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Chapter 1, Scene 2: Moyoluani
“These waters are of Yōcoāƶin’s blood, and his heart will be your new nation. You will reach the horizon, where the lowest Heaven touches the ground to bless your ancestors and your descendants. Your inheritance”

This was the supposed prophecy told to Moyoluani by the Goddess Lōzōnxicoyol the night after her uncle-in-law’s death. When Moyoluani became the first ever Archpriestess in recorded Azlo history, she took the prophecy to mean to follow the rivers south from their homeland. Although she would never reach this promised land, and neither would many archpriests after her, the Azlo people would eventually arrive where “the lowest Heaven touches the ground”. Two great mountain ranges, and named them after the Heavens, “Mēƶcān”. This is ultimately where the name “Mēƶλiλācaɥ/Metztlitlaca” (“People of the Moon”) comes from, for the moon housed the highest Heaven and the palace of their patron Goddess Lōzōnxicoyol. An empire in her glory.

The sun was setting, the streaks of red and orange across the crumbling city’s skyline masked across Moyoluani University (renamed to St Joseph University a year before the town was evacuated), the current headquarters for the Militia Confederacy. Surrounding the university complex were various makeshift tents and roughly patched up buildings with numerous different flags and banners plastered across walls or hanging limp off flag poles. The eastern third section of the university was almost always full with wounded men flowing in and out. The central and western thirds of the University on the other hand were almost entirely silent, with few wandering its halls. However, there was one man trudging through the silent halls, Alez Pellamo. His usual vein-ridden strawberry-coloured face was now pale, however he kept his head high and military uniform and jacket clean and tidy. One must appear to be at his strongest when one is at his weakest, afterall. Alez stopped halfway down the hall where are large set of desecrated wooden doors sat shut, next to them were several large framed photos – around the same length as his arm and half that in width – with at least a hundred or more young adults holding rolled up papers. His greyed brown eyes trailed down to a date and a single sentence stamped into the brass frame:
[2010 Graduation Ceremony]
Alez’s eyes squinted slightly as he continued to a similar framed photo below it, labelled 2011. The date read 2012, with fewer graduates. His focus continued downwards slowly, passing by 2013 and 2014, reaching 2015, where the number of students were now only in the tens. His eyes now stared at the floor below him, towards his own feet. The old man took in a deep breath, only now realising he had been holding his breath the whole time, and swiftly moved to the wooden doors briefly glaring at the brass tag above the doors before shoving them open and entered the main university hall.

The university hall was 45m across and 28m wide and open to the environment with numerous horizontally open Shoji panels attached where one would expect window frames. Most of the panels had been torn apart or had collapsed in previous confrontations between the militia forces and the army division within the city, but for the most part the university was a safe and secure location for gatherings. Most of the hall’s floor was full of beaten up wooden and bamboo chairs, with a third of the floor at the far end of the hall raised up as a stage. The room itself was originally painted blue and white as a poor imitation of Aroman’s legacy architecture, however a large portion of the paint had been peeled and chipped away at to reveal the same-old pale yellow bricks all other buildings in the city were made of. Hanging from balconies around the back half of the hall were four distinct banners, each representing the four militias that had come together to the city to form the Militia Confederation. The chairs were split up into four sections, each taking up a quarter of the sitting area with just enough room for two people shoulder-to-shoulder to walk through. Most of the seats were empty, with only a couple tens of men and women wearing differing shades of grey military jackets and only two men and a lady in yellow-cream jackets. There were also several soldiers in basic grey uniforms close to the three in yellow. There were two men on the stage, one wearing a grey military jacket and another a yellow jacket. Everyone in the room turned to stare at Alez, one of the men in the grey uniforms even pulling out an assault rifle already aimed towards him, but quickly put it to his side and nodded to the old man with his cheeks flushed red.
“S-sorry.” The soldier remarked. Alez immediately recognised the boy as the skittish bringer of bad news from yesterday morning. Oya-something was his name.
“No. Never apologise for honed skills in a war zone, soldier.” Alez remarked as he began to walk down the centre of the hall towards the stage. His mind nagged at him for not saying more, but he pushed the thought aside – it was already too late, and this wasn't the time for small talk. The militias were already too casual for what he preferred.

As Alez made his way past the chairs, he made a mental tally of grey-jackets and yellow-jackets, reaching a number of 22 and 4. At last he stepped up onto the stage to greet everyone by bowing his head, keeping things brief, he immediately began to speak before everyone had a chance to bow their head back. Three grey uniformed soldiers hastily made their way around the Shoji panels, shutting them. The two men who were on the stage tip-toed off stage to aid their men with the panels.
“Before I begin, I’ve notice we have all Yellow-Jackets with us today. Who is keeping the street safe?” Alez demanded, his tone polite yet sharp. An older lady in a yellow military jacket, the same from the map incident, spoke up: “The Lōzōnxicoyol Long-Ranged Division is maintaining our usual nightly truce. Do not fear the possibility of interruption.”

Alez did fear the possibility of interruption.

From his jacket, Alez yanked out a partially crumpled up script he had scrambled together for the past three hours. He cursed to himself quietly under his breath before beginning, holding his arm and hand towards a copy of the map he had drawn upon earlier, with a finer line this time, plastered on what Alez assumed was a whiteboard before it was partially burned.
“Over the course of the last three days, scouts have ventured out into the city and helped our cartographer Calpixci devise a map of Pezidenteza Street and nearby city blocks. The black line represents the estimated front lines between our Militia Confederacy and President Tario’s chattel.” Alez paused for a moment, letting the information settle in people’s minds, and soon one of the grey-jackets raised their hand. A younger man, in his 30s, spoke up.
“I apologise, but how is it so that these scouting parties had not passed the front line? Have I or we not been informed of a larger front line then just Pezidenteza Street?”
“I was coming to that, thank you Loì. These scouts were not as a group but as individuals. More-so in the north than in the south, scouts came across scouting parties from President Tario soldiers who we suspected were doing the same as us. However Ƶantico-” Alez turned his gaze to the same old lady from before, who raised her hand slightly so that everyone knew who he was talking to, then bringing himself to look out at the small audience “-believes they may be planning a route for reinforcements or escape. Estimating how long it may take for their reinforcements is difficult to tell, as we only gained this knowledge yesterday and our men in the back will need time to come up with better numbers, but knowing how far other cities and towns under Tario’s banners, we estimate it will take them two weeks from today assuming they build up their reinforcements then send them in.” Alez stated, taking a breath before continuing, “confidential documents will be sent out to all grey and yellow jackets by midnight with more information but we, the ones who had first access to the map and information, should tell you all before hand. Soldiers, men, you are to sow the information to your peers of potential reinforcements to lighten the impact tomorrow midday when we shall release this information to all divisions.”
“We must be prepared for the worst.” Alez concluded. The hall remained silent before Camille, in the back, spoke up.
“What’s our plans then?”
“Our current ideas for timetables and plans are part of the document, read them alone or with other Yellow Jackets.” Alez responded. No one else spoke up, so Alez began to step down from the stage as another Yellow Jacket stood up to begin their own presentation regarding other issues Alez frankly had no interest in, but he kept his eyes trained on the other Yellow Jacket to not appear rude. He knew the other Yellow Jackets weren’t going to like what the documents said, that they should continue with their usual timetables and combat at Pezidenteza Street, but they didn’t have enough intel to go for riskier moves. It didn’t help that the rest of his brain was more focused on his son’s condition in the militia’s hospital, who he had promised to visit after the meeting..

“-thus the Libete Militia will be using tomorrow as an opportunity to reorganise the armouries and barracks.” The Yellow Jacket on stage stated, folding his more neatly presented script into his jacket’s front pocket. Alez’s mind snapped back to reality, thankfully catching the end conclusion to the man’s speech. The man on stage bowed and stepped off, one by one the Yellow Jackets and their small posse of soldiers stood up and left the hall, Alez doing the same as he slowly dissociated back into his mind and letting his body keep him on track towards the eastern wards of the university, to the militia hospital, with baited breath.



Edited by Metztlitlaca
Name Change
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  • Metztlitlaca changed the title to An Empire Divided: Chapter 1
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The Writer's Deck, Truths of Metztli Newspaper Headquarters, Altepetl Tekaken.

Priest Wolōcoāλ mopped his greyed brow as he surveyed over the capital, the valley walls either side of the Λayelloyoɥ River acting like the walls of a bowl, the soup a greyish brown fog of pollution that flowed the same shape as the equally polluted river below. Even so high up in his office building, Wolōcoāλ could hear the cheerful screaming of children playing on the streets, the rattling engines of cars, and the day-to-day squabble of the working class. The priest sneered at the thought of the grime and muck slathered on the ground and lungs of those who danced and laughed to music below. He looked upwards, night was settling in and a slight drizzle of rain began to patter the windows.
“Why do farmers cram into this city? What do they see in this place as anything but a squalor of missed opportunity.” The Priest cried out towards the window. From behind, a man of similar age to Wolōcoāλ with salt and pepper hair and a clean shaven face approached the priest, holding out a long red and brown box, the lid was open to reveal several cigars.
“San Castellino or Iberic?” The priest asked, his acquaintance shook the box, lifting it slightly for the priest to read.
“San Castellino” his friend confirmed, the priest pulled out a cigar on the end of the row and slotted it into his mouth, slipping out a box of his own. A tall white match box with a red side which he used to light a match to light the ends of his and his friend’s cigars. For a moment both men stood in silent as the priest wafted the match, causing it to go out in a wisp of grey smoke, the rain increasing in intensity causing the noises of the city to die down, leaving only the rain and the sounds of the tapping of computers and scribbling of paper behind him. Everyone in the room, including the two men, wore your standard black suits and ties with clean cut and well cared for hair and minimal beards. The strict uniform code was something Wolōcoāλ was proud of about his company, professionals have standards, and one must be professional if they wish to survive under the eyes of the government.

“Yet you came here.” Wolōcoāλ’s friend remarked, to the priest’s surprise. He blew out a thin stream of smoke and stuffed the match box into his suit’s side pocket before responding to his friend.
“Sorry for my brashness, but you ponder why the commons come to this city, yet you also came here. Why?” He clarified, pocketing the red and brown box into his trouser’s pocket.
The priest’s face scrunched up slightly, scratching the left temple of his head as he spoke. “I wish I could of remained in Azcapoƶinco, where I could see beyond the beauty of a modern city without a veil of pollution. But this is where the money is. You know that better then anybody!”
Wolōcoāλ’s friend pulled him closer, wrapping his arm around the shoulders of the priest as he did the same. The two began to walk the perimeter of the floor, around the many busy workers on phones or tapping away at computers. “You did not come just to smoke and jab, Iƶqīnλi?” Wolōcoāλ said, interrogating his friend. A hyena-like smile stretched out over Wolōcoāλ’s friend, guiding himself and the priest towards his office.
“Of course not, I would not disrespect your time like that. But the matter of this conversation should be in private.” Iƶqīnλi responded, eventually he unwrapped from the priest’s shoulders and pushed open the mahogany red-brown door into his office, the lights already on and two chairs one either side of Iƶqīnλi’s similarly red-brown wooden desk. On the desk were few papers scattered and a small brass work lamp, and a brass plate reading `Pr. Iƶqīnλi – Chief Financial Officer (CFO)` in Naxua. The room itself was dim light with yellow incandescent bulbs and dark brown wooden walls. Iƶqīnλi took his seat behind the desk before Wolōcoāλ took the seat in front. Before neither of them spoke, Iƶqīnλi slid a piece of paper over to the priest for him to read.


The image on the paper showed the triple point of the border between Metztlitlaca, Sitallo, and the Triple Commonwealth with a region in red spread across Sitallo and the Triple Commonwealth with small border towns and fields of Metztlitlaca part of the region, but in orange. From the red and orange region sprawling arrows in a brighter more saturated red spilled out. At each border a number was written. 119700, 51300, 256400.
“What is the matter?” Wolōcoāλ queried, his brow lowering downwards.
“One of the writers for the headline article on our second-to-next newspaper had a go at the numbers, the percentages don’t make sense.” He explained, pointing with his fingers to two percentages – in red – next to the 256,400 and 51,300. “It says 84% of all refugees go through Tlaxcalixe, yet when he ran the numbers – and I did as well to double check – we came to only 60%.”
“So what? Facts and figures are bound to be incorrect every now and again. We try out best to fact check but sometimes this happens.” The priest responded, blowing out a wisp of smoke from his cigar.
“I would of thought the same, but if you only count numbers the numbers of refugees going into the Triple Commonwealth and us, it comes out at 84%.” Iƶqīnλi said, causing one of Wolōcoāλ’s eyebrows to raise.
“That’s cheeky." The priest remarked, a small smile on his face, "Not even I have the will to bend numbers like that. Check the reporters for this headline, find out who did this, and give them a raise!” Wolōcoāλ burst out laughing, Iƶqīnλi recoiling in response. “No but seriously, I don’t want another court case with the Temples. I need those reporters to my office.”
“Friend, I am not… Entirely against using the figures we have been given.” Iƶqīnλi responded, taking a breather from his cigar for a brief moment as Wolōcoāλ’s eyebrows raised higher than before.
“Iƶqīnλi, I never considered you as one for manipulating data. That was always my job."
“If we remove the 119,700 from the image, and we make sure at least initially on the article we label the refugees as transnational, then we are not lying.” the priest’s friend explained, pointing to each part of the paper. For a moment, both men sat in silence. Wolōcoāλ leaned back in his chair as Iƶqīnλi sat in anticipation. Eventually the priest spoke up:

“Got any more cigars?”

Sighing, Iƶqīnλi rummaged through his trouser’s pocket and pulled out the box for Wolōcoāλ, who dropped his original one into a half-filled ash tray and began to retrieve his match box.
“Will you not respond to my idea?” Iƶqīnλi asked, his voice tense. The priest lit his second cigar, shrugging.
“Bring it up with Malēlin, I trust her judgement for proposals like this.” He explained, continuing to sit back with his cigar and his friend beginning to do the same.
Both in silence for several minutes as they enjoyed the relative quietness away from the office space and the city as a whole. Eventually though the priest began to speak once more.
“I attempted to try one of the foul Calaɥīnla YUULs the other day, I can never understand why one would replace the finer tastes over sugar and fruit.” Wolōcoāλ remarked, pulling out his half-smoked cigar to analysis it. Iƶqīnλi flashed one of his usual hyena smiles before returning to a solemn look.
“The paper will be out the day after tomorrow. I will see if I can reach the main writer and Malēlin in time.” He concluded, Wolōcoāλ nodding in agreement.


The Truths of Metztli


Tonight’s Headlines:

“Sitallian Refugees reach an all-time high.”
“Opinion: Castellino and Sitallo, cynics to love.”


General Maliano’s butchery of the Azlo and Huang people of eastern Sitallo has shown no signs of stopping as last week over 9,000 international refugees had passed the border into Tlaxcalixe according to the IRCE and TTY. This is a record high and there are no signs of stopping.

The International Red Cross of Eurth and the West Border Army (Tōnatiw Tamačīwtoc Yaoqīzqē) have worked tirelessly over the past four years within the borderlands of Tlaxcalixe as the dominion has become flooded with Tapelt and Hong migrants fleeing from the barbaric General Maliano who has been brutally suppressing the inhabitants of the eastern states of Sitallo, with the Sitallian government snuggled up in Sīta ti Fitōria doing nothing to end the violence.


Overall, over 256,000 refugees have made the perilous journey across the border into Metztlitlaca. Refugees in such high numbers have begun to overwhelm refugee camps, forcing many to travel further inland into treacherous lands or towards imperialist controlled Kaseka. Or stay in squalor and disease at the already cramped refugee camps.

The Tlaxcalixe government has sent an appeal to the Temple of Collective Intent and to other dominion governments across Metztlitlaca for greater aid in manpower and resources yet only Tepanizo and the Northern Dominion have responded with supplies, the Tepanizo government alone providing 2,000 new tents for their Tapelt brothers, but more should be done to aid our oppressed brothers across the border in “Democratic” Sitallo. The Triple Commonwealth, as usual, has remained silent about their own refugee populations, but both the TTY and a LAANN-based refugee survey team estimate that only 16% of refugees leaving Maliano’s territory go through the Triple Commonwealth, the other 84% going through Metztlitlaca. Less than two out of every ten refugees pass through the Triple Commonwealth!


The West Border Army’s Correspondent, Zilonī Wiƶīliɥwīƶin, has released a statement on the matter, requiring “immediate aid” towards northern Tlaxcalixe border towns, as violence spewed over by General Maliano’s torment has begun to directly affect the lives on the border away from the main refugee pathways.

More on the Sitallo Refugee Crisis:
General Maliano Soldiers spotted beyond the border
Temple of Collective Intent nulls 2014 Sitallo-Metztlican Hard Border Treaty amidst chaos.

· · ·

As of January 18th, San Castellino has banned same-sex relationships, similarly a year ago the Occidental Democratic Republic of Sitallo had reinforced the illegality of same-sex marriages within the nation and has made backwards strides towards outlawing commune livings which flies directly in the face of Wēcatoc teachings in favour of Europo-Argisian Catholic teachings. These acts fly in the face of personal freedoms, personal freedoms that allow individuals to love who ever they wish to love, to marry who ever they wish to marry, personal freedoms Metztlitlaca has championed since its inception. We have yet to see any reaction from the freedom loving Mauridivians, however we can be safe to assume they are similarly upset at our neighbour's actions against freedom and love. Although our own nation has its faults, to be so blatantly cynical towards the choices a freeman should be able to partake in is

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    • By Metztlitlaca
      “An Empire Divided” Multi-Expansion RP Proposal
      Metztlitlaca Expansion
      My first expansion! Despite the name of the proposal this application is only for the first stage of the expansion, which is the conquest of the Occidental Democratic Republic of Satillo. All currently made information for the expansion (for now) will be below.
      Since the departure of Derthalen, Adaptus, Limonaia, and Variota, there is no longer a “Boogeymen” nation for people to work with/against. The closest we have is Fulgistan, who although is planning to expand, may not be as amoral as people hope (closer to Galahinda then the DPRK), and Haruspex (who is pretty locked into their corner of Europan). So I’ve taken it upon myself to hopefully give people a nation to condemn, to secretly work with, to be a global issue to carefully deal with. Expansion will begin with Sitallo, but hopefully if reception is positive from my expansion RP thread and a thumbs up from my neighbours, I will continue with the Triple Commonwealth conquest and beyond.
      The eventual state I plan to end with (2022-2023) will have a population from Half a Billion to a Billion. That’s an insane number for Eurth - which has a global population of 5 Billion - but considered the GDP per capita would be much lower than its competition, the GDP itself would only put it in the top 5 nations and still have to work with and by other large states such as SSI, Gallambria, and eventually Fulgistan’s FASR to get what this behemoth wants. Hopefully I can earn the right to be the Wurld's Douchebag :P.
      (Map of the Three Azlo Sisters - successor states to the Crescent Empire)

      Proposal A: The Occidental Democratic Republic of Sitallo

      The Occidental Democratic Republic of Sitallo (Sitallian Azlo: Lepaplica Democatic Ocitental Sitallo) is a Low-Income-Country which is most well known for its tenuous internal politics torn between a recently authoritarian government and the major military general warlords of the nation.
      Area: 641,320 km^2 (93% of Metztlitlaca)
      Population: 16,077,892 (75% of Metztlitlaca)
      Population Density: 25.07 per km^2
      GDP per Capita: $2,587
      GDP total: $40,159,350,660 (64% of Metztlitlaca)
      Demonym/Adjective: Sitallian
      De Jure National Religion: Non / Secular
      De Facto National Religion: Catholicism
      Capital City: Sìta ti Fitòria
      The Sitallian constitution defines Sitallo as a unitary republic of 15  provinces, however like Metztlitlaca, Sitallo is largely an authoritarian state (moreso than Metztlitlaca). Sitallo is classified as an autocracy (unlike Metztlitlaca’s anocracy) as part of a backsliding democracy since 2015. This has come about as part of the recent expansion of power by the Sitallo National Brotherhood Party due to the failed 2015 coup, which has resulted in the recent oppression of the nation’s plurality ethnic group of the Metztlica by the smaller (yet still substantial) Xisomostoxe ethnic group. In 2019 and 2020 there have been multiple protests and riots in the capital of Sitallo by the Metztlica and other oppressed groups, but so far no effort has been made by the Sitallian government to stop the increasing pulling away of democracy, instead enact harsher crackdowns on dissident groups.

      The borders of the country were first defined in 1592 by the Crescent Empire under the name of Tonalcalaquiyantlacah (“Land of the Sunset”). The region was part of a large-scale tributary revolt against the Crescent Empire in 1672 which lasted until 1711 when the region broke away as numerous smaller nations one of which was called Cicitlalloteotlalliapan which roughly translated to “On the waters of a sacred land full of stars”. The stars within the name most likely represented the large abundance of exposed platinum in the area and in the rivers.
      In 1785, the Shffahkian Empire (under Emperor Eustace I) conquered Cicitlalloteotlalliapan as well as numerous other smaller states under the colonial name of Nuovo Sfachiano. Due to the tropical savanna-like climate, the region became colonised by Cristinese Shffahkians for cash crop plantations with slave labour predominately made up of the native inhabitants with some importation of the Huang. The colony did not last, and a large-scale slave revolt from January 1847 to December 1848 caused the region to break away under the Republic of Nuovo Sfachiano. The nation renamed itself to Sitallo in April of 1849. In 1899 there were talks between the Republic of Sitallo and the Crescent Kingdom on Azlo unification, but Armand Eugène de Caldofondo-Bouvèron died before any real constitution was drafted as post-Armand I kings of the Crescent Kingdom were disinterested in expansion.

      1847-1848 Azlo Slave Revolt Flag
      From 1849 - 1932, the Republic of Sitallo swung between stable democracies to effective autocracies, but in October 1932, a Fulgistani-backed socialist coup ended the 86 year old republic replacing it with the Socialist People’s Republic of Sitallo. The SPRS was a forced-secular authoritarian regime, which eroded down the indigenous Wēcatoc religious even more than under the Shffahkian Empire, along with the closing and even destruction of catholic churches and cathedrals. The second attempt at unification between Sitallo and the Crescent Kingdom (now under the South Palu Confederation) was in 1972, but due to ideological differences (primarily around freedoms of religion) the two nations never took the idea seriously beyond condemning one another for their actions against unification. In December 1991, a minor protest against socialist authoritarian rule broke out in the capital of Sìta ti Fitòria. Yet the protest was met by open fire by several on-duty Sitallo soldiers , leading to the death of fifteen protestors - 9 of which were under 18 - leading to a domino effect up until the 1992 February Sìta ti Fitòria Revolution, where in a large number of armed ex-army combatants, anti-socialist militia groups, and protestors took over the capital city for an entire week culminating in the fracturing of the state into five war general-led states. Although the Socialist People’s Republic was not legally dissolved, it was for all intents and purposes over.

      1932-1992 Socialist People’s Republic of Sitallo “Worker’s Banner”
      Over the next decade and a half, the country slowly reunified under the Occidental Democratic Republic of Sitallo. This was largely done through appeasement of the warlord military generals through coersion, bribery, and assassinations. The Occidental Republic was surprisingly functional as a democracy, holding its first elections in 2003 with the Sentenamitl Unification Party (party backed by the generals) winning 72% of the vote. The second election in 2007 saw the S.U.P. gaining 53% of the vote - largely by Metztlica and southern populations of the nation - and the Sitallo National Brotherhood Party winning 32% of the vote, with the last 15% predominantly going to the Democratic Liberal Party. The most recent election in 2011 saw the SNBP with 51% of the vote, with the DLP at 42% and the SUP at 7%. Many of the ex-military generals who controlled territories of Sitallo began to fear that their power was waning, and an attempted coup in 2014 - a year before the next election - occurred, but failed, leading to the SNBP voting as a bloc to “temporarily hold elections” under President Tario. Interestingly only one of the five generals involved in the failed coup was arrested and tried, with the other four pardoned, leading to many assuming the coup was - in fact - staged.
      From 2015-2020, prejudice towards Wēcatoc Temples increased and [the discrimination] became endorsed by President Tario who described Wēcatoc as a “Barbaric idol faith”. Recently Catholicism has been covertly sponsored by the regime to replace Wēcatoc in the western and inland territories. This has led to Metztlitlaca threatening intervention in the region as refugees from Sitallo have begun to cross into Metztlitlaca, upsetting the already fragile balance in the Tapelt region.

      Current Flag of the Occidental Democratic Republic

      Culture & Military
      Like Metztlitlaca, Sitallo is split between Shffahkian colonists, native Azlo, and a small percentage of Huang. The Shffahkian colonists make up 4% of the total population and are the core of Catholicism in the nation. The number used to be much higher until many fled when the Slave Revolt occurred - fleeing to the Crescent Kingdom or the Shffahkian Republic. The Huang (mixed or not) make up ~12% of the population, predominantly in the north-east, and have a culture similar to that of Pomodoria of Yatotla: mixed ex-slave Huang with significant influence from Azlo and Cristinese cultures. There are four Azlo groups within Satillo, in order of population are: Metztlica (37%), Xisomostoxe (33%), Àwitsoxe (21%), and the Western Tlaxcalixe (9%).
      The military of Sitallo, although similar in size to Metztlitlaca (~30,000 Active Military Personnel), is split amongst 5 separate loosely tied together military generals, three of which were part of the original People’s Republic break up (Tario, Tonato, Miliano) with Lèn and Palisi being the oldest sons of the previous generals. All five military generals along with the Sitallian government attempt to act as a single body, but dissonance between generals has led to instability in the recent past.

      (Temporary Map - better one will be made if the submission is accepted)

      Reason for Expansion - In Universe
      Since the official formation of Metztlitlaca in 2005 the nation has toyed with the idea of irredentist claims to former Crescent Empire territories, but serious intervention and land grabbing has been out of the picture as the nation was more focused on reconstructed then expansion. But since 2019, the Civil Reconstruction Program has been declared a success and 95% of regions which were severely affected by the civil war have seen reconstructed (often better then they were previously). The growth of Metztli nationalism has also seen success under the Bitheocratic Constitution, spear-headed by Continentalist, Palu Socialist, and Covenant Pluralist ideologies. 
      The expansion into Sitallo would - in the eyes of the Metztlican Government - cement Metztlican nationalism as the central and legitimate ‘true ideology’ of the country. There is also the easy decision to use the war as a “moral crusade” to free the Metztlica population from religious and societal oppression along with increasing personal freedoms of the region.
      Since the early 2000s, the Metztlican economy has been cruising off low-density metal mining + refining, and export of cash crops to LAANN members and observers. However, closely guarded records have noted that Bauxite reserves within the Metztlican side of the Tapatepetli Mountains are expected to reach economically insufficient levels by 2025 - two years before the current 10 year plan for industrialisation is achieved - which has thrown the highest governing bodies of the nation into a crisis. But, large veins of platinum are known to exist in the northern vestiges of Satillo, along with untapped Bauxite reserves which should last current Metztlican exploitation levels until 2040. The larger worker force would also decrease the 10 year plan’s end date down to 2022 if Satillo infrastructure could be brought up to Metztlican standards by mid 2021.
      Reducing Foreign Influence
      The conquest and subjugation of Satillo - in the mind of the government - would allow for Metztlitlaca to reach an even footing with its closest frenemy of Fulgistan and could mean that the Metztlican government can put its foot down to any unreasonable Fulgistani demands. There are also rumours of Fulgistan’s own potential expansion in the upcoming years. If true, it would mean Fulgistan would easily outcompete any other member of LAANN and come to dominate the geopolitical region uncontested. Keeping up with Fulgistan is an imperative of the current Metztlican regime to prevent a second South Palu Confederation.

      Plan of Action
      The RP expansion will be in two pieces: 
      The first half is about a man called Cualli Pellamo and how he became involved in two separate militia groups, both groups attempting to work together to perform a second coup in the capital city of Sìta ti Fitòria.
      The second half is the actual invasion by Metztlitlaca into the nation of Satillo. Whilst the first half is ongoing, plans for the second half will begin. Any nation who wishes to get involved (LAANN or not) may, as either humanitarian aid, combatants or even just news reporters or unfortunate tourists. As long as it makes sense you can get involved! You can even attempt to stop Metztlitlaca’s expansion and try to save Satillo.
      I don’t necessarily know how long this expansion RP will take (first time doing it) but it’ll most likely take until post-mid 2021, especially so due to College.
    • By Gallambria
      Looking at expanding Gallambria's reach 'globally' for political, economic and strategic reasons.
      I have an interest in these three islands/island groups. My intention is not to land grab, however to expand into islands/areas that would extend my nations reach into
      the northern hemisphere, but also allowing nations to access the Marenesian island group.
      Below is the plan I have for my expansion.

      As these islands are deemed "Terra Nullis" - I will be RP'ing the claims through maritime exploration by Government and Naval maritime forces.
    • By Tagmatium Rules
      Spring was finally coming to Gournaion, the capital of the island of Efmoseia and the nation of the Hexanesa. It had been a hard winter across all of northern Europa and even the western countries of Machina @Haruspex and Tagmatium had suffered in the coldest weather in decades. Despite being the two most functional nations in either the Occident or Burania, many of their citizens had died in the cold weather and parts of them had been cut off due to the deep snow and blizzards. In the band of six islands that marked the division of the Thalassa ton Kataigidon (Sea of Storms) and the waters of inner Europa, the weather had been especially hard because the islands had very little resources of their own to call upon. Some of the small fishing villages and semi-permanent logging camps that made up the settlements on the exposed northern coasts of the islands had to be completely abandoned. Vessels and aircraft from the Stolos, the militarised coast guard, were now going out to assess the damage to the settlements and to see if the inhabitants could return. The weather had been a shock after the warm temperatures of the summer and very few people had been prepared for anything other than the usual winter weather, although that was always quite harsh. The economic damage would have to be counted before the country could move forward. The long cold winter had delayed the planting of crops and prevented fishing for weeks when the fleets should have been out laying pots for crab or trawling for Adlantic salmon. Whilst the people of the Six Islands were unlikely to starve over the coming months, the finances of the country and its inhabitants would suffer. The last decade hadn't been kind to the Hexanesa and it seemed like the start of the new one wasn't going to be great, either.
      Those were the thoughts going through the head of a warmly wrapped little old lady as she sat at a cafe table and took sips of a cup of tea whilst looking out over the harbour of Gournaion. The cafe had cast iron furniture arrayed around tables and segregated from the street by low planters with hardy plants, although most of them had died over the winter. A heavyset stheneloser dog lay curled at her feet, its thick black and white fur proof against the cold of the northern islands. There were still boats in the harbour, although most of them were out to sea, trying to catch up with the season's fishing. She had just come from a morning service at the Panagia Theotokos, the cathedral of the Hexanesa. A savoury pastry lay untouched on a plate in front of her. Several newspapers were spread across the table, some from the Hexanesa, some from Tagmatium and even one from @Orioni. It was the old lady's habit to look through the headlines in the morning after church before she pottered back to her house. The headlines, at least of the Tagmatine ones, were mainly about the Megas Agios Basileia's involvement in Ceris – two carrier groups and a corps were now in action there, with suggestions that more might follow on. She shook her head. It was unlikely that “Arhomaneia” was involving itself there for the benefit of the Cerisers, although no one could deny that the Sentists were a plague that wouldn't go away of its own accord. The Orinese paper was at least more hopeful, although it focussed on the ongoing EOS mission in the Bainbridge Islands.
      The papers were full of just more examples of the powers of the wurld bullying the smaller nations. Although the Orinese were much less... conservative, blunt and chauvinistic than the Tagmatines, they were perhaps a bit more hypocritical. They tended to frame all of their actions as good for the people they were subjecting them to, even if it was entirely against their will. The intervention in the Bainbridge Islands had been going on much longer than any operation the Tagmatine armed forces had undertaken in decades. Under the aegis of EOS, the Orinese were bringing peace and stability to the south of Europa, whether it was wanted or not. After a moment looking out to sea again, she broke off a corner of the pastry and crumbled it up further. She then tossed the crumbs to a wagtail that was scavenging around the tables of the cafe but keeping a wary distance from the stheneloser. Another joined it and the two birds bickered for a moment amongst the table legs before seemingly deciding that the amount of crumbs was enough for the pair of them. She watched the small birds briefly before sighing to herself and pouring more tea from the pot into her cup.
      A passerby called a greeting and waved at the old lady. The wagtails, always timid, scattered and chittered their outrage at being forced away from their crumbs. The stheneloser raised its heavy head and watched the passerby and the old lady's reaction to them, its eyes darting between the two. When she waved back, it put its muzzle back on its paws, content that there was no threat there and closed its eyes. She reached down and scratched it behind its ears and broke off another bit of the pastry. The dog put its head up again and gave a begging look. The old lady smiled at the big dog and gave it the rest of the pastry, saving a corner for herself. It chewed messily for a moment and nosed up the crumbs that it had dropped. She ate the corner she had broken off and sipped the cup of tea.
      Of course, to the locals it wasn't just an old woman – it was Evangela Leotykhidissa, the Megas Kritissa, the Great Judge, of the Kritakrateia of the Hexanesa. A small bodyguard called the Skouterioi lurked nearby, attempting to make themselves unobtrusive but also trying to be a visible barrier between her and any possible threat. Unlike the bodyguards of the islands' western neighbour, they weren't in ostentatious armour and robes but coats and suits. It was clear that they were still bodyguards, as the tailoring of their suits couldn't quite hide the presence of holstered pistols. The Skouterioi had always made it clear that they weren't happy with the fact their head of government was content to sit in public and let the islanders greet her as they walked by. Although the islands weren't rich, they were strategic. The Arhomaiki Noimosyni Dykton was an ever-present threat, as were the secret services of the Exousiokrateia or the Volskoi. Any of them might try to engineer a takeover of the islands or assassinate the Megas Kritissa. They would likely then try to take advantage of either the islands' position or the possibility of mineral or oil wealth possessed by them. The Gharoiki have been carrying out “hydrocarbon mining” in the areas of the Thalassa ton Kataigidon under their control. It seemed to be a pompous way of saying “oil and gas extraction” and it couldn't be doubted that the Hexanesa were being eyed up by the northern barbarians.
      Evangela took another sip of tea. The Megas Kritissa had been voted into the position in 2016 as a reaction against the regime of Kommodos Iakoumos, as she had been in the election six years before that. The old woman was one of the few of the Lipotakai, the Deserters, still actively involved in the politics of the Hexanesa. She had been repeatedly elected because she was seen as taking a hard line with Tagmatika. There was still an arrest warrant out for her in the Megas Agios Basileia, even though it had been over sixty years since the events at the end of the Long War which had caused the Hexanesa to break away from Arhomaneia. It looked like the relationship between the islands and the mainland were warming up in the reign of Theodosios VI but his death at the hands of an assassin and the civil war that followed had halted that.
      At the time, some of the other Kritai had considered throwing in their support behind the cabal of naval and army officers attempting to revive the Navarkhokrateia but that scheme had been stopped by the then Megas Krites, Ioannes Hegesinos. It just would have meant a vengeful Kommodos landing forces on the islands and bringing them to heel by force. Some of the defeated rebels had tried to flee to the islands in the aftermath of the civil war but they had been turned away, most of those disappearing further east or south. There were rumours that the new regime in Tagmatika had shot dozens, if not hundreds, of rebellious officers. Handing over any refugees would have been as bad as murder even if it would have meant that Tagmatika might have warmed up to the Hexanesa.
      The pot of tea was empty and Leotykhidissa stood to her feet, using the arms of her chair to help her get there. One of the Skouterioi stepped forward to take her arm but the old woman waved him off. The big dog stood up and followed the old lady at her heels as she started on the walk towards her official residence. It wasn't too far away from the harbour and the cafe. Gournaion was not a bustling metropolis by the standards of most nations, even New Wurld ones, but it was the largest city of the Hexanesa. The other people walking the streets knew the Megas Kritissa by sight and waved at her as she passed. Many other heads of state would use a car to get around but the size of the capital meant it was unnecessary and Leotykhidissa also loved to see the city. It meant that the old lady felt like she was more in touch with the ordinary people of her country than others in her position might be. And she could see the effects of the policies that she enacted or the repercussions of wurld events.
      In recent years, the numbers of boarded up shops were more noticeable than ever before. As she walked through the cobbled streets of the port, it was obvious where the road surface had become worn or damaged and been replaced with cheaper tarmac. The Great Europan Collapse had not impacted the islands as badly as others – the government hadn't fallen apart due to economic ruin like in many other countries but the primary industries of fishing and logging had taken a hit. The tourist trade had been nascent but starting to bear fruit, with southerners coming to see the relatively unspoilt landscapes, although others came to see the remains of the battlefields of the Long War. Those were mainly Tagmatioi and their money was as good as anyone else's, even if the Hexanesoi didn't like their government. However, that had dried up and the tourist board of the Kritakrateia just didn't have the money or the pull to try to attract more people to the islands. Foreign faces were now entirely uncommon on the islands.
      The Megas Kritissa got to the official residence of the head of the islands. It was no towering edifice but a low villa, almost in the classical style, if not for the modifications made to the architecture to take into account the frigid winters. A pair of guards in the dress uniform of the Taxiotai, the island's paramilitary police, stood either side of the door. Their faces were slightly reddened from the cold and their breath clouded in the early morning air. Leotykhidissa would make sure that the guards changed over a bit earlier than scheduled to get them out of the cold. The big dog walked up to the nearest and sniffed at the gendarme's boots.
      “Arkadios, come.”
      The dog stopped sniffing about immediately and trotted after the old woman and into the building. It was a comfortable enough building, if slightly more grand than many others in the city. It was the old seat of the Exarkhos, the governor, of the Hexanesa, back before the Long War had dashed that all to the winds. It was, imaginatively, known as the Palati tou Exarkhou, the Palace of the Exarkhos, although “palace” was far too grand a name. Arkadios' nails clicked on the tiles in the hall. The vestibule was cold and a draught blew through it, even with the front doors now closed by the Taxiotai on guard. The only real nod to being in the building was when an aide stepped forward to take the Megas Kritissa's coat and held out a warm indoor robe. Waving the aide away with a gesture, Leotykhidissa took off her coat and changed into the offered robe.
      “A cup of tea to warm you up?” the man asked. He was almost as old as Leotykhidissa and had the air of a trusted retainer about him.
      “Yes, thank you,” replied the Megas Kritissa, giving him a thin smile that still managed to be warm. “Can you take it through to the study? There are some papers I wish to go through before I get anything else done today.”
      “Of course,” he sketched a quick bow and stopped to give Arkadios a pat on the head before he did so. “Anything for this boy?”
      “No, he's had a pastry already this morning,” Evangela said, looking down at the big dog, who was in turn looking up hopefully at the aide with big eyes. He was trying to suggest that he'd not been fed at all today, despite what was being said. “He sat patiently outside, waiting for the service to finish. He's been a good boy.”
      Arkadios' tail wagged at the words.
      “I will bring the tea through when it is ready, Megas Kritissa,” said the aide, finally stopping rubbing the fur on top of the stheneloser's head and walking down the hall. “The heating's on, so the study should be nice and warm.”
      “Thank you, Leontios,” the old lady said and walked further into the residence.
      One of the main changes from the traditionally designed Arhomaiki home was that the study wasn't in a commanding place in the building, open to both ends to allow a good view throughout. Instead, in a nod to the cold weather, the room abutted the kitchen, to allow it to take warmth in from the ovens in the walls. That, along with the underfloor heating, made it one of the most snug rooms in the depths of winter. For an elderly person, it made it very liveable. Arkadios padded into the room and went straight over to the dog bed that lay in between the desk and the door and curled up in it. His eyes were on the Megas Kritissa as she pulled out the chair behind the desk and took out a pad of paper. She looked ahead almost blankly for a moment before taking a fountain pen from the mug of pens on the desk and started writing. It took a long time for the words to start properly coming and the cup of tea that Leontios placed on the desk was stone cold before she took notice of it. Eventually, the big dog had started to fidget and whine slightly, making it known that he needed to go out to go to the loo before Leotykhidissa finally stopped her fitful writing and looked down at the words on the page.
      She sighed and made the sign of the cross in the Aroman fashion – thumb, index and middle finger together, going from right to left – before sitting back in the chair. Of course, as she herself was not a despot, Leotykhidissa would put it before the other five Kritai to see what they would think. Personally, it seemed to be the only way to guarantee the fate of the Hexanesa but she had no idea whether it was the right choice. She was just tired of seeing her beloved nation rot and its people suffer like they had been doing for the last few decades.
      Her status as a Lipotakissa and her stance on Arhomaneia meant that she would probably be the only person who could propose a reunion with the Megas Agios Basileia without it being immediately shouted down and the proposer being arrested for high treason. It was certainly shocking, even to Leotykhidissa, but perhaps it was time for her country to come in from the cold.
      OOC: It's time to get the ball rolling on the first part mentioned here.
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