Recent Statuses

24 days ago
Current I never thought i'd be saying this, but today, its finally come: I'm retiring from roleplaying. Thanks everyone for the good times. Hope you all do well in all your future endeavors.
3 mos ago
I just found out that you can actually minimize the status bar and i'm so happy I think I might cry
4 mos ago
Hot Take: Isekai RP is just a colloquialism of the GM saying, "I'm making this up as I go, but since you wouldn't have any way of knowing, let me tell you in advance."
1 like
4 mos ago
Daily reminder that COVID has a mortality rate of 3.4%, meaning that diarrhea is more lethal than Coronavirus and this whole thing is being overblown.
5 mos ago
If there were 100 hours in a day, our planet would likely be so close to the sun that it would be incapable of supporting life.


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Most Recent Posts

Templates for stats and other tables:


O V E R V I E W:

F L A G:

A L L E G I A N C E:
If they were Imperial, that Emperor would have a lot of explaining to do to his court.

P O L I T I C S:
Politics in the Commonwealth are the constituent result of a series of alliances, stretching over more than 100,000 individual syndicates throughout Commonwealth space. Each Syndicate effectively acts as a self-contained democratic fraternity, possessing its own Syndicate Code. Men seeking to sign on with a syndicate first pledges their allegiance before a syndicate senior on any variety of things - vibroswords, pistols, or a copy of their Code are the most common, but more eccentric syndicates will use skulls or acid handprints - where they will then sign on in adherence to the Syndicate Code. Members of the syndicate are obliged to heed by their code as guidelines for conduct, typically with the threat of severe punishment if they are caught breaking them. Once initiated, a syndicate's members can vote on all officer elections, all affairs of matter, and are given their entitlement to a share of all spoils. The Syndicate's Code is kept in a prominent place at all times, typically near a mess hall or another heavily-trafficked area.

▼ P O L I T I C A L S E A T S

Position: Current Chairholder: Duties / In Charge Of:
Archon: Laser Carbine Chief representative, signs and approves all treaties, trade agreements, and all official Commonwealth-wide diplomatic agreements.
Chief Secretary: R$700 Overhears the High Council, implements policy, arbitrates Articles of Conduct, overlooks and balances the Common Budget.
Chair of Industry: LiMg-Type Ion Battery Appoints members of the Federal Exchange Board, finalizes policy for the Commonwealth Union, sets quotas for privateering.
Chair of Welfare: Gathers and organizes sociological data, sets educational and medical standards, organizes pensions.
Chair of Security: Assesses internal security threats, regulates bounties, investigates treachery.
Chair of Market Affairs: 2.6 kg (5.6 Lbs) Finalizes zoning, creates labor and mercantile regulations, oversees mineral excavations, monitors and plans economic development.
Chair of Foreign Affairs: 890mm (35 in.) Monitor immigration and tourism, oversees foreign expeditions and exploration efforts.
Chair of Intelligence: Organizes espionage, evaluates external threats, suggests action to Master at Arms.
Master at Arms: Grand Commander of all Syndicate militaries within the Commonwealth, coordinates war efforts.
Master General: VS-10A Creates and reviews Land Regimen Codes, organizes Syndicate land armies, suggests and approves land invasion plans.
Master Admiral: VS-10A Head of the Armada Parley, coordinates fleet maneuvers, suggests and approves space invasion plans.


D E M O G R A P H I C S:

P E O P L E S:

Human beings - in the odd event that you have never seen one before - are medium-sized mammalian creatures, averaging approximately 1.7 meters in height. Humans possess a wide degree of skin and hair tones, most of which is inherited through ancestry or environment, and ranges from dark ebony to sheer white, with oakwood and brownish tones being among the most common. Sexual dimorphism is present, often expressed in females lacking facial hair and being approximately 0.1 to 0.3 meters shorter than their male counterparts. Their eyes are slightly slanted, ranging in shape from a broad bead-like form to being narrow and almond-proportioned. The eyes of a human take the form of a pupil and colored iris acting as the focus lens amidst white-colored scallia. A majority of irises are brown in color, although green, blue, and greyish shades exist. Human beings are adorned in body hair, which varies in thickness depending on region and environment. Most of a human’s body hair is found on the scalp, underarms, and genitals, and is most often brown or black in color. Yellowish or reddish colorations are also possible, but are rare.


Standing anywhere from 2 to 2.4 meters in height, Ket’Kaal are sextrupped beings with some rough outward similarities to humans, if heavily differing in many key aspects. Ket possess 6 digits per hand, each tipped in a hard, calcified talon similar in function to a claw. A Ket’s middle and ring fingers are both opposable, functioning more akin to thumbs than as traditional digits. Their uppermost set of arms are known as the axilla superior, and are defined by their superior muscle tone and strength. Their lowermost set are referred to as the axilla inferior. While the superior limbs primarily assist in vertical locomotion and transport, the inferior limbs possess finer muscle memory and more precise manual dexterity. Along their upper backs to their necks and axilla superior, Ket have calcified dermis which takes the forms of scales. In essence, these are highly ablative boney plates which naturally get shaven off to age or damage, and protect the neck, spine, and other vital areas around their upper limbs.

Using their superior arms in tandem with their legs, Ket are adept climbers and diggers. Naturally, Ket possess a strong sense of verticality. In their native environment, Ket filled their role in their high-altitude ecosystems through ambush hunting, often tracking down their prey many meters above or below, then unexpectedly pouncing upon their prey. Once ambushed, a Ket will pin down their prey with their superior arms and legs, and will either attempt to strangle their prey with their inferior limbs, or will attempt to use either their calcified horns or their many teeth and fangs to bash through their victim's skull, or to bite and remove a critical vein. While individual Ket were perfectly able to fend and hunt on their own, prowling in packs was often a vital part of hunting larger game. In bands as large as two dozen, Ket routinely hunted marmarosques, enormous, hulking apex predators which could grow to be as large as six tons.

As might be expected from creatures of their size, Ket are voracious eaters as well as extreme omnivores. With the assistance of their flexible mandibles and their strong thyroids, Ket often swallow food whole, grinding it to pieces as it tears along their teeth and is crushed along its way to the stomach. A doctor-recommended diet for a Ket involves consuming 7,000 Calories per day, with professional athletes and intense laborers often consuming up to 40,000 Calories per day.

Naturally, when a fateful pirate crew found the Ket homeworld in their primitive state, they were more than happy to give them guns and see what would happen.

P L A N E T S O F I M P O R T:
Give a bit of lore/info on the planet like it's estimated population and the reason it's important


It has long been speculated that the rather dark sense of humor the denizens of Cartilage possess have corrupted the original name of “Carthage” into its present-day form, yet detractors abide by the claim that the planet had always been settled by a more seedy ilk. Irrespective of the truth, Cartilage is

Nuevo Maracaibo:
With 98% of its surface covered in brackish water, Nuevo Maracaibo’s status as an ocean world holds great importance to the Commonwealth, in spite of its otherwise uninteresting appearance.

Queen’s Rock:
The largest moon of the gas giant Terranon III, the largest draw towards Queen’s Rock is the Morag Naval Academy, perhaps the single most prestigious institution dedicated toward naval arts in the Commonwealth, if not the galaxy. Credentials for allowing to instruct at Morag are infamously arduous; Only captains with several dozen - if not hundreds - of successful captures are invited, and any students are required to

The ancestral homeworld of the Ket is

Connaught Crescent

Saint Antoinette

Victor’s Belt:
Any unfortunate, brave, foolhardy, unaware - or some combination of the aforementioned - pursuers of the Commonwealth’s armada will inevitably be led through Victor’s Belt. An enormous

Port Morgan

A sprawling, metropolitan ecumenopolis, Dawston is by far the most populous and developed of any planet in the Inigo Reach. Composed of more than 500 unique districts, Dawson is often referred to as the beating industrial heart of the Commonwealth. With innumerable shipyards, factories, refineries, and manufactorums on the planet alone, the sheer output of Dawston itself is equal to entire systems. With perhaps more than a trillion residents, the city-planet is a wholly impressive feat of arcology, possessing entire sub-cities present in its spires as many layers are built atop one another as they climb into the planet’s atmosphere. Housed deep within its many layers, entire artificial oceans provide the krill, kelp, squid, and musque to feed its teeming population. Plasma reactors recycle the waste and refuse of the city into energy and plastics. In its most bustling centers, the crowds often grow so thick that even simple movement must be done to the will of the streaming horde, lest one stop and be unceremoniously trampled before the marching horde.

Set in the middle of the Commonwealth’s most frequented trade routes, the amount of wealth which passes to and from the planet is too vast for all but the most sophisticated of computers to truly account for. The mere basis of the Commonwealth’s existence has brought riches to Dawston that even Imperial aristocrats might find enviable. Its people live comfortably - if many do not live lavishly - constantly in the pursuit of another cache of swag. In the markets of Dawston, “orders” are placed for any manner of necessity or luxury, to which any and all manner of privateers are more than happy to oblige.

Captain’s Landing

The Dust:
Seated at the foot of Natasha’s Nebula, The Dust is a beautiful, scenic planet. Coated in vibrant oranges and verdant greens nestled throughout its many valleys, all accompanied by a vibrant, painted sky illuminated by the shifting nebula above, the importance of The Dust

C U L T U R E:

F O L K L O R E:
For an oft-separated and often tumultuous society founded and operated by outlaws, the history of the Commonwealth is remarkably well-preserved. Yet, in spite of the fascinating plethora of information readily available, fundamental to the culture of the Commonwealth is

S P I R I T U A L I T Y A N D R E L I G I O N:
The topic of religion and spirituality in the Commonwealth has always been a strange anagram, difficult to immediately dissect. The Commonwealther is oft-described as, "Powerfully superstitious, but fiercely nonreligious." "Bad omens", "miserable luck", and "ominous signs" hold far more sway to the minds of Commonwealthers than any religious book or tenant. Testaments to the success or failure of others to heed "warning signs" and "bad feelings" are all the testament which a Commonwealther needs, for no holy book will ever do justice to describe the sheer strangeness of the void, by which a spacer's fortune and keen sense is easily a greater asset than unwavering faith. There are countless tiny rituals, charms, blessings, prayers, and sages plucked from the multitude of cultures by which the Commonwealth has absorbed, only being kept or discarded based on their perceived effectiveness.

In this sense, the motto proudly proclaiming, "No Gods shall be our master" is one of technical truth and perplexing contraries. Easier is it to proclaim that the buccaneers and spacers of the Commonwealth worship Lady Luck as a goddess without godhood.

Regardless, organized religion has rarely played a large role in the lives of a denizen of the Commonwealth, and it is unlikely that it is something which will change for the foreseeable future.

C U I S I N E:
With the overwhelming majority of food inside the Commonwealth being produced in aquaponic farms, an unsurprising number of dishes include ingredients derived from fish, mollusks, and a variety of aquatic plants and animals. As a necessity for extended space travel, Commonwealth cuisine often had to be made from ingredients which could be stored for long periods of time while also possessing enough vitamins to not cause malnutrition. Cultures have had a limited - but not extensive - impact on the Commonwealth’s diet as well. Ket are far from picky eaters: There were often recorded stories of first contact with Ket would include them eating bark straight from trees apropos corn on the cob and swallowing poisonous serpents whole. Igni were, by their own admission, largely a people who relied on scavenging and carrion feeding prior to their widespread cybernetic augmentation. As a result of the needs of feeding entire cities and ships full of people, most Commonwealth dishes are prepared and cooked in portions of feeding masses, not individuals or families.

S T A P L E F O O D S:

B R E A K F A S T:
K-BARs: “Krill Bars” are condensed, meaty snacks, wrapped in kelp or rice.
Goureon: This hearty, oatmeal-like mash is created from salted whale milk, poured over vulbon flour and cooked over heat for several minutes. Fat is occasionally scraped from the sides, and the meal drained through a cheese strainer. The resulting meal is a very filling mash, served with the warm leftover whale milk. Often accompanied with K-BARs or vinefruit.
Kelp Scoops: Dried leaves of kelp are dipped into a side sauce made with mashed kelp, sour cream, and kuhlva butter.
Caviar: Decapus eggs are very salty, but very rich in protein and Vitamin D.

L U N C H / D I N N E R:

D E S S E R T S / D E L I C A C I E S / S N A C K S:

Kuhlvin: Brewed from grinded kuhlva pods, the resulting concoction is rich in caffeine and taurine, with an aromatic, leafy flavor. Very similar to tea or coffee.
Cane Rum: Made from refined green cane molasses, cane rum is a sweet alcoholic beverage, often brewed with a variety of spices and infusions. Each distillery has their own special recipe, and ranges in potency from 30 to 100 Proof (15%-50% ABV)
Jin: Very potent liquor, often described as being “tasteless”. Exhumes a light fuschia vapor when just opened, and typically is 100 Proof (50% ABV).
Psyke: A flavored carbonated drink made from psi-poppy flowers. Has a bitter, but refreshing aftertaste similar to a sweet mint. More well-known for its slightly hallucinogenic effects, but one must drink this in large quantities for it to be very potent.

Script and Language:


E C O N O M Y:

I N D U S T R I A L C A P A C I T Y A N D T E C H:
The Commonwealth has a very straightforward approach to the sciences: If one cannot invent, imitate. If one cannot imitate, steal.

Denizens of the Commonwealth have historically never been afraid to “innovate”. In the earliest days of their history, the varied pirate outfits often lacked a large industrial base, and accordingly adapted via making the most out of what they could either scavenge or jury-rig. Centuries have passed since the loosest days of the Commonwealth, and the lessons learned from their predecessors have been taught in full. Now with full industrial bases, from extraction to aquaponics to shipyards, the fleets of the Commonwealth now sail full steam ahead, with the days of reliance upon pilfered goods and armor now long behind them.

Within the domain of the Commonwealth, countless factory workers labor away

U N I Q U E T E C H N O L O G I E S:

N O T A B L E C O M P A N I E S:

Armaments and Armor

Gato Gordo
Currency Exchange


Ludbeck Robotics
Hardware and Navsystems

Screening Ships

Rocksalt Arsenal
Armaments and Armor

Cheynne Pharmaceuticals and Biotech

H I S T O R Y:

M I L I T A R Y:

C U R R E N T S T R E N G T H:

A R S E N A L:

F L E E T C L A S S E S:

[*] Hi

As you can guess, this was clearly the result of me trying to make a table...and not understanding how to make a table.

If someone could just, like, nuke this (Preferably also while telling me how to make a table), that'd be awesome.
@Malta307 I had an idea of an old Austrian-style monarchy whose glory days had long passed and was ready to collapse at a slight breeze, but I think i'd be better to avoid it in this instance, given that's the focus of the main story at hand. Another idea I had was a collection of outlaw and pirate outfits who had, over time, coalesced their forces into a united front and eventually formed a loose, federative republic (while still partaking in the lion's share of loot and pillage). The idea behind that one was a rift forming between factions who would want to "settle down" and start developing themselves more into a trading power, given the sheer amount of starfleets at their disposal, and the more free-styled pirates who more viewed the Republic as a giant alliance of mutual convenience, not as a true government, and would want to keep it that way so they can, y'know, keep being pirates.

Tentatively interested. Though, i'm kinda curious as to what this "finished story" you mentioned looks like.
Anyone have any ideas for what they wanna make? I'd like to bounce off of people before I go all Leroy Jenkins on concepts and sheets.
Tentative interest. My computer's being repaired at the moment, but if this is gonna take a while to set up and get going, everything should be alright by the time this launches.
A broad lip stretched with echoes of its thoughts ringing through the dark cave. Bursting like bats from the darkness came the demands for attention as the soldier slammed a hand onto the counter like anchor to the ocean floor. Helpless, the red headed man behind her took hold of her arm for the moment in an attempt to sway her to pull from her course of action, but the stubborn one had made her choice.

"Clover-" Hamlock pleaded, tugging at her arm as she half vaulted the counter.

"Oi! Boiler! What've you tossed up today? Can'te giveahint at what ye've made- Maybe some whiskey on the side for te lack of flavor!"

"There is a menu above you-"

"Nobody's talkin- te you knobcomber."

Hamlock exhaled audibly, red flushed face blowing smoke as he placed his arms behind his back to see how this would play out. Who knows, maybe this insufferable personality would be dealt with. "You commoners..."

Clover dropped back down after getting a brief look over counter to nothing that particularly grabbed her interest with a wide grin and an expectant mind for playful banter.

As soon as her distinctive voiced graced his ears - and "graced" was a term he used generously to describe the drudge Vincenzo experienced whilst near Clover - Vincenzo near-instinctively swallowed the drag of his cigarette, for a mouthful of ash and tar was a far better taste than another bout with Clover.

His eyebrows entrenched into his gaze. Turned to face the pair, he lazily looked back at the woman, too, casting a sideway glance toward Hamlock.

"Actually...i'm not sure what's on the menu today, Clover." he replied, leaning into the counter, "Because after what you owe me, i'm not even sure if i'm supposed to feed you, or if i'm supposed to let you go hungry and call our debt even."

Well...this was problematic. The dark green hair gave a chuckle, sweetening up her voice a bit as she gave a half shrug.

"Hey, noowww, let's not get too upset here, Vinny. I told ye- I'm good fer it! I just need a bit of time and you'll have yer share! Sides- ye wouldn't leave yer fellow man with a gut empty. No?"

"A fellow man...maybe."

He heaped a platter of breakfast bake upon a pristine white platter, and promptly handed Hamlock his breakfast.

"A woman as slippery as you, though?" Vinny shrugged.

"Thank you, Vincenzo." Hamlock nodded. "I'll be looking forward to the meal." As the soldier walked by Clover, he gave her one more bit of advice in a whisper: "Don't make things worse for yourself!"

There was a certain look of defeat in Clover's eyes as the man she despised made off with her meal. There was a certain burning inside to do what was right... overshadowed by the rage egged on by pride. Turning her broken gaze from Hamlock to Vincenzo, she took a slightly more aggressive tone.

"Look- Vince- I went through the training like everyone else. I'm a lass you can depend on- but I don't see the point in bein' heartless. Now- and I'm askin' ye nice- please, can I have a plate of somethin te eat?"

Sighing, Vinny turned around, apparently working quite hard behind the window of the mess hall. Clover could make out a few clangs and scrapes, an occasional clink of silverware against what she could only hope was another meal...God, the smell was nearly irresistible. Leave it to Vincenzo and those Zwellians to find out how to make something made of grains and tomatoes taste so damn good. When he really wanted to, Vinny could produce miracles in that mess hall setup; Even a few stray cigarette ashes were almost like a sweet spice when in one of that man's productions.

Then Clover smelled...burning? Like a sour smoke, or like papers coated in acrid oil now being ignited...

Vincenzo turned around, and it hit her.

On the dinner plate designated as hers sat her breakfast: It was the usual egg breakfast bake, all right, perfectly fluff and scrumptiously coated in a healthy glistening of cheese and olive oil.

Upon its top, three cigarettes had been stuck in, fired and ignited like they were her birthday candles.

"Here." Vinny brusquely addressed, "I made it *special."*

He held the plate upon his fingertips and leaned forth upon the counter, putting his whole mass between her and her breakfast, soon to be dripping generously with cigarette ash.

Now there was a beautiful taste to her nose! It reminded her of a special feeling she hadn't felt in so long. Was it the romance of a first love? Was it the embrace of a red faced mother elated to find that her daughter was still in one piece? Mortality transcended to another plane as the divines touched fingertips with the limits of humanity to create something so beautiful. All it took- was one bite from the forbidden fruit to turn it so blackened and corrupt. What once was beautiful- was now lost.

This- this was no meal. This was an abomination that was so ungraciously handed to her. She was no saint- she was no pure maiden of golden heart and taintless soul- but this- this was wrong!

Blood surged like lightning to a rod- anger beyond reason consumed as the eruption of a sleeping volcano threatened the peace of so many around her.


"You'll what?"

A hand upon her shoulder quickly silenced the blazing woman. Who else could it have been other than her commanding officer? Who else- but one of the lieutenants.

"I'll..." She bit her tongue, giving a flustered grind of the teeth and taking her plate with a harsh swipe. "Enjoy the fucking meal."

Lieutenant Kyllo watched the young soldier bitterly march off- giving her only a few blinks before turning to face the cook. "Is there a problem, Vincenzo?"

"Aside from the usual?" Vincenzo snarled, sneering at the woman going by. He had had plenty to do with an unfavorable sort - all in goodwill of his fellow soldiers, of course - and by many metrics, Clover was far from the worst of his headaches. If anything, Vincenzo would - by his own admission - rather be chained to a bed with Clover than have another 20 hour shift.

"Eh, it's nothing." he dismissed, giving a defeatist shrug, "Just some old business that hasn't quite been settled yet, and Clover's a b-...not familiar with Zwollian humor."

Kyllo could tell Vincenzo could only hush out his last correction by the bite of his tongue.

The officer simply nodded in turn, allowing that to be as it was.
"Clover is... a bit dense. I think. But I also think that maybe she could come to learn that humor in time. You know?" He gave a slight shrug, smiling softly as he progressed their conversation. "Well- maybe we can take a look at some Zwollian cooking, hm? How are our supplies?"

Vinny leaned back from the counter, raising his eyebrows at the inquiry.

"They're a'lright, yeah. Been a lot better since we got the req memo about Signora Generala." he quoted. His tone was rather uppity, sarcastically ecstatic.

"What'll it be, then?" Vincenzo asked, returning his lean to the counter.

The lieutenant gave a soft chuckle, grinning as he pondered the reaction. Though he supposed that there wasn't often a difference between units in the military. They were given a budget, but he was told it would be better as time went on. Even now- it seemed like the general was at least holding up her end of the bargain and given that she wanted to give a presentation of her fine collection he supposed it was only expected. Only time would tell if she would be so generous as to continue and donate to her project.

"I'll take the Casserole. Just try not to sneer too much at the VIPs with the general when she comes and maybe things will go a bit more smoothly when I talk to her about getting you a decent break from army life. At the very least we could discuss getting more ingredients regularly."

"You try getting any other of these guys to cook. I'd rather just start eating trench mushrooms." For an Zwollian, Vincenzo had an odd dryness to the delivery of all of his jest. Even for one who had not and was unlikely to see any frontline fighting, his usual tone never deviated far from a certain cynicism which might be more routine amongst a veteran caste.

Regardless, he grasped the largest metal spoon from the rack above his head (The spade itself, Pyry noted, could easily be an entrenching tool in its own right), and dug into the great batch of breakfast, heaping generous amounts of a most pleasingly noxious assortment onto a spare plate. Long, gooey strings of pungent cheese clung to the spoon as he heaped each time onto the virtual pile of food, dripping with a hearty aroma with each clang.

"Here y' are." Quickly, Vincenzo displayed the plate before the LT with a furrowed, fumed glance, as if an artist showcasing a work which most displeased him to an art collector who found his worst work most intriguing.

He respected that the Zwollian wanted to uphold the things he held dear to him. Even for as rough as the man talked and for as hardened as he seemed there was a heart there that took pride in the things he sheltered. Even suggesting that nobody else could take his place- perhaps- was simply a way of saying that he took care of the people he was in charge of. Unwilling to take the time off...

With a softhearted tip of the hat the lieutenant tipped his cap and took his meal.
"I see. Good man- Vincenzo." There would still be much to learn from the man, but that was for another time.

The captivating smell lured him down a path he wasn't so certain of. Was it of the spring fields in the morning? A conversation with a woman in the land standing upon the sun? It wasn't so familiar to home, but its exploration warranted a passionate walk down a lane with civilian clothes and a newspaper with the words 'The War Is Over' neatly spread across its proud casing. Loved ones coming from their homes to meet their tired beloved embracing them at the doorstep. A parade held for the fortunate ones spilling across the color filled streets. Flowing through the hearts of many a prayer that this peace would last forever. So sleepy from a day well spent and nothing but the moment to live for. Captivating... That is how one would would describe it. With eyes closed shut and a silence with feeling... something he couldn't quite describe other than being magical...

As the lieutenant opened his eyes next to his fellow officer, he gave a sigh of relief. Eyes traced to his gloves as he swallowed the last of his spoonful. It was only a moment of freedom. It was only an ounce of a dream. Even so... It was one they could always make a reality- were it not so then the power of word would not be true. The works of the hand- an alternate reality. Was that not what they were there for? Just like any one person going to the local diner for a meal- all wanted a warm meal- a feeling- that they could enjoy in peace.

Even as he finished his second spoon he felt this to be true. It wasn't just him- but his team who could make this a reality. And- hopefully- both sides could find a warm life when all of this was over.

"Do you believe in them, lieutenant?" Pyry spoke softly to Höfler, ensuring it was for her ears only.

Maxi tilted over, glancing a sideways smile at her fellow lieutenant. His words reached her ears almost with an audible thunk to them, like Maxi had just run face-first into a wall, pressing her smile into awkward fixture. It made her chuckle - nervously - but chuckle nevertheless.

"What kind of question is that?!" Höfler confidently remarked, "What kind of lieutenant would I be if I didn't think our Rangers couldn't live up to their names? Not a very good one!"

She laughed a bit more, an uneasy happiness to her exuberance as if to express some manner of relief, or guilt. Maxi had no qualms nor doubts over the brave lads and lasses under her command. Many of them were veterans of the Great War, she knew; And she knew many of them had more experience under their belts than she had in her entire long years at school. The Imperialette may have been the trickster, but Pyry could unshroud it so well. She was a bit...nervous.

"You'll be like the last war?" she expressed back at him, curious at what his response could be.

Pyry nodded with a smile of his own to show to her response, taking it rather well and hopeful as she continued to express herself. A capable officer. He believed that. She believed in her own soldiers and that alone was cause for relief as he understood what was expected from her. Why- it was hardly something that he had questioned himself- but he did want to hear it from her mouth. You couldn't rely on what you thought all the time. Sometimes you had to rely on what you were told. Even then- nothing is certain- but it was enough for him. And for her question?

"Yes. But, I also think it will be nothing like the last war. Where we are now... We're all just a bunch of soldiers doing what we think is right. I heard in the last war there was so much respect passed around with the sheer desire to return home. That- I believe- is what we may face here... Or so my father told me. If that is true- and from what I've seen both out there and in here... I'm sure it will be for the right reasons. But even we are something experimental and new. In that way- I think we will simply need to have faith in each other in this new war."

"Yes, quite~!" She seemed to suddenly spring into another phase, like another person or another place were simply inserted as simply as the turn of a page. It was far from the previous unease, Pyry could note; Her body straightened, poised upright with confidence. Her tone was chipper, more clear.

"They've been very sort of...selective about this. The generals, I mean." The Lieutenant went on, "We have our briefing and orders, but, you know there 've been a lot of changes between the last war and now, especially up-top. You know, the whole Belaire Convention."

"Maybe they're all more on-edge now. Or, maybe they're just trying to find a way to make the Ruzhians get involved again." she laughed.

Pyry blinked at the shift- though it had to be expected at this point. She was a strange individual but he could say that of himself. Despite such thoughts, he would move on as would be needed. Besides- it was always good to see another in a good mood. Though the thoughts of why they decided to make so many changes were really a question that he couldn't answer but if the last war was any indication...

"You could be correct." He chuckled. "But whatever the reason I only hope it means a quick war and a great progression. I feel... odd about the general herself, but I think we're fortunate to have her. Do you think the troops are ready to meet with her today?"

Maxi shrugged, even casting a playful grin to go along with it. Perhaps "readiness" wasn't what she was aiming for. After all, the fighter never became tense in the face of danger: Only ready.

"Sure!" the lieutenant chimed back, "I think they'll get along with her. Besides, it helps when they know that I have to answer to someone, too!"

"I can only hope you're right. The last thing we need is daily inspections to tell us where our funding stands based on behavior... but onto more serious business." With that lighthearted conversation over, Pyry pulled out some notes on a sheet of folded paper which he unraveled to show unto his fellow officer. "I think you're right Maxi. The locals have been odd and we have found some evidence of foreign activity scattered around our recon objectives. It's a bit early to say- but even campsites show differences and it typically results in one being rather uniform. Similar imprints and I managed to find this at one of the campsites."

Pulling out the end of the smoked stick from his pocket the lieutenant offered it to the other- giving her the opportunity to scan the graphic marking. "Imperial?"

Her grin rapidly evaporated. Peering over the documents, she glazed over each segment one at a time, scanning with an intrigued, scrupulous eye. Occasionally, it raised, yet more apropos the papers were telling an out-of-age joke than one of concern. She tapped the Northwest corner - Pyry could tell from indirect attention alone - then slowly traced a finger down, as if following some hidden outline in the paper.

"It could be...hrm. . ." Maxi mused, pursing her lips while she thought. Their ambiance turned silent. She slowly rolled her eyes back upon Pyry.

"We should bring this up at the briefing later...I think the General will want to know about this before we move out."

With a nod, Pyry turned his attention to the soldiers and placed a hand to his chin. "For now, we ought to see how the men are doing. I will speak with you more later. Hm? Oh- and keep an eye on Clover. She seems a little aggravated today." He chuckled, standing up and moving to his quarters while enjoying another trip into the land of dreams.

"E ke né en train din gajer a élur vurbinneuç?" (And what do we not have to gain by speaking to them?)

Lucinêa punctuated his voice, such that even the shouts that were required to break the clamor of their mounts' gallops reduced his phrases to mere hushes.

"Ja né élur konfïdeu. (I don't trust them.)

The elder's words were bold. Clear and as unwavering as the overhead sun. His late translator looked over in weary suspicion, naught a moment into conversation yet already tiresome of it.

"Aççurantâ, zo Léza-" (Surely, the liza-)

"Élur avéren un agendâ, e nuača avï çïré defrâodeuč a prender dečiziux čin zo Gardinâ." (They have an agenda, and we have been tricked before by making decisions without the Gardinâ.) Leokadra scoffed in return. "Ačionar čin zo Gardinâ nuača avéreneuç a ruïn muilte fois inâinte." (To act without the Gardina has led us to ruin many times before.)

Begrudgingly, he sighed, turning over his head to the road ahead. Lucinêa - as befitting for a military man the likes of he - was very much a proponent of action, for he knew full well that, in the greatest texts and teachings of war, to seize and maintain initiative was paramount. Alas, a direct belligerence he was not in, and so the finer loci of diplomacy he would need to subscribe to. Leokadra's words rung true, he knew, for that was the worst part; The divisions sewed by accord and treaty kept their people under constant partitioning, and all of it was only possible by one foolish Yuravian making peace deals first and consulting the remaining tribes thereafter.

Innumerate treaties forced the disunion of Yuravia, for even a thousand spirited tribes' soul went for naught if they were to be kept where their chants were drowned out. The Third Rebellion saw the signing of the Treaty of Jurivêa, that famously humiliating decree. If it were not insult enough to prohibit a people's most honored custom of election of a rightful and just Čévdinčévi, that so much fruit and toil be given to the traitors which made it possible made it all too overbearing. Lucinêa was correct to know that these treaties would, as soon as they were drafted, too, come to a just and fitting end. There would soon come a day where righteousness would prevail, and shackles cast down, for his opinion was but one in a sea of Yuravians.

Yet, such notions were cut short by the reminder of his mission, delivered through a lizardman atop a galloping horse.

Not all was lost, however, for his inquiry soon brought about an intrigued look upon Lucinêa's face: Rea-Abi was curious about the state of Arkronia.

"Kê čerê? (What does he ask?) The chief questioned.

"Çu çere deçpre zo maladul d'Arkronêa." (It's about the Arkronian disease.) Lucinêa responded swiftly. He turned to the chief, who gave no visual response, his eyes glued to the forward road.

"Kê çeç dévrâi vurbir?" (What shall I say to him?)

Chief Leokadra fumbled for a bit, mumbling and musing as he softly shook his head. Soon after, he swiftly barked his response.

"Vurbê kê voç vrê." (Say what you want.)


"We have had many merchants return from Arkronia with very...troubling stories. They are in the midst of a rather troublesome illness, one which only seems to afflict their people. One man - a man I with so great of honor I may hold even his most ridiculous of tales to truth, I might add - has told me of entire villages being claimed in a week. Their medičes have quarters which fill with entire towns, trying in vain to grant some comfort to the ill before contracting the sickness themselves. The common folk of Arkronia are affected the worst, due time, he believes that truly no Arkronian will be free from its touch."

Before continuing, Lucinêa looked back at his chief, stoic as ever, then glanced his ocean-dyed eyes back to his lizardfolk accomplice. His eyes narrowed, his horse galloping closer as if to offer some discretion.

"Many among us believe that, in these times of dire circumstances, the Arkronians will turn to much more...radical leadership."

"It is no secret that those of House Rhaskozikan have long had eyes on the Arkronian throne." Lucinêa cast another brief glance back at his chief. This time, he in turn made quick eye contact, where the two shared a short series of nods. "Where Chief Leokadra and I unfortunately disagree on is his intentions. The Chief and I both believe that they will no doubt attempt some power play to increase their influence in the near future...the Chief believes that, while they are most certainly rather...hostile toward persons the likes of you and I..."

Lucinêa took a deep sigh.

"...that they would need to be utterly mad to plunge a disease-ravaged nation into war."

"However, I have always been of the belief that sanity was never a value of House Rhaskozikan."

At the mention of his thoughts, Lucinêa could visually straighten, as if a soldier on leave with the instinctive passing of his superior. The road and coronation were miles and weeks away, he knew, yet...he had felt exposed, like he had make some utter flaw amidst his musings that would reveal some great conspiracy. Such was the power of a culture of paranoia, he imagined.

"Now, do forgive me, for what I will say will come to you as madness, but...I believe it may be in our best interests to ensure the young prince lives a long and fulfilling life. It may come as insanity for a Yuravian to wish well of the Arkronian throne, but I believe it will be better for both of us to have a lethargic throne than one which actively wishes for our destruction."

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