Varanius

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Tim had just gotten home from a long day of work at the MoW. Varanius has been in a frenzy after their victory against Rivalfiume. He had been inundated with calls ever since then. It seemed people really were beginning to take a liking to this whole Rugby Cup thing. News of their victory spread like wildfire, and millions of Varanian children sang the praises of star player Joe Schmoe. He sat down on his couch and turned on the television sitting smack dab at the center of his living room. He flipped through the channels. Keeping Up With the Cardashians, The Real Househusbands of Zygotia, the History channel. Wait, did they just say that the painting of Zyg the Many Eyed was made by drug-trafficking aliens? Whatever, it was time for the real business. The MoW was allowed to stream the games through the government's sponsored media channel. The only thing that boosted ratings more than Varanius winning was everyone hate-watching the Giovanniland game. He watched eagerly, carefully following the back and forth of the game. Luckily, he lived alone, so his cheering and booing disturbed no one but his cat, not that she was particularly fond of him anyway after he forgot her dinner last night. Sorry Dodo. His eyes were glued to the screen, and his hope faded as the minutes ticked on. Finally, the game came to a halt. That was that. They had lost to Saranzio. That second, he felt his phone ring. Disheartened but determined, he answered. Jeb Lizarbson sat on the other end.
"Did you see that?" the Prime Minister asked silently.
"Yes," responded Tim. "But don't worry, I pro."
"Shush. Listen to me Tim. We go up against Giovannilandilandiland in a few days. You understand? I went out on a limb announcing this whole Rugby team for you, and you just had our entire nation sit there and watch us get clobbered by some N*rd. If we lose to Giovannilandilandiland, my reelection campaign will be skewered. Fix it."
"Yes, of course Je- I mean, Mr. Lizarbson," he responded. He knew Lizarbson was mad, he almost never used such language about the Nurist people. "Won't happen again."
"Good."
The call ended, and Tim sighed quite the sigh of relief. After taking a few minutes, he dialed Manuel. 
"Hey there! You've reached Manuel Man, the Man! If you're hearing this, I ain't around right now. Tell your mom I said hi though. Toodles sucker?"
Voicemail. Of course. 
"Hi Manuel. It's me, Tim. Lizarbson is pissed. I get that its' probably pretty stressful up there in Dalimbar, but...pull through for me on this one. Bye."
And with that, he called it a night. Maybe he'd even get some sleep tonight, but it felt pretty unlikely right now...

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
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Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
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edit
enter

Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Hi all,
I hope this will post because things are happening here in Blue Bubble.
The Military has stormed the parliament building and has declared us as Glenpavia and a closed nation. I am in the car now as my parents are driving to the border of Giovanniland. There is a lot of traffic.
I don't want to be under this kind of rule. We slowly became better, and I think things are going to get worse again.
We now know what other countries are like, and I want to be like them.
Our social network is being patchy now, so many people are trying to leave with us or protesting.
We don't know where Kassakira is. She wasn't in parliament at the time of the coup.
I hope me and my family will be okay.
I hope we can go home to what Blue Bubble would have become soon.
May above and below guide us.
Posted by Ankizivavy at 12:47 UTC, 15/05/1422

The night before the first match, I sat at the polished mahogany desk, my journal opened before me.  The long journey had been much more pleasant than I had anticipated. 

 
For reasons of both practicality and security, I had invited the entire delegation to accompany me on my state aircraft. The excited team and guests boarded at the Volanteleo International Airport in Sanctus Leo, while I had already settled into my suite in the aft section, having boarded previously in the private airport of Angelus Regius on the royal complex grounds. After conversation and breakfast, most settled in to nap or read for the duration of the eight-hour flight. I walked the cabin for a bit, greeting the team and guests,  and later, Sir Evan, Lady Arlene, Lord Brock, and Archbishop Lumendei joined me in my suite for cocktails. Two hours before landing, hot, scented towels were brought around to allow everyone to freshen up before tea. Altogether, very nice.
The time difference in our favor, we arrived only shortly after we had left, landing in the private section of the Marshal Aleksiev International Airport in Saint Andreisburg. From the stories I had heard from previous travelers, I had expected long delays in processing our arrival and receiving our Blue Cards, but was pleasantly surprised. My assistant, Matthews, disembarked and was only gone about twenty minutes before he returned with an efficient, but courteous functionary, who handed out our Blue Cards. I and my valet, Clarkson, were to take a waiting limousine to the Dukhob Station. The team and most of the guests were to be escorted to the Metro to the station, while a few of our entourage had arranged for their own private transportation there. Once there, we were all to take the two-and-a-half-hour high-speed train ride to Kaisah, I in a private car.
For me and those that had taken the Metro, all went smoothly. The others that had taken their own transportation ran into a bit of a snafu (but that's their story to tell) and had to take the next train. The private car was lovely and well-stocked with refreshments. I even discovered a bottle of Tawny Redemption!
 

 
Once in Kaisah, waiting limousines brought me and several guests to the hotel, while buses brought the rest.
The hotel was another nice surprise! Clarkson had done some research and assured me that the Morskoy Fort Hotel in Kaisah was top-notch. I was still skeptical, however ... after all, this was Dalimbar! Well, I need to learn to control my prejudices better ... or maybe travel more. This is a fine hotel, one that would be welcome in any city in Saint Mark. The three-bedroom penthouse Marshall's Suite was spacious and well-appointed. The study in which I now sat journaling was centered on a deep bay window that overlooked the well-planned gardens below.

I  think that I shall really enjoy this trip, and look forward to meeting Marshall Briand at the state dinner in a few days.
 

A "Quiet" Interview
 
It was the night before the match, the players of the A.R.R had just arrived at the hotel they would stay at that night, a few members of the Ryxtylopian press were already waiting for them at the lobby, since the flight from Ryxenia had suffered a minor delay, they had to stay one night more in Ryxtylopia than they had anticipated, nontheless they had finally made it to Dalimbar.
The first impressions for the team basically were; "It sure is quite cold here." as most were too exhausted to look at their surroundings, with the main goal being to reach the hotel and get some sleep. Rather unfortunatley for the players, at the door were a few members of the press, the exhausted players mostly ignored them as they asked questions.
Ryxtylopia's first match on their Rugby World Cup debut would be against Fujai, a team with to say the least much more experience than the A.R.R, spirits of the team weren't too high as their first debut on the pitch would most likley result in a loss, nontheless a few players did step up and talk to the press.
 
"Sir! Sir! What's your goal for the match against Fujai?" Asked a reporter.
To this, Marco Xilta, one of the players responded: "Well, we don't want to get "bombed" out of the stadium and become a laughing stock, you know the current situation of our rugby league makes that slightly complicated... but im sure that my teamates will perform just fine."
"Do you think a win is possible?"
"While not impossible, its inprobable, it will be complicated to get a win against a team with wayyyyyyy more experience than us, so we'll focus on delivering a good show for our fans and the cameras."
"How do you plan to pass the group?"
"Im not very sure, we didn't have a lot of time to talk about that at the airport with Tivarra (the coach) so im guessing we'll formulate a strategy depending on how well we do on our first match."
 
Another player had different answers:
"Are you worried for the match against Fujai?" Asked the reporter.
To this he got a response: "Yes! I am! Well maybe i am also overreacting a bit, but they are a better team than us, aren't you aware the current state of our league just has two teams basically trading turns in taking the league title? Ive been here for a while, it has always been like this, our talent always getting capped at some point, i regret not even trying to move to another country at this point, i had so much optimism 10 years ago, only for it to fade away..."  Answered Ernysto Rivas.
"Would you tell something to the audience back home?"
"Alright, alright, look i know the stuff i said might not be the best for inspiring confidence... but your support means everything to us, it gives us a reason to play this, well apart from the paycheck we need to secure the daily loaf of bread, you motivate us to even in the... least ideal situations, not give up and keep trying, that's all, now im going to bed, good night Ryxtylopia, and hello Dalimbar!"
 
The reporters went back to the airport, some dissapointed and others at least satisfied, as supporters of the A.R.R got ready to watch what hopefully would be a successful debut in the Rugby World Cup.

The National Rugby Team prepares to compete in 4th Annual World Rugby Cup hosted by Dalimbar.
Terajevo 1423-03-27 - The national Teralyon rugby team is gearing up to compete in a world rugby tournament that is being hosted by Dalimbar with which diplomatic relations have tended to be strained.
Despite concerns about the political climate in the host country, the team is determined to focus on the sport and give their best performance on the field.
"We are aware of the political situation in Dalimbar, but we are here to play rugby and represent our country to the best of our ability," said Savo Jastrowitz. "We have been preparing diligently for this tournament and we are excited to compete against some of the best teams in the world."
The team has been training extensively in the lead-up to the tournament, working on their skills and strategies in order to give themselves the best chance of success. They have also been working with their coaching staff to develop a game plan that will allow them to adapt to the challenges of playing in unfamiliar conditions.
"We have a great team and a strong coaching staff, and we are confident that we can compete at the highest level," said Ratko Jenic. "We know that there will be challenges ahead, but we are ready to face them head-on and give it our all."
Despite the tensions between the two nations, the team hopes that their participation in the tournament can help to promote greater understanding and goodwill between their countries.
The world rugby tournament will take place from 1423-28-03 to 1423-17-04 in Dalimbar, with teams from around the world competing for the championship title.
For more information about the rugby team's participation in the tournament, continue to follow us.

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The Teralyon Naval Commission has a released a statement regarding the upcoming training activities being planned between the Teralyon, Cambrian and United Adaikes Navies in the Mille-Mer
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: Teralyon, Cambria, United Adaikes Navies Collaborate to Run Joint Training Exercises. 1423-27-03 - The navies of Teralyon, Cambria, and United Adaikes  Are gearing up to run a series of joint training exercises, in an effort to enhance their collective maritime capabilities. These naval exercises will take place over a period of days, and will include a range of activities designed to test and refine  the participating navies' skills in areas such as maritime security, search and rescue, search and destroy, and disaster response. The exercises will also provide an opportunity for the three navies to build relationships and foster greater cooperation,  and coordination as they work together to achieve common goals. "We are excited to be collaborating with our partners in Cambria and United Adaikes on these important training exercises,"  said Josip Vilović, Rear Admiral of the Teralyon Navy. "By working together, we can better prepare ourselves to respond  to a range of potential challenges at sea." The joint training exercises come as part of a broader effort by the three navies to deepen their strategic partnerships  and enhance regional security. Through exercises such as these, we hope to increase their ability to respond effectively  to maritime threats, and promote greater stability and prosperity in the region. For more information about the joint training exercises, please contact the Teralyon Naval Commission.  

From the journal of Alan Cord
Saint Andreisburg, District 1, Dalimbar
Night before Matchday 1
Saint Andreisburg is a beautiful city. 
Sure, I understand my baseline is Wells, but I think that’s just a fact regardless. East Overthinkers isn’t exactly a destination for architecture. I’ve been to Aurum a few times, and they have some neat stuff there, but Dalimbar is something else entirely. 
Hell, anything looks pretty after 20 hours of flight. But to be fair, since the NRUU(1) doesn’t have the budget for a private jet yet, they borrowed one from the TRY RL. Had to be the nicest plane I’ve ever flown on or ever will again.
The arrival in Saint Andreisburg itself was underwhelming. As soon as we got off the plane, we were ushered into a waiting room while Ambassador von Edelgard did our paperwork. It felt like hours before she came back with her staff, and they handed out “blue cards”. They’re apparently the only way the “Stafka” or whoever will let us in to the country.
“Your blue card must be on your person at all times,” Ambassador E said. “If at any point it is not, you’ll be issued a red card, and forced to leave the country.”
I laughed nervously at her joke. She shot me a look that could kill. It wasn’t a joke.
I retract what I wrote last week. Theresa Argent angry is no longer the scariest thing in the world. It’s Ambassador E now.
Once we hard our cards, though, we immediately got to actually see the city. Like I said, it was breathtaking. The streets were crowded with rugby players and fans alike. The buildings were simultaneously, like, elegant and imposing. It feels wrong to say, but it’s just so—so—foreign, I guess? Like being transported into a storybook. Also, for the record, that one movie in my childhood got it completely wrong.
Also it’s a hell of a lot colder here than Overthinkers. I think when they ordered team jackets, they weren’t expecting the World Cup to be in like, the northernmost country of the world.(2) They ain’t cutting it. Practices have been pretty brutal too.
I keep saying this, but Coach Ed has been great. The night we arrived, every bit as exhausted as we were, he got us all together and hyped us up. We were literally going where no Overthinker had gone before.(3) We may have been last pot in the draw, but that just meant we could shatter expectations. 
He was on it again today at practice, too. There’s a lot of things up in the air with our group, it could turn out just about any way. Cambria’s far and away the scariest team, and Libterraria’s ranked 5th in the world. But what’s important is just getting past the group stage, and Coach Ed wants us to take it one game at a time. Play to our strengths and force the opponent to adapt.
Libterraria’s high ranked, but they weren’t in the World Cup last year, so who knows how good they still are. We’ll sort that all out on the pitch tomorrow. Assuming Ambassador Edelgard doesn’t sort us out first.
—Alan
 
(1) The National Rugby Union Union of Overthinkers, the organization that oversees the national team.
(2) It looks like Fujai is actually northernmost, but Alan is a simple man and doesn’t know that.
(3) Citation needed.
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
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Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
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Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
zzzzzzzz
edit
enter

Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
zzzzzzzz
edit
enter

Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
zzzzzzzz
edit
enter

Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
zzzzzzzz
edit
enter

Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
zzzzzzzz
edit
enter

Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius' Amazing Rugby Assembly
zzzzzzzz
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Tim Perdere had been a mid-level bureaucrat for what had felt like ages now. In reality, it had only been a little under a decade. He had been in the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment since he was 29, and now he was a ripe old 38. Certainly one of the youngest senior government official in Varanius in ages, he had worked himself all the way up to Assistant Vice Co-Director of the Physical Activities Sub-Division of the Televised Media Department. Hardly the most glamorous job in the world, but he felt the future was bright. Well, it was certainly feeling cloudy right about now. And to think, he let some stupid refugee and a some suburban rugby dad talk him into this. Whatever. Best to look towards the future right? Now he could proudly serve as Varanius' first ever Minister of Winning. Minister of Winning? What a joke of a position. What even is that? Sure he advocated for a ministry dedicated to real international sporting events, but surely they could've named it something reasonable? Varanius had never had an international sporting team. Sports had always been internal for the nation. Something the citizens to celebrate, not the world to ogle at. He had gone out on a real limb for that Joe Schmoe fellow to get the Minister of Cultural Enrichment to even consider sending a Varanian team to any such World Cup, much less devote a whole Ministry to its' coordination? But now he was here. Ah well, he may as well do the one thing he always excelled at: mindless government drivel. Now with the added bonus of talking to the Dalimbari. Given the team's star player was a damned Dalimbari refugee, some calls had to be made to ensure he wouldn't be arrested on entry. He picked up the phone lying on his desk, and dialed the number the Ministry of Foreign Engagement had emailed to him hours before. After a solid few rings, the other end answered.
 
“Good day! Is this Lev Toksin?” he asked.
"Privet?" the phone responded, the raspy voice of a woman surely no younger than 60 behind the machine.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Dalimbari I’m afraid. I suppose you don’t understand Common?”
"Izvinite, chot?" 
“Ah,” he stops for a moment, considering his options. “Do you speak Kommom, rodniy?” he asked in a heavily offensive attempt at a Dalimbari accent, likely one which would get him hate crimed if he spoke it in Dalimbar itself.
"Keto eto? Chot vy govorite?" 
“Perhaps I have the wrong nu-“
“Chortovy deti, otlozhite telefon!" she declared as the call abruptly ended. 
 
The Minister sighed. He should be used to the failures of his fellow government members by this point, but who can blame a bureaucrat for having some hope? He took another look at the email Diplo had sent him, and squinted just hard enough to realize he had mistaken one of the numbers, a 5, for a 6. This was probably still their fault somehow. Despite being somewhat put-off from his last encounter, he picked up the phone, dialed the (correct) number, and waited for the phone to pick up.
 
“Greetings! Do I have Lev Toksin?”
“Indeed you do. How may I be of assistance?”
“Lovely. I am Tim Perdere, the newly appointed Varanian Minister of Winning, and I-“
“I’m sorry, you’re the what?”
The Minister sighed once again, his sole pleasure being that Toksin could not see the exasperated look on his face. “I am the Minister of Winning of Varanius, and I’ve come to inquire about the upcoming Rugby Cup to be hosted in Dalimbar.”
“Minister of Winning? What even is tha- I mean, interesting. What do you need to know?”
The minister could hear the faint sound of a snap, or perhaps a small clap, in the background, but ultimately ignored it. Trying to maintain some sense of dignity, he responded, “I’d like to request blue cards for the Varanian Rugby team members who will be in attendance. Their names and identities will be emailed to you shortly.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll run it by Stavka, who will have the final say, but I’ll be sure to update you as soon as possible. Was that all?”
“Close. I’d like it to be noted that one of the team members, by the name of Joe Schmoe, is a refugee to Varanius from whom Dalimbar is their original country of origin. Will there be any issue in sending them to Dalimbar with the rest of the team? We’d expect they be treated with the dignity and respect of any other participant, and be allowed to return home.”
“I see. I’ll be sure to make note of this.”
“Well, that’s all. Much appreciated.”
“Not a problem! Have a wonderful day Mr. Perdere.”
“You too,” Tim ended as he went to set the phone down, just barely catching the “Motherfu-“ right as the line went dead.
 
Later that month
 
With that issue out of the way, it was time to get started on some of the harder details for the group. Namely, their symbol and jersey. While all of the members of the team had been assembled months ago, the graphic aspects had been unfortunately skipped over in the early organization frenzy. Tim entered the room where these discussions were to take place: one of the smaller meeting rooms in the gargantuan Cultural Enrichment building at the heart of Zygotia. While technically a Minister in his own right, he hadn’t quite the earned the honor of his own office building…or much of a staff. The other members of this meeting included quite the cast of characters. Joe Schmoe of course, as the upcoming cultural icon this whole thing was built upon, was not the only team representative in attendance. Alongside him stood Manuel Man, the team coach elevated from relative obscurity to a coordinator of the Varanian sports efforts after ripping open his shirt at a pro-rugby protest outside the capital building. The little stunt took him from the only little weirdo in his neighborhood to pay attention to sports exclusively from other countries to a national sensation. Then was the Ministry of Cultural Enrichment’s Director of Visual Creativity, Arnold Barnold, who was sent in alone as opposed to along with the Cultural Enrichment minister herself as was requested. Though Tim was technically equal to her in rank, he could be Prime Minister and she’d still treat him as an employee. Though, the Director wasn’t bad. One of the most senior officials in the Ministry, he was certainly an experienced member of the team. Finally, the one and only Woman Creosote. WC, as she was also known as, was one of the highest rated and most famous artists in Varanius. How the government had gotten ahold of her he had no idea, but perhaps the other Minister really had pulled some strings for this. It almost made up for her beginning all of her internal cooperation meetings with “To those needing further encouragement than I have already delivered”. But it’s not wise to look a gift horse in the mouth. 
Immediately they set to work, brainstorming first and foremost the central logo.
“Hm. What do you think when you think Varanius?” Tim asked the crowd.
“Eyes?” suggested Arnold.
“Hm. Perhaps a little overdone, we don’t want to be too obvious,” responded Tim.
“Perhaps you’re right,” the Director conceded. “Can we turn democracy into a tidy little symbol?”
“What like a voting machine?” retorted Manuel sarcastically.
“Got any better ideas?” Arnold smiled back.
“I’VE GOT IT!” WC screamed. They all immediately turned to look at her, though by now she had already started pulled out her iconic bright green crayon. The group stated in silence, watching her draw her mystery icon with complete confusion on their faces.
“Is that-“ Manuel began before being immediately interrupted. 
“Ssssh. Don’t mess with the process,” Tim hushed him.
Finally, after quite some time, she picked up her paper and turned it around so the rest of the group could see.
“Is that…an octopus…with a ball for a head?” Tim asked hesitantly.
“You can’t be serious!” Manuel protested.
Finally, Joe stood up. Over the past hour, this was truly the first time he had spoken all day. In a thick Dalimbari accent, 3 words emerged from his lips: “I love it”. And with that, there was no going back.
“We’re gonna be laughed out of the stadium…” Arnold moaned.
“No,” said Manuel, “we’re going to be heroes.”
 
After a few hours, and the hammering out of a few key details, the icon was set. Now it was time for the jersey.
“Do we want to do a nice yellow? Like our flag?” began Arnold, Tim having long since lost his pizzazz for the day, sipping from a large iced coffee and staring intensely into the painting of the jellyfish in front of him. 
“No no no. I’ve got this one,” Manuel said, with all the undeserved confidence of a poodle. Immediately he started, telling the two actual artists in the room the colors he thought would be best. The end result was…interesting.
“Are we trying to just confuse the shit out of the enemy team?” Arnold remarked upon its completion.
“Haven’t you ever heard of Aposematism? Be bright, be bold, and we scare away any potential predators!” Manuel declared.
“Since when are you a biology expert? And what do you mean ‘scare away’? They’re rugby players, not lions,” 
“Guys, guys,” Tim said, having finally snapped back to reality. “Let’s just go with it, it can’t be worse than the 8 legged egghead.”
 
Manuel beamed. Woman Creosote was much less amused.
 
One month later
 
Sitting at his desk, Tim had finally received the long awaited email from the Dalimbari Department of Sport. The email was a notification the DoS has accepted their applications for blue cards. Relieved, Perdere smiled. Off to Dalimbar they would soon go.
Team Details
Style Mod: +2.9
Coach: Manuel Man
Team:
        Main:
Player Number Position Joe Schmoe 1 Loose-Head Prop Patty Terrace 2 Hooker Rowan Calcium 3 Tight-Head Prop Bradford Octavius 4 Second Row Atlas Briggs 5 Second Row Sissy Fuss 6 Blind-Side Flanker Dante Infer 7 Open-Side Flanker Mercury Rings 8 Number 8 Tim Briggs 9 Scrum Half John Doe 10 Fly-Half Joe Saint 11 Left Wing Nathan Peter-Callahan 12 Inside Center Theodore Ammit 13 Outside Center Asteria Occidens 14 Right Wing Crius Seeus 15 Full-Back  
         Reserve: 
Lexing Ton 1 Hooker Parker Eugh 2 Tight-Head Prop Jeffrey  3 Second Row Astral Pro-Gection 4 Left Wing Lithi Umion 5 Right Wing Donald Guy 6 Loose-Head Prop George King 7 Blind-Side Flanker Cal Cuta 8 Open-Side Flanker  
Jersey:
 

Varanius will be joining this time around! 

The VRMF Striatus, a frigate in the Varanian Navy, was certainly one of the larger ships in the Varanian navy. Certainly not the largest or newest ship in the VRMF, but a powerful ship in its own right. The captain, Peyton Zontif, had been ordered to take the ship out for this small mission. Well, small is certainly a term for it…
“Go straight ahead, Podi Formes” he ordered his navigator. 
“But what about Giovanni-“ Podi questioned, before being quite quickly interrupted.
“I said straight ahead, didn’t I?” Peyton questioned.
“Yes sir,” said Podi, turning back to the navigation board.”
 
some time later

“Sir, we’ve received a request to identify ourselves,” stated the communications officer.
“Ignore it,” commanded Peyton, and so it was done.

So I've run into a few....hiccups for the upgrades...I'll be revisiting this later for sure.   Probably going to migrate to a new server (save a little bit of cash while I'm at it).
 
I'll let you all know more details when they come clearer.