[Kielmog]

OOC: I have seen many of these types of story/RP threads, and I wanted to try my creative hand at one. Feel free to comment. Be nice, as this is my first attempt, but honest, as honesty is the only way I will improve. /OOC

3 Days after the Diberian Protection Conflict, 6:30 P.M., in a high-class bar somewhere in the Land of 1000 Swords

"Would you close the door behind you, my boy?" said a proper-looking older gentleman, while holding a lit cigar in the crook of his mouth and wearing a high-quality, but bland-colored three-piece suit. His hair, a regal shade of gray, was trimmed neatly and his eyes, a light blue, contrasted sharply with the feeling that this was not a gentle person. In his left hand was a glass of liquor and he sloshed it around lazily as he talked.

"Of course, general, sir,... but why are we meeting here, in public?" replied a younger man, looking to be in his early 30s, with buzzed brown hair and wearing a less-formal suit, like one would wear to a fancy party if one were unaccustomed to such things. He seemed both calm and nervous, moving stiffly and looking around cautiously while maintaining a modrate air of composure.

"Because I love the bourbon here, because it has the best view of the island, but mostly because everyone knows the best secret meeting are held in public places... so why not the VIP lounge at The Golden Galleon? Don't worry, you don't think I'd call you here if this room wasn't already sweeped for bugs and the like, my boy?"

"No, I suppose not...sir." He shifted uncomfortably, but didn't seem to mind when the general clapped his arm around him and half-pulled him over to the nearby ivory table with three gold-plated chairs with red velvet lining around it.

"Sit, sit, my boy, you're much too tense... want a drink?" The man shook his head politely. "No, of course you don't, so I bet you're wondering why a four-star general would call a sergeant to a place like this."

"Yes, sir." He sat in the chair, rubbing his arms against the armrests, as if experiencing the material for the first time.

"We'll get to that, my boy, we'll get to that, but first I want to thank you for your hard work and service to our fine country in this war." The general leaned over, picked up the briefcase and opened it on his lap, pulled out three dossiers, and put the first on the table while closing the briefcase and putting it back in its original position. "You've done our proud nation a great service, my boy, that you have." The general opened the first dossier, spreading out some photos and files onto the table. "Sergeant Nick Matthews, 32 years old, born in Western Kielmogia on the main island of Kielmogistan, 3rd Squadron, 7th Battalion, ah, the Plundering Picaroons! See a lot of action, my boy? Never mind, my boy, that was rhetorical, I have it right here. Ah, you've seen your fair share of action, haven't you, my boy? Seems here you're being recommended for the Kielmogian Medal of Honor for saving two of your privates, heh heh, sorry, army joke, my boy. Still, that's very commendable, so young for such a high honor. Most men don't get it until their fifties."

"Well, sir, I'm honored to hear this news..."

"That's not all, my boy, looking at your older records, seems like you were catching eyes from day one, beat my old mile time, did you? That's a joke, my boy, feel free to laugh. We both know I've never run a day in my life. You also had camp records in the bench press and the 100-yard dash. Impressive, well-rounded, my boy. High marks on the tactics and intelligence tests. Indeed, you are a fine specimen, my boy." At this, the general pulls out the second dossier, opens up the folder, and spills some papers and photos onto the table. At first glance, Sergeant Matthews appraises them to be recon photos of a country's defense systems from a satellite, as well as geographical, demographic, and even weather information, but he could not recognize the country while glancing at the photos upside-down.

However, his attempted appraisal of the information on the table was interrupted by the door to the lounge opening as a waiter proceeded to hold the door open for an elderly man with black hair and a mean grimace in a wheelchair. The waiter bowed to the men and proceeded to close the door. Meanwhile, the man in the wheelchair reached behind him, locked the door, and proceeded to move himself over to the table. "Ah, my boy, now this meeting can truly begin..."

[Subtleknifewielder]

OOC: Interesting, and very well-written ( ), but I doubt I'll be able to become involved, from looking at the title.

[Kielmog]

Subtleknifewielder, on Nov 10 2008, 01:35 PM, said:

OOC: Interesting, and very well-written ( ), but I doubt I'll be able to become involved, from looking at the title.

OOC: Why thank you, but you can't rule anyone out yet. I'll have another section up in a couple of hours... Right now, everyone should be and

[Subtleknifewielder]

Kielmog, on Nov 10 2008, 01:41 PM, said:

OOC: Why thank you, but you can't rule anyone out yet. I'll have another section up in a couple of hours... Right now, everyone should be and

OOC: If you say so...

[Cody Seb]

Subtleknifewielder, on Nov 10 2008, 03:56 PM, said:

OOC: If you say so...

OOC: it could be me.

[Subtleknifewielder]

Cody Seb, on Nov 10 2008, 01:57 PM, said:

OOC: it could be me.

OOC: Why would it be you?

[Kielmog]

OOC: It could be ANYONE!!! DUN DUN DUN. I'll give one hint with each post I make. IG, I have 90+% spy odds against this nation, so I figure espionage against them should be relatively easy. /OOC

The man in the wheelchair wore a grimace on his face, as if permanently angered with the world. His wrinkles were not deep and he showed no liver spots. Sergeant Matthews estimated the man to be in his late 60s to early 70s and he subtly tried to appraise who the man was but could not recognize him. The man in the wheelchair rolled himself over to the table and proceeded to shake the hand of the general who had stood up and walked over to the newcomer. "Perhaps, old man, it would be time to drop the theatrics..." Extra emphasis was added on the "old man," and the man in the wheelchair did something that shocked the normally calm Sergeant Matthews. Sliding the wheelchair out from underneath him, the old man stood up, looked at the young sergeant, and said grumpily, "Look, it's a miracle."

The old man was not finished with his surprise yet though. He then proceeded to peel off his face and the sound of a mask being removed permeated throughout the sound-proof room. As if by reverse metamorphosis, the man dropped twenty-five years and the mask showed a middle-aged man with stubble. The grumpy face and grimace still showed however. Whatever transformation had occurred did little to change his mood.

"Sergeant Matthews, my boy, I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Thomas Witherspoon."

"Thomas Witherspoon, the director of the Pirate Intelligence Secret Services... but I thought he was larger and more...um..."

At this the man proceeded to speak in a gruff voice, as if whiskey had done a number on his throat, "You can say it. On television, that man Chieftain Kielmog announced as the director was black and I'm white. Or maybe I'm not. You just watched me turn back time, so to speak, how are you sure this is my real face?"

"I guess I'm not, so was that guy a stand-in because he was taller than you are..."

"Maybe, who knows?"

"He's kidding with you, my boy, but even I'm not sure I've seen his real face, and I've known him for fifteen years now. Think about it, how better to keep your agents secret than for no one to know what they look like? If an agent's true face is ever revealed, his options are retirement or termination, and I don't mean the kind with severance pay, my boy. Every wonder why our Halloween mask industry is one of the largest in the world. It's not because we're all party animals, though I suppose a lot of us are, my boy. Now, back to the matter at hand."

All three men sat down at the table with the recon photos and papers scattered on it and the general proceeded to speak, but in a much more subdued tone, "You see, my boy, we've called you here, because, well..."

"Your country needs you is what General Avery is trying to say, and, admittedly, I'll say everyone at my office thinks you've got the best shot at success with this. Three of our agents tried this task before and all failed for various reasons, but we think, with your physical and mental prowess that you are the best man for this job."

"And what job would this be?"

"Espionage, my boy, espionage. We need you to uh... perform some tasks for us in a nation somewhere." The general proceeded to down the rest of the bourbon in his glass and pour himself another glass. The smoke from his cigar had created a mild haze above the table, like at a garage poker game.

"What sort of tasks?"

"The usual: sabotage, information gathering, rendezvous, and one last thing... assassination. We wouldn't ask this of you if we had any better candidates for the job but this is an all-encompassing spy mission." Mr. Witherspoon had a smile grow on his face, like when someone tells themself a joke that only they get.

"So you want me to be James Bond?" The sergeant looked tenser than earlier and looked as if he was contemplating between staying around for curiousity's sake or fleeing and hoping that they didn't chase him down.

"No, my boy, better..."
"The series of missions will be known between the four of us as Operation: Coldest Winter."
"Four of us, sir?"

"Yes, four of us, these orders come straight from the Chieftain himself..." As if proud of this fact, Mr. Witherspoon's smirk grew and he shuffled some papers until he found the one he was looking for... "This is your target and this is the country where you will be headed."

"But why, sir, why here?"
"Because, my boy, nobody insults the Chieftain and lives..."

[Silhouette]

OOC:HMMMM I wonder if it's Ubie?

[LeVentNoir]

OOC: its not me. Nobody has 90% odds on me.

[Sargun]

OOC: Not me.

[Stefano Palmieri]

OOC:Could be me,but as far as I no I havent insulted anyone yet, well purposely.

This post has been edited by Marquis Chris 1: 10 November 2008 - 08:06 PM

[Il Terra Di Agea]

OOC: Is it me!?!

wait that wouldn't be fun...

[JEDCJT]

OOC: Not me either, heh.

[Subtleknifewielder]

OOC: 90%? Nope, not me. And besides, I don't believe I've insulted anyone other than KM's daughter...

[Cody Seb]

Subtleknifewielder, on Nov 10 2008, 04:08 PM, said:

OOC: Why would it be you?

OOC: Eh, I don't know. We do have quite cold winters here though!

[Kielmog]

OOC: You have the title, which implies a cold climate, 90% IG spy odds, and now, for a third and final clue, the fact that I would only have to go through one middle country (that will be discussed in the section below) to get there. That should narrow the radius a little, but remember this does not include such things as international waters or open territory that is not claimed. /OOC

"Sir, you can't possibly mean..."
At a quick pace, General Avery began to speak, as if an urgent meeting awaited him, but his tone showed a hint of discomfort at the situation. "That's right, my boy, but be silent for now, the waiter is going to knock on the door in fifteen seconds and then he will open it in thirty more. We cannot have him see you, me, and Mr. Witherspoon in the same room. There can be no witnesses to even the most innocuous-looking of meetings between the three of us. I need you to take these dossiers and head out the back exit. Mr. Witherspoon, you'd best finish putting your disguise back on. Sergeant Matthews, that third dossier has your objectives, directions, clearance papers, and back-stories should you need more than one. You're in good hands figuratively, my boy, Mr. Witherspoon wrote everything himself. Follow it to the letter and you'll be fine." General Avery handed the last two dossiers to the young sergeant while quickly stuffing the rest of the paperwork into the suitcase.

"Okay, but why must I leave now, sir? I still have questions." There was a knock at the door as Mr. Witherspoon finished reapplying the mask and sealing where he had torn it off. He took his seat back in the wheelchair and put his "old-man hand" gloves back on, making sure the wrists were sealed. General Avery closed the suitcase and waited for the door to open.
"I bet you do, my boy, but everything you need to know is in there. Now go."

As Sergeant Matthews opened the door and walked down the fire exit, he heard the front door to the lounge open and the waiter speak with General Avery.
"My boy, don't worry about the fire door, I just needed some circulation, now get me some bourbon, my boy."

Sergeant Matthews couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the sound of a silenced gun firing but it could have simply been the wind whistling through the alleyway behind the Golden Galleon. After walking briskly for a couple of blocks, he decided the next-best course of action would be to head for the nearest hotel and find a room to sleep in for the night after he read his directions. If the mission was as urgent as the two gentlemen claimed it to be, he would be in for a long night of reading.

2:42 a.m., at a cheap hotel somewhere on the main island named the Rainbow Diamond, room 236, Sergeant Matthews sat at a desk perusing the documents handed to him by General Avery and written by Mr. Witherspoon. The plan was complicated but he figured reading it out loud would do no harm at this hour.

"Okay, so my first objective is to head to the southern port-town of Columbus City and catch a ride to nearby Diberia under the guise as a crewman on a frieghter delivering recovery goods to the nation. Sounds easy enough. I use this set of paperwork, use the clothes... left for me under my bed. There's no way he means..." At that, Sergeant Matthews reached under the bed in the hotel room and felt a dry-cleaning package. In it were rough seaman's clothes, the stereotypical plaid shirt and overall get-up that was common for a lot of the shipping workers in the region. There was also a note written apparently by Mr. Witherspoon.

If this is who I think it is, then these are for you. You know what to do with them. So predictable. I knew you'd pick the closest place to the Golden Galleon that wasn't of high-class. As for the room, you're a fan of equation rooms. 2*3=6 is the one that you've chosen the most over your lifetime. I made arrangements to have this room left open and I just went with the odds on whether you choose this room. See, I told you that you were in good hands.
Sincerely, T.W.

"Wow, he's good. Maybe I shouldn't be so worried. Okay, my next step is to get passage on a delivery convoy to the western coast of Diberia and there I will catch another shipping boat to my destination. At this point I will find a nearby motel and await contact from an agent who will provide me with the rest of the information regarding my first objective: the infiltration and disguise stages of Operation: Coldest Winter..."

OOC2: I figured I'd show you just how good Witherspoon is, seeing as how I cut their first meeting off.

[Silhouette]

OOC:Ustio perhaps?

[Kielmog]

OOC: I'm done with clues, and I ask if you figure it out that you not ruin it for other people who may want to guess. I didn't think I was going to get another section done today, what with research papers and all, but since I love ya all, here's another section. Bit shorter than the last, but there will be plenty tomorrow. /OOC

The next morning, room 236, the Rainbow Diamond, the sun is just piercing through the blinds the way they do when there is a small gap and the beam so happens to land on Sergeant Matthews face.

"Ah, well there's a good rest ruined. Well, I suppose I had better pack and get ready to... wait a second, what is this on the endtable?" Sergeant Matthews reaches over, still lying down, and grabs an envelope. It is white in color and crisp with the letters T.W. on the front. He pulls his trusty knife from under the pillow and slices open the envelope to find several hundred shillings and a note.

You didn't think you were going to use your credit card to get on the boat, did you? We emptied your wallet while you slept, don't worry, you can have it back when you return, but we don't want you tempted with credit. Pay all in cash as you go from now on, untraceable, and don't worry, you'll be getting packets with different currency as you progress. If you're wondering how this envelope got here, I'll tell you only that we have agents everywhere. You'll be alone always and never. You'll be leaving on the night barge to Diberia, which leaves at around 20:00 and gets there around 22:30 to 23:00 depending on weather conditions. The money is for you to spend on weaponry, though I imagine you already have your knife in hand, still keep that thing under your pillow, do you? Your bags are packed and in the bathroom waiting for you. You'd best get this note chopped up and flushed, the maid will knock on your door in three, two, one... Sergeant Matthews is interrupted from reading the note by a knock on the door and the familiar call of "Room Service!" from a female outside.
Have a good trip and godspeed!
Sincerely, T.W.

At this, Sergeant Matthews ripped the note up, flushed it, and headed to the door to open it, even though he was still only in his boxers. "Pardon me, I'll just need the room for another 15 minutes."

"Que? No habla ingles." replied the relatively plain maid standing outside who obviously had only picked up those two words in her days at the hotel.
"Ah, perdon, necesito este cuarto para quince minutos mas, por favor." He repeated his previous statement, more or less, in Spanish, hoping he wasn't as rusty as he feared he was. Sergeant Matthews had excelled at Spanish, which, alongside English and German, made up the tri-lingual educational system that the Land of 1000 Swords was famous for. It's hard to make money if you can't speak the same language as your target. Ah, the good ol' days.

With that, Sergeant Matthews gathered his goods and was surprised, though not as surprised as he might have been 24 hours earlier, to see a blue 4-door sedan with the license plate TWSAYHI and as he searched his luggage, he found keys in the front compartment. "Well, at least it's not a beat-up Pinto. Might as well head out now before he freaks me out any more than he already has." With that, Sergeant Matthews opened the door, put on his seat belt, and started his drive to Columbus City.

[JerreyRough]

OOC: Bump. Hmmm... Who could it be? Luckly you did this now; I'm planning a revolution/civil war soon.

[Silhouette]

ooc:hmmmm, russian empire, maybe, btw i am guessing wildly.....