Post

This is my official resignation from the Role Play of this Region, in the form of a final RP post. Sorry I never fully got involved with the international stuff, or building embassies, or anything like that. I had fun while I was able to keep up. Now, I’ve technically lapsed more than once with the maximum amount of time allowed between RP posts. Life is tough guys.
So, here’s one final RP post about the fall of Aerinaea (RP-wise. I’ll still be around in the FNR):

Turnsta, 11:53 PM local:
The insurgents waited, silent, atop the roof, waiting for their target. It had taken much pain and murder to get to where they were now, and the atmosphere reflected the tense nature of their operation. Their goal: bring destruction to the nation which they hated. Aerinaea was prosperous, annoyingly so, and their cause, which had operated on the principle that union of the former warring Aerin States was a bad idea that could only lead to chaos. Unless they were the ones doing the uniting, that is.
The thunder of helicopter blades met their ears, but they did not turn towards the sound. They knew exactly where their target would be, and when to strike. They gripped their .50 BMGs just a little tighter as the whirr of military helicopters beat closer and closer.

Azuls, same time:
It was tough work being a mole, even more so when you were a spy for a subversive organization bent on the destruction of a whole country. But you had to do these things, right? For the Cause, they had been told. Was what he was about to do even possible? The President was a formidable target, if not for himself than for his tight security detail. A detail, he would soon find out, that had a problem with loyalty.

News Station Alpha, Aerin News Network:
It was not easy shooting a Senator. The news anchor knew that much. He knew why: the succession of the President must be destroyed completely and utterly for this plan to work.
Despite the deadliness of what he was about to do, he smiled as he walked into work that day. As he sat in the newsroom, awaiting an interview which would probably change the world, or at least this corner of it, his target walked in. His heart rate quickened, and he found he had to wipe his forehead of the cold sweat that had emerged. No one knows, he told himself. They couldn’t possible know. All the same, he patted his suit coat, wherein lay a holstered 9-millimeter semi-automatic pistol with one magazine. He would probably die today. He had accepted that. But it’s for the Cause, right? That’s worth it.
He told himself these things as he smiled warmly to his target, third in line for Presidential succession, and motioned for him to sit down. The cameras’ lights started blinking, a countdown to the news anchor’s final interview. A deadly one.

What the news anchor did not know is that there were similar operations going on all over the country of which he was about to assist the destruction.

The night was bloody, and with the fall of the limp, shattered body of the succession of the President came the end of a once-great nation, living only now in memory.