Khaokhett, Kngaok District
It was late in the night, and Kalama Gian was drafting up her acceptance speech.
She had been finally elected to the Minister’s Throne in Saphea Wat, the seat of power in Batengdei, or at least the seat of power the rest of Eurth saw. In truth, the whole system was designed around a bunch of ruthless, lazy oligarchs who monopolized a little too much of the economy to relinquish any real control. It was a sickening notion, even if she was considered harmless enough to be the Prime Minister.
Kalama had hopes to change that, however, and what she needed now was the goodwill of the people.
Almost as if in anticipation of her plans, there had been a laughably poor attempt at winning the election from the Bateng Rouge. They had ignored the notion of campaigning on anything other than maintaining a status quo, which was a terrible way to energize voters. It landed the Rouge in a coalition with the Liberal Democrats, of all parties, which was just salt in the wound.
It left a dirty taste in her mouth just thinking about it, so Kalama didn’t. Instead, she thought about how she would subvert the expectations of her position.
In truth, answer was simple, populism. More specifically, anti-corruption. If there was a cesspool worthy of being purged in Eurth, it was Batengdei. Tagmatium was another that came to mind, but that was beside the point. Voter turnouts had been declining, faith in the government was near nonexistent, and overall, the biggest reform in the last decade was Krusken’s RDI Act, which was laughably useless. No, Batengdei needed a stronger ruler capable of tackling the people’s problems like they had back in the founding days.
The current Batengdei was far too self-absorbed in itself to be of relevance, despite being so close to the spotlight. The means of victory in her hand, but Batengdei preferred to sit contently as the world moved by, horrendous. Kalama knew it was the destiny of Batengdei to lead the nations of Eurth, where they had been neglected for far too long. Now that she had the Minister’s Throne, the ancient ceremonial throne of the old dynasties of Batengdei, now she could lead her people.
Gian had known her destiny for a long time, to re-forge Batengdei in the shape of its former glory. To purge the oligarchs who stunted them for their own profits. A new revolution, perhaps? No, not yet, anyway.
The computer screen of her rough draft slowly burned into her eyes with a pure, white glow. It made the rest of the room seem darker by contrast. Regardless, she forced herself to step away from her desk and walk around the room to relax a bit. The duties of the Batengdeian Prime Minister were numerous, and she had been beset by a hundred bureaucrats with a hundred petty problems from the onset of her taking office. She just needed a little time to remind herself of the importance of her position.
It would take time to win over the population in Batengdei. Fortunately, she had enough control over the media to work unopposed. It would take a coalition of disgruntled workers to create the change necessary to transform Batengdei, this much Kalama knew.
Kalama Gian, Prime Minister Gian, spent the next ten minutes pacing anxiously around the room.
Sang Pithu, Tonle Khlang
It had been a terrible month for Hoja Korig, the leader of the Batengdei National Agricultural Company. The election coalition had been felled by a disgusting abomination of an electoral jape. The Bateng Rouge and Liberal Democratic Party? To make matters worse, the coalition began by passing a bill which flopped on its head and sank the economy with it. Production had slowed as workers suddenly were shifted around between foreign countries vying for a spot of the cheap land available. It was a nightmare. To make matters worse, the Khsaamer National Party jumped ship at the defeat, leaving the National Sovereign Party all alone in a sea of corruption.
They’d called twice for a recount, twice… or, three times? They would have kept going until the next election had they not been silenced by Kalama Gian herself. Who did she think she was, a dictator?
The radio on his desk which had been announcing the most recent rugby game now began playing some song. In anglish, no less.
Hoja lurched forward and attempted to adjust the station, however he couldn’t quite convince his fingers to cooperate, so he instead he swept the damnable machine off his desk, then made for his case of wines.
Korig uncorked a new bottle of ricewine and poured himself a glass. If his company was going to go under, he would race them to it. This would be the third bottle, and he had built up quite a tolerance. Admittedly, the company would likely survive. It was too much of an integral part of feeding the people. Korig’s ownership, however, that could change should the government rule his leadership as “unsatisfactory.” Krusken had been smart to leave him alone, Kalama on the other hand… she had a history of going after company owners who crossed her. Still, they couldn’t touch the mighty Hoja Korig if he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and as if he was… he was simply checking the quality of the ricewine…
“Well, I had better check again, in case this bottle is not up to standard.”
Hoja raised the glass and cheered to the ceiling, “To us!”.
The wine tasted really quite great, especially with the numbness of inebriation. “How could I lose my position, when I mae’ the best damn wine in the country. Hell, I mae’ the only wine in the country. Who wans to go buy wine … anywhrer elsse…”
Hoja Korig was suddenly quite delighted to find the room was gently rocking; rocking him to sleep, most likely. So long as the ricewine was good, there was nothing to worry about, really. . .
“Thanksh… mishter room. . .”
And with that, Korig fell into a pleasant stupor.
"With all these shitty Fulgistani cigs coming in, you'd think the Libs would be a touch more interested in closing off trade lines. At least, certain trade lines."
Hoja Korig chuckled richly before politely puffing on his cigar, continuing:
"The polls are coming for party support on BLNN, and I think we know where it's going."
"What are you implying?"
Across Korig's polished mahogany desk, Boyar Askosow looked confused.
"I still don't understand the purpose of your invitation: are you here to gloat? The Kozak's aren't shifting their support and, frankly, I had no intention of winning the parliament anyway. All I need is my interests - the Kozaki interests - to keep being served, and our current government does a fine job at that. Have you seen the legislation? We barely even have to care about your national government at this rate and we are quite capable of running ourselves."
Korig drew again from his cigar and let out a slow cloud.
"This isn't about bragging. I may be the most influential man in this whole damn country, but that doesn't change the situation of the Sovereigns."
"The Sovereigns? Oh yes, they're winning alright: winning until the BRP and the LDP form a coalition. You know full well no amount of your patronage could get the Sovereign's out of that hole."
Korig chuckled again.
"Boyar, you humor me - puff - but listen, I want a change in management. Krusken has made all this and that, yes? But he has been doing me a disservice, one which has put me at odds with the current government. You understand! The market reforms, the shipping! It's trampling all my hard work! Look at these!"
Hoja Korig took a handful of Fulgistanti cigarettes from a crate by his desk. He frantically unraveled one and presented it to Dmitrov Askosow.
"The damn things! I took one trip to Khenkhourt earlier this month, and the damn place had more of this than the national! It's a f*cking disgrace is what it is! If we keep letting the Bulgen Rouge and the f*cking Libs trade around, we'll go under!"
"I think you mean you'll go under. Your National Agricultural Company is going to be affected, sure, but I can't imagine Kozakstal will suddenly implode if the Bulgen Rouge wins again."
Askosow looked bemused at the visible distress on Korig's face but still wondered what the purpose of the meeting was. There was obviously more to this conversation than Korig complaining about Bulgenstazi trade. Hoja Korig dropped the cigarettes back in their crate and started again:
"The problem for you, Boyar, is your people. Do you think the new legislation exempts you from the National Agricultural Company? It doesn't, and even if it did, any attempt at a nationalized industry would flounder in the face of our own. Kozakstal doesn't have a port, there's no benefitting from trade, either! But wait, there's more to this than just industry: your precious Kozak culture. Do you think those foreigners in Fulgistan care about the Kozak? Because I can tell you right now, the most they could care about is if the Kozaki purchase their goods over mine. The foreigners, you see, will crush your culture if it means they can squeeze another drop of trade. What we need is protectionism, and I don't see it coming from the Rouge or the Liberals. Protectionism will protect my money, your money, and your culture."
Boyar Askosow's smugness quickly dissolved. Hoja Korig was right, there wasn't much keeping Kozakstal from being overtaken by foreign goods, and the Okrug wouldn't see any of the profit from trade goods, unlike national goods. Perhaps the Boyar had been blinded by success to where he forgot the economic fragility of his Okrug; no independence could save the Kozaki from an economic crisis. Still, what did Korig want?
Hoja Korig could sense victory in by Askosow's change in demeanor.
"Boyar, what I would like you to do is pursue a coalition with the National Sovereign Party. It certainly wouldn't be hard, they want as much support as they can get, and your party is just what they need. Besides, there may be more perks to this coalition than just having your party in the majority in Zalensk..."
Hoja Korig reached into his desk and drew a stack of papers. Askosow read:
Kozakstal Oil Reappropriation Act
"You couldn't! The National Oil Company -"
"The National Oil Company bows to the government! This would be entirely possible, given enough support. I'm sure if you and your little party jumped through the National Sovereign Party's hoops, they would be happy to lend you their support on such legislation..."
Boyar Askosow rose from his chair smiling.
"Excellent chat, Mister Korig. I'm hoping I can convince my associates to work with your party - erm - the National Sovereign Party, yes. You may not hear it from me first, but I will update you if we were to form such a coalition. Thank you for inviting me, and my apologies if I was to have come off strong at first. I look forward to future ventures with you."
Hoja Korig smiled to himself, yes, this would be how the National Sovereign Party, Hoja's National Sovereign Party, would finally get their Prime Minister.
Hey! This is the precursor to the future Bulgenstazi 2019 elections! It seems tensions are mounting as the country approaches July 16, election day! I will try to post semi-regularly with some exciting political intrigue! How will Hoja Korig, controller of the National Agricultural Company, secure the victory of the National Sovereign Party? How will the Bulgen Rouge Party and the Liberal Democratic Party react? This thread is currently a closed RP, but if there are groups which seek to meaningfully impact one side or another, please, let me know and I can make a full OOC Post. Thank you!
He had become a sad shell of a man over the years but it didn't stop him from trying to grasp on to the power he held at court. Next to his country Seylos had flourished, building more than the disparate families of Éire had ever been able to accomplish. It was a miracle sometimes that lights were on these days. He groaned and walked slowly to his balcony and looked out across the city. He had imagined in his youth to transform it into a beautiful skyline of glittering lights and opulence, to rival Selbourne. But none of that had ever come to pass. He shrank inside to see the wasted potential in front of him. Loughrea struggled on, becoming poorer and poorer each day and under his watchful gaze. Failed construction projects and empty cranes dotted the skyline from a decades prior when the slightest bit of hope had been present.
He had taken the ducal throne after his brother had passed away early. He was young and eager to make his mark on the world and on Éire. He has started slow but years later he had pushed for expansion, rapid and somewhat brutal expansion. Looking back on it he knew what a horrible mistake it had been. An inexperience duke seizing control of the economy pushing for more and more. Stretching the resources of the country to the limits, and the treasury far beyond what it was capable of.
At first it was wonderful, the capital took on a new life business boomed, the streets were crowded with workers, and in the best moment of his life he had married the woman of his dreams, Amelia. He watched as his dreams had come true and for the first time ever their neighbor Seylos took notice of their success. His wife soon had three beautiful children: Eleanora, Noah, and Conor. He had never been so happy, but it had all been destined to end at some point. By the time she was twenty Eleanora had attracted the eye of the Prince of Seylos, Stuart. She was the first to leave.
Not long after Eleanora had left, what he had dreaded had happened. He knew that the spending couldn't continue forever, but he hadn't just thought ahead. He was the Duke after all, and to admit such things would show incredible weakness to the nobility of Eirie. But regardless of how much he had denied it in his mind it came to pass regardless. The money dried up, and with not a single drop left in the treasuries to fund this golden age it all came crashing down. The markets fell overnight, the companies stopped getting their subsidies, and worst of all Amelia became ill. She had always been such a strong woman, but this time even her strength couldn't save her. When she passed the world became dark, not just inside himself but outside as well.
The popular Amelia had managed to keep the people under control with her passion and empathy or a time, but with her gone his greatest diplomat to the people was gone with her. The protests had begun demanding the prosperity they had all once enjoyed. Then the riots. He had spent days holed up in the palace watching Loughrea burn and the skies turn orange with their glow. After the riots came the insurrection. First rocks being thrown at police keep order, then the next thing he knew he awoke one day to find that Noah and Conor were both gone. He saw the pictures of their burning motorcade, and felt rage. Deep rage. Eleanor tried to come to come to him, but the now King Stuart forbade it, he didn't want to risk losing his Queen. She tried to comfort him from afar but it made no difference.
He had started his retribution, campaigns against this rebellion. Aggressive and decisive. His rage had driven him to victory he believe, and they were gone. What was left was a husk of a country. Their people feeling nothing but hatred for their leader but too afraid to stop him now. He remembered brief demonstration calling out in futility for Eleanora to come and save them from this wretched duke but he crushed them as he crushed the other. And with that, Eleanora was gone. She refused to speak to him for the crimes he had committed against the people she love.
So all he had left was this, his power. He would never give it up.
A knock on his door interrupted his gaze on the broken city. One of his advisors emerged from the doorway, "Your Grace, the council has assembled."
He nodded and waved the man off. He took his time getting fully dressed, and after he was satisfied he looked regal enough he left his bedroom followed by his guards to the council chambers. When he arrived the guards opened the doors for him, which promptly closed behind him.
The chambers were mostly empty with one man in particular that caught his suddenly widening eyes.
"Duke Mághnus Mac Aodhagáin, it's been so long."
"Henry." Mághnus hissed.
Henry rolled his eyes at his uncle's display, "I guess I should've expected that, I'm not exactly popular these days. But neither are you. It's incredible how much they all hate you."
"They don't need to like me Henry, they just need to serve me." Mághnus growled back, he turned back to the doors to open them but they were shut tight. He banged on them as hard as he could, "Guards! Guards!"
Henry chuckled to himself, "They aren't coming Grandpa Mághnus. It turns out you can't even buy their loyalty anymore. You know what's funny to me when I came here, the people here see my brother as much better alternative to you."
Mághnus spun around, "Him? We both know he's a weak fool. His mother spent too long poisoning his mind"
Henry nodded slightly, taking the time to take out a pill bottle which he promptly opened taking a pill out and popping it in his mouth, "Oh definitely, but he's a popular weak fool, and coincidentally much better at running a country than you it turns out. As much as I want to be king, I can't say that he's done the worst job. At least better than our father, or you. As it turns out your inability to keep your children alive leaves him next in line to the throne, and I do very much like the idea of Seylos having more territory when I take it back."
Mághnus froze, his face showing horror at the realization at his situation, "Why are you here!?"
"I'm here for me, for my future kingdom... and for mum," Henry said while producing a pistol, and fired.
Edit: For new people who are unaware Henry is the brother of King Aidan, the leader of Seylos. He fled after a failed coup and is active in the mercenary space hoping one day to reclaim the crown.