Scraps of Roleplaying

August 2020
Absalonhöll
Býkonsviði, Prydania


Tobias read over the note and smiled softly, setting it aside as he looked over the coffee set. It was truly a beautiful piece of work. His inspection, however, was compromised by the smell of coffee. The packs of coffee beans beckoned and he sniffed them.

"How does it smell, Your Majesty?" Elo Daugaard asked.

"It smells like damn good coffee. Too good actually. Take it to your office. Keep it there until the babies come. I'm not torturing Aly with the smell of coffee she can't drink while pregnant. We'll try them once the babies are here."

Elo took the packs of beans and sniffed them himself before pocketing them.
"Those do smell good, Your Majesty."

Tobias smiled. He'd convinced Laurids Hummel to drop formalities when they were alone, but he wouldn't even try to have that conversation with Elo Daugaard. The Royal Steward was one of the FRE officers who had been charged with Tobias' protection during the War. And he was a duty-bound fellow. Resolute in his devotion to the Prydanian Crown.

So rather than try to get Elo to drop formalities he knew he'd never drop Tobias instead inspected the coffee set some more.
"It's an Ubgandian hunting scene" the young King remarked as he looked over the cups and pots.
"That's really cool. I'll need to send Sabhrain something."

"I don't wish to be a killjoy, Your Majesty, but if I may speak freely?"

Tobias raised an eyebrow as he carefully studied the craftsmanship of the painted hunting scenes. He never denied Elo that, but he was also a bit shocked he'd frame the request like this.
"Always. What's on your mind?" he asked.

"Have you been paying attention to Astragon, Your Majesty?"

"I know Sabhrain's one of the only people on this planet who's gone through something like I have" he remarked defensively. That was true. Their previous meeting in Plembobria had highlighted that. They'd both come to their thrones through bloodshed.

Elo seemed to get that and nodded.
"Yes. I understand."

"She's also family" Tobias replied.
"Distant family, but still."

"That's what makes the sounds coming out of Astragon so...prickly, Your Majesty" Elo replied.

"I don't like prickly" Tobias remarked. Indeed he didn't. The impending birth of his twin boys had begun to make Tobias yearn for a quiet life with his wife and children.
"What is it you're talking about?"

"There's a legacy of Goyanean and Andrennian imperialism in southern Iteria, Your Majesty. The Astronese tend to dislike Gotics as a result."

"Well..." Tobias replied, not knowing this and certainly not expecting it, "...I met with Sabhrain. She didn't show me an ounce of animosity. And besides, we didn't have any colonies. In Iteria or anywhere else."

"We were part of UKAG, Your Majesty. And willingly at that. That could be enough for some down there to view us with suspicion. It may be wise to avoid getting too close."

Tobias leaned forward a bit in his chair. He picked up one of the cups and studied it.
"It's a hunting scene because I hunt" he said softly.
"If Sabhrain had any ill will towards me she wouldn't have sent me this."

"I don't doubt that, Your Majesty. Unfortunately relationships between peoples tend to be more complex then the relationship between two people can be."

"Sabhrain's been nothing but kind to me. I don't want to let what others yammer on about change how I reciprocate that kindness."

Elo nodded.
"Yes, Your Majesty." He wasn't going to argue the point.
"I'm curious, though. What will you gift to her in return?"

"She gave me this set in part because I hunt" Tobias replied.
"I'm going to give her something equally as fitting."

---

letter:

Sabhrain Na Kevshah,
Cousin, I received your gift and I am beyond honoured by it. Thank you! I look forward to enjoying it- and the coffee- with my wife once the babies arrive.
In return I'd like to gift you something very near and dear to my family. This is the sword of Prince Harald Loðbrók, brother to King Robert I and known as "the last Viking" in my country. He met his end as a Viking would want, in battle against a worthy enemy. It is perhaps a twist of fate that the enemy was Norsian!
Regardless, Harald served his brother and King dutifully and was for many centuries- and in some ways still is- the example of the ideal Prydanian soldier. It's his marshal legacy that brought you and your own accomplishments as a soldier to mind. I hope that the sword and letter finds you well, and that your country and people are knowing peace.

With warm regards,

Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók

Click to expand...

Kevshah Estate

Astragon

November 2020

The garden hums with the sound of buzzing insects and the ghostly calls of nightbirds and save for the flickering glow of lanterns the only light to be seen is the moons pale radiance. Seeking a reprieve from the fierce heat of a Tyrooz summer I have come home to my family estate, here with my inner circle I am afforded privacy that would be impossible in the vast labyrinth that is the Palace of the Exalt.

It is here in the comfort of my ancestral holdings that a strange package is received, the brown cloth is pulled back to reveal a sword in an embossed leather scabbard resting within. The blade is a straight point of forged steel, an unusual sight in Astragon where our own sabres have long been curved for slashing. A note rests on top of the curious weapon.

“Sabhrain Na Kevshah,
Cousin, I received your gift and I am beyond honoured by it. Thank you! I look forward to enjoying it- and the coffee- with my wife once the babies arrive.
In return I'd like to gift you something very near and dear to my family. This is the sword of Prince Harald Loðbrók, brother to King Robert I and known as "the last Viking" in my country. He met his end as a Viking would want, in battle against a worthy enemy. It is perhaps a twist of fate that the enemy was Norsian!
Regardless, Harald served his brother and King dutifully and was for many centuries- and in some ways still is- the example of the ideal Prydanian soldier. It's his marshal legacy that brought you and your own accomplishments as a soldier to mind. I hope that the sword and letter finds you well, and that your country and people are knowing peace.

With warm regards,

Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók”

This sword has travelled far from its original homeland, from the icy north all the way to sun-kissed Tyrooz. When I sent my distant cousin, Tobias of Prydania, the gift of an ornate coffee set (and coffee with a more agreeable taste then sawdust and cogorian tears) I did so without expectation of the gesture being reciprocated and yet here stands my marshal with a blade from Viking myth.

I smile and motion to Malik Korshad, my prime marshal and the commander of my armies “loyal Malik, I give you this honour” I say as the ageing warrior grins and strides over to the waiting gift.

The blade sings as it is released from its ancient leather scabbard, my prime marshal holds it aloft his face awestruck. Malik inspects the blade with an appraising eye, he runs his finger down the centuries-old steel grinning and wincing when the edge produces a neat cut.

“Still sharp after all this time!” he says his voice filled with amazement

“Gotic smiths are renowned for their skills” I reply approvingly

Malik kneels and offers me the hilt of the blade; I take up the sword and marvel at the stories written across its face. Ancient scars cover the body of the weapon, this blade has seen many battles and if the marks across its length are any indication, it has taken many lives as well. I hold the blade up to the moonlight; this weapon has seen heroes rise and kingdoms fall. As I revel in the silver-hued glow cast over it, I cannot help but realize that such a precious weapon with so much history tied up with it could not have been an easy thing to part with.

“A fine gift your Exalt, though if I may address the elephant in the room...” Malik says awkwardly his voice trailing off before he finishes

“You may” I reply calmly

“A gift from the north...given our shared “history” with the gotics....” he says trailing off once more

“I am well aware of the connotations marshal,” I say bluntly as I rest the sword upon my shoulder

“There are some who might look upon this display as an attempt by the nordlings to try and worm their way back into the continents sphere of influence,” Malik says his tone respectful even as he hints at my decision to accept this gift being ill-advised

“The Nativists look upon Gotic bread being sold in Eksha’s* as an act of Neo-colonialism! Let them gossip and if any are foolish enough to make anything of this remind them who returned Bayyah Emmereh* to the fold!” I snap bringing the conversation to an end

Nativists! If ever there was a spear with two points it was them, on the one hand, they represent a philosophy whose agenda I have done much to advance...but on the other, their inflexible world views make them a liability in a nation seeking modern global relations.

I was raised on the stories of Goyaneans, Malorians and yes Andrennian’s too and how they came to Iteria and brought with them ruin and division. I was also reminded by my uncle that in the modern era our people buy their suits from fashion houses in Gojanesstad and Bergum and of how our links with the north have historic precedent in the form of ancient marriage.

“Prydania did not subjugate Zhen or Kamaheo and their king, my cousin no less, has been nothing but welcoming” I explain my tone calm but brooking no interruption

“And what of the wider issues with the Gotic world?” Malik asks refusing to let the matter go

I can't really blame him, Malik was born in the old era of Sakard, raised on the narrative that Iteria was besieged by foreign dogs and that Astragon would be the shield of the continent. He has shed blood for those ideas and coming to terms with the new world is far from an easy thing for the old Kaiderin.

“The era when a gotic in a pith helmet could command a thousand iterians is long dead Malik, but so too is the time when a Hailakaid prince could ride from one end of this continent to the other and see red banners. This blade is a symbol of something new” I say holding the blade in front of me and testing its weight

“With respect, what is that symbol my exalt?” Malik asks curious

“That two very different cultures can find a common understanding, this sword Malik is a gesture meant to cleanly divide the world of the past and the world we are building,” I say in a determined voice

The prime marshal says nothing, his silence hinting that he finally understands, I sit and gaze at the blade for a long time after he leaves. Old pottery and aged steel are unusual signs of a new beginning but as I hold the ancient Nordic blade in my sword hand, I find this method to my liking.

*Eksha is a prominent chain of middle-class supermarkets in Astragon

*The Astragonese name for Rio Verde

OOC Note: So this is a scene from an episode from a Santonian television series titled "Lancou" Click on the name of the series for background information.

Lancou, Season 1, Episode 11

Béthanie, Saintonge

“Lancou!” Tifenn called out as she saw her long-awaited visitor come in through her office door. “I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!”

“Sorry,” the thin, lanky Lancou smiled mischievously. “I had to go to the hospital.”

“Deliveries?” She rolled her eyes. Maybe Lancou was busy with his trucking business. “You should’ve just asked your subordinates to do it.”

“No, not that. You know what my day job is,” Lancou sat on the chair in front of her desk. “Had to fetch someone.”

“Can’t order your minions to do it for you?”

“Can’t. Special request. It’s a V.I.P. …Lucy personally wanted me to fetch the guy.”

“Who is Lucy?”

“My boss, you don’t know him?” Lancou chuckled as he shifted to a jokey ominous tone. “Lucifer. Satan. THE DEVIL!” Lancou gave out an impish laugh.

Still, Tifenn was less than impressed, as if Lancou was a husband who was trying to make up stories to excuse coming home late. “And who was this V.I.P.?”

“Some xenophobic Radical Party politician,” Lancou replied nonchalantly, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his sports jacket. “Lucy wanted him straight to hell, pronto.”

Tifenn sighed. Normally Lancou had all his minions to do the work for him, of fetching the souls of the dead people, to bring them to Lucifer or Saint Peter, whoever wants them or asks for them. But what Satan wants, Satan gets. Saint Peter was far less demanding. After all, heaven comes to those who wait.

“So, new case again?” Lancou inquired, shifting a bit in his seat.

“Yes,” Tifenn said as she handed Lancou a file envelope with the important documents of the case. “Sigurkarl Skjelbred, 36. Homesteader from Questembert, about fifteen minutes’ drive from Lanester. His wife found him dead on the side of the road with multiple stab wounds. The procureur* of Lanester is considering it as a case of hate crime.”

“Poor Prydanians,” Lancou sighed. “Can’t even get a break.”

A sharp rap at the door interrupted their conversation. Tifenn invited the other visitor in. It was Jason-Caël Juloux, one of the forensic technicians. “Morvan, your pizza has arrived. Delivery boy waiting outside at the front door.”

“What pizza?” Tifenn asked, perplexed. “I didn’t order pizza.”

“Well, the teenager was carrying six boxes of pizza. Thought you ordered for the office!” Juloux grinned. “But if you didn’t order a pizza…”

Tifenn thought about it for a bit. Maybe someone was pranking her? Ordering and sending pizzas to her office in her name? Some pranksters and deranged people do it to get back at people they did not like. And boy, as the head of the SSJML, she had a long list of criminals who might have hated her…

Tifenn sighed. She had no time to think about that. She had a murder to solve, and the procureur for Lanester wanted to meet her in three hours. She needed answers.

“Here,” Tifenn took a fifty-livre banknote out of her purse and handed it to Juloux. “Have it as a treat for the office.”

“Thank you, Morvan,” Juloux smiled as he took the money and went for the pizza.

“Lancou, let’s go,” Tifenn zipped her purse and stood up from her seat.

Lancou followed her through the maze of desks. “Where are we going?”

“To the back entrance,” Tifenn answered. “My car is parked there, and I don’t want to encounter pizza boy pranksters.”

“Oh okay,” Lancou answered. “Too bad, I suddenly want a pizza.” Lancou then changed topic. “What else do you know about the case? Time of death? I can ask my minions, which one of them fetched the soul…”

“Morvan!” Juloux called them out, before they reached the corridor leading to the back entrance.

The pair turned around and saw Juloux empty-handed, waving the money at her.

“I thought you will get the pizza?” Tifenn asked.

“Delivery boy went poof.” Juloux answered, gesturing that the guy suddenly disappeared. “Gone. I don’t know where he went…”

Tifenn huffed in frustration. If ever she discovered who was pranking her… they’d pay. “Just go buy some pizza with the money,” she told Juloux before striding towards the back entrance. She then returned to her conversation with Lancou.

“Dr. Kerfourn will text me later the estimated time of death,” Tifenn partially answered Lancou’s question.

“Oh okay,” Lancou shrugged.

As soon as the pair exited the nearly-empty back entrance of the building, a gangly blond-haired teenager showed up in front of them and yelled, “FRESH DELICIOUS OVEN HOT PIZZAS FOR MADAME MORVAN!!”

“Ma Doue*!” Tifenn blurted out in surprise, nearly dropping her car keys. “What is it!?”

“Pizzas, madame,” the teenager grinned, revealing a full set of teeth with braces. He handed the pizzas to the pair. Lancou absentmindedly took the six boxes of pizza in and called Juloux to take it.

Tifenn sized up the teenager. Probably about sixteen, with a bright pleasant smile. He was wearing a green cap for “Pizza Hot”. Tifenn had never heard of that pizza chain, never ordered from that store. The teenager was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue-and-navy football shirt from the sixth-tier Bethanian team Paotred Dispount Lannarstêr. Just below the crest on the football shirt was a name tag sticker from “Pizza Hot”, with the delivery boy’s name written on it. Jonbjörn. Another Prydanian kid.

The teenager was looking at Tifenn intently, probably waiting for the payment and the tip. As Tifenn was rummaging through her purse for money, Lancou reemerged from the door, munching on a pizza slice and carrying a bottle of soda for drinks.

“Pizza boy is waiting for something else,” Lancou said knowingly.

“Yeah, still haven’t paid him,” Tifenn answered as she finally managed to get a fifty-livre banknote to give to Jonbjörn.

“He’s not in for the money,” Lancou said, in between chews of his pepperoni pizza.

“What do you mean?” Tifenn turned towards Lancou as she passed the money to Jonbjörn.

With his pizza-holding right hand, Lancou gestured towards the delivery boy. “Jörn, introduce yourself.”

The delivery boy gave out a sheepish smile. He went out of the way to assume another form in order to disguise himself. “I thought you won’t recognise me, Lancou.”

“I know an Immortal when I see one,” Lancou replied, taking another bite of the pizza in his hand.

“Lancou, is he another one of your odd friends?” Tifenn asked, piqued. Clearly this was not the first time that another of Lancou’s immortal or supernatural friends had made their appearance.

Lancou just chuckled.

“Madame Morvan,” the teenager introduced himself, “I am Jörn. Messenger of Jägdar, Prydanian god of the hunt. I was sent to help you.”

---

Procureur = prosecutor. See here for crime investigation in Saintonge.
Ma Doue! = equivalent of “My God!” in Bethanian
Paotred Dispount Lannarstêr = the football team from the town of Lanester, playing in Ligue Regional 1, the sixth tier of Santonian football and the top tier in the northwest region (Bethany + Domnonée).

OOC Notes: Approved by @Prydania Thanks!

Wednesday
April 16, 1997
11:14 PM
Aruel, Asturica

Micael Ferreiro rolled down the limousine window as he pulled out a cigar, lit it, and puffed out smoke, looking out to the night lights of the city. The convoy took a left turn at the intersection with Micael’s limousine following a troop-truck filled with armed soldiers of the Special Enforcement Detachment - the paramilitary wing of the National Prosperity Party. After a minute or so he finished his cigar and tossed it out the window.

The man sitting across from him, Bernaldo Macedo, had his eyes dug into some papers.

“Leftenant Macedo,” Micael began, prompting Bernaldo to look up from his papers. “Who’s on tonight’s list?”

“About a few anti-nationals here in Aruel whom the Autarca wants to be silenced,” Bernaldo replied. “Currently we’re on our way to the residence of Roman Patino, who is affiliated with the local liberals. Then we have to shoot his cousin, Leonardo Coello, who is associated with the socialists. After that, it’s off to kill Paio Becerra, a leading figure of the local conservatives. Then we have to-”

“Alright alright,” Micael cut Bernaldo off. “I don’t need to hear them all right now. How far are we from the Patino residence?”

“We’re almost there. Do you think they’ll try putting up any resistance?”

Micael chuckled. “If they do then they’re about as stupid as I think them to be.” He turned to look out the window behind him to see a tank following behind them. “Besides, we have armored support.” Bernaldo smiled.

“So where are you from, Leftenant Macedo?”

Bernaldo looked up to Micael and put away his list of names. “Province 3. And you?”

Micael laughed, “My friend, have you so quickly forgotten?”

“Ah, my mistake,” Bernaldo corrected himself, thankful Micael had decided not to shoot him, “I meant to say Andria.”

“There you go,” Micael smiled and nodded. “I myself am from Rythenia.”

“Captain Ferreiro, Leftenant Macedo,” the driver spoke up, “we are now pulling up to the Patino residence.”

“Very good. I hope you know how to use that gun, Leftenant,” Micael pointed to Bernaldo’s holstered pistol. Bernaldo just nodded as the limousine came to a stop just outside the Patino residence’s entrance. The Special Enforcement Detachment soldiers poured out of the trucks armed with automatic rifles and pistols. They rushed all over to secure a perimeter and cut off all windows of escape for Patino. SED officers barked out orders as troops burst through the front door.

---

Roman Patino was jerked awake by the sound of people breaking into his house - of bursting doors and breaking glass, of shouting men and stomping boots storming up the staircase to his bedroom. His wife, Alexis, was also woken up by the noises. She shot him a look of fear. "Communists?" She asked in a terror-stricken voice. "No," he replied. "Fascists."

The Special Enforcement Detachment soldiers burst into their bedroom and took hold of them both, dragging them out of their bed, downstairs, and outside to face the PPN brutes assembled outside. Two amongst them stood out. The Special Enforcement Detachment's men usually dressed in gray military uniforms with shiny black jackboots, topped off with gray NCO caps or shiny chrome helmets. But these two men? Like reapers, they wore naught but black from head-to-toe. Analogues of death. Roman and Alexis were made to stand side-by-side facing the two men as SED soldiers set fire to their home.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Roman shouted, only to be struck on the back of the head with the but of a rifle. He fell down but a soldier just pulled him back onto his feet.

Micael chuckled and stepped forward, putting his face right up in Roman's. He pulled himself away and pulled out another cigar and put it between his lips. "With the communists now out of power," he said before he lit his cigar. He sucked in, pulled the cigar out, and blew out the smoke before he continued, "someone will have to take up the mantle. Someone strong and capable."

"Who? Naron?"

"That's Autarch Naron to you, you liberal fuck," Micael growled back before he smacked Roman across the face.

"What the fuck do you mean 'autarch?' You fascist shits were expelled from the Provisional Assembly! You Naronist fucks have no-" He stopped himself as a realization finally clicked in his mind.

"The Provisional Assembly is no more," Micael reported, confirming Roman's revelation. "The National Prosperity Party is seizing control of Asturica."

"So what now? You're going to shoot me?" Roman tried to hide the fear in his voice. Not fear for his own life, but for that of his wife. Micael just smiled, stepped back, drew his sidearm, and put a bullet in Roman's thigh. Alexis tried to take hold of her husband but was held back by two Detachment soldiers. Roman screamed in pain and agony, placing his hands over the bullet wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Please!" Roman managed to let out through the pain, "Please, at least spare my wife and unborn child!" Micael glanced over to Alexis and back to Roman before he signaled his leftenant. The other man in black walked over to Alexis, pulled out his pistol, and shot her in the head. The two Detachment soldiers threw her down to the ground. "No! No no no!" Roman screamed and cried. "You sadistic caralludos*! You killed her!" Micael smiled and bent down, pulling Roman's face by the hair so their eyes met.

"I promise you this, Patino: you will not be the only ones who die here tonight. And after the Autarch secures his grip on this country? No one will ever remember you existed." Roman could tell Micael was enjoying what he was doing. He needed to say something. "We should have never trusted you people!" He felt like he had to physically push the words out of his mouth. Micael just laughed in response.

"Well unfortunately for you and your compatriots, you did." Micael pulled out his pistol and pushed the barrel up against Roman's forehead. "Any last words?"

Time seemed to stop. Roman could practically hear his heart pounding. Then he found the words to say. "I promise you this, and I want you to remember my words: don't think you fascist shits will have your power forever because you won't. I don't know if it'll take a week, a month, a year, a decade, even a century for your Autarch's regime to die but I promise you it will die! You can kill democrats, but you can't kill democra-" the sound of a gunshot cut Roman's words off. Micael dropped the now lifeless head of Roman Patino down onto the pavement and stood up. Blood began to pool out from the corpse's head and Micael turned away. "Get this shit cleaned up! Hustle! Hustle! We're on a schedule, people! The Autarch wants all names on our list dead by morning!"

The bodies were put into body bags and tossed in the backs of trucks with the soldiers. Micael and Bernaldo climbed back into their limousine and the convoy drove off.

---

Thursday
April 17, 1997
2:30 PM
Sadena, Asturica

Autarch Xacobe Naron stepped up to the podium, met with the sight of a massive crowd and formations of Asturican Army soldiers. Behind him fluttered a massive scarlet-red PPN banner. The cheers of the crowd came to a halt as he held up his hand, signaling for them all to go silent. There was now no noise; it was as dead quiet as the winter's night. Only then did he begin his speech.

"My people, sons and daughters of Asturica," he began soft and solemn. "For decades, we have lived beneath the oppressive thumb of the Red Terror. We have toiled in their collectivized farms and their slave-driven factories. Our backs have been broken. Our bones have been shattered by beatings from communist authorities. Our children have been worked until the flesh peeled from their bones."

"No longer!" Now he raised his voice.

"The communists have been driven out! With them gone, we can rebuild our nation! We can rebuild our strength! And we can rebuild our pride! On this day, I call upon all of you to answer Asturica's call - the call of your father-country! Only through action can we, united as one, achieve a future that is golden and eternal! As Asturica's new Autarch, under my new government - that of the National Prosperity Party, the only ones capable of saving our nation - the Democratic Asturican Peoples Socialist Republic will be reorganized into the Asturican Social Republic!"

Suddenly, someone in the crowd shouted, "Long live Naron! Long live the National Prosperity Party!" The chant repeated, being picked up by more and more people until the whole crowd was screaming the mantra. Even the army soldiers began shouting it, raising their arms to cross their wrists over their heads. Naron smirked. The military was loyal. His opponents were all dead.

Asturica was his.

---

*caralludos = fuckers

David Jung* was suddenly awoken by a loud noise resembling that of wind chimes. He rolled over and blindly reached for his phone. After a few attempts, he finally grabbed it and hit the snooze button on the alarm to silence it. It was 7:30pm after all, and he didn’t have to be awake for another few minutes. He drifted back asleep, then was suddenly awoken again by the loud wind chime noise 5 minutes later. He knew he had to wake up, but he didn’t really want to. Just a few hours ago, he had finished up the afternoon shift at a local family owned restaurant called “Helen’s Kitchen” that specializes in the local Faltsish cuisine. Although he was only 26 and technically just a waiter, he somehow made enough money to pay the exorbitant rent that exists in the apartments in downtown Denburg. The owner of Helen’s Kitchen is a sweet 75 year old lady named Helen. “She is always so nice to me.” David thought. “Someday I’ll find a way to repay her for all that she’s done for me.” His thoughts were then interrupted by his stomach growling as he realized that he hasn’t eaten since before he left for work several hours ago. He turned on the lamp on his nightstand and sat up in bed. He stretched before getting up and walking to the kitchen in his 15th floor highrise studio apartment in downtown Denburg. He quickly grabbed a paper plate from one of the cupboards and made himself a peanut butter sandwich. He then set the plate on the counter and ate the sandwich. After he finished eating, he threw the plate away, and walked over to his computer. He pushed the power button and watched as it whirred to life. His RGB keyboard and both monitors came to life as he signed in to his computer and got to the desktop screen. He then waited 30 seconds or so before opening Twitcher in the Hända browser. He checked the time on his phone--7:45pm it said. David logged in to his business Twitcher account and sent out a Twitch that said “Drawing and chill stream in 15 minutes. I hope to see you there!”. He then opened the Evotainment application and did the necessary calibrations needed to make sure his avatar works as intended. Satisfied that it was working properly, he opened a recording software and clicked “start streaming”. He then opened Viedeo and clicked “Go Live as Sam Borkman”. He cleared his throat, unmuted his microphone and said, “Hallo Liesers an Wëllkomm to my stream! I hope you enjoy!!”



OOC Note:
* “Jung” is pronounced as “young”.

(This is genuinely the worst thing I have ever written in my life. Feel free to click away.)

The reverent town of Nanehtahkaw lies at the foot of the Short Tail, just north of its valley basin. Standing at the perimeter of the desert lands of both acidic industrialist grimness and the endlessly flowing prairie upon great blue skies, the town had become both a point of rest and a place of refuge among travellers and uncommon folk who sought a place to find others.

Miyosew, preferring to be called 'Miyo', had moved from Tawiscayew, a chronically fiery place where the summers ripped the grasses away in fire and the winters were shamelessly tepid. The town of Nanehtahkaw could not be more different. The rainclouds drifted away from the seas and the mountains and swamped in an accumulation over the lake where the runoff of the Short Tail drowned in. Having been called on a career focus in Sipyk, Miyo's mother had arranged for her daughter to live under the watchful eyes of her father, the Chief of the Okipah garrison in the town. Her parents were separated, and there was a certain difficult between Miyo and her father's relationship. Although, in her own remarkable patience, she was optimistic about her time in his company.

"Miyo?" Her father said, "I love you sweetheart, but we're here at the school." He chuckled.

Miyo had let her mind wonder off again. The old farm-truck had perched itself against the gravel path trailing towards her seminary. Silly Miyosew, she had sat there deep in thought about her extremely unique problems that would certainly set her apart from others and make her an interesting personality. Mainly the concerns of boys, fitting in, being popular in the school, and many other unique aspects.

"Oh... Sorry... Dad..." She muttered mysteriously, flicking her hair to the side and throwing herself lazily from the truck in embarrassment.

She was not like other girls. She was different. In the beaming sun of her previous hometown, her hair had gone a piercing dark brown, which accentuated her rapidly darting eye-motions and awkward fidgeting tendencies in the most delightful way. Miyosew proceeded onto the rocky path towards the white-wooden edifice. Nanehtahkaw was country-town, and renovations or exciting new projects were not common, something which—ironically—made Miyo more intrigued into these relics which she hadn't seen in her life.

"Hi there!" She was greeted.
"Oh... Hi... There..." She grimaced.
"My name is Mikoskatsew! I am the eyes and ears of this school! Haha." He chirped.
"Oh... Nice... To... Meet... You..." Miyo replied.
"Anyways, you're Miyo, right? I was assigned by the school to be your guide for the day... You should come have lunch with me after your first lessons are over and maybe we can learn more about each other!"
"Cool..." Miyo smirked in mysterious shame.

All of a sudden, the doors of the school flew open from divine wind just before the pair could reach them. A gust of overconfidence and too-much-hair-gel came zooming in the embodiment as a figure quickly strolled through the doors in a haze of strange charm. Miyo caught eyes with the boy immediately. Their eyes interlocked, seized each other, grasped each other. They were one-on-one as the two bodies moved past each other. Miyo quivered her lip in shyness as the boy smiled and passed her by, proceeding out back the way she came. Miyo began to breathe heavily as though she had just emerged from a pit of her father's tears.

"Who... Was... That...?" Miyo whispered.

Mikoskatsew turned to face the boy's likeness, not having had the same instantaneous connection that Miyo did. He began to smile, brushing his black hair out of the way of his face with his hands.

"That’s Aywah Cahen, He's totally gorgeous, obviously. But apparently, no one here is good enough for him," He began, "Like I care..."

A twinkle of jealousy passed across Mikoskatsew's face. He pretended Miyo could not see the teardrops which he wiped away, so desperately longing for the day Aywah Cahen would lay his lifeless white face on his. As the day passed by, Miyo attended her lessons in rapid succession. It was only the beginning of the semester, and so most of the time spent in her instruction was spent to introduce the courses or to allow classmates to greet each-other. Throughout the monotony, Miyo's face remained stone-cold as her absent mind became swelled with the image of Aywah Cahen and his notable mystique. Who was that man? What secrets did he keep hidden under his violently red eyes, fang-toothed lips, shirt stained in blood, villainous laugh, aversion to sunlight, fear of garlic, and lack of shadow? What was his true nature?

During her lunch break, Miyo approached Mikoskatsew outside the seminary near a sizeable bluff and sat with him and his amassed friend group on the vast grassy field. The group began to pick at their leftover cornbread, wildrice rolls, and pemmican.

"So, Miyo..." One of Mikoskatsew's friends posed, "I heard you're from Tawiscayew, right?"
"Yes..." Miyo said, rapidly brushing her brown bangs out of her face.
"I have to ask... Why Nanehtahkaw? Did you come here for the rain?"
"I... Don't... Really... Like... The... Rain" She uttered, "Any... Cold... Wet... Thing..." She shook her head in shyness.

Out of the corner of Miyo's intrusive stare, she spotted a brief commotion near the far corner of the seminary building. As she turned, she could see the figure of Aywah Cahen speeding away, almost as if he was pursuing something. Miyo had no control over her violent and explosive instinct for exploration. She wasn't like other girls. She was different, she liked mystery.

"I... Need... To... Go..." She quietly mumbled.

Moving with her head posed forward and her arms crossed, she lifted herself from the ground and strutted over towards where Aywah had vanished. A sudden sense of intrigue came about her, instincts had taken hold of her mind and she felt every familiar around her shouting and begging for her to turn around and return to her group of friends. But she couldn't, she wasn't like other girls. Around the corner, Miyo peered her head and face. Only a few metres away, Aywah Cahen stood, his teeth pressed over the neck of another struggling student at the seminary. Aywah's hands forced the victim against the wall, who writhed and yelled and kicked with all his might, only to be ignored by the intensely-faced Aywah as if they did not affect him. He suddenly caught Miyo in his field of view, and threw the innocent student across the wall.

There was a profound silence. Their eyes reattached once again. They enveloped each other, moving within and without the other like the earth orbiting the sun. The both of them tilted their heads to the side to try and avoid this shameful bond, but it was too late. Aywah eventually began to walk towards Miyo, wiping the trickling blood from his mouth and—in a burst of passion—ripping his shirt from his body to reveal his stunning, chiseled twenty-pack. A normal girl would likely have fainted at the sight of this unforgivingly seductive god of a man, but because Miyo was different from other girls her age, she kept her eyes focused right on his, the abs were only supplemental to the beauty of this man. She was more interested in the enigma that was his character. A convenient burst of sunlight came through the parting of the clouds and shone down on his stomach, which illuminated like pixie-dust or perhaps pre-packaged glitter from a convenience store.

"This is what I am." He muttered.
"It's... Like... Diamonds..." Miyo gasped, "You're... Beautiful..."

Aywah and Miyo then immediately began to make out as the lifeless body of the blood-deprived student decorated the landscape in poetic death metaphors that added immensely passionate beauty to the auras surrounding Aywah and Miyo.


It had been a good week, and Miyo was relaxing at the foot of the lake, listening to the enthusiastic droning of the prairie wildlife around her.

Having been freshly exposed to the world of the undead, Miyo finally had found the courage to lift her placid lips into an occasional grin when joy struck her. Of course, her being privy in this vampiric world meant that it was no longer safe for her to be in the vicinity of family members. This of course was remedied when Miyo returned home from Seminary her first day after discovering that she belonged in Aywah's blood-thirsty embrace. She took the liberty of putting distance between herself and her father by firing a semi-automatic Predicean-style directly into his face seventeen times and dancing over his corpse with Aywah. Yesterday, the two of them finally disposed of the body by cutting the remnants into pieces and allowing them to sink to the bottom of the river basin.

Miyo grinned, she had finally found someone who understood her. Although perhaps Aywah was not alone in this regard. Miyo suddenly noticed from out in the far, far distance, a group of equally-mysterious figures with dull-eyes. They possessed the air of hidden trauma, a flagrant victim complex, and potential emotional abuse issues, a man destined to be Miyo's.

Being near the Assipiscan mainland, it wasn't uncommon for adventurous and troublesome youth from the industrial towns to evade their hardened lives and come by their side of Nanehtahkaw, which was upon the river basin. Aywah caught a glimpse of the alpha in this timid pack of wolves, a young and cunning figure with unspeakable large biceps. Muscles so large their circumference may have strangled the sleeves of his shirt and ripping into the fabric. He was—in Miyo's mind at least—Sort of beautiful.

"Hey there!" The boy called, moving down the hill with his group towards Miyo.
"Hello..." She giggled with a sulky gaze.
"It's pretty bizarre to see others over here on this side of town." He smiled.
"Side... Of... Town?" She inquired.
"People don't usually come to this spot." The man explained, "This is Northwest land, and a lot of guys like us—up to no good—pass through the lake to get into town. If the Okipah were to see us there'd be more than a couple Predicean-style's in the picture as well."
"Oh... I'm... Just... Getting... Familiar... With... Town"
"So you're from out of Nanehtahkaw, eh? Well I'm pleased to meet you and your... Wandering eyes," The man said, nodding to his great, imperious biceps for a moment.

Miyo looked away and became flustered in this cheeks for a moment.

"My name is Yakow Bwack by the way... I'm from Assapisk, my dad's the Town Chief back there."

Suddenly as though he had always been there, Aywah appeared from behind Miyo in a jealous rage and began hissing violently. He raised his fingers as though he were imitating a wild snowcat pressing its dependent claws into a bag of temptations. Yakow and his friend group proceeded to face off against the threat in consolidated line.

"What are you doing, Miyo, talking to these... Dogs?"
"You don't want to make me angry, Aywah." Yakow said, grinning defensively.
"You... Know... Each... Other?" Miyo said, changing her gaze between Aywah and Yakow.

The two competing men proceeded to nod in bitter agreement. At this point Miyo recognized that the both of them were truly poised to murder one another if the opportunity to do so arose.

"Stop!" She quickly interjected, "I'm tired of this. From now on, I'm Saintonge!"

The change in her tone seemed to diffuse the situation. The habitually soft-spoken Miyo had broken out of her comfort zone in an attempt to quell this abrasive quarrel, and it was as embarrassing as it was a total relief. She wasn't like other girls anyways, she was quiet and introverted.

"Wait... What's a Saintonge?" One of Yakow's entourage whispered.
"I dunno... The Tusacaway hasn't experienced its Exterior Commerce reforms yet or the 2021 Referendum since it's only 2005... So it's hard to know which outlander nations are which." Another whispered back to him.

Upon settling within the slightly more relaxed atmosphere, Miyo was quick to ponder the nature of Aywah's apparent hatred of Yakow.

"Why... Did... You... Call... Him... A... Dog?" She murmured, fidgeting her fingers together.

Aywah scoffed in amusement, "Yeah... Why don't you show her, Yakow?"

"Maybe I will, blood-sucker." He struck back.

Without warning, Yakow began to remove his clothing, ripping his tee-shirt from his body as his sleeves failed to expand to the required degree to pass over his intense, sturdy muscles. Miyo eyed Yakow's thirty-six-pack much to the jealousy of Aywah. Suddenly, Yakow let out a primal roar. His body violently thrusted upwards in a rapid permutation of the skin. Fur began to accumulate upwards along his legs until suddenly the entire body had been transformed into that of a massive grey wolf. Yakow was a werewolf.

"You're... A... Werewolf." Miyo muttered.
"He's a dog! A wet, feral dog! How can you be attracted to such a hideous monster?"
"I... I..."

Yakow began to snarl at Aywah before the telepathic interventions of his friends' minds—a process known as 'wolf-congress'—urged him to stay away from the vampire. Yakow slowly began to recede within himself and took back the form of his human body. He lifted himself from his prone position and began to march pompously around Miyo towards his antagonist.

"Hideous monster eh? I heard you got to some kid's blood yesterday at school. Tell me who's the monster now?"

Aywah grabbed at Yakow's throat, "Don't you ever talk to Miyo again!"

Yakow's friends began to hiss and snarl in response to this. Yakow threw Aywah's wrist off of his neck and began to growl as well.

"She's not sure what she wants!" He sneered.
"I'll give you a hint... Wait for her to say the words!" He yelled.
"Oh, she will!" He boasted.

All of a sudden, it dawned on Miyo. In this intense stand-off between both fearsome monsters who had caught her eye so enchantingly, she had never thought to realize that perhaps there could be a happy resolution to her problem. With Aywah and the alluring jealousy he had for her, and Yakow and his smug, confident focus he directed at her, Miyo realized that there could be a world in which both lovers could experience their fair share of sublimity.

"I want both of you!" She interjected, jumping to her feet from the bank of the lake.

The interjection was captivating again. Aywah and Yakow had both heard clearly what Miyo had said, and stopped with their vicious, neck-to-neck encounter. Miyo walked over to the two of them and repeated the exclamation again, this time with tears trickling from her eyes."

"I want both of you... And I think the both of you want each other..."

Aywah and Yakow turned away from Miyo for a moment and began to gaze at each other, first in resentment, but then in diffidence. It didn't take long for the two of them to realize that in all their antagonism, there lied a thundering passion. It was love, the love that they had for each other, and the love that they shared with Miyo.

The three of them then made out aggressively. Faces deep within each other's until the sun fell beyond the horizon. I guess Yakow's friends went home or something.

The end.

Friday
12 January 2025
11:55 PM
Sadena, Asturica

Acacio Abdias tightened his hands around the grip and magazine of his sub-machine gun as a fascist convoy passed by outside. NCOs and officers barked orders to their underlings. Most of the fascists were old men or the youth now. Too many men of proper age had been killed in the war. The only fascist men of military men left were the Special Enforcement Detachment - the PPN’s paramilitary wing - and whatever few Asturican Army units could still be of use. The fascists were low on ammo and supplies. They had lost any chances of winning the war long ago. Now there was only to be a desperate, futile last stand.

Acacio braced himself for a fascist to peek into his building with a flashlight and discover his men. He and his unit were held up in an old apartment complex built earlier in the PPN regime’s time in power. The building was in a state of disrepair - the PPN government hasn’t done anything on it since the war started going badly for them, so the complex has just been left to rot for a year or so. It was cold and snowing outside. Acacio couldn’t feel his fingers. They couldn’t start any fires for warmth without risking the fascists’ attention. He checked his watch. Five minutes to midnight.

The Allied Forces weren’t far from the capital. A few kilometers away at most. The fascists were desperately trying to put together defensive positions, setting up whatever machine guns and artillery and anti-air power they had left. The Autarch had demanded that all true Asturicans were to shed their last drops of blood in Sadena’s defense. The air was flooded full of nationalistic Asturican marches and songs composed by the PPN regime playing from speakers - a last-ditch attempt to boost morale in a vain hope that Asturica could still somehow win the war. A speech came over the radio - Xacobe Naron’s voice. A voice of bombast and power which had, since the ’90s, commanded the obedience of a nation - a nation now on the brink of defeat.

“Sons and daughters of Asturica!” Naron always started his speeches off with that phrase. “Your destiny beckons! Stand with your brothers and sisters - stand with me - and together we will be undefeated! The past is our faith! The present is our strength! And the future is our birthright! Not one step back! Give no quarter to the foe - the enemies of our great nation! Long live Asturica! Long live the National Prosperity Party!”

“Long live Naron!” Many of the fascists declared with pride. “Long live Naron!” Many others gave half-assed shouts of praise or stayed silent. They knew they would lose the war, Acacio could tell.

They were in the home stretch now. Sadena falls, Naron dies or gets captured, and the war ends. Acacio just had to survive and the war would be over.

11:58 PM, Acacio’s watch read. Two minutes until the uprising was due to begin.

Acacio shot a glance across the faces of his fellow militiamen’s faces, though they, like he, were all obscured by darkness. They all wore a small blue, red, and gold Asturican flag tied around their right arm which had been the Asturican Empire’s flag prior to the communist takeover in ‘56. To wear such a banner around one’s arm was a declaration - a pledge of resistance to the fascist government and one of loyalty to the dream of a restored Imperial Asturica - one with the promise of democracy.

Democracy. That concept had always seemed so foreign to Acacio throughout his life. That a people could dictate to their leaders - and even who their leaders could be. He was always taught that democracy was “a Shaddaist deception.” He felt a sense of shame and regret that he had believed the government’s dogma for so long.

But there was no time for dwelling on regret and shame now. He and his fighters had a city to take, a dictator to kill, and a nation to liberate.

11:59 PM. One minute until the Battle of Sadena was due to begin.

There were rebel cells hidden all throughout the city. Anti-fascist rebels hiding in sewers and old bombed-out buildings. Most of them were of the Imperial Liberation Front - Asturicans loyal to a restored Asturican Empire under Emperor-to-be Aurelio III. An Asturican Empire they hoped would finally see a democratic Asturica. A free Asturica.

Acacio took in a deep breath, waiting for the midnight mark. “God willing,” he mumbled under his breath so the fascists wouldn’t hear him over their shouting of praise to their doomed leadership, “the Crown will shine once again, over Lorrinian arms, which our fatherland always knew how to honor. Which our fatherland always knew how to honor.” His grip tightened around his gun. It was almost time.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1...

29 September 1051
11:57 pm
On a Monday
Erkiengill, Prydania

Seven years. It had been seven years as King and Tobias was still fighting. Not like his father fought, no. He readily admitted he lacked his father's skills as a warrior and tactician. No, Tobias was fighting his own battle. For the soul of Prydansk. His father had won a Kingdom, and Tobias would be the one to save its soul.

A part of him resented his father. He knew he shouldn't. He should love his father. And he did...but he had allowed the Thaunics to continue with their heathenry even after bringing them under his sway. He could have crushed them fifteen years before he won Prydansk's throne, but he hadn't. And now, now it fell to him to lead his father's new realm into the light of God, and away from the darkness of the old ways.

So what better day to declare his intent, than Michaelmas? The Saint and angel who watched over the city named after him in central Prydania, the centre of the Church in this country...the time and place was ideal.
This wasn't new either. Tobias had, upon his ascension to the throne, spent his days touring the realm. Leading cities and towns in prayer. Truth be told, he would rather be in a small þorp* or a Bayardi gehuggie* than a city...but again. The time and place, Michaelmas and Erkiengill, was perfect.

"Your Majesty, please," Thane Kisping Eiderwig insisted. The old man hadn't given up on what everyone else could see would be a fool's errand.
"Your father, he understood. There is nothing to be gained when the followers of the new God and the old gods spill blood."

"There is no new God, Kisping," Tobias said to his father's old comrade and confidant.
"Nor are there old gods. There is one God, and then there is heresy."

Kisping sighed. If only Vortgyn had bothered to spend more time raising the lad...
Not to say that he held anything against the Church. He was a baptized Messianist himself. It was just that...Tobias' deep convictions were a curiosity in his father's court. And they became less of a curiosity and more of a concern when he succeeded his father.
"No one is doubting the truth of the Church, Your Majesty," Kisping insisted.
"But peace is what your father fought for fifteen years for. He left that to you, a calm land. A happy land. That was his inheritance to you. Not all sons of kings are so lucky."

Tobias looked out of the window of the cathedral, to the fields that surrounded it. The skies were grey, the leaves on the trees orange, yellow, and red.
"What would you have me do?" he asked his father's friend.
"On the feast of St. Michael, defender of the Church? Is that itself not a call for us to defend it?"

"But who attacks it, Your Majesty?" Kipsing asked.
"The Thaunics, they rode with your father. And they don't rise up against you."

"Their heresy," Tobias replied, "isn't that an attack?"

"May I speak freely?" Kisping asked. That caught Tobias off guard. He had known Kisping all of his life. And he'd come to rely on him since his father's passing. He never had to ask. For him to ask now...it worried him. Did he feel he had to ask now? Had he put that much fear into a man as battle hardened as the Thane of Eiderwig?

"You may always speak freely with me, Kisping. You know that."

"The answer, to your question," Kisping replied, steeling himself, "is 'no.' The Thaunics do not attack by holding onto the old ways." He was prepared for Tobias to get angry, but his reaction surprised him.

"You...you rode with my father against the Winter King though."

Kisping looked at the King for a moment before he continued.
"I did, já," he said.
"But I do not know what..." he was cut off by the King.

"You and my father, you rode to fight heathen heresy."

"Thaunics fought with us, Your Majesty."

"But...you fought a heathen king!"

Kisping shook his head.
"It was more complicated than that. I have no doubt the stories you heard told you one thing, but if you would allow an old man to recount a story of his youth..."

"Of course!" Tobias replied, eager to hear this.

"Grendel of Ællavetin was no heathen king. The title 'Winter King' was placed on his head by a cult. A cult that worshipped Diivn, one of the old gods. An enemy of Jägdar. Jägdar was venerated by our ancestors, and your family has held the title 'Sword of Jägdar' long before we came to these lands. The Thaunics still refer to you by that title, as much as you wish to pretend they didn't."

Tobias grunted a bit and shifted.

"But because of this, the cult of Grendel of Ællavetin used the idea of Diivn to try and usurp your father. The Thaunics, who continue to venerate Jägdar, found common cause with us that night. We cut that treasonous cult and their 'Winter King' down, because if we hadn't then they could have sewn discord behind our frontiers in our war with King Bram of the Bayardi. Your father cared not for what gods or god they worshipped. He only cared that they plotted against him. The loyalty of the Thaunics that day guaranteed that your father would always be their ally."

"I..." Tobias said as he returned to the window to stare out to the grey skies, a fundamental truth of his shattered.
"I...don't know what you would have me do...what is done is done."

"Nothing is done, Your Majesty, until you do it. There is always room to change course, and set yourself right beforehand."

Tobias said nothing...nothing as he stared out at the field, the grey sky, and the auburn leaves of the trees...

---

King Tobias looked upon the assembled mass in Erkiengill's cathedral. He closed his eyes....would he call for war? He'd been contemplating what Kisping had said. And he...he asked himself. Was war what he wanted? The answer was... no.

"I come here," he said, addressing the crowd.
"To but say a prayer."
He breathed deep.

"Lord, Almighty God, Maker and Ruler of all creation, I pray Thee by Thy great mercy, and by the sign of the Holy Cross, and by Saint Mary’s maidenhood, and by Saint Michael’s obedience, and by the love of all Thy Saints and their merits, that Thou guide me better than I have wrought unto Thee..."

He began to speak, and pray. Hoping that the words would calm him.

"...and guide me to Thy will, and to my soul’s good, better than I myself may know; and establish my mind in Thy will and to my soul’s good; and strengthen me against the Devil’s temptations; and remove from me foul lusts and all unrighteousness; and shield me against mine adversaries, seen and unseen; and teach me Thy will to work; that I may love Thee fervently above all things, with clean mind and with clean body."
That was his compromise. To himself. He would not call for war...he could promise to God that he would be free from temptation to stray from His path though....

"For Thou art my Creator, and my Redeemer, my Helper, my Comfort, my Trust, and my Hope. To Thee be praise and glory now and forever and ever, unto world without any end. Amen."

Love of God. Not hatred for enemies. That was what the Messiah had taught. And remembering that, that was what soothed Tobias' soul.

---

*þorp- villiage
*gehuggie- hamlet

February 26, 1988
11:55 PM
Vrijdel, Frisia, Gottia

Two Goyanean soldiers were sitting around smoking some Seirsen menthols, on watch duty. Obviously there hadn’t been any action in a fair bit of time. But the grass began to rustle and one heard whispering.

“Karlsberg. Look!” Robeson said, pointing into the clearing that they were guarding. “Remember when we were at Steinbrygge Senior High and Ole and Madi would always be like that?” A young couple was making out passionately in the field, thinking they were alone.

“Should we get them out of here?” inquired Karlsberg. “No, let them have some fun, they’ll need it.” retorted Robeson.

6:30 AM

The sun was peering over the horizon. The sky was a deep shade of purple, typical of dawn. Camp Vrijdel was a forward base for the Goyanean military in the Frisian countryside near the town of the same name. The base was rudimentary, but sufficient for the fast-moving Goyanean army that was invading Gottia. A clearing served as a makeshift landing space for helicopters and VTOL jets. As the light became good enough to see, a crew of men began their walkthrough of the clearing, ensuring it was fit for aircraft.

“Fuck this. Why can’t we be up front with the 2nd,” Robeson said. “We all have our jobs now just get to it,” Karlsberg quickly replied. As he was talking back to his high school bud, he almost tripped on a leg.

“The fuck? Why are you two still out here,” he inquired somewhat rudely. The kids obviously didn’t understand Gojan that well but they realized they had to book it. The two teenagers ran off back towards town, prompting Karlsberg to draw his pistol. “Let them go,” shouted the sergeant, “They’re useless anyways. Keep combing.”

Karlsberg remembered his face. Something about it was off. Later in the barracks, he got Robeson’s attention. “Remember those kids?”

“Yeah, of course I do. Why?” he said back. “That whole interaction was just weird.” Karlsberg looked at the top of the bunk. “Why would they be there so late, especially when everyone knows every able bodied man in Goyanes is marching through Gottia right now.”

“They’re just two lovebird teenagers. Let it go.” Robeson answered back. “Sarge says we’re going to take the town tomorrow. Get some rest and get your crap ready.”

February 28, 1988
1:57 PM

The day was beautiful, perfectly sunny, not a cloud in sight. The contrast came in the form of a vicious battle to take the town. Tanks were swarming around, foot patrols pulling people out of houses.

A squad of men stood to the side of a door. “Alright. This one’s been marked by intel as confirmed to be a safe house for the military. We’re going in, get ready,” said the Sergeant. He made a hand signal, and the first soldier blew off the door handle with a shotgun, before kicking it in. There was an almost immediate reply of fire. The squad took defensive positions, returning fire as several others snuck in.

By the time the living room was cleared, they began to make their way upstairs, trying to locate the intelligence case that had the information for the troops they were harboring.

Karlsberg kicked down the door to the master bedroom. Inside was a masked soldier, no older than seventeen. He was shakily holding a pistol, pointing it straight at Karlsberg.

“Woah woah woah!” he shouted. “I don’t want to hurt you, put your pistol down.” The soldier tried to shoot, forcing Karlsberg to act. The first shot missed but not by too much. “Holy fuck!” He exclaimed, and the sound of boots beginning to climb up the stairs echoed through the house. Karlsberg pounced on him, beginning to punch him, breaking his nose in the process.

While Karlsberg was beating up the Gottian reservist to a pulp, he failed to notice he dropped his pistol. By the time Robeson and the others had gotten to the room, he had stopped. “Now lets see how you’re doing under there,” he said, ripping off the bandanna from his face.

His stomach dropped. “You? How?”

Robeson was mortified as well. “Perhaps we should have done something that night.”

“Lucky you say that now.”

14 May 2021
12:46 am
On a Friday
Luscova, Norsia

It was quite a sight- the King of Prydania and two of his friends were sitting around a table in the primary study of the White Palace.

"You gonna finish that?" Bjarkar asked.

"Nah," Tobias replied, munching on his own bowl of potjiekos.
"I'm full I think," Tobias pushed his bowl to Bjarkar, only for Fylkir to poach it mid-way across the table.

"Hey," Bjarkar protested, pulling the bowl close to him.

"I just wanted a few more lamb chunks," Fylkir insisted.
"I didn't get as much."

Tobias groaned softly and grabbed a glass of water, gulping it down. The water- along with the stew, helped. He was worried he'd drunk too much. Not that he regretted it, really. He'd been in Norsia to be with Alyica as she initiated her own constitutional reforms. He knew what that was like, and wanted to be there for his wife. So this was the first time he'd gotten to see his friends in over a week.

"Guess who's back...back again. Ry's back, tell a friend," Rylond sang as he entered the study, even more drunk than the three of them.

"Look who it is," Bjarkar said with a smile.
"Hey Ry, we have some food left over."

"Food?" Rylond asked as he sat down on a chair.

"Já," Fylkir nodded, eating his stew.
"We made it."

"Ya'll..." Rylond muttered, "we all cooked fuckin' rations for years in the woods and now we got a King and Emperor for a friend, and you're still cookin' your own food."

"It's late," Tobias replied.
"The kitchen staff went to bed. I'm not wakin' them up. Come on. You'll like it. We're eating potjiekos."

"Ooo potjiekos," Rylond replied, pulling himself up from the chair. Potjiekos was a traditional Bayardi stew. He eagerly made his way over to the table with his three friends, only to stop.
"Wha...what the fuck is that?" he asked.

"It's potjiekos," Bjarkar said.

"That's not potjiekos," Rylond replied, his voice carrying a tone of disappointment.

"Já, it is, look," Fylkir said, holding up a can that said "Potjiekos" under a smiling picture of a chef, with the label "Chef Bayardi."

"No!" Rylond insisted, "it's not! That's that fuckin' that Chef Bayardi crap," he said, his insistence and seriousness overcoming his drunkenness for the moment.
"The lamb isn't even on a bone, I mean come on!"

"They can't put lamb on the bone in a can," Tobias replied, smiling subtly. Even drunk he knew how to enjoy Rylond getting indignant.

"Well ya know, it's not fuckin' potjiekos now is it?" Rylond shot back.

"But it says 'potjiekos' right here on the label," Tobias said, his smile growing.

"Chef Bayardi isn't fuckin' Bayardi food," Rylond insisted.
"It's just some...it's a cheap ripoff."

"Well," Bjarkar said, "if you want us to have real Bayardi food, you can cook it for us!"

"I can't cook," Rylond replied.

"Yeah you can," Tobias said.
"We all do. Axle taught us all how to cook, during the War."

"I know how to cook canned stuff, ya know?" Rylond answered, defensively.

"You mean...like Chef Bayardi?" Fylkir asked, holding the can up again, with a shit eating grin on his face.

"You know what? Fuck you guys!" Rylond replied.
"Y'all are pricks!" he said, stumbling over to a couch and crashing on it. Tobias chuckled with Fylkir and Bjakar before getting up and groggily making his way to the chair next to the couch.

"Come on man," he said, sounding relaxed.
"Come have some stew. It's good."

"That shit...its an insult!" Rylond insisted in the way only a drunk person could insist.
"To my cultural heritage."

"My wife's sleepin' just over there," Tobias said, pointing to the doors at the far end of the study that led to the Imperial quarters.
"So keep it down."

Rylond chuckled, making a "whipped," sound, only to illicit an unamused look from Tobias.

"Já, exactly, so keep it down," Tobias added.

"Not until you apologize," Rylond said, smiling himself as he sat up. Only he sat up too fast and had to catch himself, as he bent over.

"If you vomit on this rug I swear to God..." Tobias said, only for Rylond to compose himself.

"Not until you apologize," Rylond continued as if the near-vomit hadn't happened.
"For insultin' my. Cultural. Heritage."

"Eatin' Chef Bayardi is insultin' your cultural heritage now?"

"Já it is, 'cause I said so and I'm the next Thane of Jórvík and I decree it."

"I override your decree with my decree and in this country I'm an Emperor so I win," Tobias said, barely holding back laughter. This was such a stupid fucking argument and they both knew it. And besides...Tobias was still giddy over being an Emperor. Rylond sensed it and broke down laughing.

"You and Rajesh, right?" Rylond replied.

"Oh God...." Tobias groaned.
"Yeah, right. You gonna come over and have some stew?"

"Ok, but only because I need food. And not because I approve of your cultural...appropriation."

"Noted," Bjarkar chuckled, pouring Tobias' bowl he had given him into his own bowl and handing it to Rylond.

"I am eating this under protest," Rylond said, taking a seat and eating away as Tobias followed, sitting down himself.

He chuckled along with his friends as Rylond ate his fill, and sighed. He had children now. And he'd turned twenty-six a month ago. He contemplated that through the haze of the alcohol, watching his friends. They'd been together for years. Survived a war together. And soon...well...nights like this would be rarer and rarer. Nights of stupid, friendly fun.
All the more reason to enjoy this night while it lasted.

OOC Notes: Thanks to @Kyle for making Chef Bayardi a thing, and for helping inspire this post!

journal entry Tobias Loðbrók:

17 September 2010

Á hverju kvöldi óska ég Guði að hann láti hana hvíla
Ó, þetta særir mig meira en nokkur maður þolir
Hún er engillinn minn að austan
Það verður aldrei einn sem tekur sæti hennar
Þegar þú ferð mun ég vita það
Fylgdu þér til stjarnanna
Og þegar heimurinn brennur í sundur
Það verður staður fyrir hjarta þitt
Ég myndi gefa þér allt
Ef ég hefði bara vitað að þú myndir taka það
En þú gerir það ekki, því þú ert þú
Þess vegna mun ég alltaf elska þig
Perlan mín af stjörnunum

Click to expand...

An old Tardineanni tale is here:

"Onci unpon a time, en a forest, zere were 2 mans standin en front of iach oter. It was late at nait but dei did not care, for dei sougt dei could biat everithing en no time. But en ze middle of ze nait, some monster appeared an dei were not able to be saved, for nobodi was zere since it was nait. Ze 2 man died, and were never fond again.

Moral: Never be zere bai nait, for you could die and nobodi can save you."

Translated into English (since Tardine speaks a dialect from English):

"Once upon a time, in a forest, there were 2 mans standing in front of each other. It was late at night but they did not care, because they thought they could beat everything in no time. But in the middle of the night, some monster appeared and they were not able to be saved, because no one was there since it was night. The two man died, and were never found again.

Moral: Never be (out) there by night, you could die and nobody can save you."

Click to expand...

In middle ages, the cities were very dangerous, since there wasn't police in Tardine. This tale, know as 7th Century 1st Tale, was made as an warning that people shouldn't be out of their homes at night. This article will show the importance of the tales and fables to the Tardineanni people, and how they made our country be this huge and safe nation.

Brennard Scoth, national historian and teacher at Kardenccia National University.

9:41 a.m.
Tuesday
18th of May, 2021
Zeta, Yalkan
Room 31b, The Båthuset

The House Committee on Foreign Affairs and Defence Hearing on Foreign Deployments

All the MPs including the head of the hearing, Margret Thrune, shuffled into the dusty room and slowly took their seats. Opposite to them stood Admiral Gøran Zammett and his aid. The tall, gaunt man stood unmoving until all the MPs had taken their seats. He checked his watch when they weren’t looking. Eleven minutes late. A good start all things considered. This was not the Admiral’s first government hearing and request, but he never really had gotten used to explaining military movements or budgets to the suits. In his mind it was all a show.

Mrs. Thune was the first to break the silence as she brought the microphone of the bench to her mouth. “Good morning everyone. Please note the time and day. Now we begin our first hearing regarding a request for deployment of submarines for war in Predice.”

“Well um, I’d like to clearly state, it is a request to deploy a small detachment into a warzone. The Commonwealth itself will not be going to war,” the admiral stated as he took his seat.

“Thank you admiral, but I will be the one conducting the questionnaire regarding your request.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Mrs. Thrune adjusted her glasses before asking, “Alright, first I’d like to say that the forces that are planned to deploy are rather small in number. Is there any reason for that?”

“Well yes. My team and I have concluded that this would be the best way to maintain a presence and force assistance while also mitigating risk to our overall assets. It will also prove as an overall deterrent for New Aleman combatants to consider as more national actors come into play. ”

“Is there any reason why the detachment has no surface vessels associated with it?”

“Well, ma'am, The Commonwealth at this time does not have the equipment necessary to deploy such surface combatants. And even if we did it would still prove too much of a risk to our men and women who serve. As my team and I have written in our report. Our advantage would be the small numbers and low detectability.”

“Alright, but I am worried about our forces engaging Predicean vessels. It says here in your report they have some task forces near our waters. How does our detachment plan on defeating such a force?”

The Admiral blinked for a moment. “Ma’am, could you please repeat and clarify your question?”

“I’m just curious Admiral, how do you believe our detachment will engage the Predicean task force? If you’re so worried about risk, why are we sending such a small force?”

The Admiral blinked again more slowly. For a moment he thought he could feel a rake scraping his brain. He decided to ignore the feeling for now. “I think there might be some confusion, ma’am. In the report, I have listed the nearest Predicean task force. Our detachment will engage in Predicean operations and provide assistance to that task force until otherwise given new orders. Yalken forces will not be engaging Predicean forces in naval warfare. It is in our best interest as a nation to assist one of our closest allies on the Metteran continent, which is the State of Predice.”

Mrs. Thrune looked confused for a moment before continuing, “So we’re not going to war with Predice?”

“No ma’am, we’re not going to war with the State of Predice. We’re not going to war at all. The process of declaring war is far different than this hearing.”

“But we are deploying a force to a warzone?”

“Yes ma’am, but..”

“And our forces will conduct naval warfare in that warzone.”

“No ma’am, the small detachment will not engage in free fire warfare in the operational zone. They will follow the lead of the Predicean task force they are assigned to, until a change in orders. They will conduct operations as are allowed by myself and the admiralty.”

“So we won’t be engaging the enemy in any sort of way?”

The admiral sighed and shifted his weight in his chair as he leaned closer towards the microphone. “Our detachment will be conducting operations in a warzone off the coast of Predice as a means to ensure the continued security of Yalkan. If this detachment is engaged by the foreign combatants, they are permitted under our stated ROE, to defend themselves as such. I am saying now I highly doubt that it will come to that, however the possibility is real and as such is the reason why the size of the detachment is the size it is.”

“Can you tell us the sort of armament that our forces will bring to bear in this war?”

The Admiral gave a depressed laugh, “No ma’am that is highly classified information.”

The man noticed that the MP had begun arguing with her fellow MPs over what was considered classified information. He took this small respite to lean over to his aid and whisper, “Ane ... you still have the whiskey right?”

The aid nodded as she reached into her suitcase.

“Good. Hand it over.”

It was going to be a long hearing.

12:56 p.m.
Wednesday
19th of May, 2021
Naval Submarine Base Halvmåne Bay
Office Block T

Admiral Gøran Zammett walked quickly through the halls of the offices towards his own. He carried a red paper bag with a Mrs. Sotto's* logo stamped on the side. It was lunch time. And there was nothing better than a Mrs. Sotto's submarine sandwich. The admiral had decided to spoil himself a bit today considering he had another committee meeting in a few hours. But that was then and this was now. He hurriedly strode into his office, quick to close the door behind him. No one would disturb this perfection.

He gently placed the bag with the large fourteen inch sandwich on his desk. The aroma was already flooding the room. The smell of toasted Predicean salami, ham, and roast beef filled the room. The man glanced out of his office blinds to make sure no one would bear witness to the coming slaughter. He sat in his chair and reached into the bag. The sandwich must have been two pounds, at least! Carefully unwrapping one half, Gøran looked at the multiple sauces dripping from the layers of meats and sliced tomato. He licked his lips. Opening his jaws wide he was about to take a bite, but there was a knock at the door.

Gøran sighed and put the hot steaming sandwich back down. “Yes, come in, ” he said solemnly, his eyes still glued to the sandwich.

The admiral’s aide Lieutenant Ane Winiata poked her head in through the door. “Sir, did you see the print outs of the briefings we’ll be presenting? I laid them on your desk.”

“Yes Ane, I saw them, is that all? Is there anything else?”

“I also set out your dress whites.”

“Yes, thank you Ane, is there anything else?”

“Is that a Mrs. Sotto’s Kjøtt Supreme sub?”

The admiral stared at his aid in utter silence before responding, “Is there anything else Lieutenant?”

“I am merely going to warn you sir. We’re going to be in the committee meeting for a while. That uh… sandwich is notorious for certain um… bowel complications.”

“Ane.”

“Yes sir?”

“Leave.”

“Right away sir.” Ane closed the door and left the admiral to his sandwich. Nothing was going to ruin this perfection.





*Mr's Sotto's a popular sub sandwich chain in Yalkan.

13:04 (01:04 pm)
Muundai (Monday)
24-05-2021
Tardineanni Roial Newspapper Headquarters, Kardenccia
Interview Room 74-AR

Click to expand...

- My name's Artoi Laremos, and now I'm with our emperor, Jasemir Kladerai. This interview will be transcripted and published, Mr. Empera. Do you agree?
- Well, this is why I'm here, right? We may now begin, Artoi.
- Alright, then. Please remember that the question were selected from the most popular requests. So, let's go ahead to the first question:

1- Where is your favorite spot in Tardine?
Wow, we already have a hard one. But, if I had to choose, I would say that my favorite spot is the Desert Dove Beach, here in Kardenccia. This beach is so stunning, the feeling of the warm sea breeze in my skin, and the beautiful sunset makes DD Beach the best one. But I love the others beaches in Tardine, and historical locations like the Old Roial Palace, in Olmongeter, are breathtaking too.

2- What is your opinion about late Emperan Kardenccia's so called "powers"?
Ha, we could be laughing about them all day. It's pretty obvious that these rumors aren't true. She gave this country a new life by her own hands, not because of some magical powers. These fables are to kids believe they will have powers, but we all know this isn't possible. Science says that, not only me. Kardenccia didn't conquered the empire using some hidden ability. She was only a really smart woman, that's all.

3- How about Kaleidose Scoth's Document, from the year 1699?
Like I said, fables. In his book he wrote that Kardenccia was able to paralyze everyone in a one kilometer radius. How could anybody believe in this? Even him wasn't able to prove himself, since the place he said there were others documents that could prove this absurd was burnt down in 1701, the First Tardineanni Librarie of Kinbafa, in a tragic night were Empera Lokajin died trying to end the fire. But I surely doubt that in 1699 these kind of papers would have survived, since Kardenccia's reign was from 1418 to 1459, two whole centuries before.

4- What do you think about the Graphic Novel "A Tardineanni Hero"?
God, will all the questions be about these fake powers? I think this ridiculous story, no offense to those who like it, is an outrageous and disgusting comic. The writer is throwing Tardineanni history on the basket, and laughing at the bad times of our country, such as the Sixteenth Centuri Plague, the Reconquer War, and the Eighteenth Centuri National Crisis. He gives people fake hopes and fake heroes to believe on, distracting them from the real heroes, the policeman, the workers, the doctors and many others that helped to build this country.

5- Do you have any love interests?
This one I'm pretty sure wasn't on script. You want to know if I'm single, ya? Lucky you, or unlucky you, I don't have any love interests now. I guess I need to find one, since I'm getting older. I'm 32 years old, man, and I will be 35 soon! Now, tell me about you, my friend, are you single? Have met some interesting woman? Can you show me her? I promise I'll not steal her.

6- Ahem, no, I don't. But I'm not the one that needs to answer here, right? Anyway, I will demand they cut this whole part off. This following one is more serious. Did you really loved your father? How was growing up without your dad?
Oh man, this one is making me sad. I can't believe there are some people that think I didn't loved my father, Empera Stanfen. I was only ten when he passed away, but I was devastated anyway. He was my hero, my best friend, my everything. I miss him since the day his other best friend stole him from us... I'm sorry I can't keep going, I can't hold anymore the tears that are here since that day, the 14th June of 1999.

Alright, let's stop here. Empera Jasemir will not continue the interview, so we beg that our readers forgive us.​

Click to expand...

14 May 2021
7:01 am
On a Friday
Luscova, Norsia

Tobias slowly came to, after sleeping soundly for what felt like an eternity. His pleasant rest, however, was interrupted when his dry throat became apparent. He coughed and pushed himself up in bed and winced. He had a hangover.
He rolled over to sit up in bed, pressing a hand to his head before being devoured by a hug.

"You have a rough night last night, láska*?" Alycia asked him softly as she kissed his cheek.

"It was fun," he replied with a smile and a bit of a horse voice.
"But I'm paying for it now."

Alycia grabbed a nearly full glass of water from her night table and handed to her husband, who gulped it down with gusto before handing the empty glass back and dropping to the bed again, pulling the blankets over his eyes to shield them from the harsh light of morning.

"I'm glad you got to have a good time with your friends," Alycia said softly.
"I know you've missed them, being stuck here with me."

"I'm never stuck with you," Tobias replied from under the covers.
"Wherever you are is where I wanna be."

Alycia smiled wide and hugged the lump that was Tobias under the blankets.
"You're so sweet..." she said as she hugged.
"But I don't like seeing you feeling bad like this."

Tobias pulled the blankets down so he was peaking out over them.
"I should have known better," he chuckled softly.
"I guess I got carried away with the guys."

"You had a blond moment," Alycia chuckled, kissing Tobias on the forehead as she played with his dirty blond hair before lying down next to to him to cuddle.

"Hey..." Tobias protested meekly.
"Be nice..."

"You know I love you," Alycia said softly, resting her head on Tobias' shoulder as he gently held her.

"And I love you," he replied with a meek smile, kissing the top of Alycia's head as he lay there with her. He breathed deep, the pain in his head and dryness in his throat seeming better as he just relaxed and nuzzled. He wasn't sure how long they lay there, but it could have been an eternity and it didn't feel like enough for Tobias. He wanted to lie there, holding Alycia forever and then some. Still, she pushed the issue.

"We should get up and see to the children," she said softly.

"Baldr and Hael, or my friends?" Tobias asked with a chuckle.

"Oh...yeah. That won't be a pretty sight," Alycia said with a smirk.
"Rylond better not have thrown up on that rug."

"I'll kick his ass if he did..." Tobias moaned softly.

"You will? In this state?" Alycia asked.

"Anything I have to do," Tobias chuckled as he forced himself to get up before rubbing his head again. Alycia got up next to him.

"Let's survey the damage," she said with a kiss to his cheek.

Tobias chuckled, wondering just how many of his friends he'd need to deal with...

---

*láska-love

Somewhere aboard the Ata Whereo

Captain's Log:

The weird Aydini people are bringing us bad press. Again. Sure it's a bloody trade, but who goes dragging a whale into foreign national waters. It's like they're addicted to breaking the law. We're just here trying to make a living. We've gone from the occasional protester ship to being declared pirates?! I had to raise commission rates to just convince the crew to stay! Blast them all!

Captain’s Log:

Had a close encounter today. Had to pass near Santonian waters due to weather. Damn saints were on us like flies on shit! I had to talk them down! Luckily we were still a handful of klicks out of their zones, but still! They were shadowing us. Suspicious like. All the meanwhile I had to deal with waves that would shear a man of his skin! Jail from behind and a watery grave from the front! Choices. Choices!

Captain’s Log:

I don’t understand whalers. Well I mean I do understand them. I am one, but I don’t understand other whaling captains. I mean here I am. Near the straits of Gwladcan. Having an easy time of it. And yet I keep seeing on the news all these captains getting caught. If you’re going to jail, at least try to run! Some poor Regunalian sap just gave up his tug! And his haul! And his crew! No effort!

Moving tons of steel through water is still hard. Even for military vessels! Just make a go of it! What’s the harm? More jail? You’re already going to jail! Try to get away! Because of these sad sacks I’m gonna get shot at now when I try to run! Otherwise, good haul today. Brevik was making trouble in the kitchen today. Always raving on about onions.

19 June 2021
10:04 pm
On a Saturday
Krysuvik, Prydania

Tobias and Alycia watched the fireworks as they lit up the night sky from the front porch of Himnaríkisviði, the estate that Tobias had purchased just outside of Krysuvik. It had belonged to a Hersir*, who had perished along with his family in the Civil War.
The country estate had fallen into disrepair until Tobias had bought it from the government following the War, wanting a place near his mother's hometown he could stay at. Everyone had insisted to him staying in his mother's family's old house in town was not viable form a security perspective.

"Are you enjoying the Miðsumar festivities?" Alycia asked as she lay her head on her husband's shoulder.

"Yeah," Tobias replied softly.
"Today was special," he said as he squeezed her.

"I'm glad," Alycia replied.
"And I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?" Tobias asked, curiously.

"I know you've been spending a lot of time in Norisa," she replied.
"Because of me."

Tobias smiled.
"You're needed there. And I'll go wherever you go," he said with a grin.

"Constitutional negotiations won't last forever," Alycia said softly.
"And when they're over..." she stroked Tobias' shoulder, "we'll spend more time here, I promise."

Tobias grinned and leaned his head into Alycia's as she leaned into him.
"I'm happy to be wherever you are," he said softly.

"You're so cheesy," she replied, teasing him and kissing his cheek.

"But I mean it," he pleaded, with an innocent, wide-eyed stare.

"I know, that's what makes it so cheesy," she chuckled.
"But I'm glad you enjoyed today."

"It meant a lot, that you were here," Tobias smiled.
"To have you and the kids...God...I'm sorry, it's just really sweet."

Alycia nuzzled Tobias and grabbed his hand gently.
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," she remarked. She meant it. The Miðsumar festivities were important in Prydania, but this year they involved a stop here, in Krysuvik. It wasn't just Tobias' mother's hometown. It was were she had met his father, at this very festival.

"Thank you," Tobias said softly, squeezing Alycia's hand back.
"I know we may seem like a bunch of sveitalubbi* sometimes but..."

Alycia kissed him again.
"You don't need to say that sort of thing," she remarked.
"It's special, and that's what matters, because I love you."

Tobias grinned.
"Whether this nation was crowned with thorns or roses... her stories, her poems, her life we prefer," he said softly.

"You got that from Marc-Thorsteinn from Twitcher," Alycia said with a chuckle.
"You can't pull a fast one on me, Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók," she laughed as she kissed him again.

"I'm not trying to, I swear," he chuckled.
"Thorsteinn just has good quotes," he added.
"And it's fitting. My parents found love here, and it means a lot I can bring my family back for the same celebration."

"And soon enough Hael and Baldr will be old enough to appreciate it," Alycia remarked.

"I can't wait to watch fireworks with them..." he said softly. It was one of many things he couldn't wait to do with his children.
"And the bonfires..."

"No bonfire jumping!" Alycia replied, in a voice that somehow managed to be both stern and happy at once.

"I thought you loved me and my country's traditions," Tobias replied with a faux put-upon tone and a puppy dog look that made Alycia chuckle.

"I don't want my babies falling into a bonfire," she insisted.

"I did it...a few times actually!"

"Yes! I remember one of those times! I couldn't believe what I was seeing," Alycia remarked.

"You can admit it if it made you like me," Tobias said with a smile as he raised his eyebrows.

"Ok, maybe a little. It was pretty daring," she laughed, kissing her husband on the lips before resting with him on the estate porch again.
"You know what you're going to say in Haland tomorrow?" she asked.

"Já," Tobias replied with a nod.
"I do."

"Just speak from the heart," Alycia remarked as she held his hand, watching the summer fireworks and the bonfires against the night sky.

"That's always easy with you," Tobias said softly. He meant it. And he held his wife close to him as he watched the celebrations of the summer light up the Austurland sky.

---

*Hersir- A Prydanian noble rank, below that of Jarl
*sveitalubbi- hick, redneck, rural person, often with negative connotations

---

Farmboy Prince by Axl Rosenberg, 2:34

20 June 2021
12:01 pm
On a Sunday
Haland, Prydania

Haland was Prydania's fourth largest city with a population over half a million people, but that didn't keep the music from having a distinct, traditional flavour. The fiðla* music echoed through the streets as the assembled crowds waved Prydanian flags along with blue, navy, orange, and gold banners. The sky, water, wheat, and fire of summer.

Tobias held Baldr and Alycia held Hael as the nine month old twins looked on at what was happening with wonder. Tobias looked down at his son sitting on his knee, smiling before looking on at the band playing the music, clapping along. Alycia was too, holding Hael's hand up to wave to the assembled crowds.

The songs began wind down, and the cheering and chattering of the crowd simmered as Cardinal Villads Dalgaard approached the podium.
"As we gather here today to celebrate Miðsumar and our unity as a country, I ask if I may lead you in a prayer."

The crowd went quiet as the Cardinal began to speak a prayer for the occasion...

"Miðsumar night, and bonfires on the hill
Burn for the man who makes way for the Light:
‘He must increase and I diminish still,
Until his sun illuminates my night.’
So John the Baptist pioneers our path,
Unfolds the essence of the life of prayer,
Unlatches the last doorway into faith,
And makes one inner space an everywhere.
Least of the new and greatest of the old,
St. Kaldor on the threshold with his lyre,
He sets himself aside, and cries “Behold
The One who stands amongst you comes with fire!”
So keep his fires burning through this night,
Beacons and gateways for the child of light.
Amen."

"We gather in three cities every year," the Cardinal continued, "to celebrate that we are one people. That our differences do not define us- it is our commonalities that do, and that we all rise in celebration to cheer as we banish evil from our land. In recent years, that has taken a profound meaning. As the prayers we say linger in our minds I ask you all, to pray for those whose lives were ended too soon, who would be here with us if they could be, and who watch over us in heaven."

The Cardinal lowered his head for a moment, as the celebration came to a quiet pause for a moment of additional prayer before he spoke again.
"As my compatriots Archdeacon Hjort and Pastor Tveit have done in Akrafjall and Krysuvik I welcome His Majesty, King Tobias III of Prydania."

Tobias stood, holding Baldr, before passing him off to Colart, who stood dutifully by Alycia's side, before approaching the podium.
"Thank you, Cardinal," he said, before turning to the assembled applauding crowd.
"And hello..." he said as he smiled.
"The Cardinal is right, to speak of those we lost, but I looked around in Akrafjall and Krysuvik, and I saw happy, smiling faces. I saw celebration. I believe that those we lost, they would want us to live, and not mourn. They would want us to be happy," he said with a grin before turning to his left, to a brier effigy arranged in a bonfire ready to be lit.
"And I think they would be happy when I light this, and we banish the evil from our lands for another summer!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and Tobias smiled and chuckled as he looked down.
"We have fought, and struggled for the right to be here today and to celebrate happily, but we have, so we will!"
There was more applause before Tobias continued.

"So I will light this effigy of a witch, and we'll celebrate into the night, having done the deed of driving evil away with our partying. Of course lighting some sticks doesn't banish evil, but it represents what we've done, and fought for, to be able to stand here ready to celebrate into the night. I suppose what I am getting at, is that while we celebrate our hard-won freedom, our friends still fight. As we stand here today, celebrating Miðsumar our friends in Predice are fighting for their lives against the criminal regime that controls New Aleman, an enemy we all know too well here in this country. I do not wish to infringe on the Cardinal's charge, but I ask you all, whatever faith you belong to, to pray for peace in Predice, peace against the enemies of freedom. Please, remember this, and remember that every freedom we celebrate, and every victory over evil, however symbolic, is one we all must cherish. And those who died to bring us them."

Tobias mimicked the Cardinal, lowering his head in silence. The crowd followed suit.
"I wish I could do...something more," Tobias said to himself.
"I wish that you stay safe, Vittorio," he added to himself, as he raised his head to address the crowd.

"But we're going to celebrate," he said as he took a burning torch from a Knight of the Storm and fulfilled his ceremonial duty, lighting the witch effigy as the crowd cheered.

"Jump over it!" someone from the crowd yelled. It was lost in the cheering, but Tobias managed to hear it.

"They won't let me!" Tobias replied with a chuckle, pointing to the Knights of the Storm contingent on stage before he went back to his wife and children, clapping along to the folk music that had started up again as he picked up Baldr once again. They'd be back in Norsia tomorrow, as Tobias had promised Alycia he'd be by her side, and she was needed in her homeland. More than he was here, for now. And he didn't mind Norsia...but for now he was celebrating Miðsumar with his family. And what was to come later would just have to wait.

---

fiðla- violin

​

​

19:43 (7:43 pm)
Wetnesdai (Wednesday)
Somewhere in Kinbafa
23-06-2021

Click to expand...

A little bit of the erased history:

Erimanor Galonni and Redduk Taderkhai were best friends since their childhood. The powers existence was never a taboo to them, since the Roial Familii and the nobles knew they existed since Kardenccia's reign. But how these powers manifest were still a mystery until Erimanor and Redduk started searching it with their parents. They were at around 10 years old when the research was discovered by the emperor. Hermani IV Lassei Kladerai immediately demanded the research end, and made it illegal.

However, they didn't stopped researching. When Hermani IV found out, he became furious. He publicly accused them of Roial Treason, saying that they were trying to kill him. The royal privileges of the 2 families were revoked, their money forfeit and they were threw out of the (old) capital, Olmongeter. Erimanor and Redduk parents got crazy, and killed themselves. The two were 12 years old when this happened. They moved to Kinbafa, and started working again in the research. In the next year, 1983, the emperor died due to a heart attack, and nobody ever discovered the real motivations of Hermani IV in throwing the Galonni and the Taderkhai out of the nobility.

In 2016, Erimanor and Redduk, now with their wives and children, finally discovered the secret of the powers manifestation. A huge, and very powerful (no joke intended) electromagnetic pulse makes the powers manifest. But not everyone is able to have powers, only a few people on the world. Two of them were Fervina, who is able to control the temperature of things (her range is from 0K to 3500K) and Arion, who is able to control electricity (his range is about 100 meters). During one of their tests, their machine overheated and exploded, killing Arion and Fervina's parents, and giving them their powers.​

Click to expand...

28 July 2021
10:04 am
On a Wednesday
Absalonhöll, Býkonsviði, Prydania

Tobias sat in his office chair. Well sat may be generous. He was slouching. And the slouch wasn't the only unkingly thing about him. He wasn't dressed for any sort of meeting. He was wearing khaki cargo shorts and a white Stormurholmr FF football shirt. He was dressed like this because, well, he didn't expect to have to be here.
Mathies Jórvík was dressed more appropriately, in a suit. And for now Tobias was keen to let the Thane deal with his son.

"To be a Thane is to lead by example," Mathies said, as Rylond sat in a chair across the old oaken desk from Tobias.
"And you don't lead by example by getting into public screaming matches."

"It was Twitcher," Rylond replied, rolling his eyes.

"So even worse," Mathies countered.
"You didn't just yell at the man, you yelled at him where everyone in the world could see you."

"Maybe he needed to be yelled at," Rylond shrugged. Tobias raised an eyebrow but still said nothing as Mathies continued.

"Let someone else do it then, you need to be better than people like him," the Thane insisted.
"Plenty of people, here, in Saintonge, and elsewhere find François-Louis Villault reprehensible. Let someone else bicker with him online."

"No," Rylond said insistently. Tobias began to straighten up in his chair in response, but he still let Mathies reply.

"What?" the Thane asked.

"You heard me, pa. It's bad enough he demonizes Prydanians in Saintonge, but he's been attacking us in our own country. I can't just let him use us as puppets to help him spread his bullshit."

"You can beca..."

"No, I can't, because I keep being told I can't get involved. But maybe that's the problem, eh? Maybe someone with some sway in this country needs to tell him to fuck off. Maybe we need to..."

"Ry, stop," Tobias said, interjecting. He sounded tired.

"Eh?" Rylond replied as Mathies turned around, stepping aside so the King could have an unobstructed view of his son.

"Ry, your father's right," Tobias said softly.
"You don't need to apologize, but if the press asks tell them no comment and just move on."

"You can't be serious," Rylond replied. He'd known Tobias since they were both small children, even before the Syndicalist coup and Civil War. It afforded him the right to be informal with the King. And if the King was going to talk to him in cargo shirts and a football shirt, then informal it was.

"I am," Tobias said with a nod.
"Let it go, let him run his mouth. There will be plenty of people to tell Herra Villault off online."

"That's not the point," Rylond insisted, his tone getting as defensive with his friend as it had been with his father.
"Yeah, I'm the son of a Thane. That's good. Someone with some sway to tell him he's full of shit. Maybe if you would..."

Tobias snapped. It wasn't any one thing, really. Maybe it was his displeasure with François-Louis Villault in general just reaching a breaking point. Maybe it was the way Rylond seemed to disregard everything his father had told him. Maybe it was the way Rylond said "maybe if you would..." as if Tobias merely had to just start caring. As if he didn't already. That implication...that must have been it.

"No, listen!" Tobias yelled, sitting up straight in his chair.
"Listen! François-Louis Villault is a piece of shit, but neither you or I, or your father, or mother will say a word about it publicly."

"Toby, I'm tired of this 'don't eng...'" Rylond tried to say, before Tobias cut him off.

"No, you listen," he repeated, his green eyes wide and jaw clenched shut for a moment as he worked to reign himself in before speaking again.
"He's a piece of shit who's insulted my wife, and by extension my children. He's insulted our countrymen. And every time he Twitches I want to lay into him. Because he's a squirrely little rat who doesn't know the first GODDMAN THING..." Tobias stopped himself, calming himself. Rylond looked at him, in shock. Even Mathies looked on surprised.

"He doesn't know the first Goddamned thing about us," the King continued, trying to stay calm.
"I want to lay into him because he's belittled my family and insulted our people, but I don't because I'm the King of Prydania. I don't because that means I can't go interjecting myself into the politics of another country..." Tobias was trying very hard to keep his voice from shaking. He remained quiet for a moment. Both Mathies and Rylond were too shocked to say anything.

"When I see my boys, it's the most wonderful thing. When I'm with my wife it's the most wonderful thing," Tobias said, softly. His temper forcibly calmed for now.
"But it makes me as angry as I've ever been when I think about what he's said about my wife. I don't say anything though, because it's not my place to say anything. And it's not your place either."

"And you're ok with that?" Rylond asked back, coldly.
"Just letting him say this shit?"

"No," Tobias replied.
"But I don't have a choice." The room was quiet again, and Tobias breathed deep.
"And neither do you."

"You may be content," Rylond replied, "to ignore him and..."

"I'm fucking not!" Tobias yelled, only for Rylond to yell back.

"JUST PRETEND HE'S NOT THERE BUT..."

"BOTH OF YOU, QUIET!"

Tobias and Rylond fell silent as Mathies bellowed. They both looked at the Thane in shock. And indeed Mathies hadn't wanted to yell. He was a calculating man who had seemingly kept his cool even during the most intense fighting of the Civil War. And indeed...he didn't want to yell at the King. He'd known Tobias since he was a child though, and having that perception, of being an older authority figure, was something he could count on. Still, he was also a man of tradition and didn't find it appropriate to yell at his sovereign.
This though...he had to put an end to this. They were both in their mid 20s, but they were acting like they were kids fighting over Spilvel blocks.

"Your Majesty, I'm very sorry I had to do that," he said firmly.

"What about me?" Rylond asked.

"Shut up," Mathies replied sharply.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," the Thane repeated, "but this whole thing is fucking insane, and someone needed to end the yelling."

"With more yelling," Tobias muttered.

"Yes, if it had to be that way," Mathies said with a nod.

"The King is right," he continued, now looking at his son.
"Let Villault run his mouth. We all have to answer to God for our sins eventually."

"That's not good enough," Rylond said, getting up, but Tobias shook his head.

"Rylond, wait," he insisted. Rylond slowly sank back into his chair.
"Not saying anything is good enough for me because as much as he may insult my family and country, none of it is true. They're wonderful, and all the insults he slings from across the Meterran Sea don't mean a Goddamn thing when I see how wonderful my country, people, and family are."

"He's using Bayardi history as a prop though," Rylond replied quietly.
"Someone has to stop that."

"Someone will, but you can deal with it by being a leader who proves the Bayardi are more than just a prop."

Rylond looked at his father, and then his friend, and then down for a moment before looking back up again.
"Yeah..." he said.
"I have some thinking to do. Stay frosty, Toby," he said softly, getting up and leaving.

"He'll be alright, Your Majesty," Mathies said softly.
"He's just angry."

"Yeah..." Tobias replied almost staring ahead in a trance.
"I wish I could have helped more."

Mathies nodded, patting the King's shoulder before he too turned to leave.
"I'm going to tell Rylond this later, and I hope it helps both of you... the fool stops being a fool when you engage him. When you engage him others begin to confuse his antics with philosophy."

"I already know not to engage with Villault," Tobias replied.

"I know, Your Majesty. You just seemed like you needed a reminder."

Tobias sank back into his chair and nodded.
"Thank you."

28 July 2021
11:02 am
On a Wednesday
Absalonhöll, Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Go away Toby," Rylond insisted as he popped open a can of Gull beer, taking a seat in one of the two lawn chairs on the roof of Absalonhöll.

"It's my house, technically," Tobias said with a smile as he shut the door to the stairwell behind him.
"I could kick you out you know," he added as he made his way to Rylond. He wasn't going to comment on him drinking before noon. Or try to sit down next to him on the spare lawn chair. He just approached slowly.

"Do it, I dare you, bitch," Rylond replied. Tobias sighed. Not over the lack of formality, he didn't give a crap how Rylond addressed him. No, he sighed because he just knew how Rylond could be.

"Ry," he said, standing behind him and to the side, "you know your pabbi and I are right."

"Huh..." Rylond scoffed.
"You and pa..." he mused.
"You told me to be a leader. It sounded like what William used to tell you."

"Maybe," Tobias said with a smile, and bit of a blush.
"But it was good advice, já?"

"That's the problem Toby. I'm not you."

"I never said you we..."

"I never envied you," Rylond continued, cutting his friend off as he sipped his beer, still looking ahead over the Býkonsviði skyline.
"I saw what William and the others asked of you. It was hard. I know it was, because I watched how you had to deal with it."

Tobias went quiet, and looked down. They'd put a lot on his shoulders when he was seventeen. And in some ways the weight hadn't lessened since.
"I don't think..." he began to say as he sat down in the empty chair next to Rylond, "that what they did..." he paused again as he searched for words.
"...was wrong. I had to be what they told me to be."

"I know," Rylond replied, still not looking at him.
"And I'm very proud of you."

"Heh," Tobias chuckled, but Rylond shook his head.

"I mean it. You weren't King Anders' nephew. Or Prince Robert's son. You were just my friend. I saw what you had to shoulder. And...I'm proud of what you ended up as," he said as he turned to his friend for the first time since coming to the roof.

Tobias clenched his jaw a bit but smiled.
"Thank you."

"But I'm not you," Rylond repeated.
"I never envied that because I didn't need to be you. Ma and Pa both survived. I never had to be a leader, Pa was that. He still is."

"Being a leader isn't just..." Tobias began, but Rylond wasn't done.

"I thought I was being one telling Villault to fuck off."
Rylond blushed as he said that. Admitting to insecurity was never a strong point of his.

Tobias nodded. He understood. Rylond was never one to spell his feelings out, but he'd done enough to figure it out here. And he felt self-conscious. He didn't like the idea of his best friend feeling inadequate next to him. He didn't push the subject. He just sat there for a moment before he got to the matter at hand.

"I want you to be honest with me here ok?" he asked.

"Ok."

"I mean it. Even if you don't think it's what I want to hear."

"Got it."

"Do you feel you- or the Bayardi- are oppressed?"

"No."

Tobias nodded.
"So what's the problem? Who cares what some Róttækur* slapdick in Saintonge says?"

"Heh," Rylond chuckled.
"Slapdick. I didn't hear ya breaking that out in front of pa."

"He's still scary," Tobias chuckled.
"When he yells."

"He is, isn't he?" Rylond replied, laughing with his friend. He laughed with him a bit until he breathed deep.
"I don't like Villault demonizing Prydanians and I don't like him using Bayardis as puppets for him to do it."

"I don't either," Tobias replied softly.

"Your wife chews him out on the regular. Why don't you?"

Tobias shrugged.
"Aly is Norsian. They don't bullshit, as a rule."

"So that's why you don't respond to Villault? You're willing to play the bullshit game?"

Tobias cleared his throat a bit.
"It's very complicated."

"Try me."

Tobias shrugged.
"A lot of people died for me to be King. People I never knew died for me to be King. I owe it to them to be a good King. The type of King who doesn't embarrass their country. And I owe it to Saintonge. Because they've been good friends to us. I owe it to them to not try and meddle in their affairs."

"So they expect you to be a good boy who doesn't complain or else they'll cut off the purse strings?" Rylond asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've never been afraid to speak my mind with them," Tobias answered.
"But I owe it to them to not cross any lines."

"Even though you hate what he's said about your family."

"Já."

"And here the Santonians are, unaware of how upset their slapdick Radikaal* Twitcher troll is making you."

"You don't know what my cousins and I have talked about," Tobias said matter of factly, referring to the twin Crown Princes of Saintonge.

"What would you say to Villault, if you could?" Rylond asked.

"Outside of the rash of expletives that come to mind right after he Twitches? Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Tobias repeated.
"Because in my mind, in my ideal world, I don't have to talk to people like him. So I don't think about it much beyond that initial reaction."

"What do you think about?"

Tobias chuckled.
"I wasn't blowing smoke up your ass in there earlier. He insults my family, I think about how wonderful they are. He insults my country, I think about how beautiful it is. He insults my people? Our people? I think about how wonderful they are. People like Villault just hate, hate, hate. I don't want to be that."

"Maybe people like him deserve to be hated?" Rylond asked.

Tobias felt a lump in his throat.
"You said you didn't envy me growing up."

"Ja."

"Well I envied you because you still had you mamma and pabbi," Tobias replied, feeling a wave of emotion rush over him. He breathed deep to keep himself under control.
"I still miss my mamma and pabbi, but if I let myself hate everyone I thought deserved it I'd spend all my time hating people who took them from me and not loving their memories."

"Shit Toby," Rylond muttered after an awkward pause.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Thank you," Tobias replied, looking straight ahead over the city skyline.
"People like Villault," he continued, "are privileged fucks. They understand what happened to us. They just choose to be uncaring because...I don't know. They have worms in their brains or something. But I'll choose dealing with good people over hating bad people."

Rylond nodded. He sat there for what seemed like forever, with his friend, in silence. What he felt...it was truly chaotic.
"I knew I shouldn't hav been doing what I was doing," he said, "as I was typing those Twitcher replies. I just got it in my head that I had to, and once they were out there I just had to own them."

"Já," Tobias nodded.
"I know."

Rylond nodded. And smiled a bit. His friend could be referring to a few things. He didn't press it. He just sat there with him, in silence for a moment.

"Do you want a beer?" he finally asked.

"Fokk það*, why not?" Tobias said, leaning back as he cracked open a second can of Gull.

"Ralt," Rylond said, holding his can up.

"Ralt," Tobias replied, crashing his can into Rylond's lightly.

Was it too early? Maybe, but it was a worthy sacrifice for a friend.

---

*Róttækur- Radical
*Radikaal- Radical
*Fokk það- Fuck it

Friday, August 6th, 2021
1:23 PM
Antalya, Capital District
The Kaşmir Club

Osman laid asleep, his body unmoving but contorted lying uncomfortably on one of the couches that littered the upstairs VIP area of the club. A quick nudge from the Captain of his Bodyguards Bahri was all it took to rouse the Sultan, lifting his back to sit up Osman slightly irritated that he was so abruptly taken out of his drunken slumber, turned to face the man who had just awoken him. Opening his eyes he looked at the bodyguard and then at the area surrounding him, it was an absolute mess.

Scattered across the room lay several clubgoers brought to exhaustion, now also sleeping in, on, and around the many chairs, couches, tables, and even the bar on which a man laid with a bottle of what was presumably wine loosely hanging from the man hanging hand. Turning his head to face the old young captain, he spoke to him.

"What the hell happened?" He asked, his head had hurt far too much to recall the night's events. A usual and often challenge for him when he goes on these sorts of benders, but "What's a little lost time?" He always thought that to himself whenever Rifaat or his sisters would criticize his habits, it was just how he was, and hell it was fun so what's the point of slowing down now?

"Your Majesty, you and your friends seemed to have partied a bit too hard." He looked around the room. at the disaster scene that was the VIP lounge and then back to Osman. "But sir that is not the problem." Osman lifted an eyebrow now completely lucid.

"What's the issue?" He said now standing to stretch, he used Bahri as leverage to stand and nodded as a thank you.

"Sir the people are outside." He said concerned, his eyes shifted to the main entrance of the club visible from the lounge.

"What people?" Osman said scratching his head, as he walked to the bar to grab a bottle of water from one of the fridges. The bottle was made of glass, filled with some of the finest spring water Craviter had to offer. Probably from Prydania or something he didn't fucking know he was no water expert. He popped the cap of the water off and proceeded to down most of it in under twenty seconds. His mouth felt dryer than most arid deserts of Mansani, so he took another bottle and downed another half. All the while Bahri explained the situation.

"The People, sir a mass of protestors have assembled outside and they are, to say the least not happy you are here." He said looking again at the door. Osman rolled his eyes and began to make his way to the downstairs, the bodyguard following close behind.

"Have you tried to disperse them? This shouldn't be all that much of an issue." Osman said rubbing his temples and forehead.

"Sir, we've repeatedly tried but they just refuse to disperse. But we can have the riot police make a path for you and your convoy out of the area." Bahri said tailing Osman to the main door.

"Well then Captain, lead the way." He gestured to the door and Bahri opened it.

The door opened, and the light of the sun hit Osman's face blinding him for a moment and triggering a small headache as he walked out. Shaking his head he recovered himself and looked at the crowds of people lining the street. They were not crowds of adoring subjects or happy citizens. They were mad, and the anger only increased after they sighted Osman. The crowd jeered and shouted, some carried signs promoting democracy and others insulted him, calling him a junkie and a whore. Others carried what seemed to be clubs or some kind of weaponry which they hit against the pavement creating an aura of fear. Osman could feel the rising tension as the crowd watched as he was huddled into his vehicle by security.

As this happened, the crowds began to move closer from behind the convoy of vehicles in Osman's Escort. And as they did this the riot police began to move against the protestors to counter... He could not see who landed the first blow but whoever did cause the crowd to light up like fireworks. Now the crowd began to push in on the convoy all the while fighting the riot police with their clubs and whatever they had available. The now rioters at the head of the convoy attempted to do what the ones in the rear had done but it was no use riot police began to move them back and out of the way. But from the sides, the crowd began to move in on the convoy getting closer and closer until the point where they were banging on the sides of Osman's armored vehicle.

The rioters shouted. "Down with the Sultanate!!!" as they attempted to break into the vehicle. Osman by this point terrified for his life at this point. Slapping his hand on the back of his driver's seat he shouted at the driver.

"Get me the hell out of here! They'll have my head on a stick if they get in here." The driver heeding his command informed the front car of the order and the convoy began to move, shaking off some of the rioters and escaping through the open path created by the riot police. The car made its way to the palace, and from which Osman ordered a lockdown of the city. He had never experienced such a terrifying and utterly humiliating moment in his life,

"The People," He thought. "Do they all hate me? Or is this just one group? I shouldn't be surprised though, it isn't any wonder why they are upset when their beloved Sultan is doing blasts while partying non-stop with the sycophants surrounding him." He thought like this for hours on end and he had come to one conclusion.

That there was something deeply broken within Aydin and only he could fix it unless he wanted to join the likes of King Anders and his motley bunch of fascists in hell or like the damn Arcanstotskan Tsar.

The last thing he needs is a bullet to the brain.

OOC: Accompaniment- The Devil's Price

It was a hot day, every day seemed to be in Iteria, Bob Parker loosened his collar for the umpteenth time as he felt sweat roll down the back of his neck, Bergum Iraelia was not. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the polished mahogany desk, he had wanted silver stars but his intern had brought back something labelled ኮሽ. The cigarettes taste was somewhere between burning hair and petrol fumes and bob was almost certain he could pick up hints of old newspaper. He winced and stubbed out the vile thing after only a few puffs.

“A meaner man would fire that damn intern” he muttered irritably

“The kids doing his best, he’s from overseas” Shlomo Misrahi replied in a placating voice

Contrary to the popular image of chief editors as ball-breaking tyrants, Shlomo was better known for his ability to retain staff. The ageing head of GNN’s Iraelia branch had an irritating habit of appealing to men's better angels and as improbable as it sounded, the style seemed to work, the Iraelian branch was one of the best runs in the syndicate's entire lineup.

“Which is where I should be, why bring me all the way to your country, Shlomo? It's hotter than Pataliputra here!”

“Hey, Hallas*! Don’t slander my fair country by comparing it to that blazing hellscape!” Shlomo replied with mock outrage

“Still haven't answered my question” Bob replied impatiently as he tapped the table and considered risking another one of those repugnant smokes

Bob wasn’t usually so curt but after a last-minute call from the network head and an 18-hour flight from Bergum, he felt justified in being less than fuzzy. All he wanted to do was take a very long shower and sleep until the heat death of the universe, fat chance of that in the height of an Iterian summer though.

“Fine! You really want to know why the boss sent you to me?”

“Yes, for the Messiah’s sake tell me!”

“Coffee first...you need softening up...can’t have you biting our guest” Shlomo chuckled before buzzing the intercom

Seconds a young woman rushed in with a shaking tray of coffees, the smell was intoxicating as she set them down on the table and hurried out of the room. Shlomo motioned for Bob to take one which he did without hesitation, as he sipped, he felt a wave of bliss wash over him, thank God the coffee was good in Iteria, it almost made up for the cigarettes.

“Better?” Shlomo asked with the first signs of urgency in his voice

“Yeah, the coffee is amazing, better,” Bob said with a relieved sigh

“Mondabaland blue...now...down to business...you are here because the network head wants you to interview Nerban Nerbangal’s ex-cook," Shlomo said matter-factly

“I'm sorry...what?!” Bob Blurted out


The interview room was well appointed, it could have passed for any upscale Iraelian apartment with its warm colour palette and tasteful wooden furnishings, only the cameraman in the corner of the room broke the illusion. The idea of course was to make the guests feel as relaxed as was possible, made it easier to get them talking that way.

The man sitting in front of Bob resembled every Karzan that he had ever seen, that is to say, his features seemed a wild collection of cultures. Bob prided himself on knowing his history, Karzastan had once been a wealthy province of the Kianese empire, Szlavs, Sinnitics and indigenous Qarza had all mingled and added their diversity to the country in those days. This man could have passed for Skandan or Zhenese, but then there were also telltale features that could easily have been mistaken for Yamantau or Arcanstotska. The Karzans were what you got when you threw every ethnicity into the pot.

The man was short and stocky, most Karzan’s were, and modestly dressed in a linen shirt and jeans, he was for all intents unremarkable looking. But appearances were evidently deceptive because Victor Axmedov had possibly one of the most unusual tales to tell. Bob nodded as the queue to begin was given and leaned forward to shake his guest's hand.

Good afternoon Mr Axmedov

Please call me victor

Victor, It is, so you're here in the studio to tell a story that could easily have been a movie script, how did you become the personal chef to Nerban Nerbangal?

My father was a reasonably well-off restaurant owner in Otsamar, I grew up working in his kitchens and when I was old enough, he was able to send me to a cooking school in Nerbangal. I soon became proficient enough to take my trade overseas, first to Predice and then Saintonge. I had owned three successful businesses by the time of the incident.

Tell me more about the Incident you mentioned

I was in Saintonge, I had just sold my business at a profit, I was well regarded in the culinary world and had many options, I was hoping to take a break and decide my next move. One night I was coming home from a party in downtown Saintes, I remember it being very dark when I reached my apartment. One minute I was fumbling with my keys and the next trying to scream as someone pressed a chloroform rag to my face.

So Karzan intelligence kidnapped you?

When I came to, I was being driven from what I later found out was Nergbangal international airport, I could not tell at the time as I had a bag over my head. Eventually, I was brought to the Presidential palace and informed that I had the supreme honour of serving my nations leader in all things culinary.

What's it like cooking for a dictator?

Like a game of Cogorian roulette, every mealtime has the potential to end in praise or death, I remember seeing one of the palace servants drop cutlery on the way to the kitchen. That man was never seen again and we were instructed by the head of the household staff never to even mention his name. Another time I served Roasted honey duck with sticky rice and was praised by Nerbangal in front of a table filled with generals and ministers, he even gifted me with a new car! That is the level of extremes we are dealing with!

What sort of dishes does a man like Nerbangal eat?

Nerbangal likes to portray himself as a champion of the people but the reality is he despises anything that reminds him of his peasant roots. His father was a nobody from Qorqir a village near the Stakhari border, he came to power by being the roughest thug in a country where thugs run everything. The “great benefactor” hates to be reminded that his ancestors were goat herders who lived in mudbrick houses without electricity or running water.

To that end, he always eats and drinks anything but his own national cuisine, Predicean and Santonian wines paired with astronomically expensive meats sourced fresh from farms across Eras. I have personally served him Skandan pufferfish, Prydanian Haddock, Malorian Caviar, he even sent me all the way to Sil Dorset once to acquire fast food! I sat on a plane flight back to Kian with a sealed case just to bring him a damn Joy Meal from Wcmonalds!!!

You spent three years cooking for Nerbangal, what were your impressions of the man?

A total egomaniac with delusions of grandeur to match history's worst, Helmer and Anders would love to have as much narcissism as Nerbangal. He is the most manipulative human being you will ever meet; he has this way of knowing when to charm and when to brutalize.

He can change on the drop of a hat, one minute it's all laughter and praise and the next he’s screaming and holding people against walls by their necks. He has one soft spot though, loves animals, especially horses and dogs, I'd say he values them more than most human beings.

He's no fool either, he’s highly educated and surprisingly cultured, he keeps a vast library of books and movies, likes to collect Kianese antiquities and his wine cellar could give most royal houses a run for their money, but it's all a means to gain the one thing he can't live without

Which is?

Attention, he can’t stand for anyone but himself to be the Centre of things, everything he does is to glorify himself. I have little doubt the man considers himself a close second to God, not surprising given his upbringing.

Did he talk much about his upbringing?

Not in public but around family? He never shut up about it, he constantly lectured his sons on their good fortune of not having been raised by Turab Nerbangal. Evidently the man had been a distant and cold parent, kept Nerbangal isolated in a gilded cage of a palace, gave him every material comfort but denied him warmth or attention until his dying day. Nerban liked to boast that his sons were so much better off but honestly? I think they just inherited a variation of their father's neglect.

How would you describe Nerbangals family?

His wife Alia is probably the only decent person in the entire dynasty, She’s the diplomat of the bunch, the one who seems to always calm things down, could never tell what her angle was though.

His sons are carbon copies of their father, assuming the copy machine had produced flaws in each one. Babor is a thug just like his father and grandfather but with none of their intelligence. He never grew out of the boy playing with soldiers' phase of childhood, he just swapped the pewter figures for flesh and blood. He runs the presidential guard regiments like his own personal property, always boasts about his military achievements at the dinner table and drinks like a fish. I've seen him down entire bottles of Cognac from Saintonge that cost more than the average Karzan makes in a year.

Rustam is a slimeball, a conniving rat of a man who profits from slave labour and drugs, never saw him eat much. He’s more interested in indulging in corruption then eating, spineless little bastard though, I've seen how he cowered when his father grew angry.

Savar is a little harder to get a fix on, didn’t see him much while I was there, evidently, he was the runt of the litter, spent most of his time with his mother as a child due to illness. Much like Alia I can't really tell you much save to say that he is quiet, oddly polite and probably the only one of his siblings that actually has any brains.

So how did you escape

In early 2015 I was considered a trusted member of the president's household, trusted enough to go abroad to procure luxury goods. I heard there was a new Cognac in Saintonge that was getting rave reviews, I offered to go and sample the product for the president and if it was better than our current inventory, bring some back. Nerbangal always wants the top-shelf items, it feeds into his need for attention and praise, so naturally, he agreed and sent me to Saintonge.

When I arrived there, I was supposed to head to the Karzan embassy in order to check in, instead, I fled to the nearest foreign embassy I could find, the Iraelian one as it turned out. The ambassador heard my case and agreed to provide asylum, he put me on a flight to Adoneh-Jirei a few days later and approved my request.

How has life been for you since?

I live in constant fear that one day I'll experience another abduction, I sleep with a gun under my pillow and avoid going out as much as I can. Sometimes even being in a queue at a coffee shop or waiting for a bus is enough to set off a panic attack.

Why televise your story if you are so afraid of the Karzan government?

Because it’s the only way I can guarantee my safety, by going public, if anything happens to me now the world will know who is responsible. This is my way of taking my life back from that maniac, I am safest when in plain sight.

We certainly hope that things will get easier for you, do you have anything else to say before we wrap up?

Only that Nerban Nerbangal is a dying breed of leader, he wants his citizens to believe he is some indispensable Saviour, but the truth is that he is merely a self-absorbed tyrant with an ego more fragile than dry Skandan rice paper. Once people break free from the monopoly, he has on the narrative his regime will collapse and Karzastan will move on without him.

Thank you for your time, Victor

*Stop in Yihuddi

Absalonhöll
Býkonsviði, Prydania
July 2035

"Should we find Maminka, Baldr, and Hanna?" Hael asked his father as they left the indoor shooting range.

"Nah," Tobias replied with a smile, wrapping his arm around Hael's shoulder. Hael returned the grin. He loved his mother, his brother, and sister but he appreciated having some time with his father to himself. And Tobias was happy because Hael, unlike Baldr, didn't put up pretences of being too old to get a hug from his old man.

"We can go down to the kitchen," he said as he walked down the hallway.

"We can get it brought to us," Hael remarked as he followed his father but Tobias just waved it off.

"Eh I'm hungry now. We don't need to bother anyone for it."

Hael nodded. He'd never given it much thought before, but his time in Saintonge- both with his extended family and with his friends who were from well-to-do families- had made him realize how odd his father could be. His friends' rich parents would always defer to having things brought to them. And he had friends who were spoilt in comparison to him and his siblings.
But his parents weren't just rich, they were a King and Queen! An Emperor and Empress! And yet his father seemed especially fond of self-reliance compared to other powerful men he'd come to know.

That was made clear when they entered Absalonhöll's kitchen. It was the equivalent of a five-star restaurant's kitchen, and yet Tobias went right to the pantry, grabbing a box of crackers and jam, and setting them down on the counter.

"Get whatever you want," he said to his son as he began to look for the drawer that contained silverware.

"Oh um..." Hael looked through one of the pantries and found some bread, before he went through one of the refrigerators to find sliced turkey and mustard.

Tobias finally found a knife but then grumbled.
"Five fridges, five freezers, a wine fridge, and a pop fridge...too many damn fridges..." he muttered half to himself finally finding the fridge that contained the pop, producing two cans of Toki's.

"Are we going to eat here?" Hael asked and his father nodded.

"Why not?" he asked back before producing two plates. Finally the King of Prydania and Emperor of Norsia was ready to make jam crackers.

"I don't think I've ever eaten here before," Hael replied, looking around the kitchen. Indeed he hadn't been down here in ages.

"I come down here whenever I want a snack," Tobias replied as he sat down on a stool and beckoned his son to sit next to him.

Hael smiled and sat next to his father, both of them preparing their light meals.

"How was shooting with Maminka?" Hael asked.

"Not feeling it today," Tobias replied as he spread strawberry jam on his crackers, making little sandwiches out of them.

"Ah, I'm sorry, pabbi. Why not?"

"Heh," Tobias chuckled. Baldr had taken to hunting and shooting. Hael didn't like hunting but he claimed he liked shooting if no living animals were involved, though Tobias suspected that was him trying to appease him. If only he knew he didn't have to do that.
"Well sometimes you feel it. Sometimes you don't. Today I just wasn't. I don't know. Just a bit antsy I guess."

Tobias munched down on one of his jam and cracker sandwiches and Hael nodded.
"I hope it's not because of me."

"I was failing to hit..." Tobias said with a mouthful, "bullseyes before you came on by today," he laughed as he swallowed, before ruffling his son's hair.

"My questions about Uncle Anders and the War didn't upset you?" Hael asked softly.

Tobias quietly licked the salt and jam from his fingers.
"No," he said softly.

"Maminka says..."

"I know," Tobias replied.
"She says don't ask me about the War. But..." he sighed.
"You're at the age where you should know. And I should be able to tell you. That's important, I think."

"What is?" Hael asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

"I can't teach you about the Civil War objectively," Tobias said softly.
"I lived it. It's personal to me. That's why school's so important. They can teach you what I can't. So you be good and listen to your teachers."

"I do," Hael chuckled.
"You've seen my grades!"

"And I'm proud!" Tobias said as he munched on more crackers and jam before swallowing.
"But what I can do is tell you about what I lived through and saw. So what happened is remembered, and never repeated."

Hael saw his father get somber at that. He must have been remembering the suffering from the War. He gently pat his arm and Tobias grinned.

"So that's why both are important," Tobias continued.
"And it's why you didn't bother me."

Hael smiled.
"Can I recommend something?"

Tobias raised an eyebrow at that and sipped his pop. He was amused that his fourteen year old son was going to recommend something. He half expected it to be a VasaMon game.
"Sure you can," he replied.

"I think you should read l’Ensauvagement de la Prydanie," Hael said, sounding somewhere between nervous and proud.

"Huh," Tobias replied before eating more crackers and jam. He wasn't expecting that.

"It's just that you said both school and personal experience matters. Maybe it would be good to read an academic book about the Civil War?"
Hael was very unsure of himself. He meant it in the best way, but he also knew how silly it could sound to tell Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók to read up about the Prydanian Civil War.

"That book," Tobias replied, as Hael sat there nervously, "is meant to be read at a university level. And you read it in high school. I'm proud of you."

Hael smiled, a bit relieved, but also unsure. His father didn't address the issue at hand.
"Thank you, pabbi," he said with a grin.
"It's a good book. It answered a lot of my questions."

"Huh," Tobias nodded.
"Back in the shooting range, I told you I didn't read it because I lived the War and I didn't need to be reminded of it."

"Já," Hael nodded.

"That's true," Tobias replied.
"There's another reason though."

Hael's eyes went wide, and Tobias leaned into his son to give him a kiss on the head to reassure him.

"You don't need to worry, I'm not upset," Tobias said reassuringly as his son nodded.

"The other reason I never read that book was because when I got it the first thing I did was read the synopsis. And it called my grandpabbi- your great grandpabbi- an 'aberration.' I decided I didn't want to read it right then and there."

"Robert VII?" Hael asked. Tobias nodded, turning on his stool a bit to face his son.

"I never knew my grandpabbi, but he means a lot to me."

"Why?" Hael asked softly.

"Because during the War I didn't feel special. I felt alone and scared, I felt angry. But everyone kept telling me I would be king one day. I thought they were nuts. At first at least," Tobias chuckled.
"Back before it looked like we could win."

Hael nodded, not wanting to interrupt his father.

"And besides, things were bleak back then. Labour camps, public executions. People being hung in their own churches..." Tobias shook his head.
"That I would be be king and that the world would be better seemed absurd."

"But that's what happened pabbi," Hael said eagerly, as if to alleviate his father's concern.

"Já," Tobias said with a smile.
"But when it seemed like that was a far off dream I had the legacy of my grandpabbi. Robert VII. Prydania flourished under him. He was proof to me that my family wasn't bad, that this country could do amazing things. That maybe I wasn't such a fuck-up and dead end."

"Oh," Hael replied as he ate more sandwich and Tobias scooped up the last bits of jam on a half-crumbled cracker.
Hael was about to say something to that but his father continued.

"Even after we won..." he smiled.
"My grandpabbi was someone I looked to for inspiration. I think...I mean I would like to think...everything this country has achieved since then would make him proud."

Hael nodded and put his hand on his father's.
"I think he would be," he smiled.
"I'm proud of you pabbi, and I'm sure he would be too."

"You're a cute kid, you know that?" Tobias chuckled, kissing him again on his head.

Hael blushed but grinned.

"But já, I read that synopsis all of those years ago, and I suppose I took it personally on grandpabbi's behalf."

"Well," Hael replied, both eager and nervous to show off what he'd learnt, "it doesn't paint great grandpabbi Robert as a bad person or King," he said.
"The book says he did his best, and did some great things, but it just wasn't enough."

"Is that what it says?" Tobias asked with a smile.

"I'm summarizing, pabbi," Hael replied, grinning. Tobias couldn't help but laugh and hug him.

"I'm so proud of you, and how smart you are," he said. Hael felt his heart leap as he hugged his father back. Baldr tended to be the one good in areas that his father identified with- hunting and sports.

"Thanks," Hael replied happily.
"But I think...I think great grandpabbi Robert would tell you not to be offended for him."

"Oh you think that's what he'd say?" Tobias asked with a sly smile.

"Já," Hael nodded eagerly.
"I think he'd say," he began before he put on his best 'adult voice,' "Tobias you've done a great job. Stop comparing yourself to me."
Hael held up the facade of adult importance for a second longer before cracking a smile and laughing. Tobias laughed too, and sipped more of his pop.

"Maybe he would," Tobias said with a chuckle before sipping more pop.

"If that's what's bothering you pabbi, I just wanted to say...you don't need to worry about the book," Hael said, feeling emboldened by his father's approval.

"I suppose I could give it a read eventually. Ketilbjörn Skarbövik is a nice guy after all."

"You met the guy who wrote it?" Hael asked, with wide eyes. He had just finished reading it recently, so that was especially impressive to him.

"Heh," Tobias chuckled.
"Já. It's when you were only five or so. He was in Prydania for some academic conference and I met him at a dinner. I was very nervous because I hadn't read the book, but I had realized he and everyone else would expect that I had. Turns out he was just as nervous to meet me, so I got away with that one. We talked a bit about the War, and a lot about other stuff."

"You got away without doing your homework," Hael replied teasingly.

"I guess I did," Tobias laughed.
"But he was a good guy. A smart guy too. As much as that synopsis bugged me I did feel bad for leading him on thinking I'd read his book."

"Well you can read it now. You said you have a copy!"

Tobias chuckled at his son's youthful eagerness and nodded.
"I do," he said.
"But before then we should clean up here," he said looking down at the two crumb-filled plates and the knives smeared with jam and mustard.

"Come on, it'll take only a few second to wash them down in the sink," Tobias said, collecting his plate and knife and motioning for Hael to grab his.

"Yes pabbi," Hael replied as he followed his father. He wondered, as they washed the plates down, if his father would endeavour to find his mother, brother, and sister. Instead Tobias, upon finishing the dishes, just wiped his hands dry.

"Wouldn't want to leave a mess for the kitchen staff," he said before patting Hael on the shoulder.
"Come on, we'll go to my office. I have all kinds of books there. You can tell me what you've learnt about each subject at that fancy school your mother and I send you to."

"Ok, cool!" Hael exclaimed, following his father through Absalonhöll's many halls. He rarely got this much time with just his father. And he was going to treasure it.

Absalonhöll
Býkonsviði, Prydania
10 September 2031

"Pabbi's office," Hael said in amazement. He looked around with his hands in his hoodie's front pockets. His brother twin brother Baldr was wearing a similar hoodie. Yes it was perhaps cliched to dress twins alike, but Baldr and Hael both seemed to like it.

"Come on!" Baldr said as he looked around.

"We're supposed to be looking for Hanna, not poking around Pabbi's stuff," Hael protested but Baldr was too infatuated by his father's office. They had both been in here before, but never without at least one of their parents. But here it was- the King of Prydania, and their father's, office- to themselves.

Baldr walked up to the desk and sat down in the chair.
"Look at me! I'm the King!" Baldr said happily as Hael rolled his eyes, before drifting towards the bookshelves that were stock full of reading material.

Baldr looked around. He saw pictures of his mother and father, of both of them with their friend Duke Thibault of Champaign, with their father's cousins Kings Thibault-Maximilian and Timothée-Brice of Saintonge, with King Jadzia of Arrandal and her husband, with Thorbjörn Höjsleth and his wife Addý and their family, his father with Marc-Thorsteinn Gausserand-Landet, his parents with the Anthony, Grand Emperor of Goyanes, King Gaiseric of Essalenea, Empress Sabhrain of Astragon, and Vittorio the Doge of Predice. And the families of Thane Laurits and his sister Klara Eiderwig, their cousins. He also saw his father's knife from Essalanea, with the stag antler.
"Cool," he said as he reached for it.

"Baldr, don't," Hael said, looking back to catch his brother reaching for the knife. Baldr was always the more adventurous one, but he recognized when his brother had a point. He nodded and pulled his hand back from the knife. He hopped out of his father's chair and made his way to his brother, who had sat down at one of the couches that ran parallel to each other on either side of an old oaken table on the other end of the room, by the book shelves.

"Pabbi was talking to Thane Rylond, Herra Odegaard, Herra Kaldbak, and Herra Giæver here the other day, about the War," Hael said as he looked around. He never noticed the prancing stags worked into the wooden fixtures along the ceiling before. Baldr nodded, sitting across the wooden table from his brother.

"What's a Harrying?" he asked.
"Hadden was a Harrying, they talked about it. What do you think that was?"

Hael just shrugged.
"Should we get back to looking for Hanna?"

"Nah," Baldr answered. The wall opposite the King's desk had a large tapestry hanging on it. And the boys were closer to that. They looked at it. It showed knights besieging a city, with defenders wearing weird armour.

"Do you think that's from the War?" Baldr asked.

"Don't be stupid," Hael replied.
"The War was like...thirty years ago. That's from like...far longer."

"Don't call me stupid," Baldr shot back, only for Hael to stick out his tongue.

"Well fine, Herra Smarty Pants, you tell me what it's from!"

Hael smirked.
"I think it's from the Crusades."

"How do you know," Baldr raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"I think those guys in the city are Syrixians. The helmets look like the helmets Syrixians have in Progress VI."

"So that guy..." Baldr pointed to a knight wearing a stag crown and a tabard showing the arms of the House of Loðbrók, "isn't Pabbi?"

"I don't think Pabbi has a suit of armour," Hael answered.

"Hmmm," Baldr mused in only the way a determined eleven year old could, hopping off from the couches to explore the office some more. If their father did have a suit of armour then surely it would be around here.

The King's desk sat between two doors. The one they came in from, that led to the rest of the Palace, and one on the opposite wall.
"What's in here?" Baldr asked, walking to the door. It was now that Hael started getting nervous. He felt nervous coming here in the first place but...going into another locked door? That was asking for trouble. Still, he didn't want Baldr to think he was scared so he followed him.

"It's probably locked," Hael said hopefully, only for the handle to turn.

"Ha! It isn't!" Baldr exclaimed, pulling the door open and leading his brother in. The room was dark, mostly, but Baldr found a light switch, worked into the wooden panelling of the walls. The two boys looked around. On the whole it wasn't a remarkable room. Just a side room. The same wooden panels and shelving from the main office lined the walls, the wooden panels along the ceiling containing art of prancing stags and medieval knights was carried over. But instead of books the shelves were full of...things. Protected by glass doors.

"Cool..." Hael said as he walked past his brother. Old documents, pendants, and the like were visible behind the glass. Baldr went to open some of the glass doors, but they were locked. Each door had a keyhole and lock in the corner. So he stood on his tiptoes to try and see more of the treasures that were above his eyeline.

"This must be...like...treasure..." Hael said. He stepped back, just out of the side room, and could see that, at the eye level of an adult, a sceptre on its side, with a ring adorned with a stag on the top.

Baldr looked around though, and found something else to examine. It was a metal locker, on its side. It was a khaki-green colour, and "A. Skov" was stamped in faded letters.
"Uncle Axle?" Baldr asked. Hael shrugged. Axle Skov, their "Uncle Axle," had died a month or so ago. Baldr shrugged back and opened the locker. It wasn't locked.

"Huh," was...more stuff, only unlike the stuff behind the glass doors it was all...just random?
"What's this?" Baldr struggled pulling something out, and Hael helped him.

"Bro..." Hael said in almost a hushed whisper.
"I think this is a bullet proof vest."

"Oh, that's cool," Baldr replied, studying it. It was a dark green. With worn and straps that frayed a bit. There was no name to identify the wearer, but there was a black and olive green patch on one of the shoulder straps. It was a Prydanian cross on a shield. In the top three quarters were the letters "FRE." In the bottom quarter was a stag's head with a cross, from the Prydanian coat of arms. The boys pulled the heavy vest out and dropped it on the floor. Then they pulled out two long...metal things. Neither knew how to describe them. They had a black metal-like shell, but it was also smoother than metal? Like a matte texture? Well save for what looked like slash marks on them.

"They're arm guards," Hael mentioned, as he examined the padding and straps hanging from them.
"Hmmm," he mused as he ran his fingers over them, feeling the cuts in the finish.
"What else is in there?"

"Just some clothes..." Baldr muttered. He pulled out a few black long-sleeved t-shirts, and a few pairs of military-grade pants. Some a dark khaki, some olive green, some camo pattered. And then a pair of black boots.
"It's just some clothes and stuff..." he said before pulling out a black backpack.

"Maybe we should leave this alone..." Hael said, but Baldr shook his head.

"Come on bro! This is far more fun then playing hide and seek with Hanna."

"But she's probably..."

"Probably thinks she has a good hiding place. Now what do you think is in this backpack? Treasure? Cool computer stuff?"

"More clothes?" Hael shrugged. Baldr rolled his eyes before unzipping it. The first thing he pulled out was a zipped up kit of some kind that, upon opening it, revealed a number of tools. Then another kit, this one was white with a red heart on it.

"First aid, probably," Hael said. Baldr unzipped it and yeah...a bunch of first aid stuff, but it was...old. Neither boy had seen bandage wrapping like that before. Baldr quickly set it aside, and fished around some more.

"Just a bunch of spare parts and tools...whoever this was liked to work on engines," Baldr muttered.

"Uncle Axle always had nice cars," Hael said. The locker had said "A. Skov" after all.

And then Baldr pulled out an envelope. It was white, but a bit yellowed, with some dirt on the corners. It had something written across it.

"To Tobias, our sunshine" it read, "love Mamma and Pabbi."

"Pabbi?" Baldr asked seeing their father's name.

"And Pabbi's pabbi and mamma," Hael added. The boys knew very little about their Grandpabbi Robert and Grandmamma Hanna. Only that their sister was named after their grandmamma and that they had died when their own father was very young. It had something to do with the War, but what that was, well...it was something of a vague mystery.

"Should we read it?" Baldr asked. Hael felt a rush of curiosity now, despite his misgivings. There was likely a letter in that envelope that may tell them something about their grandparents.

"Do it," Hael said, nodding. Baldr smiled mischievously, preparing to remove the letter inside from the envelope when a voice rained down from behind.

"What are you two doing?"

The twins turned around, and looked up with panicked stares.
"Maminka!" they both exclaimed in unison.

"What's that?" Alycia asked her sons, eyeing the envelope in Baldr's hand. She asked because that's what mothers do. She knew very well what that letter was.

"Um..." Baldr said with a gulp, only for his mother to reach down and take it from him. Both boys looked at each other, each wearing the look of an eleven year old caught red handed.

Alycia took the envelope in her hand. She remembered the first time she read this. And how she hugged Tobias all night, all of those years ago. She sighed and looked down.
"What are you doing here? In your father's office, going through his things?"

"We were..." Baldr stammered for words, before Hael blurted a confession out.

"We were playing hide and seek and we found out that Pabbi's office was open and..."

Alycia smiled, even as she looked down firmly.
"Hide and seek? So where's your sister?"

"We...haven't found her yet," Baldr said sheepishly. Alycia gave both boys a look at showed their mother was unimpressed before pulling out her phone and dialing a number.

"Yes Lord General, if you could find Hanna that would be wonderful. I'm sorry to have to bother you, but it seems her brothers have decided to abandon her in the middle of hide and seek."
Both boys looked down, looking very guilty.
"Yes, thank you Lord General," she said before hanging up and slipping the phone back into her pocket.

"Now," she continued.
"Why are you going through Pabbi's things?"

"We...just wanted to look around. It seemed cool," Hael said.
"And..."

"...we figured there would be really neat stuff back here," Baldr replied, finishing his twin brother's sentence.

Alycia smiled, and sat down next to the boys before the array of stuff left on the floor.
"These are all things from the Civil War your father kept."

"The War?" the two asked in unison. Alycia nodded, picking up one of the shirts. She smiled, thinking of fond memories when she first met her husband.

"Yes, the War," she repeated.

"So this was Pabbi's bullet proof vest?" Baldr asked excitedly.

"And he wore these?" Hael asked, just as excitedly as he held up one of the arm guards.
"Did he use these to..POW! Bash Syndicalists?"

Alycia began to chuckle as she picked up the various kits and spare parts from the backpack, slipping the envelope and letter back into it, before zipping it back up.
"Yes, that was his vest," she said, "and I don't think he ever used these to bash Syndicalists," she added, taking the arm guard away from Hael. She began to set everything in the locker.

"Can we ask him? Let's ask him!" Baldr nodded, but Alycia just shook her head, pivoting as she sat to face her sons.

"You really shouldn't ask your father about the Civil War."

"But..." both tried to protest, but Alycia shook her head.

"You boys are too young to understand."

"We're not little kids anymore though," Hael protested. Alycia smiled as her eleven year old son insisted he was no longer a child who needed to be sheltered from the world.

"I've always told you that your father would tell you all about the War when you were old enough. And I meant it. But it's not time yet."

"That letter, was from Grandpabbi and Grandmamma," Baldr said. Alycia nodded.

"That too, is for when you're old enough." Both boys just rolled their eyes and sighed, their shoulders slouching. Alycia saw that and smiled.

"You two, what will I do with you? You want to grow up so fast."

"We just wanna know about you and Pabbi's adventures," Baldr insisted.

"Já," Hael added.
"Tobias-Brice said he heard from his pabbi that Pabbi did a lot of great things in the War," he said, referring to his Santonian friend and playmate Tobias-Brice Höjsleth.

"You both need to understand that your Pabbi did a lot of these things, in a very hard time. It's not easy for him to talk about them."

"He talks about them with his friends," Baldr said, before Hael shot him a panicked look, as if Baldr had given up some secret. Alycia smiled at that, at the idea that her sons were ease-dropping on her husband and his friends. She didn't get mad though. Children were naturally curious.

"His friends lived it with him, they all help each other that way," Alycia said.
"But you two, and your sister," she added as she hugged both of her sons, "are so much more precious than any of that."

The two boys squirmed at first, before surrendering to hugs from their mother, both sitting before her and nodding.

"You two will be told everything when you're older, but it's unbecoming for a future King and Emperor to be going through their pabbi's private things," she said with a smile.

The two boys blushed but smirked and nodded again.
"Sorry Maminka," they said in unison.

Alycia finished packing the locker up, and closing it. Then she felt something. A twinge in her heart. Her boys looked so sad, to have upset their mother like this. So she reached for a picture on an adult eye level shelf. It was a shelf full of pictures of her husband with people like William Aubyn, Stig Eiderwig, Thomas Lasmartes, and Axle Skov. It wasn't any of those pictures she picked though. No, she picked another one. And sat back down with her sons.

"This is a picture, from before the Civil War. It's Pabbi, Grandpabbi Robert, and Grandmamma Hanna." She held the framed picture in both hands as she sat, both of her sons leaning forward on either side of her. At first they seemed a bit confused.

"Isn't that Pabbi?" Baldr asked.

"No," Alycia chuckled, "that's Grandpabbi Robert. Pabbi just looks a lot like him!" She pointed to the happy looking child.
"That's your Pabbi. Younger then you are now!"

"How old?" Hael asked.

"Oh I think six or so?" Alycia answered.
"This is the only picture your father has of himself, with your grandparents. There are others, in old records from newspapers and news shows, but this is the only actual picture your father has of all three of them."

Both Baldr and Hael looked on. Their grandpabbi and grandmamma were both sitting on a couch, dressed formally, with their father as a little kid, all dressed up too, sitting between them. Everyone was smiling. Baldr and Hael just took it in, some vision of the distant past of that bygone year of 2001. Thirty years ago. They didn't say anything. They just appreciated seeing something like this.

Alycia stood, and set the picture back to where it was.
"Come on boys, let's find Lord General Hummel and your sister." She led them out of the room, back into their father's office, with Alycia locking the room behind them.

"You won't tell Pabbi we were here?" Hael asked sheepishly, with Baldr looking on with a pleading gaze.

"Only if you two promise me two things," Alycia replied firmly. Both boys nodded.

"First," she said, "You never go into your father's office, or my office for that matter, without permission again." The boys nodded.
"Second," Alycia said, "you never abandon your sister like that. She loves you two, and you shouldn't ditch her. Do I make myself clear?"

Both boys looked at each other and then up at Alycia and gulped.
"Yes Maminka," they both said, nodding. They were terrified. Their mother could be very imposing when she was angry, or wanted to prove a point.

"Well then," Alycia said, still sounding stern before her mood changed to one that was very pleasant.
"I guess if I have your word we won't have to tell Pabbi...this time."

"Thank you!" both boys said in unison.

"Come on, we're going to find your sister," she said as her sons followed her, though they couldn't help but glance back at the closed door leading to their father's office. Like some sort of tantalizing revelation had eluded them. For now.

---

OOC Note: Post is approved by @Zyvun

March 12th 1998
Radoslava Imperial Palace
Kozaria

Paul entered his father's study with uncertain steps, there was something deeply unsettling about entering a room that until mere days earlier his father had practically lived in. Tsar Dragan was dead and buried in the cold earth, but his study, tailored as it was to the tastes and whims of its former inhabitant, seemed to retain some of the hated man’s presence. Paul advanced into the room as though his father might rise from the grave and appear at any moment.

His father's ornate red oak desk loomed at the end of the room, it was an imposing sight with countless intricate engravings running along its body, papers and books were strewn across its surface, many containing bookmarks for chapters that the owner would never resume. A half-full bottle of Rakiya rested in the corner of the desk, Paul reached for the bottle and poured himself a glass of the amber-colored liquor. He sipped the fragrant alcohol and savored the warmth as it burned down his gullet

His father had been a cruel man at the best of times but when he drank, a frequent occurrence, he became a violent terror. Paul bitterly remembered nights filled with fear and pain as his father had taken out drunken frustrations upon Paul and his mother with his fists. Had his father always been that way? If he had ever been any different Paul could not remember. A picture seemed to leer down at Paul from the study wall, the eyes of the painting disturbingly lifelike.

It was a portrait of Lev V, the man who had handed Kozaria over to fascists and sent thousands to their deaths all to satisfy his vainglorious ego. He should have hung from the gallows for his actions, instead, he had quietly abdicated in Favour of Paul’s father and died peacefully in his bed. The image reeked of unrepentant arrogance, Lev standing like a triumphant hero his military uniform covered in ornate decorations, none of which he had earned.

Lev had taught Dragan everything the late Tsar had known, imprinting his fascist beliefs and authoritarian tendencies upon an impressionable and ambitious young man. That vile and hate-filled man was the only side of his father that Paul had ever known, a power-hungry despot that cared only for his own enrichment. Perhaps that was why Paul had come to the study, hoping against hope to find some evidence that his father was not a total monster. If such had been his goal, then no such luck was to be had.

A book rested upon the table, its spine was worn and battered from multiple reads, the title in ominous gotic lettering read “Towards a true Ethnostate by Gaucheis Himdach”. Paul opened the book with a free hand, the chapter that was revealed was typical of the rantings that the deposed Gottian dictator had been known for. Calls for the removal of foreign faiths and breeding programs to secure the racial purity of the dominant people were unsubtly peppered on every page, it read like the babblings of an individual with a serious head injury.

Dragan had adored Himdach and Anders of Prydania for that matter, these infamous despots were as icons in a church to the would-be autocrat. The entire room was little more than a shrine to the pantheon of fascism and Paul had no desire to allow worship here to continue. He gazed up at Lev’s portrait and made it a point to have it along with everything in the room removed and burned. In the morning he would have this repugnant place stripped bare and blessed by a priest and then he would put it to better use.

“You were both bastards, I hope the wine in hell is warm!” Paul said bitterly as he gave a mock toast to the dead

He downed his Rakiya in a single practiced motion and then he reached for the book on the table and hurled it unceremoniously into the waste bin.

20 August 2040
11:42 am
On a Monday
Stormurholmr, Prydania

Stormurkastala was draped in banners. Some were the royal standard, others were the flag of Stormurholmr itself, crossed stag antlers on a crimson field. Others were the old viking banners of those that settled this island so many years ago. And others...other banners indicated what the occasion was. These flags were split, pairing the royal arms of the King of Prydania with imperial arms of the Empress of Norsia.
This was the personal banner of Baldr Loðbrók-Saitta, Crown Prince of Prydania and, as of eight o’clock this morning, Grand Thane of Stormurholmr. King Tobias III had finally decided that his oldest son and heir was ready to assume the mantle of Grand Thane. He had signed the letters patent earlier that day to make it official, but there was still this ceremony.

This ceremony…

Baldr sat in the main residential chambers of Stormurkastala. He'd been here plenty with his family as a child but...but...now...now it meant something different.
He was dressed in a formal uniform, a navy tunic with red and gold trim, little golden stags on the collar. And he was sitting down on the end of the bed wrecked with nerves. His foot tapped uncontrollably as the sound of his shoe echoed against the old stone floor.
An ornate viking-style cloak hung from a mannequin that had been brought in...but he wasn't ready to put it on. He was too deep in thought as his foot continued to tap against the stone floor.

“How's my love doing?” Laurence de Champagne asked as she entered the room, only to have her smile fade to concern seeing Baldr nervous like this.
“Oh, are you ok?”

Baldr looked up, smiling meekly as he forced his foot to stop tapping.
“Hey…” he said softly.
“I’m just really nervous.”

Laurence sat down by her boyfriend’s side and took his hand in her’s. Her father was the Duke of Champagne, one of the pre-eminent nobles in Saintonge. She was not a stranger to pomp. But neither was Baldr. Which is why she was worried for him. If he was nervous there must be something getting to him.
“If anything is on your mind, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

Baldr took her hand in her’s and nodded.
“This is a big deal…”

“There's always a big deal,” Laurence replied.
“If it's not an important dinner it's meeting someone who’s important for this or that...you and I have been through plenty of these things,” she said, trying to put Baldr at ease.

“This is different,” Baldr said softly.

“How so?” Laurence asked sweetly, squeezing his hand.

“All of that other stuff is just stuff that has to be done. But this is important because...because it means a lot to Pabbi.”

There it was.

Most people tended to misunderstand Baldr. They saw someone who was very confident, someone who was very sure of himself. Headstrong even.
Laurence had once felt that way about him at first. And had been hesitant to return his affections given his reputation of leaving broken hearts in his wake. He’d done what he could to win her over though, and win her trust. And he had succeeded. As a result Laurence got to see who the Crown Prince of Prydania really was. He was a sweet boy, headstrong yes, but a lot of that was to cover for one thing...he wanted to be good enough. A good enough Prince. A good enough son. He felt pressure being his father’s heir. And for the longest time being headstrong and assertive was his way to cover for those insecurities.
And right now he was trembling. So she squeezed his hand.

“You're going to do great out there,” she said with a smile.
“And your father’s going to be proud. He cares this much about this because he loves you. He’s excited for it, and for you.”

“I just...I’ll never be him.” He was still trembling. He'd never shared this with anyone. Not his mother or father, not his brother or sister, or his aunts, uncles, or cousins.

“Come here,” Laurence said softly, giving him a hug. She didn't care if she messed up his perfectly crisp tunic. And neither did he. Baldr hugged her back.

“You're the first Grand Thane of Stormurholmr in over sixty years…” she said softly.
“You're not your papa, you're you. And you're all mine,” she said with a grin as they faced each other before giving him a kiss.

“Já, I am,” Baldr replied with a smile, kissing her back before music began to play from the courtyard of Stormurkastala. It was the pageantry of the Prydanian royal family. Baldr had heard it countless times. And he knew what it meant.
“Pabbi and Maminka are here…”

The two reluctantly let go of each other, Baldr breathing deep to calm his nerves. He knew what was happening. His father and mother were arriving on the stage set up in the castle’s courtyard for the occasion. He would be expected to come out next...and indeed there was a knock. A uniformed Knight of the Storm entered.
“It's nearly time, Your Highness.”

Baldr nodded, the door closing again as the Knight left. Baldr had time. There would be a short ceremony before he was called.

“Let me get you ready,” Laurence said, as she took the intricate and finely woven cloak and draped it over her boyfriend’s shoulders. She straightened it and snapped the clasp- a golden depiction of a stag’s head centred in a sun disc- closed.
“There...look at how handsome you are,” she said softly, leading him by the hand to a mirror.

Baldr smiled, seeing his reflection, still feeling his heart race.
“Thank you,” he said softly. He meant it. He loved her. And though she didn't wipe away all of his doubts...he knew that the ones that were still there could be conquered with her.

---

Tobias absent-mindedly ran his fingers over Jægerblað, sheathed at his side. The sword was temporarily removed from its place in Vortgyn I’s sarcophagus for the occasion. He was dressed in royal regalia, wearing his sword and crown for one of the very rare occasions that called for both to be worn. His other hand held Alycia’s, herself dressed in regalia befitting a Queen of Prydania.

The two entered the courtyard of Stormurkastala, flanked by Prince Hael and Princess Hanna, Knights of the Storm, and bannermen. The band played the pageantry, but Tobias’ eyes couldn't help but look around. He'd spent so much time here in his younger years. It was a semi-secured refuge from the harshness of the Civil War as a child...and now his son. His son…he grinned.

“Are you ok?” Alycia asked softly as they got the raised platform containing a podium and three thrones.

“Já,” Tobias smiled.
“I’m just thinking happy thoughts.”
He'd wanted to say more but there were cameras from RÚV and a dozen other outlets on them, and there was a ceremony to get onto. He didn't have the time for a long conversation with his wife.

The Royal family ascended to the top of the stage, where the Provincial Minister of Stormurholmr was waiting. He had with him the letters patent that Tobias had signed that morning elevating Baldr to the position of Grand Thane. Tobias and Alycia shook the Minister’s hand before taking their seats in the two ornate hand-carved oaken thrones, as Hael and Hanna took their seats off to the side. The throne to Tobias’ right- less ornate- was empty.
The Royal Household’s Steward, who had followed them to the stage, nodded as Tobias waved him over and whispered something to him. The Steward nodded, and gave the signal. The Knights of the Storm were told to collect Prince Baldr…

---

Laurence was not a member of the Royal household, so she sat with her mother and father among the honoured foreign dignitaries.

“Is he nervous?” Duke Thibault asked his daughter.

“He's going to be just fine, papa,” Laurence replied with a smile. The Duke grinned. He would tease her further about her boyfriend, but it would have to come later. The ceremony had started.

Baldr emerged from Stormurkastala’s main tower, music playing as the various flags fluttered from the castle. He moved at a normal pace but it felt...it felt like...like his legs were made of lead. He knew what to do when he reached the top of the stage though. He dropped to one knee...and for a brief moment he looked up at his father.

Tobias felt his heart flutter, seeing his son. He looked...so vulnerable. He smiled softly and nodded encouragingly. This elicited a smile from Baldr, who bowed his head.

The Provincial Minister for Stormurholmr read the letters patent as Baldr knelt.
“In the name of His Majesty Tobias, third of his name and Her Majesty Alycia, first of her name, of the House of Loðbrók-Saitta, by the Grace of God King and Queen of Prydania, Lord and Lady Protector of Austurland, Marshals of Býkonsviði, Lord and Lady Uniter, Defenders of the Faith, Stormlord and Stormlady of Prydania and Swords of Jægdar...Baldr Loðbrók-Saitta shall receive the title, style, honour and privilege of the Grand Thanedom of Stormurholmr. By Their Majesties’ command.”

The Provincial Minister stepped aside as four Knights of the Storm brought a girdle, sword, ring, and Grand Thane’s crown onto the stage. Tobias rose, saying nothing as he took the girdle and motioned with a hand for Baldr to rise.

Baldr had knelt through all of this so far...but his father’s smile just before he bowed his head had put his heart at ease. It just seemed...to match what Laurence had said.

And so he stood as his father fasted an ornate belt around his waist. Next, a sword, styled after the one the previous Grand Thane, Baldr’s Great Uncle Baldr, had been invested with, was secured to the girdle. Tobias then slipped a ring bearing the crossed antlers of Stormurholmr onto his son’s right ring finger before placing the Grand Thane’s crown on his head.

Baldr had gone over what would happen countless times before today, but he was still incredibly nervous. Hoping he wouldn't fall or trip before his father. Little did he know how nervous Tobias was- he was equally unfamiliar with this sort of thing.

“There,” Tobias said softly.
“You did wonderfully.”

Baldr smiled back. He wanted to hug his father but the ceremony wasn't over, and he had memorized this next bit.

“I, Baldr, Grand Thane of Stormurholmr, do become your liege man of life and limb and of Eras worship, and faith and truth I will bear unto thee, to live and die against all manner of folks.”

He said it with his head up but eyes downcast. It was an ancient oath, symbolizing the role the Thanes played in the defence of the realm. He then kissed his father on the cheek, a traditional symbol of feudal deference. And when that was done...he hugged his father, squeezing a bit more tightly than the ceremony required. Tobias smiled, sitting back in his throne, as Baldr sat in the empty throne to his father’s right. After a few moments he stood, and his heart began to race again. He approached the podium in his regalia, and began to give a speech.

“I have been expecting this day,” he said, “before I even knew I was supposed to.” He spoke very calmly, though that was for show. Forcing himself to keep his voice steady helped keep his nerves from getting out of control.
“People have been, since the day I was born, talking about how I would be the first Grand Thane of Stormurholmr in decades. I never had any idea what that meant for the longest time, until my father explained it to me, and even then I didn’t fully appreciate what it meant. I want to be able to say I do now, but I still have a lot to learn.”
He paused and scanned out. The cameras on him, the crowd...he saw Laurence, and he smiled.

“I have a lot to live up to. I have to live up to my family and make this position mean something again. I have to live up to the people of Stormurholmr, and be a Grand Thane that they are proud of. I promise I will do my best for both. This is the spring that the Prydanian nation came from, and I will do my best to honour its legacy, finally revived and fully invested once again. I am humbled to be entrusted with the titles that have meant so much to this place, and I hope to be worthy of their legacy.”

He returned to the chair next to his father, feeling very unsure. It was a brief speech, but it was how he felt. He was unsure...uncertain. And just hoping that he could meet the expectations placed upon him.
He always had those as a Prince, but they were easy to ignore or brush aside but...he'd changed. For Laurence. And this was the apex of that, of taking everything more seriously. This was his first real taste of people expecting something of him.

Tobias and Alycia both looked over at him as he sat. The Archbishop of Erkiengill and the Archdeacon of Prydania’s Thaunic community lead a joint prayer session. Their ceremony afforded Baldr a moment of pseudo-privacy, even with all the eyes on them.
He looked to his parents and smiled meekly as Tobias and Alycia smiled back, and then he turned to see his brother and sister. Both gave him smiles as well, with Hanna nodding slightly to encourage him.

The brief joint religious service ended and Baldr stood. There was one final piece left to this ceremony. He walked down off the stage with his parents, standing between them. As co-sovereigns they would formally introduce him to his Grand Thanedom. In olden days it would be where the lesser nobles and prominent tradesmen and craftsmen of Stormurholmr would pay homage to the new Grand Thane. Today it was merely a nice moment to address the crowds outside of Stormurkastala.

“I’m sorry my speech was so short,” Baldr said softly as he walked with his parents.

“It was just right,” Alycia said encouragingly as she wrapped an arm around her son to embrace him as they walked.

“I liked it,” Tobias said cheerfully.
“It was earnest.”

“It wasn't as good as your speeches, pabbi,” Baldr said softly. Tobias looked over at his son. Confidence had never been in short supply for Baldr but this whole investiture business...it had left him seemingly very unsure of himself. Tobias had tried to figure out why, why as they got closer to this date Baldr had grown more uncertain in his attitude...and just now it hit him.

He never thought Baldr would have this problem. He was raised as the son of a King. It was in stark contrast to Tobias’ own upbringing but in this moment he recognized the look of nervousness and doubt on his son's face. It was the doubt he felt on the day of his coronation, all of those years ago.

“You know,” Tobias said to his son in a hushed voice, “I didn't know what I was doing when they first put a crown on me. I still don't.”

Baldr looked over at his father, shocked. His father...who always carried himself so well in official functions…
“But you…”

“All I do is try to do my best. Like you said. So you're on the right track. Now behind those doors will be people and they will be very happy to see you. Just be kind.”

Baldr nodded, repeating his father’s advice in his head. And suddenly the doors to Stormurkastala opened. Tobias and Alycia passed through them first, followed by Baldr. There was a crowd waiting, people happily waving Stormurholmr flags and old viking banners...it had been fifty-six years since Stormurholmr had a Grand Thane, and the people of the island were excited for the occasion. The role was an ingrained part of their identity as islanders.

Tobias stepped forward.
“People of Stormurholmr! I give you, your Grand Thane!” Tobias then stepped aside, to stand with his wife, as his son stepped forward.

Baldr had, since high school, come to understand just what his father meant to his country. Hael had been the one to excitedly absorb it all but Baldr had taken it in too. He’d seen old footage of his father speaking to beleaguered people looking for hope during the Civil War. How those crowds took to him.

And Baldr knew he could never be that. It caused him to think he wasn't good enough...he'd put up fronts to try and hide it...but those had fallen. But now...now he knew his father never felt as sure of himself as he assumed he had been. If he still felt that way, even now, then surely Baldr could live up to that ideal…

He waved to the crowd, under the banners, and under the blue August sky of the Auburn Strait.

---

20 August 2040
8:28 pm
On a Monday
Stormurholmr, Prydania

The rest of the day had been an event. Pictures, a banquet...but finally the pomp had ended. Truth was it wasn't so bad. Baldr could be with Laurence again once the banquet began. Their relationship wasn't a secret, and so they were free to be together for that.

And then Tobias and Alycia, and his siblings, had left. They were going to Luscova back in Norisa, and were giving Baldr a few weeks to take up residence in Stormurkastala before he had to return to Býkonsviði for his third year of university. And Laurence would return to Saintes for her studies. But right now… they had this place, this beautiful island castle, to themselves.

“It's really pretty here,” Laurence said, looking out into the channel. The Prydanian mainland could be seen out there in the distance, and the way the setting sun danced off of the water and the city that the castle was sitting amongst was truly picturesque.

“I guess…” Baldr began, standing beside her, “this is where I’ll be.”

Laurence nodded. She understood what he meant. Her father was a Duke, the Santonian equivalent of a Thane. The titles were more symbolic than anything in both countries but her father took his role as Duke of Champagne seriously. Doing what he could to invest and help his Dukedom. And now as Grand Thane...that would be Baldr’s duty here.

“It's not a bad place to be at all,” Laurence remarked.
“The sea is beautiful and the town is lovely. I think we should spend the next few weeks exploring the rest of the islands and get to know every inch of them.”

Baldr smiled. Marriage was a big concept. One Baldr was hesitant to think of because...so much was changing around him. He'd be twenty in less than a month. If anything symbolized that he was no longer a kid anymore it wasn't a fancy ceremony. It was leaving his teens behind.

But he couldn't shake the idea of marriage entirely. Laurence wanting to be with him, here, warmed his heart. Of course he'd still make his way to Býkonsviði and Luscova, and Saintonge and Predice...but his duty was here. In Stormurholmr. Marriage as an idea wasn't so scary to consider if Laurence would be there with him for it.

“I think we should,” Baldr said, agreeing to Laurence’s plan to explore his new Grand Thanedom.
“We can find all the best spots to escape to when we need a break from the family stuff,” he added.

Laurence giggled and held him, leaning against him as they both looked out onto the water.
“Are you feeling better? You were so nervous today. More nervous than when you promised me you'd be a faithful boyfriend years ago,” she said with a smile.

“Já,” Baldr nodded.
“I was just getting caught up in my own head.”

“There's nothing wrong with that,” Laurence replied, swaying with him.

“I love you,” Baldr said softly.

“I love you too,” Laurence replied.

Baldr gently put his arms over her’s, and pulled her close. Being with her...it made the whole day...all of it...better.

OOC Notes: Post approved by @Kyle and @Zyvun

20:55 (8:55 pm)
Tourisdai (Thursday)
Somewhere near Kardenccia, confidential royal location
12-08-2021​

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---

---

At the exact time
Tourisdai (Thursday)
In Olmongeter, unknow location
12-08-2021​

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To be continued...​

1998
Eistadt
Hessunland

Sebastian Volger stared out the window at the morning snowfall, he had always liked winter, there was a soothing quality about the world at this time of year, life is quite literally frozen in place. Unlike the land, however, Sebastian would not return to animation when summer arrived, his days of adventure were long gone.
He had never intended to retire to Hessunland, back in his army days the dream had always been a villa in the Faishah isles or maybe a chateau in Saintonge. But then life seldom worked out the way people imagined, the Gotmark war had driven Volger into the arms of criminality and then years later OSU had offered him a chance to escape. He had taken it, but the price had been spending the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.

He often found his thoughts drifting back to that fateful day in 1984, the day he had abandoned his former master. Hermann Von Klaw had been infamous even before he became an arms dealer, his time with Gottian military intelligence proving a nightmare for resistance groups. That was how Volger had met his mentor, the two had formed an inseparable bond in those hardscrabble days in Frisia and when Gottia began to fall apart it was Von Klaw that offered Volger a future.

Von Klaw had a knack for finding talent and utilizing it, he had soon expanded his organization to almost every continent on Eras. Arms had soon found their way into the hands of anyone with money to pay for them, rebels, dictators, and drug cartels it mattered not who they were or why they needed them only that they could afford it. Volger had cared little in those days, he had been too busy satisfying his every desire to think on the morality of his actions.

Small arms deals had not required a great deal of mental flexibility to justify, Volger and his master were simply businessmen supplying what the market demanded, besides their clients would have simply purchased them from another source if not the Klaw syndicate. Better in Volger’s mind that he got rich than someone else, morality be damned, but then Klaw had started to show ambitions beyond simple arms dealing.

Simple gunrunning had ceased to hold the same thrill for von Klaw by the mid-’80s, he didn’t want to participate in the market anymore, he wanted to control its strings. Von Klaw had formed an alliance with Kurt Ventur Snr and the two men had set about formulating a plot to set the continent of Iteria alight with the fires of war. They had very nearly succeeded, that was until the OSU had gotten involved.

They had sent one man, Axle Skov, to Iteria and that one man had succeeded in toppling the entire operation. Deep in the Iterian desert, Skov had intercepted the two arms dealers before they had completed their scheme to spread nuclear fire across south iteria, the two men had instead burned in the fires of the explosion that had claimed their lair. But how had Skov known to find them there?

Volger had never been a particularly moral soul, he was good at explaining away the endless ethical compromises he had made in order to enrich himself. But where small arms had been easy to reconcile himself to, nuclear war seemed far more indefensible. Volger had caved, terrified by the mad gleam in Von Klaw’s eyes when the man plotted with Ventur, they were willing to kill millions for the sake of business and warped ambition. Even Volger, immoral as he was, had limits to what he was prepared to do, nuclear annihilation was one such red line.

Volger had turned informant, feeding the OSU and Astragonese intelligence with information on Ventur and Klaw’s plans. In return for his treachery, he had been on a plane traveling far from Iteria when his master had met his end. He had left south Iteria on a flight to Kartheid with a new identity and a generously padded account, courtesy of his benefactors in the OSU. He had traveled for a time, but always the nagging fear had been there at the edge of his mind, what if someone from Klaw’s syndicate had survived? Would they come looking for him?

Eventually, the fear had been too great to bear, he had fled here to Eisenstadt and chosen a life of voluntary seclusion. The house was hours from Naesserhafen, far down the coast and isolated from the wider world by months of snow and coastal storms. Here flanked by the endless forests of northern Hessunland on one side and the Icey dark of the Naesser sea on the other, Volger had hoped that if he could not escape the past then at very least, he could conceal himself from it.

“You always talked about leaving Hessunland and yet here you are, are there any ideas you have not betrayed” a sinister voice called out from the darkness

Volger felt the blood drain from his face as he recognized the slow and deliberate tone and the unmistakable accent, aristocratic with a sharp edge. But it couldn’t be? Surely it was just a delusion of a mind too long in isolation, Hermann Von Klaw had died in Iteria some 14 years ago, dead men didn’t just materialize in a man's home. He turned hoping, praying, that he would see nothing but the unlit dark of his living room. A shadowy figure greeted his sight, his heart began to pound.

“Hello Sebastian” Von Klaw said coldly as he leaned forward to reveal his face

His hair had turned grey since the last time they had seen one another and his manic grin had been replaced by a humorless, chilling expression. His eyes were the same though, always displaying the same piercing expression, as though that withering stare could strip away a man's flesh and reveal the quivering contents of his innermost soul.

“I saw you....” Volger began in a fearful voice only to let the words trail off

“You saw a silo explode,” Von Klaw said leaning forward to reveal a prosthetic hand that resembled a literal claw

“The OSU should have been more thorough, they may have killed a scheme that took years to plan and prepare, but I am still very much alive,” Von Klaw said a mirthless grin crossing his features, it was more terrifying than anything Volger had ever seen, like a shark learing at its next meal

“So, what happens now?” Volger asked already knowing the answer

“Do you remember what I taught you in the jungles of Itlaakan?” Von Klaw asked gently before rising from his seat

They had been ferrying arms to rebels on both sides in those days, using the villagers as intermediaries to conceal and move the precious armaments. When the government had begun to close in on their operation, Von Klaw had gathered the villagers into the square and with a wave of his hand ordered his men to kill everyone. Bodies had soon lain in bloody mounds as the huts were set ablaze. Volger had been horrified, he had been unable to suppress his need for answers then.

“Why?” he had asked Von Klaw as they stood amongst the fire and slaughter

“We do not leave loose ends” Von Klaw had said coldly before walking away

Volger swallowed and looked down to see that his hands were shaking uncontrollably, Von Klaw strode over to him and with a single practiced movement, slashed his throat open with the claw like prosthesis. Volger fell back, a spray of arterial blood darkened the wool carpet with crimson as he spasmed and choked. Von Klaw watched the final death throes of his erstwhile lieutenant before turning to leave.

The police would not find the body for weeks to come and suspicion would be minimal, no one would suspect a dead man. Von Klaw smiled briefly, a malevolent gesture that had no joy or warmth in its expression, he was one step closer to his return to power. More would need to be done first, but with Volger gone, it was one less loose end. One day he would do the same to Axle Skov, but for now he would content himself to watch from the shadows.

11:20 (11:20 am)
Fretusdai (Friday)
Somewhere in Tardine's coast, royal plane OZ-AL1120
13-08-2021

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14:50 (2:50 pm)
Middusdai (Wednesday)
Merion Histo Royal Hospital, Kardenccia
29-09-2021

Click to expand...

To be continued...​

4 June 2039
11:42 am
On a Saturday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

“Your father would like to see you all, in the study.”

I was a bit taken aback as I stood there in the entrance hall of Absalonhöll with my brother and sister, by the statues of St. Kaldor, St. Vortgyn, and St. Tobias.

“He can’t meet us here?” Hanna asked, wearing a grey volleyball team shirt that bore the logo of the school in Saintonge Hael and I attended in high school. She was going there now, and probably enjoyed not having her older brothers there. I couldn’t help but agree with her though, and looked at Lord General Hummel inquisitively, but he shrugged.

“He just stressed it was urgent.”

“Is everything ok?” Hael asked, sounding worried.

“Já,” Lord General Hummel replied.
“As far as I know. He just wants to speak with you all as soon as possible.”

“Then let’s go,” I said, nodding and taking off towards the main study of our Prydanian home. It’s a big bro thing, to just take charge. I couldn’t help but think though, what could this be about? It was the first summer Hael and I had since going to university. We had gone to high school in Saintonge but Maminka and Pabbi insisted Hael study in Luscova and I study here in Býkonsviði. So we could know the realms we were going to reign in.

“What do you think Pabbi wants?” I heard Hanna ask Hael.

“I donno, maybe something about Midsummer?”

That made sense. Midsummer was later this month and Pabbi and Maminka would be touring Austurland for it like they did every year. But we always just tagged along. Maybe we were going to play a bigger part in the ceremony? I really hoped not.
I stayed quiet though, as Hanna and Hael speculated on our father’s request. The truth was I was nervous. Our Pabbi was loving, gentle, and some might say smothering! I’d always bristled under that, like most teenagers would, but I found myself missing him and Maminka. Even if I was close by in Býkonsviði.

The point is that I expected him to meet us there with hugs, not send the Lord General of the Knights of the Storm to fetch us. It must be serious. And while Hanna and Hael speculated I could only sigh. If it was serious it wasn't likely to be something pleasant. More duties or something.

The main study in Absalonhöll is always very cozy. The wooden panels and fixtures and warm colours help set that mood. And we saw Maminka and Pabbi sitting down on a couch in the centre of the room. They didn't stand. My Pabbi...he looked nervous. Uncomfortable. And I glanced at my brother and sister, looking worried.

The first real, solidified memory I have of my Pabbi came when I was six. I know I was six. I know it because it was at the opening of the Alþingi after the 2026 elections, which would have made Hael and I six.

Of course I have earlier memories of him, but that one...on that day...it just stuck with me, you know? Everything before that is kind of hazy.
I was in the balcony of the Alþingi chamber, with Hael and Hanna, Uncle Colart and Lord General Hummel, and Maminka. And looking down into the chamber...was Pabbi, in full dress uniform, his golden antler crown poking out from his blond hair, and our family’s sword at his hip. It was the first time I saw my Pabbi as a King, or at least what I thought a King was at that young age.
What he was saying didn't register with me at the time, but I saw him, in full regalia, receiving a full applause from the Alþingi members.

I remember...heh, this is embarrassing...I remember seeing him later that day dressed in a football shirt and jeans and being so confused.
“Pabbi!” I said with the urgency of a six year old.
“Why aren't you dressed like the King?”

And he just laughed and explained to me that he only wore that stuff on very special occasions.

I understood...but it was also the first time I began to realize the distinction between my Pabbi’s legacy and him as a person.
I would grow up watching him meet people, regular people, a lot of who...excuse me...whom would be in tears to meet him. He was a hero to them. Because of the War.

I didn't know much about the War for the longest time. Maminka told us to never question Pabbi about it. We'd spy on him and his friends, we’d gather bits and pieces. It was hard not to. To this day being called a “syndicalist” in Prydania pretty much means “bastard.” But what it all meant, well...it was beyond us.

That didn't last forever though. Eventually school would begin to teach us about what happened to our country. And the role our Pabbi played in it.
It was an enlightening experience, going to high school with my brother in Saintonge. We stayed with our uncles, the Kings of Saintonge, and our cousins. We learnt about the Prydanian Civil War in school. We heard from our uncles about how they watched it from afar, and how they reached out to their cousin- our Pabbi- as soon as they could, knowing what he'd been through. And Uncle Vittorio across the lake in Predice would show us his impeccably maintained records of FRE reports he'd collected during the War.

And then there was Pabbi himself. He opened up to us about his experiences. He told us to pay attention to our teachers because they could teach us things he couldn't, but also that he could tell us things they couldn't. He wanted us to know, so we could appreciate what had happened to our country. And avoid the mistakes he and his generation had to pay for.

My Pabbi, always happy and kind and sweet, and já, even smothering at times, became very serious. Very sad. Very emotional as he told us about what he'd seen and experienced in the War. And I saw that look, that powerful wave of emotion consuming him, as I saw him waiting for us.

“Your Majesties,” Lord General Hummel announced.
“Your children.”

“Thank you Laudris,” Maminka said softly with a smile. She was holding Pabbi’s hand. And he was looking down. He seemed troubled. And that's when I decided to say something.

“Pabbi, is everything ok?”

“Já,” he said softly as Maminka brought us all in to sit down on the couch opposite the one she and Pabbi were sitting on.

“I don't know how to say this,” Pabbi began as he looked at us. I saw a look in him I’d seen before. When he'd fight the urge to cry.

“Pabbi,” Hanna said softly, “something’s not ok.”

“Everything’s fine,” Maminka said gently.
“But it's time your father told you all something.”

He looked at me. I saw it. I saw it in his eyes when my Pabbi looked at me for a split second.

Krista. Pabbi had told me about her three years ago. I had no idea if he'd told Hael or Hanna about it since...but Pabbi had been sad back then, but not this troubled. What's going on?

Pabbi looked at Maminka, who squeezed his hand reassuringly as he nodded and looked at us.

“I was in love before your mother,” he said, and I knew it. Krista! But he was explaining it like he hadn't told me before, so that must mean Hael and Hanna didn't know. So I kept my knowledge a secret, sitting between my brother and sister awkwardly.

“No way,” Hanna remarked. She wasn't that much older than I was when Pabbi told me, and já that was my response too.

Pabbi nodded.
“Her name was Krista Brink. She was the daughter of an FRE commander and she and I grew up with each other during the War.”

“You know Maminka?” Hanna asked. I couldn't help but smile a bit. I asked the same question.

“Yes,” Maminka answered.
“And you’re going to want to pay attention.”

I looked over at Hael. He was just quiet. Watching our parents. I knew that look. He was listening. Learning.

“She died,” Pabbi said softly.
“She stepped on a landmine during the War, and died.”

We all sat there in silence. I didn't say anything, not wanting to say I knew this all. If Pabbi wanted Hael and Hanna to know he told me this before he would have said it.

And then...then Pabbi took a deep breath.

“Back when you were all young, Uncle Axle died.”

This was new. And I was suddenly listening intently with my brother and sister. I never knew Uncle Axle had anything to do with this.

“I visited him on his deathbed, to say goodbye to him, and thank him for everything he did for me,” Pabbi said softly. I could see him shaking. My father was shaking. He only got like this when he was recalling the very worst of the War. And he gasped softly, holding back a cry. Maminka gently stroked his shoulder, and he looked back up at us.

“Axle told me…” he paused.
“He said…”

I looked over at Hael and then Hanna. They were both listening intently. And so was I. Pabbi couldn't get the words out.

“I…” he took another deep breath.

“Love...it's ok…” Maminka said to him, and I saw Pabbi look at her. He smiled and nodded as she held his hand reassuringly. Pabbi looked at us again.

“Axle told me Krista was pregnant when she died.”

He breathed deep afterwards, and trembled again. The words hung in the usually cozy study like a heavy rain. All of us were unsure what to say. And I couldn't even look to either side, I was too shocked.

I knew about Krista. I had for three years. I didn't know this though. And if Pabbi found out about this when Uncle Axle died then he knew when he told me about Krista and didn't tell me…

“I…” Pabbi said softly, before pausing for a brief moment.
“Baldr, Hael, Hanna...you all have an older sibling,” he said as he looked down. This man...my Pabbi...he was...he was on the verge of tears.

“You have an older sibling,” he repeated.
“And they never got to see the world. The War took them from me.”

We all sat there. None of us looked at each other. I don't know what my brother or sister were thinking but I was...I...I just looked down. I couldn't make sense of my emotions at first.

Was I angry that Pabbi had kept this from me when he told me about Krista?
Was I disappointed that Pabbi had kept this from all of us?
Was I sad...sad about a life taken before it was ready to see the world?

And...and that last one was it. This child...was my older brother or sister. I looked up and Hanna stood and hugged our father. I looked over at Hael, who was as stunned as I was. I could always tell what Hael was thinking better than Hanna. We both stood and…

My throat was full. Like I couldn't talk. And my heart raced. And I just...we both hugged our father and sister. We both did, and we both cried.

I cried because I would never know my older sibling...I cried because I could feel my Pabbi’s pain. I don't know how long we stood hugging, or when Maminka joined us...but we all stood there embracing each other. We were quiet for a moment, after the tears receded.

“I’m so sorry Pabbi…” Hael said softly. We all squeezed tight again and then, slowly, we all let go.

“Thank you…” Pabbi said, taking his seat again as he leaned on his elbows.

“I...I never told you before because it was hard for me to handle. How could I expect my young children to handle it?”

“We could have, Pabbi,” Hael said as we all sat back down.

“Maybe…” Pabbi said softly.
“But I had to know. And I’m so proud of all of you,” he said with a soft smile. The first smile we’d seen from him today.

I sat there, and I found myself lost in thought. If I had an older brother or sister…

And Pabbi seemed to read my mind.

“I told you all because I’m proud of who you've all grown up to be.”

I didn't look at Baldr and Hael, but if they felt like I did their hearts would have been in their throats.

“And now you know,” Pabbi said, with his head hanging.
“The only thing I ask is that you all…”

I felt the pain my pabbi felt and wanted to hug him again, but he gulped and continued.

“...say a prayer for your sibling every now and then.”

“Of course, Pabbi,” Hanna said as Hael and I nodded.
We both wanted to be there for him, I just knew that.

“I’m sorry,” Pabbi said softly.
“That I've gotten our summer off to such a sad start,” he said, smiling very softly again.

“You didn't,” Hael said quietly.
“You...you just told us…”

“...about someone very important,” I added, finishing his sentence as we would sometimes do.

Maminka grinned, taking Pabbi by the hand again as they stood. We all stood too.

“We should all get lunch,” she said.
“Why don't you all head out to the spot, overlooking the river. We'll be with you shortly.”

I hugged my Pabbi after my brother and sister, squeezing him tight.
I couldn't...I just couldn't understand what he might be feeling. But I knew what I felt. And I knew how he needed me. Needed us.

“I’ll say a prayer,” I said softly as I hugged him.

“Thank you.”

I let my Pabbi go, leaving the study with my brother and sister, seeing my Maminka and Pabbi speaking quietly between them.

“So…” Hael began.
“What…”

“Do we do?” I added, finishing his thought.

“When you two do that…” Hanna shivered, but Hael just laughed.

“Baldr’s right,” he said.
“What do we do?”

“We should go to her grave,” Hanna replied. Hael and I looked at each other.

“Krista’s?” I asked.

“Já,” Hanna nodded.

“Don't you remember, when we were little? Shortly after Uncle Axle died and we went to that cemetery?”

“In Hafragil,” Hael replied.

“How do you remember that?” I asked. I remembered it...but only very vaguely.

“I...I just did. I remember Pabbi being really sad. Like he is now.”

“So it's Krista’s grave?” I asked.

“The timeline checks out,” Hanna said.
“We should go and visit her. And our brother or sister.”

I nodded. Hanna was usually very outgoing. But she, like everyone else today, was so sad.

“Já,” Hael and I said together, resolved. Resolved to pay respects to our Pabbi’s first love. And our older sibling. We’d let them know their brothers and sister loved them.

OOC Note: A huge thanks to @Kyle , @Predice , and @Zyvun for inspiring various parts of this.

28 October 2019
4:03 pm
On a Monday
Haland, Prydania

It was a typical Auburn Coast Octorber day. Grey skies, some rain and wind. Not cold enough that you needed anything more than a jacket or sweater, but definitely a sign that winter was close. Right now, though, the rain had passed. Leaving puddles here and there.

Lúkas Lavik walked along the ports of Haland, backpack in tow, as he smiled looking the paper mâché werewolf make he'd made at school.
The seven year old was conscious to not get in anyone's way though, staying to the walkways close to the buildings and not drifting too close to the docks where dockhands worked.
He also smiled after tucking the mask under his arm, as he hopped to and from to avoid the cracks in the pavement.

Eventually he saw it, his pabbi's dark blue truck, parked outside a building that had a sign that read "Auburnrás Jarðolía*," with Prydanian, Norsian, and Santonian flags fluttering on flagpoles outside.

Lúkas pulled up the sleeve on his denim jacket, revealing an elastic bracelet that had two keys dangling from it. He took the one with the faded Midland Motors logo and unlocked the truck, tossing his backpack into the backseat and heading in after it...

---

Frank Lavik adjusted his cap as he left the Auburnrás Jarðolía building. A gust of wind blew through and he nodded to himself.
Frank was an electrician by trade. And Auburn Channel Petroleum company operated under the condition that their Prydanian facilities use as many local contracts as possible.
Frank had just finished a maintenance job on the new building. His last job of the day because of an appointment...

He approached his truck when suddenly a little head wearing a werewolf mask poked out of the open middle back window.

"RAR!" the little werewolf growled. Frank smiled, tossing his toolbox in the back before taking his son's mask off and ruffling his hair.

"What's this, buddy?" he asked, looking at the mask.

"We made them in school, pabbi!" Lúkas said with a nod.
"For All Hallow's Eve! Do you like mine?" he asked with wide blue eyes, fishing for his father's approval. Frank chuckled and looked it over.

"It's very scary," Frank said with a nod, causing his son to beam happily.
"School is going good?" he asked.

"Já," Lúkas nodded eagerly.
"We're having a spelling bee this Friday!"

"A spelling bee, huh?" Frank asked, giving his son his mask back as he talked to him through the truck's back window.
"You're going to study for it?"

"Yes pabbi," Lúkas said seriously with a nod.

"Good boy," Frank smiled.
"Now I have to go do just one more thing inside and than we're off to the doctor's. So wait tight, ok?"

Lúkas' pleasant mood soured hearing that.
"Do we haaaavvvee toooo?" he asked, but Frank nodded.

"Já, you need to get this shot. It'll keep you healthy."

"But..." Lúkas shivered.
"I'm scared of needles..." he said very softly, embarrassed to say something like that to his father. Frank smiled and nodded.

"I know buddy, but they're just a little prick. Plus don't you want to be able to come home and show your mamma and litli bróðir* how brave you were?"

Lúkas nodded meekly and Frank grinned.
"That's my guy," he said, getting his son to smile wider.
"Now I'll be right back. Don't drive off without me," he chuckled.

"I won't pabbi," Lúkas laughed as he high-fived his father.

Frank headed back into the Auburnrás Jarðolía offices to log his work for the day with the head of maintenance, before returning to take his son to the doctor's.

---

St. Kaldor's Hospital served as both the largest hospital in Haland and the centre of the local university's medical school. Technical aid from Saintonge had helped the hospital and medial school get back on its feet after the War.

Frank led Lúkas in, who insisted on wearing his werewolf mask.

"It's a good thing it's St. Kaldor's and not St. Vortgyn's, otherwise you couldn't come in with a werewolf mask," Frank teased.

"Really?" Lúkas asked, his voice somewhat muffled by the mask.

"St. Vortgyn is the Saint of killing werewolves," Frank winked.
"But it's ok...you're going to do fine."

Lúkas nodded, happily that the mask hid his unsure face.

Frank led his son to the pediatric wing of the hospital, checking in at the desk before waiting with him in the waiting room.

"What does the shot do, pabbi?" Lúkas asked, his voice still muffled by the mask.

"Well..." Frank began. He knew what a vaccine was, but he wasn't a doctor. So he had to think for a moment in terms that were accurate and that his seven year old son would understand.

"You're going to get two shots. And they're going to give you medicine that will keep you from getting sick. You've had some before."
Indeed, Lúkas was five when the Civil War ended. He was given a few shots back then, when medical aid first arrived.

"They hurt," Lúkas muttered under his mask.

"Já but you're a big boy now. You can handle two more, já?"

Lúkas nodded, still thankful his mask kept his scared and unsure face hidden.
"But don't we have medicine if I get sick?" he asked.

"Já, but why wait for you to get sick when just a few pricks with a needle will keep you from getting sick?" Frank explained.

"Because needles hurt," Lúkas muttered under his breath.

"Herra Lavik?" the receptionist called out.

"Já?" Frank replied.

"The doctor will be ready to see Lúkas shortly. You can take him to room 3."

"Thank you," Frank said as he took Lúkas' hand.
"Come on, buddy," he added, taking his son by the hand and leading him to the room.

It was a typical pediatric examining room. Frank helped his son get up on the examining table as they waited for the doctor. It wasn't long before a friendly looking man wearing a white lab coat, a stethoscope, and glasses with blond hair entered, holding a file.

"Hello," the doctor said in a friendly tone before adding "oh my! I didn't know Lúkas Lavik had turned into a werewolf!"

Lúkas chuckled behind his mask and Frank smiled.

"He's wearing it because he's afraid of shots," he whispered to the doctor.

"Herra Lavik, it's good to see you again," the doctor said, extending his hand. Frank nodded, shaking it.

"Thank you, Dr. Skarstein," Frank replied.
"For seeing us." He felt his voice tremble a bit. He truly was grateful for the doctors that foreign aid had provided.

"Oh don't think anything of it," Dr. Finn Thor Skarstein replied pleasantly.
"He's in for his DPT and flu shots?" he added, looking over the file.

"Já," Frank nodded.

Dr. Skarstein set the file on a counter and sat down in a wheeled chair and pulled if up to Lúkas.
"Do you think you can take the mask off?" he asked in a friendly voice.

"Why?" Lúkas asked.

"Because I know you're brave and and not scared of a little shot," Dr. Skarstein said with a smile.

Lúkas nodded and slowly pulled the mask up over his head. He looked nervous.

"There we go," Dr. Skarstein replied, removing it from his head and handing it to Frank. Frank unzipped Lúkas' backpack, setting it in there. Dr. Skarstein looked over at the backpack sitting on a chair in the corner of the room and turned back to Lúkas.

"You're studying hard in school?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Lúkas replied softly with a nod.

"Good boy," Finn Thor replied before turning his attention to Frank.

"How's he been since last time? Staying healthy?"

"Já," Frank nodded. "Nothing but a few scraped knees playing street hockey with his friends."

"Oh hockey?" Finn Thor asked turning back to Lúkas.
"What position do you play?"

"Goalie!" Lúkas said, enthusiastically.

"Street hockey huh...do you play on ice too?"

"Já," Lúkas nodded. "In the winter."

"That's coming up," Finn Thor said with a grin.
"We want you nice and healthy and strong for ice hockey season, right?"

"Já," Lúkas nodded nervously.

"Good. I'd hate for a future goalie on the Prydanian national team to get sick when he didn't have to," Finn Thor said with a smile, getting Lúkas to chuckle.

The doctor stood up and went to Frank.
"If he's scared of needles it'll be easier if he's not focusing on it. I'll get everything ready. Talk to him. Get him to focus on you, not me."

Frank nodded as Finn Thor went about prepping the two shots.

"So aside from masks, what did you learn about in school?" Frank asked his son.

"We learnt our fives and tens and also the planets! We talked about all the planets and Fröken Hægglund said that Abaddon was the first one discovered with a telescope and..." he yelped as the first shot was administered.

He looked at his arm and then to his father, with tears forming in his eyes, but Frank got down on one knee.

"You're doing great buddy...it's ok. Just a little pinch. Tell me about Abaddon."

Lúkas sniffled and nodded, encouraged by his father.
"It's...it's really dark but cool. It's got ice moons and the pictures look really scary. Pabbi, do you think aliens live there?"

Frank smiled.
"Abaddon is a gas giant though. I don't think anyone can live on the surface. There's no ground!"

"But Niels said that maybe they could live in clouds, like angels."

"Well maybe," Frank said with a grin.

"Do you think they'd be ni..." he yelped again as the second shot was administered.

"Hey, hey buddy, it's ok," Frank said with a grin. Lúkas looked back with wide eyes and nodded.
"You did great."

"Já, all done," Finn Thor said encouragingly.
"You did a great job! Here. You were very brave!"

Lúkas sniffled again as Finn Thor applied band-aids to his arm.
"Thank you, Dr. Skarstein," he said softly as he reached over to rub his arm with his other hand.

"Hey, you're welcome! Now you're going to be nice and healthy for hockey season, right?"

"Já," Lúkas said nodding, and Finn Thor smiled, holding up his hand.

"Gimme a high five," the doctor said encouragingly and Lúkas chuckled, giving him a high five.

"Awesome," Finn Thor replied, standing up.
"Ok, we're all done! He's all set."

Frank nodded, extending his hand again.
"Thank you, Doctor. We really appreciate it."

"No worries at all," Finn Thor replied, shaking his hand.
"Bring him on in if he ever needs anything."

"Já, of course," Frank nodded.
"Hey buddy, say goodbye to Dr. Skarstein."

"Goodbye Herra Doctor," Lúkas said as Frank helped him off the table.

"Bye Lúkas. Stay healthy!" Finn Thor said, giving him a wave.

"I will! Thanks!" the kid replied back, already over the pain from the shots.

"Take care, Dr. Skarstein," Frank said, as Finn Thor nodded.

"You too, Herra Lavik. Take care."

Frank led Lúkas out back to his truck.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

"No," Lúkas replied.

"Good. Because you're going to get to show mamma and Jan how brave you were getting shots."

Lúkas smiled wide as he put his seatbelt on and his father started the truck.

"Now," Frank continued.
"Tell me all about the solar system on the way home."

Lúkas grinned. He was excited to share what he'd learnt.

---

*Auburnrás Jarðolía- Auburn Channel Petroleum

*litli bróðir- little brother

OOC Note: Thank you to @Kyle for letting me use the character of Dr. Finn Thor Skarstein

Zelena Royal Estate
Near Radoslava, Capital of Kozaria
October 31st, 2019

It was a warm October evening; the garden was alight with countless glittering lanterns and more than a few conspicuously placed pumpkins. Paul was sitting on a wooden deck chair drinking a glass of chilled Rakia, his uncle was presently busy on the barbecue grilling thick cuts of beef, the smell of coal and charred meat was mouthwatering. It was a relaxed evening; everyone was dressed in casual clothing and apart from the large estate behind them it would have been difficult to tell this was a gathering of three of the most important people in Kozaria.

Hallows eve was not a native holiday in Kozaria, but the Kozars being a moody and superstitious lot it had quickly taken off as a popular event. Foreign customs of dressing up as monsters and telling ghost stories had long since become synonymous with October in Kozaria. Even the Tsar's own family got into the spirit of the festival, the Young Tsarevna was presently being escorted around the local suburbs by the Tsarina and several imperial bodyguards dressed in bedsheets.
Paul for his part preferred to relax in his garden, the endless procession of houses and demands for sweets was a tiring exercise, that and his wife always laughed when he inevitably dressed as a vampire. This year he was going to sip his Rakia and let Natalya be Zora’s escort, the four-year Olds boundless energy ensuring they would visit many houses before the night's end.

“Steaks are looking good!” Rhadomir yelled trying not to inhale a mouth full of coal smoke

“I can smell them; you always did know your way around the grill!” Paul replied approvingly

Joining the Tsar and his uncle was Paul's eldest son and the heir to the throne, Tsarevich Ivailo had surprised Paul when he had declared he would not be going trick or treating this year. The boy had always enjoyed Halloween so it struck Paul as an odd change, still, here they were and it was going to be a good opportunity for the three Tarnovsky men to bond without the womenfolk around.

“So, tell me Ivailo, why not join your sister?” Rhadomir asked in a grandfatherly tone, smiling as he did so

“I'm nearly 14 papa! Too old for trick or treating” Ivailo replied in a determined voice

“Ah so serious for one so young! Just like your father!” Rhadomir exclaimed giving a loud chuckle

“Hey, my father would have banned Halloween if he had even known what it was! “Paul countered hands raised in mock protest

“No arguments there, the man didn’t have a fun bone in his entire body” Rhadomir agreed

It was true, Paul's late father had been a vile man, the sort to equate anything foreign with degeneracy. The old tyrant would have regarded the current festivities as a clear sign of moral decline amongst the Kozars. Thankfully for all involved, the old swine had died twenty years ago and his son had ushered in an age of reform and democracy. That wasn’t the whole story, of course, problems remained, but the country had undoubtedly changed for the better, Halloween and all.
Rhadomir brought over a large plate of steaming meat and lowered it onto the oak garden table with a slight grunt. Moments later the three men were eating in contented silence, the meat was perfect, lightly seasoned and soft as butter. Paul poured his uncle a glass of Rakia and the two men clinked glasses toasting each other's health.

“You know” Rhadomir began as he picked a stringy piece of meat from his teeth “I used to tell your father ghost stories; he would go white as a sheet!” Rhadomir said with a wicked grin

“Lies every word of it!” Paul replied in mock outrage

“What kind of stories?” Ivailo asked looking up from his meal with a sudden surge of curiosity

“Well, his favorite, or at least the one that used to scare him the most, was the curse of the Skaltic queen!” Rhadomir said trying to make his voice sound as ghoulish as possible

“That old yarn!” Paul replied with a roll of his eyes

“Indeed, want to hear it Ivailo?” Rhadomir asked

The boy shook his head eagerly in approval, Paul poured another glass of Rakia and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, our story begins many centuries ago in the time of the first Tsardom....” Rhadomir began
*********************************************************************************
Long ago there was a great battle fought between two vast armies, on one side stood our noble Kozarian Tsar Grom and his brave bannermen and on the other the hordes of the Skaltic queen Orla. They fought for dominance of the eastern kingdom of Bragga, what we Kozars now rightfully claim as Burgovos, back then the Skalts ruled it as their own independent kingdom. Grom marched east with over 50,000 loyal Kozars and the blessings of the orthodox church, opposing him were the clans of queen Orla.

“What were they like?” Ivailo asked excitedly

“FEROCIOUS WARRIORS!!!” Rhadomir replied spreading his arms wide for emphasis

With faces painted the color of frozen corpses and Armour lined with fur and bones, they better-resembled beasts than men. And it wasn’t just force of arms that Orla brought to bear, she and her druids engaged in twisted rites to their blasphemous gods, sacrifices, and terrible curses were called for in the dark of night. Daubed in the blood of the innocent Orla sent her three sons forth into battle.

And what a terrible slaughter it was! Thousands lay dead their bodies hacked open and the earth soaked in their blood. Grom hewed through the Skalts, his mighty ax splitting heads open and showering the night air in brains and gore! One by one the queens' vile sons fell, their dark magics no match for the Favour of the one God.

“What happened next?” Ivailo asked

The battle turned into a rout, the Skalt’s trampling one another as they tried to flee our noble host, the Kozar army slaughtered the routing barbarians like pigs. Soon Grom and his retainers turned their attention to the queen's camp, now seemingly undefended. Grom spurred his horse onwards and he and his Bolyars descended upon the camp, what they found would chill each to the bone.

“What did they find,” Ivailo asked nervously

Death, the queen's surviving subjects had chosen suicide over capture, their bodies lined the paths between the tents all marked with stab wounds or the swollen features of one poisoned. Grom and his men advanced through the gruesome scene with sudden trepidation, all the fire of battle now replaced by ominous discomfort. Finally, they came upon queen Orla, she stood outside her tent with a blazing torch in hand and her clothes slick with flammable oil.

“The battle is over! Surrender and accept our mercy!” Grom called out

“Mercy! From a Kozar!? I would sooner die a thousand deaths!” The aged witched hissed

She dropped the torch, the flames roaring across her entire body as they made contact with the oil, she did not scream, she did not even move as she burned. Grom and his men watched in horror as her flesh began to melt away and the air began to fill with the reek of burning meat.

“A curse upon you son of Gromira! May your lands be gripped by turmoil as volatile as the flames which now consume me!” She screeched in a rasping voice

She held out a burning hand, the flesh scored clean from the body, only the bones remained now and the skeletal index finger was pointed squarely at Grom. Then after a moment of terrible silence, she fell to the ground and her body was finally consumed by the flame, by dawn, nothing remained save for a small blackened corpse. Grom claimed victory and let his armies home laden with the queens' looted valuables.

“What about the curse?” Ivailo asked quizzically

Oh well, Grom reigned another 17 long years, but when the aged king died? His sons tore the land apart trying to claim their father's crown. The strife that infected our land undid all the glories of the previous age, Grom’s conquests and wealth lost as his children squabbled over the tsardom as though it were a plaything. In all ages since we have known this terrible, volatile, fire-like dance, great kings rising only for their glory to be undone by the selfish whims of lesser men. Perhaps the Skaltic queen truly did curse us that day, perhaps the Kozars truly are doomed to be our own worst enemies.

“Could it be true?” Ivailo asked suddenly thoughtful

“It's just an old story, something our ancestors devised to excuse their poor choices” Paul offered trying to dispel the stories hold on his son

“Aye, just a tale for balmy October nights...probably” Rhadomir replied ominously, giving Paul a wink as he did so

17:50 (5:50 pm)
Fretusdai (Friday)
Para'maçu, a village on a island near Tardine
17-09-2021

Click to expand...

To be continued...​

3 January 1977
1:44 pm
Town of Waderhof, Enneheim Province, Illderia
172nd Mountain Parachute Regiment, "Black Dragons"

The sun was nowhere to be found. It was like if the Devil himself have set upon us this phenomenal weather. The usual chilly winds, fast as light, combined with endless streams of rain pouring from the heavens. Captain Griesser was up front. His stance strait as a stake in the ground, his burgundy beret soaking wet, leading the patrol with pride in his eyes. Following Griesser, the rest of the troop. Illderia's toughest and most loyal of bulldogs on patrol in a wasteland of hills and small towns. From afar the patrol column looked like a line of black pawns from a chessboard. With a black eagle feather on their helmets and a diamond shaped shoulder flash they most certainly stood out among regular riflemen, let alone paratroopers.

Entering the town, according the orders, the paratroopers treated the area with caution, clearing every ally along their patrol route. Interestingly, regular people were either accustomed to Army and Marine Corps presence or directly aided the provisional forces of the rump Braslenian Republic.

"Sir stop right there, on your knees, now!" shouted a sergeant at a pedestrian for being unusually suspicious. ROE* stated that all unusual activity shall be treated with the utmost aggression. As it turned out, this aggression managed to pull out an SMG out of the man's trench coat. He dumped a mag aiming at the patrol and managed to injure a couple of them.

"DIE YOU OVERSEAS BASTARDS!" was heard as the failed ambush collapsed onto the patrol. At least a dozen of provisional fighters stormed onto the streats. Despite the somewhat open area of the main road the troopers managed to hold their ground.

Griesser was hit in the arm, the instant the shooting started. San, the company medic was called to treat the Captain, but was promptly sent away with the officer's usual attitude.

"Get away from me San, treat the others!" ordered Griesser as he jumped on his feet and started acting like a true Widöckheer* graduate. The frequent use of decoy grenades combined with the green nature of the provisional militia turned the now failed ambush into a massacre.

As the cracks of gunfire faded away Griesser's unit pushed forward, the reserve patrol check the bodies and secured the area and a mechanized unit occupied the rear. Griesser's pawns continued on their journey, like nothing has happened.

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*Widöckheer: Illderia's flagship officer training academy located in Axelstadt district of Hadenburg
*ROE: Roles of Engagement

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