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  The Best Fried Chicken in Lao Sansong - Laeral/Lao Sansong RP

Posted by: Laeral
01-23-2026, 02:47 AM
Forum: International Affairs
- No Replies

"The Best Fried Chicken in Lao Sansong"

Tara Chatelain peered down at the quiet stretch of the roadway below. The night was frigid and still, with snowdrifts knee-deep on the rocky ground. This side of the border, only a small handful of kilometers from Laeralian territory, looked no different from the Xueyan hinterlands where she had grown up. Even though their mission tonight was strictly secret, a black ops mission that had been foisted on Tara and her squadmates through Intelligence, the cold and the foreboding pines of the surroundings didn’t bother her. If it hadn’t been for the fence they’d had to cut through at the Sansongian border, it would’ve felt just like one of the many training missions in the Xueyan territory she’d undergone to make Special Forces. Deliver death from afar, and slip back through the fence into the Laeralian side of the border.

Her walkie-talkie clicked.

“Signal Gold, Signal Gold.” That was Cesar, the spotter, confirming the target en route and with the expected escort. Tara’s grip tightened on her rifle, and she flexed her fingers in their nimble shooter’s gloves. A moment later, a road along the empty roadway heralded the arrival of the target. Just as their contact, a disgruntled retainer in the powerful Arkunda clan, had warned them.

“Target confirmed. Signal Green.” That was for Tara. She flicked the switch on the detonation device to power it on. A few heartbeats later: a BOOM from the roadway, as a red-and-orange cloud blossomed to life in the air. The speeding limousine which had been racing down the roadway, the dual-feather crest of the Arkunda clan emblazoned on its side, went tumbling onto its side. One of the motorcycle outriders from behind the car spun off the road and into a tree. There was a moment of silence, and then the gunfire began from the Laeralites’ ambush.

Staccato bursts of gunfire, from cruder assault rifles than those the Laeralites customarily used, raked the overturned car. There was no gunfire in response, and at a signal from the squad’s leader, the Laeralian squad ceased fire. Silence reigned over the woods, apart from the hiss and pop of the small fire guttering on the roadway.

“Dancer Three here, I’m going in,” Tara said over the comm. Grasping her rifle in both hands, she crept towards the roadway, approaching it stealthily. In the ditch by the edge of the road, she took out an empty clip of ammunition, engraved with the quasi-religious Arikata verses common to a local militant clan, and tossed it to the ground with a gloved hand.

“No sign of life here,” she said over the comm. “Report target downed.” Arkunda Hachiro, a lesser member of the region’s dominant Arkunda clan, was the target of the night’s ambush. A shady character, with interests in cross-border gunrunning and narcotics, he was nevertheless too small of a fish to normally merit a special forces hit—even in the frontier regions of Lao Sansong, where Laeralian commandos routinely operated. No, the goal tonight was to stir up the hornet’s nest of Sansongian politics, keeping the local clans and warlords focused on each other rather than venturing across the border into Laeral.

There was a small pop from the road, and Tara froze, scanning the roadway for danger. There was nothing, except for a few trashed fast-food wrappers rustling in the breeze. Then, Tara saw it. Someone from inside the car, desperately wounded, had crawled out, and in his hands he clutched a brace of grenades. Smiling a coarse, bitter smile in Tara’s direction, he chuckled and pulled the pin.

____________________________________________________________

Tara woke up in the darkness. She was cold, uncomfortably clammy, with a pounding head, and she was wearing dark clothing. Where was she? Some kind of ditch, it appeared, next to the road.

The walkie-talkie clipped to her shoulder squawked. “Dancer Three, fall back to reserve extraction point. Hostiles are inbound. Dancer Three, fall back to reserve extraction point.” She didn’t know who was talking to her, but it sounded important. Her head ached in protest at the noise.

There was a burst of gunfire in the distance—not far away, and getting closer. Reserve extraction point. Where was that? It would have been covered in the pre-mission briefing, but Tara couldn’t remember anything about it. She couldn’t remember even going to whichever place—it looked like Lao Sansong—where she was now.

There were a handful of pieces of paper in the ditch and on the road around her. Tara picked one up.

Grand Opening: Huenya Fried Chicken!
Join us for the grand opening of Lao Sansong’s first-ever Huenya Fried Chicken. 
Enjoy special grand-opening only deals on finger-lickin’ tasty chicken for the whole family!

Below, there was a date—tomorrow’s—and an address, in the nearby city of Funashbiru. Something clicked in Tara’s head. Of course. She was in Lao Sansong, on a covert mission gone bad, and that address must be the extraction point. Gathering up her things, she scurried off into the woods, away from the gunfire. Recuperate, make it to the Huenya Fried Chicken, and she’d find her way home.

[To be continued...]

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  2025 Lumiere-Atlantis Winter Games Results Thread

Posted by: Democratic Republic Of Eiria
12-31-2025, 07:58 PM
Forum: IDU Olympiad
- Replies (13)

Day One

Alpine Skiing

Men’s Downhill Ski

Brent van Norberg (Haesan): 1:40.31 [OR]
Vinod Solanki (Darya): 1:41.03
Rouzi Kambarov (Karakhtan): 1:41.65
Osvaldo Del Bosque (Lauchenoiria): 1:42.58
Talwyn Parker (Astoria): 1:42.78
Blake Fèvre (Auria): 1:43.04
Koichi Saito (Misumi): 1:43.65
Alain Colbert (Salad Land): 1:44.41

Chin-Hae Hu (High Fells): 1:44.94
Chimalpopoca (Huenya): 1:45.14
David Hadley (LOM): 1:45.22
Jackson Alvaro (Slokais Islands): 1:45.53
Selby Dawson (Opthelia): 1:46.11
Seon-woo Ok (Pharitaya): 1:46.53
Gordon Moody (Novella Islands): 1:46.57
Dominic Caviglia (Ecclesiastical Dominions): 1:46.58
Sigfrid Bosch (Kerlile): 1:46.60
Joaquin Tenstrike (Lavender Country): 1:46.84
Vicente Havana (Great Tequila Island): 1:46.92
Kiyoshi Roberts (Opthelian Commonwealth Team): 1:47.20
Marwan Doud (Mallacaland): 1:47.43
Maxeine Corubus (Kolda): 1:48.08
Tadeus Zirnis (Eiria): 1:49.45
Arthur Gan (Laeral): 1:49.52
Esteban Cañas (Aredoa): 1:49.71
Kenneth Broussard (Gardavasque): 1:50.24
Tequetzal (Xiomera): 1:51.55

Women's Downhill Ski

Elisa McKey (LOM): 1:40.16 [OR]
Silvē Alard (Auria): 1:40.44 {OR}
Megan Wright (Opthelia): 1:41:50
Masako Mikami (Misumi): 1:41.96
Agatha Stevenson (Salad Land): 1:42.34
Chandra Raihan (Darya): 1:42.75
Eileen Chu (High Fells): 1:42.76
Delphine Pajot (Laeral): 1:43.31

Asena MacClelland (Kerlile): 1:43.59
Dinara Navai (Karakhtan): 1:44.01
Michelle Ing-wen (Gardavasque):1:45.01
Eleanor Wright (Novella Islands): 1:45.90
Judita Ozola (Eiria): 1:45.95
Meg Duncan (Astoria): 1:46.06
Mira Szegedi (Lavender Country): 1:46.26
Alicia Heraldsley (Haesan): 1:46.83
Frida Montelobos (Great Tequila Island): 1:47.33
Ava Hangar (Ecclesiastical Dominions): 1:47.48
Jovie Cantillo (Slokais Islands): 1:47.68
Teresa Avilés (Aredoa): 1:48.18
Alica Almedine (Kolda): 1:48.19
Moyoletzal (Huenya): 1:48.73
Nayara Diaz (Lauchenoiria): 1:49.11
Qadr Sader (Mallacaland): 1:50.35
Tapayaxi (Xiomera): 1:50.53

Men's Combined Ski

Henry Thoraed (LOM): 1:59.96 [OR]
Thevakar Singh (Darya): 2:00.97 {OR}
Yukio Iwata (Misumi): 2:01.18 {OR}
Joel Fox (Astoria): 2:01.30
Davie Hepburn (Opthelian Commonwealth Team): 2:02.05
Julian Delest (Auria): 2:02.83
Julyan Hicks (Opthelia): 2:02.85
Ji-ho Park (Novella Islands): 2:02.88

Cihuanan (Huenya): 2:03.40
Oiva Jusic (Kerlile): 2:03.66
Simon Clarkson (Salad Land): 2:03.69
Amadeo Maglione (Ecclesiastical Dominions): 2:04.14
Stefan Rice (Lavender Country): 2:04.27
Maqsud Sabri (Karakhtan): 2:04.47
Ben Cantillo (Slokais Islands): 2:04.75
Riks Kallas (Eiria): 2:05.87
Joshua Flor de Caña (Great Tequila Island): 2:06.05
Man-shik Du (High Fells): 2:06.31
Seon-woo Ok (Pharitaya): 2:06.42
Renato Echevarria (Lauchenoiria): 2:06.46
Yolhual (Xiomera): 2:06.55
Damián Rebolledo (Aredoa): 2:06.94
Marwan Doud (Mallacaland): 2:07.65
Kenneth Broussard (Gardavasque): 2:07.70
Mongkut Intanon (Refugee Team): 2:07.82
Pierre Wang (Laeral): 2:08.18
Thabiut Beauchamp (Kolda): 2:08.39
Seong-jin Gim (Haesan): 2:09.85

Women's Combined Ski

Masako Mikami (Misumi): 2:00.15 [OR]
Sophie Taylor (Opthelia): 2:00.54 {OR}
Lucy Shelton (High Fells): 2:00.65 {OR}
Elisa Pikard (Auria): 2:01.31
Amannisa Kimsanova (Karakhtan): 2:01.62
Donatella DiGiornali (Ecclesiastical Dominions): 2:03.19
Samantha Xian (Slokais Islands) 2:03.71
Druti Bapodra (Darya): 2:03.85

Miku Sasaki (Novella Islands): 2:04.86
Yayauhqui (Huenya): 2:04.90
Ella Kealoha (Opthelian Commonwealth Team): 2:05.03
Erin Runnells (Astoria): 2:05.20
Junxuan Yang (Laeral): 2:05.38
Anong Intanon (Refugee Team): 2:05.88
Pauline Trudeau (Salad Land): 2:06.32
Iveta Vondrakova (Lavender Country): 2:06.40
Kornēlija Lapsina (Eiria): 2:06.55
Adelaida Caballero (Lauchenoiria): 2:06.73
Waimarie Wildgrube (Kerlile): 2:07.04
Soraya Zaya (Great Tequila Island): 2:07.37
Michelle Ing-wen (Gardavasque): 2:07.39
Sienna Torres (LOM): 2:07.54
Rosalía Montero (Aredoa): 2:08.21
Alicia Heraldsley (Haesan): 2:09.24
Mazahua (Xiomera): 2:09.64

Bobsled

Men's Monobob

Valdir Aleixo (Selifleur): 1:00.61 [OR]
Harry Brown (Opthelia): 1:01.20
Mark Howe (LOM): 1:01.24
Nathan Rogier (Eiria): 1:01.28
Jamal Rockland (Gardavasque): 1:01.77
Seleman Kimathi (Kabo Geshaan): 1:01.81
Wolf Princeton (Lavender Country): 1:02.11
Alejandro Garcia (Huenya): 1:02.11

Emiliano Santera (Great Tequila Island): 1:02.20
Ashur Umidov (Karakhtan): 1:02.80
Rafiur Malik (Andhrapur): 1:02.90
Mecaxiuitl (Xiomera): 1:03.08
Narciso Nabisco (Ecclesiastical Dominions): 1:03.47
Kristaps Piksons (Auria): 1:03.56
Wiley Carter (Salad Land): 1:03.66
Lázaro Balboa (Aredoa): 1:03.66
Khalid Ghanem (Opthelian Commonweath Team): 1:03.70
Leonard Rowland (Novella Islands): 1:03.74
Yaşar Aslan (Serriel): 1:04.01
Jun Wang (Laeral): 1:04.08
Rigoberto Suarez (Lauchenoiria): 1:04.17
Kenichi Amado (Misumi): 1:04.43
Pierre Aubin (Haesan): 1:04.44
David Zheng (Slokais Islands): 1:04.49
Pradit Ketukaeo (Pharitaya): 1:04.68
Hye-jong Ri (High Fells): 1:04.76
Arun Shastri (Darya): 1:05.16
Hamid Rosa (Kerlile): 1:05.21

Women's Monobob

Isabel Lewis (Opthelia): 1:01.75 [OR]
Stella Dupont (Laeral): 1:01.84
Mary Margaret McCleneghan (Gardavasque): 1:01.91
Ieva Kozlova (Eiria): 1:02.51
Misako Matsui (Misumi): 1:03.21
Glenna Jang (Kerlile): 1:04.03
Rozina Tabassum (Andhrapur): 1:04.08
Maral Daureneva (Karakhtan): 1:04.34

Clemencia Diego (Lauchenoiria): 1:04.44
Samantha Garrison (Salad Land): 1:04.52
Ichyaxi (Xiomera): 1:04.60
Masha Hanover (Lavender Country): 1:04.78
Zipactencatl (Huenya): 1:05.59
Zoe Conejos (Great Tequila Island): 1:05.68
Hanife Can (Serriel): 1:05.75
Rani Adhya (Darya): 1:05.78
Amália Maocha (Selifleur): 1:05.85
Soo-jin Jung (Novella Islands): 1:05.85
Manaia Pouri (Auria): 1:05.86
Isabel Peralta (Aredoa): 1:05.95
Tanissa Yoncè (Ecclesiastical Dominions): 1:06.01
Allison DeMille (LOM): 1:06.09
Liah Gatchl (Slokais Islands): 1:06.62
Gyeong-jun Bak (Haesan): 1:06.67
Kanlaya Cherinphon (Pharitaya): 1:06.81
Jemima Kincaid (High Fells): 1:07.29

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  2025 Lumiere-Atlantis Winter Olympiad General Thread

Posted by: Democratic Republic Of Eiria
12-31-2025, 06:06 AM
Forum: IDU Olympiad
- No Replies

“Although we are separated by a sea, we will always be united by two things that are far stronger: blood and culture.” - Jakelēn Albrīt, 30th Chancellor of Eiria

“A shared language is just the start of everyone we share with our cousins across the strait. I hope we can find it in our hearts to rebuild the bridge that once connected our nations, for the betterment of our collective future.” - Prince Andreu Laurent of Lei Laukjelasei

—

The air in Atlantis could only be described as electric.

Thousands of athletes, tourists, and volunteers had descended upon the city's crowded streets, filling out around the river area as the afternoon dragged on. Local performers, buskers and artists could be seen on every street corner, attempting to earn a quick Lunen or two from tourists hungry for a sampling of Eirian culture. All day, the city’s famous theaters had been sold out, the bars packed, and the parks filled with spectators hoping to get a glimpse of the main event.

Suddenly, the city's bells rang out the hour, causing the raucous noise of downtown to fade to hurried whispers. Down on the river, a squad of jet skis and small boats came rushing down towards the coast, changing various formations in close maneuvers that left the audience breathless. On the river’s banks, groups of dancers and gymnasts covered in prōtint body art timed acrobatic acts to the beat of E-O rock music blaring from nearby speakers. Spectators were left wondering where to look as the spectacle continued on, slowing down as the sound of the Winter Olympiad’s orchestral theme grew louder and louder from further upriver.

Around the curve of the river, a flotilla of boats came into view, earning cheers from the massive crowd. Each craft carried athletes and dignitaries of the various nations participating in the first Winter Olympiad, who all waved at the exuberant crowds cheering them on. Flags of various nations and even some supranational organizations (including the Opthelian Commonwealth’s four-color banner and the blue and white flag of the Union of Caxcanan States) rippled in the wind. From the top deck of the lead boat, Chancellor Stendē stood watch over the Olympic Torch, dressed head to toe in designer jewelry and a sturdy deep blue halar that matched her nation’s athletes. 

As fans applauded and shouted well-wishes, the boats carrying representatives from 32 Olympic Committees sailed westwards into the sun, leaving the Eirian cultural capital behind for the second host city of the first Winter Olympiad.

—

Upon their arrival in Lumiere, these athletes and dignitaries were received with a similarly warm welcome, with Aurians and tourists alike throwing flowers and other gifts over the crowd barriers as each boat dropped off its passengers. The parade of nations proceeded from the river drop-off point towards Sophie the Brave Memorial Stadium, where another large crowd celebrated their arrival.

As this parade inched towards the stadium, the rest of the Opening Ceremony’s theatrics began. Dozens of performers on rollerskates rolled into the center of the stadium, forming dizzying patterns and performing intricate dances to the tune of Auria’s national ballet, “The River Finch.” As the skaters dispersed, volunteers quickly moved a platform into place, setting the stage for a heartwrenching and emotional performance by Aurian pop vocalist AmaLija that commemorated those lost during the Aurian Civil War.

After AmaLija finished her performance, the stadium was quickly filled with dancers dressed in traditional Aurian winter garb. As the music changed to a more upbeat tone, high-tech projectors cast images of Auria’s natural landscapes and environmental wonders on the floor of the stadium, forming a beautiful canvas for the dancers to waltz across. The special soundtrack composed for the ceremony continued to shift as the dancers changed styles and movements, ranging from fast pair dancing to large group rounds. 

As the dancers dispersed and the music faded, all lights turned to the stadium’s main box, where Queen Katherina I and Chancellor Stendē waited for the crowds to quiet down.

“Good evening, my fellow Aurians and honored guests alike.” The young monarch's mezzo-soprano voice resounded through the stadium as she spoke in Eirian, waiting for the English translation to finish before continuing. “We are gathered here today to celebrate a truly remarkable thing: international cooperation.”

Stendē spoke up, the rehearsed speech clearly having been written to match the speaking patterns of both heads of state. “In our present day of tension and conflict, cooperation can be hard to come by. Petty rivalries, shifting loyalties and internal strife can make it difficult to find any sort of unity in the chaos of the world.”

“But that is exactly what we are here to do,” the Queen said, her crown glittering in the spotlights. “Today, we gather here to celebrate a universal side of humanity, one that will allow us to put aside our hatred and overcome our grievances for the greater good. As it encourages us to push ourselves to the absolute limit of our human abilities, sport gives us the chance to overlook our own dividing lines and see each other for our own excellence.”

“While it may seem counterproductive that competition is the key to unity, there is no better way to bring people together than a common interest.” The Eirian leader smiled, clearly feeding off of the energy of the crowd. “The camaraderie that we will see across the snow and ice over the next few weeks will bridge the divide between athletes and fans from all sides of the world, building connections beyond our national borders.”

“This connection, this spirit built through coordination and cooperation, is something that cannot be easily erased.” Katherina coolly examined the stadium. “The bonds we forge, both here and in Eiria, will reaffirm our global commitment to peaceful cooperation through sport. Whether through good sportsmanship, honest conversation or cultural exchange, the legacy of this Olympiad will be one of glorious friendship and unparalleled glory.”

As the two leaders continued to speak, a line of Eirian and Aurian athletes, officials and celebrities were each taking a turn carrying the Olympic Torch from one side of the Stadium to the other, approaching the two-torch cauldron as Stendē and the Queen rounded off their speech.

“No matter what happens during these games, it will be said that this Olympiad marked a new chapter in international sport and a new era in international cooperation.” Stendē took a pause to let the final member of the relay grab the torch. “Now, without further ado…”

With commanding voices that echoed throughout the stadium, both leaders spoke the last line of the address.

“Mōs da dauz dei oner uvret leis jeusei deile unaš Olimpijad Ēver!”

It gives us great honor to open the Games of the First Winter Olympiad!

With a flood of cheering and applause, the Queen and Chancellor shook hands and raised their fists. When the crowd had gotten slightly quieter, Katherina gestured to the entrance to the stadium with a grin. “Now, we present our magnificent athletes!”

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  25 Awesome Slokasians Everyone Should Know

Posted by: Slokais
12-23-2025, 10:57 PM
Forum: IDU Newswire
- Replies (1)

The following is from a 2022 Book “25 Awesome Slokasians, Everyone Should Know”. Each of these stories were chosen as each was regarded as a wise man who contributed to society and offered theological advice yet was not born in modern-day Slokais Islands.


Yen Shen Yumu
(990-1060)

The Shen Yumu Clan was one of the most influential among the Proto-Minjian Kingdoms of the Classical Period. Its wealth was regarded as one of the greatest, as its roots extend to the Tian Dynasty in present-day Laeral. Yet Shen Yumu came in as an outsider. Born in present-day Laeral to the second wife of Cheng Shen Yimu, Yen had a relatively pleasant early childhood per his accounts. Yet, everything changed when the Tian Dynasty which had been weakening for years fell into collapse. Cheng took mercy on his second son, as his older son born to another mother was failing to be effective on the battlefield.

Around 1002 or 1003, Youfu was put on a boat carrying many Minjian faithful to the promised lands of Pindai or “Blessed Place”. The city of Pindai would not be founded for several more decades, yet local leaders were encouraging migration to the region as part of the “War of Faith” which had begun several decades prior as an internal conflict within the Janghara State between Minjian and Animist forces. Cheng Shen Yimu was at the time, in command of the Pact of the Aligned, a collection of Minjian families and city states. He was growing older and sensed a successor was needed.

At that point, Cheng Shen Yumu had made Jianhua the seat of his power, and Yenwas brought there on a great-carriage escorted by an assortment of troops, dancers and members of court. Jianhua, which remains to this day in Pinjiang Province, was considered one of the great cities of the day.  Such an important moment was the arrival of Yen Shen Yumu, that the moment was depicted in several pieces of artwork such as “The Arrival” by Jiong Chen Wu, on permanent display at the National Gallery of Slokais. To the surprise of Cheng, Yen did not seek power or violence against the Animists as he hoped, or a sense of leadership to his people. Rather, Youfu spoke of reasoning and peaceful conversion of the people of these kingdoms to the Minjian Faith. This shocked the militarist, Cheng who decided that his second son wasn’t a warrior-heir but rather should be kept away as a greater thinker or advisor to him. He would have to find his successor elsewhere.

So it was up into the high mountains, carrying his belongings behind him with nothing but a map and a name. He found it, the Temple of the Divine Pursuit and its then caretakers the Brightnesses. Yen thus began his educational and spiritual journey, tuning out the war going on outside the walls and learning from his teachers. By the time news reached the mountains that Cheng Shen Yimu had passed away, his second son had consumed all there was to know within the temple’s collection of books. Yofu was offered the position of regent to his older brother, yet he rejected it.

“I shall only be a warrior to divine, only a swordsman to the divine kingdom and only a commander of the righteous faith”

Yen then began writing the first of his more than a dozen books he would publish in his lifetime, Tribulations. In the book, he would set out the ideals of a unique branch of the Minjian Faith, later known as Yenguango. Yenguango believes in a singular, dual-natured deity known as the Divine which encompasses the Host and Lady commonly believed as two separate divine beings. In addition, Yen disagreed with the notion that divine intervention was impossible, rather it could only occur in certain places at certain times. Additionally, Yen and the followers of Yenguango took a vow of veganism and abstinence from sex before marriage. Yenguango also argued Minjian’s should follow the pursuit of understanding the universe as scientists, educators or explorers. This is best encompassed by his most famous of quotes from his book “Life in Service of the Divine”

“The greatest joys of life come from the discovery of the Divine’s marks upon creation, the clouds in the sky, the animals on the ground, the rivers of the land. Yet is not a joy just upon the man which has discovered it but a joy upon those who come to see it within their time. It is glorious and a reminder of the Divine’s grace”

Yen would end up writing several academic papers on topics such as the water cycle, erosion and weather movements. He reached many of these discoveries at his various observation huts which were built by him and a growing number of disciples. Each consisted of a central octagonal chamber with an open circular roof and a central water pond. Attached was at the very least one room for sleep and prayer and another for storing materials necessary for writing and reading existing texts. Since his death in 1060, the Society of Yenguango has quietly maintained and studied at each of these sites which range in size. Visiting each of the 9 huts in succession is seen as a popular method of spiritualism and retreat to many Minjian in Slokais, even if some of his concepts are not accepted in the mainstream Minjian Faith.

During his later life, Yen would be called upon by his nephew Yofu Shen Yimu to establish the various bureaus of science and education of the Pindai State with many of these institutions taking upon his name. Scientists of the Pindai State, would end up having to take an oath of Yenguango for several centuries and his works on the nature of the universe would become required reading for any high reaching civil servant of the state. Today at Covenant University, the most important Minjian institution in Slokais, students who study in social sciences, medicine or engineering are required to take classes in the teaching of Yen Shen Yumu. Including President Joseph Zhang, who honored him with a special-edition 10,000 Mark note in 2019 due to his scientific contributions to geography, geology and philosophy. Politician, Spartcus Jones took upon the oath of abstinence and veganism before starting his Revolt! political party based on his reading of Yen’s works.

Juan De Garza
(1773-1839)

A poet, pastor and activist, Juan De Garza shouldn’t have never made it. Born in a fishing village in modern-day Kolda he lived the first years of his life in relative peace. But then in his own words “I was robbed of the innocence of childhood, the pride of freedom and the times of our youth by the cruelty of mankind”. De Garza who did not remember his name, only his mother’s face was enslaved and sent to Slokais via the Costeno Empire’s slave trading network.

At the time, the demands for labor in the new San Fernando colony called some to venture to Kolda to establish a slave trading network. People captured in war within the interior were brought to an island in Guedeiawaye Harbor, before ships would take the month’s long journey across the Olympic Ocean. By the time Juan De Garza came into the system, it was in its twilight years. War’s and conflict had ruined the finances of the traders and changed demand for labor from enslaved Koldans to indigenous Slokasians. De Garza describes a “great place of despair, I did not know much as I was just barely 3 or 4 years old, yet I knew evil was around, the devil’s worst creatures”. Referring to the San Fernando Slave Market on modern-day City Island, De Garza was in-fact one of the last people documented to have traveled through, as the transport and sale of slaves was banned by the municipal government in 1778. Yet, it didn’t mean De Garza was free. He and his siblings, yet not his mother, were bought by the Castillo family, an auctioneering family who owned a market in the Kingsway and a large plantation out in the swamp land of Salvador. Slavery was officially banned in the city, meaning persons living within could not be enslaved by another living within. Yet it thrived in Salvador City, De Garza who was given the surname Castillo was made to work as a rice farmer.

The swampland was cruel, walking in still water under a hot baking sun. Gathering the rice and then hauling huge baskets a mile or more to the Castillo’s rice storage building. De Garza lived this life until around 1790 when he was transferred to the auction house in San Fernando. Damien Castillo, needed extra hands around the office and Juan was praised as a hard worker, an example. De Garza described this in his 1815 book “Memories of the Stolen” as “I was cooled down, like a hot fire soaked by water. My words became cool, my behavior like hot coals. Calm and lacking heat from a distance yet still carrying the same heat”. It was through the auction house that De Garza learned to read Spanish so he could read directions. Damien assumed he lacked any more will, and could only understand and read words related to his company. Yet for Juan, his mind had been opened.

He eventually devised a plan, he began to talk with a woman named Ceila DeGarza, a Mestizo of Koldan ancestry. The two released that if they married officially, Juan would become a citizen and Ceila a widow would be able to restore her rights as a married person. Although the two lacked in love, with both later describing their relationship as “purely transactional” they were married in 1792, with Juan confirming his freedom on June 8th, 1792 in the records of the San Fernando Municipal Clerk. The two never had children of their own, although they adopted several over the course of their lives. Seeking employment, Juan began working as a deliveryman building connections within San Fernando. Through this work he was exposed to many people including many in the growing Afro-Slokaisan community (although they went by the term Nerienos at the time).

By 1800, the push to end slavery across the San Fernando Colony was becoming widespread. DeGarza, seeking to promote legislation, began a campaign of poems and writings which he personally distributed. Within his first pamphlet “Cases for a Society without Slavery”, DeGarza responded to common arguments for slavery’s continued usage using religious, economic and personal arguments. The success of the pamphlet led to several speaking engagements which grew popular support for abolishing slavery. While the slave trade had ended there remained 100,000 people classified as “enslaved person’s” by the 1805 Census. His events eventually brought him in contact with the growing Trinity Church Movement, a anti-slavery, anti-colonial religious organization which also rejected the Sanctarian Catholic Church as a flawed organization.

The Trinity Church, while being a denomination also was a social club of well-educated anti-colonial thinkers with DeGarza joining the company of Paul Iglesias and David Lau. DeGarza was able to distribute his pamphlet and also grow in his theological arguments. He was challenged to approach the issue of slavery from a religious perspective. Catholic’s had used biblical references to slavery as justification for their actions or the continued legality of slavery. In 1807, DeGarza published “Living in a Kingdom of Sin” an unique piece of literature which through poem and short essays presented several arguments against slavery. He argued slavery was in fact a sinful  act, and that by continuing the ownership of other human being’s, the moral foundation of the San Fernando Colony. Additionally, DeGarza pointed to how both the Ambonar Kingdom and the Kaijanese Emirate had not outlawed and “by freeing every enslaved man, this great colony can prove the superiority of our faith over other’s”.

The book was widely distributed and was consumed by the upper-society of the colony’s many cities. Soon local councils were being approached by concerned citizens who demanded they outlaw slavery within their townships, cities and villages. By creating simple decrees, slave owners would have their “property” be seized by the state, and then thus freed. These decrees spread far and wide, even gaining attention in the Ambonar Kingdom who by 1811 had declared that “The only servitude should be to preserve the divine kingdom, citizens shall not enslave other citizens.” Despite these groundswells of change, the Colonial government held steadfast. Governor Francisco Basco stated in a 1815 letter that colony-wide decree would be pointless, and “the issue of slavery should be a matter of a man and his conscience”. In the end, it would be the transfer of the San Fernando Colony to the Papal States of Sanctaria and the creation of the Dominion of Slokais, a term devised by Paul Iglesias in the hopes direct control from Sanctus would improve the state of the Catholic Church in the new land of Slokais.  Juan DeGarza would end up being an advocate for workers'rights until his death in 1839.

Today, Juan DeGarza has a legacy as a prominent Afro-Slokasian which is recognized via the naming of DeGarza Square in the city of Port Antonio. Additionally, June 8th is celebrated as DeGarza by the Damensiri ethnic community and is recognized as a holiday in Banco Grande Province. Popular celebrations include poetry competitions, public readings of his work and many staples of Damensiri cuisine such as Okra Soup and Sweetbread. In a religious sense, DeGarza is viewed as a saint by the Trinity Church of Slokais, which has around 1 million faithful. Saint DeGarza is often seen as a saint to those suffering poor labor conditions, a candle with his face is often carried at various union and labour events. Additionally, Saint DeGarza College is a Trinitarian college in San Fernando Province with 2,500 students.

Sean Khan
(1960-

Sean Khan isn’t unknown to any Slokasian in modern-times. His presidency and political presence since the 1990s has made him known by many. Yet less know his story and his commitment to what he believed in. Simran Jopuri Khan was born on May 14th, 1960. The region was conquered by Darya in the 1940s, yet there was always a strong resistance. In 1965, Simran and his family had to flee their home with very little possessions. Yet they remained in high spirits as the children including Simiran remained oblivious as they lived in a refugee camp set up by various aid organizations. Simran’s early memories as he recalled in a 2006 interview with SIBC were “simply playing with the other kids, games of tag and it, sometimes if someone had a football we all played between two goals, their posts marked out with stones”. In 1967, as Darya collapsed the new Union of Andhrapur was declared. “There was a great celebration, my parents brought together some food they had been saving and everybody in our area of the camp had a great meal”. Yet, in the camp and in much of Andhrapur there were considerable tensions.

There were heated debates among the residents on the future of Andhrapur, whether through the Mahraj or through the Free Andhrapur Forces led by Fahim Rubel Masud. The events of the outside world were reflected in the camp, as it became clear that many would never return home. Finally, in 1972 after Rubel Masud’s government was couped, the country was once again thrown into chaos. Internal disputes within the camp boiled over one day, as suddenly overnight there was a great panic as several structures had been set alight. It was chaos, and Simran ended up being swept up in a crowd, getting separated from his family. The camp burned down completely, as the country of Andraphapur fell into what would become a decade long conflict. Soon, Simran was seemingly orphaned, told falsely by a friend that they had died. That same friend soon took Simran into his family, the two had played football together at the camp and they continued to do so, this time at a smaller camp run by the Saint John’s Aid, a Slokasian organization. There was protection and promises of a new life in foreign lands as Andhrapur descended into what would become a full-scale ethnic cleansing.

In 1970, the National Resettlement Program was launched as a form of land transfer from the state-owned plots of the National Reform era back to private land ownerships. Additionally, international pressure for Slokais to give back for its war crimes and take upon the large number of refugees. Immigrants would be chosen from countries where returning-home would be "dangerous and deadly” and then given a singular acre of land in an unclaimed tract of land, those owned by people who had either died, their homes destroyed or simply those who had moved. Haesanite’s were the first being moved to coastal tracts in Northern Isles Province or farmland in Rio Bravos Township. Starting in 1973, Andhrapurian’s and Daryans began to be moved, although their large numbers meant they were sent to several mostly rural tracts across the country.

In early 1973, the Khan family which now included Simran who took upon their last name to remain with them applied for settlement in the Silverado Province. They were far from the only ones with around 1.2 million Andharians alone applying for the NRP program between 1973 and 1985. Simran and his family in fact reported for multiple rounds of interviews over the course of several months, each time Smiran was told to repeat he was the child of the Khan family. After several more rounds, a health inspection and a physical inspection to check for diseases, Simran was brought in for a personal interview.
“I couldn’t keep the lie any longer. I hated lying then, and I hate it now” Khan said in the previously mentioned 2006 interview. Simran told the truth, he was an orphaned child living with a friend's family, he didn’t have anyone else, nowhere to go.
“I felt like a weight had been lifted away from my shoulders. Although I knew they likely wouldn’t let me continue on with the rest of the family. The program had so many applicants, they must have been wanting to cut people, I thought”. Yet the specific worker, a young college graduate named Sean Wallace understood his story, he told him that his story was safe and that he and his new family would stay together. Simran was logged as part of a family of 5 traveling to Ciudad Silverado for placement and documentation. They had been accepted.

The family took more than a week to reach the mid-sized city on the west coast of Slokais, from a plane to a boat to a plane again. On June 12th, 1973, a large jet landed at Ciudad Silverado Airport carrying around 200 new immigrants, all from Andhrapur. There was some celebration on the ground, as supporters of the program waved Slokasian flags and graciously helped in whatever they could. Each was eventually brought onto a bus and taken to one of several NRP processing centers. The Khan’s were brought to Parcel Santamarina and asked to confirm several documents, including, name, age, and to confirm several documents. All the children were required to attend a local public school, a decision opposed by locals. Eventually, Simran was asked to write his name down for documentation. He wrote it as Sean Jopuri Khan.

The Khans were assigned to Lot 1214.5, which was located on a spur of the larger 12th Kilometer Road. There was thankfully an existing structure on the lot, not a guarantee for many of the site’s. Its roof was gone, the chimney had its top blown off, and there were several abandoned foxholes in the backyard. Unlike some however, the Khans had been farmers back in the homeland. George Khan, Sean’s adoptive father went right to work going to the 12th Kilometer general-store for basic farming equipment as Sean’s adoptive mother, Maria went right to work planting melon seeds. Sean, and his brothers Howard and Louis were soon attending a local secondary school where it soon became clear they were not welcome. The boys were each several years behind in education, a product of their education being cut short in their formative years. Local parents complained that the Khan’s and other Andharians were wasting the time of teachers. In 1975, the Santamarina Township School District created a new school, not officially for just immigrants, but the school’s boundaries were specifically designed to include only tract areas. 

Stereotypes became widespread, stories of Andharians hunting and killing local animals were widely exaggerated. Attempts at building a Zindist temple in the town of Paso Robles were met with strong local opposition. When leaving their local area, Sean and his brothers would be harassed, his younger brother Louis proved to be a football prodigy and when the family went to attend his trials at local clubs, parents and other players would shout insults. Despite everything, the Khan’s succeeded, their melon farm became prosperous, Sean Khan graduated from secondary school, his score excellent yet unable to attend a university away from home

Despite this, Sean graduated from Graywood Community College in 1983, and from Silverado Provincial University in 1986 with a law degree, passing the bar exam in the same year. Impressive for someone who was deemed to be “year’s behind his peers” by his secondary school teacher. Louis would earn a semi-professional contract with Sanmarina FC were his impressive performances led to him scouted by the New Liverpool FC Academy. Louis Khan would end up being the youngest and only the third Andharian to play for a professional football club. Howard would end up becoming an agricultural engineer with a degree from San Jose Poly in 1985. All of these successes and the continued Andharian community presence finally led to changing social attitudes. Andharians were elected to local government, restaurants and business opened up with each plot of the original land tract being full by 1989, just as the NRP program was officially shut down.

In 2004, Sean Khan returned home to Andhrapur on an official state-visit. The country had become a multi-party democracy and the arrival of President Khan was viewed as a great moment of national pride. In his first speech, he opened in the Andhran language which was met with massive applause. Additionally, after extensive work, Sean Khan was reunited with his original family the Jopuri’s. His father had died in 1996, yet he was able to reunite with his mother and his siblings in his childhood village. In 2011, his mother, his younger sister and his nieces and nephews immigrated to Slokais in their own right. The Andhrapurian community remains strong in Slokais with most of the population still living in the original rural settlement areas. Additionally, Sean Khan pushed to re-start the NRP program in 2003, which is a speciality program for skilled immigrants and their families, the number of accepted applicants varies by year but generally those in the program are moved into volunteer communities lacking in the labor force. The biggest impact has been in North Acadia Province which has seen a massive growth in the Nuiqustian population in rural fishing and forestry communities.

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  Fahim Rubel Masud: A Tragedy in Eight Parts

Posted by: Laeral
12-22-2025, 07:51 AM
Forum: IDU Newswire
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1. The Beginning

Fahim Rubel Masud. The Liberator, the saint, the man crowned in might-have-beens—it’s impossible to look at blighted little Andhrapur today without considering how it could have been so beautifully, wonderfully different if we’d been given just five more years with Muktipada Masud. His death shattered our horizons, made the stories we told about ourselves and the futures we imagined infinitely smaller.

Fahim was wise, gifted, and pure of heart. He was an angel. But he was not God.

Andhrapur means “land of the earthy ones,” and Fahim Rubel Masud, once he descended from heaven, could never return. This impure Andhrapuri earth is his grave. The first truth you need to know, and the one which colors all the rest of them: Fahim Rubel Masud was gone too soon.

2. The Enemy

It’s a little-known fact that Fahim Masud’s story began in an unlikely place: the small town of Karimganj in Semaria, what was then the southern borderlands of the Daryan Empire. He was born in 1924 to an upper-caste Zindist family of the Gouri ethnic group. The Gouri people have for centuries found themselves set apart from their neighbors on both sides of the Darya-Andhrapur border. Tall and pale-skinned, the Gouri believe their origins lie far to the south of Andhrapur itself, and modern genetic evidence suggests that a vast Gouri northward migration took place around the 12th century. Settling in villages dotting the plains, jungles, and riverbanks of this region of Caxcana, the Gouri made up a sizable minority on both sides of the border: around 40% of Darya’s Semaria province, and around 30% of Andhrapuris.

Fahim’s family itself was what was known in Darya as “returnees.” In 1920, rival claimants to the title of Maharaj of Andhrapur clashed in a brief, bitter conflict. Gouris, associated (with little basis) with supporters of the losing claimant were driven out; an estimated 120,000 fled across the border to Darya, among them Fahim’s parents. Living in a shantytown that had sprung out of a refugee tent city, forbidden by government fiat from seeking jobs besides subsistence farming, Masuma and Sajib Masud clung to their caste identity and their dream of return. Raised under a strict purification regimen mandating abstention from physical contact with anyone of lesser caste, Fahim’s parents intended for him only to receive a basic education before joining the tepasnanda clergy, as his two elder brothers had done. His school’s headmaster identified Fahim as a promising student and convinced his parents to allow him to continue in school, alone among his siblings. 

In 1940, the Daryan Empire invaded Andhrapur, seeking to reclaim its wayward colony. Fahim was conscripted into the Daryan Army, where he attained the rank of sergeant. At one point, just eight months into the war, he attempted to desert and was beaten fiercely; only another soldier’s intervention saved him from execution.

That soldier’s name was Aminul Akther.

3. Aminul Akther

“Akther! Akther! A thousand deaths are not enough for Akther!” So goes the children’s playground refrain.

Before his name was forever blackened by his treachery, Aminul Akther was a comrade of Masud’s in the Daryan Army. Both Returnees who had been raised in the refugee camps of Semaria, Akther and Masud were once classmates, conscripted together, who fought together across the plains and swamps of Andhrapur. Akther hailed from a far lower caste than Masud, enough so that their friendship could never have taken shape in the stifling environment of the Returnee camp. More outrageous still, Akther was a Jena—a member of the Zindist sect known for favoring frugality and rejecting the authority of the tepasnanda religious hierarchy. Amidst the backdrop of a grinding colonial war, these boundaries of caste and religion faded away, and Fahim and Akther became friends. Promoted to lieutenant and Masud’s direct superior, Akther convinced his higher-ups that Fahim had been coerced into going along with two enlisted soldiers’ desertion plot. Fahim was only stripped of his rank and permitted to continue as an enlisted man; the other two men were shot.

The war ended in 1943, with Darya once again master of Andhrapur. A modern, industrialized army with tanks and aircraft had triumphed over Andhrapuri forces who had often been sent into battle with fewer than ten bullets per soldier. The nation was devastated, the royal family in exile, while its resources were pillaged to feed Daryan factories. With Andhrapur conquered, the Gouri Returnees were expelled from Darya en masse. Seen as educated and loyal, many would take up positions as teachers, bureaucrats, and plantation foremen in service to the Daryan colonial authorities. Among them was Fahim Masud, who, mustering out from the Daryan Army in 1943, became a history teacher at the prestigious Southern Navsari Boys’ School, where boys who would go on to serve in the colonial military or bureaucracy were educated.

4. Fahim Sir

Fahim Sir—for that’s how we refer to teachers in Andhrapur—was beloved among his students for his knowledge, his gentleness (he never once employed the lathi, or bamboo switch, that his colleagues so frequently used to beat students for the slightest of reasons), and the clear delight he showed when he lectured on the great battles of the past. At the Southern Navsari Boys’ School, history education was almost entirely centered on the military heroes of Daryan history, and Fahim Sir could keep an entire class of boys spellbound, talking at length about the battles of the Manvi War or the great war with Costeno.

I know this because I was one of his students—spellbound, practically in awe of the teacher who would lend books to his favorites. I took great interest in his class—I was Andhrapuri by birth, but at the time I harbored foolish aspirations of becoming a soldier in the Daryan Army—and the first inkling I had of his politics was when he lent me his copy of the Laeralian guerrilla fighter Hong Kuo-shu’s textbook On People’s War. By this time, in the year 1951, Fahim Masud, through his old army friend Aminul Akther, had become a part of the secret circle then known as the Andhrapur Front for National Unity. Although AFNU was just one of several organizations plotting to overthrow Daryan rule, it was the only one that united its burning desire for freedom with a progressive vision that would reject the old divisions of ethnicity and faith as well as the Maharaj-in-exile and the feudal past he represented.

By spring 1952, I had realized that Fahim Sir planned to depart his life as a teacher and take to the highlands to wage war against the colonial occupation. I confessed my desire to join him—the Daryan army held no allure for me anymore, and I couldn’t bear to take up any other career when my homeland lay under cruel Daryan rule—and on March 24th, 1952, he led me and three other students into the mountains.

5. The Struggle

The early years of the resistance were so difficult that it would take an entire book to relate them. Living in the highland jungles was difficult enough, surrounded by wild beasts, with heat in the summer and biting cold in the winter. We relied entirely on the kindness and sympathy of local villagers—as Hong Kuo-shu wrote in On People’s War, the guerrilla relies on the populace like a fish relies on water. We made ourselves useful to them through teaching, gathering firewood, and helping with the harvest, while seizing the opportunity to educate them on our struggle for liberation. They reciprocated by sharing their food and warning us in advance of the colonial policemen. We would have never endured without them.

We were barely a hundred men and eight women at first, with only a handful of guns to go around; many of our first operations were raiding rural police stations for arms. These were hard years. One of the three students who accompanied me, whom I knew only as Raihan, died just six months into our struggle, shot dead in a tussle with a policeman. He was the first of many men I’d see die.

Fahim was named the leader of our entire force, which underwent a change of names: from the Andhrapur Front for National Unity to the National Resistance Front. Our movement grew and swelled like a forest fire, subsuming the other resistance groups, and soon there were entire stretches of the countryside where the Daryans had no control whatsoever. By 1955, we had grown in confidence enough to declare ourselves the Republic of Andhrapur, hoisting our flag and making bids for support from the outside world.

The Maharaj, a foolish old man who’d spent the last decade in exile abroad, doing nothing of consequence, chose this time to make entreaties to Fahim and the NRF. He proposed an alliance through an envoy of little consequence, a boy barely older than me who’d hardly known Andhrapur before the Daryan invasion. Fahim turned him away. “Tell the Maharaj we’ll deal with his blood relatives, no one less.”

The Maharaj in exile sent back his cousin, and the negotiations began. Over countless cups of tea in a jungle camp, Fahim and the Maharaj’s man threshed out an agreement. The Maharaj would become the figurehead leader of the resistance, with Fahim as leader of the combined armed forces. There was a ten-point agreement on the future of the nation, with supple vagueties in all the important places. And there was yet another new name for the alliance: the Free Andhrapuri Forces.

On the eve of the signing, I wish I could have warned Fahim to back out. The Maharaj and the homegrown rebellion were incompatible in ways that the ten-point agreement could hardly hide. Our vision for the future of Andhrapur didn’t include a feudal system ruled over by a crowned head, and the Maharaj and his men surely knew it. But at the same time, Fahim was too canny to enter into such an agreement without a plan to come out on top in the end. The image of the Maharaj, he knew, would do wonders in rallying the peasantry behind our banner. And the Maharaj had contacts in foreign capitals our band of rebels could have only dreamed of. On a chilly October afternoon, the accord was signed; the Maharaj and our cause were now bound together.

6. To Victory

The struggle only accelerated once our accord with the Maharaj was signed. The Daryans, after years of relative lethargy, threw their forces into battle against our own with renewed vigor. Columns of armored cars climbed rain-slicked tracks into mountain valleys as aircraft dropped their bombs on the jungles where we hid. The weather and the rugged terrain were our greatest ally; under cover of darkness, we eluded the enemy, traveling sometimes days at a time on meager rations before striking swiftly and then vanishing into the dark.

Our forces grew remarkably over the late 50s. Acts of resistance sprung up across the country; even in Navsari, the heart of the enemy occupation, our fighters made their presence known. We began receiving arms and ammunition from the Laeralites, part of some shadow war their intelligence agents fought against Darya’s. They sent a series of advisors as well, whom Fahim heard out yet never let into his full confidence.

That is, except one. Violette Chakma, an Andhrapuri noblewoman raised in exile, had been sent from Laeral as a liaison to our forces, and she and Fahim grew close. Was there a romance between them, as a theater show now sweeping the stages of Navsari alleges? Perhaps there was, for they would have had plentiful opportunity for it over long nights in adjoining tents in our base areas and bivouacs, but I saw no sign of anything beyond a deep-rooted respect for one another. I, for one, have difficulty imagining General Fahim having space for any love in his breast besides love of country. But it is the case that when Chakma was captured, surely tortured, and executed in October of 1965, Fahim was anguished beyond any way I’d ever seen him.

He rejected any talk of mounting a rescue as foolish, of course. He was too good of a general to do otherwise.

Just six months later, the Coalition landed its soldiers in Darya. A year after that, the last Daryan holdouts surrendered. The empire was gone, and Andhrapur was free.

7. The Vote

It was a moment all had long hoped and dreamed for, one achieved only at massive cost in the tears of heroes and the blood of martyrs. Fahim Rubel Masud, the man who once had been my schoolteacher, now stood astride an entire nation now able to breathe free.

There’s a story that when the old Maharaj first returned to the land he claimed to rule, he was greeted by crowds cheering not his name, but Fahim’s. It was in that moment, the storyteller often adds, that his wicked heart set itself to conspiracy. I don’t believe this story—I think that as soon as the Maharaj heard of Fahim, he craved everything the liberator had as his own. What happened later was already written—we simply didn’t know it yet.

The Maharaj made his way first to his ancestral palace in Lalnipur, where he gathered around him a host of men still loyal to the royal banner, before leading this procession to the capital at Navsari. We were already there, of course, and we had six days’ warning that the Maharaj was advancing on the capital with three thousand men at his back. Whether he meant to parley, to kneel, or to purge us all, we didn’t know.

I remember well the fateful meeting we held, a council of war, in a high-ceilinged room at the old Daryan governor’s palace. The entire provisional cabinet: 11 men, two women. Many of them had served in the liberation struggle alongside us; a handful were newer additions, those who had worked with the colonial authorities yet emerged relatively untarnished.

For the briefest of moments, Fahim and I had the privacy of the antechamber to ourselves just before the meeting was to begin.

“Sir, I wanted to tell you that I will raise the motion to abolish the Maharaj and name you the first President of Andhrapur,” I said. “The council will surely back it, and people will rally behind you. They know who led them to freedom. We have no need to let the Maharaj and his throne endure.”

“You’re not the first to tell me of this,” Fahim said. He may have been about to say something more, but then the other members of the council walked through the door, and the meeting began.

To recount exactly what was said in that meeting over sixty years ago is far beyond this old man’s memory, and I have little desire to slander those who were there, many of them now long dead, by putting words they did not say into their mouths. I and many others argued for confrontation with the Maharaj; while his force was numerous, ours was more battle-hardened, and we could be confident of victory. Having just defeated the Daryans, after all, we felt unstoppable. What is remarkable, and this I remember clear as day, is that Aminul Akther, was among the young hotheads calling for Fahim to declare himself president and kick off a fight with the Maharaj.

Others argued for caution. Some of them were wary of the bloodshed this would surely unleash; skeptical of more war, they argued that the Maharaj could be negotiated into a subordinate position; that shedding more Andhrapuri blood would be a terrible calamity. Some, it is true, were likely sympathizers of the monarchy, who could not stomach taking up arms against the ruler whose ancestors their forefathers for countless generations had worshipped. To them, the Maharaj was Andhrapur. And while the forward-thinking of us shunned this as backwardness, Fahim surely feared that each of their words would be echoed in the hearts of many ordinary Andhrans, and that to declare himself President would tear the country apart. That, I believe, is why Fahim voted the way he did.

I choose not to believe that Fahim Rubel Masud was a coward, that after so much bravery and sacrifice, he shirked from his duty in the moment his country needed him once more. I choose to believe that Fahim, the teacher, the rebel, and the soldier, simply made a miscalculation.

We held a vote: “all those in favor of declaring Fahim Masud as President of Andhrapur?”

I voted yes, of course. Aminul did too. And when the turn came to Fahim, he held out his hands, open-palmed, in the traditional gesture of humility. “I abstain,” he said.

I like to think that in that moment, Fahim meant to rally the undecided councilors behind him. By signaling in that moment that he did not crave power, but would not reject it if thrust upon him, he meant to show that he was a humble man, not a tyrant in the making.

But in that moment, it doomed him. Those wavering saw it as weakness, and the remaining councilors nearly all voted nay, one by one.

We opened negotiations with the Maharaj and his army the next day.

8. Denouement

What happened after that crucial day has been told far better by others than I could retell here. In brief, the diplomats threshed out an agreement that saw the Maharaj returned to his throne and Fahim named as First Secretary, head of the civilian government. The key sticking point was over control of the military; the resulting compromise was distressingly ambiguous in its language.

In these years of fragility, I found myself charged with overseeing the integration of the royalist soldiers and our revolutionaries into a single, united military.

“I need someone I can trust as Inspector-General,” Fahim told me, privately, when he asked me to take on the post. “Someone has to keep the royalists honest.”

As I oversaw rural training camps where our Free Andhrapuri Forces veterans drilled alongside the Maharaj’s men, politics was never far from my thoughts. In these fragile first years of the Andhrapuri Union, I feared that a man like the Maharaj would never be satisfied sharing power with Fahim. Every new program that Fahim’s government announced—restoring the disused Daryan-built factories, the new legal code, land reform—seemed ripe to trigger some kind of reaction from the throne.

As is often the case, the blow from behind is more devastating than the expected blow from the front. March 19th, 1972, two decades after Fahim and I had first fled into the jungle—two of the policemen charged with protecting the First Secretary’s person strolled into Fahim’s office and shot him in the head. It is unknown whether he had any final words.

Within the hour, Aminul Akther sent soldiers loyal to him to seize the radio station and impound Parliament. Fahim Rubel Masud, liberator of Andhrapur, was the sole person to die in that coup. He was only 48.

When the news reached me, hours later, my first thought was that the sinister hand of the Maharaj had put Akther up to this. We would find out decades later, with the testimony of the Maharaj’s private secretary, that I was only half-right: the palace had never thought of using Akther against Fahim before Akther himself reached out, informing the Maharaj of their intentions and asking for their blessing.

Having lived a life defined by ideology, it was hard for me to conceive that someone could turn traitor based off of nothing but jealousy. Fahim likely hadn’t either.

The new First Secretary didn’t carry out the purge of his old comrades that I had expected. Two weeks after the coup, when it had become clear that Akther’s coup was a done deed, I received a missive reassigning me as ambassador to Milintica. This was an exile; the undertone was that remaining in Andhrapur would bring with it far worse consequences.

I was in Milintica, growing more tan in the sun with each passing month of pointless trade delegations and empty, halfhearted galas, when the word came that Aminul Akther—that wretched, traitorous, and above all foolhardy excuse for a man—had paid the price for his own miscalculations. Foolish and unable to rally the public or the Parliament behind him, the palace had struck to install their own man. Soldiers, many of them the same men who had marched on Navsari for the Maharaj after the war, had launched a coup at the palace’s bidding. Aminul Akther met a traitor’s death at their hands a few months later.

And there I was, one of those few still alive who could claim to have truly known Fahim Rubel Masud. Although the faces occupying the role of First Secretary would shuffle frantically over the following years as the Maharaj picked and discarded his favorites, the government in Navsari always took the same view of me: a curiosity, a tie to the old regime both too precious to discard and too worthless to fear. A man in a cage, growing older as my country did, I was marooned in the embassy in Milintica for years and years, where the occasional Andhrapuri traveler whom I hosted for dinner would press me for details on the Liberator I’d known. “Is it true, sir, that you knew Fahim Rubel Masud?”

“Me? I hardly did,” I’d say. “But he was a great man. Greater than any of us still living could ever hope to be.”

I think, often, about the poorer country his death left us—one where the generals are gone but the Maharaj, a new and younger one, remains on his throne; where the dreams of food and health and joy for all are still so very far away. One where every morning I shuffle with my cane past the statue of the Liberator on the street outside my house; the statue I picked because of all the countless ones dotting the capital city, it resembles the man I knew the most.

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  Hello!

Posted by: Federal Republic of Aranaya
12-06-2025, 08:35 PM
Forum: Immigration Bureau
- No Replies

Hi, this is the Second State Secretary, Branch Alliances and Military of the State Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Federal Republic of Aranaya, Savigny Hello!
I Hope I can participate, but be warned, English is Not my mother Language.

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  IDU Advent Calendar 2025

Posted by: Laeral
12-01-2025, 01:48 AM
Forum: IDU Newswire
- Replies (20)

The 2025 IDU Advent Calendar is a roleplay project where participants are assigned to produce an RP article, story, or artifact around a particular theme, to be released on a date between December 1st and Christmas Day, December 25th. This thread will catalogue each day's Advent Calendar contribution. The full release schedule is as follows:

Monday, Dec 1st: Haesan presents "Flight"
Tuesday, Dec 2nd: LOM presents "Spices"
Wednesday, Dec 3rd: Eiria presents "The Crown"
Thursday, Dec 4th: Greater Acadia presents "Blunder"
Friday, Dec 5th: Slokais Islands presents "The Great War"
Saturday, Dec 6th: LOM presents "Constitution"
Sunday, Dec 7th: Lauchenoiria presents "Flesh and Blood"
Monday, Dec 8th: Laeral presents "The Sea"
Tuesday, Dec 9th: LOM presents "Frontier"
Wednesday, Dec 10th: Greater Acadia presents "Snow"
Thursday, Dec 11th: Slokais Islands presents "Electricity"
Friday, Dec 12th: Greater Acadia presents "Commodities"
Saturday, Dec 13th: Slokais Islands presents "Leisure"
Sunday, Dec 14th: Eiria presents "Cloth"
Monday, Dec 15th: Lauchenoiria presents "The Woman of the Future"
Tuesday, Dec 16th: Haesan presents "The Comedian"
Wednesday, Dec 17th: Laeral presents "Young and Reckless"
Thursday, Dec 18th: Laeral presents "Cherries"
Friday, Dec 19th: Lauchenoiria presents "Tryst"
Saturday, Dec 20th: Eiria presents "The Wedding"
Sunday, Dec 21st: Laeral presents "Abstain"
Monday, Dec 22nd: Haesan presents "False Witness"
Tuesday, Dec 23rd: Slokais Islands presents "The Wise Men"
Wednesday, Dec 24th: Eiria presents "The Angels"
Thursday, Dec 25th: Lauchenoiria presents "Brotherhood/Sisterhood"

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  Soundtracks of the IDU

Posted by: Xiomera
10-19-2025, 08:06 PM
Forum: Fun & Games
- Replies (4)

If you ever wondered what music summed up nations of the IDU, here's the place to start. This thread is a place to post music that inspires your vision of your nation, describes it, or just portrays moments in your citizens' lives.

I'm kicking this off with this little number that sums up the mindset of your average Imperial Police officer, Imperial Security agent or analyst, XCP member, or other servants of the Xiomeran Empire.


Lyrics:

They see me strolling in my uniform
Acting like they seen a ghost
Wish I could tell 'em that I mean no harm
I wouldn't want to lose my post
It's risky returning to my stomping ground
After giving 'em a guarantee
That I'd never do anything so profound
As become the enemy

But I used to be weak (Weary of the wise)
Used to let my life get the best of me
(Then I was given a choice)
And it was easy to see, all I needed was a little bit of power

Now anybody with their head on straight
Could see me coming miles away
But I never expected I'd get so much hate
For putting people in their place
It would be difficult to find
Something in mind we couldn't do
To anyone who gives as much as a dirty look
Don't make it you

But we used to be weak (Weary of the wise)
Used to let our lives keep us in the weeds
We were given a choice
And it was easy to see what we needed
What we need is power
So we don't have to think about a thing
So we can bring you all to your knees
We can keep you from forgetting
We got the power to get away with anything
Over and over again

Three days straight seeing monochrome
Fuse is used, ready to blow
Called on to be vicious
Callous and expeditious
Well, I can't tell when I last slept
And though my conscience is a bit unkempt
Well, it's no bother, I can just forget
And never bother with a bit of it again

If my morals seem a bit mislaid
It might be easy to forget
If I ever tried to disobey
You're probably gonna find me dead

Power!

What we need is power
So we don't have to think about a thing
So we can bring you all to your knees
We can keep you from forgetting
We've got the power to get away with anything
Over and over again

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  You Get What You Vote For

Posted by: Lauchenoiria
08-16-2025, 11:15 PM
Forum: International Affairs
- Replies (1)

If an establishment politician walked into a meeting of Zongongia’s five-party coalition, they would likely have required medical attention for shock. This was not a government run by professionals, or people with any kind of experience. Generally, when a leader is so wildly new to the world of politics, there is at least a couple of advisers who understand proper procedure. And, granted, it was not like the coalition could not access such advice – they just generally rejected it.
 
Helga Wuopio (Republic Now), Anja Aalto (Communist), Alexandra Pentti (Women Rising), Jacob Johansen (Green Ecology) and Emma Storstrand (Tomorrow Party) sat around a circular table watching each other uneasily.
 
“You’re freaking insane,” Johansen snapped at Pentti, only he didn’t say ‘freaking’.
 
“And you’re a misogynistic pig,” Pentti retorted.
 
“You’d call anyone with a single facial hair a misogynistic pig,” Johansen rolled his eyes.
 
“Comrades!” Aalto scolded. “We must figure out what to do if the crown-wearer decides to act against us.” She said the latter as if it was a slur.
 
“There is a fine tradition of beheading monarchs,” Pentti shrugged.
 
“Not in the twenty-first century,” pointed out Storstrand.
 
“There are other parts we could chop off,” Pentti said hopefully.
 
“Rocks, I cannot deal with this,” muttered Wuopio, the Prime Minister. Louder, she added “if the Royals defy the public vote, the international community will not stand for it. I do not think a single one of our direct neighbours – despite their differences with each other – would side with the Royals. To Lauchenoiria and Greater Acadia, they are an anachronism; and to Kerlile they are governed by male primogeniture, which is practically a deadly sin. The Royals know this; they are unlikely to try anything violent.”
 
“What about non-violent?” Storstrand asked. “I agree that civil war would be unlikely, but I would not rule out attempts at rigging votes.”
 
“Our ballots have always had excellent security,” Wuopio replied. “With everything being on paper, hacking is impossible. And international observers are welcome, should any wish to come.”
 
“With everything being on paper, it is virtually impossible to detect if tampering occurred,” Storstrand countered. “It is, frankly, primitive.”

“And bad for the environment,” Johansen piped up. “Though I can’t say the sourcing of computer chips has been much better. Everything seems bad for the environment,” he added glumly.
 
“I’m with the Prime Minister here,” Pentti shrugged. “It’s way more effort to rig a paper ballot than hack an electronic one.”
 
“You would know, being a Kerlian spy,” Johansen retorted. “And I bet you just said that to disagree with me!”
 
“Before you two get started again,” Aalto interrupted quickly, “I don’t think paper-vs-electronic is the big question here. If we keep our eye on known monarchists it won’t matter.”
 
“She has a point,” Storstrand added. “Alas, under present Zongongian law, such a thing would not be legal.”
 
“We’re the government, we can change that,” shrugged Pentti.
 
“You misunderstand democracy, gynarchist,” Johansen snapped. “We can’t just ‘change that’ on a whim. We govern with the consent of the people.”
 
“Stop speaking over me!” Pentti shouted, even though Johansen had not, in fact, spoken over her.
 
“Oh my rocks, how about this: we invite international observers, then if they see anything dodgy they will say something. Get some from monarchies, from republics, from communist and capitalist countries, from Kerlile and Novella Islands and any other specific requests! It’s clear we cannot figure a fool-proof situation, so why not outsource the problem?”
 
“If we get observers from a wide range of countries, it may well work. As long as people can trust they won’t have their own agendas,” Johansen mused.
 
“Or that their agendas are opposed, so that if they agree it is clearly not ideological,” Storstrand agreed.
 
“As long as you do indeed include Kerlile,” Pentti said pointedly.
 
“And somewhere sympathetic to communism,” added Aalto.
 
“Very well. Observers we shall have,” Wuopio concluded, ending the meeting.

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  Tales of Kingdoms and Empires

Posted by: Slokais
07-09-2025, 09:00 PM
Forum: International Affairs
- No Replies

The year is 1700, the dawn of a new century. This land, which is just now coming to be known as the Slokais, is divided. The great trade empire, Pindai, has prospered for over 6th centuries with a system of trade and tribute states stretching across the region. In the east, the great empire of Ambonar is currently in the process of spiritual revival under a self-proclaimed messiah. His people, the Ambonar, are quickly becoming isolationist, and the empire may soon fall to this radical form of Christianity. In the south, Kaijan, founded by Arabic traders from the Nerian continent, is a thriving center of academic and learning, yet has seen social upheaval and threats to the dynasty that brought Islam to the region. And finally, the great Empire from across the ocean. They came in ships, they planted massive crosses, and spoke an unknown language. Yet in just over a century, they have begun to transition from friendly neighbors to possible overlords.

March 8th, 1700
Caoxi Region, Pindai

The shadows were long across the valley, a fact of the nature of the narrow mountains which acted as home for the people of Mansugia, a town built by the Arkon'ah ethnic group. A hundred generations ago, as legend tells, a man came down from the hills, saw the valley, and simply decided right then it would be his home. There were several dozen homesteads clustered together around a small temple, which also acted as a gathering space. Today, as the frosts of winter began to fade, the people of Mansugia gathered again.

“There’s the town,” Gao Xueqin said. He was appointed commissioner of Mansugia, not from the village but rather a servant of the Caoxi Region, which was itself a servant of the Pindai State. Gao had been born in Caoxi, a walled city on the coast about a full day’s horse ride away from here. Wishing to be a civil servant and a small fish in the big pond of Pindai, he had left home, only to be right back here at the orders of the Ministry of Lands and Gamekeepers. The Arkon’ah had been subjected hundreds of years ago by the blade of Pindai horsemen, yet remained fairly free. All Caoxi and by extension, Pindai asked was for a seasonal tribute of rice, and an allocation of wood. Yet this time, Pindai had a much bigger demand of the people of Mansugia.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Francisco Mallen said, in his native Spanish. Gao had partly been assigned this role due to his study of the language and achieved a mark of certification in his civil service exam. Francisco Mallen was born in 1678 to an indigenous mother and a Costenoian father in a similar-looking valley near Ciudad San Fernando. He had helped his Mescaldo family out around the farm, cleaning the livestock stables, and exchanging their excess goods at the market. Yet as a Mescaldo person, there were limited opportunities. Seen as an outsider by Costenoians, yet a traitor to his own indigenous ancestors. Francisco joined a local militia, where, eventually, after some other jobs ended up in service of the San Fernando Lumber Company, as a corporate security officer.

“Indeed, I believe the company office will look good right there,” said Madame Marina Montes, pointing from atop her carriage. Her assistant was carefully writing it down quickly. Marina Montes was the wife of Alejandro Montes, head of the SFLC’s operations in the Caoxi Region. She lived in a large colonial house in the San Gabriel district of Caoxi, which was home to the growing Costenoian community and was situated close to the docks. Marina would often sit outside her bedroom and watch with binoculars the ship coming into harbor. More and more, they were carrying goods from faraway lands. Partly as an act of charity and partly to occupy herself, Marina Montes had begun working as a teacher at a local girls' boarding school. Teaching a classroom of mostly Indigenous children whose parents worked in the docks, Marina not only taught reading, writing, and arithmetic, but in her eyes, “good skills”. The pleasantries she had learned as a little girl back in the green fields of Costeno, she was now teaching to a generation of girls.

Behind this initial friendly trio were two dozen or so working men of the SFLC. They were tasked with acting as security and protection for now, yet hard-working loggers in the future. The hills of Caoxi, which would one day be called North Acadia, were stocked full of timber. In a region of so many islands, and when shipping and the sea were major assets, the timber trade was massive. While the Arkon’ah used timber for their homes, they had little large-scale usage of the product. Of the two dozen, most were either Costeno and Mesitzo young men from the San Fernando Valley; however, there were a few exceptions. Moussa Diaz, who was born in San Fernando however was not born free. His mother had been born in Kolda and had been enslaved in war. After a long voyage across the ocean, she was sold off to a wealthy family in San Fernando. The Diaz family, who had given their last name, yet as an act of charity, let their mother give their son a Koldan name. Just a few years prior to the death of the family matriarch, he had freed him of his servitude. Moussa had left immediately and bounced around from job to job before settling in to work as part of the SFLC. It had allowed him to see a world beyond San Fernando, and for that, Moussa was grateful.

Another exception was Raharjoro, an imposing woodcutter from the hills of Ambonar. He had come to San Fernando in 1695 with hopes of earning money for his family. A recent convert to Christianity, he watched as the people around him became obsessed with the new Ambonar Church of God. Sri Darma had purged non-Christians from his court in 1690, and in response, his followers began to turn against the Minjian faithful and Muslims. Rahajororo believed violence was unnecessary, although he was grateful for Christianity to begin to take hold.

Gao held out his hand to greet the village chief, a man named Lom-ahn. Lom-ahn was a simple farmer by trade; he continued to work the fields despite his advanced age and position. Providing for his six children and over a dozen grandchildren in their fairly large two-story wood home situated halfway up the hillside. Within Mansugia, the higher the elevation, the greater the status. Lom-ahn had inherited the position from his uncle, who had gifted his home high upon the ridge. It was actually Lom-ahn's granddaughter, Dwaia, who had spotted the group behind the expected Gao Xueqin. From there, she alerted Lom-ahn, who had been writing poetry.
“There’s a group of people coming in, Costeno’s. Some with axe’s” she said to her grandfather.
Lom-ahn set down his quill.
“Gao was supposed to come, although I guess he isn’t just looking for our rice surplus,” Lom-ahn said as he stood up. His son, Kombari-ahn, approached.
“What father?”
“Gao has brought a little more than just tax and payment records. Tell the people, we shall meet him head-on.”
Lom-ahn walked down the steep street, which formed the spine of the village, Dwaia in tow.
“What were you writing about, grandfather?”
“The end of winter, the start of spring. It’s a time of beauty, yet also a return of hard work. The end of cold days, yet the start of the hot ones are near”
“I see, good coming in with the bad?”
“Yes, in fact, that may be a good way to describe the group you saw,” Lom-ahn said, as a group of villagers had already gathered.

Gao stood next to Francisco, who was almost a foot taller than him.
“Does he know our language?” Lom-ahn asked in the local dialect of Mandarin
“He knows some basic Pindai phrases,” Gao said.
Francisco nodded ,“Hello, good to meet you” he said in Pindai Mandarin
“Let’s get to business, what is the meaning of this intrusion?” Lom-ahn asked
“Nothing, much,” Gao said as he tapped on the fancy wood carriage behind him
“Señora Montes, we are here.”
Out of the carriage stepped Senora Montes and her assistant, a Ren woman named Jia. In her arms, Jia held a large scroll. Montes held out her hand to Lom-ahn, who refused and instead bowed halfway.
“Ah, I see. Not baptized, I assume.”
“Actually, some have converted in the last few years," Gao said in Spanish
“Did I ask for your comment? You are here only by the order of the Pindai Trade Office”.
“Sorry, Señora,” Gao said.

Lom-Ahn stood there waiting for the two to finish their conversation, their words like gibberish to him.
“My question, still stands” he reminded Gao
“Indeed,” Gao said, walking over to receive the large scroll from Jia.
Gao read it for a second.
“Oh…”
“Let me read it, you are no help” Marina said

“By the order of the Pindai Trade Office, in association with the Caoxi Land Bureau. The land of Mansugia shall be transferred as of January 1st, 1700 to the ownership of the San Fernando Lumber Company for the purposes of industrial extraction. This transaction shall be overseen by the Masugia Land Commissioner, and thus from here forward the SFLC has full developmental and land authority over all lands within Mansugia, with the Masugia Land Commission being dissolved. Any attempts to prevent the implementation of this order will be a defilement of authority of the Caoxi Region and the Pindai State.”

Lom-ahn still looked confused.
“Translation, Gao” Lom-ahn
“Both of you” Gao sighed
“Essentially, I no longer have a job because your land is now property of the San Fernando Lumber Company, which wishes to complete logging operations. However, they do not seek to displace you from the land.”
“Was the second part in that scroll?” Lom-ahn said his anger clear in his voice
“No,” Gao said weakly
Lom-ahn spat at the ground. “Curses, upon your people, foreign women,” he said, looking at Marina.
Francisco stepped forward, his hand growing closer to his sword. Behind him, the people of Masugia grew alarmed, some drawing their wooden spears, some had small firearms.
“Hold on,” Gao said
“He spat at me, the bastard,” Marina yelled
The crowd of villagers grew restless, and some yelled back.
“What are they saying?” Francisco asked Gao
“Nothing worth repeating”
“Things seem to be getting out of hand. Should I tell the woodcutters to come up and protect Senora Marina?”
“No, I don’t want a fight here,” Gao said
“Seems to be out of the question,” Francisco said as a villager threw a stone at the carriage. It pinged harmlessly off the edge, although it scared the horses enough that they nearly kicked Senora Marina.
“Enough, arrest the man who spat at me,” she yelled at Francisco.

He looked back toward the group of wood cutters who were just standing in the road, looking uneasy as farmers from further fields began to draw closer. Moussa and the others quickly moved up their axes, still on their back, but their small swords were at the ready. Jia turned to the men as they approached the commotion.
“Take the leader, he is wearing the red hat.”
Raharjoro turned to Moussa
“Didn’t think I was fighting today.”
“We should move forward. Just don’t engage,” Moussa said.
The woodcutters formed a line, extending their swords forward.
“It has come to this, Gao?” Lom-ahn yelled, stepping in front of the crowd.
“Not my order, not Caoxi’s, not Pindai, but from San Fernando.”
“So you are what, a triple sellout?” Lom-ahn said, approaching closer to the line of woodcutters
They then parted around, allowing Francisco to rush forward and tackle Lom-ahn.

“Grandfather!” Dwaia exclaimed. The villagers rushed forward.
“Get back,” Rahajoro yelled in Mandarin.
“Fall back,” Francisco said as he dragged the chief to his feet, his hands tied behind him. Marina and Jia returned to their carriage with Gao in tow. He then stuck his head out the top.
“Bastard,” Dwaia yelled, nailing him in the center of his forehead.

The group did return to Caoxi, and Lom-ahn was thrown in jail, his cell window with just enough of a view of the mountains for him to long for home. The Prince of Caoxi would soon rally a larger force, and in just a few months’ time, Mansugia was under the ownership of the SFLC. Gao would end up with a concussion and a permanent mark on his head. Kombari-ahn would take over from his father as chief, yet Dwaia would be remembered for her defiance. Yet soon, she would be forced to attend a local Catholic school. All those who were present would remember how a simple lack of translation and a sign of disrespect had led to such chaos.

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  1. IDU Regional Forum