There will be a spring. (Dirian Revolts and Sieges)
Jul 11, 2024 12:19:33 GMT -5
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Post by KyferLegs (Diria) on Jul 11, 2024 12:19:33 GMT -5
Partially continued from: A "Birthright" Returned (Revolt Post)
Fatimah Aym stared up at the wall. She couldn't see in front of her due to the thick scarf tied around her eyes. The ground she sat on was as comfortable as the scent of the stale and stuffy room lit by a fading candle. She sighed, clasping her hands and placing her face against her knees. Finally, the grated door to Fatimah's left swung open, and a man in a tattered factory worker uniform ambled through the veil before it. "Stand up." The man's voice was hoarse yet familiar, and she recognized it was the same person who had grabbed her from the rendezvous point.
Nevertheless, Fatimah haphazardly lifted herself off the ground the second she heard someone walk in, not needing an audible order. By now, she had grown impatient and even anxious. Months of work and signaling had led to this moment, and that's all she could think about as the firm grasp of her contact led her toward another location. The sounds heeding their movements let her know at least some basics. She was likely taken to the city's outskirts and is now in a hard-floor cellar. However, a new sound appeared before her, and an unfamiliar voice spoke calmly. "Sit down, Miss Fatimah." Suddenly, the veil came off, and she grunted as the candles, despite being dim, still hurt her eyes. Squinting, she looked behind her, noticing the contact behind her was gone, then to the chair, the dust and cobwebs on its legs showing its age. Nonetheless, she sat and then finally looked forward at the man across the table from her.
The man lingered until Fatimah looked him in the eyes thoroughly. "I will make this short. Considering what we've seen, we know you're eager, but I must ask. Are you willing to give your life to the cause?" The man across from her barely moved, his face obscured by the unequal lighting in the room, but she could make out his round glasses, goatee, and jet-black hair. He appeared more as a scholar than some resistance leader, if he even was that, but she refrained from asking. Instead, she processed the inquiry, and without hesitation, she eagerly replied: "Yes."
The man nodded. "Good. We know where you are, so don't convey any more signals. We'll reach out to you. Now close your eyes." The man waited for Fatimah to close her eyes, then turned his head dismissively towards the table and knocked on it in a pattern. The man in the uniform then revealed himself again and stood behind Fatimah. "Take her back." Fatimah's eyes were again covered by the scarf tightly bound around her head. Quickly, as the meeting began, it ended. Next, she was stood up and strolled under the direction of her contact to another place she couldn't see again. Yet, she couldn't help but smile. Just like that, she was in the resistance.
Nevertheless, Fatimah haphazardly lifted herself off the ground the second she heard someone walk in, not needing an audible order. By now, she had grown impatient and even anxious. Months of work and signaling had led to this moment, and that's all she could think about as the firm grasp of her contact led her toward another location. The sounds heeding their movements let her know at least some basics. She was likely taken to the city's outskirts and is now in a hard-floor cellar. However, a new sound appeared before her, and an unfamiliar voice spoke calmly. "Sit down, Miss Fatimah." Suddenly, the veil came off, and she grunted as the candles, despite being dim, still hurt her eyes. Squinting, she looked behind her, noticing the contact behind her was gone, then to the chair, the dust and cobwebs on its legs showing its age. Nonetheless, she sat and then finally looked forward at the man across the table from her.
The man lingered until Fatimah looked him in the eyes thoroughly. "I will make this short. Considering what we've seen, we know you're eager, but I must ask. Are you willing to give your life to the cause?" The man across from her barely moved, his face obscured by the unequal lighting in the room, but she could make out his round glasses, goatee, and jet-black hair. He appeared more as a scholar than some resistance leader, if he even was that, but she refrained from asking. Instead, she processed the inquiry, and without hesitation, she eagerly replied: "Yes."
The man nodded. "Good. We know where you are, so don't convey any more signals. We'll reach out to you. Now close your eyes." The man waited for Fatimah to close her eyes, then turned his head dismissively towards the table and knocked on it in a pattern. The man in the uniform then revealed himself again and stood behind Fatimah. "Take her back." Fatimah's eyes were again covered by the scarf tightly bound around her head. Quickly, as the meeting began, it ended. Next, she was stood up and strolled under the direction of her contact to another place she couldn't see again. Yet, she couldn't help but smile. Just like that, she was in the resistance.
The Veraki occupation zones had two fronts: the numerous and brutal sieges of sprawling, heavily populated cities that refused to yield and fought off the back of their current population, manufacturing capabilities, and infrequent supplies given by the Dirian Navy within the lakes. On the other hand, there were those not fortunate enough to put up a siege, either having been caught by surprise, fallen too quickly or were simply unlucky. Regardless, the conditions opposed upon the Dirians in either circumstance were brutal. With the ongoing war and the increasing brutality, the Dirians who found themselves on the ladder of the two fronts quickly grew vexation rather than their previous resignation and simple contemplation for basic survival under the Veraki eire.
Quickly, the resistance groups that already existed swelled in size as Veraki atrocities and the cruelty of the occupation intensified. Beleaguered groups across the occupied nation opened stashes, vicious attacks on Veraki authorities and occupiers escalated, and numerous acts of mass protests rapidly occurred. Brazened by recruits and motivation, the amount of forming upheaval caused resistance groups to attack supply lines or Veraki garrisons candidly. Regardless, the Dirian Resistance and Underground remained frustratingly competent with their deception, information-gathering abilities, and lack of loose ends. Leadership positions were constantly concealed behind closed doors, and meetings or commands were provided to cells by intermediaries rather than through direct communication. However, what couldn't be accomplished by association or espionage, their brutality also terrorized the Veraki occupiers and those daring to be loyal to the invader. From now on, officers would have to watch their back. As being strung up by their neck was a real possibility.