Your own troops land in your (OOC) home town/state/country, going after some purpose which - within the limits of your nation - they would see as valid, pretty much sacrificing your peace for what appears to them a vital war. RP the chaos caused, the destruction incurred, your OOC government's measures taken to aid or stop your IC nation's work, and what you (your name here [names editted out; this is indexed on Google]) do against or for the rampaging forces of [Central Facehuggeria / Megas / Kreshh / Ald Rhun / Arizona Nova / Siesatia / Otagia / The Mindset / Arenumberg / Zerstorendar / Trailers / Telros / Kostemetsia]. This forum can be used as a plot device - coordination of efforts and such.
Let the chaos begin! My intro follows.
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God... another day spent moping about an empty house, nothing to do and the school holidays fast approaching. I can't even bike up to the shops, such is the meteorological chaos outside. Still, it's good to see some rain for once and not listen to [ ABC / [ Seven / Nine / Ten] Network] reporters moaning worriedly about the lack of moisture.
The picture window out in the front room is spattered with rain, and the distance is hidden in a calming, almost pleasurable mist of pouring rain. No car sits in the driveway, my fellow house-occupant having left for whatever he habitually does during the day.
I note the copy of Enemy Territory: Quake Wars sitting on the piano and decide something along the lines of 'what the hell', removing it from its undeserved solitude and slotting it into the groaning old release-model Xbox 360 on the TV bench. Flicking on the similarly uncooperative old TV, whose infrared receiver burnt out a while back, taking with it the reliability of the console controls, I make to flick to AV1, but the panicky-sounding Seven Network news anchor's voice catches my attention. Text flicks along the bottom of the screen, and-- wait, is that the City Hall clock tower, broken?
A cold feeling comes into my stomach, and I drop onto the carpet, staring up at the screen. The stump of the clock tower is remarkably calm-looking for an edifice that had its top half smashed off, the news anchor nigh-incoherently informs me, less than half an hour ago. As it is, the peak is lying down the nearby commercial street, looking like a piece of Lego accidentally broken apart by a gigantic, careless child. The scene flicks to what appears to be a home video of said tower, and a dark shape appears in the distance - the news anchor, regaining some calm, picks out where the slow motion starts, about a tenth of a second later. The shape dementedly glides in, becoming more and more distinct - multiple turrets of some description making themselves visible at the sides and a searing blue glow from the object's topside lighting up the scattered rain. It calmly smashes away the top of the clock tower, which actually seems to float a few metres - spraying tiny people from its observation deck - before crushing a block of commercial facilities. The camera drops as the holder no doubt stares at the devastation.
Another view: apparently another hand-held camera, almost exactly opposite the first. Familiar engine banks become visible on the shape as it bulldozes the clock tower, and I abstractedly note: a) that the object's engines are flickering in a very familiar fashion, and b) that I think I can see the other amateur cameraman.
Finally, a view from below. I can see a parachutist coming down in network-applied slow motion, until the shape passes under him - his fate is likely that of incineration in the engine banks. All I need is the conformation that the shape's underside provides: shielded swords, topped with four stars; the distinctive ensign of the Kostemetsian Navy. If I was in an incredulous mood, I would have wet myself - as it is, I simply wait until the footage finishes (showing the small capital ship's engines regaining strength and propelling it back into the clouds), then drop my head into my hands and groan. Kostemetsia is my creation; it follows that I must somehow be responsible for my "children".
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Across the continent, one Anthony Sabino, known in the NationStates community as Kewen, is playing Star Wars: Empire at War. As he walks to the kitchen, he hears an odd hum, and wonders where he's heard it before; suddenly, he realises. It is from his imagination, and it is a sound he has privately heard many times before - the hum of a Kewen ship soaring overhead.
He hits the duress button, barely getting out a warning to his parents, and the automatic roller systems come down across the windows. The system was meant as a stand-in bomb shelter, emplaced out of sheer paranoia (Anthony himself has repurposed it somewhat - a few inches of steel can be useful), but it might serve equally well as an anti-Kewen defence; he knows his "children" well, and he knows what they will do - or perhaps have already done - to his beloved home, Adelaide.
The steel has locked him away from his parents (a foolish move, one might think), but he is prepared. Telling them not to worry, he makes his way out of the house, staring up at the sky the moment he moves out of the front door. A very, very familiar object hovers some way away - it is a Kewen ship. He is distracted by a scream, and looks to the right: a familiar being is dislodging its blade from between a newly-dead woman's shoulder blades.
(OOC: The section of the post describing Kewen was written by Kewen and interpreted by me for syndication into this RP.
![Mr. Green :mrgreen:](./images/smilies/icon_mrgreen.gif)