Post

RP: Icewindian First Contact Ends In Withdrawal Icewindia

Following a rather short encounter with Icewindian delegation and His Radiance's Coast Guard, the Icewindians were calmly instructed to leave the country and return to their homeland. The Evves, although pleased that Solism had traversed the mountains up north, still hold a deep-cutting grudge against the northerners.

RP: Monarcho-Social Security Benefits Icewindia Blayredeshia Werewolf Islands

It was late at night, and in a worn-down bar on the far side of San Solaris, a storm was brewing.

Black-eyes Moldenhauer, a bartender who was aptly named for a genetic anomaly pertaining to his eye color rather than his fighting ability, was serving drinks to his regular patrons, mob-tied or otherwise. It was in this very bar, on this very night, that a bet that would alter the very course of history would be made.

A plastered Basar immigrant, clad in bright colors and a face red with laughter, would put down a newspaper. "Have you lads heard about the mess up northways? How d'ye think it'll end?"

"I didn't even know you could read, Donny!" a factory worker replied, still in his blue, formerly-beige, dust-coated factory-ware.
"Honestly, I think the whole thing's going to keep going like this for the rest of our lives. If they're as crazy as they were when they invaded us, they're certainly too crazy to keep a proper government going." He quipped, failing to realize the irony in speaking of instability in others and working in a Euphorium processing plant.

A sharply-dressed individual who, until this moment, hadn't spoken a word, would put in his two cents (and then some). "Personally, I'm willing to bet that Napoleon stands a chance. Sure, there may be some Blayredeshians and... Wolfinites..." He paused for a moment, almost as if his mentioning of those two ethnicities had completely derailed his train of thought. "...Acting against them, but I'm willing to bet everything I own that Napoleon and those socialists have this."

"You're willing tae bet everything you own on socialists, stranger? Who the hell are you?" A seemingly, suddenly sobered Donny would reply.

The sharply-dressed man, turning around in his barstool to face the drunkard, would calmly yet vaguely reply. "...I'm Girard Santello, and I'm someone who knows where to put their money. If you want to bet against me, you have my word that you and anyone else betting against will walk home with every last ounce of my riches... But I doubt I'll lose."

And with that, everyone in the bar would begin to place their bets on Icewindia's future, with only Santello betting on the socialists... Unknown to the rest of them, Girard had plans.

An anonymous group of individuals (who are in no way tied to the Santellos) have begun smuggling everything ranging from raw steel, to firearms, to Evven money, over the Icewindian Union's border.