Konigser, Kalgary, Kanada. June 26th, 2018
A delightful looking chalet has several police cruisers around in, along with a sleek black car. Within the building is a collection of several men in suits, investigators and detectives, searching the building, assisted by police officers. Most of the commotion is around a blackened body lying halfway inside a sizable fireplace, unmoving.
One man speaks slowly to his partner while observing the body. "A conclusion? I believe he was pushed in then shot from behind. There's the entry wound of a bullet there," He gestured rather vaguely to the man's neck, "We know how he died, and we may have a little idea why it would be done. A small piece of evidence was the bill of sale and several personal letters next to it on his work desk upstairs. Apparently, he owed quite a lot to some Jewelry store in Kalgary, but the information on the papers are strange and the prices seem exaggerated. Almost all of the Jewelry company employees mentioned seem to not even exist past these papers. We will be going to the store in a few days."
The three most recent bills were all marked as unpaid, each with accompanying letters that became more and more vulgar as the bills went unpaid. One bill was just two days before the homicide, and the leading line was, "We've given you multiple chances...".
One devastating evening, June 25th, 2018, Kanadian Parliament Member Rasmus Hansson was murdered in his own home. More and more fingers are pointing to the 'deceased' Kanadian mafia, though that belief is just considered a silly conspiracy...
Undisclosed location, western Andrenne, January 2nd, 1919
"Incoming!" shouted a shrill voice far down the line, along with a few tolls of a bell. Everybody in the shallow advance trench gripped their helmets tight on their heads and planted themselves flat against the sloped walls of the ditch. A barrage of shells crashed quite a few metres in front of their trenches, not hitting them with shrapnel but instead launching clumps of dirt high into the air and allowing them to drop onto the men below.
A man trying to protect his deck of cards by holding them against his chest got a bit of debris to the head and passed out on the duckboards without a word. Other than him, the shell barrage was mostly ineffective, and everyone there could laugh it off- it was nothing of worry.
Then the damn Ninhunders adjusted their sights. A spotter plane above them had gone and contacted the artillery of their mistake.
As soon as that shell got a direct hit some bit up the line, men dove for the cover of their dugouts. Some began running to the communication trenches desperately to reach the safety of the rear lines and heavier defences, only to be torn up due to their exposure.
The sound of hundreds of mean yelling and screaming was overpowered by the drumroll of artillery, sending dirt and men alike flying high into the air. When the shellfire subsided, the Kanadian men remaining peeked above the parapet, rifles up. The whistles blew, but their machine guns had both been sent flying away, destroyed completely. They opened up on the Ninhundish as they emerged from their trenches, but they could only do so much.
The Nins' didn't stop to fire, instead marching straight forward until they had swarmed over the area of the destroyed barbed wire and over the parapet. Men began firing their single shot and moving in to fight with rifle butts, shovels, pickaxes, and knives. A Kanadian man with a scruffy beard and custom trench club made of strong wood and horseshoe nails went into the scrap with an image of a modern Viking, rifle hanging from his back, steel helmet on his head, and blunt weapon in his dominant hand, swinging and clubbing those unfortunate enough to not notice him.
No matter their bravery or valour, the Kanadians began to retreat, however, that was okay. They simply ran back to the second line of defences, where concrete bunkers with dozens of machine guns waited to demolish any Ninhundish forces coming soon after.
The bearded man was the last soldier out, weapon covered with blood and clothes tattered and muddy from the fierce fighting that had only lasted mere minutes.
A delightful looking chalet has several police cruisers around in, along with a sleek black car. Within the building is a collection of several men in suits, investigators and detectives, searching the building, assisted by police officers. Most of the commotion is around a blackened body lying halfway inside a sizable fireplace, unmoving.
One man speaks slowly to his partner while observing the body. "A conclusion? I believe he was pushed in then shot from behind. There's the entry wound of a bullet there," He gestured rather vaguely to the man's neck, "We know how he died, and we may have a little idea why it would be done. A small piece of evidence was the bill of sale and several personal letters next to it on his work desk upstairs. Apparently, he owed quite a lot to some Jewelry store in Kalgary, but the information on the papers are strange and the prices seem exaggerated. Almost all of the Jewelry company employees mentioned seem to not even exist past these papers. We will be going to the store in a few days."
The three most recent bills were all marked as unpaid, each with accompanying letters that became more and more vulgar as the bills went unpaid. One bill was just two days before the homicide, and the leading line was, "We've given you multiple chances...".
One devastating evening, June 25th, 2018, Kanadian Parliament Member Rasmus Hansson was murdered in his own home. More and more fingers are pointing to the 'deceased' Kanadian mafia, though that belief is just considered a silly conspiracy...
Undisclosed location, western Andrenne, January 2nd, 1919
"Incoming!" shouted a shrill voice far down the line, along with a few tolls of a bell. Everybody in the shallow advance trench gripped their helmets tight on their heads and planted themselves flat against the sloped walls of the ditch. A barrage of shells crashed quite a few metres in front of their trenches, not hitting them with shrapnel but instead launching clumps of dirt high into the air and allowing them to drop onto the men below.
A man trying to protect his deck of cards by holding them against his chest got a bit of debris to the head and passed out on the duckboards without a word. Other than him, the shell barrage was mostly ineffective, and everyone there could laugh it off- it was nothing of worry.
Then the damn Ninhunders adjusted their sights. A spotter plane above them had gone and contacted the artillery of their mistake.
As soon as that shell got a direct hit some bit up the line, men dove for the cover of their dugouts. Some began running to the communication trenches desperately to reach the safety of the rear lines and heavier defences, only to be torn up due to their exposure.
The sound of hundreds of mean yelling and screaming was overpowered by the drumroll of artillery, sending dirt and men alike flying high into the air. When the shellfire subsided, the Kanadian men remaining peeked above the parapet, rifles up. The whistles blew, but their machine guns had both been sent flying away, destroyed completely. They opened up on the Ninhundish as they emerged from their trenches, but they could only do so much.
The Nins' didn't stop to fire, instead marching straight forward until they had swarmed over the area of the destroyed barbed wire and over the parapet. Men began firing their single shot and moving in to fight with rifle butts, shovels, pickaxes, and knives. A Kanadian man with a scruffy beard and custom trench club made of strong wood and horseshoe nails went into the scrap with an image of a modern Viking, rifle hanging from his back, steel helmet on his head, and blunt weapon in his dominant hand, swinging and clubbing those unfortunate enough to not notice him.
No matter their bravery or valour, the Kanadians began to retreat, however, that was okay. They simply ran back to the second line of defences, where concrete bunkers with dozens of machine guns waited to demolish any Ninhundish forces coming soon after.
The bearded man was the last soldier out, weapon covered with blood and clothes tattered and muddy from the fierce fighting that had only lasted mere minutes.