Friends! Tophats! Gentlemen! Lend me your monocles!
I come to prevail upon you fine chaps the rather dire straits the Oceanians face, if you'll forgive the
paltry pun.
Following the defeat of our most esteemed leader, Monsieur le Marquis de Sous-Marine, and his Prophet Monsieur le Comte de Maquerau, the Atlantian-Oceanian boarder has remained quite
devoid of excitement.
But I daresay a bit of a
foul tide has drifted our ways of late, and it is with trepidation I report that Glug, the Slayer of Starspawns, the Omnipotent Octopod,
et cetera now sits upon our boarder like a Baby Ruth bar at the bottom of the country club pool.
Learned gentlemen, I surely do not need remind you that per
Divine Law and Union Rules the next True Pantokrator shall be crowned after conquering only 4 Capitals. Nor do I need to point out that when Oceania falls, Glug shall have his 3rd, and need only to strike whomever he deems the weakest of you terrestrial chaps to claim victory.
The Oceanian peoples therefore issue a Call to Arms: to all gentlemen who find Tartarus to be a
proletariat final destination, join us in our resistance against the eight-armed menace that now washes toward our walls.
Glug the Ancinet Kraken is the centerpiece of the Atlantan offense, and he swims now toward the Sea of the Mermaids in the North. His beak faces us, strike his soft and vulnerable underbelly!
To assist any nations that never earned their Water Wings,
Oceania will provide - at cost (!) - underwater breathing items to those who will answer our Call. Should you find this proposal agreeable, have your servant PM my servant.
While he has surely proven to be a worthy adversary, I come to bury Glug, not to praise him.
Most sincerely and respectfully,
Field Marshal Finklestein
Chief of Staff, Oceania