The Old King is Dead, Long Live the Beast

[Executive Minister]

Horns from Hell

 

20XX, the Citadel. Within the burnt out halls of the once hallowed cathedral men gathered to decided their fates. For forty years a reign of chaos ruled over the apocalypse striken wasteland. A garden of eden in the heart of Afrika desecrated by an age of war.

 

Now, the overmighty clans gathered to seek a new ruler. Africa would no longer bow to squalor and a silent fate. The time has come for the clans to unite - a new order has begun. But who would be wise enough, smart enough, tough enough to seek out and rule the many enemies of progress throughout the wastes?

 

Hakunin was fast, his knife faster. His opponent was slow, yet unrelenting. A mountain, a stonewall. He fights with no weapons, save for his gauntlets.

 

A leader has many enemies both within and without. All search for any weakness. What better way to trial the best the clans offer than with fire? The two combatants dance a dance of death for the rest of those assembled in the great hall.

 

The knife swings wide, met with no parry. His opponent is wise, and does not fall for the feint attack.

 

Hakunin's history is a long one, stepped in glory. He can easily trace his ancestry back to right before the great war changed the world as we know it. But his enemy? Not a thing could be said about the lumbering man. His forces were among the strongest of those assembled at the gathering, amongst the most loyal.

 

The man lumbers forward, striking Hakunin as his blade's momentum takes him off balance but for a moment. The strike is intelligent, one of great finesse. Hakunin's great braids go wild, his mane thrashing in a dancing firelight. Stunned at his opponent's quick reprisal he pauses.

 

Hakunin is still for but a moment before striking, again and again. His blade cuts deep in several places, but his opponents defense is still coherent. Clamping down on his thrusting wrist with an armpit, the mountain smashes. Hakunin is struck, the clattering sounds of teeth striking the stone floor. The blows continue until he falls limp in his opponent's death grip.

 

With silence, Hakunin's body is allowed to drop to the floor. The echoes of the impact striking a contrast. The clans are silent, waiting for the killing blow to signal the reign of the new Warlord. Mighty men are envious of the winner.

 

But - it never came. Even as Hakunin's raspy coughs and hacking breaths reached the ears of the clans, the man paused, taking a moment to savour his victory. None could see what the masked man was feeling - only his eyes showed beneath the blasted visor of the scavenged helmet he wore.

 

"Clans, I stand upon the broken body of my enemy - Victorious! But not unscarred," his voice, a mighty barritone boomed for what many in the audience would say was their first time.

 

"I will not kill the warrior before me," he continued to surprised gaps from some, inquistive stares from others, "for Hakunin is a mighty warrior in his own right, who's glory commands obedience from the clans he has conquered."

 

Raising a gauntlet he continued, "When two mighty warriors stand side-by-side, no one dares challenge them. As your Gulakhan I will fight to unite the clans with Hakunin by my side. Should he betray me, he will fall just as well as any of you. As I stand in the hall where the bones of our ancestors lie - wasted and hellblasted - I swear this".

 

One by one, the clans swore fealty to the new Gulakhan - a warped title of the ancients held by the men and women of the wastes. Hakunin, struggling to rise as some of the women came to his aide, spat flecks of blood as he spoke.

 

"The old king, is dead," he rasped. "Long live, the beast!"

 

With that, the clans roared. Gulakhan Ashibaal nodded with approval. So !@#$@#$ metal.

 

Public Declaration to the World

 

 

 

All hail Gulakhan Ashibaal the Indomintable, the Beast, Warlord and Great Khan. Father of the Family of Families. Rider of Were-Hyenas. Conqueror of the Beastlords, Great Khans, Daughters of Hecate, Deaddogs, Iron Lines, Painted Rocks, Red Hounds and Tar Striders. Guardian-in-Chief of the Guardians of the Wastes, Sitter-in-Chief of the Citadel and Protector of the Scorned. Friend to the Hyena men, Brother of the Swansons,  and Finder of the Lost and the Damned.

 

Leading the Cenafrik Conclave, tracing his bloodline back to the greatest of the Azande warriors, the Gulakhan bids welcome to all outlanders friendly to the peoples of Africa. We do not take kindly to braggarts and charlatans - and are fast friends to allies and faster enemies to those that impinge on our rule.

 

The duty of all that fall under the Conclave's rule is honor the family, the ancestors, the Conclave and the Gulakhan. All citizens of the Conclave are treated as equals - the strong rule while the weak are destroyed - unless they are protected by the strong. The strong must protect the weak on pain of death. All things considered, all are free to do as they please in the Conclave, so long as they are metal as $%&@ while doing it.

 

We greet you warmly, with images of our culture and lifestyle. We seek our African brethren with arms wide open.

 

A family unit of the Conclave, complete with family pet

 

Mbembe Osolo, Foreign Minister and role model to Cenafrikan men and boys alike

 

Typical Cenafrikan taking an early start to the morning commute

[Biohazard]

Given the go-ahead from the Church of Aidennism, the civilian missionary effort, the Malachian Order, would like to request permission to come amongst your nation and live there for a time, with the intent of learning as much about your culture as possible.

 

Aside from that, Alexandria welcomes the sovereignty of another African nation, and hopes that it prospers with its brethren.