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6/16/2025, 7:51:48 PM
The Fall of Skynavia and the Price of Victory
December 1, 1011
The northern campaign has come to a decisive and brutal end.
With the full might of the Republican Army, tanks grinding forward across frozen wastes, artillery thunder shaking the mountains, and wave after wave of infantrygriffs pressing the assault, the fate of Skynavia was sealed. The once-proud Skynavian capital, New Skynavia, heralded by its founders as a shining beacon of progress amid the snow, has fallen. After days of unrelenting bombardment, the order came directly from President-Marshal Kemerskai: no more waiting. Assault the city.
Wave after wave of Griffons surged forward, maschinenpistoles in hand, and brutally attacked Skynavian defensive positions. It was a slaughter, and within a week the city had been captured by the Republic.
The time of reckoning had come for the communists of Skynavia. The communist leadership was captured. There were no trials. The beak served as judgment. The remnants of Skynavian society have been placed under occupation. They will either adopt the values of republicanism, discipline, sovereignty, civic virtue, or they will be cast out entirely.
In the territory of the Northern Communes, where a vast pony population exists, many ponygirls have been seized by Griffons as wives, and worse. The plunder of the northern wastelands will take years to recover from, but many argue that the republicangriffs deserve such loot for their bravery and courage.
As units of the Republican Army returned home to Cloudbury and other cities, some soldiers carried a new illness they had contracted in the north. Skynoxia, they called it. Weakness, fever, and death follow in its path. Already, cases have appeared in Cloudbury and Lostgate. The military has downplayed the severity, but the whispers are growing louder.
Victory has been declared. The threat to the north is gone. But a new shadow creeps beneath the triumph, one not born of revolution, but of contagion.
December 1, 1011
The northern campaign has come to a decisive and brutal end.
With the full might of the Republican Army, tanks grinding forward across frozen wastes, artillery thunder shaking the mountains, and wave after wave of infantrygriffs pressing the assault, the fate of Skynavia was sealed. The once-proud Skynavian capital, New Skynavia, heralded by its founders as a shining beacon of progress amid the snow, has fallen. After days of unrelenting bombardment, the order came directly from President-Marshal Kemerskai: no more waiting. Assault the city.
Wave after wave of Griffons surged forward, maschinenpistoles in hand, and brutally attacked Skynavian defensive positions. It was a slaughter, and within a week the city had been captured by the Republic.
The time of reckoning had come for the communists of Skynavia. The communist leadership was captured. There were no trials. The beak served as judgment. The remnants of Skynavian society have been placed under occupation. They will either adopt the values of republicanism, discipline, sovereignty, civic virtue, or they will be cast out entirely.
In the territory of the Northern Communes, where a vast pony population exists, many ponygirls have been seized by Griffons as wives, and worse. The plunder of the northern wastelands will take years to recover from, but many argue that the republicangriffs deserve such loot for their bravery and courage.
As units of the Republican Army returned home to Cloudbury and other cities, some soldiers carried a new illness they had contracted in the north. Skynoxia, they called it. Weakness, fever, and death follow in its path. Already, cases have appeared in Cloudbury and Lostgate. The military has downplayed the severity, but the whispers are growing louder.
Victory has been declared. The threat to the north is gone. But a new shadow creeps beneath the triumph, one not born of revolution, but of contagion.
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