The Purging Fire [OPEN]

[Prydania]

31 October 1838
9:46 pm
On a Wednesday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Sir Nils Edvard Druuring waited, on edge. It was All Hallow's Eve and Absalonhöll very much felt like it. The cold fall rain battered the windows as dim candles illuminated dark hallways. And death seemed to permeate everything.

He waited as his wife, Princess Alexandria Loðbrók, spoke with Royal officials. They had come here with a feeling as to what would await them. Nils saw his wife, her head hanging and a hand moving to her mouth. He could tell their worst fears had been right.

His wife's father, King Rikard IV of Prydania, was dying.

He breathed deeply as his eyes darted from the paintings, tapestries, and statues that adorned the royal palace's hallways, to the wooden panels so intricately decorated with Nordic runes and depictions of Thaunic gods and Messianic Saints alike.
He desperately wanted to comfort his wife, but he knew he couldn't interject. What Alexandria was doing now... well... he could guess. She was being prepared for the end. And what would come next.

Of course they'd prepared for this... but there was always something keeping it distant. Luta. His wife's older sister.
The sick King had no sons. Just two daughters. Luta was the one who was supposed to succeed him but she had gone missing years ago. For years and years the King and Queen held out hope that Luta would be found... it was a hope that eventually consumed the Queen. And now it looked like it would consume the King. It had only been a few months ago, when King Rikard IV's health began to turn for the worst, that he sensed what he had to do. He consented to Luta being declared dead. Alexandria was named his heir in her place but...

... but Nils and Alexandria had always perhaps wondered if Luta would show up? She was rebellious, headstrong. It wouldn't be beyond her to turn up somewhere after all this time.
But now Rikard IV was dying. And Luta was still missing.
The thing they had assumed would always be distant was here. Alexandria would be Queen. But first... first she had to say good bye to her pabbi.

"It's..." Alexandria said softly as she broke away from the royal officials and the doctor to be with Nils.
"It...it..."

Nils smiled softly, and embraced her. Alexandria was never supposed to be Queen, but she would be. Just like they were never supposed to be married, but had been.
Rikard had wanted his daughter to marry an Andrennian noble to secure the alliance with the Nordika powers during the Second Nordic-Imperial War against the Syrixians. And Nils was Andrennian nobility, but he was lesser nobility. Both Rikard and the Andrennians objected but they loved each other. Alexandria had used the fact that she was, practically, her father's only surviving child to marry with her heart.
The same father she defied who was now dying.

"They say pabbi wont make it through the night," Alexandria whimpered as Nils held her.

Nils squeezed her reassuringly. Most people saw Alexandria as more controlled and proper compared to the rebellious Luta, but Nils knew that she could be just as defiant, just as strong. Which made her vulnerability here all the more powerful.

"If he's not to survive the night then you should see him. Be with him. Comfort the old hart in his last moments."

Alexandria nodded as her husband embraced her.
"Thank you love, for everything."

"You know I'll be here every step of
the way," Nils replied.

Alexandria sniffled, pulling back and looking her husband in the eye.
"I need to take this step alone though."

Nils nodded. He understood. He would have time to comfort his wife but right now she needed to say goodbye to her father.

"Go to him," Nils said softly. Alexandria smiled and kissed his lips, just a peck, before she reluctantly let go of him and made her way back to the doctor and officials, who led her to the King's chambers.

"He's as comfortable as we can make him," the doctor said softly as they walked down torchlit hallways.

"Danke, Doctor, for making his last moments pleasant," she said, her voice trembling.

"We will be waiting," the doctor replied as they got to the great doors.
"Just take as long as you need."

Alexandria nodded and forced the doors open to the candlelit royal quarters, seeing her father, sickly and bed-ridden. Still she remained stoic until the bedroom doors were closed and they were alone.

"Pabbi..."

"Is that my Alex?"

"Já Pabbi, já it is," she said softly as she made her way to her father's side, taking a seat and grabbing her father's hand. He gripped her's back with as much strength as he could muster.

"They say I won't make it through the night, but I suppose if I can hold out to the first of November I'll have showed them, eh?" he asked softly with a smile and cough. Alexandria smiled too... even through his illness, her pabbi had his sense of humour.

"Pabbi please, don't worry about that. I'm here to be with you. For as long as you need."
Her father was gaunt. And while his blond hair had begun to turn to silver years ago it was now a sickly grey. Still... she couldn't help but see the strong, proud man he had been. The man who had fought alongside his own father to drive the Calliseans away. A man she had admired as the strongest man in the world. Her everything. She had to stifle the urge to cry.

"I'm afraid," Rikard replied, coughing, "that there is..." he coughed again.

"Pabbi no, you need to relax and..."

"Alex no..." he breathed deep and steeled his resolve. What he had to tell her couldn't wait.
"Listen to me... I'm sorry I..." he coughed but composed himself.
"I loved both you and your sister with everything I had. I didn't want to admit she was gone. I thought I was keeping her memory alive, to hold out hope... but I realize it was unfair to you. I should have named you my heir earlier. I should have accepted..." he coughed furiously but shook his head to defy his daughter's attempts to quiet him.
"No... no... I should have accepted Luta was gone years ago. And treated you like the heir you deserve to be."

"Pabbi, if you're feeling guilty no. No don't...please don't let guilt over something like that dominate you in these ti...."

"No no...you don't understand Alex. There is something that being heir to the Prydanian Crown means. Something you must be invested with, before you assume the throne. I should have told you earlier. But now... now you'll know."

Alexandria was speechless. She's prepared herself for any number of things that her father might tell her tonight but as the rain and wind howled outside, as the candlelight flickered, she felt... unsure. And as she contemplated this Rikard raised a frail hand and pointed to the book shelf opposite of his bed.
"The top row. The red book, third from the left. The one with no title will reveal all... but it falls to me now to tell you the tale of Finnleik Scylfing."

Alexandria raised an eyebrow. The name "Scylfing" was familiar to her. It was her family's name before King Baldr III, her ancestor who overthrew the Korovans, adopted the Loðbrók name to show continuity with their cousins.
But she didn't know who Finnleik was.

"He was a cousin to Kaldor Loðbrók," her father continued. Kaldor was someone Alexandria knew. Most people the world over knew him, at least tangentially. Every major Messianist denomination recognized Kaldor as a Saint. He, along with King Vortgyn I and King Tobias I made up the trinity of Prydania's "Saint Kings."

"Kaldor had accepted Christ, but," Rikard smiled and chuckled even in his sickly state.
"A viking's habits die hard. Even after accepting Jesus and being baptized Courantist he sponsored viking voyages to the east."

Alexandria nodded. Finnleik was someone she had no knowledge of but she knew of the Prydanian vikings in Auroria. Still, she was curious. What was so important about this that her father would insist he tell her on the verge of death?

"Finnleik settled a port, a trading port to trade with the eastern peoples of Auroria. In time he came to befriend them, Alex. And maybe it was... maybe it was because he was a rare thing to them, an outsider and friend, that they came to him when they needed help."

"The Aurorians Pabbi?"

"Já... the Arianese. The great Golden Dragon clan of the far east..." he paused, feeling a rush of exhaustion wash over him.

"Pabbi I..."

Alexandria was cut off. Her father would continue this. Even if it took him to his last breath.

"They were under attack. From an ancient enemy. They faced utter destruction at the hand of a force older than even their own dynastic history that would spread darkness all over the world, and our ancestor Finnleik was all there was to defend them. He and his vikings, they pledged themselves to the Arianese Emperor. He was made the Lord of the Storm, Alex. And since his victory he brought an agreement back to St. Kaldor. That we would guard the secrets of the evil they defeated."

Alexandria's eyes went wide. Stormlord. The old title Prydanian kings were known by. And... and she could hardly believe what her father was telling her and her mind was log-jammed with questions.
"Us? Prydania?" she asked, finally.

"No, us, the sovereigns. The rulers of this land. We keep this secret. And we stand by if their call to us is ever made again... this has been a secret passed from King to Prince. My pabbi told me... and I told Luta.... but Luta, my Luta... she's gone..." he breathed deep.
"I should have told you this earlier. But you will be Queen. You must know. And you must tell young Harald when he is ready," Rikard said, referring to Alexandria's infant baby boy.

"Pabbi..."

"To wear the antlered crown is to carry the hopes and trusts of our country... but it's also a responsibility. No one but the Golden Dragon Emperors themselves and the sovereign of Prydania knows of this evil's existence. You must guard it with your life... until it's time to pass it to your son."

Alexandria could tell her father was diminished. Sick, gaunt, grey. But as he looked at her his emerald eyes seemed to flicker alive in the candle light. And Alexandria knew what was being asked of her.
"Pabbi..." she said as she bowed her head and held her father's hand tight.
"I promise you I will not let you or our oaths down."

Rikard smiled meekly...

"Then I only have one more request left of my daughter."

"What is it Pabbi?"

"Be with me.... please."

Alexandria knew what he meant. She sniffled as she held back the urge to cry. Still, she smiled and kissed her father's frail hand.

"Of course Pabbi."

And so Princess Alexandria set the red book down. The book that told the story of Finnleik Scylfing and his battles in Auroria against the Ten Rings.

---

Queen of Kings by Alessandra, 2:28

 

[Sil Dorsett]

January 27th, 2024
The Silver Crown Resort and Casino
Norvalle, Sil Dorsett

Arman Kagan was visiting the principality for the fourth time, and he returned to his most frequently visited establishment, the Silver Crown Resort and Casino in the Norvalle harbor district. In his past visits, he explored every inch of the casino floors, from the slot machines to the table games and even gazing at the entrances to the exclusive and private Haute Livre poker rooms, though he never entered one of them.

There was a girl he was interested in, one he had his eyes on many times in his past visits. He learned her favorite spot in the casino: room two of Haute Livre, 8 PM, Saturday nights, was when and where he knew she would be. This time, he was more prepared for the game he was looking to join, bringing with him stacks of cash and being well dressed; his suit made him look slim and classy. He waited for his girl to arrive, but as much as a half-hour passed and she never showed. Maybe she was early, and he was late? He went upstairs.

What he did not expect this time around was a pair of bouncers - or security guards, perhaps? - in front of the door to the room. He hadn't seen them on his past visits. Maybe they were there just to keep things exclusive; to keep out the lowborn rabble, he thought. But why now? He walked up.

"Name?" one of the bouncers asked.

"Kagan," Arman replied, opening the leather case to show the cash he brought, thinking that would be enough to enter.

The bouncer shook his head. "Not on the list," he said.

"Miss Allen is expecting me," he pleaded.

The bouncer shook his head again. "If she was expecting you, you'd be on the list," he said, dismissively waving Arman off.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Arman said, putting his right hand into his suit's pocket.

---

Malorie Allen, still the Sil Dorsettian ambassador to Prydania after having lost an opportunity to be the foreign affairs minister, was home for the weekend. Tonight was business. Marc Grosjean, the younger brother of Baroness Chloe and an entrepreneur himself, requested to meet with the ambassador to discuss various ideas for ventures and investments in Prydania. It was Malorie that suggested discussing it over poker; it was Marc that brought his private security along with some of his associates.

Malorie brought a small fortune to the casino, first earned through a combination of daytrading and gambling in the past, though now a larger portion of it was from the work of her friend "Deeps". As the game went on, she was making a profit off the backs of a few businessmen with a little too much liquidity for their own good and not enough mental acuity to keep it. Marc wasn't fairing any better than his associates, but he saw his losses as just part of the investment.

The hand they were on was nearly at the end, having already reached the late draw^[1]. There was already seventy thousand Livres in the pot, and only Marc and Malorie remained; the rest had folded early. Malorie spent a few seconds debating her move, staring at Marc and looking for a tell. Marc was smiling, and his expression was more flirtatious than focused. Malorie didn't pick up on that, thinking Marc's flirting was a tell. She was feeling greedy and confident in her hand. "All in," she declared. Before Marc even had a chance to call, the game was interrupted.

Loud screams of pain were heard from outside the door as a short struggle ensued. Everyone at the table turned towards the door, wondering what was going on. The door swung wide open, and Arman, having incapacitated the two bouncers, rushed in. With Malorie sitting at one end of the table, she was easy to pick out. Wielding a bloodied butterfly knife, Arman lunged at the ambassador, but Marc was in the way and the other four men at the table quickly tackled the assailant to the ground. One of the men stomped on Arman's hand, breaking his grip on the knife, and kicked the blade away while the others held Arman down.

First responders would arrive within minutes of the attack. Paramedics rushed the two badly bleeding bouncers at the door to the hospital with multiple stab wounds each; Marc was treated for a treated for a gash on his arm, and a couple of his associates had a few minor cuts earned during the struggle. Marc would need stitches to close his wound, but he got off light compared to his security. The police cuffed Arman with help from everyone in the room.

As Arman was stood up, he menacingly stared at Malorie, and let out a scream.

"The fire rises!"

---

Notes:
1. Late Draw - Known as the "River" in Texas Hold-Em. The game itself is referred to in-universe as "Five Card Hold".

 

[Prydania]

Television static hijacked Lodestar News before a test pattern showing the emblem of the Ten Rings flashed on screen before more static led to the Satrap, sitting in a darkened room.

"Lesson two. No one is safe."

​

"Last night in Silver Crown Resort and Casino, a monument to the decadence and hypocrisy of the self-appointed democratic elite, the Silean ambassador to the Kingdom of Prydania was attacked by loyal soldier of the Ten Rings, and a martyr of everyone who exists in opposition to the moral imperialism of the Association of Nations. While Malorie Allen escaped with her life, make no mistake. She will never be safe. No one will ever be safe. Not as long as the AN continues to exist as a force imposing its will on the world."

He raised a hand, each finger adorned with a ring.

"The so-called democratic elite wrap themselves in their own moral superiority like a shield. Arrogant and haughty and oblivious to those around them. The militias of Sil Dorsett will not save you, Madame Allen, the AN will not save you. No one holding the reigns of influence will ever be safe from the wrath of the people who stand united. This is just beginning. Welcome, Madame Allen, to the first day of what's left of your life."

The screen fizzled into static...

---

Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Who is he?"

Max Hveiti shook his head.
"I don't know."

Kjell Svane tossed his pen across the cabinet room's table.

"I don't know what you want..." Max began before Kjell shook his head.

"I want the Goddamn ÖS Goddamn U to do it's job!"

"I can't explain it any more than I already have," Max replied, trying to stay calm.
"They appeared out of nowhere."

"That's... not exactly true."

Max grumbled as he turned to Brigadier Marshal Kaleb Stahl, head of Army Intelligence. The military branch of his ÖSU. The two had never seen eye to eye exactly... Kaleb felt it was because Max still held his Syndicalist past against him... but they'd grown more cooperative over the years. But this... this made him nearly lose it until he managed to reign himself in.
"It practically is," he said, instead keeping himself under control.

"Practically but..." Kaleb began, "the Ten Rings have been a rumour in the intelligence network for years."

"I don't concern myself with rumours, I concern myself with facts, and the fact is that until the kidnapping of the Iraelian AN ambassador there was no actual proof as to the Ten Rings' existence."

Kjell tapped the table a bit.

"Is Marshal Stahl correct? Were their rumours?"

"Intelligence work is full of rumours, Herra Prime Minister," Max replied.

"I want to hear about these ones," Kjell shot back.

Max grumbled. He rubbed his temples and sighed, but Kjell was patient. Max was making it known how much he objected to this line of questioning but Kjell knew he'd cooperate.

"There have been rumours for years, as far back as I can tell, of a cabal. The Ten Rings. Whispers amongst intelligence operatives and chiefs. But I can't stress how... nebulous these were. For every account, ever mention of the Ten Rings there are loads of instances where "unknown shadowy groups" get dropped and who even knows if they refer to the same group?"

"The Ten Rings though... they were mentioned by name."

"As far as I can tell, yes. My own operatives during the Civil War would even mention them. 'I heard this,' or 'some say that the the target was marked by...' stuff like that."

"And you never told anyone."

Max had enough.

"If you want to call every intelligence chief on the planet and march them into your office so you can chastise all of us, go ahead! But I am not the only one who didn't see anything. We were ALL blind, Kjell! And so you can yell at me over the past or work with me to try and fix it!"

"I just want to know why apparently everyone knew about these people and yet..."

"Because we didn't! That's what I'm trying to tell you! My job, the job of every intelligence chief on the planet, is sorting through half truths, lies, whispers, rumours, and trying to find the facts hidden in them. The Ten Rings were a boogeyman. A rumour. An urban legend. Every attempt to actually follow any lead, went nowhere."

"How many did you try?"

"The most important one."

"The Messianic League uprising," Kaleb added.

"That," Max confirmed.

"You suspected that there was foreign involvement," Kjell replied.

"I did. I suspected Kurt Ventur Jr, the arms dealer in Skanda. He had been a supplier and financier of the Syndicalist Republic. He was also a financier behind the Prydania Today clusterfok. Backing the Messianic League in their little uprising would have fit his MO of sowing discord in this country. But as I dug, it wasn't him. At least... not in the way I thought."

"I'm not on the mood for vague allusions, Max."

"Well you're going to have to be, because this is what fukking happened."

There was a pause, an uncomfortable one. Kjell looked pissed, but it was Kaleb who saved the room from exploding.
"Go on Max."

Max nodded. He wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss to kill Kaleb right now, but he continued.
"The money trail for the Messianic League was deep. It ran through so many third party brokers and shell companies layered in each other that it was like untangling a knot from hell. But I found a name. Indrid Kalt."

"Is that this... Satrap?"

"I don't think it's his real name. An alias, perhaps. Maybe a name or alias of a high level lieutenant of his. But at the time... I thought it was whoever was masterminding this finance ring the Messianic League was tied into. But then..."

"The black square," Kjell replied. The black square Max had frantically texted him the night the Satrap revealed himself to the world.

"It all fell together. Like... a puzzle. It was there... but I could never find the way the pieces worked together. No one did! But I saw it. Kurt Ventur Jr. Indrid Kalt. They were all part of this... this thing."

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know."

"How many are there?"

"I don't know."

"Have they infiltrated us or our allies?"

"I don't know, but it's fair assumption."

"What do you know?"

"That we're at war."

"War?"

"Herra Prime Minister, this group is responsible for funding and arming the Syndicalist Republic. They funded the Prydania Today outfit. They backed the Messianic League. They have a vested interest in this country. For reasons I don't know. We are digging, but I don't know anything but what I can confirm. And now our allies are under attack. I need to reach out to the Silean government."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Kjell asked.

"This group has survived because intelligence organizations are naturally secretive and suspicious of each other. We don't talk. We don't compare notes. I think, this one time, that might be worth trying."

"Go and contact them," Kjell sighed.
Max nodded and stood to leave when Kjell stopped him.
"I trust you and I are on the same page about what you tell them."

Max looked at him. He never really could get a feel for the Prime Minister, like he could with Aubyn, Brandt, and Aaker, and that bothered him. He knew what he was asking here though, and chose to interpret it as liberally as possible.

"Of course," he said with a smile, before leaving. He stuffed his papers under his arm and pulled out his cell phone, dialing up ÖSU HQ.

"I need to speak to William Aubyn. It's imperative I get in touch with the Sil Dorsett government."

 

[Tardine]

At the AN Conference Site
Shortly after the Satrap's discourse​

---

Jasemir was astonished for a second, but then quickly recovered himself. All of his training at the TIA's Secret Agency[1], which was disguised as military training, prepared him for situations like this. Of impending danger and perhaps even murder attempts. He had survived not one, but two, after all. No coward would dare kill him now. So he sprung into action.

Seeing the confused-looking King Arthur, who perhaps didn't quite grasp how much peril he might be in, he reached out for him. Amongst the chaos, it seemed as if the guards had forgotten about their own King. Fortunately, he knew the building's map by memory, and could find his way out even if there was total darkness. He neared Arthur, hurriedly saying, "Your Majesty, you need to come with me. At least until the peril dies out, let's laugh dangerously[2]."

The King took a few seconds, which felt like agony to Jasemir, until he shrugged slowly. "Sure, young man, whatever it is you wish me to do." The King says while following Jasemir. "Also, for the future, you laugh in the face of danger[2]... though you remain welcome to laugh dangerously."

Both men weaved through crowds of terrified people, until they reached a bland door, which Jasemir promptly locked after they got in.
"This is a safe room, Your Majesty."

"...I was aware of that one, young man." The old King gave a knowing smile. "This is my safe room, after all!"

"Sorry for assuming things, your Majesty.", said the Emperor.

"Worry not at all! You kept me safe, child, which is far more than those guards ever seem to do." Jasemir decided to ignore... being called a child.

Jasemir then took his brand new ePhone 12 Pro Max[3], which seemed a luxury to him as he was used to the simpler ones. But he had one for the sake of a bright Emperor image – not that he cared about it that much. He called Klaiden Risvie, told him that he was safe and asked him to address the situation if people started asking. He then called the Minister of Defence, Anatijenka Kandur, and asked for a report on the situation.

After calling everyone, Jasemir took out his other phone. At first glance, it looked like any standard feature phone. Arthur got a little curious, suspicious even, and asked; "Why have you two phones? One does not do the trick for you?"

"This one is for even more secure communications," said Jasemir smiling. "I need to make sure we are safe before we leave."

"I much prefer them with the cords, to be frank." Arthur mused quietly. "It feels ever so much more secure when it is attached to something. The amount of young folks I see back home with all manners of cracked screens... maybe they ought to use those Sorovian brick phones that would withstand a nuclear blast[3]."

"I share the same thought." The Tardineanni said, winking, not sure if the King would notice it. Perhaps he was underestimating the old man. "Now if you would please excuse me, Your Majesty. I need to message someone."

"Of course, of course," the old King responded, warmly. "Whatever it is that is needed of you, let it happen, no burden." Jasemir then takes his feature phone aside and open the secret comms app.​

---

Spoiler: LOGIN INTERFACE

>> S//{ACCESS-MAINFRAME-DATABASE};
>> S//{ESTABLISH-COMMUNICATION-DATABASE};
>> S//{ESTABLISH-CONNECTION-DATABASE);
>> DISPLAY_'PRIMARY CONNECTION ESTABLISHED'_MESSAGE;
>> [ACCESS-LOCKED], DISPLAY_'AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED'_MESSAGE;

>> S//{INPUT-AUTHENTICATION}, DISPLAY_'REQUIRED PASSCODE=[16358]'_MESSAGE;
>> S//{INPUT-AUTHENTICATION}, RECEIVED_[16358]_PASSCODE-INPUT;
>> S//{RUN_'VERIFY-BIOMETRIC-DATA'_PROGRAM};

>> MATCHING DATA <<
>> REMOTE AUTHENTICATION PROCESSING <<
>> STAND-BY <<
>> ACCESS GRANTED <<
>> WELCOME, NULL-AGENT 'TOVW', CODENAME: 'THE CHARIOT' <<

>>S//secure-comm_link/a27zr0_null/0171/
>>Secure channel ready to use<<

The Chariot: Chariot speaking. I need a report on the terrorist hijack of the AN reunion.

???: The situation must be dire, if you're not speaking in code.

The Chariot: As The Hanged Man you have the wisdom to know that no one can listen to this conversation. Now, tell me you can locate that man and if the AN delegates are safe now.
The Hanged Man: You're so desperate to know if the people at the AN Conference are safe I might think you are there.

Chariot: What if I'm there? What's the difference? Can you do your job or not?

Hanged Man: I working on it. We've got a bunch of time to spare. I wanna know, are you really there?

Chariot: I won't be telling you that.

Hanged Man: Then you are. Who are you? A diplomat, a delegate? By the Watcher, you can't be the Emperor, right?

Chariot: ...

Hanged Man: Just imagine how funny would that be. That dude is so gullible, I bet he is screaming the most right now. He's a completely clueless moron.

Chariot: Last time I checked, thrash talking about the Emperor is still considered treason and punishable to death.

Hanged Man: I do not even exist. What's he going to do? Send an execution order to someone called Hanged Man?

Chariot: You should better watch you mouth. You never know who is on the other side of the screen. I might be the one to sell you out to the authorities.

Hanged Man: I always knew you were a rat! Anyways the report is ready.

Chariot: What does it say?

Hanged Man: We traced back his signal to five different locations. One in Iraelia, one in Esthursia itself, one in Prydania, one in Goyanes and one in Syrixia. All in countries who are part of the AN.

Chariot: This means he's either in all of these places, at the same time, which we already know to be impossible.

Hanged Man: Or he's in none of them, yeah.

Chariot: This fucker! We will find him somehow or else he'll win. And we can't allow terrorists to thrive.

Hanged Man: At least not the ones we support[4].

Chariot: It is different and you know. Anyways just tell me what I need to know. Is it safe at the AN Conference now?

Hanged Man: Yes you can leave the bathroom you're hiding and stop crying.

Chariot: You are so funny I'm gonna puke.

Hanged Man: Fine, you win. Farewell, Chariot.

Chariot: Bye.
​

---

What happens after

"We can leave now, Your Majesty." Jasemir puts down the phone after making sure he closed the app properly. Not that this was a real security measurement, he was just paranoid. "My contact has said it's safe out there."

The old King smiled and left the room immediately after Jasemir opened it. He went in the direction of the guards, probably to scold them or something. The Emperor didn't want to dwell much in the Esthursian affairs, so he simply left the man alone. There was much to do now.
​

---

​

Spoiler: OOC side notes:

[1] The TIA's Secret Agency members, otherwise known as Null Agents do not officially exist. They are trained their entire lives to fulfill their job and any records of them are permanently erased, with some exceptions such as the Emperor himself. He takes in the role of "The Chariot" or "The Overwatcher", as the leader of the Null Agents. Nobody knows the identity of The Overwatcher as no one has ever seen them and some might even think there's more than one Overwatcher, like all other roles who are filled by 2 or more people. All Null Agents have their roles and names based on the tarot cards, who were likely brought to Tardine by the Vivanquian during the 16th century.

[2] Jasemir here tried to say a famous Mercanti expression in Atlish, but he got the pronunciation all wrong and actually said something that was almost nonsensical, if not comical. He would've got it wrong either way as he wanted to say "let's laugh at the danger's face". King Arthur correcting him made Jasemir regret taking the Mercanti language course rather than learning Atlish like Klaiden Risvie did.

[3] The ePhone 12 Pro Max is the Tardineanni equivalent to the newest iPhone IRL. It's sold by the Estari company who's loosely based on Samsung (as in producing all kinds of electronics), Xiaomi and, majorally, Apple itself. The Emperor actually prefers feature phones as they remind his of his father. The Sorovian brick phones are based off the legendary IRL Nokia's phones, who are said to be unbreakable.

[4] This makes reference to the fact that the Tardineanni Intelligence Agency is secretly aiding the NRA terrorists, with the objective of keeping insight on their operations while analysing the possibility of an external intervention if things get out of control.​

 

[Ashita]

Keizer Suites Tower
Djanstra, Kaliva

“All hail the Keizer! Choose Keizer Resorts, Djanstra’s one and only empire of affordability and quality!” The man grins, sticking his pointer fingers towards the camera.

“Cut!”

“Alright, there we go, that good enough for you?” After receiving a nod from the director, he quickly shucks off his shako and speeds back inside, shutting the doors to the rooftop deck behind him. “Djusatmān, I need to look into paying someone else to be me for these bits,” he muttered under his breath.

“Mr. Eaufsausen! Mr. Eaufsausen! We’ve been getting some negative feedback online over one of our recent ads,” a staffer says, running up to him.

“Kid, do you know how many ads this company cranks out? It’s a significant amount, you know, they tell me it’s impossible to go a day in Mjonsk or Avesnja without seeing at least one Keizer Resorts ad.”

“Jus-just look at this.”

The staffer sighs and pulls up a video on his cell phone, struggling to keep pace with Eaufsausen as they walk down the hallway.

“Really? You booked our HONEYMOON at a hotel in Iolanta?”

The faint sounds of gunfire and military aircraft could be heard in the background of the video as a couple argued with each other.

“But babe, the prices here… they’re super low…”

Several cockroaches scurry out of a wall as it crumbles to dust, allowing the Keizer to walk into the scene, interrupting the bickering couple.

“Folks, if you’re looking for an affordable vacation spot that doesn’t sacrifice anything with regards to quality,” he pauses, glancing back at an advancing army in the distance, “...or safety, then book a stay with Keizer Resorts! All hail the Keizer!”

The video fades to black as the resort chain’s (in)famously earwormy jingle begins, with a chorus singing out ‘Kei-Kei-Kei-zer, Kei-Kei-Kei-zer.’

The Keizer stares blankly at the staffer while pressing the button on the lift. “I don’t see what’s the problem here.”

“It’s a sensitive geopolitical issue, a lot of–”

“People are talking about it, aren’t they?” He shakes his head. “You’re new here, aren’t you? We operate under these two rules of business. One. Never, never defend. Two. No publicity is bad publicity. Now, let’s try and not waste any more of my time, I’ve got a meeting soon.”

He steps into the lift, the doors shutting before the staffer could get another word in.

“New hires…” he groans.

“Oh, good evening, Mr. Eaufsausen.” The lift attendant greets him with a robotic smile. “To the lobby, I presume?”

He glanced towards the lift attendant, dressed up in a double-breasted white coat blouse trimmed with fanciful gold buttons. The dark black color of the stiff plastic shako blended in with her raven hair.

“Yes, thank you Karolina,” he replied.

“Heading home for the day, sir?” she asked as her gloved hand daintily pressed the golden button inscribed with a capital L.

“Oh, yeah. My wife prepared lamb chops with somacchia[1] and naan. Jåhan really loves lamb chops, trust me, you’ve never seen someone so voracious until you’ve seen him trying to shove a rack of lamb down his gullet. I’ve said to him, you’ve gotta start watching your intake soon.”

“That’s nice to hear. How old’s your son now?”

“Oh, he’s turning twelve in a few months. Great kid.”

He stared at the golden, art deco-style mural adorning the lift doors, chiseled to craft a facsimile of ancient Craviterean and Gotic royalty. An intricate patchwork of deer antlers, eagles, heraldic lions, swords, shields.

Soon enough, the doors slid open, revealing the glamorous lobby that hid behind the other side. Lavishly decorated with ivory chandeliers and Suavidiciesque Columns, it was a monument devoted to the worship of grandeur and wealth.

“Have a great night,” he said, waving goodbye as his black dress shoes clacked against the black-and-white checkered marble floors. A group of middle-aged guests clad in Skandan shirts and polos sitting around the nearby cocktail bar set down their 370 Ꞃᴾ [2] cocktails to gawk and snap quick photos of the Keizer, who made the effort to put on a smile and wave as he made his way outside.

---

Cloud News Studios
Mjonsk, Kaliva

“...the biggest danger to our civilization. While alleging to be steadfast proponents of democracy, continued membership in this supranationalist, globalist organization would in fact undermine our democracy and fundamentally change our society for the worst.”

“Thank you for fighting for our country, Mr. Sauba. Folks, we’ll be continuing our media coverage on the Kalivexit Referendum after the commercial break.”

“Thanks for having me, Ljjkhnr.”[3]

Sauba smiled at the camera, and as soon as the camera crew gave the thumbs up, he got up from the table, making his way towards the studio’s break room. A small collection of scriptwriters and members of the production team had already made their way inside, pushing the poor tea machine to its limits. Slithering through the producers indulging in workplace banter over cheap, instant tea, he reaches the fridge, and grabs a small bottle of water from the rack. Swiftly gulping it down in a matter of seconds, he tosses the bottle into the rubbish bin and slinks out of the room, not saying a word.

“Ah, there you are, 'steranga! I’m heading out for today,” Kuthrum, his chief of staff, said, waving goodbye.

“Oh, uh, good night. See you,” he replied curtly, walking back towards the recording room.

---

The Crystal Cabaret
Sud Djanstra, Kaliva

The Keizer got out of a simple silver car, clad in a pair of sunglasses, a 1995 Djanstra Gators baseball cap, and a simple rust-orange polo to match the cap. As he walked into the building, he slid on a white jacket, giving a simple nod to the bouncer, who nodded back as he opened the door. The artificial neon lights beamed a collage of purple, pink, and light blue onto the room’s surfaces and into his eyes. Some god awful punkish, Mjonskslop[4] hyperpop rap song was reverberating throughout the room. He rolled his eyes and walked around the various tables peppered with greasy, drunk men hooting and hollering at the stage performers.

Approaching a stairway, he gives another nod to a bouncer, who undoes a chain and allows him walk up to a small table situated by the wall. A young-looking man with a slight, but noticeable moue sat there, staring daggers into the Keizer.

“Hey, you Padshah? The guy sent over by the, uh…?” he holds up his hands and flashes ten fingers, then makes a circle using his index finger and thumb. “I don’t know how cagey you guys are over being name-dropped. I mean, you did have that whole Iraelian Ambassador thing. Big news event. And that Sil Dorsett thing, too.” He chuckled, but Padshah remained stone faced. “But I’m not trying to put you guys down, or anything. Those stunts show you have some balls, and I hate doing business with people who don’t have any. There are aspiring entrepreneurs out there, I’ll say the words ‘Anmativeda’ or ‘Severoszlavians’ and they piss themselves and go crying to their mommies. Waaahh, waah. Weak, you know.”

A server walked up to the table, a rather young woman dressed in a white tank top and shorts. A pair of laminated menu sheets sat daintily in her hands.

“Hey, boys~” she smiled, fluttering her eyes. “What can I getcha you two today?”

“Lamb bites, with the mango dipping sauce,” He says promptly, not even sparing a glance at the menu. “Oh, and a round of piña coladas for the both of us.”

She glanced towards Padshah, who only grunted and shook his head.

“Come on, you’ve got to try the food here. No? Your loss,” he remarked, waving the waitress away.

“You’ve chosen such a disgusting, degenerate rendezvous spot,” he smoldered with indignation, crossing his arms intensely. “These women, this music…”

“While you’re free to think that this is a trashy dump, and by all means, it definitely is, let’s try and keep our thoughts to ourselves, hm?” He paused, trying to parse the man’s expression. “This… restaurant… is run by friends of the Keizer, it’s a Herzogsvurde[5], one might say. And we're in Sud Djanstra, so the likelihood of running into any vanners[6] here is very minimal. Now spare me the groaning, and let’s get down to brass tacks. Sell me on this.”

Padshah huffed, swallowing his personal misgivings about the venue to begin talking business. “We have a large supply of product, and we have the necessary manpower to move it from our bases of operation to the entrepôt here.”

---

The Bridge Restaraunt
Mjonsk, Kaliva

“...and you were a political consultant in Prydania, right?” Kuthrum Vakannarej inquired, taking a sip of his daquiri.

“Yes,” replied back the other man, dressed in an inconspicuous collared shirt and thin coat.

“Well, that’s good to hear. You could really help out the campaign in the Vortstej. Our internals are showing we’re down by twenty there. Damn Urustronders. Between you and me, half of them take their marching orders from Toby. It's a shame.”

"Indeed, it's a big shame how the great nation of Prydania has let itself be enthralled by the siren song of globalism," the other man said, agreeing.

"By the way, who'd you work with when you were over in Beaconsfield?" Vakannarej asked.

"I've done work with a lot of people, mainly Nygaard," he said.

"I see," he nodded intently. "I can write you a strong recommendation to the chair of the fundraising committee. Husavik, nice guy. We can probably arrange some sort of administrative position for you there." He pulled out a small legal pad and pen. "Now refresh me, how do I spell your name?"

"K-a-i-v-a-n," he paused. "A-y-e-r-t-o-n."

"Kaivan, hm, that doesn't sound very Prydanian," Vakannarej mused.

"It's Bayardi."

"I see."

---

[1] Traditional Kalivese Stew
[2] Equivalent to 25 IBU
[3] Viktor Ljjkhnr is a Kalivese conservative political commentator
[4] Mjonskslop is often used as a catch-all perjorative term for all forms of postmodern electronic Kalivese music
[5] Client state run by a duke
[6] Pejorative term for law enforcement, who have a proclivity for using vans

 

[Prydania]

Somewhere in Aydin
"I demand to see him!"

The two guards looked at each other and then to the young woman, wearing black military boots, tactical pants, a matching tanktop. She couldn't have been older than twenty-five, and yet she hard a glare that could cut through steel... and the bit of her hair that draped over her right eye.

"The Satrap won't see anyone at the moment," one of the guards replied, but the woman would not be dissuaded.

"He has given away our greatest asset. He has no right to command any of us."

The two guards looked at each other and then her. One was going to respond, but his dour expression turned nervous.

"Oh what? Has he taken your tongue now too?" the woman asked.

"Or does he simply value loyalty, my Red Claw?"

A chill went down the woman's spine. She turned. The Satrap was not behind the doors the guards were standing watch over. He was behind her, descending the yalı's* central staircase.

"I am not yours," the woman said with a murmur.
"Not anymore."

"You," the Satrap replied as he stepped closer to her, taking her arm to run his thumb over the tattoo of the red tiger's claw on her left arm, "belong to the Ten Rings. I am the Ten Rings."

It was the calmness to it. He demanded things, but never barked or screamed. He was calm and direct, even at his most animated. It was unnerving.

"You no longer have the right to speak on our traditions," Red Claw shot back as she yanked her arm away.
"You who told the world of us. Robbing us on the anonymity that has served us for millennia."

The Satrap removed the aviator sunglasses he was wearing, placing them in a pocket in his green robes. He was old, yes, but he... had an intensity to him that his hazel eyes could now convey.

"The world changes, my Red Claw. How is it I who have more years behind then ahead can see that but you, still basking in the spring of youth, cannot understand that?"

Red Claw narrowed her eyes.
"The ports in Essalanea that we once moved through like shadows openly speak our name. Spare me your generic platitudes about the future. I'm the Red Claw, and it's my duty to care about the here and now."

"The here and now..." the Satrap mused. He walked over to a table on the side of the room, taking a curved knife from a table. Running the blade over his palm.

"The here and now is that the Lord of the Storm has once again moved against us. To do nothing would be a slow death."

"The Lord of the Storm," Red Claw said the title with derision, "is barely a man."

"He's older than you," the Satrap chuckled as he rocked the blade's dull side against his palm.

"Tobias Loðbrók is a naive fool," Red Claw continued.
"He's a symbol, nothing more."

"Ahhh...." the Satrap turned around, facing Red Claw again, holding the knife out.
"That was the mistake Thomas Nielsen and the Syndicalists made. 'Just' a symbol. Have you forgotten? We have survived since before recorded history by being a symbol. A myth, a legend, these things have meaning, my Red Claw. You ignore them..."

He began to walk towards her, but seemed to keep his distance. And when Red Claw's eyesight drifted just a bit at the sound of a bird landing on an upper window...

"at your own peril!"

The Satrap pressed the knife to her neck as he grabbed her from behind.

She struggled, trying to free herself. She was a trained warrior, strong, agile, and deadly, yet the Starap was showing remarkable strength for a man his age, shaking her attempts to free herself off.

"YOU'VE LOST YOUR MIND! YOUR 'STORM LORD' DOESN'T EVEN KNOW OF US! THE SYNDICALISTS SEVERED THE LINE OF KNOWLEDGE!"

"And yet..." the Satrap whispered in her ear, "his AN would be our undoing."

The Satrap spun her as he tossed her to the marble floor, hitting with a thud. He looked at the knife, a bit of her blood dripping from it. She reached up to press her palm to the nick on her neck as she lay on her side on the floor.

"You are perhaps the deadliest woman alive," the Satrap said with a low growl.
"Prove to me that I was right to value your usefulness over your lack of faith."

Red Claw panted as she pulled herself up, pressing her hand to the shallow cut.
"What would you have me do?"

"Kill Alycia Saitta-Loðbrók."

---

*Yalı- An Aydini villa built on the water