- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
- TNP Nation
- Prydania
- Discord
- lordgigaice
OOC: Please read this OOC thread for a track listing as well as some background information on what I plan on doing here. Thanks for reading!
22 April 2017
12:47 pm
On a Saturday
Alptaver, Prydania
He had just turned twenty-two. And now it was the twenty-second day of his birthmonth. Tobias had learnt not to discount good omens. And indeed they were good.
Two rivers. The Vor and the Landeren. What was left of the Syndicalist Republic's military had been amassed along them.
Two rivers. And two victories. Niels Krummedike had the harder crossing on the Landerene but he'd forced the Syndies to fall back to Keris after nearly a week of fighting.
And now... Tobias watched as FRE trucks and tanks rolled down the road as the spring air blew by. It made him smile, the spring air. This was Vesturland. Rolling hills set it apart from the forests of Midland and Austurland, and the spring air smelt sweater.
Or maybe it was the celebration. Tobias stood looked ahead. The tanks and trucks rolling towards Býkonsviði were actually slowed by the people coming out. People freed from the camps and collectivized farms. People freed from the conscripted mines, and just...people. All lining the roads. Hugging soldiers. Waving flags.
Because while General Krummedike's army had crossed the Landerne, General Eiderwig's had crossed the Vor. And that meant that... the War was almost over. The last significant military forces the Syndicalist Republic had had been smashed against these two rivers.
And now the entire heartland was open to the FRE. The countryside and Erkiengill would be liberated. And then...the capital.
"Fyrir Konung! Til Valhalla!"
The chants of the people lining the roads, slowing down the army, they echoed in Tobias' head. He stood in the jeep to give a wave and hold a defiant fist in the air, before he looked into the distance.
The news of the collapse of the Syndicalist defences would be reaching Býkonsviði. What was Thomas Nielsen thinking?
Tobias looked ahead as the spring wind blew past him.
"I hope he's scared," Tobias thought.
"I hope he's scared and terrified. I hope his kids are..." he stopped himself.
He remember how he was scared and terrified. Hugging his mother. Never wanting to let go but destined to never see her again, holding her afraid as Nielsen's Militia stormed Absalonhöll...
He was only seven at the time. Thomas Nielsen's own children were adults today. But part of Tobias...a very strong part...hoped that the news that the FRE could no longer effectively be resisted scared them. He hoped them, their mother, and their father felt the terror his own parents felt fifteen years ago.
"Fyrir Konung! Til Valhalla!"
The chants echoed in his mind as he looked ahead.
And then he thought.
"Uncle Tom."
That's what Thomas Nielsen had been to him, before his father and Nielsen had a falling out.
"I hope pabbi's the last thing he thinks about every night for the rest of his life," Tobias thought. His heart was racing. The countryside had come alive even as news of anti-Syndicalist uprisings in Erkiengill spread. This really was the end.
Tobias remembers clinging to William as a child. Crying himself to sleep. He remembers the men he'd killed. And he remembered the haunted faces of his countrymen as they were liberated. They faded into the cheering faces that now lined the roads.
Over. The War. Over. It seemed surreal but in just a few months...it would be inevitable.
What did Thomas Nielsen feel? Did the visage of his friend he'd tortured and killed haunt him? Did Hanna's words of vengeance hang over him like a dark cloud? Was he scared?
Tobias hoped he was.
22 April 2017
12:47 pm
On a Saturday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
"We've begun the retreat to Keris and Býkonsviði," Field Marshal Ejvind Borg said sombrely.
"We're setting up defensive positions to slow enemy advances."
Thomas Nielsen looked down as he sank into his chair.
This..was it. He'd dismissed it. It kept getting bigger and bigger. Even when he should have known...but he defied it. If he didn't accept it, it wouldn't be real.
But now it was here. The FRE. The royalist rebellion. The heartland of Prydania...the last tangible chunk of the Syndicalist Republic...was now indefensible. Soon they'd be at the outskirts of Keris and Býkonsviði.
How could this happen? How? How could an ineffective ÞM, a privileged aristocrat, and a fokking child do this? His jaw clenched.
Was this some cruel joke? Was his defiant lack of faith misguided? Maybe there was a God. Maybe He'd given Tom everything and taken it away...
As crazy as it was...it had to make sense. How could anything else be true? Picardist theory held...it held that such an uprising couldn't be possible. Not on this scale...
"Comrade Chairman?" Borg asked.
Thomas grunted softly and shook his head. He'd been lost in his own thoughts.
"Have we prepared Militant cells to leave behind the enemy's lines?"
Borg coughed nervously.
"Já, Comrade Chairman. But they've proven ineffective so far. It's my belief that if we scuttle Militant we can focus what resources we have left on the defence of Keris and Býkonsviði."
"No," Thomas said emphatically.
"Militant is necessary. As we mount our counterattack they'll rise behind the enemy. That's how we'll win this War."
Borg looked around. It was just him and Nielsen. He could be frank.
"Comrade Chairman, there won't be a counterattack."
"What?!" Thomas bellowed, his melancholy changing to outrage as he shot to his feet.
"We need to halt their momentum! Your defensive positions will hold the line while..."
Borg shook his head. He'd prayed...yes prayed...that Nielsen would see reason but he...he just wasn't.
"What tanks, Comrade Chairman?"
"What?"
"What tanks? What jets? What tanks and jets should I lead this counterattack against the FRE, Goyaneans, and Andrennians with?"
"You said..."
"I said we had defensive positions being manned to slow the advance. We don't have the men or vehicles or fuel to launch a counterattack."
"The Ninth and Sixth Armies..."
"Have been shattered and broken. The remnants are retreating to defend Keris and Býkonsviði. The parts that can avoid Goyanean and FRE air strikes anyway."
"You...we had two armies worth and you..." Nielsen growled. "You squandered them! You couldn't hold two rivers and you..."
"ENOUGH!" Borg barked.
Nielsen fell into silence. His eyes wide. No one had spoken to him like that in fifteen years.
"You don't dare..."
"Or what Comrade?!" Borg yelled back.
"The 9th and 6th were scraped together! We lost this War at Hadden, and now...now you want me to do what? Kill more men in a counterattack? Do you want that, Comrade? A counterattack in our state would only do one thing- end this War quicker. If you're so eager to end up in FRE hands then fine. Have me killed and give the order yourself."
"Militant will rise and you'll..."
"Militant has been an abysmal failure. Like anything else of value the People's Militia has attempted."
"The people will fight for us in the end," Nielsen growled.
"No," Borg shook his head.
"They fight for Tobias Loðbrók now."
Tobias Loðbrók. Nielsen had refused to give the boy much thought. Just a shadow of Robert. Some pawn propped up by aristocrats. But... Robert.
What could have been had Robert listened! But no...no...
"Why are you still here? If things are hopeless?" Nielsen muttered.
"Loyalty. Honour," Borg replied.
"Seeing through what I pledged my service to, to the end."
Nielsen looked him in the eyes. He'd laughed once. Fifteen years ago. He'd laughed at the slaughtered Knights of the Storm who'd led a doomed defence of Absalonhöll when the People's Militia stormed it. Fools, dying for a lost cause.
And now...
He dropped into his chair.
"Do what you must, Field Marshal."
Borg nodded.
"Comrade," he said softly, before leaving.
Tobias Loðbrók... he remembered him when he was in diapers. And now Robert's son was coming home.
What Could Have Been by Johnathan Young, 3:38
22 April 2017
12:47 pm
On a Saturday
Alptaver, Prydania
He had just turned twenty-two. And now it was the twenty-second day of his birthmonth. Tobias had learnt not to discount good omens. And indeed they were good.
Two rivers. The Vor and the Landeren. What was left of the Syndicalist Republic's military had been amassed along them.
Two rivers. And two victories. Niels Krummedike had the harder crossing on the Landerene but he'd forced the Syndies to fall back to Keris after nearly a week of fighting.
And now... Tobias watched as FRE trucks and tanks rolled down the road as the spring air blew by. It made him smile, the spring air. This was Vesturland. Rolling hills set it apart from the forests of Midland and Austurland, and the spring air smelt sweater.
Or maybe it was the celebration. Tobias stood looked ahead. The tanks and trucks rolling towards Býkonsviði were actually slowed by the people coming out. People freed from the camps and collectivized farms. People freed from the conscripted mines, and just...people. All lining the roads. Hugging soldiers. Waving flags.
Because while General Krummedike's army had crossed the Landerne, General Eiderwig's had crossed the Vor. And that meant that... the War was almost over. The last significant military forces the Syndicalist Republic had had been smashed against these two rivers.
And now the entire heartland was open to the FRE. The countryside and Erkiengill would be liberated. And then...the capital.
"Fyrir Konung! Til Valhalla!"
The chants of the people lining the roads, slowing down the army, they echoed in Tobias' head. He stood in the jeep to give a wave and hold a defiant fist in the air, before he looked into the distance.
The news of the collapse of the Syndicalist defences would be reaching Býkonsviði. What was Thomas Nielsen thinking?
Tobias looked ahead as the spring wind blew past him.
"I hope he's scared," Tobias thought.
"I hope he's scared and terrified. I hope his kids are..." he stopped himself.
He remember how he was scared and terrified. Hugging his mother. Never wanting to let go but destined to never see her again, holding her afraid as Nielsen's Militia stormed Absalonhöll...
He was only seven at the time. Thomas Nielsen's own children were adults today. But part of Tobias...a very strong part...hoped that the news that the FRE could no longer effectively be resisted scared them. He hoped them, their mother, and their father felt the terror his own parents felt fifteen years ago.
"Fyrir Konung! Til Valhalla!"
The chants echoed in his mind as he looked ahead.
And then he thought.
"Uncle Tom."
That's what Thomas Nielsen had been to him, before his father and Nielsen had a falling out.
"I hope pabbi's the last thing he thinks about every night for the rest of his life," Tobias thought. His heart was racing. The countryside had come alive even as news of anti-Syndicalist uprisings in Erkiengill spread. This really was the end.
Tobias remembers clinging to William as a child. Crying himself to sleep. He remembers the men he'd killed. And he remembered the haunted faces of his countrymen as they were liberated. They faded into the cheering faces that now lined the roads.
Over. The War. Over. It seemed surreal but in just a few months...it would be inevitable.
What did Thomas Nielsen feel? Did the visage of his friend he'd tortured and killed haunt him? Did Hanna's words of vengeance hang over him like a dark cloud? Was he scared?
Tobias hoped he was.
22 April 2017
12:47 pm
On a Saturday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
"We've begun the retreat to Keris and Býkonsviði," Field Marshal Ejvind Borg said sombrely.
"We're setting up defensive positions to slow enemy advances."
Thomas Nielsen looked down as he sank into his chair.
This..was it. He'd dismissed it. It kept getting bigger and bigger. Even when he should have known...but he defied it. If he didn't accept it, it wouldn't be real.
But now it was here. The FRE. The royalist rebellion. The heartland of Prydania...the last tangible chunk of the Syndicalist Republic...was now indefensible. Soon they'd be at the outskirts of Keris and Býkonsviði.
How could this happen? How? How could an ineffective ÞM, a privileged aristocrat, and a fokking child do this? His jaw clenched.
Was this some cruel joke? Was his defiant lack of faith misguided? Maybe there was a God. Maybe He'd given Tom everything and taken it away...
As crazy as it was...it had to make sense. How could anything else be true? Picardist theory held...it held that such an uprising couldn't be possible. Not on this scale...
"Comrade Chairman?" Borg asked.
Thomas grunted softly and shook his head. He'd been lost in his own thoughts.
"Have we prepared Militant cells to leave behind the enemy's lines?"
Borg coughed nervously.
"Já, Comrade Chairman. But they've proven ineffective so far. It's my belief that if we scuttle Militant we can focus what resources we have left on the defence of Keris and Býkonsviði."
"No," Thomas said emphatically.
"Militant is necessary. As we mount our counterattack they'll rise behind the enemy. That's how we'll win this War."
Borg looked around. It was just him and Nielsen. He could be frank.
"Comrade Chairman, there won't be a counterattack."
"What?!" Thomas bellowed, his melancholy changing to outrage as he shot to his feet.
"We need to halt their momentum! Your defensive positions will hold the line while..."
Borg shook his head. He'd prayed...yes prayed...that Nielsen would see reason but he...he just wasn't.
"What tanks, Comrade Chairman?"
"What?"
"What tanks? What jets? What tanks and jets should I lead this counterattack against the FRE, Goyaneans, and Andrennians with?"
"You said..."
"I said we had defensive positions being manned to slow the advance. We don't have the men or vehicles or fuel to launch a counterattack."
"The Ninth and Sixth Armies..."
"Have been shattered and broken. The remnants are retreating to defend Keris and Býkonsviði. The parts that can avoid Goyanean and FRE air strikes anyway."
"You...we had two armies worth and you..." Nielsen growled. "You squandered them! You couldn't hold two rivers and you..."
"ENOUGH!" Borg barked.
Nielsen fell into silence. His eyes wide. No one had spoken to him like that in fifteen years.
"You don't dare..."
"Or what Comrade?!" Borg yelled back.
"The 9th and 6th were scraped together! We lost this War at Hadden, and now...now you want me to do what? Kill more men in a counterattack? Do you want that, Comrade? A counterattack in our state would only do one thing- end this War quicker. If you're so eager to end up in FRE hands then fine. Have me killed and give the order yourself."
"Militant will rise and you'll..."
"Militant has been an abysmal failure. Like anything else of value the People's Militia has attempted."
"The people will fight for us in the end," Nielsen growled.
"No," Borg shook his head.
"They fight for Tobias Loðbrók now."
Tobias Loðbrók. Nielsen had refused to give the boy much thought. Just a shadow of Robert. Some pawn propped up by aristocrats. But... Robert.
What could have been had Robert listened! But no...no...
"Why are you still here? If things are hopeless?" Nielsen muttered.
"Loyalty. Honour," Borg replied.
"Seeing through what I pledged my service to, to the end."
Nielsen looked him in the eyes. He'd laughed once. Fifteen years ago. He'd laughed at the slaughtered Knights of the Storm who'd led a doomed defence of Absalonhöll when the People's Militia stormed it. Fools, dying for a lost cause.
And now...
He dropped into his chair.
"Do what you must, Field Marshal."
Borg nodded.
"Comrade," he said softly, before leaving.
Tobias Loðbrók... he remembered him when he was in diapers. And now Robert's son was coming home.
What Could Have Been by Johnathan Young, 3:38
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