The Great Break (1902 - 1923)

[Vivanco]

Vivanco is a shell of its former self, and it’s in a great civil war of several sides.
The Marquisate of Vivanco is in a time of great turmoil, great political disapproval from the people, and not only from the government, but for the ruling people.

The powder keg exploded on the 6th of November 1902, with the assasination of Great Duke Lorenzzo II in the capital, Petria, by a reactionary from the reforms done by the government.

This incident provoked a domino effect in the whole country, breaking it in a struggle for power and chaos only seen before in the country in the called War of the Counts in the old Kingdom of Rethan.

• Junta Militar Unitaria de Vivanco
  
  • The militars of the country, enraged by the direction the country had started to take, with an increasing demilitarization and lack of attention from the Great Duke, who was too busy attending to “petty politics” to please the populace, flocked under the so-called “Proclamation of Tomás Rovera”, a coup d’etat by General Tomás Rovera to take control of the country. Only the strong and dedicated hand of an iron surgeon can fix the country, an iron grip to lead Vivanco back to the greatness it deserves
  • 
• Hermandad de la Madre
  
  • The government and the people of Vivanco had turned their head to the true faith, to the Lady, and now the government was doing nothing against the attacks the church was being subject to. In this moment of siege of faith, cardinals and faithful alike proclaimed that they will show no quarter against the enemies of the faith that have done nothing but attack them under the leadership of Cardenal Luis López de Tordesillejo
  • 
• Junta del Común de Vilpetta
  
  • The government and its institutions were rotted to the core, diseased in the fruits of capitalism by the blood and sweat of the workers. The so-called socialist politicians have disregarded their own oaths and ideals for the comfort of their newfound chairs in power, giving the people only the crumbs and telling them not to complain of the gains, since it could have been nothing. In the province of Vilpetta, enough was enough, and declared the end of the state on itself, where only the people can save the people, and the only thing that they have to lose is their chains.
  • 
• Legítimo Reino de Rethan
  
  • Long was the time when the unity of the country was unchallenged, where a crown, chosen by the Lady themselves ruled over the lands of the so-called Grand Duchy. These lands are not worthy of a marquiss, but something greater, a king. A divine rule and absolute power, where the land is of its rightful owner, just and fair, but feared equally, for that is the way a king should be. That is the way Aleijandro María, Duke of Tornales demands it should be done. And people who agree flock under his banner to reclaim these lands back to the rightful Kingdom of Rethan.
  • 
• Gobierno Central Vivanquiano
  
  • Justice is blind, and it must be in order to keep things fair. The government is in position because the people of Vivanco chose them to be there, under the protection of his late majesty, may he rest in peace. The Heir, Jacobo, is only 5 years of age, and is unable to rule without the assistence, so his mother, Cristina Isabel, acts in the name of the Grand Duchy, declaring the state of emergency and claiming the government, in a state of siege from rebels, and allowing them to mobilize the population and what remains loyal of the army for the good and well being of the nation. The Prime Minister, Mariano Fuentecillas, head of the Socialist Party claims that there is only one path to resolve conflicts and it’s dialogue.
  • 
• Unión Nacional Vivanquiana
  
  • The Consevative Parties of Vivanco have been waiting for this moment, for the cracks in the system to show and point to the failure of the government. If it wasn’t for their unbelievable reforms and kicks to the nest of other people, nothing of this would have broken up. For that, they have claimed the government as is at the current state is not legitimate, for they have constantly acted against the will and well-being of the people, with the head of this coalition the writer Martín Dos-Valles.
  • 
• República de Kaxtonta
  
  • Inherited in Vivanco in the early XIII century, the people in Kaxtonta have never seen themselves as part of the nation of Vivanco, with their own language, traditions and culture, and amidst the chaos and instability, they have seized the opportunity to break free from the chains that Vivanco was for them. They have the right to choose, to be themselves. They are a nation in itself, and they are ready to show it and prove themselves. Proud Kaxtonta will not wither, and will prevail, if not in the earth, in the minds and lives of its people, following the lead of Milon Arretza.
  • 
• República de Vivanco
  
  • The “royal family” is nothing but a heavy weight to carry, nothing but a figurehead that the vivanquians are made to hold high while there’s people who can barely afford bread, or can’t read. The money that’s stolen from the royals can be used for many other things to improve the country, and it is time to remove the useless crown. After all, it was because of them that this whole state collapsed. And so, the Republic of Vivanco has been proclaimed by the writer and politician María Almudena Castra.
  • 
• República Social de Vivanco
  
  • The structure of a state is not something that helps the worker in its origins, but if the workers seize its power, the state will provide for what the worker needs. It is a needed state in order to achieve the betterment of society at large, unlike what the idealists of Vilpetta believe. The hand of a state is long and strong, and in the hands of the people, true liberation can be achieved, as comrade Federic Ponz shows us.
  • 
• Farlonia
  
  • The strongest thrive while the weak perish. There’s always a bigger fish, and Farlonia is the biggest economic zone of Vivanco, home for most of the exports to the rest of Eras, they no longer see themselves bound to Vivanco, and declared themselves a brand new state, for they will be able to reach to higher powers without the burden of sharing the wealth with the rest of the country, that leached from them.
• Ardozvan
  
  • From the very Age of Counts, this ancient country proclaims its old borders as a brand new nation from the mere lack of attention and resources brought by Vivanco. Always put to the side, as if they don’t exist. If that’s what the government thinks, then they should not be part of Vivanco any longer! They will not allow the people to look over their shoulder!
• Condado de Randoa
  
  • In a key spot between three factions in the war, this country shares the reasons for declaration of independence than Ardozvan, but it is not even a province like the latter, but a minor region in Kaxtonta, with the majority of people being Vivanquian speakers.

(Music for this introduction: The 13 Brotherhood - Guts N Glory )

 

[Vivanco]

11th of August, 1893.
12:43
Cathedral of the Lady of Fortarre
Fortarre, Vivanco.

"In the name of the Lady, her Mother and and us, brothers and sisters..." echoed the voice of an elderly man attired in a black and silver cassock across the religious building, and the congregation of people nodded their heads softly, with their eyes closed in contemplation in a brief moment before looking back up. In the shrine, detailed in gold and marble, the effige of the Lady with her hands open, welcoming even with her hands bloddy from the sins of their daughters and sons. A light shone briefly from their eyes from the reflection of the dimly lit religious structure with candles and chandeliers. In silence, the man grabbed a censer and gently light it up, and began to walk in ceremonious silence across the halls, swayng it from side to side, his bare feet touching the stone and marble of the floor. After the walk, he came back to the shrine, where he kneeled before the image of the Lady for some seconds before getting up.
"Go in peace." he said, and movement seemed to resume in the church and people started to move from their place, exiting the building.

Another man walked up the stairs that led to the shrine while everyone walked the opposite way to exit the cathedral, older with gray beard and no hair left on his head, his shoes lightly clacking with every step as the religious man closed his Domina Codex. He didn't seem to notice the approaching man at first, but once he rose his sight and their gazes met, in his face a softened smile appeared.

"Ah... Monsignor Lorenzo." the elder clergyman in a glad voice.
"Bishop Luis, it is reconforting to hear you give mass after all this time." said Monsignor Lorenzo.
"Well, you know how life and the way of the Lady can be. Sometimes, our paths darken and we need to medidate and contemplate our surrounding to find our road again." said Bishop Luis.
"That is most true. But..." Monsignor Lorenzo stopped talking and looked back at the last people leaving the church, with only them and the holy images surrounding them remaining. Then, he resumed, looking back at Bishop Luis. "I had the memory of more people coming here to mass."
"Times... change, it seems." Said Bishop Luis in a tone shift, as if he wanted to say more. But the teachings and scribes taught him different. To be moderate, to be thoughtful.
"And there is nothing we can do about it." confirmed Monsignor Lorenzo as he crossed his arms behind his back with a light sigh.
"You're not here only to remenisce of the past, are you? Come, let's talk in my chambers." the Bishop said before he started to walk around the shrine to the back room, where a simple and modest compartment suited for him. A table, three wooden chairs, a bed, a window, a pantry, a kitchen and a desk with papers.
"You still reject to living in the Bishops' house?" asked Monsignor Lorenzo.
"Why? I have here all I could desire, and all I could need. Please, take a seat." said Bishop Luis.
"Thank you... You see, I have come here for a reason in particular." explained Monsignor Lorenzo before he took from the inside of his jacket a sealed letter in wax with the emblem of the Conclave.

Bishop Luis was looking away at that moment, as he was reaching over the pantry to take out two cups and two small plates, placing them on the wooden table, one in front of Monsignor Lorenzo and other on where he ought to sit, and placed a coffee pot in the stove. Once he sat down, he reached out to the offered letter, his eyebrows frowning upon the seal.

"...Should I worry?" asked Bishop Luis.
"That I do not know. You have been summoned. Cardinal Mario Tomello has died." said Monsignor Lorenzo as the seal was broken and letter open..
Bishop Luis' eyes opened wide, almost as if he had been staked, and he could feel his breath falter for that small second. "...But how? I just saw him last month, and he seemed to be healthy." said Bishop Luis.
"He was old, older than I, and that's saying a lot. 93. It's a miracle of the Lady that he's been among us for so long." said Monsignor Lorenzo.
"I see... It is sad that I have just known. If I knew before, I would have gone to the burial." said Bishop Luis.
"We know." said Monsignor Lorenzo. Just at the time, the coffee that was brewing began to sound and bubble, and Bishop Luis attempted to stand up, but Monsignor Lorenzo stood up faster than him, halting him and picking it up himself.
"Allow me to serve us, friend. You have a letter to read." said Monsignor Lorenzo.

 

[Vivanco]

20th of January, 1917
17:32
South-West front. Junta Militar / Kingdom of Rethan.

A soldier lies in a muddy trench as the rain falls, alone. In his chest, a blood stain and a bullet hole, his eyes open looking straight to the skies. It had been hours since his heart took its last beat, since his lungs stopped taking oxigen, since his eyes contemplated the gray skies, since he stopped tasting copper in his mouth.

In his interior pocket, a letter had been penetrated and torn appart by the bullet.

Querida Laura;
Te escribo desde las cercanías de Tamaríz, en la provincia de Torna.
Recibí tu carta anoche junto al paquete de cigarros, y he de decir que nunca un mes me había parecido tan largo como lo ha sido este.
Me alegra oír que las cosas en Villarocero van bien, y que Pepito sigue creciendo fuerte. Tan solo pensar en sus pequeños ojos y sus deditos provoca que me salgan lágrimas.
Nos han trasladado de apoyo al frente, en apoyo al decimotercer batallón según he oído hablar al sargento. No he tenido tanto miedo en la vida, pero confío en que la dama en su gloria me tenga.
La comida deja mucho que desear, pasamos muchísimo frío, las trincheras son oscuras y ahora con la lluvia son peores.
Espero que os llegue la lluvia pronto allí para los campos, que aquí nos sobra.
Ansío con toda mi alma volver a veros a todos.

Con cariño y todo el amor del mundo,
Joselu.
19 de Enero del 17

Dearest Laura;
I am writing to you from the outskirts of Tamaríz, in the province of Torna.
I received your letter last night along with the pack of cigarettes, and I must say that never has a month seemed as long as this one has.
I'm glad to hear that things are going well in Villarocero, and that Pepito continues to grow strong. Just thinking about his little eyes and his little fingers brings tears to my eyes.
We have been transferred from support to the front, in support of the 13th battalion according to what I have heard from the sergeant. I have not been so afraid in my life, but I trust that the lady in her glory has me.
The food leaves a lot to be desired, we were very cold, the trenches are dark and now with the rain they are worse.
I hope that the rain arrives soon there for the fields, that here we have plenty.
I long with all my soul to see you all again.

With care and all the love in the world,
Joselu.
January 19th, 17

 

[Vivanco]

Front Page of "The Petria Herald" of the 7th of November, 1902.

https://imgur.com/nRjOeW6

 

[Vivanco]

2nd of December, 1919
19:22
Filleras, Province of Petria (Under Central Government control)

The evening was cloudy, as they used to be around these days. The sun had already set, and the city lights seemed to be the only inhabitants of the normally busy city. Ever since the war broke out, the nights were more dangerous than ever, and nobody was surprised. Most of those drafted were the only source of income of many families, who only could survive through the rations of the government. However, not all suffered first-handedly the reality of war.

The room was warm, with the light cracking of a fireside as a background sound. Music flowed in the room, from the wooden radio, a merry piece called “March on, city boy!” about a young man marching to the front lines for the King Jacobo the First. And a man sat in the room, in a comfortable high-headed couch, with a cigar on his lips, smoking, as he read a newspaper.

“Advances on the western front, aha…” He mumbled to himself, his eyes fixed on the paper. He closed the Herald and folded it, leaving it on a side table as he approached the other end of the room, picking up the telephone and placing it on his ear, dialing up a number by memory. A few secons passed, until he was picked up.

“Yes? Who is it?” A raspy voice came from the other side.

“Greetings, madame. I’m Ernesto de Petria. Is Gerardo available? I am aware it’s not an appropiate hour, but something picked up my interest.”

“…One moment, sir.” There was some silence, to say something, as static came through as the voice of a man came back. It was a voice worthy of an icon itself from its depth. If one could hear a smoothly dug tunnel, that would be how it sounded.

“Ernesto! You devil, making me pick up the phone this late in the evening.” Said Gerardo. On the other side of the line, a bald man spoke, with a dark moustache connecting to the impressive sideburns of the man in a simple shirt and suspenders.

“As they say, sometimes work simply can’t rest. How is the family?” Answered Ernesto, in a delightfully clean outfit, a black tie, much like how one may want to look like in its final day above ground.

“Marvelously, if I do say so myself. Maribel and I had been thinking about visiting the north one of these days, if the weather allows. I’ve been told Saintonge looks nice these times of the year.”

“Oh, have you? Indeed, it’s a good destination, a shame you wouldn’t be able to go by the sea. There is no vessel that could handle your weight.” Ernesto said, chuckling, recieving a chuckle back.

“While that may be true, I at least don’t look as if I’ve been freshly dug out of a grave. How is your family?”

“Margaretthe and I haven’t been on the best of terms as of yet, such is life, and yet we go forward. Over and on, we march, isn’t that right?”

A distant boom echoed across the streets, as the wheeze of the wind was masked with the sound over the skies of planes. Ernesto looked at the wide window in his study, out into the skies where barely shadows escaped eachother, with lights coming on some parts of the city. Calmly, he spoke on the phone.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Ernesto left the phone on the table and simply walked up to the windows and… Closed the blinds, walking then back and picking the phone back. “Where were we… Ah, right. I was wondering if the latest shipment was able to go out.”

“As far as we’re concern, they’re already on its way. The Big Eagle didn’t seem pleased that the salad wasn’t done in time.” Spoke Gerardo. One could never know who could be listening in.

“I am aware. Just in case, I believe we’ll need to double the efforts on it. Make sure it’s done.”

“I’ll try and get the workers to understand.”

“I knew I could count on you, Gerardo. Now, if you excuse me… We’ll talk in the morning. Have a nice rest, and give Maribel my greetings.” Said Ernesto before hanging up.

He took a deep inhale from the cigar and exhaled like a dragon a large cloud of smoke out of his nosetrils, looking at the fire. He then walked over to his desk, next to the window, and opened a letter that was already open. It was a shipment order, for the “Foundry De Petria”, of parts for the government’s next batch of battle wagons, for the front.

“Business is booming.” He said to himself with a chuckle, before throwing the document to the fire, as ordered and he walked out of the room with the radio playing a militar march.

 

[Vivanco]

Ambers of the Revolutionaries
​

Nobody remembers their names. The Group of Twenty, they were called, who decided to come together to create a new world from the ruins of the old. They saw a glimpse of hope amidst the destruction and death that the Great Break caused. While everyone jumped at each other's throats, they decided to build a new world. Not founded on a single bloodline, or on the wonders of the market, but on the people. They were a group of twenty, coal miners, most of them, and a few engineers. They owned no more than the clothes they wore and their spirits. Their homes were owned by the business that hired them, and if they didn't work as expected, not only they lost their income, but their way of living, their home. While they coughed and risked their own lifes down in the mines, the managers, the owners, swayed their glasses of alcohol, chuckling at the state of the world from their ivory towers. Until one day, they said, no more.

The workers used to meet in a local bar after work. They went to the mine when the sun had barely risen, and exited it when the sun had gone away, and the light of candles were their only sources of warmth and light. And as they discussed the day, a heated discussion sprang up. There were talks of joining together, making a union. The winter had began to settle, and the conditions were harsher by the day. People wanting to be home with their families, sick leaves being denied left to right, until one man, who's name was forgotten to history, died in the mines. It hadn't been the first time, but it could had been the last. That was the day when hell broke loose in the mine.

It was about time to close for the day, when the overlords declared the quota hadn't been met, and that several workers wouldn't be allowed back in the mine the next day, and that they must leave their houses by the week. That's when the shouting began, under the cold lights coming from the balcony of the mine's managerial office. There were calls for mercy, which fell on deaf ears. Then, shouts of rage, which barely arched an eyebrow, when the security of the officers stood in front of the mine. It's unclear who gave the first shot, but suddenly, there were echoes of bullets and a river of blood flowing down the mines. Only a handful of people remained in the site after most fled, and others died. Twenty, who declared loudly that the Mine was no longer owned by the business, and neither did the houses. That they were theirs, and of the ones who lived.

Word spread fast, and many of the mines of the province flocked to the sentiment. Guns that once were for hunting, gunpowder and explosives which were for mining circulated around for the defenses. And raised was a flag of black, like the coal, like the hands and faces of the workers.

The start of the Junta del Común, in Vilpetta. The "Common's Junta". On the 11th of January, 1903. "Hail to the Commons! Hail to the workers! Hail to Vilpetta!"​