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Lies, Dirty Lies, and Propaganda
HamsterIV:
The world beyond the sacred shores of Chaledon is a desolate and unforgiving place. While all outsiders look upon our abundant farms and gardens with envy. There are non who cast a more covetous glare than the Arashi.
These desert vermin know nothing of agriculture or the delicate balance needed to keep the land fertile. The only thing their sun baked minds only understand how to loot from the dead. While there is ample water in the mountains to their north and in underground aquifers, the Arashi never bother with irrigation or digging more than the most basic wells. Their nomadic ways and loose tribal structure prohibits them from attempting public works projects necessary to turn their barren land into a sustainable ecosystem. Instead Arashi Chieftains provide for their kin by scavenging anything not strong enough to survive their desert. They care not if their next meal comes from a wild animal, from an unlucky merchant, or a wayward missionary.
This opportunistic approach to life explains why the Arashi venerate the vulture. They are both is a loathsome beasts that survive through the starvation of others. The Great desert which the Arashi inhabit is constantly expanding as a result of Arashi raids. By sabotaging irrigation networks and intercepting fertilizer shipments, the Arashi ensure there will be enough dessicated corpses for them to plunder.
The Order of Chaledon can not permit these Arashi scum to reshape the world into a dusty barren desert. While the other factions squabble over politics and territory they allow the Arashi to spread their corruption. Only The Order has the farsightedness to see the threat the Arashi pose, and thus it is up to us to put an end to that threat.
Respectfully,
The Chaledon Ministry for Truth.
HamsterIV:
At first glance the Yeshan Empire look like stable trading partners. Certainly their appreciation of art and luxury goods put them leagues above the rabble of barbarians we have the misfortune to call our neighbors. However if you look closely into their so called "Yeshan Way," you will notice a underlying hatred of the free market values our society is based upon.
The children of the Empire are brain washed by the Yeshan Propaganda machine into blindly accepting whatever societal roll the ruling class has dictated for them. The "Yeshan Way" is a form of slavery more insipid than the chains and whips of Angelea. While an Angelean laborer will gladly hop a aboard an airship looking to find a better life, any similar offer made to a member Yeshan working class is met with a blank stare and an over repeated catechism.
Trading with the Yeshans can be a lucrative venture, but a wise Guildsman must be constantly vigilant that he and his crew are not enthralled by the honeyed lies of the Yeshan Propaganda Machine. Conforming to Yeshan society means abandoning the freedom and opportunity our leaders work so hard to create. While any citizen of the Guild may take to the skies and seek his or her fortune the Yeshan is bound to their land through invisible chains of dogma.
Even those fly Yeshan air vessel are not truly free. Each is bound to a rigid command structure which dedicates where they can fly and what they are allowed to do with their state owned ships. Such inflexibility prevents Yeshan captains from rapidly responding to the needs of their people. If one town had an abundance of grain and a neighboring town were in the midst of a famine, a Yeshan captain would have to fill out several forms in triplicate to obtain permission from high command to deviate from his patrol route.
To a profitable venture,
The Guild Bureau of Foreign Affairs
Carn:
Greetings fellow citizens, it is my deepest regret to inform you, that the Baronies have made another push and managed to take one of our bases in Firnfield.
These Fjordlanders, they know nothing of freedom. They are stuck in an ancient system that was being eliminated before the Great War even began. The family you are born to, determines your lot in life. The believe in hereditary power, an anathema to all free thinking people. They have no way to change their lot in life, yet spew vague and warped drivel about honor.
Honor? By that they mean pride. Can pride feed hungry orphans? Can pride selflessly research the ancient technologies? The answer is no. They talk of these vague principals, but when questioned what they are, falter and fail.
They call us ruthless raiders, and savage killers. Yet they did not live in as harsh a land as we. They all bow before a man they call King, knowing that none of them can ever gain the title, or any of their descendents. They know no freedom, and do not understand the principals of freedom. To save them, they must be exterminated.
For the Senate and the Citizens of the Republic.
Anglean Bureau of Foreign Interests.
HamsterIV:
Recently a puffed up toad of a man came to our tribe and announced that the Barron Something or Other had annexed the watering station we know as "Dusty Springs." He further stated any ships that wish to resupply there must pay a tax to the Barron. We expect this minor inconvenience to last for two weeks, a month at most. The Fjordlanders the Barron dispatched to enforce his "tax" look painfully uncomfortable in their ornate metal uniforms. His men, like the ships they fly, are woefully unsuited for desert travel. While gleaming armor and tailored uniforms may look impressive on the parade grounds, they make the regular maintenance needed to keep ships and weapons functional in our desert next to impossible.
These weak coast dwellers know nothing of hardship, having spent their entire lives feasting on the bounty of the ocean. Their ridiculous pomp and ceremony attest to a civilization that has more free time than is good for them. Their constant soldier pantomime may give the illusion of toughness, but in reality an Arashi Grandmother could out last any of these Fjord "soldiers" in march across the desert.
Like all would be kings, generals, and warlords who encroach upon our desert I doubt the men of the Fjords have the courage and will power to survive away from the easy living of their homelands. The desert sands cover the bones of a million of fools who thought they could tame it. No doubt this Barron will make a million and one.
Elder Kain of the Arashi
snor-laxatives:
"Merchant's; dressin' all hoity toity, washing their hands for haf'n hour, looking down their noses at the rest of us common folk. But theres something sick tucked deep underneath all 'at glitter."
"So there we was, soaring' through the sky's, on the border of the Vast. I was cooking the meals for the crew of The Sapphire. One day, out of the great blue and by the blessing' of the Sky Whale himself we run into a herd a' Sky Cows. Captain orders us to harpoon one 'n for dinner. I skin the hide, I cut the stakes, I season, I grill, I make the best stakes my two hands and grill fork have ever made... Cap'n pulls me aside, looks me 'n the eye through his monocle, an' asks me to "prepare for him one of the finest delicacies'.... Sea Cow Tongue and.... Sea Cow Testies...."
*repulsive grumblings from around the table*
"Who would eat a sea cow's sea bag"
"You have all that money, and thats what you spend it on?"
"Foulest lookin' thing I ever put on me grill... Had to through away my good grill'n fork after that. Merchant's got their grime just like the lot of us, they can just afford to dress it up."
--
Heard at a nearby tavern, from a grizzly looking man.
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