“Consuls, I bring news.” Legate Marek Anthonius Gogol was bowed on one knee in the private Consul’s room of the Carthaginian Palace. He paused, glancing up at the Consuls as they tried to untangle their tongues. The male Consul stood up from the pillows in the centre of the rooms and slowly adjusted his suit while the female Consul continued reclining but buttoned up her blouse.
“There was a coup in Popoa. The Prince is in hiding. A military junta has backed that General Iliax the III as successor, though fighting continues with troops still loyal to the Prince. Leviathan is in chaos, my Consuls. The country is descending into anarchy.”
“Truly this is excellent news! They foiled us for long enough. They were a stubborn and barbaric impediment to our Destiny. Proclaim a celebration!” The male Consul was ecstatic.
“You seem less pleased than my brother, Legate. It seems that he might be overlooking some details. Please continue…”
“I request troops for an immediate… stabilization force. 80 million, I should think. They are to be…” he was interrupted
“Now wait a minute, Legate! I’m all for kicking an enemy while they are down, but 80 million soldiers isn’t exactly a small deployment! That’s four full legions! I think that we could temper our bloodlust and let their stupid auslander politics be their own undoing!”
Marek swore under inwardly. There was something rotten in the Tree, and he could smell it now. He started seeing what Grimson was saying.
“Consul, I must remind you that MrPopo nearly rivaled us in military power. They have vast armies, and hidden nuclear weapons caches. We cannot let these resource fall into the hands of an unstable military regime. When the only tool you have is a hammer, all the world looks to be a nail. The Prince was petulant and a tad dramatic, but at least he could be trusted to observe the unwritten rules of our Cold War. There is no longer such guarantee. We need to strike now, and strike hard. Root out and destroy the would-be Brutus that seeks the throne of Popoa, and restore some sense of order to their country. I suggest negotiating with the Loyalists, and to recruit some other nations to our cause. This cannot be swept under the rug, Consul. This is a time for decisive military action.”
”When will our burden be over, Legate? When will Gemetria no longer have to interfere with the shortsighted auslander squabbling? They plague us at every turn, interfering with the Trees purity.”
As do you, Marek thought, you harlot.
“Ah sister, the price that our race pays for the Love of the Tree is eternal watchfulness. We are the guardians of mankind, and until we have succeeded in educating the barbarians in our noble ways there will be no rest for us”
No rest for you? You have never been in battle, your will is as weak as a baby’s. You know not what it means to kill, save through negligence. Our ancestors would have drowned your shortly after birth, hedonist. You value your sisters soft body more than Gemetria. Mareks face still looked calm, not betraying his seething anger.
“These constant wars are starting to be a bore, but my brother is right. We cannot shirk our duties. Let’s send out some diplomatic feelers to other nations. Let us see if we cannot pursued other nations to assist us to restore peace and order to Popoa. Come Marcus, the Legate was just leaving” She lecherously pulled at the belt of the Consul’s suit.
Legate Marek Anthonius Gogol, 3rd of 15 children of the late Consul Anthonius Jeshu Gogol, was leaving. He couldn’t stand to be in the room any longer. The worse part was that they were chosen by the Tree as they represented the citizens. The rot was deeper than he could stand, and he wouldn’t let Gemetria suffer in a decadent downfall.
"M'Lord." the aide bowed, the tip of his hat brushing the buffed steel flooring.
"Lord Caanon, of House Arazed, you may rise." replied Farrius, carefully smoothing his uniform as he brought himself to his full height - almost 6'5".
"M'Lord, House Arazed, Masters of Communication, have just received the following encrypted message over channel 5.64-alpha - " he was cut off by Farrius quickly whipping his head 'round to meet Lord Caanon's eyes.
"Leave it on the table and leave."
"Sir, it - " Farrius' hand struck Caanon's cheek with enough force to knock him to the ground. A large, angry bruise immediately sprung up on the man's cheek.
"Leave it on the table, and leave, Caanon. Before I strike you again." Caanon stumbled to his feet, tripping on the maroon robe that revealed his station. Farrius turned his back on the man and picked up the tiny dispatch.
It was a small message from the Kether system of Gemetria, offering the chance to assist in the suppression of a military coup in MrPopo. It was hard to say if this was the Tree's manner of requesting help, or simply an attempt to increase diplomatic contact between their nations.
Farrius made his decision and entered his command code at a tiny computer panel on the wall. "Access House Arazed. Financial allowances." a beep met his words as a list of expenditures greeted him. "Decrease House Arazed's familial allowance by ten million defective eights. Enter communications." Two beeps, one confirming his previous order and one accessing the nation's secure communications line. One message was dispatched to Gemetria, telling of the order of three full regiments of the Old Guard - 60,000 of the best trained, most deadly men in the region - to be in the area within six days. A further 300,000 regular forces - including 25,000 armoured units and as much air support as could be provided to the area - within the first two weeks. A second message was to his miltary strategists, explaining the situation and giving his orders.
(As long as there are no objections from any parties, I'm going to roll this RP back due to the possibility of Mr. Popo coming back. Cool?)
