AsianaBoard

Argent wrote:

As the Great Khan was landing in Kerch's assembly area, a man hurriedly navigates his way through the busy hallways and corridors of the army base's administrative building. Squeezing past and dodging officers and aides, the young man reaches the closed door of the Director's office. The young officer knocks softly with no answer coming. With a deep breath he enters the office to find it quiet and empty except for the figure at the esk.

The figure was lounging back in the desk chair with his boots crossed on the desk and his wide brimmed hat pulled down to cover his eyes. As the officer approaches he is stopped dead in his track when a voice reverberates through the room, "There had better be a very good reason that you are disturbing me?"

Knowing better than to waste time, the officer is quick to spit out his reason. "Yes, sir. She is here. Just landed."

Victor Draculesti, Imperial Director of Civil Order and Acting-Military Governor in Kerch, sighs heavily pushing the large brim hat up to reveal his golden hazel eyes. He untagles his long legs and stands to his feet. He stretches out his long body and limbs as he stands and lumbers to the near mirror. Dropping his hat into the hands of the officer, Victor stands tall to look at himself in the mirror and straighten his red dress shirt and black suit. When he is happy with it he winks at himself and strides from the room; taking his hat from the officer.

A short time later, Victor is walking out into the assembly area. Its not especially busy except for some squads drilling and the occasional truck quickly rolling by. He easily spots the large avian like machines. As he walks toward them he spots the telltale height and intimidating form of the Amisgali warlord.

Finally coming upon her, Victor tips his hat and bows, "Batzorig, Great Khan of the Steppe, a pleasure to see you again. Welcome back to Argent." He says pouring on the charm and a devilish smile. "I have to say I was surprised to hear that you were coming here. It is not often that we are graced with your presence. I hope all is well?" He continued to schmooze his old acquaintance.

After disembarking from her mech, Batzorig chatted with her squadron about the flight and how they would return to base. Hearing a familiar voice calling out to her, Batzorig spins on her heal to see where its coming from. Her face splits in a bright toothy smile when she sees Victor. "Oh my god! Draculesti? You crazy bastard what are you doing out here? Don't tell me you're the one running this show?"

Striding over to him, Batzorig forgoes formal anything and wraps Victor in a bear hug and easily lifts him off the ground. "Don't give me that bowing crap. Not after what you and I been through together! Ya didn't get the nickname 'VD' for nothn!" She declares dropping the grown man on his feet with a boisterous laugh to the sky.

Wiping a tear away Batzorig settles down. With some composure again her voice becomes serious. "So I'm goin to cut to the chase. I need some help. Well, more like the Turoks need some help. They just defeated the Tsaire at Sochi, but their numbers are down till reinforcements from their homeland arrive. They need to press the advantage and move up the coast before Nursultan has a chance to send another army." She laces her fingers together and raises them above her to stretch. The stretch makes several loud pops and cracks from her joints. With a happy sigh she continues, "Lending a tactical force to temporarily reinforce them would do the trick.

Batzorig rests her hands on her hips, "Deraj owes me a few favors. So have him consider this a call in for one or two."

Trans-Amur has begun to modernise it's armed forces. This comes as concerns have been raised as to the effectiveness of Trans-Amurian military equipment after a recent border conflict with "with what can only be described as bandits" resulted in heavy losses by the Trans-Amur patrol despite having seemingly have all the advantages. With much of the military still using older and outdated equipment, many are starting to wondering if they are up to task still of defending Trans-Amur in their current state. Only afew regiments of the most elite forces in Trans-Amur have access to top of the line equipment and gear.

This modernization will be accompanied with major and comprehensive reforms to the armed forces.

In an interview with the Head of the Ministry of Defence, she stated that this is fundamentally shake up the armed forces but has declined to state the current reform plans stating that they are currently a state secret at the moment.

-----

In other news Trans-Amur has begun showing increasing interest with opening diplomatic ties with several counties.

Argent wrote:

SNIP

The Polarians had gotten VERY comfortable in the Argentian airbase, a sparse few mementos of officers and soldiers alike turning into a mulitude of creature comforts that had been shipped over with logistical supply runs. The weather had truly been atrocious, so much so that the main antenna mast of the Morningstar had gotten flung off when it failed to retract during a incoming storm, knocking out the flagship of the detachment until specialist engineers came with parts to fix it. The downside of these creature comforts were them being highly Satanic artifacts, Satanic get-togethers on the top decks of their airships and all of the damned Satanic pentagrams around which one would think they were about to summon a undead battalion in the back of their accommodations.

The Polarian State had obviously been paying the full bill to keep them accommodated while overseas, finding it cheaper to keep them in Argent rather than returning them to the Motherland before having to promptly return them to Argent. Evidently, the price of keeping them in Argent this long was about to reach it's limit if they didn't do anything within a week, according to the Economic Council of the Polarian State, so as the guardsmen let Victor and co. into the officer's complex, they were welcomed into the building with such speed it seemed as if they were trying to outrun the bureaucrats back home before they could recall them.

Who could have guessed that the largest office with the most accommodating accommodations attached was the one that the Major-General in charge of the Regalia Humanitarian Regent was held up in? As the Argentian entourage and co. were lead into the part office part lounge, Major-General Holt was sat straight and leaned towards the flat-television screen on the right side of the room, the channel set to Polarian 24/7 News. Only briefly, for a mere few seconds did the newest visitors of the Polarian officer see civilians of Polaris burning down a unidentified building, waving... flags of.. red? It was hard to tell with how bright and red the fires themselves were, the television promptly being put into stand-by mode as Holt stood up with his serious expression from before completely replaced with one of utter joy.

"Why hello there! This isn't one of the scheduled weekly meetings I've... been so enjoying during our time here, so I do hope that there is good news for our soldiers." Holt spoke in the exquisite and flowery language of Polarian Latin, though briskly looking back to the two officers who were working on laptops in other chairs of the lounge who had now moved to their commander's side; this was because Chief Warrant Officer Whitehall was his translator. He lacked little knowledge of Argentian Latin still, even with the extended stay as its hard to learn a dialect when bureaucrats are gnawing at your metaphorical ankles. "Our forces are fully adapted to Argentian assets available to us and ready for any marching orders, though unfortunate for our schedules, the bad weather was made for the time and conditions for some TLC training-wise, as well as a additional engineering battalion being sent due to the unfortunate mishap with the Morningstar..." he sounded chipper for certain, but his tone felt less like a giddy Golden Retriever who would do anything for the Argentians, and more of a pragmatic Satanic who was promised the ability to liberate oppressed peoples and really really would like to get to that over anything else.

The Major-General's smile grew as he let the entourage respond, arms behind his back as he hoped he did not give out the previous spiel just to be told to f**k off out of Argent territory and back to Polaris.

Greater polaris wrote:

The Polarians had gotten VERY comfortable in the Argentian airbase, a sparse few mementos of officers and soldiers alike turning into a mulitude of creature comforts that had been shipped over with logistical supply runs. The weather had truly been atrocious, so much so that the main antenna mast of the Morningstar had gotten flung off when it failed to retract during a incoming storm, knocking out the flagship of the detachment until specialist engineers came with parts to fix it. The downside of these creature comforts were them being highly Satanic artifacts, Satanic get-togethers on the top decks of their airships and all of the damned Satanic pentagrams around which one would think they were about to summon a undead battalion in the back of their accommodations.

The Polarian State had obviously been paying the full bill to keep them accommodated while overseas, finding it cheaper to keep them in Argent rather than returning them to the Motherland before having to promptly return them to Argent. Evidently, the price of keeping them in Argent this long was about to reach it's limit if they didn't do anything within a week, according to the Economic Council of the Polarian State, so as the guardsmen let Victor and co. into the officer's complex, they were welcomed into the building with such speed it seemed as if they were trying to outrun the bureaucrats back home before they could recall them.

Who could have guessed that the largest office with the most accommodating accommodations attached was the one that the Major-General in charge of the Regalia Humanitarian Regent was held up in? As the Argentian entourage and co. were lead into the part office part lounge, Major-General Holt was sat straight and leaned towards the flat-television screen on the right side of the room, the channel set to Polarian 24/7 News. Only briefly, for a mere few seconds did the newest visitors of the Polarian officer see civilians of Polaris burning down a unidentified building, waving... flags of.. red? It was hard to tell with how bright and red the fires themselves were, the television promptly being put into stand-by mode as Holt stood up with his serious expression from before completely replaced with one of utter joy.

"Why hello there! This isn't one of the scheduled weekly meetings I've... been so enjoying during our time here, so I do hope that there is good news for our soldiers." Holt spoke in the exquisite and flowery language of Polarian Latin, though briskly looking back to the two officers who were working on laptops in other chairs of the lounge who had now moved to their commander's side; this was because Chief Warrant Officer Whitehall was his translator. He lacked little knowledge of Argentian Latin still, even with the extended stay as its hard to learn a dialect when bureaucrats are gnawing at your metaphorical ankles. "Our forces are fully adapted to Argentian assets available to us and ready for any marching orders, though unfortunate for our schedules, the bad weather was made for the time and conditions for some TLC training-wise, as well as a additional engineering battalion being sent due to the unfortunate mishap with the Morningstar..." he sounded chipper for certain, but his tone felt less like a giddy Golden Retriever who would do anything for the Argentians, and more of a pragmatic Satanic who was promised the ability to liberate oppressed peoples and really really would like to get to that over anything else.

The Major-General's smile grew as he let the entourage respond, arms behind his back as he hoped he did not give out the previous spiel just to be told to f**k off out of Argent territory and back to Polaris.

"General!" Victor greeted with a bow, his hand rigidly placed over his heart as salute, and a wide grin on his face. "Always a pleasure. Have I mentioned yet that I enjoy what your men have done to the place." He mentions referring to the satanic symbolism that is now strewn across the Polarian Quarter. "Should rename this Satan's quarter."

Victor chuckled to himself as he removed his wide brim hat; revealing his rooster tail like coiffed up hair. He runs his gloved hand through his purposefully messy hair before continuing, "This is not a social call I most lament to state, my friend." He sarcastically announces. He himself loathed the meetings. Not because of the Polarians, but because he just despised being stuck sitting in one place listening to chatter about weather, troop movements, and the like. He'd much rather take a quiet nap or watch a fight or plan an assassination. What he'd really like is to be back in Zevezda enjoying the comforts of the Emperor's apartments.

"In fact actuallY, I have news that you should find quite exhilarating." Victor said with his cheeky smirk. "Marching orders!"

With the looming presence of the Khan with him, Victor decided an introduction was in order. "Before I delve into the nitty gritty of it all, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to this oriental amazonian. Major General Holt, this is Batzorig, Great Khan of the Steppe and leader of Tam Amisgal." Looking at Batzorig and gesturing to Holt, "Batzorig, this is of course Major General Holt of Greater Polaris."

Victor allows Holt and Batzorig a chance to converse in greeting and give the Major General a second to absorb the good news.

Argent wrote:

"General!" Victor greeted with a bow, his hand rigidly placed over his heart as salute, and a wide grin on his face. "Always a pleasure. Have I mentioned yet that I enjoy what your men have done to the place." He mentions referring to the satanic symbolism that is now strewn across the Polarian Quarter. "Should rename this Satan's quarter."

Victor chuckled to himself as he removed his wide brim hat; revealing his rooster tail like coiffed up hair. He runs his gloved hand through his purposefully messy hair before continuing, "This is not a social call I most lament to state, my friend." He sarcastically announces. He himself loathed the meetings. Not because of the Polarians, but because he just despised being stuck sitting in one place listening to chatter about weather, troop movements, and the like. He'd much rather take a quiet nap or watch a fight or plan an assassination. What he'd really like is to be back in Zevezda enjoying the comforts of the Emperor's apartments.

"In fact actuallY, I have news that you should find quite exhilarating." Victor said with his cheeky smirk. "Marching orders!"

With the looming presence of the Khan with him, Victor decided an introduction was in order. "Before I delve into the nitty gritty of it all, allow me the pleasure of introducing you to this oriental amazonian. Major General Holt, this is Batzorig, Great Khan of the Steppe and leader of Tam Amisgal." Looking at Batzorig and gesturing to Holt, "Batzorig, this is of course Major General Holt of Greater Polaris."

Victor allows Holt and Batzorig a chance to converse in greeting and give the Major General a second to absorb the good news.

When Batzorig and Victor had walked through the 'Polarian Quarter' Batzorig got the instant feeling she was going to like these people. From the evidence they left around they looked like one hell of a bunch of party animals. This made her smile with glee, baring her sharpened canines. Batzorig had limited knowledge of the Satanic religion and even less on the American nation's culture, but they seemed to be proud of it from the pentagrams all about them.

Inside and finally getting a look at the Major General, he reminded Batzorig of a pent up animal; ready to strike. Itching for a fight. Again, something that Batty was coming to like about these guys.

Understanding Argentian Latin, Batzorig understood Victor well enough when he introduced her to the Major General. Batty turns to the Major General, slams her fists together and bows her head. Speaking in Argentian, one of the several languages she knows, Batzorig greets the Polarian, "Well met, Major General."

"I'm the bringer of the good news." Saying as she lifts her head and cracks the knuckles in her hand. "I flew my arse off to bring the good news that the Turoks kicked the traitorous scums arses at Sochi. Even took a good number of em captive."

Batzorig chuckled as she put a hand on her hip and another on her chest to strike a boisterous pose, "Course they couldn't of done it without yours truly!" She joked facetiously. Dropping the pose but maintaining her cocky smile she continues, "In all seriousness though, they K.O.'ed Tsaire forces for the area. Now they're marching up the coast to take advantage of the sitch, but they're running on fumes and if they meet anything stronger than a gust of wind they'll be knocked on their own arses."

Greater polaris wrote:

The Major General had a high smile on his face as he seemed to have trouble holding in his excitement on his face for marching orders from Batzorig. The energy was a mixture of a love for combat and being honoured to act as representative from Polaris to such a high figure of another nation, and one that was far from a pencil pusher at that. He gave a brisk but certifiably deep bow as his words came very soon after such, pragmatic as ever, "An honour, Great Khan of the Steppe and leader of Tam Amisgal, how can I be of service?" his words ever so slightly hissing at the end, not in anger from but from the mere speed of voice. His two staff members behind him bowed as well with their superior of course, seeming familiar with their CO's 'quirks'.

Major General Holt seemed like the type of person that wasn't able to stand still but he held his attention on each of Batzorig's words, listening to understand rather than just respond like a bureaucrat might. As soon as she was finished, the Major General smacked his hands together in a clap, his pragmatic tone coming out with a strong character to it, "I've heard enough myself and I am sure that my lovely staff can hear anymore that is needed for that whole... bureaucracy aspect, let's get to it!" making a pose like a adventurer ready to venture in the African veldt, wide stanced and hands open from the clap.

Continuing without delay, changing his stance with a gloved hand under his chin as he pondered but for a moment, "Mm... we have everything we need to obliterate just about anything in our way. After all, during our lovely yet.. extensive stay here in this lovely part of Argent, we had some exceptionally.... spicy munitions sent from the homeland to use....." as he spoke, all those in the room who solely spoke Argentian Latin would have no idea what 'spicy' meant as it was a solely Polarian term that barely had a direct translation and sounded rather off, though the Major General said it with such clarity and was standing at-ease afterwards as if he said nothing wrong.

"At any rate, I am confident that our forces can pick up where you left off, though it certainly is some shoes to fill, lest you shall be present at the new front, which I am sure you would enjoy... we will be ready to move out in!-" Holt was about to say more before Chief Warrant Officer Whitehall put her hand on her commanding officer's shoulder and whispering something, before Holt let out a very soft, quiet yet just audible, "S*it" in the VERY quiet office before clearing his throat. "Our next FORMAL meeting with the Director and Argentian friends was scheduled for two days now.. and for their excellent work in on-base training.. we might have had light celebrations on the Morningstar deck last night as we had 'time'..." he cleared his throat again then spoke in a quiet tone, "We will endeavor to hand out Polarian-issue Bloody Caesars to remedy this logistical oversight..."

Letting the room remain quiet for a moment, he bit his lip before a small smile grew, commenting, "Totally worth it though..." and with the context in mind, the Argentian entourage might notice a empty red stained highball glass on the Major General's desk.

The more that Holt spoke the more that Batzorig was growing to like the man and his people, especially when he struck a pose of his own in excitement.

Batzorig grinned from ear to ear seeing the blood thirst in Major General when his marching orders were given. She felt the itch for a fight building up in her. The call for the battlefield boiling and roiling in her blood.

"As much as I'd like to be with y'all fightn the good fight, I'll be hittn Nursultan head on in the east." She says slamming her fists together again and grinding them together. "With that ugly bald bowling ball headed bastard distracted by me, y'all be movn up from behind and plunge the dagger into his back. When ya do that, I'll pounce and rip his throat out with my own teeth." Batty snarls baring her teeth like an animal ready to eat raw man flesh.

She let out a booming laugh with the mention of the Polarians party night and seeing the Major General's highball glass.

"Y'all are party animals! I knew i'd love you guys the moment I stepped into your quarter. Hit me up the next time y'all throw a rager! No party is complete without this animal of the streets and sheets!" Batzorig declares sticking her thumbs to her chest with a great big grin.

Dropping her thumbs with a hearty chuckle Batty continues, "But seriously, anybody got a drink on 'em? It's like a desert in my throat over here and I can't fly without a drink or 4 in me."

Palazzo Vecchio, Firenze. 11 AM.

The streets of Firenze were decorated and draped in il Tricolore's and colorful cockades, and music happily echoed in every parkway. Along main street, a joyous parade of military soldiers, all sharply dressed in clean parade uniforms march towards the Palazzo Vecchio. Outside this impressive government building, stood La Duce and Queen of Italia: Alexandria Acordolo, her sister Luisa, General Pisani, and the head of the Florentine Cooperation Party: Verecondo Carone.

The people were in exorbitant morale, all of these soldiers having just returned from the Florentine victory in North Africa. Unbeknownst to the people, what was supposed to be an quick war to bolster national prestige turned into a brutal two year stalemate of unfathomable bloodshed and challenge. From the outside, Florentinz ventures to annex the many warlords, broken states, and cities across Africa was, to be frank, embarrassing; After two years, with superior technology and numbers, the Fascist Kingdom was only able to achieve what could only be described as a "pyrrhic victory". As distasteful as this was, it clearly wouldn't taint the peoples admiration of La Duce and her regime. This was entirely due to the scheme of media control, which the Florentine Cooperation Party was behind, namely the head, Verecondo. The past two years had seen the slow and carefully planned removal and restriction of the private media sector to be almost non-existent, which was instead replaced by a plethora of puppet organizations controlled by various government offices. Control over what news and information that was coming back from the war had allowed public enthusiasm and support to remain high— and now that it was over with a "victory", public perception of the government had only gone up.

But not everyone felt the same. The exhausting effort that was hinged upon the soldiers of Florentinz during the war was so high, that even the highest commendable medal would not be enough to show appreciation for their actions. The needless sacrifice of thousands of Florentines at the hands of untrained government-appointed Officers was no more obvious to the soldiers and military itself, and hence, a silent distrust would come to form between Military High Command and the State.

Even as they stood together, upon the courtyard of the Palazzo Vecchio, General Pisani and the Queen could hardly muster as much of a glance towards eachother. It wasn't until several minutes later the General lets out a long sigh, tracing his eyes to look at her— though awkwardly, as Verecondo stood between them. He would remain quiet for a brief amount of time before speaking, "Does it seem like a bit much to have them trot such a long way in the heat? Surely the men want a rest after everything they've been through, La Duce." Alexandria remains looking out to the crowds with a smile, waving to them. It was her first public appearance in the past few months, and she wanted to make it count. Though, the quiet contemplation of the General's comments eventually cause her to turn her head to him, keeping a smile on only so that the cameras would not get the wrong idea, "The people wish to see their soldiers, General. Besides, they deserve commemoration!"

Pisani looks back out to the soldiers with yet another sigh. Though they smiled as they marched through the streets, he knew how they really felt. The horrors of Africa would never leave them the same, and they were just as angry as they were hurt. He then speaks once more, though more of a mutter, "Parading them through the streets in mid-July does not seem like such a prestigious commemoration." Alexandria bats her eyes a few times, now folding her hands together and breaking stance to fully turn to him. Today she was prettied up in a long white dress with a Tricolour Italian sash and a white sunhat. Her head tilts slightly, offering him a transparent and forged smile before pointing her gloved finger to the many medals and awards along his dress uniform, "You're a war hero now, no?"

"Gold and silver wont make me, or them forgive the hardships we were put through— simply for your desires of expansion."
Seemingly almost finally beginning to lose her temper, the Queen furrows her eyebrows some, "It is the -duty- of the soldiers to fight for the realm, General. Do not forget that. Now, please, I'd like to watch the celebrations."

Verecondo awkwardly fiddles his hands infront of himself as he finds himself trapped between this awkward encounter. "Perhaps a meeting between the Ministry of Defense and the State is due," he suggests in his chipper, old voice, "a chance to discuss proper settlement and reconciliation?"

"Yes."; "I'll consider it." both Pisani and Alexandria say at the same time, before looking at eachother, and then back to the parade.

Though, despite how they bickered or discussed, the distrust had already permanently settled over Pisani and the entirety of the Armed Forces. Considerable actions would need to be taken to make sure this would -never- happen again.

Palazzo Vecchio, Firenze. 4 PM.

After several hours of celebrations, the Queen would come to return to the interior of the Palace. Briefly, she removes her sunhat to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before fastening back upon her head. The Royal Guards of the Palace salute her as she passes: "La Duce!", before she happily dismisses them. The halls were dotted every so often with government officials, though it was mostly empty as the vast majority of them were outside. As Alexandria came down the large staircase and into the vestibule, she becomes shocked to see her much younger sister, Princess Luisa, speaking with an army Lieutenant. The Princess turns her head as she sees her sister staring rather confusedly at her— causing the Lieutenant to also look up.

"Luisa, what are you doing?"
"I'm just talking with this nice soldier, he's been to the war and back!"

The Queen raises a suspicious eyebrow, marching over and taking Luisa by the hand, dragging her off. "Ow—!" she whines, snatching her hand away after they had turned the corner into a private hallway. Luisa angrily looks up to her, rubbing her wrist sorely. "Why is it you won't let me talk to the army men? You never do!"

Alexandria sits down on a padded bench, folding her hands together and looking at Luisa. "The Army... Well, they have a certain way of operating. Besides, I don't need to socializing with older men, it comes off extremely strange."

"You used to be one of them, Alex," Luisa starts, sitting down next to her, "back after Mama and Papa—"
"That was a different time." the Queen promptly cuts her off. Giving her a stern look, "Please, just listen to me. Not as... a ruler, or Queen, or Duce. But as your sister, okay? At least if you want to speak with the soldiers, bring myself or Verecondo with you. Last thing we need is our nations little sunshine conscripted into the Armed Forces, yes?" she says genuinely with a smile, giving Luisa's cheek a little playful tap.

The Princess offers a simple smile and prompt nod to Alexandria before she is pulled off to socialize. Luisa remains seated on the bench in thought after she is gone, unable to help but ponder what the real reasons behind all of this was. Why were politics so confusing?

Sheng China wrote:

Zixin would like to be able to lie to himself, but the appearance of Jin-ho ran a chill down his spine and made his stomach churn. The fact that someone was able to so easily infiltrate his palace and hide within his inner most sanctum without any detection was frightening. The fact that Deraj had such agents at his disposal was terrifying.

The Prince looked over at Zhensu, who characteristically was rarely ever fazed enough by anything to show it. He found her eyes wide and her complexion paler than ever. If Zhensu was unnerved, Zixin was right to be scarred. The gravity of the situation he just found himself sapped all breath from his body in that moment.

Swallowing hard and taking in what breath he could, Zixin tried to compose himself as the Argentian agent came out of the shadows and prostrated to the Emperor. All Zixin could do at this point was take his beating from the Emperor. He dared not voice any opposition; especially with the Emperor's own man in the room.

Every word of the Emperor took another bite out of Zixin's pride. The young Prince had not been spoken to in this way since his father was taken from him so long ago. He had never been in such a position of powerlessness to defend himself since he was banished to Arabia 10 years ago.

Finally by the end when Deraj's haunting gaze fixated itself on Zixin's shrunken form, a form he had not even noticed he had reduced himself to, Zixin swallowed his pride drly. Submitting himself to the Argentian Emperor, Zixin brought himself down to his knees and bowed his head to the floor. With a deep breath Zixin declared, "I understand. I submit and obey your command."

The harsh circle of light in the Emperor's bionic eye softens to a gentle glow while a devilish smile stretches over his lips; pleased with Zixin's show of submission. Deraj steps away from the interactive digital tabletop display and towards the camera. He laces his fingers together and leans forward into the camera with a nearly sadistic smile.

"Very good." Deraj cheerily hums and continues with similar gleeful tone. "I will leave you to Jin-ho. He understands what I expect from you and him both." He stands straight, towering over the camera. "And will not fail me." The warmth in his voice suddenly evaporated.

However, as quickly as it had disappeared the warmth returned to Deraj's voice, "I expect to hear great things soon!" He smiles once more before the video abruptly cuts with a wave of his hand.

With Deraj's domineering presence gone with the click of the tv screen, the group is left in awkward silence. Letting out a sigh to break the quiet, Jin-ho rises to his feet. He pats his knee from kneeling on the floor and tugs on his coat to straighten it as he stands. He turns slowly and looks at his new charge. Letting out a short but very exasperated sigh as he sees the humbled princeling and considers the future of this baby-sitting job he's been assigned.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Jin-ho snaps his fingers at Zixin to rise to his feet. "Get up. We've got work to do." He dryly orders the Chinese prince as he starts to walk the room. "Just to catch you up to speed, I sent new orders out to the Viperia agents in country this morning. I expect to hear by the end of day that a tribal caravan has been massacred by a rival tribe. You will grant audience to the aggrieved tribe and offer them your support in the matter of bringing justice to the innocent by morning tomorrow."

As he walks the perimeter of the room Jin-ho looks over the ornate decorations with little interest and mild disdain. "The hostile tribe will be ordered here to make their excuses where which you will organize a truce to hostilities. They will be made to agree to said truce. They will be escorted from the city where they will be struck by a third-party tribe taking advantage of the situation. The attack will kill Chinese guards and civilians along with a large amount of the tribal diplomatic entourage but not the leaders who will be heroically defended by your soldiers." Finding a mirror in the room, Jin-ho looks at himself and runs his fingers through his messy styled hair.

Looking away from the mirror when he was happy with his appearance, Jin-ho made his way to the Prince's desk. Leaning himself against it and crossing his arms he further elaborates. "This act of aggression on your doorstep will force your hand in the matter to deal directly with the hostilities. The Governor General being distracted by greater issues abroad and stirrings of unrest near her administrative capital, which we will supply, will grant you clearance to move against near-do-wells with your own forces to ease her own burdens."

Jin-ho reaches into his breast pocket and retrieves a slender silver case. He opens the case to reveal black cigarettes with gold filters. As he takes one out and prepares to light it with a flip lighter he retrieves from his pocket, Jin-ho finally concludes, "You'll be doing her a favor. And she'll be opening the door to your legitimate movement of forces into the interior to secure the oil fields." He lights the cigarette that now sits between his lips. Taking a deep inhale through the cigarette, Jin-ho smiles pleasurably before releasing the smoke from his mouth and nose.

"Any questions, your highness?" He asks leisurely leaning against the desk and tapping his cigarette so that the ashes fall to the floor.

Sheng China wrote:

When the image of the Argentian Emperor finally disappeared, the weight over the room dramatically lifted. Zixin felt like he could breathe with ease again. He even noticed from the corner of his eye that the typically stalwart Zhensu relaxed her rigid statuesque form. Still reeling from verbal onslaught of the Emperor, Zixin tensed when Jin-ho rose from where he knelt.

Zixin was aghast when Jin-ho snapped his fingers at him to get him to stand. So much so it staggered the prince as he was attempting to stand to his feet. Never in his life did someone of common birth have the audacity to speak or act with such impertinence towards him. The prince bit his tongue and swallowed his pride, however, just as he had done with Deraj; for as long as the Argentian agent spoke at least.

As he listened to Jin-ho, Zixin had to admit to himself that what Jin-ho was laying out seemed to be an effective and sound plan. At the very least the air of confidence that the foreign agent expressed it with was convincing. Despite his good thoughts on the plan and his attempts to hold himself back, Zixin could only with stand so much abuse to his honor and sense of self-importance.

"So, am I to just sit here as you run my city, my forces, my personnel, and my life?! Am I but the puppet to some boot licking cur?" Zixin snapped as he angrily strode over to where Jin-ho leaned against the lavish hand carved desk and dropped ashes into the luxurious Persian rug. "I cannot and will not be disrespected like this. Not in my own house and not by the likes of you." He fumed angrily stabbing his finger at Jin-ho.

Jin-ho takes another drag from his cigarette as he listens to the tantrum spewing from the ungrateful prince's mouth. When the brat finished, Jin-ho let out the smoke from his lungs in a sigh right in Zixin's face. "You must be hard of hearing or slow to understand." His hand moves as fast as light, snatching the prince's finger and hand in his own hand. With a twist and a audible pop he forces Zixin to the floor on his knees in pain from a now dislocated pointer finger. Jin-ho crouches down to put his face in Zixin's, "So let me clarify it for you in a simple manner that you'll understand." He states in a soft growl right into the prince's ear while maintaining the painful pressure on Zixin's dislocated finger.

Jin-ho backs his face up just enough so that he can stare dead into Zixin's angry and pained eyes, "Yes, you are to sit here with my hand up your ass pulling your strings as the personal puppet to this cur. In fact, you are now the cur to this cur. My job is to discipline you into a proper and capable ally to the Emperor. As far as you should be concerned, I own you from this point on until the Emperor says otherwise or I am satisfied with you." He sternly declares.

Letting out a huffed sigh, Jin-ho relaxes his shoulders and softens the tone in his voice, "Dear prince, you must understand the gravity of the situation that you are in now." With just as quick a motion as it took to dislocate it, Jin-ho takes hold of the Prince's hand and makes a swift hard yank onto the finger. The pop that occurs tells them that the finger has realigned.

Looking over the injured digit Jin-ho continues to explain, "There is no room for protest or hurt pride. There is no going back. There is only doing as you are told, doing it right, and doing it without argument." Jin-ho's free hand rummages in another jacket pocket and pulls out medical tape. With a soft, but firm hold on the Prince's hand, Jin-ho starts to wrap the pointer and middle finger together for a buddy splint.

As he gently works on Zixin's hand, Jin-ho finishes with a markedly kinder tone than when he started. "Doing so will make things much easier. Results will come much faster. And you will be that much closer to what you desire." Jin-ho looks over his finished handy work and before releasing the hand back to Zixin.

Standing up, he offers his hand to help Zixin to his feet, "We are here to help you. Do not resist our help or you will get nothing, but pain and suffering. So swallow your pride and prejudice and just let us help you." He asks earnestly with his hand still outstretched.

Sheng China wrote:

When his hand is released from the Argentian agent's hold, Zixin snatches it back and holds it to his chest, guarding it from any other injury. The pain is not like any thing that he has felt before. Zixin in all his life has never even broken a bone. The worst, as a prince, he has ever dealt with was slight bruises or scuffs maybe the occasional blister from marital arts training or the slap of a reed from his younger days as a student and his teacher tutor would reprimand him for not paying attention. He tried his best to retain his cool but he was afraid that any dignity of his was lost in the cry he let out when Jin-ho popped the finger out of place and Zixin proceeded to grow red faced and cry in agony.

Now he held his hand to himself trying to will the pain away; to no avail of course. Zixin's emotions were a torrent maelstrom of confusion. He was in utter outrage at having been assaulted like this. He was terrified at the speed at which the trained assassin moved. He was in awe of how he was humbled so lowly with so little effort from Jin-ho. And now the man that had caused such pain onto him, was speaking in soft tones as if they were friends. In a manner like Zixin felt that the man might be caring and understanding with genuine sounding offers to help and sound advice. His mind was spinning with the competing emotions trying to understand and make sense of everything that had just transpired.

As much as Zixin would like to argue the belittling of his person and the subjugation of his pride to another man and a foreign agent at that, Zixin could not deny what Jin-ho was saying. It was all true. He had begun this adventure and to go back on it now would only mean lead to his destruction. He needed the Argentians now in this all or nothing scheme that he had begun with them. He knew it was true but he hated to admit it. It made him sick thinking of it.

Zixin stared at Jin-ho's offered hand while holding his own hurt one protectively. He hated the hand and the man connected to it for what it did to him. He hated it because to accept it would be the final defeat of his pride and surrender of his dignity. The last two things that he had that was his in this world and not dictated by others. But what the hand had to offer was just too great to deny.

Just as he prostrated himself to the Argentian Emperor for the greater good of avenging himself and to pursue his worthwhile desires, Zixin swallowed the last of his pride and took Jin-ho's offered hand. The final defeat of his pride and the total surrender of his dignity as sacrificial payment to achieve his ends.

"I am yours to do with as you please, sir." Zixin solemnly, albeit painfully, answered as he held Jin-ho's hand in his and was helped up to his feet. He held his injured hand to his chest once on his feet as the pain was still excruciating. Talking through the pain Zixin asked, "Tell me what to do."

"There's a good boy." Jin-ho smirks with a satisfied hum in his throat. Jin-ho takes the prince's hand and firmly brings him to his feet. "We've got a lot to catch up on."

Jin-ho lets go of Zixin and moseys over to where he spies a small bar. He pursues the selection and picks up an ornate glass decanter of bourbon. "First lesson is to live with pain." He gestures at Zixin's finger as he prepares 3 glasses of the amber colored liquor. "Not just the physical either though. You're going to have to deal with that hurt pride and sense of self importance. So soak in the pain while you have it. It doesn't go away fast so you better learn to live with it."

"That doesn't mean however that there isn't options to help cope with the pain." He hand's Zhensu her drink and then Zixin's to his good hand. "That's lesson number 2."

Jin-ho sips on the liquor and releases a satisfied sigh after it trickles down his throat. "Good stuff." He notes as he paces around the room. His attention is drawn from Zixin and Zhensu when a small vibration on his wrist alerts him to a notification.

Pulling back his sleeve, Jin-ho exposes his wrist and some of his forearm. After revealing it he runs a finger over the skin which then lights up and shows a screen like interface projecting through the skin. Jin-ho reads the notification that he brings up touching the interface that responds to his touch. He types a short message in response before swiping his hand across the interface that dims and return to normal appearing skin. Picking up his glass again Jin-ho looks back at Zixin, "Lesson 3, ear to the ground at all times. Constant mandatory updates on missions is essential to the success of grand strategy."

Finishing his drink, Jin-ho returns the glass to the bar. "I have just been informed that the caravan is approaching the ambush sight. They are moving ahead of schedule. Thankfully, our agents are on the move to put the land mines into position. The attack will commence in 34 minutes. Only two will survive to see the 'rival tribesmen' commit the attack and report it back to their kin."

"Thus starts the pebble that causes the landslide." He chuckles with a devilishly self satisfied smile.

--------

As planned, the attack takes place 34 minutes later along the highway near
Mash'alah close to the tribal border area. The Viperia agents ambush the convoy with the detonation of mines on the lead and rear cars; destroying them. The destruction of the lead and rear vehicles traps the Amiri tribe's convoy in place without a path of escape. The agents, dressed as members of the local Fadhli clan, gun down the trapped men, women, and children of the convoy with automatic rifles loaded with armor piercing rounds.

When the dust and smoke settle from the gunfight, the highway is left with only the moaning and cries of the injured and dying. While several of the disguised agents begin to raid the convoy's cargo, the others go about executing the survivors. All but two are left alive who are conveniently 'missed' with the idea that they return to their respective leaders and report the incident.

As soon as they had appeared and wreaked their havoc, agents leave the area and disappear into the hills.

Sheng China wrote:

snipping cause i got carried away

As the tribal entourages left the city, Jin-ho congratulates Prince Zixin on a job well done in the conference. "You have performed wonderfully, your highness. Now its my turn again." Jin-ho said slight smirk as he opened the interface on his prosthetic forearm. He quickly entered a few short commands and swiped the screen away.

Outside the city, the tribal entourage steadily makes it way down the highway. The caravans enter the mountain passes, shadowed on either side by the steep mountain slopes, which forces them to severally reduce their speed. Now slowed for safety concerns in the tumultuous mountain highway they are unaware of their stalkers in hot pursuit along the mountain slope.

Along the mountain sides armed men dart in the shadows and behind boulders as the caravan moves slowly in the dangerous area. When their prey is well into the pass the pursuers initiate their ambush. A few flashes followed by ear shattering explosions starts rock slides that tumble at break neck speed towards the highway. The caravan's vehicles try desperately to move forward but are too late to get out of the way of the many hundreds of pound boulders and rock.

The trucks and cars are battered and thrown from the road. Some are totally crushed by the falling rock while others are flipped and battered. When the rocks settle along with the dust cloud, the pass is now filled with rock and debris. Vehicles strewn about with some in literal pieces. After many long eerily silent minutes, the atmosphere is finally broken by the sounds of movement and the moaning of the seriously injured.

The Chinese guard truck, which was acting as rear guard as ordered by Jin-ho and was slowed by the mountainous roads, arrives immediately after the landslide. The guardsmen jump from the truck and run to help in the rescue effort while the driver radios in the accident.

As the Chinese guardsmen start digging and helping survivors, a cry is heard from the mountain slopes. But it is not a cry of pain, but a battle-cry. From the mountain side a group of tribesmen appear brandishing rifles and descend upon the rock slide enveloped highway. When they nearly reach the bottom of the mountainside and are within range enough to maintain height advantage, the tribesmen begin firing on the survivors and the guardsmen.

The guardsmen and those survivors armed enough return fire as they scramble for cover the best that they can. Unfortunately, the black dressed 'tribesmen' armed with high powered sniper rifles find their targets with relative ease and brutal efficiency. The survivors' numbers dwindle swiftly under the hail of bullets.

Despite the severe losses, the survivors are able to organize enough to find adequate cover to hide the most injured and return fire. Their heroic defense against the attackers buys them enough time for the reinforcements from the city to arrive via 3 gunships. The gunships swoop in and lay rotary cannon fire into the hillside against the attackers.

When the dust on the highway settles once again, the bodies of many of the attackers are seen to be strewn across the hillside. Several of the attackers can be seen fleeing in the distance; having been forced to make a hasty retreat during the gunship attack. Two of the gunships set down to let out a retinue of soldiers lead by Jin-ho himself.

Jin-ho surveys the survivors that are now being laid out and treated by medics. He comes upon the leader of the Amiri, Sheikh Saeed, that miraculously survived. Jin-ho kneels beside the severally injured Sheikh Saeed and rests his hand on their shoulder. "Honorable sir, I am relieved that you survived! You have not only my promise, but that of the Prince that we will investigate this horrific attack. I swear."

The injured man struggles to lift his head to address Jin-ho, but manages to say, "Your soldiers defended me...with their lives...I am indebted to you."

"Please rest good sir. Your injuries are grave!" Jin-ho insists as he gently forces the man to lay flat again.

"What of Sheikh Juma? Does he live?" The Sheikh demands to know of the leader of the Fadhli.

Jin-ho raises his head to look at the line of bodies and finds a blood stained sheet pulled over the body of Sheikh Juma. The Sheikh's son kneels above him crying woefully. "I'm sorry to say, but the Sheikh has passed on. Thankfully his son has survived the attack."

Sheikh Saeed sighs defeated, "So much for peace...I had prayed that through Sheikh Juma we would find peace and resolution. I fear that his son may not be so understanding." He said as he ran his uninjured hand over his eyes.

A knowing look flashes across Jin-ho's face before it is replaced again with solemn grimace. "I would not be so sure, sir. Let us find out who committed this heinous act, and I believe that Sheikh Juma's son's rage can then be put toward the offenders and peace made between you both."

"Inshallah." The Sheikh sighs again and relaxes against the ground.

"Rest easy now." Jin-ho pats the man's shoulder before rising to his feet and making for the gunship. As the gunship rises into the air Jin-ho observes a medical evac-helicopter arrive. The gunship turns to head back to Aden and Jin-ho opens the interface on his forearm. Typing commands on the touch 'screen' brings up a video link showing Prince Zixin.

"Your highness. All went exactly as planned." Jin-ho smirks devilishly. "Next step will be made in a few days."