Cybil de Blanc

Hands steepled, she held closed her eyes, focused only on within. In the comforting blackness, she could only hear the screech of the wind, which served to carry her thoughts to the Goddess. Her deep meditation one of wait, the High Priestess sat quietly, readying herself for the arrival of the first sign. It came to her eventually, in the form of the rustle of her tent flap. One eye opened, and the hooded figure of a lower monk stood there. [i]We have received our first broadcast on the working radios, though there is much static.[/i] The monk spoke not a word, but instead, one hand rose in the air, communicating through some sort of sign language. The High Priestess nodded, raising her own hand to reply. [i]Pinpoint the signal and send a welcome. The Goddess blazes her trail. Send coordinates and invite them to the camp.[/i] [center]- ==== -[/center] Moments later, the Revelstone government would receive a returned radio signal, inviting them to come and see the new nation for itself.

Thanks for the offer, Mael, but I've already nabbed some Antarctic land for my RPs. Nonetheless, I fully intend to RP with you all at some point or another.

The summer of the north, the winter of the south. Antarctica was shrouded in darkest night, July the time of year where no sun dared to shine. The Aurora Australis, cousin of the more well-known Aurora Borealis, danced in the sky like an eel writhes in the sea. Beneath its shining lights, penguins chattered, seals hauled themselves onto ice, and the katabatic winds of the Antarctic blew fiercely. And they walked. Bundled in thick parkas, hauling sleds of supplies across the landscape, they made their way towards the South Pole. They were silent, a strange bunch, with about a hundred of them making that sacred pilgrimage. You see, the Dreamer, the god of the infamous Dragon Cult, had inspired another; she had heard the call of the South Pole, dreamt of a land cloaked in ice. Upon what was but a giant glacier, beneath the lights that lit up the sky, a spirit stood in her mindscape, tall and imposing and vaguely feminine. It funnelled down from the lights, standing there, beckoning her. They had come from far and wide, from protectorate and country, from wars lost and places to be found. They followed her, believing fiercely in the call of the Light Goddess. Many of them were from Cyneriice Northan — a pathetic excuse for an Arctic country, having last but a few years before falling to its knees. With the occupation of New Canadian forces and the arguments over its status as a protectorate, many had fled, disgusted with the CAN and the so-called "teachings" of a certain Queen Cybil. They had been easily swayed with a bit of preaching, and so, now journeyed towards the South Pole. There had been more of them, at one time; they had been travelling for days, and many had sickened and died, left to the ice and snow. There had been two hundred people, in fact. Now weary, tired and frostbitten, those who remained were desperate to reach the place of their so-called "saviour", the Light Goddess of Antarctica. Yes, they might have been crazy, but they needed something to hold onto. The High Priestess would give them that. They finally stopped when a hunting horn blew, carried across the katabatic winds in an echo. The people's hearts thundered — had they finally found their place? It seemed so, as the High Priestess stopped, turning towards her people. The hunting horn rose to her lips, and she blew three times. They cheered. [center]- ===== -[/center] The following morning, a flag would stand, flapping in the winds and surrounded by a multitude of cold-weather tents and supplies. There would be no broadcast, no announcement to the world; their radios were not yet ready for use. Instead, those who ventured far enough into Antarctica would see a black-and-white flag, adorned with a circle surrounded by various dots in compass's directions. [center] [img]http://i32.tinypic.com/5tsznl.png[/img][/center] [center]- ===== -[/center] OOC: Right, I've think I've done everything right up to this point. I was informed where I chose to claim was in a world protectorate, so I think I'm fine.

In that case: [img]http://i26.tinypic.com/x5r1iu.png[/img] Add, please?

So the unnamed white space is all free, then? Just double-checking; don't want to step on anyone's protectorate that hasn't been marked or something. I already did that when I was a newbie. XD

Does the HAM control all of Antarctica's white space? I can't seem to find on the second bordered chunk of land an owner's name.

Ah, lovely, thank you.

(I hope this is the right place for this....) Well, I'd like to return to CNRP, in short. However, I'm temporarily re-rolling, as I can't, for the life of me, find any inspiration to use for Northan. If anybody is willing, I'd like the coldest, most remote piece of land you can think of — preferably any land encircling the South Pole, a.k.a. the dead center of Antarctica.

Once upon a time, far in the North where winter continues eternal, there was a she-raven. On glistening black wings, she soared over the icy landscapes and vast, floe-ridden channels, travelling from island to island in search of food. She was a happy raven, as happy as ravens could be; times could be hard, but she loved her Arctic home. The sound caribou hooves made song with the chatter of waterfowl; the night was lit with the Aurora Borealis, the closest thing to fireworks that nature could make. She played with the whales that travelled through the many passages, croaking and flying over their blowholes just as they spewed mist. The terns and her would race above the tundra, seeing who could get to the coastline first — the terns were usually the winners, with their sleek, streamlined bodies and wings made for ocean flights. But the creatures that held her attention most of all were the hairless two-leggeds who clad themselves in furs fake and real. They complained about the cold if they were foreign, most used to it from spending their entire lives in the Arctic. They raised strange structures on the tundra, unable to live in the cold ground like lemmings or wolf cubs. They rode strange not-animals that growled and buzzed and thundered, creations of their own hand in order to conquer the frozen land. These beasts were humans, the oldest of which had crossed a great land bridge into the Arctic during the time of the great cave bears and mammoths. The raven would often lurk around the human settlements. She was curious, entranced by their strange, shiny creations and all the scraps of food they had lying around. Many of her raven-kin were entranced as well, flocking to the small towns and cities to gorge upon what the humans would not eat. In the winter, when the tundra lay barren and inhospitable for many, the ravens could count on the humans for something to eat. But the she-raven wanted more than just to eat their food. Over time, she grew more and more curious about the humans. Ravens did not live for very long, especially in the Arctic — yet these humans could live for untold decades. The she-raven had heard the stories of many of the older ones, whose faces were as wrinkly as walrus hide, their hair as grey as a baby beluga — sometimes even white as snow. It wouldn't be long before the raven was their equivalent, feathers greying and wings frail, and nothing but a morsel for the wolves or bears to enjoy. One day, when she happened to be thinking about such grim truths, there was a loud rustling of wings beside her. She turned her head, only to meet the eyes of another raven — and a big raven, at that. The Arctic ravens were large creatures, but even this one was enormous, by their standards! She blinked, in awe of this mighty beast, whose eyes twinkled mischievously back at her. "Jealous?" he croaked, motioning with his beak towards the nearby human village. "Most are. The wolves and bears haven't stopped complaining since more of them began to settle." "You could say that," said the she-raven. "I don't know how they live so long. Some days, I think I'd like to be with them down there. They seem like such interesting creatures." "Ah, but so imperfect!" the other raven said, tipping his head upwards. He gave the she-raven the impression that he felt he was right. "They're constantly trying to kill and steal from each other, and not even to survive. Why, one of the older humans had her big-nest broken into just last night! The scoundrels took everything they could that shone!" The she-raven looked horrified. "That's terrible! The older humans are so nice; they throw me bread crumbs and bits of meat sometimes!" "Yes, but the humans are capable of so much, they try and get away with too much." The raven sighed, looking forlorn. "Such unknowing creatures. They know not what they do to each other, or even to us. They merely stay in their big-nests, and let things pass them by. They're hunters, but not very good ones; so wasteful. Why do you think they let so many scraps lie around?" That was a question the she-raven couldn't answer. She merely looked back at the human village. If she was human, she could maybe teach them to be better about the hunting.... They seemed good at heart, just not very good at living in the Arctic. "You'd really like to be one of them, wouldn't you?" said the big raven, snapping the she-raven out of her thoughts. The she-raven turned to look at him and respond, but he cut her off first, saying, "I think I know who could help you." "...You do?" said the she-raven, looking absolutely bewildered. The other raven laughed a croaking laugh, flapping his great black wings. "Of course! Ravens never lie — in fact, we show wolves where carrion is, don't we? If you're so eager to see what being a human is like, then follow me." With that, the big raven took off into the air, flying away from the village. The she-raven followed, although she had to flap her wings harder to keep up with him. His large size also meant a greater wingspan, and he seemed to glide through the air with almost supernatural ease....

A recorded message was then delivered to the CAN, with a very tired-sounding Alysandra's voice speaking. "Dude, seriously...let them have the bloody land they want. Geez Louise, there's nothing up there but reindeer herders and radiation, anyways! Give 'em some credit for wantin' to take care of t'place where their fallout's landin'.... Oh, and the CAN can have what the Canucks don't want. Queen says, stop bickering or I won't have a [i]DDR[/i] dance-off with you. Blech." [center]- === -[/center] OOC: Zoot's right. He gets what he asked for, and you guys can have the rest. It's part of a larger plot that will be commenced when I can get the time to do it.

[b][i]- The Eastern Coast of Cyneriice Northan - - 05:00 Hrs -[/i][/b] Like ants across the dirt, they marched across the tundra. Like bees making a new nest, they swarmed the abandoned outpost and the surrounding houses, setting up equipment helter-skelter. The smell of grease and oil tainted the Arctic air; the sound of clanging and clammering rang out across the dark landscape. There had to be close to a hundred people down there, if not more. By morning, tarts and tents were everywhere. The sounds of barking sled dogs were evident, as was the thunder of hooves as reindeer were ridden. A few of the giant group had begun to set flags around an absurdly wide perimeter, the shape obviously forming an eight-sided polygon from the air. If one looked down, one would see the largest of the outpost's buildings being gutted, sledgehammers resounding as walls were pounded down. Arctic lorries came in to remove the debris, and painters, carpenters and other craftsmen swarmed the remains. What was going on down there? [center]~*~*~*~*~*~[/center] All across Cyneriice Northan, the scene played out at multiple research stations. These stations — once fully functional under the Vinlandian government — were being reshaped, cut off to the public as soon as the workmen were on scene. A grand total of fifty different outposts were being renovated, but for what purpose?

[b][i]- Public Announcement -[/i][/b] "In light of the recent humanitarian crises, Cyneriice Northan has unveiled fifteen new planes that have been converted into aid use for the remainder of the North American War. The country solemnly swears that, unless Northan itself is attacked, that the only part these planes will play in the conflict is to give aid to civilians of the CAN if needed. Planes have been designated to scout for needy areas, and bombers will drop payloads of goods. In total, there are: - 5 Yakovlev Yak-9 Planes ....(Codenames [i]Yurel, Yolanda, Yappersnapper, Yes-Please[/i] and [i]Yakkity[/i]) - 5 AH-1 Cobra Choppers ....(Codenames [i]Catchy, Charlie-Chang, Cord, Cut-It-Out[/i] and [i]Cheshire[/i]) - 5 P-51 Mustang Planes ....(Codenames [i]Mister Tinkles, March, May, Maggey Byrd[/i] and [i]Mackie[/i]) - AH-64 Apache Choppers ....(Codenames [i]Avian, Alley Cat, Arp-Arp, Ash[/i] and [i]All Thunder[/i]) Once again, these planes are for relief use only. And yes, I, Alysandra, picked out some of the names — don't be so surprised." [b][i]- Private -[/i][/b] All knowledge of planes requiring a higher technological level were kept classified. Alysandra felt it was better for the world to think of Northan as a backwater fledgeling, rather than something that was rising to its potential. Pretty much everyone must have thought that now, right?

[i]- Public Broadcast -[/i] "Oh. My. GOD! YOU ARE SO AWESOME IT IS NOT EVEN [i]FUNNY[/i]!!" Alysandra let out a joyous squeal. "YOU! EL PRESIDENTE! Come on up here to Cyneriice Northan — let us talk of how we will RAISE THE [i]ROOF[/i]!! Ah WHOOP [i]WHOOP[/i]! DDR parties forever, WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

"Godspeed to the French so that this madness may cease." - Former Queen Cybil de Blanc "Good luck Frenchies! May your victory be swift, and the wine as delicious as ever when you kick butt!" - Queen Alysandra Lacroix

Approaching from the sea side with a fleet of transportation ships, and using an old, beat-up radio from the '60's to transmit, Alysandra's voice came over the radio waves. The signal was aimed at the nearest port, hoping to attract the attention of a government official. "Yoo-hoo! Neo-Canucks! Need a hand?" the broadcast would say. "I've got an entire (mostly decontaminated; stupid nuclear fallout...) country if anybody needs a home! And a giant palace, too! Hello, hello! Hey! SOMEONE RESPOND ALREADY!!"