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Rygach edd Taeilain is home to a single nation.
Today's World Census Report
The Least Corrupt Governments in Rygach edd Taeilain
World Census agents tempted government officials with financial and other inducements to bend the rules and recorded how often their proposals were declined.
As a region, Rygach edd Taeilain is ranked 22,502nd in the world for Least Corrupt Governments.
|1.||The Most Serene Republic of The Ways||Father Knows Best State Suspiciously Conservative Democracy||“The Ways of the World are in Our Hands”|
- : Newtopia soc ceased to exist.
- : The Holy land of Poatosl ceased to exist.
- : The Holy land of Poatosl arrived from Osiris.
- : The Holy land of Poatosl ceased to exist.
- : The Holy land of Poatosl arrived from Osiris.
- : Vjormtor ceased to exist.
- : Embassy cancelled between Penoct edd nank and Rygach edd Taeilain.
- : West margola ceased to exist.
- : The Sovereign Corporation of Harmile ceased to exist.
- : The Holy land of Poatosl ceased to exist.
Rygach edd Taeilain Regional Message Board
Gallus dragged the bucket of water from the placid edge over the hot sand and onto the dusty porch. "You've spilt half of it," Marcus called out to his son as he walked over to him "hold it up high, to your chest." The boy struggled against the weight and fell forwards, spilling what was left of the water over the wooden boards. "I'm sorry dad." He picked up the bucked, hitting it against the porch's wooden railing as he did, and began walking back over the sand bare foot before being stopped by his father's deeply tanned arm. "No don't worry, I'll get it for now. Just know that I won't always be able to." He walked over to the water and his son followed closely behind, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.
"When will the water go away 'gain?"
The spotless deep blue sky stretched over the shallow waters and the great red sands and rock beyond. Birds floated peacefully, eating the few plants that had sprouted since the flooding.
"It'll last us two months if we're lucky, though it won't always be like this."
"What do you mean?"
"The floods come every ten years, the last one was before you was born, but maybe one day the floods'll stop going away. I 'eard back in town up by the sinkhole that some people want to let the oceans loose into the basin. Might help with-" Gallus had begun picking at the bottom of his burnt feet, and Marcus hit him over the head. "You don't get strong by giving up, you get strong by persevering. Now, where was I..."
"How will we persevere when the floods take away our home?" He held out his arms like he was going for a hug.
"Okay I think this is enough about the water, now you go rest that lil' mind of yours on the porch, don't you worry, we'll be just fine. I'll carry the bucket."
"Tilemeta test 1 prerecord.brdc, this one sounds interesting." said one Harmilean to another, holding a Margolan tablet in his hand.
"Play it then, let's see what other f***ed s*** they've been doin'."
The first Harmilean clicked the play button and waited for the video to load.
As the video began playing, various text warnings showed up on the video. "...Property of the Margolan government...not for public release...Classification act 2067..." It then cut to a man in a sharp suit interviewing another man who was wearing a full space suit. Both had wide smiles and appeared to be in a bright silvery-white room.
"Marcel, how do you feel about being the first man to go through one of the experimental wormholes?"
"I'm feeling really nervous, to be honest. This is the biggest thing they've asked me to do so far."
"Marcel started his career in scientific testing for the government as a convicted political disturbance. Although originally sentenced to 2 years of incarceration, he performed so exceptionally well that the Research Department offered him a fully-paid position after his sentence ended. We've been told by the Department that you have an excellent track record of performance, isn't that right Marcel?"
"Yeah, sure is." the man on the screen looked directly into the camera and smiled awkwardly.
"Alright, that's it." said a voice off-screen, presumably the cameraman.
The man in the suit changed his tone of voice "Don't die on us please, Marcel. This job's critical for the future of the Department."
The man in the space suit spoke again "Stop worrying about that stuff man, I'll make sure those intelligence bastards don't take our funding. We both know those government douchenozzles love this sh** anyway."
The two men stood up and the camera was picked up off of a tripod as it followed them through a series of doors and checkpoints. They walked in silence, only speaking to the few technicians, scientists and security guards that approached them. They then went through a final door that revealed a large circular room with a very high ceiling. In the centre of this room was a doorframe with circuitry attached to the coiled wires that completely covered the doorframe itself. In front of the door frame, protruding from the ground was a device that had many thick cables snaking out from it to various points in the walls. The camera was set back up on a tripod in a way that showed the setup and Marcel. Marcel talked with a few men in lab coats and yellow radiation suits, although they were too far from the camera for what they were talking about to be distinguishable. The men in the coats and radiation suits each shook hands with Marcel, before leaving the room and shutting the door behind them.
"Close your visor and turn on the life support in that suit." came a voice from some loudspeakers set up somewhere. Marcel obliged, turning some dials and pressing buttons on his arm control panel.
"We're going to begin projecting the rift now. Remember not to look directly at it until we say so."
A distant humming was heard and the overhead lights began dimming. The machine in front of the doorway began turning on, emitting a loud whining drone.
"We're now entering the second phase of the projection, look away Marcel!"
Marcel turned around before the camera was blinded with bright light. A loud rumbling could be heard as the white light continued to whitewash the camera. The same loudspeaker voice could barely be heard over the rumble. The rumbling and the white light began to die down. Marcel was still facing the other wall and covering his visor. The doorframe now had a shimmering paper-like curtain in it, rapidly fluctuating between blue and red.
"F***, you're standing in what is now 783 grays per hour, almost 8 times as much radiation as the Chernobyl slurry!" announced the loudspeaker. The sound of the speaker clearing their throat was also heard through the loudspeaker "Anyway, yes. The rift is now stable enough for you to go through it. The destination is uncertain, but it's definitely not on this planet. Don't take too long out there, or we may never get you back."
Marcel approached the doorframe and paused. He was apparently mesmerized by the light show of the rift. "Pick up the pace, Marcel. We can only maintain this level of power for another 3 minutes."
He then stuck an arm through the rift, before fully jumping in. A minute passed of just the dark room and the blue-red rift before the same suit came running back through the rift. The suit was emanating a thick white gas. Marcel's screams of pain could be heard through the suit "AHH! AHHH! MY SKIN! I'M TOO HOT! S*** S***! HELP ME!" he was fumbling at the control panel on the arms of his suit when he accidentally hit the button that controlled the visor. The screams lasted for only a few more seconds before he collapsed to the ground, instantly recieving multiple lethal doses of radiation that were ambient from the rift's opening. The video then abruptly ended, leaving the two viewers in shock and confusion.
A robotic text-to-speech voice flooded every hallway in the Margolan bunker.
"Attention to all Harmilean trespassers; kill agents will be dispatched in 10 minutes unless you all exit the bunker immediately. Leave all stolen objects in the bunker or you will be euthanized. This is your only warning. Do. Not. Test. Me."
This caused many Harmileans in the bunker to stop in confusion. "What on earth was that?" one asked. Many were unsure if this was some kind of joke or scheme to kick out other scavengers, but some believed it.
In another part of the bunker, a party of scavengers was being split.
"F***, I really don't wanna risk it. I've got a family back home." said one.
"Shhh, mate. It's probably some idiots who've taken the PA system." said another.
"Do you know how retarded that sounds?" said another one.
A small argument broke out between them, struggling to keep quiet so to not reveal their location to others.
"Guys, guys, guys. Please. Assuming that's real, who would even be there to broadcast it? The undergrounders left this place a while ago, nobody has seen them since." said Connie, who appeared to be the leader of the party.
"You've seen that automatic s***! You remember what it did to Max!" cried out the first one. They remembered back to the gruesome death of Max, an earlier party member that was brutally torn to shreds by an abysmally powerful turret that was covering a long hallway. "If it can do that, why the f*** can't it play some dumb robot voice over the speakers?!"
Connie sighed in exasperation "Robert, honestly you're a coward. If you wanna believe... whoever said that, then leave your sh** here and get out."
Robert stood for a moment, before dropping his rucksack on the ground and cursing at them all before turning around and heading in the direction of the exit.
"I'm not gonna take any chances," said another, dropping his bag and following Robert. Two more followed them, leaving seven scavengers including Connie. The remaining ones watched the four walk away, before eventually disappearing from view. "Oh well. More stuff for us atleast."
The armour of gods rested upon Balik's three hundred and eighty-six year old body, though it felt no heavier than cloth had almost four centuries ago. The sands of the interior desert were a larger impediment, especially from his gargantuan size causing him to sink into it whenever he took a step. With the sun setting and blistering heat being replaced by chilling cold the village of Eachya came into view.
The river through the desert was home to many larger Poatoslian settlements, but this was no longer one of them. Steep cliffs lined this portion of the river, with small dug-out and wooden houses all along their flat sides. The farms below were fallow and eroded away.
He entered the first house on his right and came face to face with his prey. Three men with glistening scales, long slender tails, and bright yellow eyes fled into the corner of the room, bumping a rotting wooden table. The first then came rushing towards him, before being ripped apart from head to toe by the will of scroll-bound gods. The other two stayed firmly in place, Balik marching forwards with a dagger. They spoke in a strange rasping voice that had no semblance to old Harmilean before having their throats slit. As the sun began to set and the cold desert night began, he cut off the heads of the lizard men and moved on to the rest of the houses. All throughout the village he heard the same raspy cries or pleas as he removed the remnants of the populace and their heads. The beasts and bugs of the desert came in waves to save their beastmasters but were killed by godly flames coming from Balik's tome.
In the nearby villages there were tales born that would continue for decades, about the giant who killed demons and stole their heads, taking them into the desert and up to heaven. Balik's name was lost to history, as it was in Harmile, but his actions were not. Three months later new myths would be born further down the river about the book with green scales and a human face that summoned demons and gates to the underworld.
Whistled notes echoed through the empty corridors, off of the cold metal walls and bloodstained floors. If one listened, it would become apparent that it was the Margolan anthem emanating from robots that roamed the bunker. For a few hours, the loudspeakers had been blaring the same message in a dull, robotic tone, "Sterilizing foreign organics." This was a time of panic and disorder for the Harmilean scavengers as many sought the fastest way to get to the exit without being seen. It turned out that the earlier message about 'kill agents' wasn't a joke and that someone was still in control of the bunker. The few that had seen the kill agents and managed to get away have told others that they look like humanoid machines that would either fire guns at everyone they saw or physically beat them to death. A number of Harmileans have escaped, although an unknown amount of corpses lay strewn around the bunker.
For the record, I (previously West Margola) am moving to this account because I'm bored of Margola.
In the blue skies above a Harmilean town, a Cessna 152 slowly moves around in the sky. The low humming of the engine can barely be heard by the people below.
"I think I see a village," said the pilot of the craft, peering through the cockpit windows at the ground below.
"Fly closer then, let's see." responded his co-pilot.
The white Cessna began dipping down so that the pilots could better see the houses and roads that covered the ground.
"Oh wow! Someone else lives in this place!" called out the pilot absent-mindedly.
While the pilot continued flying in circles around the town, the co-pilot pointed his camera at the buildings below and began snapping pictures while also scribbling notes on a laminated map with a marker.
"Should we land?" asked the pilot unironically.
"Don't be an idiot, there's no runway." came the co-pilot's reply, sighing in exasperation. "We don't even know if they're friendly."
As they continued flying around and taking pictures, people on the streets began stopping in their tracks and looking up at the plane going that was becoming a minor annoyance.
"Gosling, our tanks are half empty." said the co-pilot, tapping on the glass fuel dial with his marker.
"Oh, right right right. Sorry!" quickly responded the pilot before he tugged at the joystick.
The Cessna then began flying away from the village. The co-pilot examined the polaroids that were dispensed by the camera. "Hm, these are nice photos. That zooming lens worked well."
The pilot looked over at the photos sitting on the co-pilot's lap, causing the plane to begin tilting.
"Hey! Keep your eyes ahead of you!" cried out the co-pilot.
The small settlement of Renda, near the northern tip of Harmile, had a foreign aircraft enter their airspace unannounced one weekend morning. Harmile co. had no presence in the area and no other corporate entities did either, so the local militia (lead and supplied by the employees at a nearby military base) had to bring down the craft. Despite accounts saying it looked like some sort of agricultural plane the encounter was used to increase the locals' fear and thus increase their support of further military leadership. Other settlements further south having already done this made the people more accepting of being lead completely by warlord Buang.
The remaining genetically engineered Lynxes on the Margolan range were forced away from the bunker's entrance, with the arrival of experienced Harmile co. soldiers making it impossible for them to attack the explorers that had been coming in and out of the bunker for some time now.
"How much do you think a pelt would go for? Of one of those Lynxes?" Asked one soldier jokingly to another.
"They're mutants, so I guess it depends on the buyer. I'd just throw it in the bin, they look like your wife did last time I was around, when she had the flu." He got clocked on the head for that, but they both laughed it off.
Banter continued between the men as they stood watch further down the mountain at the tree line, where thick forests gave way to grasses and boulders. It was early morning and everything was covered in a thin layer of snow, something most in mainland Harmile never experienced, but something still felt off despite the scenery.
"Wifey told some ghost stories about the mountains last time I was home."
"You mean the ones about the Margolans 'mixing' animals and humans together like Poatoslians?"
"No, about the old camps and the revolution."
"What? I've heard of the camps, they kidnapped a bunch of settlers, but I didn't here about a revolution."
"Guess things are just going so fast we can't keep up, boomers like us."
After only a moment of silence screaming came from within the trees. Both men began moving towards the location, one using his radio to inform their supervisor on what they were doing. The bloodcurdling screams continued as the trees became thicker and thicker, the undergrowth making it harder to weave between them but their training in the central rain-forest remedying it.
In a small clearing was a deformed woman, here legs twisted unnaturally and her spine sticking out her lower back, extending outwards in two directions. Her screaming continued even louder. "Are you okay?" One soldier said to the woman to no response but more screams and now strange animal noises.
"Ashla hex du che che che! Che che che! Seyla!" The woman called, something that was neither language or screaming now.
"How did this happen to you? Can you speak?" The soldier again tried to talk to her.
"AAHHH!" screamed the other soldier, who began slapping the back of his neck with one hand and thrashing around with the other.
"What the hell going on!" Cried the other, his voice high pitched.
From the trees, with her hands extended like she was shoving the screaming soldier, came a woman in tattered robes. She was met with unaimed shots but soon both soldiers were screaming like the deformed woman on the ground.
"Okay, I'm going to cut to the chase here. My mutant's hurt and I don't know where I am anymore. Now you can either get me out of here, or you end up like the other guys who I saw a bit ago." She stopped burning the skin of the first soldier and he dropped to his knees. "So?" She asked. The man breathed heavily and said a prayer before she kicked him in the shoulder. "I didn't ask to be your god, I'm asking for a ride home!"
"S-sorry! Yes! W-We'll take you up to our supervisor and-"
"No no no, I ain't getting shot by your guys up there. You're taking me DOWN the mountain and to a god damned boat, then letting me go on my way."
The soldiers were stripped of their weaponry and radio and were forced to carry the deformed woman which the crazy one referred to as 'the angel'; calling herself 'the zombie.' They continued down the mountain, with the zombie forcing them to take a route which a search party wouldn't take to as quickly, and would have to spend days walking before reaching any semblance of civilization. The soldiers simply hoped they weren't going to become lost like the zombie had before meeting them - forever wandering in circles.
"This is Outpost Sigma, Gosling are you there? Come in?" the man waited for a response from his headset.
"Repeat, come in."
The man took the headset off of his head and rubbed his eyes, there was still no response. The clock on the tent wall read 10:37 pm. The flapping sound of the canvas flap-door caught the attention of the man.
"Have they radioed back since?" asked the entrant, a bald man with sand-colored military fatigues.
"No..." said the man operating the radio. "Why do you think they're still out?"
The man in the fatigues stopped to think up a response. "Well, that plane would've run outta fuel by now... I'm guessing that they must have crashed in the mountains. The winds certainly coulda done it."
The man at the radio stood up from the desk and pushed the wooden chair in.
"Colonel, it's late, I'm tired, and they're probably dead. Can I leave?"
"We are not abandoning our own men who could very well still be alive! How dare you think this way!" came a yelled response from the man in the fatigues. "I want you to stay at that radio and keep calling out to them."
The other man sat back down and slumped in his chair, before wearily replying.
"Yes, sir." He begrudgingly put the headset back on and waited for the colonel to leave. He could hear the canvas door flapping as the colonel left. He could also hear what the colonel was shouting outside.
"Sir! We need an immediate squadron of aircraft and a helicopter going to the southern ranges! The outbound expedition still hasn't returned sir! Yes, we've been trying to reach them for hours!"
The next day, a group of seven WW2-like aircraft followed by a more modern helicopter arrived within the proximity of the mountain ranges. With a mere 6 million citizens, Atomaska wasn't wealthy enough yet to risk one of their few jets on a search mission. The planes began to slow down and sweep across the scenic mountain ranges, searching for any sign of wreckage or anything else.
"This is Sausage-1, you guys found anything yet?"
"Foxtrot-3, negative... also, sausage one? Pffft."
The party of aircraft continued searching through the mountain ranges, eventually making it to the other side and still not locating any clues as to what could have happened to the earlier plane.
"Junior-4, I see a smoke pillar! Bearing 148 degrees."
Indeed, there was a large column of smoke at the base of the mountain. The planes swept down lower to get a better look at it.
"This is Sausage-1, I think I found wreckage. Can we get the helicopter to take a closer look at it? I'll keep looking, maybe the guys ejected out or something..."
The helicopter descended to the site of the smoldering wreckage. The helicopter gently touched onto the ground a few meters away from it and the men exited the helicopter.
"That's definitely us." said one as they approached the pile of metal.
"Is tha- oh god, I see the bodie-" another one vomited upon seeing the charred and mangled corpses in the wreckage.
"Sh**." exclaimed another in disbelief. The rest of the men scattered around the aircraft's wreckage. One of the men was inspecting the remains of the soot-black fuselage of the wreckage when he noticed scattered holes that punctured the fuselage.
"Look at this!" he called out to the others. They rushed over and looked at the holes.
"That's flak damage." said one plainly "When the shells detonate, they throw shrapnel everywhere."
The man who originally spotted the wholes looked at him. "Do you really think someone would have shot them down?"
The other one paused for a moment, before replying. "I heard that some mountaineers with binoculars were able to see some kind of town from the summit. A foreign town that's south-east from here. Maybe they were the ones that did it?"
Another butted in "They wouldn't be able to hit the plane from over there if our boys were in the mountains..." he continued "Either our guys went over there, or they came over here."
One of the other men chimed in "This plane was flying away from that direction when it crashed... I think we know which one it is."
Another man asked "What would they be doing over there anyway? Their job was to take photos of the mountain, not to engage in some diplomatic mission. I think we know enough to report back now."
The crowd of men climbed back into the helicopter and took off.
"This is Hornet-5, the earlier plane crashed with two casualties. It appears to have been shot down by a nearby town."