• The local time in Ixnay is

Artist's romantic rendering of the first meeting between Corumm and the natives of Punth.

Eastern border of Cotis, Punth:

The road going east off Cotis proper was a sorry thing, more of a trail than a true road, more suited for pack animals than the tank column now making its way through the thick vegetation. Fucking Conglomo was always cutting corners, the road's surface felt as solid as soggy bread.

Cernan Hortez, mercenary, adventurer and thrice convicted arsonist was in overall command of the column. 4500 Corummese troops, 600 of Cernan's own 'associates' and a few native guides embarked on a journey of bloody retribution and legendary glory. A few well greased palms at the Ministry of War back in Mirzak had seen Hortez placed in charge of the operation, officially due to his 'vast experience with the natives'. That is to say the rape of native women and the theft of their gold jewelry.

The mission was simple enough: the natives were to learn what happened when they strayed into Corummese territory. Fifteen villages were to be punished, an arbitrary quota determined by some pencil pusher at the Ministry. Easy peasy.

'Take it slow Chechi, the village is not going anywhere' Hortez told the driver and relaxed on his seat, taking out the newest number of 'The Lusty Hekuvian Maid', a wildly popular publication between men of action like himself. He was almost asleep when someone poked him harshly on the shoulder, 'Boss, we're here'

Tossing the naughty exploits of 'The Lusty Hekuvian Maid' into the backseat, Hortez climbed out of the jeep to survey the area. The village was medium sized, with a road leading into a central square of sorts. A few stone buildings ringed the square and the rest of the buildings seemed to be huts made of mud and other low quality materials. Fields being worked by natives surrounded the entire village.

'I bet they keep the good stuff in one of those stone temples, alright boys move in, kill all the men and any women that resist. Our target is those stone buildings in the middle, for Corumm!'

The farming plots soon turned into a blood-stained killing field, with dozens of natives gunned down as they tried to escape. As the Corummese advanced, a group of men with feathered shields and spears came running from the village and tried a desperate charge. They never even got close, torn apart by gunfire and exploding tank rounds. The battle was soon over.

Hortez gave the men permission to claim the spoils of victory, thus they proceeded to ransack the houses and to force themselves on the women. He ordered a pair to hoist a Corummese flag on top of the stone temple before entering it. It was darker than he expected but he could make out weird carvings on the walls, they seemed to depict some dark sacrifices to some animal god. As Hortez moved forward a man jumped from the shadows in front of him.

Face painted and wearing many trinkets, a priest of sorts to be sure. He spoke in the strange tongue of the land and seemed to be warning Hortez not to go further. Undaunted, the brave adventurer brandished his pistol and shot the savage priest on the neck. He finally got to a type of altar and lying on top of it he saw what he had come for, his eyes opening wide in delight.

All manner of artifacts wrought from gold and precious stones lay before him, great golden vases and necklaces inlaid with jade, masks and ceremonial knifes with gems on the hilts, gold shaped like snakes and birds and terrifying idols. Only a small sample of the Teohuxul wealth that waited to be claimed by him.

As usual given their savage and superstitious nature, the natives have created a new deity, Techiconzin, to embody the unstoppable Corummese tide that is sweeping their civilization aside.

Southern Teohuxul, Punth:
It was the seventh town they assaulted, it happened in a similar manner to the previous six. Mass murder of the men, rape of the women and general looting of the area. Cernan Hortez had taken the largest home as his temporary headquarters.

'Boss, hey Boss wake up, some savages came with gifts'

Only a sharp jab to the ribs got Cernan Hortez to stir awake from his placid and drunken sleep. Exotic looted jewelry clung to him like golden armor and he wore some sort of crown made from beautiful green feathers over his helmet, such as those worn by Teohuxul rulers.

'What the fuck Chachi, why did you wake me you shit'

'I fucking told you, some indians want to talk to you. They brought gold.'

Well why didn't you say that in the first place you idiot, lets go.

Hortez marched outside, still not completely sober. As Chachi had said, six men in tunics of varied colors waited close by surrounded by his men. Each of them carried a small box with glinting gold inside. Hortez snapped his fingers to summon his translator. Good lad, Hortez had almost ordered him run over with a tank but decided on the shrewd move to make him work for them instead.

The gist of the conversation that followed was simple: the city state of Oztoman these guys represented would help Hortez in his virtuous campaign with warriors, supplies and gold in exchange for his protection and help in conquering the rival city of Tacopan. Up to 100,000 warriors could be supplied, a very sizable fodder force.

'I accept your offer, noble savages. The great city of Oztoman is now under the invincible protection of myself and the Republic of Corumm. You will now lead us from this place to the city where we shall muster our forces to do battle with the mortal enemy of all that is righteous and holy. Chachi get the men ready to move.

Things were going better than expected, with the support of Oztoman he could now greatly expand the aim of his expedition. No longer content with pillaging outlying settlements, but now hellbent on the outright conquest of Teohuxul.

The great metropolis of Oztoman, as it was before the Great Sacking

Oztoman, Punth: The Corummese expeditionary force, or the 'Army of Conquest' as it was affectionately called back home advanced at a good pace towards the great metropolis of Oztoman. Accompanied by a small party of their native 'allies', they navigated the jungle through roads that clearly saw plenty of traffic. When at last they arrived below the stone walls of the city, they were quite impressed with how tall and sturdy they were.

Clearly these savages were more advanced than previously thought.

A huge reception had been organized for them, complete with cheering crowds. The Corummese pretended they were on parade back in Mirzak and happily marched down the wide avenue that led to the all important temple district. Cernán was to meet with the political and religious leadership under the watchful eyes of Oztoman's god of law. Such foolish superstition.

Luckily the meeting took place at the base of the temple and not at the top which would have forced them to climb hundreds of steps. Hortez and his translator approached the royal party of King Motenzincotl. The king was a middle aged man with light brown skin and of stocky build. He wore a richly embroidered tunic, plain sandals and a small golden crown adorned with feathers and green gems.

This is rough transcript of their conversation, aided by the translator:
C:"I greet you as a friend, oh great sovereign of wondrous Oztoman. I am Cernán Hortez and represent the great nation far across the sea, which so fervently desires your friendship and support. May we have the hospitality of your kingdom?"
M:"I greet you and welcome you into my city and my people's hearts, Great Conqueror. Your exploits spread far away throughout the country and we have much desire to speak of these and other things with you. You are our honored guests and may walk freely in our city. We have prepared a great celebration in your honor."
C:"My thanks for your hospitality, Peerless One. This shall be a celebration fitting to our great friendship."

And so it came to pass that Corummese and Oztomani marched in a great, celebrating crowd to the great plaza. Almost the entirety of the noble, warrior and priestly castes were in attendance as well as throngs of middle class commoners and servants. Food and drink flowed like rivers, troupes of artists and actors reenacted the great Oztomani myths of creation and servants rushed all around to fulfill every request.

Cernán ordered the casks of 'Mekis', a dangerously strong Corummese liquor to be brought for the delight of his hosts. He had learned from previous contacts that these indians were unaccustomed to such strong drink and could be relied to become exceedingly drunk after only one or two glasses.Wanting to avoid offending the Corummese and eager to partake of this new and mysterious liquid, the Oztomani happily drank. An hour later 3/4ths of the Oztomani's present were too drunk to stand.

Now Cernán signaled his quite sober men to take positions at all the entryways to the great gathering place. Hortez then pulled his gun out, smashed King Motenzincotl on the side of the head with it and dragged him towards the west entrance. The 'Army of Conquest' now started valiantly shooting every indian in sight, the Oztomani ruling class now too drunk to run or fight. Screams of terror, pain and rage mixed with the sound of machine gun fire and explosions.

Tales of men and women sodomized with assault rifles and machetes, of people crushed under the wheels of tanks or being force fed fragmentation grenades during the incident would later spread. But such accounts are obviously despicable falsehoods and Urcean propaganda.

The Oztomani had brought it upon themselves really, when they offered alliance and foolishly thought themselves equals of the Republic. Their hubris was seen as an affront back in Mirzak and the orders that came were unequivocal: Crush the arrogant dogs.

After the bloodbath subsided, Oztoman found itself firmly under Republican control.

Oztoman: The day after the liberation of Oztoman from its oppressive and backwards ruling class, former King Motenzincotl was bound from hands and feet and thrown down the thousands of steps of the largest pyramid. The remaining Oztomanis were forcefully gathered and made to see as their 'divine' ruler tumbled down and his head repeatedly bounced on the chiseled stone. Proud Motenzincotl was a bloody ruin and long dead when he finally tumbled to the base of the pyramid.

The city's survivors were divided in two groups, one would stay to clean the many corpses littering the streets and the other would be given rudimentary weapons and serve the Army of Conquest as fodder on the assault on Tacopan further to the north. Mirzak was pleased with his handling of Oztoman defiance and numerous reinforcements were airlifted, he now had artillery to blow up the thick stone walls of the natives.

A few weeks later

Outside Tacopan, northern Teohuxul
Tacopan looked pretty much the same as Oztoman did, a large city ringed by a massive stone wall. The wall was manned by warriors wearing ridiculous hats shaped like animal heads, smug and defiant atop their rocky perch.

"Blow some holes into that pitiful wall"

A sound like a great thunder erupted as the artillery fired on the walls, immediately collapsing great chunks of it. Hortez could see the mangled bodies of the defenders as they flailed in the air, the limbs blown away in bloody chunks or crushed by the falling stones.

As soon as the dust cleared, the Oztomani survivors were made to rush into the openings driven by fear of reprisal and vague promises of regaining their lost freedom. Of course this all had little tactical value, the tanks could just drive into the city and blow everyone up. But the spectacle of the desperate savages trying to fight their way in was good for morale.

Hortez burst into laughter after a boy using a twig as a club was skewered on the neck with a spear by a warrior double his size.

Ohohohaha did you guys see that, he almost decapitated the kid. Ahh but this indulgence of ours is taking too long, I think its time we give them a hand. Ready the sarin now, Chachi fetch my gas mask please.

Three mobile missile batteries lumbered into plain view. Missiles carrying the mortal chemical streaked over the ruined walls and straight into the packed streets. After prudently waiting 15 minutes, the Corummese started moving in. The city was utterly silent save for a few people who still twitched and spasmed their way into the grave. There was also a lot of shit and piss as the sarin caused the dastardly indians to lose control of their bodily functions, the stench was quite poignant indeed.

"My friends today we are heroes, we have won the day for the Republic!"
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When the news broke about the slaughter, so did the humanity.

All of them cried, thunderous tears erupting. Hell's tears streamed down their stone cheeks, collapsing under the pressure of sadness. They crying grew louder and louder, and relentlessly streamed; there was no silence, no subtle reprieve. The tears did and would not stop until they believed it was righteous, justice for the clandestine turncoats who sunk to puerile murder. Joy and humanity had evaporated, unlike there tears. That was the only thing left; the endless wailing, and eternal, embittered sadness that only saw the lives of those slaughtered viciously killed in their sleep.

Night came. They did not rest, nor did they flinch. Sleep was for the content. The world had gone gray and featureless, details a distant memory of the past. The stars could not be seen, twinkling years in the past. The moon had taken an absence. You couldn't hear the moans anymore. Everything and everyone had gone deaf.

When morning came, the sun struggled to pierce through the new world that emanated bitterness and vengeance. It didn't get through until past-noon, when the grayness retreated to the ground among the dust of the colossal stone walls that once stood before them. Once, there was a city. All that remained, too, was the dust of large pyramids and forums. A weird, eerie silence fell upon death ears. No one was stunned, or questioning. They set down their weapons and ventured into the dust, stepping over specks of white. This was, too, a new world.

They continued on; nothing would stand in their way. True justice was still hadn't been reached, nor would they feel it would. More tears came, and more 'victories' too. The fishing village was obliterated, and more walls feel to them. The Sabnaki disappeared, turning from person to dust like the cities before them. They hid, but, there was no where to hide in the land of plains. Even if it was the densest jungle, they would be sniffed and snuffed out.

Everytime they stopped with their tears, they came with their fists. Exploring the remains of cities that existed hours before, the rooted out what remained. They did spare a few, only to run messages all around. It wouldn't matter. They were without reprieve.

Cotugaxal, Preqzal, Untaxal, and Quegazatxl feel in bombardments that lasted hours upon hours, even if they surrendered when they saw the army approach.

There wouldn't be any mercy.

It wasn't until the next week that the soldiers collapsed into their human ways. It was short stop, and nothing would come of the short peace. It was only breathing time where the breaths would grow shorter.
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The Gerrisberg Incident

War is still Bloody War, That won't change.

-Mariengate Territorial News-

[Excerpt] In the most recent attack from the Triple Alliance, 400 Kuhlfrosian colonials were slaughtered in the colony town of Gerrisberg, while 200 more are now being held hostage. The largest assault on Mariengate since its creation, Governor Jethro Hanson was quoted "Greatest atrocity commited on Mariengate soil, as my predecessor had said, action must be made, and now is the time to make our move..." [End]

The Triple Alliance one of the native civilizations on Punth, is actually a confederacy of three native groups that joined together after the landings on Punth, for years, Kuhlfrosians tried to make peaceful cooperation and trade, even selling civilian grade firearms to help them hunt. However after a new chieftain took complete control of the alliance, that had all changed, as the native warriors, a mixture of modern and ancient time-old weapon carriers attacked the borders of Mariengate. Burning thier towns and kidnapping their people. This last atrocity has become the final straw for the Republic of Kuhlfros.

The Triple alliance, recently defeated by the Corummese, have joined forces with the Majokee Tribe, and in response the Kuhlfrosian Military has deployed the 31st, 45th, and 117th Mechanized Infantry Division, the 67th and 12th Armored Division, and the 19th Air Wing and 23rd Battle fleet along Mariengate and New South Rexheim, moving into the Triple Alliance and Majokee territory, So far no major battle or skirmishes have occured, and Colonists are quickly following the path the military makes to settle more lands.
Tlaxteco, Triple Alliance

From his camp in the foothills of the Southern Invicti, as Levantian cartographers had begun designating them on maps in homage to the grand peaks of Kuhlfros, Macféden could see the city of Tlaxteco in the crook of a bend in the Green River. Takuyah, his translator, had called it a city, but it was more of a town even by Macféden's frontier standards, and certainly much smaller than the grand cities that the Corummese had sacked further south. Arapako, chief of the Ramakee, uttered something in the pesante andante prosody of the Maïokee tongue. After what Macféden had learnt to roughly recognise as a sentence, Takuyah began to translate: "My men await your signal to take their positions, White Honey Badger."

Macféden couldn't help but grin at the apellation that the Maïokee had given him as a testament to his stoïcism under fire and his fighting spirit. "Lead your men, Arapako. Delight at last in victory."

The Ramakee were a Maïokee tribe who lived on both sides of the Green River pass. Takuyah had told him that for over a century they had been raided by the Triple Alliance for tribute, slaves, and sacrificial victims. A thirst for vengeance, good knowledge of the land, and centuries of fighting for survival made the Ramakee natural allies in the fight against the Alliance, and their chiefs did not hesitate to pledge fealty to Macféden after his men demonstrated what effect their rifles and grenades would have on their oppressors. All across northern Punth, Macféden's Rangers had been travelling from chiefdom to chiefdom with Punthite Catholic translators from Irasúcróva explaining the strategic situation at hand. The tribes could allow themselves to be overrun by Triple Alliance raiders, increasingly desperate and vicious as a result of the Corummese depredations, the Corummese themselves, or the colonial juggernaut that was the Kiravian Federacy. Or, alternatively, they could pledge allegiance to the Federacy, sew saltires into the cantons of their tribal banners, and take up arms. Those tribes whose loyalty could be depended upon were trusted with rifles and trained by Rangers, while others would have to prove their loyalty in battle.

The Maïokee were a simple people, and despite inhabiting the warmest lands in Punth, they had a population density so low that Coscivians had been able to settle among them with minimal conflict. On Irasúcróva Island, the Maïokee population was actually growing as the Jesuits taught the aboriginals how to produce more food on less land. The Triple Alliance, however, was a very different society, heavily urbanised for its level of technology and much more centralised in its politics than the disparate chiefdoms of the Maïokee. If Macféden were a scholar of political development, he might attribute this to the Triple Alliance's geographic circumscription by high mountain ranges and deep river valleys, and more productive volcanic soils. But as a pioneer and a soldier, he saw only the lay of the land as it stood now and how it might be made to change. On the banks of the Archangel River, the Maïokee could easily be cordoned off into reservations, displaced where necessary, or even bred with, as a few lonesome men in the more remote outposts had begun to discover. But Tlaxteco was too large to be moved or miscegnated away. If the strategic Green River was to be brought under Kiravian control, it would have to be taken by force.

That force comprised some 7,500 Kiravian Army regulars, 237 of Macféden's own Porfírian Rangers, and 5,000 Maïokee volunteers. From Vómrasar, New Intravia's capital and principal port, an even larger army of Regulars, Sydona state guard, New Intravian militia, and Maïokee was marching south, not to reïnforce Macféden but to subjugate the remaining Maïokee. From Porfíria and the eastern Levantian colonies, several divisions were preparing to do the same. Northern Punth would soon be as firmly under Kiravian control as the northern island continent that its cool and forested climes so closely resembled. All that remained was to set well-laid plans into motion.

From his precipice, Macféden watched the unsuspecting town through his binoculars as unit after unit radioëd to indicate that they were in position. Ramokee and Rangers lay in wait in the bluffs that hemmed in the north and east of the town, while Kiravian regulars were posted in forest land on the opposite bank of the river, with just over a kilometre of fields separating them from Tlaxteco. Krummavísur, Macféden's second-in-command, called in from the bluffs: "We're delta."

"Go," said Macféden calmly.

On the bluffs, Krummavísur shouted to his men, "Vanig, vanig, vanig!" The Rangers moved quickly and silently from where they had crouched behind bushes of juniper and eldeberry, and began down the enscarpment with an air of both haste and cool professionalism. The Ramokee, on the other hand, raced forward with reckless abandon, war-whooping and bellowing the names of their ancestors and those they had lost to Alliance raids. Endown with the illusion of invincibility by their modern weapons, the Ramakee made no pretense of stealth, and it was a mere twenty seconds before volleys of arrows sailed towards the bluffs. The Rangers took cover and those arrows that made their mark could not hope to prevail against their kevlar body-armour. The leather-clad Ramakee were less fortunate, but though many fell, they descended swiftly and once they reached the valley floor plenty remained to rush toward the city walls, guns blazing. Sharp popping noises indicated where bullets lodged themselves into the mud-brick walls, and groans of anguish indicated where they lodged themselves into the flesh of Tlaxtec defenders. As the defenders were picked off, Rangers affixed explosives to the town's wooden gate, which detonated with an impressive sound, sending a spray of flaming splinters airborne and allowing bands of Ramakeeto pour through. The Ramakee were now beginning to feel the effects of the ikbala herb that they had ingested before battle, which induced a beserker-like state of violent frenzy. They tore through the streets gunning down their enemies, hacking, scalping, and burning, while the Kiravians dispatched the warriors that remained on the walls and began firing into the town from above. Those who tried to flee over the river were quickly met with fire from the advancing regulars and forced back into the city.

Once the surviving Tlaxtec had been rounded up outside the city's temple, the Kiravian saltire was hoisted atop it, with the Ramokee banner beneath. Macféden, who had come down from the cliffs to survey his new conquest, stood on the pagan altar with Takuyah at his side, and bellowed out to the defeated crowd: "You have seen the terror that Kiravia unleashes upon its enemies and upon the enemies of its friends. You have reaped what your raids against the Ramokee and Mariengate have sown for you, but you shall also see our mercy. Chief Arapako has asked to slaughter your men and enslave your women and children in return for what you have done to his people, and by all rights I should let him. But I will not. Your men shall become our prisoners for a term of one year and serve us in the north, but your women and children may flee. Go to the other cities and tell them what has happened here. Tell them that the Kiravians and the Maïokee have come to exact revenge, and that when we come to their gates, we will come not only with our lead arrows, but with steel ones that level entire cities with a single shot. Fire will rain from the skies and the air itself will become poison over those who resist. Let them know that they can face destruction at our hands or those of the Corummese, of whom your kinsmen have told you, or they can choose to surrender their arms and depart for the South with their lives."

In the coming days, Macféden's column marced down the Green River toward the southern boundary of the Triple Alliance. Most of the villages were abandoned before they arrived or surrendered on sight, though a few larger towns chose to resist and were destroyed from above as promised by bombers flying south from aircraft carriers north of New Intravia. Soon, the strategic Green River Valley would be in Kiravian hands, as would the vast Maïokee lands of the north. Soon Macféden's army would move East towards the Kuhlfrosians who were likely enjoying similar success, pressing ever closer until the Triple Alliance became the newest state to suffer the penalty for defiance to LOTA.


Colonel Qaatz sat in his makeshift office among stacks of reports, maps, and paperwork. Piles of paper stacked high on the wooden crates and pallets that he was using as temporary tables. They made their landing in a small cove 3 days ago and all the supplies were still being unloaded, starting with defenses. Punth could be a dangerous place and his office's furniture was deemed non-essential.

He commanded the newly created "1st Punthian Infantry" which was sent to establish a port on the Punthian coast and work with the locals.

Contact with the natives was difficult to establish, however. They spotted several large groups in the area on the first day but they fled almost immediately. In the following days several natives were spotted hiding in the woods, observing the Regnian workers. Qaatz wanted to work with the natives, but considering the stories he'd heard from the rest of Punth, he could understand their fear.

A week later a column was gathered, a thousand men with armor and Humvees with mounted guns. Guided by maps created by previous explorers, it began to move through the thin forest, on a trail, toward the nearest Native town.


The column was still miles from the city when the first arrows flew from the trees. Most found their targets but none caused serious injury, bouncing off the armored exteriors of man and machine. One soldier looked dazed as he removed a two foot shaft from the side of his helmet.

The column pressed on, closer and closer to the city of Caxamaka, the ocassional arrow soaring in from unseen assailants. The first natives weren't spotted until the city's walls were in sight. Twenty feet tall, made from stone, with a wooden gate that was barricaded with large boulders. The column halted a hundred meters from the wall with three of the ten tanks in the column in front. All was quiet as both Regnians and Caxamakans eyed each other from afar, until a megaphone sounded from the lead tank. Regnian words spoken by Captain Farber, followed by a Punthian translation, directed at the city.

"We are not here to make enemies of you. We will speak with the leader of this city. Open your gate and allow us to enter and none of you will be harmed."

The Caxamakans responded with jeers and unkind words that the interpereter refused to translate. Arrows flew from the walls and fell meekly upon the column. Inside the lead tank, Captain Farber shook his head.


The tank rolled towards the city gate, slowly but deliberately. As it reached the wall, those on top threw rocks at it, as if to crack the shell of a giant turtle. The tank's treads climbed the pile of rocks and pushed against the barrier. With a groan, the boulders began to shift, the wooden gate began to crack, and the wall began to shake. With a final crack, the gate gave way and the wall came crashing down into a pile of rubble, taking those who still stood on it's ramparts with it. The tank rolled through the dust, debris falling away as it emerged on the other side.

"Give them one last warning."

The tank's barrel lifted skyward, at the highest angle it could manage. Boom. A shell launched high into the air and exploded, the sound echoing throughout the city. The native soldiers that remained on the walls fled. Families barricaded themselves in their homes. Again, Captain Farber's words rang forth.

"The leader of this city will present himself immediately. It is not our intent to hurt anyone."
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After a minute or so, a sole Caxamakan approached the tank. His body was elaborately decorated and painted. Captain Farber hoisted himself out of the tank and stood atop it, kicking off a few more pieces of rubble from the wall. His translator poked his head out of the hole.

"Who are you?" Farber asked the Caxamakan.

"I am High-Priest Atzoul, the guardian of Caxamaka." He replied. "Have you come to destroy us as well?"

"What do you mean 'as well'? We only just got here." Farber smirked. "We are from Regnium, not from Corumm. We aren't the same people."

"You white men all look the same. You are all conquerers and enslavers." Atzoul spat on the ground. "The tales of those who flee from the north are the same every time. White men destroying every city."

Farber's expression didn't change. "You apparently aren't a good listener. We aren't from Corumm. We don't want what they want."

Atzoul was angry. "Then what do you want? Why have you come? Why do you destroy our walls?!"

"Because you aren't a good listener. We asked to see you and your people attacked." Farber jumped down from the tank and Atzoul retreated several steps. "We are here to make a deal with the tribes of your confederation."

Atzoul furrowed his brow. "What deal?"

Farber's smirk turned into a smile. He spread his arms wide and said "Peace. We offer your people our protection."

Atzoul's scowl deepend. "In return for what?"

Farber laughed. "In return for your loyalty. You submit yourselves to our leaders. You will become a territory of Regnium and will be under it's protection. You will remain the leader of your territory so long as you do what we ask, and your people, as well as any refugees from the north will sleep soundly at night. Accept that, and this," He slapped the barrel of the tank. "will fight for you."

Atzoul was silent some time. He looked at the tank, and at the rubble pile that was the city wall. He looked around at the houses, and at the eyes peering, frightened from their windows. "If I refuse?" He asked.

"If you refuse," Farber replied, "We leave. We stay out of your business. And if the Corummese conquerers to the north turn their attention south," Farber looked behind him at the fallen wall. "Maybe you will fair better at defending yourselves against them..."

Atzoul stood in silence. He struggled internally before finally, tears running down his cheeks, falling to his knees. Bowing before Farber, he proclaimed, "I surrender myself and my city to your will."

"Excellent!" Farber exclaimed, clapping his hands together. He bent down and lifted Atzoul back to his feet. "The first thing we require of you is simple. Spread our message. Send our offer to every leader in the Southern Confederation. Tell them what happened here and inform us of their replies."

With that, the first confederation city came under Regnian control. The column moved into the city and took up defensive positions. Any medical supplies were used to treat the sick and injured among the Tripal Alliance refugees. Food was to be brought in from Port Sachar. The natives were to be cared for, because before too long, they would be put to work.

Excerpt from the memoirs of Cernan Hortez, celebrated war hero.

Wild Lands: 'Depopulation' was the buzzword being thrown around by everyone. Depopulation quotas, depopulation charts, depopulation formulas, sectors to be depopulated; depopulation was the focus of the newest and most glorious Corummese undertaking in Punth. Barbarian tribes could not be trusted to live in peace side by side with vastly more advanced Corummese populations and so they had to be wiped out entirely. There really was no choice in the matter.

And so it is that with heavy heart and sorrowful conscience that I, Cernan Hortez, accepted the great burden of seeing this great civilizing mission to completion. Following my astounding victories against the vile Teohuxul statelets in the north I had hoped to retire to my vast, vast, vast villa upon the shores of Cotis. But the Party begged me to return to active duty, 'You are the only man for the job' they said time and time again. I was reluctant at first but in time I gave in for when duty beckons, all Corummese must answer the call (or risk the deadly wrath of BPO). I was, of course, given absolute authority to carry out my task as I best saw fit.

I divided my vast forces into four columns, two of which would be sent to block any possible retreat east by the natives while the other two swept the land clean. Naturally I was supremely unconcerned by the pathetic bands of horsemen and spearmen the natives could muster, we would brush them aside like yesterday's garbage. Operation Republic's Fist commenced on a foggy Tuesday among great fanfare.

On we advanced, falling upon unsuspecting villages in both the middle of the night and at the break of dawn, it made no matter to us. So much killing tired the men and perhaps I egged them on to satisfy their most base desires with the survivors. But I only did this for the sake of morale as any responsible commander ought to, no one can blame me for any excesses done under my supervision. Drones traversed the skies at every hour of the day, blowing up encampments and refugee caravans into bloodied craters.

A week later we overtook one of these caravans. We shot the few warriors traveling with it, the rest were women and squalling children. I was slightly moved by their plight and might have allowed them to leave with their lives had my loyal right hand man Chachi not intervened. 'Why take the chance Boss, these kids will grow to oppose us and the Republic, let's shoot them right now.'
Chachi is very wise indeed, I've always valued his counsel and it's never failed me before and it did not fail that day either. One of the kids threw a stone at my head and he probably missed only because of the debilitating hunger wracking his body. I unloaded my pistol on the little piece of shit, and to think I had considered mercy!

Their treasonous intentions clear, I gave the order to eliminate the threat posed by these fifth columnists. To conserve ammunition the kids were hanged from trees while the women were ravaged. Chachi then went around and finished them off with an axe he had picked in some town we burned down.

As testament to my organizational genius in a mere 3 weeks, Operation Republic's Fist had completed the total depopulation of about 47% of the projected territory to be colonized. I need only hunt down a few thousands more and I would be free to return to my humongous tropical villa.

Azura and Montemayor

<img src="images/ranks/vice-delegate.png" alt="Vic
Southern Confederation
South of Komarno

After an hour of travelling south west the city finally came into view. The location had been found two weeks ago during a scouting mission, the only mission that found anything of note. The seemingly vacant island Komarno was on was seen as a blessing by some of the higher-ups, who knew full well that had it been highly populated, there would have been countless deaths, just not from their side.

Petr and Emil Beneš, although not in the same company, were both in the same Battalion which now neared the city. They had both been stationed in Punth for several months, having experienced little action for quite some time due to the relative peaceful environment of Komarno. Having never actually served in a war, both were rather excited at the prospect of finally doing something.

The mission that was passed down from High Command was rather simple, with no necessary conflict. The objective was plain and simple, to expand the border and influence of Komarno through the island and to rid any natives who didn’t subject themselves to their authority. The initial plan was to go as far south as to reach the UIF territory of Maloka, but if all went well it was possible that they could order troops even further south, and maybe even into the mainland.

As they neared the walls of the city it was immediately noticeable that natives were up on the walls, all seemingly armed with bows and arrows, spears, or crude machetes, none of which were a match for the automatic and semi automatic weaponry carried by each soldier in the battalion. It was common knowledge that they would have people out in the forest around the city keeping watch, so this was no surprise.

General Ctvrtlanik, the head of the ground troops in Punth, moved to the front of the battalion. After a few minutes a tall, dark skinned native walked out of the entrance. It was obvious by the way he dressed that he was the leader, with gold hanging from his neck and robes made of colorful fabric wrapped around him. The moment of truth, Petr thought, knowing that this would be the meeting that would decide the outcome, either a bloodbath or relative peace.

It only took five minutes for all hell to break loose.


Tetouazl paced in his room, angry. Fists balled, he could only think of the audacity the messenger had.

"Surrender?" he remembered cursing. "Surrender is the way of cowards."

He walked over to his door and looked out over the many hundreds of steps that led down the side of his Pyramid. Every few steps was stained red. Stained red from the blood of the messenger.

"Besides," He thought to himself. "they would slaughter everyone anyways." He heard the stories the refugees from the north told. "Better to die a warriors death."

The Messenger's head still lay at the base of the pyramid. He had ordered it to remain there for 7 days and nights, as a reminder of what would happen to those who might beg the conquering white men for mercy. He had come from a small city to the west. Caxamaka, which betrayed the confederation by surrendering to the white men. No doubt they had been butchered as soon as the messengers left.

Tetouazl looked up at the stars, wishing for a sign from his gods...


A bright red light rose into the sky before his eyes and lingered there. It was Blood Red. Seven more followed, originating from places in the forest all around the city. They illuminated it like day and sounds like thunder tore through the night. The city's walls exploded in fire and echoes and screams rang out. Was this the wrath of the gods? No, it was worse. White men poured into the city from all sides, killing everything that moved and everything that didn't. Tetouazl stood for several minutes, stunned by the unearthly sight. He only shook from his trance once he realized there were men climbing his pyramid...

Tetouazl rushed inside and donned his ceremonial armor. He would face the demons in combat, as the gods intended. Returning to the apex of the staircase, he screamed at the white men.

"Come face me and see if you monsters can bleed! No mortal can defeat me! I am Teto-"

Lightning flashed and thunder echoed loudly in Tetouazl's ears, the soundwaves reverberating longer than he was alive to hear them.

Captain Farber reached the top of the pyramid as he holstered his pistol. Without breaking his stride, he and his men waltzed past Tetouazl's corpse and into his room where they began dividing up who got what.


The next morning, the closest villages would hear of the "Corummese" conquerer's latest victory and think twice about the Regnian's offer for protection.


<img src="images/ranks/donar.png" alt="Ixdonor Gra
Wild Lands
Just west of New Wrijstad

Egsåg Îoanes Konsdandînos stood in the vanguard of his column, some 7,500 well-equipped Abolinîkî infantrymen and engineers. The scale of the fleet that had brought them and the other settlers to New Wrijstad - some 50,000 people in all - had even allowed for the force to be partially mechanised, and so the column was equipped with some 15 tanks and hundreds of APCs.

They had been on the move for the last several days, making slow but steady and continuous progress through the harsh terrain of the area. Their reception in the area had been distinctly mixed. In the warlike political climate that had presumably given the area its name, there was a great deal of scope for advantages to be gained peacefully from adept diplomacy, and thus far it had proven to be the case. When confronted by the armed might of the convoy, some of the more sensible of the natives had agreed to swear fealty to the Basilêus and Apollinis in exchange for guarantees of citizenship (once the concept was slowly, painstakingly explained) and cultural freedom. Thus the settlements of Uaxacac, Tepoztlan and Jocotepec had been incorporated into the Exarchate of New Wrijstad with a minimum of force, swelling the Exarchate's population and its geographical and agricultural base. In each city, the Abolinîkoî had left a small garrison for reasons of security, along with teams of scientific, linguistic and cultural researchers.

As these cities had been at war with most of their neighbours, however, those neighbours had not taken kindly to the advance of the Abolinîkoî. Several men had already been wounded by bows and arrows and even - worryingly - gunfire in one case. Such resistance had, however, been dealt with, and the column had advanced, crushing a few smaller forces along the way.

Now, however, the expeditionary force faced a more worrying threat: many of the remaining native tribes had made common cause, and rumour had had it that an army some 3 times the size of the expeditionary force was massing. That rumour had been rather unpleasantly confirmed earlier in the day when an outriding scout had been ambushed and sent back to the column in 6 pieces, and now the column itself was surrounded.

The early morning silence was shattered as crowds of natives charged screaming at the convoy, some armed with primitive firearms. The Abolinîkî machine-gunners did their best, .50 calibre ammunition causing severe casualties amongst the natives, but it could not stop the tide, and soon the technological advantage of the Abolinîkî was nullified as the battle reduced itself to a bloody brawl, obsidian clubs and knives meeting rifle-butts, bayonets and the cold steel of the traditional Abolinîkî single-handed sword.

Carnage rent the air as the Abolinîkî line buckled in several places. Some APCs were entirely overwhelmed, their crews bludgeoned to death and the guns turned on others. Eventually, however, as the sun began to set, the Abolinîkoî regrouped into two smaller groups and slowly, viciously, bloodily fought their way to each other through the natives.

The Battle of the Bloody Road had lasted for almost an entire day. 7,500 soldiers of Apollinis had, thanks to able leadership and ferocious discipline, overcome 22,500 natives - at a terrible cost. 1,500 Abolinîkoî lay dead, three of the tanks had been rendered unserivceable and fully one-third of the APCs had been ransacked.

Konsdandînos, largely unscathed despite a bloodied sword and a vast array of bruises, supervised the aftermath of the battle. The 5,000 natives who had survived were forced to dig the graves of the Abolinîkoî they had killed, before they themselves were led into a nearby clearing and ritually beheaded. There was to be no mercy for those who struck out against a superior, civilising nation, and no burial for those who defiled warriors of Christ.

The grim task complete, the Abolinîkoî force, battered but defiant, headed further west, with hardness in their hearts, to establish a firm frontier with the Corummese. Once completed, they would return from the border and methodically eliminate all those who had offered resistance. The enemy would pay dearly, in blood and fire, for the sorrow they had caused. Punth would be purified.
Loros Colonial Border, Punth

What once bore the name of Rexheim, now known as Loros (a name partly chosen by the few natives) rumbled with the stomping of boots and the rumbling of APCs and tanks. While only 30,000 men had yet arrived, the wild tribals to the west made the foolish mistake of raiding the disarmed, already-conquered groups of their own within civilization's borders. Several thousand natives had died, and while no Kistani cared about the death toll, it behooved them to take retribution for those under their protection. Besides, the barbarians only gave them a legitimate reason to expand their area of control by their actions.

So it was that two-thirds of the landed forces were issued orders to advance into the wild lands of Punth, systematically disarming those who surrendered and sending them behind the lines to processing stations and proving to the natives that assault rifles and body armor did in fact outclass spears and wicker shields on the field of battle. Tanks generally were only used for rolling over huts and acting as a show of force to the easily outmatched Punthians, who tended to be awed by moving metal beasts larger than the average mud hut and able to wipe away an entire home with impunity.

In Rehoquoitl, the Temple of the Gods was bombarded by a battery of artillery until nothing but rubble remained. The city surrendered to the new 'thunder gods' after seeing the destruction of their idols.

In the marshes of Tuuvula, a swarm of natives tried desperately to overwhelm a group of fifty Kistani infantrymen atop a comparatively dry and stable hill. The natives ran out of arrows trying to pierce Kevlar and the thin sheets of dulled steel over the soldier's vests (which finally gave them some use other than assisting the Kevlar against low-caliber weaponry and following tradition) even as the soldiers ran out of bullets killing hundreds of the half-naked, feather-wearing warriors. The battle was decided by swordwork, which pleased the northerners to no end. eight Kistani Died.

In Ytepocatyll, the natives gladly agreed to surrender rather than be destroyed like the tribes at Tuuvula. They were rewarded with inoculations for northern diseases and salvation from a potato famine while other groups outside of Kistani influence began to die of simple things like the flu and starve for want of basic sustenance after so many of the breadbasket areas were taken from them.


Port Sachar grew steadily over the weeks as more and more settlers arrived. Expansion inland was rapid, sped along with the help of the natives conscripted from nearby cities. About 70% of the native population centers in the western third of the Southern Confederation submitted to the Regnians. Many others were wiped out by the "Corummese aggressors" that Regnium vowed to keep at bay. Still, in occupied regions, there was resistance which was met with force, as all rebellions should be.

In the newly established organized territory of Sachar, roughly 50,000 Regnian troops were stationed. 30,000 in and around Port Sachar itself, the rest spread among large native cities to maintain order and local defensiveness. Airstrips and hangers were also being built to house aircraft.

Around Port Sachar, smaller communities of settlers were already beginning to spring up. Native-built roads wound in and out of them and extended inland, further and further every day. Modern farms were being tilled to sustain the influx of settlers. Farms as prodductive as these weren't previously possible in Punth, but with modern technology, these crops would thrive.

Thomas the Little Rocket That Could careens out of control over some Punth natives.

Punth: Cernan Hortez, celebrated war hero, Olympic medalist and thrice convicted arsonist peered across the distance with a well worn pair of binoculars. He could see a modest village in the distance, the distinctive smoke of cooking fires rising like a beacon, a veritable lighthouse for his forces to follow. On his order, the heavily armed column moved forward.

As they approached, a few armed riders warily approached them. Having no interest in engaging primitive savages, Hortez simply ordered his men to shoot them. Several tanks moved into the village, bulldozing the structures with reckless abandon while flamethrowers were employed on the rest. The natives were hysteric with fear and those yet alive started running away from the village in all directions. Cernan's men took bets on who could kill more before they ran out of range, taking aim and blasting the indians with high powered rifles.

The expansion of Rondenian civilization on Punth would require great sacrifice and hardship(from the natives) but Chairman Dodd was convinced it was the right thing to do. Operation 'Civilizing Light would become a model on how to build a successful colony.
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Western Lorosian Border

Life on the coast steadily improved as more advanced and numerous supplies came in from the homeland. Inoculations, infrastructure, education - benefits of every type known to civilized peoples came to central Punth's makabila. Each separate village, or kabila, which had submitted to the invaders reveled in their rewards, while the conquered tribes lived in even worse poverty than before due to their being last on the aid lists of the Office of Southern Colonial Affairs. Over the course of several months, hostile natives died in droves from some of the most common and innocuous diseases known to Mankind, only for their situation to be exacerbated by a poor harvest and brutal winter without their former hunting grounds.

Sixty thousand Kistani soldiers now garrisoned the small Loran colony, pushing slowly but surely inland. The now heavily depopulated portions of the wilds bordering Loros proper represented a pitiful obstacle to the second wave of colonial expansion efforts, only requiring walking and a bit of paperwork. However, the Mabonde of the plains proved strong enough to survive losing its coastal areas and being ravaged by disease... which, of course, lead to Sheltzberg's Last Stand, or, as the Mabonde knew it, The Battle of Striped Creek.

Striped Creek was home to a pocket of the local horse-like zebras, which the Mabonde saw as spirits and revered according to their pacified neighbor makabila. Sheltzberg, an Vrellan officer leading a lone column of unarmored infantry transports, on the other hand, simply saw a stream from which to draw water and food for hunting on the way to rendezvous with another group. The Kistani, a primarily Vrello-Gothic company of 200 men, must have agreed to the potential fresh meat and drink, and stayed the night camped at the bank of the small river. The forensic evidence (or, in other words, animal pelts) found a week after the battle backs that they killed, skinned, and ate at least two dozen of the black-and-white animals, taking advantage of the supposedly nonexistent native presence in the area at the time - the Mabonde had largely moved south, away from the foreign colonies within the previous month. Their trespass on the local must have been seen by a native, because the last records of the company reported contact with upwards of two thousand armed and angry tribesmen. The entire company was massacred with barely quadruple the enemy casualties, and later was located by the main advancing force of ten thousand. While the corpses lacked the desecration expected, the embarrassment of Kistani military power by mere barbarians would lead to much vengeful bloodshed on both sides in the weeks to come.
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Newly constructed settlement for Rondenian arrivals​

Mimiron: Mimiron 3 was the cusp of settlement construction, as far as Conglomo was concerned. While the streets of Mimiron 1&2 were already full of potholes, its street lamps failing and the housing had much to be desired, Mimiron 3 was thriving. Designed as a vacationing town for the Party elite, Conglomo spared no expense and avoided the cutting of corners endemic to previous Mimiron's. Straight boulevards with wide sidewalks were flanked by large, well appointed manors. It was rumored a great palace for Prib Dodd was to be built in the outskirts.

In spite of standing policy to terminate all natives, Conglomo applied for and received a special exemption allowing it to acquire some batches under the guise of a 'Guest worker' program. The natives were to be then shipped to Rondenia to be employed as inexpensive labor on vast agricultural projects.

Wilderness north of Mimiron 3
Cernan Hortez sat inside a derelict building, busying himself by building coin towers. He was marveled by the wealth the natives possessed and they were remarkably good metalworkers too. He would need to capture some so they could fashion all the golden artifacts he found into something more practical, like a golden armor or something.

Apart from all his new gold, he had new directives as well. Top people in the Party had decided for their own reasons to benefit Conglomo, now he was to spare roughly one third of the natives he found and pass them over to the corporation. He didn't like it, the men didn't like it. The only good native was a dead native was a principle he had chosen to live by.

Hortez stepped out of his makeshift office to check on his men's progress. The people of this particular village were fortunate the new orders reached Hortez before he reached the settlement. Now they would have the privilege to work for the greater glory of Rondenia. Instead of being summarily shot, they were being loaded into trucks bound for Mimiron 2.

"Load them up boys, we don't have all day for this crap."

Punth: Corpses were strewn all over the place, heavily disfigured, burned crisp or riddled with bullets. Often a combination of all three. They laid on the streets, slumped along walls or lay in their beds, after the artillery collapsed the roofs on top of them. The nameless village had been given an ultimatum to either submit to the authority of the Republic or face 'punitive administrative measures'. The village elders behaved in a most undiplomatic fashion, threatening to sacrifice the Corummese envoys to the 'gods'.

That just wouldn't do at all.

Newly promoted General Cernan Hortez had his detachment go in guns blazing, not before the customary artillery barrage to soften opposition. The village defenders were mostly armed with farm tools and even some antiquated firearms stolen from who knows where. Against Corummese firepower, this counted for nothing. Within minutes all opposition was crushed. The village elders were captured and hanged from trees, their bodies left to rot and grow bloated in the sun; all the males were shot and the women were repeatedly raped before being loaded into trucks. It would be a longer campaign and the lads would need the entertainment. These scenes repeated themselves over the vast scope of territory being targeted by security operations.

In this harsh fashion, Operation Todd would secure Corummese tranquility for years to come and secure the comfortable demographic dominion of the ethnic Corummese over the barely human native populations. The sweeping operation would continue until it hit a suitable natural barrier.

Many non Corummese lives would be lost, but it was a sacrifice the Republic was willing to make.