An Empire Divided: The Occidental Democratic Republic of Sitallo

[Metztlitlaca 620]

Chapter 1, Scene 1: Oyānci
Archpriest Oyānci, the uncle-in-law of the first ever Archpriestess (Archpriestess Moyoluani), was the Archpriest who led the Azlo from the Great Paran lake in 8 BCE by the orders of Lōzōnxicoyol herself. Before Oyānci, the Azlo had many archpriests and each archpriest was said to be the divine "Cōconēλ" (Directly translates to "Mouth Piece" or "Puppet") of separate Wēcatoc deities. Under the guidance of Oyānci, the Azlo who left the lake came to be unified under the banner of Ce Meƶλ, The Mun. Without the groundworks for a near-unified religion, the Crescent Empire could not of ever unified lands from the Paluvian Rainforest to the Synthe Bay, to the Paititi mountains, to the Manamana Isthmus.

 

Modern Day
A middle-aged man, around his late forties, early fifties, in a yellow-cream military jacket was hunched over head down at a gnarled dusty wooden table with numerous yellow-stained documents and large A3 sheets of rolled out and bent maps. The room he was in shook slightly, cream-coloured dust trickling from the ceiling, the same colour as the ceiling and cracked walls. The room was dead silent, but soon began to be periodically cut by the rattling of distant gunfire and eventually built up to be like an orchestra of woodpeckers, the sounds of individual bangs from the guns merged into one long drawn out buzz. Thankfully for Alez he was not on the front lines down at Pezidenteza Street, he was two streets back at their temporary base, but the periodic hallowing echoes of faraway explosives still trickled cold sweat down his neck. He was far too close to the conflict for his liking. In the outlying front lines, the roaring of a collapsing concrete building echoed through the streets followed by broken up cheering. Alez wasn't sure if that was his own side cheering or that of the opposing forces, but the fact that the long drawn out buzz of machine guns did not end had dampened any hope in his heart. The greyish wooden door - the only way in and out of the room - rattled causing Alez to flinch in place, his head glancing up towards his door. A small part of his brain almost hoped it was the men of the opposing force, finally here to put him out of his misery, but instead it was another man in a similar yellow-cream military jacket, with grey combat trousers and a partially unbuttoned grey shirt.

"We have the map, sir." The man declared, saluting to the hunched man. Alez sighed, his eyes locking with the man.
"Please Camillo, I have repeatedly requested that you call me Alez. I am no more a sir then General-President Tario is."
"Yes si--Alez." Camillo stumbled. "The map you requested of the city has arrived."
"Excellent, thank you." Alez replied. Two more individuals in similar jackets stepped through the door, one (a lady) holding a large rolled up tube of paper held together only by an elastic band and the other (a man) with a single plastic wallet with several cleaner papers inside. The hunched man finally stood up properly, sweeping aside several of his papers to make room. "I'd have expected we'd afford more than a single rubber band to be wrapped around our most valuable current intelligence." Alez sarcastically commented, before being cut by Camille.
"There was a problem s–Alez. The scouting men came across numerous wandering soldiers, General-President soldiers, beyond our controlled territory." He commented, the man with the paper rolled it out on to the table for all men currently in the room to see.

"It's incomplete." Alez snarled, backhanding a pile of paper near himself to the ground, sheets of paper sprawling out everywhere. The two newcomers traded anxious stares before Alez let out a frustrated sigh with a hand to the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine, we're fine. This is still useful. The map ends where President-General soldiers were contacted? Camille?"
"Yes Alez."
“Is this the only map?” Alez questioned, his voice still tense a bit raspy but now looking back to the three men. The old man pulled out a thick black pen from his table and stacks of papers. He turned his head back to Camille.
“No sir, just a copy.” He replied, his voice a tad quieter then previously.
“Excellent” Alez remarked as he carved out great black line across the map following where the surveyed area ended, the scraping of the marker against the paper ringing out across the now silent room. Once Alez finished he took several steps back, the black line going from the top to the bottom of the city map.

"Then this still gives us a rough indication of current front lines of the liberation of the city. If there were lone General-President men, we can safely assume they were attempting to survey the arena of battle themselves. But they held this city before it was even evacuated, why would they need multiple men out beyond the active front lines? They only have so many men at the old city hall building.."
"Perhaps they are looking to find a hole in our defences?” Camille postulated, the three other men and women in the room turning to him. Camille bent over the map pulling out a Sitallian copper peso, the older lady frowned as she folded her arms – waiting for her turn to speak. “Whilst the General in the city hall has a portion of his men on Pezidenteza Street,” He began, sliding the coin from the town hall to Pezidenteza Street, then rummaging for a smaller silver peso he dropped it back at the city hall on the map, dragging it over several streets to the side. “The General sends out a secondary force to our flank, in hopes of breaking through to Pezidenteza.” He continued, moving both pesos into the street and towards the University. “And break through.” Camille concluded, swiping both pesos back into his pocket. He nodded to the lady, but before she could speak the whole room shook as dust sprinkled from the ceiling and a crack in the wall. The echoes of a second falling building – louder than before – erupted followed shortly by faint cheering. Alez shook his head, sighing and turning his attention to the lady.

"They are desperate." The lady stated, her eyes squinted as the wrinkles on her face curled around. She was the oldest of the four, her salt and pepper hair that was more salt than pepper showed that well. "Before our men came together, my men fought at Papapietolia on the coast. They sent out men to find a clean route into the front lines. Week later, President tanks and heavy artillery arrived. Half my men were lost on a single day and we were forced to flee from the city. f*cking spineless men. Soon as they believe they might loose, they run to daddy Tario and-" The lady was cut off as a young man in a basic grey uniform burst into the room, breathing frantically. Alez's face burned red.
"What in the damned Hell do you think you're doing?! What's your name division so I know who to smack later?" The old man roared towards the young boy.
"Oyānci s-sir, the Ƶantico d-division! Alez, sir! I-its your son!" The man cried out, with Alez's face going from red to purple.
"Well dammit boy! What Hell has he gotten himself into?!" He snarled, slamming a fist onto the table causing a single sheet of paper to flutter to the ground and Camille to flinch.
"He's at the first aid camp, he got shot at th--" Once again, no one can get a single word out as Alez stormed past the boy and down a hallway, leaving the young man to the ire of the three men and women.

Edited Saturday at 06:12 PM by Metztlitlaca
Grammar

[Metztlitlaca 620]

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 11 hours ago by Metztlitlaca
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