Post by StaolDerg on Oct 31, 2020 7:51:21 GMT -5
"You are certain of this decision? What if they betray us- we have too much knowledge of their politics. Their tendency to prioritize themselves may very well prove to be our deaths if they deem the Kumonians to be of... greater strategic interest. If our agents are anything to base on, their politics are tumultuous, being in a commonwealth to Ulster-Gaelia."
"Tumultuous, but predictable. We know they have no love for Empress Reitō. Kumosenkan is a threat to Kaireil geopolitically and economically, and to the UKUG at large with their navies likely competing for dominance. It'd be in their best interest to help us. We'd at least get the opportunity to move our administration somewhere else, secure the leadership."
Their counterpart huffed at the suggestion.
"And then what? They'd simply replace our shackles with their own. They're an imperial power too. Even if they do grant us refuge, there no way that the Kumonians won't retaliate on our families as soon as we disappear. More than half of us have kin sworn to the service of the enemy."
Their fellow Inselni chuckled darkly, still staring at a map of western Touli. "We have little other option. The Greatferns turn to Eleria, our own kin forced to fight against us in all ways by allegiance of honor, and yet we still huddle quietly in the dirt, praying that a Territorial patrol doesn't find us. We have no choice. We have little modern weaponry; half of our equipment constitutes of ancient civilian hunting firearms. We are on the edge of collapse from trying to survive on the residue the Spiders leave us with from their extortionate taxing. Industry? Perhaps a whole thousand of us know how to make guns, yet we have no machinery to rifle barrels, nor the provisions to manufacture anything beyond rudimentary ammunition. Unless the oath is released or broken- something we know will never happen at this rate- we're stuck in a loop of sitting about, planning for something that will never come."
Their black-streaked counterpart scoffed. "We've dealt with worse. We can make rifles from hand forges, ammunition propellant from guano. We can lie low until we have the advantage. We did it when they first knocked down our doors- they still haven't realized that we even exist. They assume we are all loyal. "
The first scowled, leaning their sandy muzzle into the glow of the lamp at the center of the table.
"This isn't a war with black powder anymore, Kapria. What advantage are we waiting for? This isn't against just the Greatferns anymore. We can't match Territorial production of arms, nor modern military doctrine. We can't handcraft muskets for every soldier anymore. This is a war fought with machines now, do you understand? Steel and staol forges the victories of this century. No. We have no choice. Hapr- High Command has ordered that extreme measures must now be taken if the provisional government is to survive. Every moment we waste arguing brings us closer to being found out and I can't speak for you, but I have no desire to be executed on national broadcast without having done at least something."
He was silent for a second, staring blazingly at his companion.
The black-streaked one sighed, silent too for a moment as they stared at the map. "May my ancestors forgive me; may my children succeed me. Fine. I will have an operative briefed and made ready to journey to Kaireil. You get the necessary contacts in order. Contact the Kaireili. Pray this works."
"Trust me, I already am."
Dirbah's sky was clear enough, as if the fresh morning sun hid the freezing temperature any less. Arpa cupped the mug before him, reading the local news. Kaireil's tundra was foreign to him- he'd only heard it described by a few sparse Inselni friends and officers before being sent here. He shivered faintly through his coat, holding onto the mug a moth seeking the glow of a lamp wishing he'd brought his pair of gloves along.
He was dressed differently than usual to hide his nationality. Simple traveling clothes- a simple suit and warm coat, though evidently not enough. His dress shoes were seated firmly on the stones of the sidewalk, a small briefcase neatly on his lap. His face's Scars had been painted over, but some alcohol and rubbing would easily clean it off.
Patiently, he flipped through another page of the newspaper, taking a sip of the warm coffee. He looked up casually from his seat, waiting for the Kaireili operative. If all had gone to plan, Kaireil's government had received the message from Inselni among their leadership of the Royalist provisional government days ago. The man shifted in his seat, looking back towards the newspaper. Not long now, he hoped.
"Tumultuous, but predictable. We know they have no love for Empress Reitō. Kumosenkan is a threat to Kaireil geopolitically and economically, and to the UKUG at large with their navies likely competing for dominance. It'd be in their best interest to help us. We'd at least get the opportunity to move our administration somewhere else, secure the leadership."
Their counterpart huffed at the suggestion.
"And then what? They'd simply replace our shackles with their own. They're an imperial power too. Even if they do grant us refuge, there no way that the Kumonians won't retaliate on our families as soon as we disappear. More than half of us have kin sworn to the service of the enemy."
Their fellow Inselni chuckled darkly, still staring at a map of western Touli. "We have little other option. The Greatferns turn to Eleria, our own kin forced to fight against us in all ways by allegiance of honor, and yet we still huddle quietly in the dirt, praying that a Territorial patrol doesn't find us. We have no choice. We have little modern weaponry; half of our equipment constitutes of ancient civilian hunting firearms. We are on the edge of collapse from trying to survive on the residue the Spiders leave us with from their extortionate taxing. Industry? Perhaps a whole thousand of us know how to make guns, yet we have no machinery to rifle barrels, nor the provisions to manufacture anything beyond rudimentary ammunition. Unless the oath is released or broken- something we know will never happen at this rate- we're stuck in a loop of sitting about, planning for something that will never come."
Their black-streaked counterpart scoffed. "We've dealt with worse. We can make rifles from hand forges, ammunition propellant from guano. We can lie low until we have the advantage. We did it when they first knocked down our doors- they still haven't realized that we even exist. They assume we are all loyal. "
The first scowled, leaning their sandy muzzle into the glow of the lamp at the center of the table.
"This isn't a war with black powder anymore, Kapria. What advantage are we waiting for? This isn't against just the Greatferns anymore. We can't match Territorial production of arms, nor modern military doctrine. We can't handcraft muskets for every soldier anymore. This is a war fought with machines now, do you understand? Steel and staol forges the victories of this century. No. We have no choice. Hapr- High Command has ordered that extreme measures must now be taken if the provisional government is to survive. Every moment we waste arguing brings us closer to being found out and I can't speak for you, but I have no desire to be executed on national broadcast without having done at least something."
He was silent for a second, staring blazingly at his companion.
The black-streaked one sighed, silent too for a moment as they stared at the map. "May my ancestors forgive me; may my children succeed me. Fine. I will have an operative briefed and made ready to journey to Kaireil. You get the necessary contacts in order. Contact the Kaireili. Pray this works."
"Trust me, I already am."
Dirbah's sky was clear enough, as if the fresh morning sun hid the freezing temperature any less. Arpa cupped the mug before him, reading the local news. Kaireil's tundra was foreign to him- he'd only heard it described by a few sparse Inselni friends and officers before being sent here. He shivered faintly through his coat, holding onto the mug a moth seeking the glow of a lamp wishing he'd brought his pair of gloves along.
He was dressed differently than usual to hide his nationality. Simple traveling clothes- a simple suit and warm coat, though evidently not enough. His dress shoes were seated firmly on the stones of the sidewalk, a small briefcase neatly on his lap. His face's Scars had been painted over, but some alcohol and rubbing would easily clean it off.
Patiently, he flipped through another page of the newspaper, taking a sip of the warm coffee. He looked up casually from his seat, waiting for the Kaireili operative. If all had gone to plan, Kaireil's government had received the message from Inselni among their leadership of the Royalist provisional government days ago. The man shifted in his seat, looking back towards the newspaper. Not long now, he hoped.
