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Skyreach RMB

WA Delegate: None.

Founder: Middle predor

Last WA Update:

World Factbook Entry

Welcome to 𝐒 𝐊 𝐘 𝐑 𝐄 𝐀 𝐂 𝐇!
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜱᴇɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ!


A Steampunk region set in the 1890's in a golden age of flying ships that use a powerful element known as Arium to stay aloft, Skyreach combines nationalism with incredible steampunk technology and new horizons to weave a story of dramatic air battles, intriguing politics, and constant adventure.


  • RP Date: 1st Half of March, 1890

  • Weather Today: Winter Storm in the South, Heavy Rain in the North.

  • Worldbuilding Question of the Week: How do members of your nation resolve conflicts?


Officer applications open! | Telegram Middle Predor for a place on the map! | Telegram Middle Predor for ship commissions!


LinkWorld Map|LinkDiscord Invite|LinkRules|LinkLore


Tags: Founderless and Minuscule.

Skyreach contains 3 nations.

ActivityHistoryAdministration

Today's World Census Report

The Most Cheerful Citizens in Skyreach

The World Census shared cheeky grins with citizens around the world in order to determine which were the most relentlessly cheerful.

As a region, Skyreach is ranked 9,320th in the world for Most Cheerful Citizens.

NationWA CategoryMotto
1.The Empire of Skittles landsDemocratic Socialists“Be skittle know skittles”
2.The Greater Franciscan Empire of Maiorem Regnum FrancorumCompulsory Consumerist State“Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité.”
3.The Empire of MatortanPsychotic Dictatorship“We Will Endure”

Regional Happenings

More...

Skyreach Regional Message Board

Middle predor

Well, crap, that was a roller coaster.

Read all about it!
- The Levellers release a new LP in the Levellers Chronicle
- In the beginning was the word - U.C.E.O.T.W. Times
- Thith ith the THTHI Times
- They're Independent
- Bursting with personality - Gameplay Magazine
- We're living in interesting Times
- Lame ducks surveyed in the FCN Times
- All change in the DRF Chronicle
- Weathering the storm in the Westphalian Post
- Power is Crystalised in NS Today: https://nationstates.news/
- Get your Daily Line and place a sports bet
- Dead good news in the Bunion

Christmas is coming! Get involved in the preparations.
Showdown! Vote in Planet X's Versus Series
💀🐙🍬🕷 Spooky Slots 🕸🍭🐲👻 at the Sands

Middle predor

The NewsStand wrote:Read all about it!
- The Levellers release a new LP in the Levellers Chronicle
- In the beginning was the word - U.C.E.O.T.W. Times
- Thith ith the THTHI Times
- They're Independent
- Bursting with personality - Gameplay Magazine
- We're living in interesting Times
- Lame ducks surveyed in the FCN Times
- All change in the DRF Chronicle
- Weathering the storm in the Westphalian Post
- Power is Crystalised in NS Today: https://nationstates.news/
- Get your Daily Line and place a sports bet
- Dead good news in the Bunion

Christmas is coming! Get involved in the preparations.
Showdown! Vote in Planet X's Versus Series
💀🐙🍬🕷 Spooky Slots 🕸🍭🐲👻 at the Sands

Who subscribed to the newspaper here?
Ah. Boda! Your Newspaper's here!

Redacres

To Rebuild a Kingdom - p.3

Nikolas Shevelska stood on watch, rifle in his hands, stoking the flame with a stick and tossing another small log over it before moving back to his post. He'd been a Zoionist during the war, a term stapled to him to connotate violence and mindless bloodshed.

Honestly? They were right. But... not all Zoionists could be that bad, right? Their faith was a naturally tenuous one, of course. He understood why others were concerned. However, he saw his service differently.

Zoion answered to blood sacrifices, so he'd been told. His service to his country, spilling the blood of the country's enemies, was his solution. Good for his squadmates, good for him, good for the country, and not so good for their enemies. What could possibly go wrong?

He kept that thought in mind. Being a Zoionist had destroyed his reputation as a person. However, he couldn't just let it go, nor was he going to allow himself to be treated like a kenneled dog. He had to pay his debt in the only way he knew how.

The rain had died down; only a faint shimmer of the wind.

F*ck me, my hands are cold.

He picked his rifle back up and squeezed the walnut frame.

A rustle.

"Wha-?"

A small lump emerged from under a bush and into the open for a moment. The foresight of his rifle rested over its silhouette.

"P*ss off!"

With a huge racket, the little beastie scurried frantically into the darkness and vanished.

"...Stupid porcupine."

He lowered his rifle for a moment and sighed into his gloves, pressing his frigid fingers into his palms before lifting his rifle again.

He waited.

And he waited.

Another sound broke the still silence. It didn't sound like some beastie moseying in the brush, though. It sounded more like... hushed whispers.

"Oh, please, leave me alone.."

He stumbled through the wintry muck and stuffed himself behind the shed, his fingers jabbing at the safety switch.

"C'mon, c'mon.."

His heart rate spiked as he peeked around the side.

An ominously loud click from the rifle broke the silence. The distant noise went dead silent.

Nothing moved. He listened...

Nothing.

He poked his head around the corner as his frozen finger wrapped around the trigger.

There was another whisper and somewhere in the dark, and his strained eyes made out a shape. Small and dull.

Then he saw the vapor of a man's breath, and then he realized what he was looking at.

It was the foresight of a rifle.

"--Sh*t!"

His veins burned for a fraction of a second as he threw himself behind the shed as the clearing came alight with the muzzle flash. Splinters hurtled past his face as the gunshot shattered the stillness of the night.

Inside the shed, Nikolas' comrades scrambled.

"What the h*ll?"
"Shevelska!"
"Get up, get up! It's an ambush!"

Nikolas' heart pounded in his ears as he leaned around the corner, which had been blasted away. He caught movement near where he'd last seen it. His arms brought the bundle of wood and steel to his eye. The fire was eclipsed by his rifle sight, giving him a dark outline of his aim. He lowered the silhouette over where-- at least he thought-- the target was.

And just like that, his finger clamped on the trigger.

The kick in his shoulder woke him up all right.

From what he could see, the bullet blew a cloud of bark splinters into the air and nothing more.

"Find some cover!"

The bulkiest of his squadmates barged through the planks on the backside of the shed, machine gun in his hands, and locked eyes with Niko.

"Where they at, Shevelska!? I need to crack some heads!"

"There's right around the side here. 'Bout fifty meters, right up on that little ridge. I dunno if they moved or not." He peeked for a moment. "Just fire at anything that moves, yeah?"

"I like that! Comin' through!"

The burly man made his way by him and over to the corner, racking the charging handle with malicious intent.

"Come get some! HAHAHAHA!"

The gunner emerged, his gun lowered at the hip, and blasted away. Splinters of pine bark and sticks cracked off of other trees and the wet slush as the foliage was torn apart by the hail of gunfire. Somewhere in the earsplitting noise, there were howls of agony as white-hot lead met flesh.

"On your right, watch out!"

The gunner dropped to one knee as his gaze shifted to the right, Nikolas' foresight pin rose over the shrouded attacker as his adversary's weapon lifted towards him. He squeezed the trigger. He grimaced as the recoil settled, his ears met with the sound of shattering bone laced with a man's death cry.

"Perimeter! Form a perimeter and find cover! Clear 'em out!"

"Ave!"

The soldiers inside the shed opened fire as they exit, one after the other, suppressing the stray shots that smashed against the boards.

"Shevelska, give me a bearing!"

"Where are they!?"

"North at the end of the clearing! That treeline!"

"Adjust your fire! All of you, form up to my right!"

"Yes, Sir!"

The soldiers moved forward into a line facing north towards the treeline. DeVellis set his machine gun on a nearby rock wall and hammered away to keep his brethren from catching bullets.

"Light 'em up!"

The squad all got up onto their knees, laying their weapons on the cracks in the wall. More movement broke the trees as yelling came from across the field.

"Kill the monarchist dogs!"

"Water the ground with their blood! Kill them!"

"Charge!"

A group of at least twenty, by Nikolas' count, emerged from the trees and began their advance across the field.

"Wait..."

The pounding of steps came closer. Forty yards.

"Let 'em get close enough. You won't miss."

The soldiers looked at each other for a fraction of a second and then raised their sights to their eyes. Thirty yards.

Twenty.

"NOW!"

Twelve men let loose in a volley, bullets tearing the ground in front of them. As bodies fell to the cold and unforgiving earth, what left the field was a discordant choir of screams: cries of pain, anguish, and suffering. Nikolas' hands shook as he rolled the bolt of his rifle. It was a sound he wished he'd never heard.

Why did they throw themselves in front of the gun? What deathwish did they have?

Nikolas fired the last round in the chamber of his gun with a solid, dull ping. Nothing but corpses and bloody grass rested in front of the soldiers, whose heads slowly rose away from their weapons.

"We get 'em all?"

No one said a word.

DeVellis suddenly stood up with his machine gun. "One way to find out!"

And he ventured out into the field as the rest of the squad stood up and followed twenty feet behind him.

Nikolas watched the crumpled figures on the dirt. Some shuddered and weakly fumbled at the ground, suffering. He gazed down at one of the dying men, who stared back at him with pained remorse.

"D-Do it..."

He rolled the bolt back, ejecting the last casing, and slid a fresh magazine clip into the chamber, flipping the bolt lever down. Over the eerie stillness, he heard the sergeant's voice.

"Put 'em down."

He raised the rifle barrel to the forehead of the man at his feet.

"Zoion smite you, traitor!"

Nikolas forced his eyes to stay open. He held the rifle up just long enough to push a sigh from his lungs, one of... sadness, disappointment. He pulled the trigger, and a slow roll of the bolt ejected the smoking casing.

Around him, his squadmates fired a staggered drumbeat of shots at the ground, putting the dying out of their misery. A matter of seconds felt like hours.

"Roll call. Everyone here? All green?"

The men called out down the line. All accounted for, all green. No wounded.

"Lovely, lads. Pluck what you can from these louts and head back to the campsite. If you can get sleep, get some." He turned to Nikolas. "Shevelska, I'll relieve you of your watch rotation."

"Alright, all of you, get moving. We only have an hour or two until the sun comes up."

"Yes, Sir."

Middle predor

The zomga archipelago wrote:(Of course)
"King Albin,
I am contacting you from the capital of The Zomga Archipelago. We are in need of your assistance, and I believe we can provide assistance in return. I would like to send an ambassador over with a package if you are willing and able.
Sincerely, Mark Johnson"

Albin finished reading out loud, and looked up. Sophie shrugged.
"I don't see any problems with it, Father. We find out what they want, and if we don't like it, we can always refuse. Besides, we need more supplies for the western front. Whatever they can provide, we need."
Albin cocked his head to one side, considering. "True. But if we reach out our hand to the Zomga Archipelago, what's to say West Predor won't do the same? We've been keeping this war relatively small in scale, but if we start making and pulling in allies, we could see another War of the Crowns developing here."
At the mention of that war, every officer in the room shivered. All of them were old enough to remember the disastrous results of the war that had wracked the entire region, and the memories weren't good ones. But Sophie crossed her arms.
"I doubt it will end in another war of that scale, Father. We have the upper hand, and come spring, West Predor is helpless against our airfleets. They have no allies to begin with, and I doubt any nation will assume they can swing this war all the way around by joining their side. There is a risk, sure, but it is a small one. Send a reply, Father. By the time it reaches their hands, it will already be spring, and we'll be punching through to Haiterfelds with the Airfleet."
Albin sighed and looked around the room at the command staff. "Does anybody have any other suggestions?"
Silence.
"Very well. I'll send a reply."
-------
A day later, a telegram was sent back to Zomga, carried as far south by land as possible, then by ship to the archipelago, a trip that would take a couple of months considering the weather.

Good evening! We are honoured to receive this event, as our embassies established. The states of Kogaion, proudly salute your flag! May our regions thrive and manifest within mutual harmony!

KOGAION Foreign Affairs Apparatus

Post self-deleted by Zurkerx.

Hi, with over 250 embassies, the process I have for delivering news has become too inefficient. I feel bad for doing this, but I'm going to streamline by closing our embassies. If you'd rather keep the embassy open, please let me know on The NewsStand RMB.

If you want to keep up with the news, you can always add The NewsStand to your dossier, and catch up whenever suits.

Thanks for having had the embassy with us. It has genuinely meant a lot to have had your support for so long.

cool i run this embassy

Redacres wrote:To Rebuild a Kingdom - p.3

Nikolas Shevelska stood on watch, rifle in his hands, stoking the flame with a stick and tossing another small log over it before moving back to his post. He'd been a Zoionist during the war, a term stapled to him to connotate violence and mindless bloodshed.

Honestly? They were right. But... not all Zoionists could be that bad, right? Their faith was a naturally tenuous one, of course. He understood why others were concerned. However, he saw his service differently.

Zoion answered to blood sacrifices, so he'd been told. His service to his country, spilling the blood of the country's enemies, was his solution. Good for his squadmates, good for him, good for the country, and not so good for their enemies. What could possibly go wrong?

He kept that thought in mind. Being a Zoionist had destroyed his reputation as a person. However, he couldn't just let it go, nor was he going to allow himself to be treated like a kenneled dog. He had to pay his debt in the only way he knew how.

The rain had died down; only a faint shimmer of the wind.

F*ck me, my hands are cold.

He picked his rifle back up and squeezed the walnut frame.

A rustle.

"Wha-?"

A small lump emerged from under a bush and into the open for a moment. The foresight of his rifle rested over its silhouette.

"P*ss off!"

With a huge racket, the little beastie scurried frantically into the darkness and vanished.

"...Stupid porcupine."

He lowered his rifle for a moment and sighed into his gloves, pressing his frigid fingers into his palms before lifting his rifle again.

He waited.

And he waited.

Another sound broke the still silence. It didn't sound like some beastie moseying in the brush, though. It sounded more like... hushed whispers.

"Oh, please, leave me alone.."

He stumbled through the wintry muck and stuffed himself behind the shed, his fingers jabbing at the safety switch.

"C'mon, c'mon.."

His heart rate spiked as he peeked around the side.

An ominously loud click from the rifle broke the silence. The distant noise went dead silent.

Nothing moved. He listened...

Nothing.

He poked his head around the corner as his frozen finger wrapped around the trigger.

There was another whisper and somewhere in the dark, and his strained eyes made out a shape. Small and dull.

Then he saw the vapor of a man's breath, and then he realized what he was looking at.

It was the foresight of a rifle.

"--Sh*t!"

His veins burned for a fraction of a second as he threw himself behind the shed as the clearing came alight with the muzzle flash. Splinters hurtled past his face as the gunshot shattered the stillness of the night.

Inside the shed, Nikolas' comrades scrambled.

"What the h*ll?"
"Shevelska!"
"Get up, get up! It's an ambush!"

Nikolas' heart pounded in his ears as he leaned around the corner, which had been blasted away. He caught movement near where he'd last seen it. His arms brought the bundle of wood and steel to his eye. The fire was eclipsed by his rifle sight, giving him a dark outline of his aim. He lowered the silhouette over where-- at least he thought-- the target was.

And just like that, his finger clamped on the trigger.

The kick in his shoulder woke him up all right.

From what he could see, the bullet blew a cloud of bark splinters into the air and nothing more.

"Find some cover!"

The bulkiest of his squadmates barged through the planks on the backside of the shed, machine gun in his hands, and locked eyes with Niko.

"Where they at, Shevelska!? I need to crack some heads!"

"There's right around the side here. 'Bout fifty meters, right up on that little ridge. I dunno if they moved or not." He peeked for a moment. "Just fire at anything that moves, yeah?"

"I like that! Comin' through!"

The burly man made his way by him and over to the corner, racking the charging handle with malicious intent.

"Come get some! HAHAHAHA!"

The gunner emerged, his gun lowered at the hip, and blasted away. Splinters of pine bark and sticks cracked off of other trees and the wet slush as the foliage was torn apart by the hail of gunfire. Somewhere in the earsplitting noise, there were howls of agony as white-hot lead met flesh.

"On your right, watch out!"

The gunner dropped to one knee as his gaze shifted to the right, Nikolas' foresight pin rose over the shrouded attacker as his adversary's weapon lifted towards him. He squeezed the trigger. He grimaced as the recoil settled, his ears met with the sound of shattering bone laced with a man's death cry.

"Perimeter! Form a perimeter and find cover! Clear 'em out!"

"Ave!"

The soldiers inside the shed opened fire as they exit, one after the other, suppressing the stray shots that smashed against the boards.

"Shevelska, give me a bearing!"

"Where are they!?"

"North at the end of the clearing! That treeline!"

"Adjust your fire! All of you, form up to my right!"

"Yes, Sir!"

The soldiers moved forward into a line facing north towards the treeline. DeVellis set his machine gun on a nearby rock wall and hammered away to keep his brethren from catching bullets.

"Light 'em up!"

The squad all got up onto their knees, laying their weapons on the cracks in the wall. More movement broke the trees as yelling came from across the field.

"Kill the monarchist dogs!"

"Water the ground with their blood! Kill them!"

"Charge!"

A group of at least twenty, by Nikolas' count, emerged from the trees and began their advance across the field.

"Wait..."

The pounding of steps came closer. Forty yards.

"Let 'em get close enough. You won't miss."

The soldiers looked at each other for a fraction of a second and then raised their sights to their eyes. Thirty yards.

Twenty.

"NOW!"

Twelve men let loose in a volley, bullets tearing the ground in front of them. As bodies fell to the cold and unforgiving earth, what left the field was a discordant choir of screams: cries of pain, anguish, and suffering. Nikolas' hands shook as he rolled the bolt of his rifle. It was a sound he wished he'd never heard.

Why did they throw themselves in front of the gun? What deathwish did they have?

Nikolas fired the last round in the chamber of his gun with a solid, dull ping. Nothing but corpses and bloody grass rested in front of the soldiers, whose heads slowly rose away from their weapons.

"We get 'em all?"

No one said a word.

DeVellis suddenly stood up with his machine gun. "One way to find out!"

And he ventured out into the field as the rest of the squad stood up and followed twenty feet behind him.

Nikolas watched the crumpled figures on the dirt. Some shuddered and weakly fumbled at the ground, suffering. He gazed down at one of the dying men, who stared back at him with pained remorse.

"D-Do it..."

He rolled the bolt back, ejecting the last casing, and slid a fresh magazine clip into the chamber, flipping the bolt lever down. Over the eerie stillness, he heard the sergeant's voice.

"Put 'em down."

He raised the rifle barrel to the forehead of the man at his feet.

"Zoion smite you, traitor!"

Nikolas forced his eyes to stay open. He held the rifle up just long enough to push a sigh from his lungs, one of... sadness, disappointment. He pulled the trigger, and a slow roll of the bolt ejected the smoking casing.

Around him, his squadmates fired a staggered drumbeat of shots at the ground, putting the dying out of their misery. A matter of seconds felt like hours.

"Roll call. Everyone here? All green?"

The men called out down the line. All accounted for, all green. No wounded.

"Lovely, lads. Pluck what you can from these louts and head back to the campsite. If you can get sleep, get some." He turned to Nikolas. "Shevelska, I'll relieve you of your watch rotation."

"Alright, all of you, get moving. We only have an hour or two until the sun comes up."

"Yes, Sir."

just add spoilers

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