted further, and laughter began to emit from her mouth.

"Kufufufu... Kufufufufufufufu... Kufuwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"

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THE STREETS OF MOSCOW - CITY SQUARE

Post by Guest on Sat Aug 20, 2011 12:00 am

Mother Drachma. No country knows the trials of pain and history as she does. For centuries her children have endured the harshest winters the world has ever seen. They have lived through countless periods of war and bloodshed, and have faced grinding poverty and cruel regimes, yet the have prevailed. Mighty Drachma was strongest, and nothing in the world would ever oppress her children. And now, the people would write a new chapter for the ages, one of freedom from the evils and greed of corruption, blessed by equality and prosperity. The country that his father had dreamed of, he would finally realize it. All of this was possible thanks to those two that had approached him that fateful day, in the Gulag.

For nearly a decade, Ivanka had been locked in Moscow's Gulag, a fortress of a prison where Loki's political enemies and those who opposed his rule where locked up in an inescapable darkness, far more akin to dungeons of medieval times than to a modern jail. For ten years, he had been tortured, beaten, interrogated, and starved in unbelievable dank and filthy conditions, along with many other innocent men, whom were sentenced to this life of suffering for fighting for the will of the people. All but his spirit had been broken in that hell, and the men around him, other political prisoners and members of the anti-government communist party had looked up to him, the son of a major communist figure, and as the man who stood up straight through it all, despite having only one leg and one arm (He was given a rusted and cheap automail replacement for his leg). He instilled genuine hope into those poor men, martyrs of the people, but he did not have the power to turn that dim hope into true change for all of Drachma. But then one day, they came. A woman, an embodiment of fortune and grace, with a radiant beauty that seemed to challenge that of a Goddess, accompanied by a man with soul piercing eyes of scarlet and azure, one that saw the past, and one the future. That is what Ivanka believed. It was fate that sent them to him that night, when they promised him not only his own freedom, but the freedom of his entire country. With a blissful smile, Ivanka agreed to do their bidding, and in return, his dream of a perfect Drachma would be realized. They understood the world that Ivanka longed for, that Drachma's people longed for, a world without suffering, without the evils of inequality. They promised him that with their power, they would make Communist Drachma a reality.

And so, with new found freedom, Ivanka began to build the upon the designs of revolution. Over the course of a short time, Ivanka had returned to the warm embrace of Drachma's communist party; he set to appealing to the many militants whom were not happy with Czar Loki's oppressive regime. Slowly, the military turned red, loyalists were purged, officers of noble birth were killed off. Now, none left in the Drachman army were loyal to the Czar, and he was oblivious to this fact. With the communist party at her service, all had pledged their allegiance to the glorious leader Alena, whom was the beacon of hope for a stronger and more prosperous Drachma.

Now he stood among the proud men and women of the Drachman army, all of them loyal to their leader Alena, all of them willing to give their lives for the greater good of the people. With a thousands fists raised against the heavens, they had transformed Drachma into the land they had all dreamed of. Ivanka was dressed in his old tan Communist uniform given to him by his father, clutching the ribbon that was once earned by him long before Ivanka was ever born. He clutched it with a cold metal fist, that gleamed in the sunlight that shone down upon Moscow that day. Yes, thanks to the heterochromic man known to him as Chaos, he was given new titanium limbs, to replace the one's he had lost a decade ago, and for the arm and leg he lost in an explosion during one of his many operations in the past weeks. They were tools granted to him for the greater good of Drachma, no, the world. He tugged at

The cell phone given to him earlier suddenly rang from the pocket of his coat, and he quickly answered it. "Ivanka, it's done." the voice on the other end of the line stated with absolute calm and certainty, a voice that belonged none other than to Chaos, the man who, along with Alena, made all of this possible. Drachma was truly blessed for those two to assist them in their time of need. That is what Ivanka thought to himself as he tucked the phone away again and prepared to move on to the final step of the revolution. The Czar was dead. The last Czar had fallen and all of Drachma's people had to know of this wonderful news!

Dressing his uncovered Titanium hand in a thick brown glove, he tugged at his scarf briefly, to make sure he was presentable, before tightly gripping the handle of his sledgehammer and hoisting it over his shoulder, the weight of it pressing down on his entire body. It was incredibly heavy, made of a heavy osmium alloy, impossible for any normal man to carry, but Ivanka was capable with his titanium limbs and plated upper back, he could bear the weight with ease. It was yet another gift bestowed upon him by that man, Chaos. He was eternally grateful, to be given the power to serve his country.

With long, confident strides, only natural to the strong minded "Titanium Commander", Ivanka approached the center of Moscow Square, filled with soldiers and civilians alike, now waiting anxiously for news of the Revolution and the future of the country. He approached the center of the square, where a marble statue of Czar Loki stood, dressed in luxurious robes made from the blood of his own people, looking over them with greedy eyes. "Comrades!" Ivanka shouted, his voice full of vigor and charisma, another trait second nature to him. "Today, marks the end of the Czar's oppressive reign! No longer will we slave under the polished boots of the nobles, it is now a new era, an era of prosperity, an era of the people!" his speech climbed into a crescendo of zeal and emotion that sparked waves of excited shouting and applause from the crowd. "Our new and glorious leader has finally disposed of the Evil Czar Loki! Drachma is now ours, it now belongs to the will of the people, thanks to the Blessings of our new leader, thanks to the hard work and patriotism of the people and of the Communist Party!" He shouted, raising a clench fist into the air. With exclamations and praise, the crowd, in turn, raised their own fists against the sky, and shouted. Upon this, Ivanka lifted his sledgehammer off of his shoulder, and with a stalwart swing, he brought his hammer against the side of the statue, smashing against its legs with a resonating crash that sounded of righteous thunder. The statue toppled over, symbolic of the regime's own fall, and it smashed against the ground, crumbling into a thousand tiny pieces. The crowd erupted into an ear shattering roar as the celebrated the visual display before them, for they knew that this meant that the Czar truly had fallen.

Climbing up onto the square base of the dismembered stone statue, Ivanka faced the crowd before him, his violet eyes burning with passion, his powerful figure standing defiantly with pride on top of the broken Czar. Both hands raised out to the side in the air, he spoke again, his prevailing voice resonating above the cheerful cries of the crowd. "Comrades!" He shouted again. "Today, Comrades, marks the beginning of a golden era in Drachman history!" Each word he spoke was filled with an even greater ardor and fire than the last, building the spirit and morale of the many people before him. The crowd shouted again, even louder than before. The apex of spirit and energy in the speech that Ivanka pour his heart into, each word ringing not only with zeal, but with sincerity, he thrusted his fist into the air, and with a impassioned cry, he let out a exclamation that rung out through all of Moscow, "LONG LIVE OUR BENEVOLENT LEADER ALENA! LONG...LIVE....DRACHMA!!!!!!"

The crowd all raised their hands, fist, and rifles into the air and repeated with cries that reached the heavens "LONG LIVE THE GREAT ALENA, LONG LIVE DRACHMA!"

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THE STREETS OF MOSCOW - CITY SQUARE

Post by Guest on Sat Aug 20, 2011 2:36 am

Zinaida was proud to be on the stage. After all, today was a big day, right? Why else would all of these people come here if it wasn’t? She looked at the crowd of people that had gathered. All of them came for the cause, and her brother. Not her real brother, of course, but still… He was like a brother to her, wasn’t he?

She rubbed the back of her neck, where the doctors had operated on. “This will fix you,” they said. And it did. But it itched sometimes…

”Hey!” she comments as one of her handlers swats lightly at her hand. She knew she wasn’t supposed to touch it, but she did all the things she asked! It couldn’t hurt to scratch at it just a little bit… Could it?

Zina looked out at the crowd again. So many people, all here for one purpose. She didn’t know much. They never told her much, but she knew the gist of it. Today was when the ones that saved her would rise to power. Today was the day that Drachma would change for the better. Also, more tea time now that she and brother Ivanka and Aunt Marynia wouldn’t be running around so much! She’d invite Berserker too, but they always looked at her funny when she wanted to play Tea Time with him. Strange…

Snapping back to reality, she heard the people chanting for her brother, for Ivanka. She cheered too, jumping up and down. This all excited her. Everything. She was seeing Moscow! Her country! The people that lived in it!

Calming down, she looked back up at her handler, and the serious look he had on his face. She knew what he would ask of her soon, to get in Berserker and help protect everyone else, but she still had time. And she was going to enjoy herself.

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THE STREETS OF MOSCOW - CITY SQUARE

Post by Guest on Sat Aug 20, 2011 11:55 am

It was time. Time for a new era in the history of their people. Time for the decay that clung to their country as ballast to fall away and burn. Time for the leeches that sucked away at their lifeblood to crumble and shake. They stood before the embodiment of this, the Czar's statue rising so regally above them in the square. Zabulon's blood red eyes narrowed as he stared up at it, falling back into that darker time as a child within his mind. No one bothered to look at those below them, those that were never their equal. They did not have the time, the means, or the patience to even bother. They did not even dare look into the face of the strange hungry child staring mournfully up at them with the acceptance that he would die if his life continued this way. But it didn't.

Yes... let those memories peel away as this bright new future stood before them, raising its great fist to crash down on this filth. A caw from above caused him to raise his gaze, ignoring how the others around him waited and stared. Let them. He cared not. Olga swooped down and landed upon his shoulder, the gleam of his wicked weapon forcing the man behind him to shift back. A scythe with a blade to match his eyes, cut away the decrepit weeds of humanity. This new era... It was a beacon, a symbol lead by his boss, his leader that he followed with the utmost loyalty. She was beautiful, but she was also terrifying in a way that he cared not to admit. There was something about her, a wildness, a... He felt a peck to his cheek, blinking as Olga cawed softly and nuzzled his face. She had seen the movement of the man before them, snapping from his thoughts as he observed Ivanka lift that great sledgehammer.

The Head of Defense stood straight and tall, his long black hair pulled back into a ponytail, his startling eyes peeking out from behind some loose strands. This man who appeared not of Drachma would do anything to protect its people. She would be proud. Tightening his lips, he scanned the stage before them all, resting upon the small girl that stood there with a couple of people around her. A child? No... no she was special. A case file he had briefly seen perhaps, or maybe he had seen her in the Kremlin upon one of his visits before traveling off to check on the other outposts of Drachma.

"Comrades!"

Olga shifted slightly upon the shoulder of his uniform, her talons mindful of what this cloth meant to him. His uniform must always be immaculate, and he would not have it otherwise. His normally impassive expression was shifting, shifting ever so slightly as he listened to the words of Ivanka. A smirk. For once a smirk had risen to his lips, the feel of it almost alien to the muscles of his face. Yes... No longer would those fat bastards stare. Stare and do nothing. As those about him cheered, he clapped politely, but that smirk did not leave. No, it mutated as both corners lifted up into a rather wicked smile that could send chills into the spine of anyone who saw. Yes, make the people worthy of the protection he gave. Those that sat up in their lovely homes and cared not for those that clawed about on the streets. They never had to dirty their hands, never had to stare into the shadow and ask, "Why?" Equality would throw a wrench into their pretty little painting and make it bleed. Bring in this new age!

He laughed as he clapped, throwing a fist into the air as that symbol toppled over. Get out of here older era, it was time for the future! And that laugh became a cackle as others roared with the deafening sound of a dragon. It was their time, and they were ready. They craved it with the hunger of a wild bear. "Long live our benevolent leader Alena, and long live Mother Drachma." He murmured as the others cheered, a chuckle still rolling about in his throat. Olga sent a caw up to the sky as she shot up into the air with the sound waves, his exhilaration flying with her. And so the grin was hidden behind that ever unreadable deadpan mask he always wore, his gloved hands clenching into fists. It truly was their time now.

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THE STREETS OF MOSCOW - CITY SQUARE

Post by Guest on Sat Aug 20, 2011 4:03 pm

The cheers rose up from the ground as the dragon who spread its large, garish wings. Her heart pitter-pattered like a racing horse on its final run and she clutched the edges of frills on her shirt, fingertips brushing against the rough white jean of her pants. It was as if she were on stage again...in the afterlife. But no one saw her. They stared ahead into the shattered eyes of a dead statue--the end of an era. And all the time she spent under the spotlight stripped her of the outside world, forcing her to memorize movements of the body rather than movements of the mind. Drachma was no longer the same. The sight sickened her and at the same time made her spirit rise. She found herself jumping up and down like an excited child given candy for the first time in years. She couldn't remember the last time she had such a delicacy. But the smiles on all their faces--the roaring of the dragon took her astray from the aversion of change.

A man named Ivanka found her through the fires. He now raised his voice above all the others and rallied the feelings of comradeship. Marismo found that she felt nothing but pride. She didn't even care about her country, but she found herself standing there taking part. She wanted to help...to do something...other than die. And this is what it was. That day a week ago she stood from the ruins of her ended life and stared at the sky as if it would give her answers. Why could she still feel, still scream...still cry? As the tears streamed down her cheeks in torrents of grief and confusion, she turned to see that man--that man who stood beside her now. "Young girl, are you hurt? It is okay, you are safe now" he had said. Safe now...as if it were a possible thing. Safe being no longer able to lose a life that was already gone. She let her shirt go and stared at her pale hands still callused from the trapeze. The ultimate maneuver was never meant to be completed. They did though...they... She bit her lip. Leonardo... Why wasn't he here too...like her? Who...was she haunting?

Long blond hair waved around her face in the wind of a million voices of glory. She smiled through the tears in her eyes and glanced at the transmutation circle she had tattooed onto her left wrist yesterday. It still hurt. Specters still could change...their appearance, their mind, ...they could still cry. And still remember the day as vividly as if it were happening now. So why...why were they causing more death here today? Her grass green eyes scanned over the pieces of the statue in misery. Why did they need to kill him? Would his spilled blood cure the pair or only cause more? Would he end up like her--broken and wandering to the next stage? She sucked in a swallowed breath and bent down to run her fingers over the shattered age. "Goodbye," she whispered.

She would save as many lives as possible.

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DRACHMA - THE KREMLIN

Post by Guest on Sat Aug 20, 2011 6:23 pm

A small wispy breath left the young Chimera's mouth as she stood beside Miss Alena, watching every one of her movements as their former Czar, Loki, was killed. She felt no remorse for his death, cold green eyes staring at the dead body of this leader. He was one of the people who had ordered her creation, and so she would not give him the sanctity of a death in peace. Instead, she would allow him to die like that, simply watching with a cold and non-intentioned gaze, watching the man's life slip away from him that easily. She let a small chuckle leave her throat, and finally approached the body as Miss Alena slipped away from it, kneeling down by it. Now, it would receive her respect. For the dead, respect was the only thing they needed, and the only thing that they deserved. Her gauntlet-covered hand thrust itself against her metallic armor covering her chest; a fist clenched and sitting over her heart.

"People die when they are killed, you have just proven this to me, my friend. Rest in Peace, Czar Loki. We will show your deathly spirit that this country does not need a leader like yourself." She gave a light grunt and stood back up, looking over towards Lady Alena; that woman, the one who had brought her back from the brink, and taken her in as a soldier of her own. In exchange, Sablya had been required to remain at Lady Alena's side as her bodyguard. But she didn't mind that. For protecting the women was a requirement of a Knight, was it not? And she was supposed to be the King of Knights, so for her to hold that title, she had to follow the rules of chivalry and knighthood. Giving Loki the respect he didn't deserve, that was simply another part of her chivalry. With a soft sigh, Sablya watched Lady Alena raise the phone to her ear and begin speaking to someone.

“Aurelius, it’s over. He’s dead. Now make your way up to the office. Riote needs to begin moving into the city. I’ll stay put until you and the rest are here” Aurelius? Who was that? Were they an acquaintance of Lady Alena? Of course they were, who was Sablya kidding? But... the staunch and knightly woman couldn't let herself question that. For she didn't need to know, so she would not need to ask. She simply accepted, and followed orders accordingly. Her metallic footsteps carried her to the window overlooking the central square, and she looked back at Lady Alena with her calm and collected gaze, staring at the woman with a slight tinge of admiration.

She admired Lady Alena, greatly. Lady Alena was the one who had gone with her to Creta to retrieve her sword. Lady Alena was the one who had taken her in and given her a purpose. Lady Alena... she appreciated this woman's worth, not just as a soldier, but as a knight. That was why she could follow her to the end, and stay loyal forever. Sablya nodded to herself and moved a hand over to the side, gripping the hilt of a two-handed Cretan longsword that she now carried with her, sliding it out with a slow metallic shink and placing the golden sword onto one of her gauntlets, studying it. It was amazing that she'd found this, she had thought it lost forever when she had asked her loyal knight to throw the sword in the lake, and died. But she still had it now, which was the strangest of coincidences.

Excalibur, the Holy Sword of Promised Victory. She couldn't help but give off a confident smirk as she thought it over. This sword was a holy and powerful weapon, one that she would wield with care and glory. She placed one hands onto the hilt, and walked over to Lady Alena as she finished speaking on the cellular phone, looking at the woman with a pair of inquisitive eyes. She went onto one knee and bowed to the woman formally, before standing back up and opening her mouth to speak in quiet and slow Drachman.

"So it is done, Milady? Shall I go to the square with Kuvalda and listen to their speech to the people? Or shall I remain here at your side?" She lowered her head a little as another formal gesture, before returning her gaze to the beautiful leader.

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DRACHMA - ROOF OF A BUILDING OVERLOOKING THE CITY SQUARE IN MOSCOW

Post by Alisa Donnikova on Sun Aug 21, 2011 1:33 am

As the crowd amassed with the movements of a hive, a lone figure sat on the edge of a rooftop high above them, a leg dangling freely over the side. Gone was the usual outfit that Alisa Donnikova wore, instead something more befitting of the colder weather of the homeland that she thought she had left behind in her heart. Light brown cowboy boots soon melded into black tights that stretched over those long legs of the mixed bitch perched over the bumbling masses. A simple brown coat with fleece edging covered her upper body besides a black turtleneck that clung close to her shapely body, the biker gloves still present upon her hands. And of course, the holsters for her beloved Cutlasses. She even had a red beanie hat on.

Her arm hung over her knee as her brown eyes stared dully down at the militants of her homeland, the statue of a man she only vaguely knew. Her father used to be amongst those men and women below. Papa.... Grimacing, a gust of wind blew against her back, its chill only calling up more bullshit from her past. No, she had left this life here behind. That day when her mother proved herself so fucking weak, that day when she had said 'Fuck all' to this country. What the fuck had it ever done for her? A growl rose from her throat, no... She still fucking cared for it because she still respected her father. She still cared because he had cared. What a load of bull.

"Tch." She muttered as she drew a pack of smokes from a pocket along with her lighter, another cancer stick finding its way to her mouth. Breathe deep because it was aaaaall coming down. But what the fuck did she care? She HATED coming back here. All it had was ghosts and booze. Maybe the occasional job, but if she could avoid it, she did. God dammit. Narrowing her eyes at Ivanka upon the stage, she didn't even know the names of any of those apparently important assholes standing before that formation of troops. Nor did she care to know. The only person she cared to know was Alena.

Exhaling that smoke in frustration, she still recalled that mission in Creta when they had first met, where they had first worked together. Just for the cash, that was all. She didn't even fucking make off with any goods either. Bending a knee, she let her arm lay over it, the cigarette burning inbetween her fingers. God.... why the fuck HAD she come back? Why the fuck was she going to help this rotting country that had barely done anything for her?! She should be off on a booze binge fucking up someones day! Or just someone... But who.... There was a twinge in her mind, like a bad burp after drinking too much. Brought up bile with it in the back of your throat.

Narrowing her eyes, she wondered what the hell was up with her. Meh, it was probably a lack of whiskey or something. Lifting that cigarette back up to her lips, she breathed deep for all it was worth, the cloud rising up to obscure her features. She had to stop thinking so much, it was doing shit for her mood. Everything was so fucking complicated right now and it just left her wanting to kill. Thats it. Thats why she must be here, back in this place she hated so much. There was the scent of battle upon the air, and she knew it. She could feel it in her bones. Don't be an idiot my little fighter. Snarling at that voice, it was the only voice that used to matter. The voice that taught her everything she knew. Not the bullshit getting spouted below.

Kra-koom went the statue as that sledgehammer took it down, a pathetic display that those mindless fools ate up like goddamn pussy. "Thats right you fucking idiots, cheer for the goddamn whores and politicians. Don't fucking come calling up to me, because I won't fucking save you." She snapped at the air, knowing she wouldn't be heard as she flicked the butt of her cigarette off the roof. Let this country celebrate its change in regime. Let them think things will change. Mindless fucking fools. God DAMMIT WHY WAS SHE BACK HERE?!

No... In reality, she knew EXACTLY why she was here. Extending her leg back over the edge, her feet kicked at the air very slightly like a child might, leaning her arms on her thighs with a heavy sigh.

LONG LIVE OUR BENEVOLENT LEADER ALENA!! LONG..LIVE..DRACHMA!!!!!!!!!!!

"Yeah thats right ya fucking idiots." Alisa muttered under her breath, wondering if her father would have been happy with this. Would he have allowed his country to fall to this? Obviously the Czar had been assassinated, this revolution was sweeping the nation, and God help anyone who didn't want to be in on this farce. Fuck God. What the hell did he care? Staring coldly down at those cheering masses, she merely lit up another cig and tried to ignore the conflicting thoughts that flowed through her mind. Fine, she would do this once for her father. For the man she had admired and owed her life to. For what he believed in, and what he had fucking died for. What a fucking welcome home this was.


Last edited by Alisa Donnikova on Tue Aug 30, 2011 11:10 pm; edited 1 time in total
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~DRACHMA- A TREE NEAR THE KREMLIN~

Post by Nyx on Sun Aug 21, 2011 1:35 am

Nyx stood atop a tall tree, bare feet planted firmly on a large branch as she stared down at the two people she cared most about in the whole world. This was it. The big time, the final show. Nyx was prepared to give all she had and put her life on the line, if only to please Hild and Aurel. She may have been nothing but a 13 year old girl, in the mindset of a child 6 years younger, but she knew what that day meant to them. It was their day. The day they took the world. The day RIOTE took the world by storm. And her duty? She would kill anyone who attempted to defeat that purpose. So she stood high in the treetop, staring down, bow extnded, arrow cocked. She was a flawless sniper and she knew it. She'd never missed, not once in her whole life. Always hit the target. Always hit the mark on the target. Always put the arrow how, when and where she wanted it. That day, she would do this a thousand times if needed. She knew Hild and Aurel had no need for her protection. They could fend for themselves. But she worried for them. What if someone snuck up on them? An extra set of eyes could prevent that from ever happening. So there she stood, watching. From a crane to an eagle.

Speaking of her beloved Fuhrers, she was watching them well. At first, she thought things weren't going so well. They seemed to be a bit impatient looking. Then, she saw Aurel come out, walking towards the Kremlin, eys set on the 5th floor, where she knew the latest addition to RIOTE stood, having taken her victim. Smiling faintly, she watched. Hild stood at the doorway with Aurel, a grin gleaming on her face. Nyx saw it as a sign that they were pleased with Vanity's doings. She then watched as they entered, and waited for them to reach the fifth floor, her eyes trained on the window. Using a pair of binoculars, she got a lovely view of the room they were entering just then. She saw Vanity with them, who she considered her new 'sister' as she was now in RIOTE. Aurel entered the room, eyeing the bloodied floor of the office, a lump of meat once Loki in the middle, a knife in him. Then Hild entered, and even from her perch, Nyx heard a faint cackling laughter. Seeing the plans of Riote coming to success, she let out a tiny giggle, to herself. It had begun, and she was proud to be in RIOTE. She no longer regretted placing her arrow in Kallie Stuka's throat, and no longer cared for anymore in the world. All she knew from that moment on, until the day was over, was her mission, and the Fuhrers. Failure was not an option.


Last edited by Nyx on Tue Aug 23, 2011 12:56 am; edited 1 time in total

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Spoiler:

Nyxie tends to speak Amestrian (West City Dialect), Drachman, Xingese, Bad Cretan and Esparian.
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DRACHMA - OUTSIDE THE KREMLIN

Post by Guest on Sun Aug 21, 2011 9:46 am

"No no no see, you don't understand..." Spoke the rather tall man into the phone as he tapped his foot with general impatience, a hand stuffed into his pocket. For once his shirt was buttoned, as his long stylish black coat flapped in the breeze. What a morning this was!! It was glorious! It was an ordered chaos as it's normal hopes and dreams got turned right upon their sweet little heads to make way for the sickle and hammer. "When I tell you that I want my shipment delivered by Tuesday, I expect it to be on my fucking doorstep on Tuesday." The emphasis he put on some of those words he practically leaned into, his spikey hair stabbing out at the sky. The deep tenor of his voice rang out against the quiet street as the others inside did their business.

And what a business it was.... He almost wished he had gotten to do the honors, but nooooooo.... No, it had to be that skinny bi--..beauty. Now now, he had to be respectful since they were now going to be partners in crime. Excuses excuses, dance them all around~ They'll all come toppling down as their heads get choppy choppied off~ A frown creased his handsome face, his grip tightening upon his phone. "Don't want to hear your groveling you dumb fuck. You fuck with me, you know what happens. Oh don't worry, I promise you won't die. You'll just have to eat out of a new mouth is all. Shhhh shhhhhhhush." Ending the call, he couldn't help but chuckle rather darkly as he stared up to the 5th floor of the building before him.

The great Kremlin! Seat of the power in Drachma, this cold fucking place. A man stepped up next to him, his arrival seemingly unknown as his boss leaned an ear to hear what he had to say. Whispers trembling unto the ears of deaf men~ Hehehe, maybe he should try that next... Oooooo, excellent!! "Oh goody! Let them enjoy the show at City Square, its just the prelude to this symphony of destruction." Another chuckle, a cigarette getting produced for him and promptly lit, narrowing his grey eyes as he had a thought. "Before I forget, make sure to bring in the tweetering delivery man. Let him shivery in our lovely apartments and you know the ones I mean. Make the calls." He smirked as he drew in on that cancer stick, exhaling with a sigh of exhilaration. What a glorious day indeed.....

RIOTE was making its move about bloody time, and the Men in White (as they were called), were right there with them. He had ridden in the car with Aurelius and Hild, one of his people driving them here. Letting the cig dangle between his lips, he leaned his elbows upon the car behind him. Aye, break down the country in the eyes of its people to rebuild it, let the peons have their fun. Let them feel all self important before realizing they didn't really want this shit. And then waah waah, I hate my life. Too fucking bad. You wanted this beast, you ordered it. Careful what you wish for because it could be seriously fucked when you get it. But the strong people of Drachma didn't necessarily think about that, did they?

Now he was merely being unfair. They weren't quite choosing this, it was being given to them. By the orders of the people up there on that 5th floor. Cracking his neck, the tall man straightened up and tapped the ash off the tip of his cig, his foot beginning to tap again. Fuck. He was getting bored again. Boredom was bad. Boredom meant the next poor slouch he saw who wasn't his companions was going to get gutted. Or maybe he should taser himself again. That was endless fun normally. Growling, he resisted that urge to go up and see what was taking so long, knowing that patience was key right now. No no... No dancing yet. Soon enough! Taking one last hit, he stomped out that cig, really grinding it into the ground as he stood up straighter. Bring on the chaos baby, let it burn fucking bright!

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DRACHMA- A tree near the Kremlin

Post by Guest on Wed Aug 24, 2011 11:13 am

Alex sat in a tree next to Nyx. He grinned evilly waiting for more destruction. "Heh heh they will regret messing with Aurelius and Hild by the time we are done!" Alex said with an evil tone of voice. All Alex wanted to do was blow stuff up. His black hair was windblown as it hovered over his left eye. He looked at Nyx "What is next" He whispered more warily. He knew it was time to rule the world. Their moment of pride. Their one moment of peace and happiness. The moment of the end. As Alex thought of it more it was harder to accept. Alex breathed slightly. It was hard to know that he was actually happy. There is a first time for everything. Maybe now it will be easier to be known by people. Who may know what the future holds "The world is going to be in our hands now" Alex said to himself. He finally knew what this moment was. The moment of truth.

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DRACHMA - OUTSIDE THE KREMLIN

Post by Guest on Thu Aug 25, 2011 1:56 am

No longer was he chained by the principles of servitude as he had been before, during the time when he was being raised - or created, to phrase it in a more accurate manner - or during the time when he served under Dietrich as an instrument of Creta, and while he still felt that he was in some way serving a higher power, it was not the same sensation. Somewhere along the line, something had surfaced inside of what could only be called a creature named Daemon - he could not truly be considered much of a man, even if he was born human, as he lacked some key elements attributed to such a being - whose existence had previously been marked by a history of personal shortcomings. Personal... A topic that had, until now, never even crossed his mind, even if he was unaware of its presence in is current state. He knew no emotion; He never had, and possibly never would, though it was certainly not out of the question that he may begin to think logically and form his own goals as opposed to blindly following those of others...within limits, of course.

The exact details of what transpired, unbeknownst to the chimera who was affected, could be summarized quite simply by stating that something as plain and common as a memory had surfaced, and unlike the other times when he thought about this particular memory, he had realized the corruption surrounding his origins. To understand this would require a certain amount of background knowledge, which, while not directly available to him, still existed somewhere in the world, and as such was worth seeking out.

After the events in which the Cretarian forces fought against Amestris, someone found him - he, who remained on the remains of the battle long after it had ended - and recruited him. At that point, Daemon had been quite reluctant to leave the site, unaware of Dietrich's location, and without communication for too long. While this wasn't quite like him, his mindset had become such that behavioral consistency no longer existed and was a thing of the past, left behind with all of his thoughts of serving Dietrich Von Vermont. His new "assignment": RIOTE, and what a group it was. Comprised of the best of the best, villainy personified to those who followed and supported Amestris. However, to Daemon, this was no villainy, but rather the winning side in a war of many. By instinct, he wanted to remain on the side of those who would emerge victorious in the end, and would serve to ensure the success of said side - this meant that he would now, in a sense, belong to Aurelius, and ONLY Aurelius. While he had been trained into a sense of inferiority, he had also been trained into the idea that only a single "master" would suffice, and should his master be outdone by another, the "ownership" would be duly transferred.

The blind man, known as Erebus to a select few, and "71" to some others, formally named Daemon Ramone - he stood outside the Kremlin, hiding in the shadows of the trees nearby. RIOTE was making its move, and the woman known to the group as Aphrodite initiated their plan. Though the two of them had not had any truly formal encounters, he did not doubt her capabilities. In fact, he could sense that she was horrifyingly different from any other human, similarly to Aurelius - Chaos - and Mnemosyne, yet in a way, a step beyond them; Not necessarily superior, yet definitely a notable presence. Daemon could smell the murderous intent in the chilly air, but was more or less indifferent. The only effective stimulus for him was blood, whether the smell, taste, or the feel of it reached his senses first. Suddenly a voice chimed, reaching him through radio.

"M.I.O."

The Czar was now dead, and Drachma would now belong to Aphrodite - within RIOTE's grasp. So it began, and the chants reached the chimera's ears in a matter of moments.

"LONG LIVE THE GREAT ALENA, LONG LIVE DRACHMA!"

Yes, it was time for RIOTE to show the rest of the world what they were capable of, starting with the country known as Drachma. For now, however, he would lie in wait for his master's command. This territory was unfamiliar, and his lack of eyesight had led him to be slightly less effective in new places - though he had gradually become acquainted with a sensation known as unease. Oh, how the people chanted... Yet Daemon could not understand how they felt, for he himself lacked most feelings. He was clothed in leather, and while a hooded cloak lay draped across his shoulders, he lacked the attire that most would need to keep warm in this climate, though the temperature did not seem to affect him at all. All that was left was to wait for his next orders from Aurel, and then he would finally be useful, something that he subconsciously craved, from the very essence of his being.

"...My liege..."

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ABANDONED, BURNING WAREHOUSE IN MOSCOW

Post by Guest on Sun Aug 28, 2011 7:11 pm

Drachma… How she hated this country. A desolate wasteland that crazy people decided to inhabit; a land of ice and snow and cold that chilled you to the bone. She could handle not knowing the local language, or lacking contacts in Drachma, but it was the cold that bothered her most.

But Valentin was on important business today. Walking up to a man screaming in agony, she couldn’t help but smile. He was confident, too confident, but he was also young and naïve. He thought he could change the world, and was babbling on in Drachman. Such a rough language, like Amestrian. She was glad she didn’t know it.

”You fire alchemists are all the same,” she says as several crates continue to burn behind her. ”You lack creativity, originality… That makes you suspect.”

Suddenly, her radio crackled. ”M.I.O.” said Chaos. So, it was done… She would have to hurry this along, then.

Reaching down, she grabs the man by the collar and pulls him up so that he’s kneeling on the floor, both hands cut and mangled beyond repair, bruises and wounds all across his body. He was lucky enough to be alive now.

Taking out Swift Justice, she presses the end of the barrel against the back of his head. ”The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men,” she says as the man begins to wimper. Pathetic. ”Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.” She pauses for a second, pondering what the young alchemist was muttering under his breath before continueing, her voice growing louder and more intense. ”And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my people. And you will know I am Valentin when I lay my vengeance upon you.”

She didn’t blink as she pulled the trigger, and watched after the shot rang out throughout the warehouse. This was her job. This was her duty.

And now, she had other duties to attend to. Not as Valentin, and not for Esparia or her Inquisition, but as Themis, RIOTE’s “Divine Law.”

She perked up, hearing the sounds of sirens approaching her location. She wouldn't be much help to her new allies if she was caught. "Sorry for the delay, Chaos," she replies over the radio, making her way out of the warehouse. "I will rejoin you all shortly."

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City Square, behind the curtain on the stage.

Post by Guest on Mon Aug 29, 2011 8:38 pm

In all honesty, Tristao didn’t even have a clue why he was here. There was so uproar going on inside of Drachma, and possibly something to do with an organization known as RIOTE. However, Vasco sent him out on this mission with the rest of his guild. The naïve boy sighs and pouts as he sits on Lucian. Both hands clasped around the lion’s neck as he rested his chin on the back of his lion’s main.

“So lame. This sucks, guys…” He moans and rubs his glazed eyes.

He hadn’t even stepped foot onto Drachma spoil before Ivanka swept in and scurried them along to this announcement. Good thing his friends were here with him, because without them he’d be passed out by now. He turns his gaze back to Fran, Vito, and Catalina.

“Hey guys, whatcha think we’re going to be doing?”
He scowls as he attempts to blur out Ivanka’s delectation. In his mind it wasn’t that important, not as nearly as important as sailing on the deep blue sea. “This man, Ivanka, he’s got something up his sleeve. Also, do you all hear that? Those people are cheering and ranting about some woman name Alena. I wonder why? He Vito, you’re the smart one around here, what’s this all mean?” Tristao continues to ramble under his breath until Lucian growls and whacks the boy in the back with his tail. Tristao winces in pain as the breath is taken right out of his lungs.

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CITY SQUARE BEHIND THE CURTAIN ON THE STAGE

Post by Guest on Mon Aug 29, 2011 11:09 pm

Cold..... It was the foremost thought in Catalina's mind as she huddled in her layers of furs, the tall Amazonian trying to continue sitting up tall upon Shade's back. Distractions... She really needed to distract herself from this blasted cold! It wasn't like she could focus on that man with the giant sledgehammers words, she had no idea what he was saying. It all just sounded like gibberish to her, but everyone else before him was certainly getting worked up. Probably something motivational or something.....

Looking up to Tristao, she tilted her head slightly, shuddering as another gust of cold air blew past. Pulling her great fur coat closer to her body, fleece lined leather shoes were on her feet, the skin tight body suit she was wearing beneath her clothes barely seeming to help at all. It was like the cold just knew where to slip into her clothes and chill her to the bone. Shade didn't seem too happy either as he grumbled in his throat, her gloved hand rubbing his head affectionately.

She wasn't even really sure why they were here either. Vasco had sent them off and so they had gone. He even had pardoned her of all her duties until this was finished, sighing lightly to herself as she knew once they got back it'd be back to those strange secretarial duties. And the jokes. That was another thing she didn't understand. Oh well, she just had to bear with it all. This would bring a welcomed change to her life at this point. Meeting Tristao's gaze, she shrugged lightly, exhaling slowly and observing how her breath was visible on the air. This was the underworld, she knew it must be. This weather was just EVIL!

"I don't know... Perhaps they share ideals with Vasco and Esparia? It seemed like they did." She offered, but fell quiet as she glanced back towards the other side of the curtain. It was REALLY loud now..... Biting her lower lip, she bowed her head and pulled her fur hat further down on her head. Her long hair was tied back for once in a bun that peeked out of her scarf that covered her mouth and throat. Her dark eyes narrowed slightly as she heard that statue crumbling down. Long live the revolution huh..... This was a ploy, yes? RIOTE had their own plans in mind, and this was just getting them a step closer to completion. At least, that was what she could understand from it. She had no doubt that it would all become clear once the blood began to stain the snow red, it was just a matter of seeing who could stomach it all.

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City Square, behind the curtain on the stage

Post by Guest on Mon Aug 29, 2011 11:53 pm

The notes slowly rang out into the air, Vito's fingers dancing from string to string, playing note from note, as the song wafted out before his face. A cigarette was between his lips, tilted down slightly and smoking, letting swirls of dark smoke twirl around in shapes, blown by the cool wind that was wisping through the sqare were the people of Drachma were finally being liberated. He was, to say the least, happy at some point of this day. Althought Vito would much rather be sitting on the warm beaches of Esparia, he liked it here. This cold never really bothered him, and he moved the long and lanky fingers off of the guitar, moving the rough hand with the glyph on the back up to the cigarette. He slid it out from between his lips and blew a small puff of smoke out from his mouth, chuckling into the coolness and dropping the stick of paper and tobacco onto the ground in front of the chair, moving his foot forwards and muffling the 'cancer stick' with a small smile. He could hear the Drachmans cheering now, and so their work was done here, for now. All that remained was the possible counterattack from Amestris. That said, the man thinking as he leaned back in the seat that he had taken a place on, before looking over at Tristao as he spoke to the group.

“This man, Ivanka, he’s got something up his sleeve. Also, do you all hear that? Those people are cheering and ranting about some woman name Alena. I wonder why?" Yes, it was strange. But not unwarranted. In fact, he was certain that there was some plot going on, involving the previous Czar. What was his name again? Loki, or something. Filthy Alchemist. He shook his head and sighed softly, tapping the guitar and preparing to play a small tune again.

"Hey Vito, you’re the smart one around here, what’s this all mean?" The man's fingers stopped, and Vito stayed silent for a second or two. His dark eyes looked down slightly, and then raised to slowly meet the eyes of his fellow guild member, letting a small and knowing smile cross his face,

"While I do not know the meaning, Niño, I have a fair idea of the circumstances. That sound is the sound of..." He took in a deep breath, smiling as the cool air of Drachma assaulted his nostrils and closing his eyes in satisfaction, "Viva La Revolución..." He laughed softly and opened his eyes once more, making deliberate movements towards his pistol and motioning with a finger, chuckling and then suddenly hearing Catalina's suggestion. He turned and gave her a soft smile, face tinged with a very small amount of red. He still remembered the hotel room incident rather well, not that he wanted to.

"I don't know... Perhaps they share ideals with Vasco and Esparia? It seemed like they did." He shrugged at this, and tilted his head to the side, looking around for Miss Francesca. Where was that little bribón? Hmm... She never failed to make his life hell, not that he minded. The man chuckled lightly and took the guitar off of his lap, sliding it down to the side and planting it on the ground, the cool and polished wood finish making a hollow noise against the wood.

Spoiler:
^ What Vito was playing, and most likely singing to himself.


Last edited by Vito on Sun Sep 25, 2011 12:57 am; edited 1 time in total

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City Square - Behind the curtain on the stage

Post by Guest on Tue Aug 30, 2011 1:31 am

Fran was no where near the others. Why? Staying in one place was overly boring-oring. It was best to stare at the statue. Yes, stare at the tall statue that everyone was staring at and chanting in some cold-sounding language. The stitched PEACE NOW hat flopping down spiky, angled hair was seated on her head with a pom-pom in the center. That was it. No scarf, no earmuffs, no long sleeves, no coat, no-- Well, she had her leather boots! Black and contrasting with the snow. Ocean-colored eyes moved away from the statue for one minute to see Vito playing instrummenntt! It was the stringy thingy that played pretty sounds~~ She grinned, full, wide smile and turned back to-- CRASH. Wh-... Hands flew to her mouth. Big, glorious, frozen statue was now in a million pieces. She gasped and then gasped again for effect. No one noticed her shock; they were busy cheering. Fran ran away and to the people she could understand.

She skidded to a halt, showering Vito-hito (hito=person in Aerugese) in snow. "Why ruin the statue?" She spun to Tristao with glittery eyes like sunlight on waves. "Why they do that? Fran sadddddddddddddddddd!" She balled her hands into fists and huffed her short-sleeved self onto the snow where it proceeded to melt and seep into her long, black cargo pants. "Meeeeeeeeeew Shorea~~ Do you understandith what they be saying-ling? The girl grinned at the intelligent-looking leopard that was curled up next to Tristao's king of the jungle. The cats looked cold, but Fran-Fran didn't feel it!

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STREETS OF MOSCOW; DRACHMA SQUARE

Post by Guest on Tue Aug 30, 2011 5:06 am

The ever winter melodies of Drachma's sonata had risen to a new fiery valor that echoed about the heavens in a grand symphony of ire and storm, and with reckless abandon, she sang out with such a blind ardor that she was a stranger to herself. Now, destitute of her vision, she was unable to see anything but the future she desperately longed for. In time, she would forget why she changed, who she was, or what she had even hoped for. Such was the folly of revolution. Miguel had seen it before, back in the land of his birth.

Pensive musings aside, Miguel Montañez Guevara was not here to offer any philosophical insights to the Drachmans, who would not listen, for their ears were deafened by their own shouting, he was only here to accompany his motley crew he called 'familia', and carry out Vasco's agenda, whatever it was. No doubt he was just looking to improve relations with RIOTE and the new Drachma, but as to what the six of them (if you counted Valentin, who seemed to come and go on a whim) were to do in this foreign land...... Miguel could not figure out so far. It seemed like the Drachmans were overthrowing their government just fine, its not like they needed much assistance. Perhaps the Esparians were here just for show after all.

Clasping his fingers in a careful strangle around five bottles of vodka, lying out in an open stand amid the celebration, Miguel gave an appreciative nod and smile toward the bearded man sitting in a fold out lawn chair next to the stand, and then made his way back to the crude stage erected in the City's plaza, where the rest of the guild were killing time. They all looked pretty listless despite all of the excitement, but then again, this wasn't their country, this wasn't their revolution, and it was too damn cold even though it was still technically summer. Miguel himself was wearing a thick dark gray jacket, lined with fur trim. It was kinda plain looking, but all that mattered was that it was warm.

"¿Que pasa niños?" he asked as he sat the bottles down on the ground between them all, leaving one in his hand. The cats, all three of the massive beasts eyed him wearily, and he kept his distance in turn. Cats just didn't seem to like him all that much, that was apparent from the set of scratch marks he had over his left eye, from Fran's leopard. Moving back on to his liquor, Miguel deftly popped the cap off of the bottle and proceeded to take a swig of the clear liquid inside. "Gah" he exhaled comically, quickly wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Bit more bitter than I like it..." he muttered to himself nonchalantly, staring hard at the rather plain looking label it bared. It was probably home brewed. Shrugging it off, he turned his attention to the rest of the gang once more and gave them a lazy, careless smile. "C'mon amigos, its a celebration, it wouldn't hurt to kick back and mingle and drink a bit. This is a very special occasion for the Drachmans, we should be a bit more supportive of our new ally". Of course, his words were lighthearted and carefree in nature despite his skepticism over this entire "People's Revolution", the whole thing sounded like a false idol, but it was just better to make it seem like there wasn't a worry about them, Fran and her friends were too young to worry about the mistakes of the adults that came before them. It was a shame they would have to inherit what was left of this screwed up world.

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SOUTH CITY - HQ

Post by Spade Aeries on Sun Sep 04, 2011 1:01 pm

South City was relaxation in progress. Spade didn't know how to handle it, but he felt in those few days spent there with Shula, he became someone else. Not someone else in a bad sense, but maybe someone who could cope with all the shit life dished out to him. And in his time there, he stared at the text message from Kallie relentlessly. Maybe if he gave it the death glare, it would go away. He confirmed that Kallie was dead. Another one of his troops, albeit one he only met once. But she was a little girl--talented, but a little girl...! RIOTE had no humanity. The word and the sounds of the letter together made his stomach twist in knots and it wasn't from the newly acquired painkillers. He eventually told Shula...he told her about the text message that screamed war. War when their own country already looked like this. Even if South City was nearly complete with new buildings going up with the help pf talented construction alchemists, most of Central was still a grounds for the homeless. It was impossible to fix everything that was broken in the lives of Amestris' citizens. Impossible... Because Spade knew what it felt like... and it would never go away no matter how pretty it looked on the outside.

He bought a new pair of sunglasses. Aviators this time because they were more hardy. They fit with his mood, hid his eyes, and harnessed his anger. And finally, it was the day to tell everyone. He figured anything besides short notice would result in chaos. It was better if it wasn't public knowledge--that they didn't question why tanks were rolling in. Spade's cracked iPhone was replaced with a Droid that only held one text message--Kallie's dying message. He read it every night without falter, decoding it over and over again least he miss something the 127th time. It was very clear: RIOTE was in Drachma and Czar Loki would be dead if he wasn't already. There was almost nothing they could do about a country turning on it's leader, but... that just meant there were more enemies to fight, which then required more allies as well. Lucky him his brother was already in South City so he popped the question when he had the chance alone with him. Xing would back Amestris, and if his thoughts weren't going off the deep end, he had the bright idea of making Reila ask Dietrich to assist as well. The more the merrier, he always said. But maybe that only applied to bars and not to war. Well, whatever.

Life was a mess. And as much as he and Shula were reluctant to stop RIOTE in their tracks--to face the battle that they had a large chance of losing, Spade knew they had to. Who were they if they didn't fight for what they believed in? Even if they weren't fighters, would they not raise their glasses in rejection? It took all of hell to find Jet Black's cell phone number. Seeing as the entire West HQ was down of phone and thus phone lines, he had to turn to the more convenient way of contacting someone. But it took work to find it. South HQ was situated and a fancy high-tech computer was set up that turned out to be highly effective in finding people's phone numbers... It also took Spade at least half a day to decide whether he could call the medieval suit of armor or text him the information. Spade figured texting would suffice seeing as it would take ages to say all that shit out loud.

Jet Black, this is Spade Aeries. You should be able to tell from the phone number that this is an official, untracked military number. The following is a message I received from one of my men before their death. Prepare for war. We set out when the rooster crows. [Code meaning 5pm-7pm]
RIOTE in Drachma gov overthrow czar Vanity new leader 924 8pm


Spade sighed as the message sent. All that was left of Central Command had all been ordered to gather in South City for the last few weeks. And although it was in Spade's best interest to let his damn ribs finished healing and the bullet wound scab over, he chose to ignore the fact that he had nearly died but nearly a month ago. There were more important things to do. And since Central was staying in the South City barracks for the time being, it would be easy for Shula and him to organize themselves together.

.....................................................................................................................................


Fluent in | Amestrian (green) | Xingese (seagreen) | Cretan (yellow) | Ishvallan (orange) | Esparian (royalblue) | Everything has a Xingese accent except Amestrian.

No shit, Spade. B) It's elementary, my dear Shu.
I will not come home drunk.
I will noot come home drunk.
I wi no t comme hom dunk
I wi na dung hum brump
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Jet's House/Western HQ

Post by Guest on Thu Sep 08, 2011 11:37 pm

Jet spun and kicked the robot, sending it flailing backwards into the training rooms walls. Turning to the second droid, he set his sword in a ready stance, sweat rolling down his face. He had been training for about 3 hours so far, and though he looked fatigued, he was only half-way done and more than ready for it. It was also customary to do so in complete darkness. Black stared down the silver contraption, looking it over. Now that he thought about it, he had never really looked at the details of the droids he destroyed time and time again. They were sleek and silver, though their shine was dull to hide better in the dark. Shaped like humans, their faces were blank, not even a nose or eyes visible; a faceless opponent. The robots carried all sorts of weapons, from rifles to swords, even the occasional baseball bat. Thank you department if Sci-Tech. When he was training to be a Knight all those years ago, twelve hour training sessions were the normal. He reduced it to six once he moved away so he'd have more time in the day. When he became a General however, he was lucky to get three a day, and especially the last few weeks with the bombs and recent uprising in Drachma.

Only a few days ago had he left the HQ for a well needed vacation with Saga, but that didn't work out well. She didn't want to go to South City and the new beach there, would rather stay at home and just hang out. Which was fine with Jet, him and public places never got along great, and especially places where he had to take his shirt off. He wasn't phobic about it or anything like that, but there was the problem of girls. He was tall, handsome, and very muscular, things that a lot of girls look for. Most of these girls also could care less about his feelings or who he is as a person, just that he's 'hot' and want to get into his pants. Unlike most guys, he doesn't really enjoy the thought of that, except with maybe Saga, but that was a different story all together. This momentary fluster and redness in his cheeks almost caused him to lose focus on the droid charging him. Suddenly realizing, he side stepped and sliced the droid clean in two, the feet and body flying away in separate directions behind him. As he turned to view his handy work, a loud beeping noise filled the room. "End training," he said to the darkness in his native tongue. The lights flashed on, showing several droids in pieces on the floor around his feet. He chuckled and walked into the nearby room, grabbing a towel and throwing it over naked shoulders, as he was only wearing shorts.

Jet strolled through the room and picked up his phone, which had been the source of the loud beeping. It was wirelessly connected to the speakers, so that if he received an urgent call or message, it would let him know via loud beeping. Though it was slightly annoying, it got the job done. He plopped down on the seat nearby and put his sword in it's sheath, throwing the towel and putting on a white t-shirt. Slipping on shoes, he got up and walked out the door, the sun shinning on a beautiful cloudless day. There was a light breeze in the air, he could smell someone bar-b-queuing nearby, chicken most likely. He felt relaxed, it was good to be home. Away from the business and noise at the HQ, all the talk of war and money. It was depressing after a while, come to think of it. That was why he had taken this vacation, to get away from it all and just relax with his lovely princess.

Speaking of home, he walked up to the back door, pulling the sliding door open and feeling the coolness of the AC on his sweaty skin. It felt soooooo nice, he just stood for a moment to feel it all over him. Jet turned and closed the door behind him, walking into the living room. Sitting on the couch reading a book was Jet's one true love, the one and only Saga Tsukino. Jethro strolled up to the couch, jumping over the back of it and plopping down next to her. "Hi!" he exclaimed, his silly grin across his face. Saga slowly lowered the book, her eyes peeking over the top. She gave him her usual 'what the hell are you doing now?' look, something he had grown to get used to since she had moved in a few weeks ago. He was always doing something dorky and she was always giving him that look, it was how the world worked, at least in this house. "Wanna hug?" he asked jokingly, as he was covered in sweat. "Maybe after you take a shower; you smell like a pig," she replied, her eyes never leaving his. "Oh fine, ruin all my fun," he said as he leaned in, kissing her on the forehead. This time she gave him a look that screamed 'go take a shower you stink,' another one Jet was all too familiar with. Jethro sighed and smiled at her, reaching out and poking her nose. She wrinkled her face and pulled her head back, a small smile appearing for a second. As if only now realizing she was smiling, she quickly turned red and buried herself in her book once more. "Go take a shower you big lug," she mumbled from behind her book, Jet barely holding back a chuckle.

Suddenly he remembered that he had received a message, that was why he was out here in the first place. Not bugging Saga, though that on its own would have been reason enough. He smiled and pulled his Droid X2 out of his pocket, waking it up and going to the text message he had received. It was a private message, military coded and everything. That could only mean one thing, it was an important message from an important person. He opened it to read the following...

Jet Black, this is Spade Aeries. You should be able to tell from the phone number that this is an official, untracked military number. The following is a message I received from one of my men before their death. Prepare for war. We set out when the rooster crows.
RIOTE in Drachma gov overthrow czar Vanity new leader 924 8pm


The phone fell from Jet's hands and landed with a thunk on the floor, his expression dark and almost angry. That happy place he had been in a few seconds ago was gone, replaced with one of sadness and despair. The words bounced around his head, buzzing around like an angry mass of bees. RIOTE in Drachma... government overthrown... One phrase rung out above them all however: Prepare for war. Why? Why was Amestris getting involved with foreign matters once again!?! It didn't concern them, Drachma was on a shaky non-aggression pact anyways, not even a legitimate ally! Yet here we went again interfering with others affairs, sending more men to die for a useless cause. Jet knew that wasn't true though, there was a reason. If the Drachman rebels were able to fully take over the country, they would most likely declare war on Amestris and start a conflict that would take years to resolve. But if they acted now, they could stop it from happening in the first place and end the bloodshed quickly. Not to mention RIOTE, the very ones that had destroyed the major cities of Amestris almost a month ago, were at the head of this. Surely revenge for the past was another reason to attack, thought he wouldn't say that was the most worthy and just course of action. This entire thought process took only 2 seconds to reach a conclusion, and that was to take out the rebellion before they took out Amestris; plain and simple.

Rarely did she seem him act this way, as his bright, positive, and cheerful personality were almost always predominant in his every day life. Sometimes though, something would push him over the edge, and obviously the message he had just received had done just that. "What...?" she said, leaving a lot of space in the air. He could tell she was somewhat concerned, but as always she kept it well hidden. "Drachma's leader has been killed by the rebels, their government has been overthrown, and the country is in chaos," he replied, holding back the fury inside him. He wouldn't dare release it in front of Saga, not now, not ever. "No rest for the weary I suppose," he continued, chuckling as he stood up. Black then walked over to the stairs, a faraway look in his eyes. He stopped at the bottom and turned to Saga, a slight smile on his face. Jet then continued up the stairs and went straight to the bedroom, dialing a number as he went.

"Captain Angelos. This is Major General Black, authorization number PK421. Send a jeep to the house, I need pickup ASAP. Are the troops still at red alert? Are they ready for war?" he said into the Droid. "Yes sir, they have been since the rebel uprisings began in Drachma a few days ago as per your order. Has something happened sir?" the captain replied. "The Czar is dead, the rebels have won, and RIOTE is behind it all. Gather the troops and prepare for war Captain. We leave at 1800 hours," he finished. "Yes sir, as you command. Over and out." The phone cut out as Jet approached his shower, jumping in the turning the water on. The hot water ran down his muscular body, as if burning away the sins of his past. To Jet, it all just felt cold. Cold as ice...

As the knight reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed that Saga had gone right back to reading. "Same old Saga," he mumbled to himself, chuckling afterwards. He walked up to the beautiful pink-haired woman and knelt down before her. "I want to go," she replied, putting down the book. "What?" he asked, a confused look taking over his features. "Take me with you, I'm tired of sitting around here," Saga said, looking straight into his eyes. "Absolutely not!" he exclaimed. "I would never forgive myself if I took you with me and you got hurt. Or worse! I can't loose you Saga, not like everyone else," he continued, a single tear rolling down his face. "I couldn't live without you." Saga sighed and shrugged, plopping back down on the couch. "Alright alright, I get it," she replied. Deep inside her emotions were rumbling like a low thunder in the distance. He really cared that much. Tears rolled down her face as the emotion took over, if but for a moment. Jet leaned forward and pulled her close to him, letting her cry into his broad shoulders. "It's okay my love, it's okay," he whispered softly into her ear, rubbing her back gently. She leaned back, Jet letting go and looking into her eyes. Saga wiped her eyes and rid them of tears, looking straight back into Jet's.

"I have to go now," he said, sadness stretched across his face. "I know," she replied, their eyes never leaving each others for a second. They both leaned in, their lips touching together lightly, a sweet kiss that filled Jet's heart with strength and courage. Though she would not be by his side, she would be in his heart. Always... They separated, almost as if they never wanted it to end. He stood up, yearn already filling his eyes. He walked to the door and stopped just in front of it, turning back to his beautiful princess. "I love you, Saga," he said, bowing and turning to open the door. Just before he could however he heard her say something. "Don't die out there okay?" she said sheepishly, as if she was actually concerned with his well being. He turned his head to the side and replied "As long as you draw breath, no harm shall befall me." With that, he walked out the door, closing it behind him. The resounding slam of the door shutting echoed through the empty house. "Stupid boy," she mumbled to herself, kicking the couch and laying down on it.

Outside, the jeep was already waiting for Jet in front of his house. The drive to the Western HQ was short and quiet as always, much on the Generals mind as always. As he arrived, several of the higher ups were awaiting him. They all babbled on about Drachman reports and the readiness of the troops. All of it sounded good, though little completely registered in his mind. As Jet reached the War Command Center, Captain Angelos stood at the War Table dishing out orders. Everyone jumped to attention, including the Captain, at his arrival. "At ease," he said, the men and women saluting and returning to their duties. "Captain, give me a sitrep," Jet said, leaning against the War Table. "Well sir, it seems the intel you received from Spade has been confirmed, Czar Loki has been killed and RIOTE is present, assisting the new leader in taking power. There are large scale riots and battles going on across the city, but the Kremlin has been taken by the rebels," Angelos replied, keeping it short and to the point. "Ah, I see," Jet sighed and stood up straight, fire in his eyes. "Are the troops ready?" he continued. "Yes sir, they are in the assembly hall awaiting your orders." Black nodded and walked through a nearby door, several men holding his armor awaiting him there. "Make it quickly men, there is little time to lose," he said to them, his words stern and powerful. They all saluted in unison and immediately went to putting the knights armor on him, including giving him his infamous great sword, 'Nemesis.' As they finished, Jet transformed. He was no longer just Jet Black, Major General of the Western Forces. He was now the Crimson Fist of Amestris, Jethro Black.

When they were done, Jet continued through another door, Angelos directly behind him. On the other side of the room, a small balcony overlooking the assembly hall was awaiting the arrival of the great Black Templar of the West. As he walked through the door, thunderous applause awaited him, the soldiers ready to receive their leader. Jet held up his hand to ask for silence, the army quieting down quickly. "Hello my brothers and sisters! I have come to you today with grave news. Drachma is in chaos, and their government in disarray! The rebels have killed Loki and taken the Kremlin, and we know for certain they will not respect our albeit shaky alliance with them. They will try to attack us, and so instead we shall cut the head off the snake before it can recoil to strike Amestris!" he yelled, his voice carrying over the crowd without a microphone. The soldiers roared in response, ready for the fires of battle. Jet waited a few moments for them to simmer down, then began again. "I know we are tired, that we are weary. We have had little rest in these last few months, from Creta, to the bombings, and now this! Yet we can not, no, we will not falter! We are proud warriors of Amestris, and shall not fail! Prepare for war brothers and sisters of the West! Tonight, we fly for Drachma!" he finished, the men and women yelling and screaming in response, their claps filling the room from wall to wall. "Excellent speech sir," Angelos said as they re-entered the War Room. "Thank you Captain, but this is not time for flattery. Get me Lt. General Tsukino on the vid-comm ASAP," he replied bluntly, in no mood for kiss ass. A few second later, the image of the Ice Queen of Briggs appeared on the screen. "Lt. General, good to see you again. My troops are ready to fly on your go," he said, putting on a good face for a good friend. He was sure she'd see right through it, but it was better to at least try and enjoy the moment while it lasted.

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South HQ

Post by Shula Brighton on Fri Sep 09, 2011 4:27 pm

"Right on top of that, Boss." Those six little words had been so often repeated in the halls of Central HQ over the months while Shula had been working there, the girl's arms typically full and taking on something else as she ran around to get things accomplished, pausing long enough to check in with Spade and mentally notate whatever it was he needed her to take care of and then assure him that it may as well have been considered already done. Since coming to south, that phrase hadn't changed and neither had her diligent work ethic. What was left of Central's forces had been ordered to come down this way to recover and join the troops that had already been assigned to South, and for the most part, many of them had. Spade was recovering and coping well, and Shula had been doing her best to keep a steady eye on him as she worked to organize the area enough so that it would function. Even amidst the destruction and chaos and utter confusion of having to organize people to help things start over, Shula was still her workaholic self and moreover very, very restless.

A little over four weeks, and no word, Shula checking her phone and messages constantly, and once the new computer system was up she'd started checking the military's serial number databases religiously. She knew Aaron's serial number by heart, but his wasn't coming up... anywhere. Not on the rosters of soldiers who had confirmed they were alive and active in West. Not on the ever-growing list of soldiers whose bodies had been recovered and identified as dead. Missing in action. That was the best anyone could supply her with, and Shula had done everything short of damning all the rules and calling the head of Creta's military and asking if he was a war prisoner somewhere in their country. And it was driving Shula mad and gnawing deep within her soul, eating at her because she couldn't bring herself to voice that fear. Especially not now that war's drums loomd overhead and echoed in the distance. There wasn't time to grieve. There wasn't time to surrender and cry and fight with the festering thoughts of doubt that would impair her ability to function.

Kallie had been a sweet kid, and her murder had been horribly unfair, but the fact that she alone had been able to tell Spade where RIOTE was hiding and what they were doing had ensured she would be buried with honors and have one hell of a revenge party. Orders were quiet and with few details, nobody furnishing any real answers to the public as tanks and troops amassed quickly at the Southern base. The soldiers were restless and uneasy as they gathered to receive their orders, but all of them seemed to have an idea of why they'd been called there on such short notice. But Spade had asked Shula to help get everyone organized and ready, part of that readiness being giving them an explanation. That request was met with those same siz words he'd heard so often; "Right on top of that, Boss." Shula wasn't a fighter; this much she knew in the depths of her heart. Nor was she the strong leader her grandfather had been at South for all those years. She was a glorified secretary and community organizer. But as her voice came up over the dull murmur of the soldiers gathered, it did not waver as it pierced everyone with an unquestionable truth.

"RIOTE is in Drachma," she said firmly. No introduction, no idle commentary about being happy to see everyone. No reguard for the Amestrian patterns of speaking where one took ages to get to the point. Ishvallans really are a terribly direct breed of people, after all. Shula paused, letting that little bit of information sink into everyone's heads before she took another breath to continue. "We are going to go kick their ass. Are there any questions?" It was a rhetorical question, her tone not leaving any hint that there should be questions. They were all tired. She knew that very well. They were all hurting emotionally and physically. Crisis counseling offices were full of just military group sessions to try and help everyone cope with their losses. But they all understood why they were going to Drachma, even though they knew it was a fight they had a good chance of losing. RIOTE had taken their homes, their families and their friends. RIOTE had single-handedly nearly crippled one of the strongest countries from within and they had been helpless to stop them. And now they were in a neighbouring country and had taken over; they were on non-aggressive terms with Drachma's former leader, but with them at the wheel it was only a matter of time before they hit Amestris again while they were low on food, supplies and soldiers and decimated them. And as all of them shipped out to Drachma, everyone understood that RIOTE would not show mercy or compassion and that if they didn't leave and stop them now then there was a good chance Amestris would cease to exist in the future. In a span of time far faster than seemed fair, South was nearly empty again as all trooped shifted north to go say hello to Drachma's new Czar.


Last edited by Shula Brighton on Tue Sep 13, 2011 12:28 am; edited 1 time in total
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BRIGGS

Post by Reila Tsukino on Fri Sep 09, 2011 6:40 pm

Dear world,

Why does it always have to be this way, I wonder. So many people are suffering and the immediate cause is nowhere to be found. Most people would say that they can't do anything about it, and they'd go on with the same, stagnant flow of life, not even looking around them. Because to change a single step would make a difference--a small one, but a difference. So why don't those people realize that? How...how can I make them realize it? The shock of nearly dying has struck the Amestrian people hard. They have recoiled into themselves, selfish, and greedy...fending for themselves and themselves alone. There is nothing left here...for anyone.

North City was rebuilt in the first few days after the bombings. Alchemists fixed it...and alchemists destroyed it. I don't understand. If we have so much power...then why must we use it to destroy and to rebuild--like an endless cycle--if all it brings is suffering? I don't understand. Could someone tell me...please? Of course not... No one has the answer you want to hear...we must create our own answer, right?

Well, this is mine: "Assemble the troops; load the carriers; and prepare yourselves; we're going to Drachma." A flash of long red hair tickled the backs of her knees in a stream of authority down the hallway she charged. There was no time to waste. Fort Briggs would act on the pact she had with Loki... Who knew a man with such great taste in wines would die by the hands of a terrorist group. What Reila really wanted to know was how RIOTE infiltrated a cold, steely country that was bent for loyalty so quickly and so efficiently. Snow turned sour... She clenched her fist, the other still grasping the speaker to her parted lips. She pressed a button, changing the line from the Briggs' PA system. She hesitated a moment, feeling the chills run through her body, but that didn't stop her from doing what she always did. "Dai, come here." She didn't even need to tell him where she was; he knew...he always knew. But Reila didn't know where Xan and Mura were... They were...somewhere. She hadn't seen much of them or much of anyone while the work piled up on her desk and she struggled to maintain the order in a country filled with cracks.

She switched the channel again. "Viktor, now is the time to set out...I hope for your safety." She smiled into the receiver and shut her eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing. "And thank you..." She waited for his response and then pulled the system from atop her head. Viktor was leading a troop of her strongest men and women through the mountain ranges to Drachma. They were the first of the resistance...and in the most danger. Reila was reluctant to use this tactic, but... She was sure that it would succeed. A rueful smile simmered onto her lips and she opened the door to her office. There was a man she had to call. But before she was able to dial the number, a video call came through. She stared blankly at the screen of her phone until Jet's face appeared, shocking her into silence. Why was Jet...? "Lt. General, good to see you again. My troops are ready to fly on your go." More silence followed as she had to absorb the information and do something with it before confusion set in. There was only one way that Jet could have learned about this...and it was Spade Aeries. A few weeks ago she had received a call from him, but she had already known that something was amiss beyond the snowy mountains. It took all of five minutes to conclude what they would have to do. And Reila was doing it now: going to war.

War followed her everywhere, through thick and thin, over hills and mountains, into the sky, and through fields of daises. War was like a lover you could never get out of your head--a lethal poison that never let you die. It was something hard to accept that needed to be accepted, and despite all the agony it brought her and all the people who loved peace, it was essential. It was essential, but this was too much. Who was writing this? Because in real life the bombs never went off. When the smoke cleared in Central and she found herself walking over dead bodies, Reila began to question if she was even alive. Could it be that she died and this was now hell? It was possible...so utterly possible because when Dai looked at her...it still wasn't the same.

To fight war was to fight the very basis of peace. Reila knew this and that was why she never hesitated to kill or to fight for what she believed in. To recoil from it would be to deny survival. Never look away; look right at it. Because the eyes of a child knew no better. Even as she scavenged for food off beggars already begging for their own, she stared right at them with whirlpooling eyes that sucked in anything and everything that they could get. So many memories of sad, dirty people covered in news papers and smoke from fires lit with broken matches. The grime of rainy tunnels streaking across ragged clothing, torn in the most vital places: at the knees. And they knelt all day because standing took too much energy. The days when Reila Tsukino stopped being royalty and the time before now. But now...it was worse...because she wasn't the one who was suffering; it was their people. Without a stable government, everything was bridging on chaotic, pulling at the seams of police officers trying to maintain order. She stood with Jet and Tataki above them all, with the authority, the power, and the strength of an entire nation once feared...and they never once wished for it. Responsibility and the hope that one day...they could pull off peace led them onward towards a future that could embody it without destroying itself.

Reila smiled, "Go. Glad to see you're with us," and cut the channel. She wasn't going to call in Jet and Tataki to battle since it was Fort Briggs' jurisdiction, but... Spade had at least convinced her to accept assistance from Central Command and the South. Apparently he called in Jet too? Tataki and the East would be the only defense remaining in Amestris? It didn't seem like a good idea... It was dangerous...risky, and somehow it fit their style. In order to gain something...sacrifices had to be made. She drew in a quick breath and dialed Creta's special line, nervousness filling her, but also...determination. "Hello, Dietrich. I've been practicing my Cretan. However, I have grave news. Drachma has fallen to RIOTE and very soon a full-scale takeover will commence. Following the guidelines of the treaty, I am informing you of this. It is not required that you aid us, but Fort Briggs, West Forces, Central Command, and South Troops are setting out now."

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LONDON, CRETA; 2nd FLOOR OF WHITE HOUSE

Post by Guest on Sun Sep 11, 2011 5:29 pm

London awoke to a new day. The sun was shining, and not a cloud was blocking His Majesty’s sky. Dietrich stirred in bed, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes lightly. With a quick glance out the window, he smiled, sliding off the side of the bed and hastily putting on his robe. Looking back at the bed, he eyes Marjorie as she slowly wakes herself up.

”Up already?” she asks, turning onto her side and peering up at him.

”I take pride in not taking a single day off, duchess,” he replies, leaning over and reaching out, caressing her face gently. ”Why don’t you just take it easy today? You’re on official business with the king, after all.”

With a quick kiss on her cheek, he exits the room, glancing over at Sullivan and Vivian. ”Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere she’s not supposed to,” he says to them quietly. Looking over at Sullivan, who seemed to be giving him a particularly judgmental look, he adds, ”And please take care of her. She’s a duchess, after all.”

Motioning for them to stay and wait, he readjusts his regal robe, admiring the deep red color and its gold embroidery. Hand-made, of course. Perhaps he’d look back into the paperwork and hire the tailor. He could use more tailors…

Waltzing through the doors to his office, he slowly makes his way over to a table on the left wall. Tea, the only drink that he’d allow to wake him up in the morning. There was something just refined about tea. Coffee was for the working class, and espresso for the pretentious among the masses. But tea? Tea was an art. And so he started.

By the time the water was boiling, several files had already been dropped off on his desk. Dropping the tea leaves into the water, he counted patiently while reading through the many reports. Troop movements, logistics, overnight figures from his company… And espionage. This folder was rather thick, considering he’d been mostly getting a feel for the shift in power since Amestris’ untimely destruction. This… intrigued him.

Flipping it open, he slowly sipped away at his perfectly prepared cup of tea. Most of it was myths and rumors being denied, heads up on certain matters… But Drachma? Drachma had been interesting in the past few weeks. Some riots and uprisings, high-ranking officials being killed off … He thought a revolution was likely form the start, but he didn’t imagine it was planned out, at least in such a meticulous manner. And most certainly not by…

”RIOTE…” he says nonchalantly, before shrugging. He had methods of dealing with such a matter. Reaching over to the phone, he swiftly dials the a number, and waits patiently.

”General Izzard? I’ll be needing a favor from your men. Tell me, do you have the coordinates for the Kremlin in Moscow, Drachma?.. Well, figure out the positioning on the MacGufifn Satellite, ASAP. And, while you’re at it, would you kindly-“

A buzzing sound interrupted him as he eyes one of the several red phones on his desk, specifically the one marked “Amestris.” Generic? Yes, absolutely. But it was a useful relic from his father’s rule…

”Keep planning on the Flag Planting, General Izzard. I just have an important call to take.”

Putting the phone down, he stares at the blinking red light on Amestris’ phone. Whatever this was, he wasn’t going to like it.

”Greetings, General Tsukino,”

Hello, Dietrich. I've been practicing my Cretan. However, I have grave news.”

Eying the one folder on his desk, he silently sighs. This was going to get complicated.

”Drachma has fallen to RIOTE and very soon a full-scale takeover will commence. Following the guidelines of the treaty, I am informing you of this. It is not required that you aid us, but Fort Briggs, West Forces, Central Command, and South Troops are setting out now.”

Sifting through the folders again, he brings up his report on his military’s placement and logistics.

”Well, I thank you for the… timely heads-up on the manner, General, and it’s good to see that someone such as yourself is putting a high priority on the matter. However, although I’d like to help in the matter, I’m afraid I have my hands tied behind my back.” He sighs, pondering why he left the placement of his military in the hands of someone OTHER than himself. ”I’ll call an emergency parliamentary session led by my good friend Senator Palpatine, but, as politics always are, the politicians will be slow to understand the full scope of the situation.”

Pressing a button on the underside of his desk, he pauses, thinking. ”However, I’m afraid that I’m long overdue to visit Drachma anyway, and-“ Looking up, he looks at Sullivan, Vivian, Oliver, and Elastor walking into his office. ”Well, given the circumstances, it appears I’ll need a well-armed group of escorts. I’m sure we’ll see you in Moscow.”

After pausing a moment, he hangs up the phone, rubbing his temples. Peering over at his other phone, he hesitantly picks it up. ”Change in plans, General Izzard. We won’t be needing the satellite after all. Thank you, though, for your effort of you and your men.”

Hanging that up, he stands, looking at the four royal guards standing at attention. ”Lady and gentlemen, it appears that Czar Loki has fallen ill, and I’m afraid I must pay him my respects, whether he’s alive or dead. You’ll be helping escort me into Drachma. Now round up any and all needed equipment while I call a friend.” Picking up the phone again, he gives a dismissive wave to the four, not intentionally, but out of necessity. He had a lot to set up before Amestris arrived at Moscow, and hopefully, between the two of them, they could sort out this entire mess.

Dietrich sighs.

“Hopefully.”


Last edited by Dietrich on Sun Sep 11, 2011 5:36 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : So many typos. TOO MANY TYPOS.)

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Re: MISSION: The Dissolution of Drachma and RIOTE's Rebirth

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