Yam I Am

alpine republic

Ok

@Jeddaven

Hvala ti dušo volim te xoxoxoxoxoxo 😘😘😘😘😘

alpine republic

I am god

@Jeddaven

alpine republic

I have resurrected Tito and established Greater Yugoslavia

TES: The Second Great War

Kara Knight-Breaker

Player Name: I am Yam; Yam I Am

Character Name: Kara Knight-Breaker¹

Race: Nord

Age: 21 (Born 23 Midyear, 4E 200, under the sign of The Steed)

Sex: Female

Physical Description:
A spry young Nord, Kara stands at an impressive 192 centimeters, no doubt assisted by an extra few centimeters of boot support and almost a decade of physical activity. She tends to keep her bellowing, crimson hair held into a high ponytail, from which it on an impressive day may sweep like the mane of a lion. Even a passing glance at her presents the icon of a sprightly figure, eager and impatient to get a move on. Her bombastic demeanor assists this image, forming together an image of fiery youth so befitting unto her.

Like many of the "truer" Nords, Kara is - if one must use euphemism - assumptive in regards to other races of Tamriel. Quick to draw conclusions based on background and affiliation, her first impressions might come across as prejudiced, and it would be naive to insist that she is free of such. While she might be far from supremacist, Kara displays the usual assumptions to come from the perspective of a Nord: Altmer are arrogant and self-righteous, Dunmer are strange and standoffish, Khajiit are dishonest and unreliable, Orcs are austere and joyless - and these all certainly play into her first impressions of most people. These, to the surprise of many who might speak of Kara, are all well broken with time and experience, but like all factors of bias, such inevitably takes time. And besides, she knows from experience that there are few problems that a few bottles of sujamma cannot fix.

Faith:
Kara is a worshiper of the Nine Divines of the Empire: Her fidelity, on the other hand, solely seems to depend on how her week happens to be going. When things are going poorly, she will always be the first to get down on her knees and raise her head towards the heavens, and when the going grows calm, nary a prayer gets passing from her lips. Asking her to pick select her favored god would be akin to a mother being asked of their favored child: All but the most sincere of mothers will have their answer in secret, and declare in public that they cannot choose. Such a view transpires well into Kara's views on religion, for the loss of any of the beloved nine divines would spell the hallmark of demise for the pantheon as a whole, and that simply will not do. Religion to Kara is such a messy affair of gods and demons asides that she has even taken to praying to the unknown, just in hopes that she might not incur the wrath of a deity she finds herself unaware of.

Position: Hastati

Magic:
Over the years, Kara picked up a parcel of knowledge regarding Restoration and Destruction, but she is a far cry from even an elementary mage. She may perhaps make a few incantations of flame or healing if no other situation might do, but Kara neither has the experience nor the particular interest to classify as a thaumaturgic practitioner by any professional stretch.

Core:
There's something so intoxicatingly romantic about fighting for a lost cause. Both her parents were true Sons and Daughters of Skryim - Stormcloaks to the fullest - and dutifully followed King Ulfric all the way unto the headsman's axe. This, of course, gave her little time for any meaningful interaction with the either of them, nor their tales nor fables for Skyrim's righteous fate - her older brother Vikord, of course, would gladly step up to fill their position, and likewise her head with larger-than-lies of their parents and their cause. The True High King may feast in Sovngarde - Ysmir rest his soul - but the impressionable Kara was led on by the tales spun by her vengeful elder, who so routinely derided the Imperial efforts henceforth as little aside than cheap penitence that at times Kara gave it the same thought as much the day's snowfall.

Her brother had done his best to ensure his younger sister would grow to be a True Nord, one their ancestors might smile upon from the heavens. Though a few years behind fatherhood - and many behind basic responsibility - Kara accordingly spent much of her childhood in Vikord's care, hopping from hold to hold as his constant shenanigans ran the duo into trouble as right as rain. When his contract with guarding or caravaning left and he was left septimless, the guard would become a brigand. Such a lifestyle ran the pair into a ambulatory lifestyle, often living in one hold for a time before having to leave for the next. Kara had met many people in her times as a youth, of course, and never for long. She had many masters - and twice as many parents - and only the voice of her elder brother to guide any of the lessons together, through the vestige of action for Skyrim.

Of course, Vikord inevitably ran out of holds from which to flee too, and rather than incur the wrath unto both of them, had decided he might make better beneath the wings of another - The Thieves' Guild or even the Camonna Tong, he'd last said - than risk the life of her younger sister with his. Before he left, Vikord had entrusted her to the care of a homely family in Shor's Stone, but so fleet and wanderlusting a young lady as Kara could never find herself tied there. Before long, she had departed from the hamlet, determined to so see the world by iron and steel. At thirteen, Kara had largely taken to the service of caravan guards, bounty hunter posses, and other such escapades, from where she would travel all across Skyrim through her years. She had grown particularly adept with the greatsword over the years, as such prowess proved potent as a deterrence factor (Kara even as a youth proved impressively tall) and only as Kara advanced through her life did she continue to live much in the fashion that she had only known from then on, refusing to plant her feet steadily somewhere while she moved from place to place.

Come her twenty-first year, the rapid-fire declarations of the Emperor seemed far too dreamlike to possibly be true. Even more chimerical, so open defiance against the White-Gold Diktat. And again, even so bold as to declare a war of vengeance and honor. It had earned her respect, true - and the outright admonishment of what she had known, even. Well...yes, perhaps the Dragonborn has saved their world thricefold. And yes, perhaps her brother had made himself scarce one too many times. And yes, maybe her brother wasn't a crack guerilla who had picked off Imperials even years after the Battle of Windhelm, and instead was little aside from a boisterous bandit who couldn't hold his brandy. Her feelings on the ideals of the Stormcloaks are tempered - much like an Ebonsmith guides along his ingot as it motions, lest a more firm gesture cause its shatter. Perhaps she might be served right, protecting caravans through these arduous times as Skyrim still yet healed. Demand for it was in no shortage, after all, and she'd certainly have made her right fortune staying right where she was.

But where is the fun to be had in that? Where is the honor? The glory? The pride to lead the righteous march against the greatest tyrants to assail Tamriel? No, the news of the latest declaration would do her too great a wound to forsake, and so too did she impatiently enlist within the ranks of the Legion. Leyawiin. Anvil. Markarth. Windhelm. They will all be avenged. And when her time shall come and she go to Sovngarde, with the last of enemies to be destroyed, in hands and hearts with all the children of Skyrim, they shall be together in Paradise.

Misc.:
^{1) Knight-Breaker refers to Kara's title, as she has no Clan Name and Nords typically do not have surnames. She earned the moniker following a fistfight which broke out while she was alongside a caravan in Bruma, in which she had gotten into a scrap with a knight who could hold neither his tongue nor his ale. Three minutes, 40 septims paid to the guards, and 80 septims paid to the local chapel's staff for restoration services later, Kara earned the title.}

TES: The Second Great War

If you want to be a two handed warrior the Legion can provide a greatsword or something of the sort; alternatively something more useful like a billhook for dismounting riders and the likes. A user of a two handed weapon would be somewhere in between those two uses you specified in your footnote. In some sense the advancements of armour in TES has lead in the headcanon I'm using to a very late medieval style of warfare, almost pike and shit with the spearmen and crossbowmen. Someone with a great weapon would either provide a counter-charge should the squad of the cohort be charged by the foe, or charge ahead to use their weapon for breaching a salient in an enemy line for their comrades to pour into.

@Andreyich

Yeah, I intended it to be more a case of the former in terms of tactics. I had intended it to be based more off of the role of the Landsknecht in Late Medieval Switzerland and some of the German states of the time, in that the greatsword users of the time often fought in tandem with arquebus and pike formations, specifically in that the user of the greatsword were intended to counter the use of other pike formations. My question more was intended to see if this would fit more in with the Legionary role of Hastati or it would be more fitting to list Kara's role as that of Auxilia.

TES: The Second Great War

CS

Player Name: I am Yam; Yam I Am

Character Name: Kara Knight-Breaker¹

Race: Nord

Age: 21 (Born 23 Midyear, 4E 200, under the sign of The Steed)

Sex: Female

Physical Description:
A spry young Nord, Kara stands at an impressive 192 centimeters, no doubt assisted by an extra few centimeters of boot support and almost a decade of physical activity. She tends to keep her bellowing, crimson hair held into a high ponytail, from which it on an impressive day may sweep like the mane of a lion. Even a passing glance at her presents the icon of a sprightly figure, eager and impatient to get a move on. Her bombastic demeanor assists this image, forming together an image of fiery youth so befitting unto her.

Like many of the "truer" Nords, Kara is - if one must use euphemism - assumptive in regards to other races of Tamriel. Quick to draw conclusions based on background and affiliation, her first impressions might come across as prejudiced, and it would be naive to insist that she is free of such. While she might be far from supremacist, Kara displays the usual assumptions to come from the perspective of a Nord: Altmer are arrogant and self-righteous, Dunmer are strange and standoffish, Khajiit are dishonest and unreliable, Orcs are austere and joyless - and these all certainly play into her first impressions of most people. These, to the surprise of many who might speak of Kara, are all well broken with time and experience, but like all factors of bias, such inevitably takes time. And besides, she knows from experience that there are few problems that a few bottles of sujamma cannot fix.

Faith:
Kara is a worshiper of the Nine Divines of the Empire: Her fidelity, on the other hand, solely seems to depend on how her week happens to be going. When things are going poorly, she will always be the first to get down on her knees and raise her head towards the heavens, and when the going grows calm, nary a prayer gets passing from her lips. Asking her to pick select her favored god would be akin to a mother being asked of their favored child: All but the most sincere of mothers will have their answer in secret, and declare in public that they cannot choose. Such a view transpires well into Kara's views on religion, for the loss of any of the beloved nine divines would spell the hallmark of demise for the pantheon as a whole, and that simply will not do. Religion to Kara is such a messy affair of gods and demons asides that she has even taken to praying to the unknown, just in hopes that she might not incur the wrath of a deity she finds herself unaware of.

Position: Hastati²

Magic:
Over the years, Kara picked up a parcel of knowledge regarding Restoration and Destruction, but she is a far cry from even an elementary mage. She may perhaps make a few incantations of flame or healing if no other situation might do, but Kara neither has the experience nor the particular interest to classify as a thaumaturgic practitioner by any professional stretch.

Core:
There's something so intoxicatingly romantic about fighting for a lost cause. Both her parents were true Sons and Daughters of Skryim - Stormcloaks to the fullest - and dutifully followed King Ulfric all the way unto the headsman's axe. This, of course, gave her little time for any meaningful interaction with the either of them, nor their tales nor fables for Skyrim's righteous fate - her older brother Vikord, of course, would gladly step up to fill their position, and likewise her head with larger-than-lies of their parents and their cause. The True High King may feast in Sovngarde - Ysmir rest his soul - but the impressionable Kara was led on by the tales spun by her vengeful elder, who so routinely derided the Imperial efforts henceforth as little aside than cheap penitence that at times Kara gave it the same thought as much the day's snowfall.

Her brother had done his best to ensure his younger sister would grow to be a True Nord, one their ancestors might smile upon from the heavens. Though a few years behind fatherhood - and many behind basic responsibility - Kara accordingly spent much of her childhood in Vikord's care, hopping from hold to hold as his constant shenanigans ran the duo into trouble as right as rain. When his contract with guarding or caravaning left and he was left septimless, the guard would become a brigand. Such a lifestyle ran the pair into a ambulatory lifestyle, often living in one hold for a time before having to leave for the next. Kara had met many people in her times as a youth, of course, and never for long. She had many masters - and twice as many parents - and only the voice of her elder brother to guide any of the lessons together, through the vestige of action for Skyrim.

Of course, Vikord inevitably ran out of holds from which to flee too, and rather than incur the wrath unto both of them, had decided he might make better beneath the wings of another - The Thieves' Guild or even the Camonna Tong, he'd last said - than risk the life of her younger sister with his. Before he left, Vikord had entrusted her to the care of a homely family in Shor's Stone, but so fleet and wanderlusting a young lady as Kara could never find herself tied there. Before long, she had departed from the hamlet, determined to so see the world by iron and steel. At thirteen, Kara had largely taken to the service of caravan guards, bounty hunter posses, and other such escapades, from where she would travel all across Skyrim through her years. She had grown particularly adept with the greatsword over the years, as such prowess proved potent as a deterrence factor (Kara even as a youth proved impressively tall) and only as Kara advanced through her life did she continue to live much in the fashion that she had only known from then on, refusing to plant her feet steadily somewhere while she moved from place to place.

Come her twenty-first year, the rapid-fire declarations of the Emperor seemed far too dreamlike to possibly be true. Even more chimerical, so open defiance against the White-Gold Diktat. And again, even so bold as to declare a war of vengeance and honor. It had earned her respect, true - and the outright admonishment of what she had known, even. Well...yes, perhaps the Dragonborn has saved their world thricefold. And yes, perhaps her brother had made himself scarce one too many times. And yes, maybe her brother wasn't a crack guerilla who had picked off Imperials even years after the Battle of Windhelm, and instead was little aside from a boisterous bandit who couldn't hold his brandy. Her feelings on the ideals of the Stormcloaks are tempered - much like an Ebonsmith guides along his ingot as it motions, lest a more firm gesture cause its shatter. Perhaps she might be served right, protecting caravans through these arduous times as Skyrim still yet healed. Demand for it was in no shortage, after all, and she'd certainly have made her right fortune staying right where she was.

But where is the fun to be had in that? Where is the honor? The glory? The pride to lead the righteous march against the greatest tyrants to assail Tamriel? No, the news of the latest declaration would do her too great a wound to forsake, and so too did she impatiently enlist within the ranks of the Legion. Leyawiin. Anvil. Markarth. Windhelm. They will all be avenged. And when her time shall come and she go to Sovngarde, with the last of enemies to be destroyed, in hands and hearts with all the children of Skyrim, they shall be together in Paradise.

Misc.:
<sup>1) Knight-Breaker refers to Kara's title, as she has no Clan Name and Nords typically do not have surnames. She earned the moniker following a fistfight which broke out while she was alongside a caravan in Bruma, in which she had gotten into a scrap with a knight who could hold neither his tongue nor his ale. Three minutes, 40 septims paid to the guards, and 80 septims paid to the local chapel's staff for restoration services later, Kara earned the title.

2) I envisioned Kara on being a two-handed warrior, but given the tactics and implementation of the Imperial Legion, I wasn't sure if her positioning would be closer to a Swiss/German Zweihander to act in formations against infantry and cavalry, or more similar to shock infantry of the Middle Medieval Era. Some clarification on her position in this regard would be appreciated.</sup>

Precipice Of War: The Reboot of a Reboot

^{Author's Note: This is a re-imagining of the original Brazil application made by Crusader Lord. Some aspects are retained, while others are changed for the sake of IC development. Nevertheless, the same fundamentals are to be impressioned upon this revision.}

---

History:

When Brazil entered the fray of the Great War under the guise of protecting liberty in 1917, it did so under the pretext of a dystopic countenance. Brazil had been no stranger to toil and hardship, for the Brazilian Republic, not three decades old, had been plagued with instability ever since the overthrow of the Empire and the exile of Pedro II. President Venceslau Brás had issued a formal declaration of war against Germany under allegations of economic espionage in February of 1917. Critics of the Brás cabinet remarked, "(There was) little evidence to suggest that significant - if any - acts of espionage on behalf of the Central Powers had occurred in Brazil's borders", adding that the more likely culprit of the declaration was to serve as a distraction from the numerous internal issues of the country. Even with the passing of the Bilbao Protocol, Brazil's primary exports of latex, rubber, and coffee had nearly imploded with the onset of war, having seen almost 70% drops in exports to Europe. Entire plantations went bankrupt with few protections, and with only a closing international market, the government of Brazil was hard-pressed to provide aid.

Many of the populists were quick to blame the instability of the republican era as a weak system, cursed with innumerate rebellions and unbound corruption. They had believed that a firm, guiding rule would restore order to Brazil, pointing to a figure that - ironically - had proved to be the guiding ideal of republican leadership ever since his exile in 1886. The foremost leader of the Restorationist Movement would be spearheaded into action by a Rafael Feria-Jaeger. The otherwise unassuming son of an Swiss shoemaker and immigrant to Sao Paulo and a Brazilian jazz club barista, Rafael would grow invested into Brazilian politics following the closure of both of his parents' businesses in the hardships of wartime Brazil, where he would radicalize into a staunch proponent of Brazilian Imperialism.

The end of the Great War, unsurprisingly, heralded the implosion of the republic itself. With the war finding virtually no popular support even before its end, the unceremonious end of the war infuriated the public: Its indecisive conclusion had been seen as proof of the popular consensus that the war acted as little more than a scapegoat for the Republic's incompetence, and likewise Feria-Jaeger would launch his famous Revolution of 1928, where the republican government went into exile within months to Bolivia. Upon their victory, he with the support of the army's tenetistas - their junior officer corps - summoned Brazil's former emperor to the country to lead them into the future.

His sole problem lie in the fact that Brazil had, in fact, two rightful claimants to its throne: One held by the older Prince Pedro Henrique, and likewise by his junior, Prince Pedro Gastão. By all rightful means, Prince Henrique should have been the rightful agewise successor to the imperial throne, yet was seemingly thwarted solely on the account that Prince Henrique was still living in France at the time, and had been likewise ruled unfit for rule on account of his, "caustic temperance" on accounts of associates of their eponymous House of Orléans-Braganza. Gastão would assume the throne in early 1930, crowning the reestablishment of Brazil's empire, with Feria-Jaeger serving as the first Prime Minister and Getúlio Vargas as his first President of the Cabinet. This famous "Triumverate" would go on to be fondly remembered, embracing on an unprecedented era of ambitious economic projects. With the assistance of Italian economists, Brazil would become something of an economic playground of Latin America, bolstered by an immigration wave from postwar Europe. French, Italian, and Spanish investment in Brazil - compounded by an unprecedented expansion of Brazilian financial and industrial institutions - would skyrocket Brazil's developments to astronomical levels. Of course, some have benefited from this procedure more than others, but with the "bureaucratization" of Brazil has come the end of the old era "Coffee Barons" which once ruled the countryside, and in their place have come the position of industrialist and technocrat.

The good vibrations of the Brazilian 40s would come to a screeching halt with the attempted assassination of the Emperor after a state visit to Rio Grande do Sul, where his car was rigged with a nitrate bomb which exploded prematurely due to faulty wiring. Although the motive was officially deemed to be the actions of anarchists by Brazilian officials, it is widely believed that the late heir assumptive to the throne - and his own brother, no doubt - was the one responsible for the attempt upon his life.

Following Emperor Gastão's long, arduous battle against his grievous wounds, he would soon pass away from health complications accompanying his injuries in early 1951. His wife and would-be claimant to the throne, Princess Maria de la Esperanza of Two Sicilies, passed away some days later of unknown causes. With the lack of any apparent direct heirs to the throne - as Gastão and Maria famously struggled to have children - the claimant to the throne of Brazil would soon find itself an object of immense sway. The following succession would be known as the "revolving door regency", eventually passing to a rather unknown figure in Brazilian Imperial heritage, ending up in hands of Vittoria of Savoy. Owing to her official neutrality in the affairs of Brazilian politics, the Italo-Brazilian Princess now serves as the regent to the Brazilian throne. Until an appropriate settlement can be decided upon, Brazil - in an ironic twist of fate - shall be an Empire without an Emperor.

Brazil boasts about possessing perhaps the largest ground army in South America, thanks to its bolstering population and rapid efforts at industrializing, but its effectiveness leads many to believe that it is a scarecrow and little aside. Although supplanted by modern rifles, new tanks, and imported airplanes, the untested Exército Brasileiro has a history of only fighting the disorganized bandits across Brazil's vast, largely untouched interior, and lacks much in the way of professional expertise in regards to contemporary warfare outside of small-scale exercises and coffee table wargaming. Its size may be nothing to scoff at, but conflict will show the true capacity of Brazil's armed forces.

This is to say nothing of Brazil's boiling political scene, long kept under binds by the relative stability offered by the Imperial figurehead that was Gastão. The democratic ideals established by the republic were by no means conquered by the return of the Emperor, and demand a return to popular electoral politics. Their suggestions have been met with mixed reception by the current governance. Some in the government - lead by the protege Nereu de Oliveira Ramos and his clique of reformists - believe that Brazil should transition into a more European-styled parliamentary monarchy. Others, spurred on by the ideals of Plínio Salgado, denounce any such as a weakening of the Brazilian authority itself and staunchly oppose any such actions as the path which lies down the dissolution of Brazil into the chaos of the old republic once more. As a result, politics in Brazil are becoming increasingly polarized. Wide-scale demonstrations are daily occurrences throughout San Salvador and Rio De Janeiro, and many observers suspect that any attempts to clamp down on the protestors will only further send rifts down Brazil, no matter what many contemporary "hardline" politicans of Brazil might say. On top of this, Vargas' mental stability seems to be rapidly deteriorating, often coming down to severe bouts of depression and erratic behavior. Many suspect that he may resign to his health in the coming months, soonafter followed by Feria-Jager's advancing in age.

When coupled with the aggressive actions of Argentina in recent years, Brazil has - to put it midly - sat upon the edge of her seat. Brazil's old claims upon Uruguay have not gone unattended, and if she is to ever unite herself like she had tried so those decades ago in the Great War, perhaps she shall turn her eyes from herself unto her old rival...

N.E.O. - New Earth Oracle

March 23, 1991

The White House, United States

---

"Mister President, how will we respond on the attack on Nevada?"

"Mister President, what is your statement on the publications of the EALN?"

"Mister President, what are your comments on the recent military maneuvers in the Bering Sea?"

"Mister President, a word on the attacks in Montréal and Mexico City?"

"Mister President-"

As each and every one of the journalists pressed for their final flurry of questions, they were each intercepted by another of the Secret Service. They all clamored on their way out, reaching through with their microphones as they exclaimed their queries, hopeful that the Commander-in-Chief might respond to at least one of their many pressing matters. President Hunter - to nobody's great surprise - addressed each of their issues with only what was to be expected from the prefigured head of state: He would give them each a reassuring smile, nodding twice - but never a third - and waved to them on their way out while he turned towards his desk, stacked to nearly his shoulder's height in folders and papers. Michael Hunter had practiced this song and dance for years - first as an assistant to Nixon himself back in '62, then as a senator, representing the great state of Arizona. He'd known for quite a while how to give a good smile; People needed one in times like these.

But answers?

Sometimes, the people didn't need to know all the details.

"Damn journalists. Always pressing their noses into things...." the President exhaled, shaking his head down at his paper mountain.

To each of their credit, all of the questions they asked were, at the least, a cut above from the usual drivel which came about into his office. It was a great change of pace from the usual "embezzlement scandal" and "senate affairs" that plagued his weekly Q&A sessions.

Across from him was "The Chief". Patrick LeMat often lamented that, even as the head of the FBI, LeMat was nowhere close to being the most - or even the second, third, fourth, or even fifth - most powerful man in the country. He'd never do such publicly, of course; He'd be supplemented several times over even by men who held no official office.

The title he could rightfully place his claim to, however, was that of the entrustee to the President. President Hunter would, likewise, never say so in public earshot, but he had long derided the military establishment as overly-fumbling to be worth anything aside from necessity. Nothing against the fine men and women in uniform of course - Hunter had long held them in high esteem, oddly enough. Yet, it was that careful balance of power that made him uneasy about them.

"We've got our work cut out for us." LeMat broke the silence. The way his hands were tightly placed on his hips, his squared stance, his lowered head as he gazed not at the President's eyes, but just below towards his red-and-white tie: All signs of an exhausted man. And if Michael were any less of an actor, he would share all the same.

"You've read the reports?"

Hunter nodded. He stared out the side of the Oval Office, up to the imposing figure of Washington himself, some two heads above him. Maybe secretly, he stared upwards like an apostle to Heaven, hopeful that there might be some last revelation, some wisdom to impart. But when met with silence, Michael resigned himself to his position, and turned back towards his colleague and friend.

"Now, the Intel Boys are saying that the French and Brits are pushing for Quebec! And the Ruskies are trying to set up some...some, goddamn pirate psyop on the West Coast! Everyone's out there making serious moves. Except us."

"Goddamn Reds." Hunter fumed.

"You speak with the general?"

The President nodded, confident in his response - if not necessarily his answer.

"Let me take care of this, Mike." The Chief almost interrupted. He took another step forward, raising his finger like a mother to an angry child, not to Michael, but to some imaginary figure between the two of them. Michael equally spurned the phantom, shown by the acrid glint in his eye.

"We have a way to solve this. We don't gotta get the Army involved."

"What are you thinking?" The President replied.

"Give me fifty million and a couple good men. I'll crack 'em like a fuckin' egg. We pussy out now, they'll be speaking Russian in Anchorage. 5 years. It's not nice, Mike, but shit...look at us. Things ain't exactly like we're in '53, and you know how it is. 'Want an omelette, break some eggs'. All I'm asking for are some eggs."

LeMat took a deep breath, and leaned in closer, almost like he didn't want a tape to catch him talking.

"Look...we have a guy in the KMT. He's a small fry, but he sings like a bird and he plays like a dog. We use him and get in real close with the Commission, the EALN, all those guys. And when we get all the intel we need, we clamp. Classic plan. No bullshit."

Well...finally, some good news. Michael sighed a bit. He wouldn't smile - no need setting up the table when the omelette wasn't done cooking. He would have shaken the man's hand with a tight grip and told him 'good work', but the buzz of his PDA indicated that the fellow had other places to be. As he was turning to depart with a nod and a glance down, LeMat exchanged a final phrase back for the day.

"...think about what I said."

"Oh, I will." The President agreed, "You can count on that."

Empire of the Empty Throne

Kingdom of Asceria

Name and Title of Vassal State: Kingdom of Asceria

Ruler: Illyrin Kaçadere

Race:
The native elven peoples of the Sceri Basin, Ascerians are a hardy folk. Derivative from their nomadic ancestry, Acserians typically possess a more tightly-built frame, typically amassing tone over raw mass as they make the most of every muscle. They are also noted for their complex set of pupils - ordinarily green or blue in color - Ascerians are gifted with very keen eyesight, able to discern objects with greater clarity at extreme distances. Most Ascerains possess skin tones that range from snowy pale to dark redwood, though the most common tones which are expressed stand with a distinct, reddish hue. Likewise, their hair most commonly manifests itself from shades of bone-white to blonde or bloody crimson, with black or brunette hair being quite rare. Though gifted with famously long elven lifespans, it's more typical that an Ascerian first die to disease or violence before coming close to the end of their natural dotage - a fact no doubt coupled with their cultural propensity for conflict and adventure. On average, an Ascerian will stand at approximately 190cm, with deviations being based more heavily on ancestry as opposed to sexual dimorphism. There appears to be a discrepancy between the number of births between males and females within Ascerian diaspora, with male births seeming to be considerably lower than their female counterpart, yet the phenomenon as of the present seems to be poorly-understood.

Location:

I talked with Aaron about it some in PMs, the actual area is more concentrated to the East along the river and the mountain range.

History:
From beyond the Eastern Ranges, the elf-folk of the Sceri Basin have long held a less-than-stellar repute from their neighbors. Much has been spoken and told of the acts of they and their brethren, yet few of these tales involve cowardice. They and their ilk have long been touted as pillagers and hellions - with these yarns exaggerated or otherwise. Proto-Ascerian society at that point had largely been comprised of small, individual roving tribes, who had at large only reverted into larger coalitions in order to fuse tribal weddings or drive forth potential alliances for an upcoming incursion. Atop their famed greatwolves, the Proto-Ascerians of the East stormed through settlements with lightning speed, often traveling hundreds of miles per day in hot pursuit of a string of villages or outposts to siege. The times of the era were a harsh one, few could dissent; Clashes with men and dwarf were quite common, and for what the Proto-Ascerians lacked in organization they more than happily took in cultural cannibalism. When tribes or settlements were defeated in Proto-Ascerian battle, customary ritual would foresee the integration of their survivors into the clan of the vanquisher. Feuds between loyalties and bloodlines, then, were commonplace among Proto-Ascerians, and had by in large grossly inflamed tensions not only between Proto-Ascerian peoples and the peoples of the hamlets they now found themselves anthropophagizing, but also between individual clans and even inside of clans themselves. The loose, constantly-shifting nature of Proto-Ascerian society paved way for a chaotic, constantly-shifting arrangement, one where wealth and status was lost as easily as it had been gained, for which the fluidity of life itself was seen, perhaps viciously, as free as life itself. Life was orderless, anarchic perhaps, but certainly never dull.

But, come the Gaulletics. What would soon come to be known as Asceria would be brought unto the fold - if not unto by heel for lack of trying. Initially, the divisions between Proto-Ascerian tribes had long divided not just individual chieftains, but also their many wise-men and witches in council. Some had long foreseen the sheer power that the Dark Men from across the seal could bequeath unto them, yet in that same breath their opposites warned that the strength lent to them from their would-be ally was not their own. The divisive opinions mattered little in the end, for those who would be lent unto the Dark Man would find themselves absorbed along their wind, and for those who might resist would lead to little aside from a chase back unto the Sceri from which they came - and from which they had long not belonged. The clans and battle-families which had long found themselves fighting side-by-side in alignment of their wrongs with the Dark Men of the West divided even their fragmented society greatly, until the vast and varied peoples of the Mountain Pine were solidified and their culture claimed; In that sense, when the dust settled and their people firmly a vassal, Asceria - then - was born.

Aptly, the description to fit the relationship that the Ascerians have toward their overlord is one of acceptance, and little besides. Above all, Ascerians are nothing short of proud, and the aptitude from which the Gaulletics have routinely subverted or thwarted both the efforts of not just Ascerians - but of their friends and foes alike - has earned them something of a...begrudging respect.

Respect and cooperation are not always two sides of the same coin, however, and that is a fact that is a painfully omnipresent statement as to be seen whenever one walks through the lands of the Ascerian. The Mycorian language is only spoken in the most absolute of circumstances, regulated only unto middlemen and adjudicators for Móirens. Metropolitan Mycorian fashion is discarded and disrobed for the native cloth and pelt of Asceria's sparked artisanship, from the ornate stone-and-wood, jagged architecture of Asceria displacing any mention of Mycorian masonwork, such that any Merchant Guild or Embassy shall stand out in the Ascerian settlement as to display it like a zoo. Even the Imperial Cult has been ritualistically cannibalized, butchered and carved before Ascerian totem-poles and prayer flags as saints become spirits and prayers become majicks.

But alas, an Ascerian likewise has long known the mantra of obligation and mercy unto concord. While Mycoria has earned a their respect, the same certainly cannot be said for their friendship. And with the rumors of a rapacious disease tearing apart Mycorian society - one which only afflicts the Dark Ones - the true nature of their relationship shall be brought to bear, and perhaps with it, Mycoria shall witness whether Asceria shall ride into the future atop her majestic greatwolves with her, or toward her.

Imperial Census on Asceria

Imperial Census on the Kingdom of Asceria

Population
13,000,000

• Ascerians 75%
• Human 10%
• Gaülletic 10%
• Other races 5%

Average life expectancy
85 years

Causes of death

• Pneumonia
• Influenza
• Dysentery
• Typhoid
• Smallpox
• Small wars, inter-clan violence, and related adventurism

Economic Production

• rye
• hops
• wheat
• domesticated animals
• iron
• lead
• copper
• tin
• lead
• nickle
• fish (salmon)

Tribute production

• sulfur
• precious stones
• iron

The Kingdom of Asceria also has the Minister of Works in the official service of the Empire.

Empire of the Empty Throne

So should we include the Imperial Census from the IntCheck threads in our character sheets? Or leave 'em separate?