An Envoy Reaches You, And Hands You A Letter

[MaXenzie]

THE ENVOY.

Over the course of the last week, several squads of heavily armed and armoured figures, unknown to all, ventured down into the depths. Each came in as their own regimented unit, handing off letters to key figures within the local resistance, before leaving without conversation. They bore the flag of Great Britain, though an outdated design, before the United Kingdom was formed.

Each person was handed a folder letter, sealed with a bastardisation of their own cell’s logo. Due North, a compass pointing South, with East and West incorrectly labelled. Orsted, a wide-open eye, staring forward, etc. Those without an associated cell were simply sealed with a wax seal of the British flag. Every letter was written identically:

To whom it may concern,
This is an envoy from Great Britannia. It has been quite some time since intercontinental or international communication has been possible. That changed in the last few months, when the Combine were finally pushed out of Britannia completely, thanks to the effort of our King Arthur Pendragon, who has valiantly returned in our time of need. If you have questions about the state of British affairs, speak to the brave couriers who have handed you this letter.

The Knights of the Round Table seek to convene with Resistance groups such as Lambda, The Unified States of the Americas, and The Iron Phoenix. If you have received this letter, then you are part of the associated groups, or bear enough notoriety to be seen as a peer to them. Congratulations, if so.

This letter is a formal reminder of your state of affairs. No longer will you call yourselves a rebellion. No longer will you reside within the entity known as “The Resistance.” No longer will you deign to accept the name of “freedom fighters.”
We already have our freedom. We have won. The Combine, as they stand, are on the back foot, and losing ground by the day. In six months, London was besieged, and reclaimed. The Battle of Wales led to the complete extermination of Combine Forces within Britannia. The Knights of the Round Table have declared a crusade of the holiest esteem, pushing East across the North Sea, and expanding through Europe. Be ready to join this righteous cause by the time we reach you.

God Save the King,
Britannia.

 

[Provingmedusa]

I like this. I like it a lot.

 

[Subeh]

GOD SAVE THE KING

 

[MaXenzie]

​

The Britannic Couriers stand, watching uneasily as you read through the letter. When you finish the paper, the one in front takes a single step forward, and speaks with the firmest Yorkshire accent a man could legally have before they'd be diagnosed as unintelligible.
He explains to you that, as an ambassador of Great Britain, he is to answer any and all of your questions regarding the current state of affairs across the pond.
Not counting classified information, of course.

Do you ask him anything?

 

[Subeh]

Do you ask him anything?

Cecilia was, no doubt, surprised by all she'd read and seen so far. In truth; the thought of England amazed her in general. Their confidence inspires her own. Their tellings of us "already being free" certainly rubbed off on her.

She was quick to offer her future allegiance to them, once Due North was 'large enough to make a difference and not one second before' - her own words. Then, came the questions.

"How many do you number, roughly?"

"Do you harbour large civilian populations?"

"What is your culture like?"

"Do you have any interest in expanding outside of your current territory?"

"Would you be willing to assist us if we ever needed it, in exchange for our future allegiance?"

She wanted to ask so many more. So many. In truth, the fact they even sought her little project out at all was as astonishing as it was pride-inducing; to know that she's made something that's caught the attention of those as far as England? It's made her happier than ever before.

 

[MaXenzie]

"How many do you number, roughly?"

The Courier lowered his balaclava down to show chapped lips, and a grizzled look. Then, rather uncharacteristically, he smiled, showing worryingly clean, and white teeth.
"Us the soldiers, or us the people, love?" he chuckled. There was an awkward silence as he cleared his throat. "Headcounts were difficult until we managed to get into local databases and see who was officially assigned to the "Cities" within Britain. 6 million souls live in Britain. About half a million are serving the King in the war effort. Recruitment drives are on the reg."

"Do you harbour large civilian populations?"

He scoffed, but not out of malice. He understood the situation in other countries. Britain was blessed to be free from the Combine's grasp. The idea of peaceful living was surely alien to most, by now.
"Harbour? We're not a refuge. Not anymore. We have citizens of our own, and they live their lives, free from the fear of the Combine. Production is slow, but ongoing. Factories are being repaired, and people are getting to work." There was a moment of levity, before he coughed. "We're still trying to get the mint working, so people are working for food and water, at the moment. Hard to get people to trust economy when the last one was built on blood."

"What is your culture like?"

"One of security and prosperity. Before the Combine, we care about petty things, like race, skin color, religion, ethnicity. None of that matters now. You're with the human race, or you're not. The King had all dissenters executed in Parliament on Victory Day, not long ago. It wasn't to instil fear in the people, though. It was reward for a war well fought. We watched those bastards bleed and die, and we were happy for it."

He realized that he was starting to sound morbid, so he retrieved a smoke from his pocket, lighting it up.
"The people are happy. We have a common enemy. Everyone knows that, at the end of the day, we're all working together for a common goal. Survival."

"Do you have any interest in expanding outside of your current territory?"

"Hah!" he belted out in laughter.
"We're here to liberate, not annex. Great Britain is Britain, not the land beyond it. I'm sure the King would be able to handle the administration of... Don't know, France, or something, but he knows that his divine right is Britain, and only Britain. Once France is liberated, it'll be given to the people. Whether they decide to elect a leader is up to them. But once the Combine's gone, what they do is their business. We're not colonialists."

"Would you be willing to assist us if we ever needed it, in exchange for our future allegiance?"

"In exchange? We're already an allegiance," he explained. "You're human, I'm human. We're allies. To say otherwise is to say this war has more than two sides. It's just humanity and the Combine."
He took a sharp breath, a drag of his Sterling Dual.
"We can't bring to bear the full might of the British Kingdom, though. Courier forces, certainly. Volunteer forces, too. Right now, our biggest concern is liberating France and then pushing into Germany. The bulk of our forces are fighting in Paris, at the moment."

 

[Subeh]

The Courier lowered his balaclava down to show chapped lips, and a grizzled look. Then, rather uncharacteristically, he smiled, showing worryingly clean, and white teeth.
"Us the soldiers, or us the people, love?" he chuckled. There was an awkward silence as he cleared his throat. "Headcounts were difficult until we managed to get into local databases and see who was officially assigned to the "Cities" within Britain. 6 million souls live in Britain. About half a million are serving the King in the war effort. Recruitment drives are on the reg."


He scoffed, but not out of malice. He understood the situation in other countries. Britain was blessed to be free from the Combine's grasp. The idea of peaceful living was surely alien to most, by now.
"Harbour? We're not a refuge. Not anymore. We have citizens of our own, and they live their lives, free from the fear of the Combine. Production is slow, but ongoing. Factories are being repaired, and people are getting to work." There was a moment of levity, before he coughed. "We're still trying to get the mint working, so people are working for food and water, at the moment. Hard to get people to trust economy when the last one was built on blood."


"One of security and prosperity. Before the Combine, we care about petty things, like race, skin color, religion, ethnicity. None of that matters now. You're with the human race, or you're not. The King had all dissenters executed in Parliament on Victory Day, not long ago. It wasn't to instil fear in the people, though. It was reward for a war well fought. We watched those bastards bleed and die, and we were happy for it."

He realized that he was starting to sound morbid, so he retrieved a smoke from his pocket, lighting it up.
"The people are happy. We have a common enemy. Everyone knows that, at the end of the day, we're all working together for a common goal. Survival."


"Hah!" he belted out in laughter.
"We're here to liberate, not annex. Great Britain is Britain, not the land beyond it. I'm sure the King would be able to handle the administration of... Don't know, France, or something, but he knows that his divine right is Britain, and only Britain. Once France is liberated, it'll be given to the people. Whether they decide to elect a leader is up to them. But once the Combine's gone, what they do is their business. We're not colonialists."

"In exchange? We're already an allegiance," he explained. "You're human, I'm human. We're allies. To say otherwise is to say this war has more than two sides. It's just humanity and the Combine."
He took a sharp breath, a drag of his Sterling Dual.
"We can't bring to bear the full might of the British Kingdom, though. Courier forces, certainly. Volunteer forces, too. Right now, our biggest concern is liberating France and then pushing into Germany. The bulk of our forces are fighting in Paris, at the moment."

Many of the man's replies didn't need further words from Cecilia. Why? She could barely believe what she was hearing. This exists? It's baffling to her mind.

There's no more questions; there's no more emphasis needed. She's heard all she needs to hear. Only a simple, gentle reply came from the Italian;

"Then we stand ready to support our brothers and sisters across the land; now, and forever. Thank you for reaching out to us. If there's ever anything we can do for you, let us know. You can keep in contact with us..."

Cecilia was soon to write down a frequency that the comparatively puny movement could be contacted on. It's given to the man.

"- on this. Any time. I'll ensure my people know of you."

 

[Verräterpackaging]