Zona Alfa

Sergeant Zubarev slapped a dossier down on the table. "We're being redeployed to Adrosorvik."

The soldiers sitting around groaned, "There's fuck all to do there!" Niminev bleated, "Bunch of stuffy generals already drank all the booze and fucked all the whores!" the assembled soldiers laughed at the unit's clown.

The Sergeant scowled till the laughter died out, "I know you worldly gentlemen don't watch the news, but I'm sure you know that Adrosorvik was the site of a recent attack by the rebels, command has tried to keep a lid on the whole thing, but this was no normal bombing, half the city was wiped off the map by a device of unknown design."

The revelation took the levity out of the bored soldiers, Zubarev surveyed the room gauging the faces of his soldiers. "Listen up, the brass was there, I don't know why, but as of right now General Dovadov is the commander of all Guuseprian forces." A quite murmur of swears rolled through the men. "The Army has set up a perimeter and no one is getting in or out of the Adrosorvik region, they're calling it Zona Alfa. We're the lucky bastards that get to go in first and check it out."

Corporal Vadym Buserev piped up, "No one knows what happened?"

Zubarev picked up the dossier he'd set down and handed it to the Corporal, "We know there was a massive attack, it might have been nuclear..." Goldava kissed the cross he wore around his neck and folded in on himself. "Hey, we're the best recon unit in the Army, that's why we're going in first, the radiation readings are inconsistent..."

"Good, maybe we'll only get a little cancer." Niminev's joke failed to make anyone laugh this time.

"All precautions are being taken on this one, we're getting radiation gear and testing equipment, command is even giving us an armored recce with full contaminant scrubbers. If the site is dirty we'll at least be clean. We have to go in, whatever happened has to be found out and there's no radio or other transmissions coming out of Adrosorvik. Aerial recon is not going to cut it on this."

"Not surprising, when have those fly-boys ever got the job done?" Niminev succeeded in making the squad laugh, "Besides maybe we'll get super powers like the Icredible Hulk." The joker proceeded to flex and growl.

"That's the spirit. Our mission is simple, we go in, collect as much information as we can, command wants video, photos, readings on radiation in the air, soil samples, and if we can connect with survivors of the attack, rescue any of the missing VIP's." Sergeant Zubarev pulled his beret from his pocket and fixed it on his head. "Corporal, go over the particulars with the men. Double check all your gear. I have to head over to the motor-pool and get our special equipment. We leave at 19:00, it's going to be an overnight drive and we should be there in the morning."

Corporal Buserev stood and saluted, "Yes Sergeant."

The Gendarmes of Wallonce

In the Western Kingdom of Wallonce men of means and noble birth serve their lords and King as Gendarmes, armored horsemen able to crush the barbarians and creatures from beyond the Iron Spine mountains with a coordinated charge. To see the glittering armor and fine velvet of the gathered Gendarmes is to witness something both terrible and beautiful in equal measure, and just as there is a dichotomy in their appearance there is also one in the actions of the Gendarmes. For every noble horseman there is a bloodthirsty adventurer, for every paragon of Walloncian virtue there is a swindler of noble birth content to fatten himself on the stipend afforded to him by the King.

The Gendarmes are meant to share a singular purpose but like many things intent is not the same as result. Rather than being an institution with one leader, the King in the case of the Gendarmes, they are instead a loose collective of cliquish nobles, often more loyal to individual lords or in the worst instances loyal to the fattest purse. In the modern age this impulse has been curbed some by strong Lords like High Lord Brathburn of the Western Marches, but the High Lord has a fair number of powerful enemies and those Gendarmes who bristle at his edicts and decrees find ample patronage from those enemies.

Further splintering of the Gendarmes results from the numerous orders of noblemen that gather around certain activities, causes or the authority of influential towns and trades. These "Noble Clubs" do serve a good purpose often, keeping men interested in the arts martial and honing their skills in sport both equestrian and militant. One fine example would be the Order of the Silvered Blade, a militant order whose members pride themselves on skill with swords in full harness, its members often patrol the Western Marches at their own expense with the hope of practicing their craft against the foes of the Medial Kingdoms. Another example would be the Order of the Impassioned Lady, a romantic order whose members practice the courtly arts of dance, poetry, calligraphy and music, while its members may not be the most militant they serve a needed function as courtiers and diplomats.

More controversial orders do exist, orders whose members pursue goals that are not always inline with those of the Kingdom of Wallonce. The Order of the Withheld Guilder is perhaps the most powerful of these and the most dangerous, at odds with almost every other order and despised by many of the most loyal Lords, the Gendarmes of the Withheld Guilder are primarily not of Noble birth, but they have extensive means as merchants, tradesmen, and guild authorities, their only goal seeming to be achieving power through trade and wealth, they have organized and taken up arms so they can refuse to accept certain taxes and edicts. Due to their power over the markets and trade of Wallonce and their ability to muster substantial military force they have not been brought to heel, but it is only a matter of time till there is a reckoning between the Order of the Withheld Guilder and the Throne of Wallonce, whether this will result in a yoking of the merchants or the appointment of a puppet king is uncertain.