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Lies, Dirty Lies, and Propaganda
HamsterIV:
Trade is the life blood of a humanity, and just like the blood that courses through our veins it carries what is in abundance to where it is in need. Be it Angelean Manufactured Goods, Yeshan Silks, Barony Fish Oils, or Chalidonian Foodstuffs, our fellow nations contribute something to the overall good of humanity. They are like separate organs they each producing a vital humor and we are the blood which flows between them keeping everything in balance.
Yet there are some who take and take with no intention of giving back. I speak of course of the cancer that lives among us, the Arashi League. They live like parasites stealing just enough to stay alive and scurrying for cover when ever the host takes notice. They profit by keeping the other nations at war with each other through a mixture of lies and false flag raids. It is only when the great nations are thus distracted that a cancer like the Arashi can grow and spread.
Considering the lifeless expanse in which they live, it boggles the mind how these urchins could find enough food and water to sustain life. In recent years a new theory has come to light. They eat the flesh and drink the blood of the dead. It may sound like madness, but ask yourself "Doesn't it take madness to want to live in so barren an environment?"
Fear not noble tradesman, for though the Arashi is without morals or even a human soul, they are poorly versed in the art of war. They do not need to be as their desert is a greater foe to an airship than any bullet, rocket, or shell. An Arashi ship may fire a rocket or two at a convoy, but it is just a lure to pull the escort into a dust storm. Once out of sight the Arashi go to anchor and let the savage winds and biting sand do their dirty work for them. So long as one sticks to guild approved trade routes and not venture after the odd Arashi Pirate traversing the desert sands can be a safe and profitable experience.
To a profitable venture,
The Guild Bureau of Foreign Affairs
RedRoach:
Partner,
I have seen your letter telling me your concern of your current alliance. I find such a thing to be a pity. Even if the nation I've grown to accept flies against you this day, there are others I worry far more than any other. The Chaladonians around me whisper rumors of Arashi fleets flying around, blowing up both of our armadas without mercy or merit. They live to kill, and destroy, and slaughter. I understand that is what you believe my job is, but my contracts are much more refined of an art than to mow down my foes with a gatling onto my enemies.
These Arashi members are the very core of barbarism, the ones that cleave through bone and bullet for the feeling they call bloodlust. Step but a hair into their space, and you will be obliterated where you stand. If not by their gunners using rockets several kilometers away, then by the dust storms that they call home. Such a volatile enviroment has enriched their kind with the will to murder, to pass on their tradition of death forward onto the rest of the world. They seek to help spread the destruction they've suffered onto the rest of us, so that they themselves may feel redeemed. To put it simply enough that you can understand and spread; They're the embodiment of the very sandstorms they were born from.
No one can stand in the way of the Arashi League, who bathes in the blood of it's foes. Sandstorms, flying about, maybe even the one that has wrecked your poor squid on the simple practice run outside of the city airspace. There is only one way to truly make the skies safe for all, even a man of my expertise due to their unpredictability, and that is to crush these barbaric monsters under our heel. I feel your rage at the Fjiord Baronies at the moment, but a more pressing matter awaits us under the dunes.
Signed,
ߘ∆˚∫ˆ´ø∑¬ƒ
Indreams:
A report of the final words of a Arashi chieftain, as recorded by his son.
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My sons, I've lived countless years, fought in countless wars, and defended my pride countless times. Now, as I lay dying, I'd like to pass down my wisdom. Listen well.
We are born with nothing but our freedom. We die possessing nothing but our freedom. Freedom is your innate right. Freedom is tied to your life. Defend your freedom as you defend your life.
To this end, do not be led astray by the Chaladon. Their mysterious utopia is like a mirage of a desert. It'll lure you to your death.
We are born on the sand. We die on the sand. The hardship of the desert is our lot. It is not a pleasant lot, but it is the righteous lot. Hardship tempers body and mind. Rusted metal must be scrubbed, heated, and beaten to become a bullet, a gun, and a ship. We must be challenged by the desert to become great men.
To this end, know that the Guild are pigs. Disgusting pigs. They are only loyal to wealth. They'd sell their mother for few bits of scrap. It is just that we punish these slime.
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At this point, the chief went into a fit of cough. He spoke no more afterward.
HamsterIV:
A wise man once said "To dwell upon the past is to squander the future." No where are those words more appropriate than to describe the backward conclave of the Fjord Baronies. Here ancient superstitions and barbaric customs have fused into a culture that can no longer function in the modern world.
Instead of laws and reason the people of the Baronies are bound to the whims of hereditary despots. Each citizen must swear an oath to a lord and submit to every craven desire of that individual on pain on death. To maintain legitimacy each lord must prove a familial connection to the ancient founders of the Baronies. This lead to a program of inbreeding so pervasive that the current crop of "Barons" are nothing but physically and mentally stunted homunculi more suited to the carnival freak show than positions of power.
Even the source material for the Fjord's nobility is suspect. Records show the first "Barons" were renegade generals bent on perpetuating an endless war for personal gain. It was they who scorched the earth and poisoned the sea to prevent the population from ever growing past the state where their personal charisma and bloody handed rule could keep humanity in line.
The soldiers of the Baronies act in constant fear of their lord's disapproval. Any hint of cowardice or disloyalty could mean death not just for them but their entire family. The military is so dependent on its cult of personality that entire fleets are put to route the moment the Lord in charge of it is killed. Under such circumstances we occasionally see Barony ships fire on one another. One can only assume that the Barron's sniveling offspring war amongst themselves to determine who will inherit the now vacant title.
May the shining path forever guide you,
Provost of Foreign Studies,
Yeshan Central University
HamsterIV:
Those who make their home outside the sacred Arashi desert grow fat and idle, but none more so that the corpulent denizens of the Mercantile Guild. They sit in their walled cities consuming food and luxury goods acquired by swindling those who are unfortunate enough to trade with them. Any who refused to be duped by these greedy mongrels are robbed at gunpoint under the pretense of "breach of contract."
The Guild's reliance on contracts, treaties, and other meaningless scraps of paper are an indicator of a people with no soul. Where a mother would demand compensation before giving her child milk. Where the wisdom of the tribes elders are locked away from all but those wealthy enough to buy it. The guild do not even bother resolving their own disputes, instead they purchase fleets of hired guns to impose their will on others.
These hired guns, like their masters, are loyal to money above all else. They can easily be convinced to give up the chase if the air becomes too sandy for their delicate machines, or if the cost of fuel exceeds the bounty they hope to receive. They do not care to uphold the honor of their family and bring vendetta against those who have wronged their brothers or sisters. As far as a Guild sailor is concerned the man standing to their left and right are competitors for the post mission spoils.
The guild is incapable of surviving on its own. It needs to be constantly expanding its trade relations and spheres of influence. If for a moment it were to stop, the complex web of economic interdependency would collapse in on itself like a water starved pack animal. We need only wait a little longer for the guild's foolishness to doom itself. Then we can descend and pick the carcass clean.
May the desert winds be favorable
Elder Mott of the Arashi
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