Scraps of Roleplaying

2 October 2022
7:03 pm
On a Sunday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Annie Gram leaned back in her chair. It was dark out. Summer was over. Fall had arrived.

"Close the door will you?" the People's Party leader asked as Peter Sjöstedt entered.

"Afraid of spies?" he asked teasingly as he closed the door to Gram's Alþingi office, before making his way to a chair opposite Annie's.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled.
"Less spies and more gossipers."

Peter shrugged.
"You look a bit weary."

"It's nothing," Annie replied, waving it off.
"Just one of those days that never seems to end."

"Well I might have good news, if that'll help," Peter said, producing a folder from his suitcase.

"It wouldn't hurt," Annie suggested with a smile.

Peter nodded and set the folder down on the desk, opening.
"Internal polling numbers are in," he explained. He was the People's Party National Executive Committee Chairman.
"Most of the membership is opposed to IWA membership."

Annie did indeed smile a bit wider.
"What's most?" she asked.

"Most," Peter reiterated, pushing a paper from the folder towards Annie. She picked it up and looked it over.
"80% against. Good. Hopefully that settles that."

"You think it'll make Sigewulf back down?"

"Sigy isn't even for it," Annie replied, referring to the young People's Party ÞM* Sigewulf Reiten who was positioning himself as a voice on the left.
"He just likes to talk."

"He's a punk," Peter muttered.

"You're going to have to be nicer to him."

"He's an outspoken idiot who can't check his ego for the sake of the party," Peter replied bluntly.

"He's young, he's idealistic," Annie said with a shrug.
"And more importantly he's never endorsed joining the IWA. So he'll have very little to walk back when he sees these numbers."

"I still don't know why you defend him. He's defied your leadership in two high profile votes. And he's got his cadre of followers," Peter wondered, shaking his head.

"He's young, idealistic, and he's clean. He's not a former Syndicalist. He fought against them, late in the War," Annie answered.
"Our party has a lot of baggage to overcome. People like Sigewulf Reiten who can advocate for social democratic principles without that baggage are our future."

"Well when it's the future," Peter said with a sigh, "I'll lay off him. Until then he should learn how Parliamentary politics works. If he can't recognize that you're our leader then it tells me..."
Peter trailer off.

Annie raised an eyebrow.
"Tells you what?"

"Tells me he's more interested in what the People's Party can do for him then what he can do for the party."

"Well," Annie sighed, keeping her smile. The polling results were good news indeed. It put her in a good mood.
"Let's give him a bit longer before we write him off as an opportunist."

"I'll be pleasantly surprised to be wrong," Peter replied.
"Happy indeed."

---

*ÞM- MP

A very long time ago.
Somewhere, in the lands now known as Vivanco.

It was a harsh winter day. The snow had curdled in the night, and in the morning the frost had not stopped falling, and even so, the march could not stop. For five days they had been marching, seeking to return to the rest of the clan, guided only by the course of the river. Only by the brightness of the clouds in the gray sky could they discern how long they would have left until night, an empty night, without moon or stars, orphaned. The skins were not enough to hold out, but they must continue. They did not have the resources to be able to make a temporary shelter, only the promise of the meeting will keep them alive.
When they started there were ten. Now, there are only seven left. Three women, two children and two men. One with a rudimentary bow at his back and another with a stone-tipped spear lead the way, opening a path through the waist-deep wall of snow, as the children, silent and fearful, take cover beside the women . In the arms of one of them, wrapped in furs, was a baby, silent, with closed eyes and calm, although cold.
It is then that they discerned on a nearby hill, a stone structure, standing upright. The eyes of the group widened at this sight, almost smiling, hurrying their way, until they got there. From there, another stone could be discerned. Finally, they could arrive.
When the light began to fail, they arrived at a compendium of circular buildings made of mud and straw, and a community that anxiously awaited them. The hugs were not long in coming, and all the cold of the exodus disappeared in an instant with those acts.

In the middle of the night, on the nearby hill crowned by a stone, two old men with the three women would enter a grotto with the baby wrapped, before in skins now in wool, its face painted with small white horizontal lines, and on its sides , animal figures in rough wood. Later, it would be covered with stones, before leaving the site.

OOC Notice: This is a conversation between Count Vikiencij Tcharoŭ, State Chancellor of Severogotia (1994-1997), and Giorgio I, Grand Doge of Predice and Severogotian Kaisar (1990-2008). Co-written with @Predice.


1992
Ohrid, Severogotia
Phone call from the Chancellery Building

Voice 1: Hello?

Voice 2: Yes, hello?

Voice 1: Good evening, Your Majesty!

Voice 2: Yes!

Voice 1: Buonasera, Maestà!

Voice 2: Buonasera!

Voice 1: How are you, signore?

Voice 2: Fine, thank you.

Voice 1: Uh. Per favore, Maestà. It is more comfortable for me to speak in Mercanti.

Voice 2: Very well.

Voice 1: Thank you, sir ... Firstly, as State Chancellor of Severogotia speaking to the Grand Doge of Predice, I would like to thank your government-in-exile's support in all these years despite of its great cost on your limited resources.

Voice 2: I must pass on my congratulations to you, and the Severogotian people. This will mark a new era in the history of Severogotia.

Voice 1: Thank you. Yes. Finally, we won. We have restored the rule of law.

Voice 2: It is my genuine pleasure to say that I believe that the future of Severogotia is bright. I trust that you, and Prince Balkonski will be able to steer the country in a direction of democracy and prosperity.

Voice 1: Thank you. I'm glad we have full confidence in Prince Balkonski's abilities. Which leads me to speak as your State Chancellor.



Voice 2: Yes.

Voice 1: Not only does this require their State Chancellor, but also their Kaisar.



Voice 2: I see.

Voice 1: 1921. Two years after the last genuine general election. Your visit would represent continuity. It would mark the return of normalcy.


Voice 2: Yes.

Voice 1: We feel a national tour could help us achieve this. If possible, we would also like to invite you and your family to reside in Severogotia. Possibly for a year or two. Would that be possible?

Voice 2: A tour I can most certainly do. I will have to consult with my family about coming to Severogotia for longer, but we can certainly do a tour.

Voice 1: Excellent! We will send the details to your private secretary very soon.

Voice 2: I’m certainly not afraid of a tight schedule. As you know, I’ve had to work very hard as a leader of the government-in-exile. You certainly don’t have to worry about anything like that.

Voice 1: Very good. That is very reassuring. I wish I would have the same enthusiasm as you by the time I campaign for a second term.

Voice 2: I'm sure you will if you believe in your cause as I do in mine.

Voice 1: Of course, we understand you have settled in Saintonge. I didn't want it to be sudden- You're not under any obligation. Not at all. But this is an official offer from the government:

Voice 2: [Silence]
Voice 1:


Voice 2: I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but my family, as well as the government have settled in Saintonge.


Voice 1: That is regrettable. But, as a fellow leader, I understand.

*

Journal of Prince Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók

2 January 2035
1:02 am
On a Tuesday
just outside Krysuvik, Prydania

Hanna spied her pabbi outside.

She didn't mean to, you understand. Princesses aren't so different from other girls that they're immune to sneaking out of bed at night for this or that. And tonight was fairly innocuous. She just wanted a glass of water. And maybe something sweet. Afterall Himnaríkisviði wasn't like Absalonhöll or the White Palace. You could sneak around here without the White Guard or Knights of the Storm “checking up on you.”

But as she poked around the kitchen, she looked outside. And there he was… her pabbi, sitting on an old fence, out on a hill.

It was so strange. Not only was it in the middle of the winter but…why there? He could have sat out on the porch if he wanted to be outside in the winter evening.

Hanna thought for a moment. Should she leave her pabbi?
But then she had an idea…

---

“Woodland roads, take me home…” Tobias hummed to himself as he let his feet dangle, his boots gently tapping the fence he was seated on as he looked across the snow covered fields. The faint glow of Krysuvik in the distance.

“I brought you hot chocolate.”

Tobias nearly lost his balance, his daughter's voice had come out of nowhere!

“Hanna!” he said before smiling. She’d slipped on sweats and a winter coat to bring him a cup of hot chocolate. He smiled before his duties as a father kicked in.

“You shouldn't be up! It's late.”

“I was getting a drink, and I saw you,” Tobias' twelve year old daughter replied.
“And you looked cold.”

Tobias smiled, patting the wooden fencing.
“Come on. Join me,” he said as he took the mug from his daughter.

Still, she gave her father a look that said she didn't quite trust the old wooden fence.

“This fence survived a civil war. It’ll survive both of our butts,” Tobias added with a chuckle. Hanna chuckled too and climbed on next to him.

“Why are you sitting out here, Pabbi?” she asked. Even in her winter coat and sweats and boots… It was a January night in Prydania. The cold had a way of cutting right to you.

“I couldn't sleep,” Tobias replied.
“Lots on my mind I suppose."
He took a sip of his hot chocolate before offering some to Hanna.

“I made it for you Pabbi!”

“And I’m offerin’ some to you! I don't want to take a Hanna-cicle back to mamma!”

Hanna smiled and chuckled. She was getting to the age where he pabbi’s jokes were becoming more annoying than funny, but… but… there weren't any of her friends here. Just the two of them. She let herself laugh before sipping some hot chocolate herself.

“I couldn't sleep so I came out here. I miss this place, so I thought I’d take in one more nice night view of it all before we head to Luscova tomorrow.”

“Krysuvik?” Hanna asked looking out to the glow of the town in the distance.

“Já… and no… kind of all of it?” Tobias replied.

“Whatcha mean?”

Tobias looked into the eyes of his daughter. She had his eyes, green eyes, that danced under the moonlight. He smiled just a bit.

“You're named after your grandmamma you know.”

“I know Pabbi,” Hanna replied.
She knew she was named after her pabbi’s mamma… and she knew that thinking about his mamma made her pabbi very sad. But this time… he seemed almost serene. He pointed towards Krysuvik.

“See Krysuvik? That's where my mamma, your grandmamma, was from. In fact it's where she met your grandpabbi.”

Hanna nodded. She knew that too. But even knowing that… it was unknown territory she found herself in. She knew her pabbi’s parents had died when he himself was very little. It had to do with the Civil War, which she was only starting to just figure out. The few times her pabbi mentioned it he'd get forlorn.

Of course she couldn't blame him. She could only imagine how devastated she'd be to lose her mamma and pabbi. So she never pushed him. Never prodded him. Still, it left her wanting to know more.

Here though? Well…Tobias was talking about his mamma and pabbi… and seemed happy. She let him speak.

“I’d come here when I was little, you know,” he added.
“My own grandpabbi and grandmamma on my pabbi’s side died before I was born,” he said in reference to King Robert VII and Queen Locke.

“So my grandparents on my mamma’s side were the only ones I knew,” he said, still smiling.

The truth was… the feeling of remembering his grandparents filled him with a light not unlike the warm glow of Krysuvik itself.

“My grandpabbi was a really happy, jolly guy. He’d make you feel like you were the most important person in the world… even as a little kid. And grandmamma would feed me treats until I was ready to pass out,” he chuckled.

Hanna liked seeing her pabbi happy. He usually was, but he had a heavy sadness with him. It wasn't always evident. Sometimes it wasn't even noticeable at all. It was there though.
So seeing him just remember something simple and warm and happy filled her with warmth itself.

“Is that why you like this place so much?”

“It's one reason,” Tobias said with a soft smile.

Hanna thought about asking for other reasons but her pabbi changed the subject.

“Are you gonna miss your brothers? They're going back to Saintonge in a few days.”

Hanna laughed softly.
“No!” she insisted in a way only a teenager could insist on something everyone knew was untrue.

“Já you will,” Tobias said with a smile.

Hanna blushed as snow fell on the two gently.
“They're so annoying,” she insisted.

“That's how siblings are supposed to be… or so your mamma and I have been told,” Tobias chuckled.
“But neither your mamma or I had brothers or sisters.”

He sighed. Of all the things to be sorry about from his childhood that was low on the list, but it was genuinely felt.

“You know they'd do anything for you?”

Hanna stared off into the light of her grandmamma and her namesake’s hometown.
“I know,” she said with a smile before looking back at her pabbi.

“Can you tell me about grandmamma?”

Tobias felt a wave of sadness come over him but… it wasn't overwhelming. The warmth, even in the cold, was comforting.

“She was kind,” Tobias replied. The fact was that he was only seven when his parents were killed. He didn't have much to remember. But one memory was etched into his mind as clear as day. The day she had to give him up to save him. He felt the coldness of his tears and sniffled just a bit in the winter air.

“She loved me with all her heart,” he said as he looked down.
“And would do anything for me… she did everything for me. Kind of like how you’re my everything.”

“Pabbi…” Hanna said with embarrassment, as Tobias chuckled.

“Well you are!”

“Does that make me your favourite?” Hanna asked with a cheeky smile.

Tobias smirked.
“It doesn't work like that.”

Hanna though, took the perceived victory.

“But you know why I like this place?” he asked softly.
“Like… really like it?”

Hanna shook her head.

“I grew up here. Out here. Not just Krysuvik. Out here in Austurland. I miss it sometimes, between Býkonsviði and Luscova. Too much hustle and bustle.”

Hanna smiled. Her pabbi spoke with an Austurland accent, a hint at him growing up out here. Still, she was confused.

“You grew up here during the war, doesn't it make you sad to remember?”

Tobias thought for a moment.
“Sometimes,” he said softly.
“It's strange to someone who didn't know it I guess, but through the war and death there were also happy moments and friends. It's where you pabbi became… your pabbi,” he said with a smile as he wrapped a loving arm around his daughter.

“And it's why you talk like a sveitalubbi,” Hanna said with a smile of her own, wanting to poke some light fun at her pabbi’s accent. Tobias just frowned though.

“That's a rude word.”

Hanna sighed, looking down. She really didn't want to upset her father. But Tobias smiled a bit.

“It's ok. Just don't say it again, alright?”

“Alright Pabbi!”

Tobias kissed her on top of her head.
“I’ll tell you what. Once Baldr and Hael head back to Saintonge I’ll give you and mamma a tour of Krysuvik.”

“That would be cool!” Hanna said happily as Tobias hopped down from the fence. As much as he enjoyed the sights of a quiet Austurland evening it was getting cold.

“Come on in, before we both freeze out here,” he said as he went to help his daughter down, only to find out she could get down just fine. He smirked. She was growing up.

“So what's that fence for Pabbi?” she asked as they both made their way back to the house.
Fences like that could be found all over separating properties in the countryside but that was just a short fence on a hill.

“These used to be two properties before I bought ‘em after the War. That fence was bigger. Used to separate ‘em.”

“Why'd you keep it up then?”

Tobias smiled as he held the door open for his daughter.

“I sat on it once a long time ago. I like it.”

Hanna laughed. It wasn't a mean laugh really, just unexpected.

“That's so random Pabbi.”

“Maybe,” Tobias replied with a smirk, washing out the empty hot chocolate mug before filling a glass of water.

“Now,” he added, handing the glass of water to his daughter, “head to bed before you get us both into trouble.”

“Ok Pabbi. Góðanótt!”

“Góðanótt, sweetie,” said as he watched his daughter head back to bed. He looked out the window. The moonlight dancing on the snow. And he smiled.

The Rightful Path - Part I​

WARNING: this post depicts of violence, possible mental disorders and graphical description of murder.

---

---

24th November 2042
Song: Elvis Presley - The Wonder of You

Kristoph hates hospitals. The beeps of machines, the dulled shuffling of nurses and doctors moving around, the occasional cough or gurgle from other patients. He especially hated the sympathy. People’s hearts were in the right place, of course, but even so, whenever they gave him that glance, he wanted to punch something, if he still could.

He cursed the situation that had led to this. The heart attack that wasn’t detected for months. The complications arising from years of overindulging. Drink, food, lack of exercise all contributed. The mind started to go next. More aggressive, more stubborn, mood swings. Lashing out at family and friends, cutting them out completely. The world growing colder and smaller and less kind.

Dementia. More mini-strokes. More degradation. It becomes harder to get around, to walk, to run, to enjoy life. And in response, angrier, more prone to aggression. The stick used to walk becomes a weapon in heated moments. Lashing out, physically this time. Pushing what family that remains to their own breaking points, so that they seek a way out.

Outside help comes in. Things improve day to day, but decline continues. Loss of other functions. No longer being able to walk without help. Railing against the loss suffered. Knowing what to do to fix it but being unable to. And so decline sets in further.

The stress leads to problems for others. Their own issues. Hospital stays, long ones, like this but different. More help, but something has to change. Respite. Carehome. Whatever they like to call it, a place where help may be there. Except things get worse. Doctors miscommunicate. A new hospital stay almost kills. Opioid overdose.

Investigations ensue, but seem unimportant. Kidney stones. Refusing food and medicine. Infection sets in. A stay in the same hospital. And then a phone call.

“We believe it is time to start end of life care.”

Shock, anger. Family rushes down, stand vigil. Overnight stays. Childcare organised. Grandchildren are concerned, knowing somethings wrong. Lingering, for days, until the last of the children can arrive.

And then it happens. Slipping away. A phone call has people rushing down again to say a final goodbye.

No one makes it in time.

Grand Duchess Catarina of Gotmark has died.

8th December 2042

The funeral was small and private. Wider family came from afar. Children gathered and brought their own along too. Grandchildren reaching adulthood, many facing loss for the first time.

A Grand Duke, a father, a husband, broken. Elder than his wife by some decades, he expected to pre-decease her, but life is cruel. He has said goodbye to someone he loved once before, and lost a son as well. Loss is not new to him.

But this is different. 39 years. Almost half of his life married, more than half his life knowing her, loving her.

The funeral brings a chance to see those forced to leave his life by the demands of his wife as she declined. The stroke robbed her of reason and ended chances of reconciliation. Death brings regrets for others too.

Sisters who hadn’t spoken since their own mothers death many years before, estranged, last words spoken in anger. The elder, broken, writes words of deep meaning, expressing her own regrets. The younger, more reserved, perhaps resentment is still there, but her own health is declining and maybe a glimpse of her own future.

Family fallen out of touch with due to distance of another sort also arrive. Kristoph can’t remember all of their names, but other family members, better equipped to keep in touch, introduce him.

The service is short, dress informal. It’s what she would’ve wanted. You dress in suits anyway, it’s only appropriate. She’d sneer at that, wonder why you were making a fuss. Two hymns, two readings. Although You Cannot See Me. All Things Bright and Beautiful. Abide With Me. Psalm 23.

The official shares memories you gave of her. Playing games. Growing up. Birthdays. Advice and love. The stubbornness. Her life and, eventually, her death. Words of Committal are spoken. And then that song. The damnable, damnable song. The feelings you had barely let out until now swell up and burst out. It sets your brother off, and your nephew off.

It is the worst moment of your life.

And then it is over. The world still turns, but it’s colder now, smaller, darker. Your mother is dead.

And you don’t know what to do.

250 AD

Marcus and Lucius boarded their boat, they had been in De Long Gao for a week. The Imperator and this barbarian empire had decided that the world should be split in two. The south would be under the protection of the "Son of Heaven." and the North will be protected and ruled by the Mighty and Righteous Son of DEUS.

Marcus looked over and Lucius and said: "Can you believe those jerks, acting like they are some sort of real empire? They don't even speak a real language, I heard that they don't even have an alphabet."

Marcus was tying the sail up as he replied:

"That's impossible how can you not have an alphabet, but I'll grant you they are arrogant. They think that their silly little palace is impressive, have you seen the Imperators' palace things massive. Eh who needs these guys 'Son of heaven' my ass, I've spent my whole life believing in DEUS and never once would I think that his son would be like that. "

Lucius stood up and dropped the rope he had:

"Did you see what they were wearing, not a single toga! The men were wearing dresses!! They're one step above the Torogan tribes and they wear pants."

"PANTS?!" Marcus replied, jaw fully open as he stared at his friend.

"These Barbarians, I can't believe people can live like that, I am absolutely gobsmacked." Lucius looked over the side of the ship.

"It's fine, when we go home we can go to the arena, watch some gladiators fight lions. I heard that the Imperator has wanted to make a swamp style battle and have the gladiators fight crocodiles." Marcus put his arm over his friend as they looked out.

"Thanks man, I think that's exactly what I need, DEUS look at us, able to afford leisure. What advanced times, I really think that it can't get better than this." Lucius sighed as they went back to their duties on the ship.

Thoughts and ponderings on the Rebellious Province of Palmyra:
A treatise by Gaius Lucius Clovis

To those it may concern, I am not a neroite. I was appointed by the legitimate government of the Imperator Constatntine Augustus Lucius, I represent the many other of my fellow diplomats in a condemnation of the abhorrent action that the traitor marshal is taking. I also wish to see my homeland returned to its natural and righteous state. AVE CAESAR, AVE IMPERATOR.

To the purpose of this letter, Palmyra was once a core part of the Imperium Suavidici. There are many ethnic brothers who have faced oppression over the centuries, and this in itself is why the Imperial government; despite changes in dynasty, despite changes in policy, has been devoted to the eventual end of the illegitimate piccardist body that claims to rule the islands. This body of individuals has through the centuries done many acts, almost all of which should have led to war.

These acts include the illegal seizure of the islands by the Imperial government of Arcastoska. This action is not the issue at hand, the issue that must be addressed is the utter lack of respect for human rights that Palmyra has shown. Through the course of its piccardist history, the individuals who are in charge of the illegal regime have made efforts to indoctrinate their populace to utter obedience, sending dissidents to camps to be forcefully learn the “truths” that the ones in charge would like to demand of them.

Ethnic Suavidici are forced to abandon their faith, their identity and their traditions. While those in the western world have no knowledge let me be the first to tell you. The Suavidici on the northernmost island have been under siege, even attacked by these picardist pigs. These people live in squalor and are not allowed to return to their homeland. They are prisoners on an island that has been theirs since the first century AD.

Then comes the kidnapping of Suavidici citizens to the tune of several per year. There are nearly one hundred families that have lost a loved one, there are people who have lost, Fathers, Mothers, Grandparents, Sons, and Daughters. For any change in policy to happen these people would need to be returned, or the criminals be brought to justice.

I know that these words may seem sharp, and they may seem like a person who is bitter, but please know that this coup will not change anything. The leaders are the proteges of those that they killed. They are the students of the regime, they know it's ins and outs. Tread carefully for a snake with different skin is still a snake.

A journal on the Imperatorsarus,


Recent studies have shown that the once thought scaly Dinosaur rather had skin like scales and a light feather layer. This Dinosaur has been found with feather imprints in the rock around it. There are other recent findings that will connect the Dinosaur with the modern Crocodile, it is thought that the teeth of the dinosaur were covered. These lips would prevent the dinosaur's teeth from being exposed to the elements, while the current adaptations have caused pushback with your average person the last revelation may be the most shocking. It is unlikely the dinosaur roared.

Examining the dinosaur's trachea, compared with similar animals who are alive now, the Imperatorasarus likely would have had bellowed much like the modern crocodile.

January 1988
HMS Konstantin
Naesser Sea

There was a tense mood aboard the ship. Gottia had only recently launched its unprovoked war of aggression against Gotmark. To the crew of the ship, and to most Goyaneans, the Gotmarkers were their brothers. To see Gottia commit such actions against their kinfolk ignited a fire in the heart of every serviceman in the Imperial Armed Forces. No longer would this war continue without intervention.

Konstantin was a new ship. Her quad steam turbines were at full speed, the twin nuclear reactors unleashing the raw power of the atom to power the beastly supercarrier. She was only commissioned three years prior, and this was her first real combat engagement. The red ensign of the Imperial Navy fluttered proudly off her mast.

In the ready room, the pilots of her fighter wing were getting briefed by their commander. Two squadrons of brand new S-4 Åskvær fighters stood at the ready in the hangar, being taken topside by the enlisted sailors while the brief was being conducted.

“Peasant, Wishbone, Santa Claus, you all will conduct the strike on the base south of Frösthafen, we need to clear the way for the Imperial Marine Corps to conduct their landing near there, and as such we have designated targets for you.”

Peasant, or also known by his real name, 1st Lieutenant Anthony Tages, was not like the other pilots. He was the Crown Prince, heir to the Imperial Throne, and in the great Goyanean tradition, chose to serve his people in the armed services before taking up his destined role as Grand Emperor.

“It’s finally time. It’s happening,” he thought to himself, studying the attack plans on the projector. His backseater, Lonner, actually 2nd Lieutenant Youming Che, was a buddy of his from the navy’s flight school. Sitting next to him during the briefing, they’d occasionally glance at each other to ensure that they were understanding everything for the mission. They had complete trust in each other, a bond only brothers-in-arms could have.

—

It was his turn for the catapult. The blast shields dropped down onto the deck, revealing the gray seas and sky in front of him. The steam whipped all around out of the catapult track. In the midst of the steam stood the deck shooter, in his bright yellow uniform, signaling him to pull forward onto the track.

He inched the throttle enough to roll the S-4 forward. She was heavy, full of fuel and armed with missiles and guided bombs, ready to take out anything that stood in her way. Men scrambled around the aircraft, hooking her onto the catapult and making all final checks to ensure she was mission-ready. Anthony initiated the control surface test, bringing the control stick all around to full deflections, deflecting the rudder pedals to the max. The all clear was given for the final launch preparations.

The various crewmen ran out and away from the plane, and the shooter started giving the signals to throttle up. Slowly ramping up the engines, the deafening roar of the Åskvær’s twin jet engines began to engulf the cabin. More, the shooter signaled. More. More. More. Anthony had his jets at maximum thrust for pre-launch. A thumbs up and a salute came from the shooter, unaware he was launching his future Grand Emperor. Anthony returned the salute and faced forward.

“Ready, Lonner,” he asked his backseater.

“Always ready, Peasant,” Youming replied back, as the shooter donned the classic “launch” position, squatted down with his arm extending a forward finger gun. The Åskvær lurched forward, and the catapult began accelerating them to takeoff speed. The end of the deck rushed towards them, and soon they were free from the chains of gravity, ascending into the sky.

“Post takeoff checks good, speed good, swinging wings back for cruise.” The wings of the Åskvær started to swing back for a more aerodynamic posture, and the speed started to increase more.

—

Peasant and Lonner were getting close to the target when Lonner came over the intercom, interrupting their Ascalonian conversation practice they had been having on the way to the target.

“Bogie, 12 o’clock, enemy.”

“Arming weapons systems, bringing the missiles online.”

Youming initiated the targeting radar, illuminating the dilapidated Gottian fighter with electromagnetic waves.

“Solution acquired. Target lock, ready to fire when ready.”

Anthony looked down at his control stick. For a brief moment he stared at the red button, this would be his first combat weapons launch. “I am not the judge of the living or the dead, that is up to God,” he thought to himself, before pushing the button.

“Fox One” he announced, the radar-guided air-air missile dropping from the hardpoint, the missile racing away from the Åskvær at breakneck speed.
“Stupid fucking Gottians, they didn’t even turn on their own targeting radars.” Youming said over the radio, watching on the radar scope as the missile raced towards the unknowing Gottian fighter. There was a bit of evasive dancing as the fighter tried to avoid its impending doom, but it was no match. The Luftkinematikk missile did its job well, just like a salaryman back home.

“Splash one bandit.” Youming announced, as both radar contacts disappeared. Tracking over the location of the plane at its last spot on the way to the target, they looped around, seeing all that was left of the plane, a wing floating in the water, ripped off its airframe.

“Fuck yeah. That will show them not to fuck with us,” Anthony exclaimed. “Now onto the next, we’re approaching targets.”

The army base began to appear over the horizon in the distance. Their strike package was getting close, and Youming and the other backseaters began to activate targeting pods, ready to deal serious damage.

The base started to fire its AA guns, peppering the sky with flak explosions, but that was no match for the speed and agility of the Åskvær fighters. Anthony masterfully dodged the fire, getting Youming in a position to laser designate the targets.

“Lock, Go” he shouted.

“Bombs away,” Anthony exclaimed, as laser guided bombs fell on the command post and the base’s ammo dump.

A violent explosion ensued, sending a shockwave into the air and shaking the plane briefly. His wingmen also hit their targets, and Anthony brought his Åskvær around to strafe some AA positions before booking it to the carrier.

“Fox three,” he said, as he pulled the trigger, spraying depleted uranium rounds into a dug-in AA gun and its crew, the gatling gun sending a terrifying roar into the air.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here” Youming said, drawing agreement from Anthony, who subsequently went balls to the wall, swinging the wing back and going full afterburner away from the Gottian coast and back out to the safety of the Imperial Navy’s Naesser Fleet.

—

The carrier appeared as they punched through the bottom of the cloud deck. The landing crewmen radioed in.

“Glideslope looking good. Stay on the ball.”

Anthony was one with the plane. Landing was a mentally demanding experience, but he masterfully brought the plane through the glideslope.

“100.” Anthony twitched the throttle and stick, every move intentional.

“50. 40. 30. Minimum.”

The Åskvær landed, its tailhook catching the second wire, swinging Anthony and Youming forward in deceleration.

“It’s over. We did it Lonner.”

31 December 2022
8:00 pm
On a Saturday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Hello! It's been a year, hasn't it! So on our last evening of 2022 let me congratulate us on a year of no referendums or national elections! I was worried after the constitutional referendum and the election last year we might get addicted to it! But I am happy to see that our commitment to democracy has given way to stable politics. And though we were without a national vote this year, we did have local votes! And the occasion was used to welcome in the overseas Alþingi. To Fröken Blaauw, Fröken Urness, Fröken Bredahl, Herra Bremseth, and Herra Nylund I welcome you all to the halls of the Alþingi, the heart of the Prydanian Realm's democratic soul as you all endeavour to represent those citizens of ours living abroad."

Tobias paused just for a moment. He'd given a Christmas address from this same desk. The only difference being that his green sweater was changed out for a dark red one, a reflection of the Prydanian tradition of wearing the flag's colours on New Year's. But whereas that had been a heartfelt message about the meaning of Christmas and Christ's call to charity, this was a more celebratory one. Indeed his speeches on New Year's had gone from talking about the need to memorialize those lost, to celebrating peace, to now... celebrating life. Frankly it was a relief. He felt he could relax when he tried to figure out what he would say.

"But I find," he continued, "I find myself very sentimental every New Year. It's a celebration, of course. A new year, and new beginnings. But we're also saying goodbye to something. 2022 has been with us for three hundred and sixty-five days, and though it has come and nearly gone, as it must, I am saddened by its passing in a way. And why shouldn't I? It's the year that taught me that Iraelian cowboy music sung by Prydanians was beautiful!" He chuckled and shrugged.
"2022... and AusturSkvísur... taught me that! But of course, to AusturSkvísur, congratulations on your Röddin Prydansk frá Alaterva victory. It wasn't the only triumph 2022 gave us. I watched, with the rest of the country, as new Hamar Cup champions were crowned! The Krummedike Griffinar had an amazing season, and we witnessed the first first time Hamar Cup Champions in over a hundred years! Speaking of 2022 saw Gunnar Stahl jump to Eiderwig! I mean...if he wanted out of Hadden and felt the compulsion to go east he could have gone to Stormurholmr, but I won't begrudge anyone for the choice he made! That's for the Hadden supporters, who have let him know it! But that's ok. The boos turn to cheers when the national sweater replaces the club one. One last thing on sports of course. My family and I had a great time watching Haland secure the football championship. And I know it will be an amazing journey to see that triumph of 2022 turn into an effort for the 2023 World Cup. I'd say no pressure, but I'm afraid I may have done you boys dirty on that. And I apologize!"

"But family...the greatest thing 2022 gave me is my daughter. Hanna. I'm blessed by my growing family, and this is where the sadness and happiness of New Year's is intertwined. I wish the happiness of her birth, and innocence could be preserved. But I am also beyond happy to see her grow in 2023 and beyond. And I now I am not alone! We have become a nation of births, and just as I treasure the birth of my daughter I know you all treasure the births of your own children. Show them love. Cherish this past year and the joy it brought. And embrace the future. Embrace it with warm harts, joyous spirits, and full bellies. Happy New Year. And may God Preserve Prydania."

The cameras switched off as RÚV personnel began to move to and fro. Tobias smiled and sat back in his chair. He had his wife, children, and kransekage* to get to.

---

*kransekage- A buttery cake in a ring shape that is stacked as a pyramid, only made for New Year's Eve in Prydania

They rode out in the small hours before dawn, the earth still cradled in the dark embrace of night, five horses headed for the hills above the village. Prefabs and dirt roads soon gave way to the scrubland and dust of the steppe proper, the tenuous presence of humanity fading from view in a matter of moments. Soon the horses were climbing into the parched grass of the hills around the gap, dawn still hours away.

Jurgan and his brother Hans led the way, the latter still dressed in his army fatigues, behind them followed old Karl, Antja, and of course most importantly Jurgan’s firstborn. Valus rode at the back of the party, sleep-deprived head still swirling in dreams, Jurgan smiled inwardly, it seemed just yesterday that the boy was taking his first steps.

18 years had come and gone like summer rains and now it was time for the boy to become a man, tradition dictating that they welcome Valus into maturity with the coming of the new sun.

Clan Morgenstern had once performed their ancient rites with little interruption from the outside world, now their lands rested at the crossroads of worlds. The settlement of Danek’s gap had transformed from a collection of huts to a growing frontier town, the wealth of the steppe passing out to the wider world and the wonders of modernity passing inward.

The silence of the eternal steppe had given way to a cacophony of human activity, traditions were undertaken against a backdrop of light and industry, but undertaken, nonetheless. The old ways had been shaken, bent, and reshaped by the pressures of the new, but they had not broken, the clans found their way and the glory of Essalan endured. Just as Jurgan had once welcomed his first dawn as a man, so too would his son.

At Valus was a lanky twig with a shock of unkempt blonde hair and two mischievous blue eyes that had on more than one occasion fulfilled their promise of mayhem. The boy was too smart for his own good, a point that the teachers at the local Norsian school never tired of trying to make to Jurgan. The long rides to school from Danek’s gap each spring were paying off, Jurgan could be proud to know that he would leave a smarter man behind when he died.

Many of the clans still feared the coming of the outside world, concerned that they would lose themselves and their traditions to the onslaught of modernity, Valus proved those fears unfounded. The boy had learned to ride almost before he could walk, he could shoot, live off the land, and hunt as well as any elder. The boy could also read, a skill Jurgan and his peers did not possess, and he knew his way around a computer thanks to his school lessons. Jurgan beamed with pride to know his son embodied old and new, he knew he was not alone in this either.

They arrived at their destination, a stone circle overlooking the town below, the lights of the gap glittered in the inky blackness of the wider steppe. The familiar rock formations summoned memories of Jurgan’s own rite of passage, the vigil of clan Morgenstern had been endured for millennia in such places. He smiled as he watched old Karl and his daughter Antja prepare the firepit, Karl’s hair had been brown the last time they had been here.

“What now,” Valus asked in a weary voice

“We drink!” Hans replied enthusiastically as he tossed cans of Prydanian lager to each of the party

Many clans were obsessed with making their rites as brutal and grueling as humanly possible, the bloodletting of young Kimbri and the great hunts of the Karg to name just two. The Morgenstern felt no need to sink to such crudeness, the greeting of the dawn was affecting without being a durance, certainly, no one ever forgot their first dawn as an adult.

They sat around the welcome heat of the firepit, horse dung making for excellent fuel, and they drank and shared their stories, waiting out the daylight together as a clan. After a while, old Karl produced a pan from his saddlebags and began adding herbs, dried meat, and vegetables to what soon grew into a fragrant stew. They ate from metal bowls and felt the weight of the journey fade away as the warmth of the fire and the comfort of full bellies lulled them all into relaxed conversation.

“I remember your father's vigil; he grumbled about lack of sleep the entire time!” Karl said to Valus, a warm grin crossing his wrinkled face, his grey mustache giving him the look of a smiling walrus

“I think your memories going old man!” Jurgan shot back in mock offense, a grin flashing on his own face

Karl had known Jurgan’s father, they had grown up amongst the scrubland and hill country of the gap, Karl had outlived his friend by many years, but he still watched over the family of his kinsman. He was showing his age more with each passing day, the old limp more pronounced and his hair now fully white, but he was here now and that was what mattered. Men did not live long on the steppe, Jurgan greatly appreciated the elder's presence, he knew it was a precious gift.

“Sure, beats trucking,” Antja said crushing her empty can as she did so

Karl’s only daughter, Antja, was a fixture in the community of clan Morgenstern, a wayfarer whose tales always drew an audience. She'd been working for a foreign company every spring for the past decade, her hauling runs bringing coal and uranium from the mountains and money and goods from the port. She had survived bandits, breakdowns, and hijackings and lived to tell the tale. She would likely be headed out again in a few days, the road calling her back.

“I never get tired of that view,” Hans said pointing to the town below

The settlement's sparse collection of lights resembled fireflies in the gloom, the town deceptively tranquil in the small hours. By morning the bustle of trucks, gas stations, and bars would pick up at a jarring pace and the world would return to its usual flurry of activity, but for now, the land slept.

The town represented the future of the clan, of the country, its prefab buildings and highway bringing livelihood to those who had embraced the new way. But an Essalanean was always an Essalanean, the steppe would call, and her children would answer.

*************************************************************************************

The sun rose on the horizon, bright and immaculate. A great ball of purifying flame that wash across the enshrouded land and revealed it to the scrutiny of day. Valus stood in the light of the new day and closed his eyes as the flood of golden light became blinding. Jurgan moved in behind the boy with his knife unsheathed and swung.

The boys' braid fell to the ground, amputated with one practiced motion, Karl reached down and took the severed thing in his hand, tossing it into the fire and making the holy sign of Ziu. Thus, Shawn, the boy became a man, childhood ritually cut away by the blades of his elders.

“You are a man now, leave childhood to fade with the night and take your first steps into the new day,” Jurgan said solemnly

The others took turns in clapping Valus on the shoulder and offering praise and advice until it was Jurgan’s turn to speak again, he placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder and smiled.

“I am so proud of you my son, hard to think your mother used to carry you in her saddle bags, you’ve certainly gotten bigger,” Jurgan said unable to suppress his smile when he remembered Hilda carrying Valus

“Aye and hairier!” Hans called out in the background with an amused chuckle

“If she could see you now, your mother would be as proud as I am,” he said sincerely

Hilda had passed almost a decade ago, claimed by one of the endless floods of disease and illness that periodically washed over the steppe. The local doctor had called it Dust-lung, endless coughing giving way to blood and fevers, she had fought for months before finally succumbing. Not a day passed that Jurgan did not wish he would wake up at her side, but such things were no longer possible on this side of life.

“She wanted you to have this when you were old enough,” Jurgan said reaching into his pack and offering a long gift wrapped in red cloth to his son

Valus pulled back the cloth to reveal a long knife resting in its scabbard, tawny leather covering the blade, horses, and foxes dancing across the stitched cover. The hilt was carved bone in the shape of a hawk's head, the blade was Essalanean blue steel, it glittered like a mirror when unsheathed. Valus’s mother had always kept the blade in immaculate condition, it was as beautiful now as when she had held it all those years ago.

“Thank you, father,” Valus replied with near-trembling lips

They stayed on the hill for a time, reminiscing and discussing the future, but as the last shadows of the night gave way to Rosey-fingered dawn, they packed up and headed back down into the gap. Four adults and one boy had ascended the hills in the night, now five adults returned to the world below.

Viewer Discretion Advised
Accompaniment: The Concerto


Kashirskaya, bld. 6, appt. 65
Lebedevgrad, Rayvostoka
Tuesday, January 30th, 2023
6:57 PM

Vadim stood squarely in front of the entrance to the apartment, blocking Artyom from the view of the small peephole at its center. Artyom leaned against the wall, its blue facade contrasting the black of his polo. Taking a deep breath, Vadim knocked on the orangish wood of the door.

KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK

"Who is it!" Shouted a voice from inside the apartment.

Vadim replied quickly. "I'm your new neighbor, Ivan! I was stopping by to introduce myself. You didn't meet me, but you helped my wife the other day when she was bringing in groceries, and I wanted to give you something for it."

"Oh, fantastic, let me get the door. I was in the middle of making dinner; give me a second!" The voice shouted, slightly distracted.

"Sure!" Responded Ivan, as he slowly hid his silenced PM-95 behind his back

A few seconds passed as the pair waited for the man to open his door. From behind the door, they could hear his footsteps, the jangling of the chain lock, and the loud click of the door lock. With one last click, the door handle turned, and the man peeked through the crack to get a better view of his new "neighbor."

With barely enough time to scream, Vadim pushed through the door, revealing the gun from behind his back. Pointing it directly at the man, who was now taken entirely by surprise, fumbling, trying unsuccessfully to flee, Vadim pulled him back away from the apartment's interior.

"Hel-" The man was cut off by a quick punch to the gut, falling to the ground.
The man began to cry as Vadim's partner entered the room; Artyom held a finger to his lips in almost a taunting gesture at the man.

"Is there anyone else in here with you?" Vadim whispered, crouching down beside the man.

The man shook his head.

"You're not lying to me, are you?" Vadim asked, raising his gun to point directly at the man. "Because I hate liars... and it's going to be very bad for you and whoever you're trying to protect, understand?" The man shook his head, quivering in fear.

"Good, now stand up." Vadim gestured upward with his gun. "Now, walk." He said, nudging him forward with the muzzle of the weapon.

The three walked deeper into the moderately sized apartment, entering its small but effective-looking kitchen, which looked as if dinner was halfway made with pots on the stove and two plates lined up neatly on the table.

"Dinner for two, eh?" Vadim quietly quipped. "A, it looks like we're missing someone. Go searching."

Artyom nodded, scanning the room for any indicators of life. Then, quickly noticing light emanating from under one of the doors, Artyom gestured towards the door alerting his partner, who then nodded in recognition.

"It's unfortunate; you thought you had to lie to me, Yakim," Vadim whispered. "Call for your wife, Yakim, before my partner has to drag her out."

Artyom walked to the kitchen counter and grabbed a knife from the table, concealing it as he walked back into the adjacent living room.

The man tried to put on a strong voice. "Eliana! It's safe to come out now; you can stop hiding."

From what looked to be the bathroom, Eliana emerged from behind the door into the living room, hesitantly walking towards the men and her husband.

"Ah, Eliana, is it?" Vadim asked.
The woman nodded, nervous, shaking in fear.

"And how is such a beautiful woman like yourself related to a man like Yakim here?" Vadim asked, gesturing at her with his gun.

"I'm... I'm his wife." She said, looking at the gun aimed right at her.

"I see... and do you love your husband?" He asked, glancing at Yakim.

"Yes..." She said, nodding.

"Well, that's truly unfortunate then, as it seems Yakim here does not seem to reciprocate. Seeing as he got you into this situation in the first place."

Eliana was so confused. "What did he do?"

Vadim shook his head, turning to Yakim. "You didn't even have the courage to tell her what you did? Shameful."

"Well, Yaki here, decided it would be a great idea to participate in the New Year's Coup. And it seems like that venture did not turn out well for him."

Eliana began to cry. "Why didn't you tell me? You put us both in danger."

"I wanted to protect you, Eli; the less you knew, the better!" Yakim sobbed.

Vadim laughed. "Sadly, two people need to die today because of your recklessness." Vadim motioned at Eliana, and Artyom moved quickly, revealing his knife and stabbing Eliana in the heart. She gasped, holding onto Artyom and her chest as he cradled her lifeless body, placing it gently on the floor.

Yakim cried out, only to be silenced by a quick blow to the head, knocking him unconscious. Vadim dragged Yakim over to his wife's body, taking her blood-covered hands and wiping them onto his clothes. Artyom then handed him the knife, which he placed in Yakim's right hand, making sure to get it covered in blood and placing his fingerprints onto the handle. Quickly after, the knife was placed on the ground close to Eliana's body while Yakim was carried to the living room sofa.

Artyom, meanwhile, began to prep the scene by turning on the apartment's television and blasting the volume after changing the channel to a "proletarian action movie," which unleashed the sounds of screams and roaring gunfire into the small space. Digging through the kitchen drawers, he also found a pen and notepad, which after imprinting Yakim's fingerprints onto the pen, Artyom used to write a false suicide note.


Artyom placed the note on the coffee table in front of Yakim and made sure to imprint Yakim's fingerprints onto the pen, which he then placed haphazardly on the coffee table.

Vadim pulled a small pistol from his pocket, placing it into Yakim's right hand. Making sure the safety was on, Vadim covered the loaded gun with Yakim's prints and the drying blood of his spouse. Then, the movie still blaring in the background, Vadim used Yakim's limp hand to grip the gun; undoing the safety, Vadim forced Yakim's finger to pull the trigger.

With the film masking the sound of the gunshot, Yakim's hand fell limp as both of his killers quickly and quietly exited the apartment and into the hallway. Closing the door behind them and quickly making their way to the building's elevator.

Clinique Priape

Santonian Alps

Province of Baviere



Lady Xolani opened her eyes, a dimly lit room greeted her, she felt a wave of grogginess and nausea flow over her as she forced herself to sit up. She didn't know how long she had slept, had the labor been hours ago? Days? Trying to pin down hard details in her addled state was like wading through treacle.

It had been a difficult birth one that had almost ended in disaster when the baby had been at risk of a breach. But after an eternity of tension and inspired medical practice, a baby girl had emerged unscathed and announced her arrival with a loud and reassuring wail.

Xolani’s eyes darted around the suite with fearful urgency, the child was nowhere in sight, only the elegant furnishings and blue silk drapes met her gaze. She felt a surge of maternal anxiety rise inside of her, screaming panic gripping her with the near supernatural force that only a new mother could summon.

“You did well Xola” came an approving voice from the shadows, the tone was off-putting, undoubtedly sincere but like a general congratulating a good soldier and not a new mother

Sabhrain sat in the corner of the room, she cradled a small cooing babe in her lap. The child born of a surrogate mother was swaddled in a scarlet cloak bearing the manticore of house Kevshah, a surrogate child that would one day inherit an empire.

“She has your husband's eyes Xola, though I think my nose,” Sabhrain said with a warm smile as she gazed down at the cooing babe she held

“Mpande always wanted children,” Xola said a pang of sadness striking as the words left her mouth

The late colonel had been one of the countless casualties of the civil war, his fighter shot out of the skies over Tyrooz, that been four years ago but the pain was still as raw as the day of his loss. It was a pain made more acute by the fact that Mpande had been the last of his line, a fact that had caused her late husband no end of anxiety. His death had been doubly tragic because it represented two losses, on the one hand, her beloved husband and on the other the extinction of one of mondabaland's* most venerable lines.

“I never had a chance to meet your husband, but his heroism and loyalty will be honoured always, as will yours,” Sabhrain said in a reverent tone

Xola had not known the full depths of her husband's anxieties when he had declared for Sabhrain and joined the march on the capital he had seemed distant and troubled. Only in the months after his death had she learned of the lengths he had gone to preserve his legacy, genetic material had been privately stored in a Kuwakuru* vault with some donations going back decades. Her husband had known the dangers of being the last heir to his house and if the information from the clinic had been any indication, it had been an all-consuming obsession.

She had agonized about the potential implications of her husband's actions, she was unsure whether it would even be right to take advantage of the dead in such a manner. Still, her husband's line was extinct, a fact that seemed grossly unfair given the loyalty he had shown. The decision had hung over her for the better part of a year and in the end, it was not her own initiative but rather the request of her ruler which had prompted action.

“It was my honor to aid you in this endeavor empress and to ensure some part of Mpande will continue, even if only in secret,” Xola said solemnly, her tone tinged with sorrow

It was undeniably a strange thing that had happened here, a surrogate mother giving birth to the empress's child, and what a strange child at that!? Born of two mothers and bearing the blood of a living empress and a year's dead colonel. The whole thing had an air of the ghoulish about it, like something out of a science paperback, but then again it was in service to Astragon and one did not simply deny the Exalt their due.

“This child need not be the last” Sabhrain replied ominously

“Your exalt I don't unders...” Xola said letting the words trail off

“Your husband was meticulous in his plans, there was enough material in those vaults to produce over a dozen heirs and as a reward for your immense service i have opened an account with this clinic in your name, you need only say the word and all will be made ready” the empress explained in a gentle tone

When Xola had agreed to bear the empresses child, to serve as a surrogate womb to the future of her nation, she had never expected reward. Xola had understood that in bearing the empress and heir she would be sacrificing her husbands dream on the alter of something greater, she had been wrong. She felt herself double over, tears that were equal parts sorrow and joy streaming down her face.

“His line will live!” she said forcing the words from quivering lips

Sabhrain waited patiently for Xola to regain her composure, after what seemed like an eternity Xola felt the overwhelming news settle. She stared up at the empress and was struck by how very human Sabrhain looked. The empress was dressed in casual clothing, a simple black dress and sandals, a far cry from her usual martial appearance, she looked tired, as though she had not slept in days.

As the Exalt looked down at the bundle in her arms there was something else in her expression, delight but also profound anxiety, her expression spoke of uncertainty. The empress governed a vast and powerful nation, led mighty armies, and survived countless plots but motherhood presented an arena the red empress was far less well-versed in. She looked like a soldier that had been handed their first rifle, amazed by the gift but terrified of the responsibilities.

“My lady” Xola said interrupting Sabhrains silence “forgive me but have you chosen a name yet?”

“I have not, truth be told I was rather hoping you might have that honor”

Xola felt her heart skip, to give birth to an empress was an honor, to grant them a name was a privilege afforded only to the most venerated of persons. Sabhrain was not simply asking Xola to name her child, she was asking her to decide the name that would be uttered by millions for a generation. Xola paused and considered her choice, it flowed from her lips as though destiny would not wait for her to say it.

“Oratile my empress, name her Oratile” Xola said

“Origin?” Sabhrain asked surprised by the unusual name

“She is the origin of rebirth for two great houses” Xola explained

“Fitting” Sabhrain agreed with an approving nod “Oratile Na Kevshah, has a nice ring to it,” Sabrain said with a wide smile



*one of the 12 constituent ethnic nations of Astragon, the Mondaba tribe dwells in the vast savannah of southern Astragon, the region is one of the largest in the country and is famous for its agrarian and industrial output.

*Kuwakuru, a major city in mondabaland, is famed for its resorts, clinics, and a prestigious university teaching hospital.

Lais Governorate, The Aurorea
February 6, 2023

The town of Amahel used to be livelier. Before the war, Scalvian and Sorovian tourists visited the valley to swim in that great big lake. But when the Mushir started his invasion of Scalvia, many men, young and old, were sent away. The fearful mothers, sons, and daughters, had to act like they always do on regular days. They do the housework, go to school, go to the supermarket, and, soon, the Mushir will bring back their men, glorious and reborn.

All they have to do is obey the state.

Thorald Yishai did everything the state told him to do. But he was an "undesirable." Unfit to be a soldier, unfit to be a son, unworthy to be a man.

"A faggot whore." One of his Scalvian clients called him. He remembered when he was just in high school, giving up on fitting in and decided to let somebody else do it.

Some of the men came back. Most of them are deserters. They committed disobedience to leave their stubborn, so-called patriotic officers and comrades to their fates.

Some of them claimed they were mutineers still finding ways to give glory to Mushir, Nation, People. That's all they could do as they explained themselves to an uninterested Thorald, focused on receiving their money and frustrations in his bedroom.

Thorald used the money to help his poor mother. The shame she has to suffer by giving birth to something like him.

The rest he spent with his young sister, Aurelia. They were regulars at the local bowling alley.

Then the Scalvians came. And now, Thorald has to deal with Scalvian frustrations.

His first client this afternoon really took his time. An officer in the local occupation garrison. He asked Thorald to call him Ardo.

Unlike the men in town, the Scalvian soldiers did not refer to him as a woman or asked him to wear a dress or put on a wig. But they did have their special requests. Some liked him in his school uniform, in his Young Aurorean khakis, or in his Citizen Army fit. The strange ones were those who preferred him as it is.

Ardo was a strange one. He kept whispering to Thorald. That he would take him to his home and pay for his college education. Teasing the idea of growing old together. It worked for both of them to arrive quickly to the end with deep satisfaction.

Smoking a cigarette with Ardo, feeling relaxed from the cooling dampness in the air, Thorald could not help but ask in Ardo's language, "Why are you here?"

"To rebuild your home," Ardo answered.

Thorald snorted. "Don't lie. Or repeat what your superiors told you to tell us."

"To avenge my country," Ardo admitted.

"So," Thorald pointed at himself. "this is an act of vengeance?"

"You're more of a reward." Ardo smiled, blowing tobacco smoke from his lungs.

Thorald huffed. He snuffed the light off his cigarette on the desk right next to the bed. He stood up from the bed and put his clothes back on. "Right." Thorald laughed, "My country is a reward to the great nations of Scalvia and the Volshan Autocracy."

"...Did I upset you?" Ardo looked up at Thorald.

"You're gonna take me home? Give me an education? You're going to fix everything? It's that simple, huh?"

Thorald threw Ardo's uniform at him.

"Don't think things will change just because of you. You're all the same."

"...I-"

"Now, get out!"

Stanfen II's Royal Square
Kardenccia, CD
February 6th

---

---

*Don't look at the roadside: a Tardineanni idiom meaning that someone should not get distracted as there could be bad consequences or they could lose track (literally).

It’s always raining in Meklenberg.

Agent Udo Stein was pacing back and forth, his eyes glancing between his fingers desperately trying to unwrap more gum and the monitors in the observation station he and his team were working out of. The monitors flickered a pale green light in the dark room. Udo eyed each one waiting for the right moment. An illicit purchase of substances was about to take place. Thanks to a plant in one of the buyer’s retinue they, the AVK*, were able to set up cameras beforehand. All there was to do now was wait. Wait in complete silence. Silence filled with the buzzing of electric monitors and Udo’s own incessant chewing. It drove him mad. If he ever made it to retirement, he swore to kill himself out of spite. His impatience got the better of him.

“Unit two check in please,” he half barked half whispered into a large radio he was carrying.

“Unit two, uh checking in. We’re in position… still. Waiting for green signal,” came a reply. It was his favorite tactical officer Ben Kruger. The breaching team had been waiting for nearly three hours. Delayed. By irritable bowel syndrome of all things. Udo chewed harder, faster, and louder.

The buyer, Paul Leon Walter, also known as Little Man, was a seven foot three hundred pound gangster. Known for his short temperament and violent tendencies. He was notorious in the Meklenberg underground. The AVK had tracked all sorts of illicit deals and back alley assassinations to him, but never with enough evidence. Now was the chance. Unfortunately, the Little Man had IBS and was currently in the bathroom and had been for the past few hours. Everyone else was ready to get the deal over with. Even the seller looked impatient. A tall Skandan man by the looks of it. Maybe not Skandan. He didn’t know, they all looked the same to him. The man’s retinue on the other hand did not seem so eager to leave. There was a full spread of appetizers and snacks. Udo could feel wrinkles forming on his head at the thought of drug dealers having better parties for a goddamn deal than he could even afford for his own family’s birthdays. He’d scream, but their observation station was only a floor above and a couple doors down.

“Sir we got movement again!” perked up one of techs watching the monitors. Udo immediately swiveled hard to face them as well, nearly choking on his gum in the process. Little Man was exiting the bathroom, laughing jovially as he approached his guests.

“C’mon you fat fuck… do it,” Udo was muttering under his breath, one hand on the desk station the other literally crushing his tech’s shoulder in a vice grip.

Little man looked to be discussing the buy with the Skandan man, before signaling one of his men to bring a large duffel bag over. The Skandan man nodded in agreement and had several men hand over briefcases each. It was clear as day, the buy was made. Finally. There was a God.

Udo spit out his gum with glee, it now firmly stuck to a monitor, before grabbing his radio and yelling with all his might, “GREEN LIGHT!”

While Udo’s words still reverberated through the walls, Unit two quickly moved from the emergency stairwell down the hall to the outside of the apartment door.

Kruger signaled for the ram man to breach. A tactical officer with a large battering ram with the words “Guten Morgen” written on the side positioned himself near the door. All the officers took a bated breath as the man heaved his ram.

Udo hadn’t blinked since he had given the order. On one monitor a door flew off its hinges and officers quickly followed it into the apartment. On another monitor all the attendees were jolted by the surprise of a flood of men with raised guns yelling to get down. Some were slow to comply, but all did. All but one. Little man made a run for a window fire escape. Udo couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Run was a generous word in this case, but still he was quick on his toes it would seem. Udo could still hear the echoing yells to get down even from the next floor. Until that is, across all six monitors ran Kruger grabbing Little Man in a headlock before performing a jumping cutter, slamming the man’s face into the ground. Udo dropped to his knees, arms raised to the sky in victory.

Das Amt für Verfassungsschutz der Krone (AVK)(The Crown's Office for the Protection of the Constitution)*

11 October 2036
5:29 pm
On a Saturday
just outside Kiojaleit, Prydania

Týr Öxndal groaned as he entered the house, collapsing on the couch. His mother was unsympathetic.

"Get your boots and jacket off and go shower before you roll around on my couch."

The sixteen year old twisted and looked up at Víf, his mother, exhausted.
"But mamma..."

"No buts, go get cleaned up."

He grumbled. It was made worse by his younger siblings, Ástvar and Ráðhildur, who were watching tv and chuckling at him. Revelling in the fact that their older bro had to help out on the farm more often now.

"But my show's gonna be on and..."

"Listen to your mamma," Grandma Júlíetta called from the kitchen, and that got Týr's attention.

"Ok," he said as his mother sighed.
"Oh you listen to Grandma but not your mother ok."

Týr smiled as he pulled himself up from the couch just as his father Rúrik entered. He stepped out of his boots and hung his hat and fall jacket by the door.

"You did good today," Rúrik said as he ruffled his son's hair.
"But just wait until it's spring" he chuckled.

Týr just groaned, prompting his siblings to chuckle. Ástvar and Ráðhildur, however, got a look from their father.

"Be nice," Rúrik said.
"It'll be your turn soon enough."

The two younger kids stopped their snickering at the realization that they'd have to pull their weight soon, but Týr just sighed.

"We have a whole team of workers. Why do I have to learn to do this stuff?"

"Because," Rúrik answered.
"Because my pabbi had to learn and his pabbi before him, and so on, and that means you need to learn how to farm."

Týr sighed but then looked down.
His pabbi didn't have to say it. But he had been learning about the Syndicalist Era in school. What happened to his father. Do this place. He suddenly felt very guilty.

"Don't worry about it," Rúrik chuckled and pat his shoulder.
"It'll do you good to know how this stuff works when you're running this place. Besides. You did good today."

Týr smiled sheepishly as he pabbi pat his shoulder again.
"Go shower. We'll meet down here for dinner, ok?"

"Ok," he said before turning to go upstairs.

"He really did alright," Rúrik said with a shrug.

"And you should take a shower too," Júlíetta teased as Víf kissed her husband.

"Your mamma's right, you stink."

Rúrik chuckled and made his way to his own bathroom, chuckling.
"Smells like money you mean!"

---

Rúrik was shocked that Týr was out of the shower and at the kitchen table when he emerged from he and Víf's room. Sixteen year olds were usually not quick in the shower, and he'd just worked a full day. He figured he'd be in there for an hour. But no. Showered and seated at the kitchen table. Rúrik didn't think much of it as he gathered the rest of the kids. His wife, mother, and children. One big happy family as he took his seat.

"Oh it smells good mamma," he said looking at Júlíetta.
"Let's say grace."

Týr groaned a bit though. His father shot him a look and he quickly shut up. He didn't have a problem with grace necessarily, but he glanced over at the clock on the kitchen oven. It was very nearly six. He was in a hurry. His show would be on soon.

"Lord God, Heavenly Father," Rúrik began, "bless us and these Your gifts which we receive from Your bountiful goodness. Through Jesús Kristur our Lord. So say we all."

"So say we all," everyone said, though as soon as the words had escaped Týr's lips he began to dig in, grabbing some fried pork belly, potatoes, and some brennandiást*.

"Leave some for your siblings," Júlíetta said with a smile as Rúrik chuckled.

"He's a growing boy, besides he earned his fill today." Týr just looked at his father and, after swallowing a huge bite, said "thanks pabbi."

"So Ástvar," Víf turned her attention to her second oldest.
"What was today like? Did you get any studying for that math test on Monday?"

"Um...já mamma," Ástvar said nervously. He was sure he could get away with it but...

"He's lying mamma, he was spending all day with Storolf and Tola, playing video games and football!" the eleven year old Ráðhildur said, sounding very proud.

"You snitch!"

Ráðhildur just smirked as she ate, Víf looking very disappointed in Ástvar.

"You said you were going to study."

"But mamma... Ráðhildur..."

"It's your sister's fault you didn't study?"

"No but..."

Ráðhildur stuck her tongue out at her brother across the table.

"And what do you find so funny?" Víf asked Rúrik as Rúrik stifled a smile.

Fact was he just... enjoyed his family. He'd lost a lot, but he'd gained a lot over the years. And this... this just made him happy. And also... he remembered his own childhood, before things got bad. He and his cousins Markthór and Addý were like siblings and... it just brought back some memories.

"Nothing, nothing dear," Rúrik answered.
"Ástvar, you're studying for math tomorrow. As long as your mamma thinks you should."

"But pabbi..."

"Týr has to help me on the farm? Least you can do is study for your math test."

"Tomorrow won't be so bad, right?" Týr asked, having sped through his food.

"Sunday? Nah, don't worry. Be a piece of cake."

Týr smiled. He'd been working on the farm on the weekends since last spring. To be fair it was farming country. All of his friends had similar hardships and laments about their social lives being cut short but maybe he could catch a movie with his mates in town tomorrow. But as for tonight...he glanced over at the oven clock. It was six!

He popped open his can of Toki's and gulped it down as quick as he could. He piled up his knife, fork, spoon, and even his pop can onto the plate and brought it to the sink before making a dash for the living room.

"Where're you off too?" Júlíetta asked. Ráðhildur had the answer.

"Some Syrixian cartoon," she muttered as she pulled out her phone.

"No phones at dinner," Víf said, as her daughter put it away.

"Fyrirgefðu*..."

Rúrik turned though, to see Týr on the couch in the living room.
"Grandma made eplaskífur* for desert!"

"I'll get it later!" Týr called out.

"He watches that show all the time," Ástvar mumbled.

"Ásti, not with food in your mouth."

"Fyrirgefðu," he replied, echoing his sister.
"But," he continued, "he does. Every Saturday."

"They play Syrixian cartoons on tv?" Rúrik asked.

"On Norðurstjarna*," Víf replied.
"They're getting popular, I think. Him and his friends are into them."

"Huh," Rúrik muttered.
"Thought he was getting too old for cartoons."

"They're not cartoons!" Týr called from the living room.
"It's Chetan!"

"They're cartoons," Ástvar muttered.

---

Rúrik had excused himself from the table, if only for mild curiosity, and joined his son in the living room.

"What's up pabbi?"

"I just, um, wanted to see this."

"Oh..." Týr muttered.
"Um," he picked his voice up.
"Sure."

Rúrik took a seat next to his son on the couch. And cocked his head a bit. They were cartoons but...
"I thought these were Syrixian?"

"It is."

"But they're speaking Prydansk."

"It's a dub, pabbi."

"A what?"

Týr sighed.
"It's made in Syrixia, in Syrixian, but when it comes overseas they have local voice actors re-record the lines."

"Oh... that makes sense," Rúrik shrugged.
"What's the show called?"

"Trayasya Mārgaḥ."

"Godblessyou."

"That's not funny pabbi."

"What? I don't know what that means."
He picked up the remote and hit the button displaying the channel information. Norðurstjarna- 6pm-7pm The Trio's Way.

"It says the show's called 'The Trio's Way.'"

"That's the dub name pabbi. The authentic Syrixian title is Trayasya Mārgaḥ."

"But we're watching the dub."

"Well this is the first time the episode aired in Prydanian. But it aired a few weeks earlier in Syrixian and my friends and I watched it."

"But you don't speak Syrixian."

"We watched a sub."

"A sub?"

"You know, subtitles?"

"So you're watching the same thing twice?"

"Well sometimes they change stuff and look... can we just watch?"

"Ok, ok, but it seems like you've already watched this."

Týr shot his father a glance and Rúrik just shrugged. He tried to follow along. He seemed like he could, for the most part.
"So this Aduna is two thousand years old?"

"Já, she's a jungle spirit from before the Syrixian Empire was formed."

"Why does she look like she's twelve?"

"She's supposed to look fourteen."

"But she looks twelve."

"Pabbi!"

"I just don't get why she looks like that!"

"It's... part of the genre, ok? It's like subversive!"

Rúrik had always had some trouble when it came to his kids. His own life had been turn upside-down when he was ten. Eleven years in a labour camp. So much of the work he'd put in since his freedom was to give his children a better life and he'd succeeded. Stuff like school- high school especially- just wasn't something he had a frame of reference for. Víf had managed to stay out of the camps thanks to her pabbi playing ball with the Syndicalists, so she was able to help. Still, Rúrik was used to not always being able to relate to his kids. Not to mention trends that he just couldn't wrap his head around. His kids were 16, 13, and 11. He'd been through enough already.
But this... this was something else. This show about this pre-teen nature spirit who was also thousands of years old... not dressed provocatively but still more skimpily then anyone drawn that age should be dressed... and she was just laying waste to everyone? There was a plot, but the leaps in logic, the bad puns, the sexual humour... it just seemed to him like an excuse for action scenes and animated panty shots.

"Ok champ, I'm out," he said as he stood.
"I'm... it's not for me."

"You don't like it?"

Rúrik shrugged.
"I'm old, don't think anything of it. Come back into the kitchen for desert when you're done."

"Ok, pabbi," Týr replied, returning his attention to the show.

"Not any good?" Júlíetta asked.

"I need..." Rúrik replied softly.
"A stiff drink and to get that boy back into hockey."

---

*brennandiást- "burning love," a dish that's made of mashed potatoes, onions, and bacon, very popular in Prydania around the fall and winter
*eplaskífur- a Prydanian pastry involving apple slices
*Fyrirgefðu- "I'm sorry," a phrase used by children to apologize to their parents
*Norðurstjarna- North Star, the largest private tv network in Prydania

6 June 2023
1:04 pm
On a Tuesday
Luscova, Norsia

Baldr and Hael chased each other around the gardens of the White Palace as Tobias held Hanna as he sat on one of the benches. And eventually the two year old twins ran up to him and grabbed each of his legs.

"Pabbi, pabbi! Ice giants! Ice giants!" they said in unison.

Tobias smiled as he looked down at his daughter.

"I'm sorry boys, pabbi's holding your sister."
He moved Hanna in his arms so his sons could get a good look at her.

"She can play with us?" Hael asked but Tobias shook his head.

"She's still too little for that," Tobias said as he moved off the bench to sit cross legged on the floor and set Hanna down. She was little but definitely growing. She crawled around and Tobias pulled some of her toys out by the pouch. It was one of his days to be the stay at home parent.

"You know Your Grace, I could look after her, if you wanted to play with the boys."

Tobias looked up at Colart and grinned.
"I don't want to put you out."

Colart chuckled.
"I handled Her Grace when she was barely older. Go play with your boys."

Tobias nodded and handed Hanna a rattle.
"Be good for Uncle Colart, ok?" he said as Hanna smiled and shook the toy as the twin boys jumped up and down. Tobias rolled to his side a bit and stood, rolling his head and smiling as he led his boys away, and then out of nowhere he started to growl and make menacing faces at them as they laughed and ran off in opposite directions.

"The Ice Giant's gonna get you!" Tobias called out as he walked a bit stiffly like some old movie monster. He caught a glimpse of Hael's blue hoodie run around a row of hedges and went to chase him, only for Baldr to jump out of the shrubbery and grab his leg. Tobias laughed and remembered to growl menacingly before he let himself collapse and fall to the ground as Baldr and Hael climbed onto him. Tobias grunted a bit. His sons were getting bigger too. But for now? For now he could still play with them like this. He laughed and rolled around with them.

"Oh no! The Princes have trapped me!" he called out in his ice giant voice. Colart looked over, letting out a soft chuckle as he minded to Hanna. And then the theme to the show Battlecarrier Ardent blared out. It was Tobias' phone. He groaned and reached down, fishing the phone out of his pocket.

"Hallo?" he asked as he lay down, two two year olds climbing over him and laughing.
"Shh, boys, quiet down, pabbi's on the phone... sorry about that? Hallo?"

"Your Majesty? It's Dr. Ærnmund Sanner, University of Býkonsviði."

"Oh hello Doctor," Tobias replied, racking his brain. He knew the name but he couldn't place it. Thankfully the good doctor helped him out.

"Hello Your Majesty, you may be aware that I'm part of the joint dig in Heorot."

"Já, já," Tobias replied, nodded as he remained pinned down to the ground by twin two year olds.
That was where he heard the name. The joint University of Miita/University of Býkonsviði archaeological dig in Heorot in eastern Andrenne, the ancestral homeland of most Prydanians.

"Sorry, Doctor. You caught me with my kids."

"I'm... I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty, but we've made an incredible discovery and we wanted to let you know before we went public with it."

Tobias' brow ruffled as he pulled the phone away just long enough to sit up and let Baldr and Hael climb off of him. He made a "shh" sign with his fingers and brought the phone back to his ear.
"What is it, Doctor?" he asked curiously.

"Well Your Majesty, we were focused on the foundational aspects of the sight and... well... it's a long story but the short version is we found a pair of skeletons that date back... oh... our very rudimentary estimates put it at least one hundred thousand years ago."

Tobias didn't say anything at first. He really tried to comprehend that. Something that long ago. He had no formal schooling. He wasn't sure he knew much of anything about anything that far back.
"What... I mean... who, I mean... who are they?"

"They're remarkable, really. One male, one female. Buried in what looks like a ritualized manner. Husband and wife, if I had to guess. And in remarkably good health for the era we're talking about. But Your Majesty, we're calling you because our initial DNA testing has come back and... Your Majesty. We think we may have found the progenitors of the Loðbrók line."

Tobias paused again. This time the full weight of what was being told to him was apparent. The progenitors of his family...

"I want to make it clear Your Majesty, these are very preliminary results, but this is what it looks like. We'll have more information in the coming month or so."

"The progenitors of my family?" Tobias said softly.

"Já," Dr. Sanner replied.
"It's incredible. The site is truly something. We're confident enough to announce what's been discovered later today. Afterwards, it would be our honour if you could come out and see it for yourself."

"I mean..." Tobias looked at his twin boys and then to Colart holding his daughter. His heart fluttered and he nodded.
"Of course Doctor. Thank you for keeping me in the loop."

"My pleasure, Your Majesty. It's a very exciting day for everyone here."

"I can imagine. I just... you're telling me... these are... they're the ones who my family started with?"

"Human genetics isn't really a singular road," Dr. Sanner replied.
"Both of these skeletons, for example, had parents. They had their own genetic legacies. But we look at markers, from the sample of blood you provided for us..."

Tobias winced. He remembered that.

"... and the wider genetic profile of your family, and we can tentatively make this judgment, já."

"Is there anything about the site, where you found them, what were they like?"

"It's fascinating. Not much in the way of sexy finds, of course. A lot from this far back would have simply degraded by now, but we found them in possession of figures. A stag, and a winged lion."

Tobias raised an eyebrow. The stag was his family's sigil. It had been even going back to Heorot and the days before the exile from Andrenne. But a winged lion?

"A winged lion?"

"Já, we're going to need years to properly go through these artifacts and piece together what this site was like, but it appears to be a reoccurring symbol on the scant pieces of artwork we can find. Do you... do you know what it means?"

Tobias chuckled. Almost involuntarily.
"Doctor, it's your job to tell me that."

Sanner laughed and sighed.
"I was hoping perhaps you'd come across it in Absalonhöll. But no worries. I'm very excited at the prospect of decoding this whole site. We'll find answers eventually."

"Well thank you Doctor. Thank you. I look forward to reading all about it."

"Take care Your Majesty. And keep an eye out for the news!"

"I will. You take care too."

Tobias slid the phone into his pocket and stood up.

"Pabbi can we play again?" Baldr asked. Tobias smiled down at the twins and then to Colart and his daughter. The enormity of what he'd been told. He felt his heart race and then... he smiled. Ear to ear.

What he'd just been told was very, very important. And in due time he'd read all about it. And some time later Baldr, Hael, and Hanna would appreciate what it meant. But right now...?

"The Ice Giant will get you!" he roared, chasing after the laughing twin boys.

6 June 2023
9:48 am
On a Friday
Hadden, Prydania

Anne-Sophie Monteil yawned as she rolled over in bed. It may have been a hotel, but it felt like home. Nice and cozy. She wasn't fully awake yet. She normally wasn't this lazy in mornings but she was on vacation and...

"Hey," she said softly as she opened one eye, seeing her boyfriend Eyjólfur Kolstad get out of the shower.

"You're up," Eyjólfur said excitedly.

"Barely," Anne-Sophie replied.
"Oh no!" she suddenly shot up to a sitting position.
"I overslept!"

"Don't worry about it," Eyjólfur laughed.
"We have all day."

Anne chuckled and then pulled the blankets up over her bare breasts. They were on the tenth floor of the hotel, but still! The window was open! Eyjólfur, who had a towel around his waist, walked over and closed the blinds, flicking some lights on.

"I just don't want to miss anything. It's our first day in Hadden."

"And you won't," Eyjólfur said as he leaned over to kiss her. She kissed him back and then playfully tugged at his towel, pulling it down before pulling him into bed with her. The two giggled and chuckled, kissing each other before Eyjólfur looked at her in the eyes and said "I just showered. You're getting me all dirty again."

"You think I'm dirty?!" Anne replied in faux anger, playfully smacking the side of his arm.

"I don't mind. You gotta shower. And if I'm dirty again that means I gotta shower too..."
The two kissed again. They missed each other terribly. They were so excited to see each other but the first few days after she got to Prydania from Saintonge were spent in Osfjoll, Eyjólfur's home town. In fact she stayed with Eyjólfur and his father. He was a kind man, distant though, as Eyjólfur explained it had to do with his time in a Syndicalist camp. He was still nice though, welcoming. And as much as they fooled around, they were a bit self conscious about him being around. But after a few days of meeting with Eyjólfur's family they headed to Hadden. With a hotel room booked for the both of them for a full week. Last night had been their first night. And they were both still giddy with excitement and pent up eagerness.

Eventually Anne broke the kiss. Because if she let herself just fall into his arms again and they spent the whole day making love they'd never see the sights they were planning on seeing.

"I should really shower."

"Should I join you?"

"No Eyjólfur, because then I won't spend my time showering!" she teased as she hit him in the head with a pillow.
"Get dressed while I get ready."

They kissed once more before she pulled herself into the bathroom to clean up for the day.

---

6 June 2023
1:02 pm
On a Friday
Stormurathvarf, Prydania

Anne-Sophie had always had this idea of Prydania as a cold country. Even as she grew up, the memories of seeing news reports on the Civil War there that stuck in her mind were the ones showing images of soldiers in the snow. So she was a bit taken aback when Eyjólfur told her light clothing would be fine for the summer. Of course it was the summer but she expected it to be... still a bit cold? But no. It was pleasant. Warm even, if breezy. The train ride out to Stormurathvarf had let her see the Prydanian summer countryside, green and vibrant.

And presently she and Eyjólfur had their arms around each other as a nice Ascalonian tourist couple took their picture at the base of Vortgyn I's statue, on the site where he won the battle that unified Prydania under the Loðbrók dynasty way back in 1029.

"Oh that's a nice picture," Anne said as she looked over her phone.

"Send me one?" Eyjólfur asked.

"Of course, silly."

The two made their way down the Arfleifð Prydansk* pavilion. There was a tour planned for the battlefield, complete with reenactors! It wasn't for about half an hour though, so the two took their time, looking at the outdoor exhibits between statue and the pavilion.

"So this is the original statue?" Anne asked.

"No, the Syndies tore down the original one. This is a recreation. But the base works in the base of the original I'm pretty sure."

"Oh, ok," Anne replied as she glanced over her shoulder at the statue before she looked back at the plaques Eyjólfur was reading.
"You know I only knew Vertigier," she said, using the Prydanian King's Santonian name, "as the Saint of slaying werewolves."

"He's one of the Saint Kings," Eyjólfur nodded.
"In fact I think... they have something about the werewolves after the tour!"

"Neat!"

Anne was excited to see all of this... it was very knew to her. But she was also nervous. Nervous because she knew now that she had Eyjólfur alone she could ask him something serious.

"I'm gonna get something to eat. You want anything? That train food didn't fill me up," he said after he finished reading one of the plaques.

"Just a pop maybe?"

Eyjólfur made his way to a concession stand and then brought a tray with two Diet Toki's and a chicken sandwich to one of the outdoor tables the facility provided as the two set.
"You sure you don't want any?" he asked. Or at least that's what Anne thought he asked. It was hard to tell with food in his mouth and his accented Santonian.

"I'll nibble on your fries," she said, alternating between sipping the pop and nibbling on a few fries.
"Hey, I was wondering if we could talk?"

Eyjólfur's stomach sank. He was only twenty-two, but he knew that was never a good sign coming from a girl you were dating. And he began to imagine all sorts of things. That she'd tell him the long distance thing wasn't working. Get a flight from Hadden back to Saintes. He felt his body tense up but he swallowed and tried to remain calm.

"Sure."

"So..." Anne began before she realized what she'd done to her poor boyfriend and moved to quickly alleviate his fears.
"I worry about you a lot and I want you to just focus on football." She winced a bit. It was a big ask but one she felt she had to say. And Eyjólfur just looked stunned. He went from thinking his relationship was over to... well it wasn't over. But what was this?

"I..um...I mean... I can't..." he said softly.

"Eyjólfur, I'm not a dummy. I may not speak Prydanian but Saintonge is fooball-crazy. I can look up your stats, everything. I know how much Midland FF pays you. And I can look up real estate in Hadden. You don't need to work with your father. You could live comfortably as a football player."

"It's not that," Eyjólfur said softly.
"I don't need to work as a fisherman on the side for me. I need to do it for him. He won't admit it but his body hasn't been the same since the Syndies tortured him, and it's only gotten worse with age. I need to help him."

Anne nodded and breathed deep, trying to be empathetic.
"Look, I worry about you. Alternating, back and forth, games, practice, fishing? It's a lot of work and fishing is dangerous. If you're too tired, you could hurt yourself. Or worse..." she clutched his hands across the table, and he gently caressed hers back.

"But I can't. My pabbi needs me. He was there for us after mamma died, and he kept us safe. I can't abandon him."

"But you're not. You send some of your salary back to him anyway, right? And your brother-in-law? Holmfast? He's a fisherman. He could help your father."

"He does," Eyjólfur said sheepishly knowing that would only embolden Anne.

"Well then, and I'm sorry but I don't mean to offend you, but what the hell do they need you risking your life for?"

"My family's been fishermen for... I donno! A long time!"

"And if that's all you did, it would be good. It would be, Eyji, but... Prydania is very good at football."

Eyjólfur cocked his head a bit and raised his eyebrow.
"And?"

"Prydania is very good at football," Anne repeated.
"Lots of talent, and of it, you..." she poked his chest from across the table, "are one of the very best."
"You can play football. You're twenty-two. You can play for a long, long time. You can send money back to your father, and live comfortably. And you wouldn't have to risk your life, half tired all the time, out on a fishing vessel in the middle of the Auburn Channel."

Eyjólfur looked down at his chicken sandwich with a bite taken out of it. He was unsure. Anne brought up good points but... he felt like he couldn't. And that uncertainty radiated off of him.

"I wouldn't be asking you to do this if your brother-in-law wasn't there," she said softly.
"I work for my parents. I get it, I do. I love that you want to help your pappa, that selflessness is one of the reasons I love you. And I'm only asking you to do this because I know you doing it wouldn't leave him alone."

"You'd feel this way, even if I stayed in Prydania?" he asked. Since he and Anne had begun dating well... the idea that he could try and land a contract with AS Valence had occurred to him. Peter Bach, the Captain of the Prydanian national team, was friends with the Santonian national team captain Jonathan Jeandupeaux. And Jonathan had contacts there. It was second division sure, but Eyjólfur could play in his girlfriend's hometown. And the town had a fairly large Prydanian community, if he ever felt homesick.
It was an idea he'd entertained, even if it meant asking for favours, which he never felt comfortable doing. That he still worked part time for his pabbi though... that had kept it as just a theoretical. But if he did this... if he committed himself to football... he needed to be sure that Anne would be ok even if he decided to stay in Prydania. Even if he turned down the opportunity this would open up for him.
"I like Midland," he said.
"They gave me my career. Even if I just focused on nothing but football, I don't know if I could leave so easily."

Anne smiled meekly.
She too had entertained the notion that Eyjólfur could play for AS Valence, and her idea would make that more doable. Yet when Eyjólfur asked her that... if she felt this way even if he stayed in Prydania, she took his hands once again.

"You could play football on Beiras*," she said, "and I'd still love you. This isn't about you moving. It's about me worrying about you dying out at sea because you were so ragged from football you didn't know what you were doing."

Eyjólfur felt his heart flutter. He smiled. What he'd do wasn't really settled yet but... he was happy. That made it easier to deal with, that this was just about one thing, and that his girlfriend wanted to be with him no matter what.

"I'll think about it," Eyjólfur said with a smile. And Anne nodded. It was more than she'd gotten from him on the topic before, and it was a good sign.

"Thank you love."

Eyjólfur smiled, looking into her eyes. Beautiful, warm brown...she leaned over the the table and kissed his forehead.

"You should finish your lunch before the tour."

Eyjólfur chuckled, feeling a lot of weight evaporate from him as he dug into his meal.

---

*Arfleifð Prydansk- Heritage Prydania, a government agency charged with preserving historical sites
*Beiras- Eras' second moon

4 September 2023
1:47 pm
On a Monday
Baldersberg, Prydania

September had become far easier for Tobias. Whereas before he'd retreated from the world every September it was now a time to celebrate.

The main reason why was because his eldest children, his twin boys Baldr and Hael, were born. Today.
It was... amazing, really. They were born on the anniversary of Tobias' parents' murder. Execution was the proper term but he considered it a murder.
Yet between him baring his soul on the twentieth anniversary of that event a year ago and his children's birthday, it felt happy. He worried he was perhaps letting his parents' death fade but he knew he wasn't doing that through self reflection. He was finding healthy closure.

Some people, more in tune with the spiritual side of things, thought Baldr and Hael being born on this day was a good omen. Prince Robert and Princess Hanna's spirits finding some life once more.
Tobias wasn't sure about that,. but speaking of Hanna…

"How my girl?"
Tobias smiled. Hanna- his daughter carrying his mother's name- was nearly one! His sons were three! Time was getting away from him.

"I think she's bored," Alycia chuckled and Tobias shrugged.

"Baldr's finally old enough to understand this."

"Is he?" Alycia asked with a smirk.
"The lad's three. And it's Hael's birthday too anyway."

"Oh everyone's getting cake and ice cream," Tobias said with a smile.

Alycia sighed. Her husband. He was eager. Sure at three the boys were talking, but was Baldr really old enough to appreciate this? Alycia knew he wasn't. Tobias was eager though and couldn't be talked out of waiting a few more years.

Baldersberg wasn't a huge city. It was a typical Prydanian town, and wouldn't be notable save for one thing, one thing the statue of King Baldr III hinted at.
And maybe it was because of this (mostly) ordinary nature that the town was out in force to meet the Royal family. Kids- some Baldr and Hael's age- waved mini Prydanian flags and royal standards, the adults, teens, and older children clapping and chanting and singing. Oktoberfest was a month away, but the King visiting was a good excuse to sing and chant early.

Tobias found someone as an early fall breeze blew through. It wasn't the full weight or autumn yet but it was enough to signal that summer was ending and maybe it would be sensible to wear an extra layer.

The someone the King found was a tow-headed boy, a child, near the front of the crowd in the town square.

"Hallo," Tobias said to the child, who looked away nervously.
‘What’s your name?”
"Skjold," his mother said softly.
"Be polite, and say hello to the King," she added.
The day may have been a bit chilly to herald the coming of fall, but the sky was still as bright and clear as it could get, a pleasant sunny day.
And it was that calmness, that even as Skjold stood there nervous looking up at the King, amidst a crowd of cheering and singing people, the King that he was against a peaceful blue sky and soft sunny day gave him some courage.

"Hallo, Herra King," the boy said, and Tobias smiled. He dropped to one knee and motioned for his own boys to join them. They were around the same age as Skjold.

"Say hallo to Skjold," he said as he encouraged his boys to say hello, wave, and shake hands. Tobias stood and began to talk to Skjold's parents Hilde and Sigvid. He asked them about what cartoons and shows and movies and toys Skjold liked and when something was the same for Baldr and Hael Tobias encouraged his sons to talk about it with their new friend.

The Knights of the Storm hated this. Their task was to protect the King and Royal family. It was, in actuality, a holy charge. Yet Tobias chafed at being kept from people.
He'd grown up with soldiers and resistance fighters, with citizens of bombed out villages and survivors of labour camps. He'd handed supplies out to the needy, he'd fed the hungry, and prayed with those who needed the hope of God. He'd leapt over bonfires with the best of them during the solstice.
He wanted to be with people, his people, his countrymen and countrywomen. And wouldn't be told "no."

So the Knights of the Storm had to do their best as Tobias took the princess into the crowd as the conversation clearly began to expand.

"So why come to Baldersberg, Your Majesty?" Sigvid asked.

Tobias grinned and ruffled Baldr'a hair.
"Baldr is going to see the gate."
"Ah!" Sigvid replied, as a curious Baldr looked up.

"What gate, pabbi?"

"You'll see."

"Why can't I see it?" Hael asked and Tobias ruffled his hair too.

"Because you have an important job!"

It was this that allowed Tobias to break away from the crowd he had, at least in part, gathered. He took his boys to Alycia, Hanna, and Colart and dropped down to a knee again to talk to Hael.

"I need to show your brother something very important. While I'm doing that I need you to look after your mama and litlasystir* and keep Uncle Colart honest. Can I count on you?"

"Já pabbi!" Hael said with a smile as Tobias stood.

"You promise you won't bore Baldr too much?" Alycia asked.
"I'm very easy to listen to," Tobias replied with a smile of his own and a kiss on Alycia's lips. She kissed him back.

“Come on,” he said as he gripped Baldr’s hand gently and let him through the town square.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking of,” Alycia muttered.

“What mama?” Hael asked.

“I don’t know,” Colart shrugged.
“It’s never too early to start teaching children things. It’ll be good for the Prince.”

“What mama?” Hael repeated, tugging at his mother’s dress.

“Oh of course you’re in favour of lecturing a pre-schooler,” Alycia teased, giving Colart a smile as she remembered her own tutoring at his hands as a small child.

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” she added, looking down at Hael. Uncle Colart and Pabbi just feel like making your brother learn on your birthday.

---

Tobias held his son’s hand as they made their way through the town square. Crowds were kept to a distance, and Tobias wondered if his son was starting to get any sense of that, how he was protected, watched.
He agreed that he deserved at least a few more years enjoying childhood before he started easing him into his responsibilities- responsibilities he had… experienced differently.
But that was part of why he’d done what he did back there. Thank God his children didn’t have to grow up like he did. That was a blessing. It also meant that they’d grow up with privileges that he didn’t have though, and he was adamant that he give his children some sort of grounding. For their own good.

They continued, to the gates of the town. The last remnants of an older fortress. Well sort of. He’d get to that. He took his son out to the front of them, where the stone cut columns showed intricate scenes of battle, of oak leaves, and of a stag standing triumphant over a defeated Korovan lion.

“So Baldr,” Tobias began as he dropped to one knee and showed his son the intricate images on the columns and the gate.

“Do you know what your name means?”

Baldr shook his head.
“Well,” Tobias began, “you’re named after your great uncle, who passed away a long time ago,” he smiled.
“But both you and he are named after previous Kings of Prydania. There were three King Baldrs. This whole town is named after the most recent one, King Baldr III.

His son looked at him, and nodded. Tobias wasn’t sure what he was retaining, he tried to keep it simple.
“You’re going to be the fourth King Baldr, someday,” he said with a grin.
“But I wanted to show you how important your name is. Baldr III saved this country so long ago, from the Korovans.”

“Did you know him, pabbi?”

“No, Tobias chuckled. It was five hundred years ago. I’m not that old.”

Baldr’s green eyes went wide and Tobias pointed past the gates to the town square.
“That statue is of Baldr III. He came all the way from Saintonge, to free us from an evil King from Korova.”

“T-Bo! T-Mo!” the three year old Baldr said happily. Tobias smiled. He knew his godfathers were from Saintonge.

“Já,” Tobias replied with a grin.
“Baldr III went there to marry his wife, and then came back here to defeat King Vladimir, the Korovan who was trying to take over our country.”

It was a massive over-simplification of that whole ordeal, but it got the point across.

“He set up camp here, when he was preparing to fight Vladimir, and all across the land people came to see their new King who would save him! A town was founded here, to commemorate his victory! That’s why it’s called Baldersberg. You and the town and great uncle Baldr are named after the same hero. This gate here, was made to commemorate his victory so everyone coming here would know it.”

Baldr went up to the columns and ran his small hand over the chiseled images.

“The gate is five hundred years old?” he asked.

“No, not really,” Tobias chuckled.
“The first gate was just a wooden fort gate. When the town was properly founded they built a beautiful gate out of stone. But the Syndicalists broke it.”

Baldr looked a bit confused, but Tobias wasn’t going to explain Syndicalism to him yet.
“Well afterwards it was fixed. So this is the third one, the third Baldr Gate,” he said with a smile.
“And just like you, it’s about three years old.”

Baldr grinned and touched more of the stone work.

“Your name means a lot,” Tobias added.
“And I gave it to you, because when I looked into your eyes three years ago I knew you and your brother were the most amazing and special things in my world.”

Baldr smiled again and Tobias stood up.
“Come on buddy. Let’s get everyone else. And have some cake and ice cream.”

“Yay!” Baldr proclaimed as Tobias took his hand.
He had a speech to make. But it was the coming time with his family, celebrating his sons’ birthday, that he was really looking forward to.

---

*litlasystir- little sister

The Essalanean Steppe

On Kings Road

Near Danek’s Gap



The western steppe burned, the spring heatwave reducing the surrounding landscape to a hell of dust and desolation. It was the opposite of the lands further east, where the central steppe was a cold and barren expanse the west was arguably worse still, heat from the Phoenix Strait rendering everything parched and unable to sustain life. And yet even with that inhospitable climate, things did survive and even thrived, cruel things honed to life on the endless steppe.

Amidst the blistering heat of an uncovered sun, a buzzing filled the air and accompanied the sickly-sweet scent of decay as it flowed across the wastes. A dead horse was presently in the process of being consumed by every scavenger for miles and amidst the lesser delegations of flies, maggots, and insects stood a vast Essalanean carrion bird, a king of death holding court over its latest prize.

The bird pecked at the dead beasts' innards, red and swollen organs torn free and consumed by the vile buzzard. It regarded the nearby road with a disinterested eye as it busied itself gorging, it knew that its next meal might not come for days, though the great stone expanse nearby was leaving a steady supply of roadkill for it to dine upon.

The so-called “kings” road had been built several years ago by Norsians and other soldiers drawn from across the Luscova Pact’s member nations. A vital artery had developed, a means to ship huge amounts of resources both into and out of Essalanea. The locals had called it the King's Road with a mix of reverence and mockery, depending on which clan you asked it was either a lifeline or a blight.

Most agreed it was at least somewhat necessary for wider trade with the rest of Eras, no one could disagree however that the road had become a magnet for violence and death. The road stretched from the far north to the western coast, a vast unbroken line that was immensely challenging to police. Bandits took full advantage, and most convoys would only risk the journey with armed escorts. The Wild South might have opened to the wider Eras, but its dangers would not simply vanish.

The scavenger watched with predatory black eyes as a series of large shadows loomed on the great stone road, it pecked at the corpse and felt a surge of excitement, big shapes meant violence and violence meant fresh carrion. The bird decided to sit patiently and wait, soon it would be rewarded with a feast.



************************************************************************************

Florian wiped the sweat from his brow and wondered, not for the first time, if he had been crazy to join the army. Life back in a Norsian border town might not have been glamorous, but stacking shelves carried considerably less risk of being murdered by savages. He wasn’t sure how he had pulled convoy duty, perhaps it was that ass of a duty sergeant back at the airbase, whatever the reason he was officially engaged in one of the worst duties* a soldier of Norsia could ever be asked to carry out.

The drive from Neuanfang had been long and nerve wracking, all Florian could now think about was taking a long shower and remaining in bed for an entire day. Sleep though was one luxury he did not have; he was driving the commander's jeep in a large mining convoy and his Essalanean companion was not one to tolerate whining or laxity. Florian instead kept his eye firmly on the large truck in front and tried his best to ignore the heat and the burning soreness of his shoulders.

He suspected his Essalanean companion was just as tired as he was, but Jutta of clan Saar seemed a lot better at hiding it. She didn’t say much, a normal trait for Essalaneans, words were a distraction only indulged, when necessary, out on the road, usually she was scanning the horizon, ever watchful for the dust clouds that would signal a raid.

Appearance-wise Jutta was like most Essalanean’s, she was very tall, at least by Norsian standards and she kept her black hair tied in braids bound together with metal rings*. She had a beautiful, fine-boned face, ironically, she might have been a model if she’d grown up in Norsia, but any softness was offset by two fearsome grey eyes that gazed out at the world like a wolf surveying prey. Beautiful perhaps but far from soft.

She wore the uniform of a Marshal of Essalanea*, it was little more than a leather jacket with fur trim and a bronze badge, but on her, it looked imposing, a small beacon of order in a country where there was very little. A snaking scar that ran from her neck to the lower half of her left cheek suggested she had seen action, the dull red hue of the wound suggested that the scar had been a recent acquisition.

He did not know how many tours Jutta had done on this road, but the signs all pointed to her being a veteran, she had the hypervigilance of someone who knew how quickly danger descended. Jutta was never far from binoculars, a radio, or her rifle, and on the rare occasions she permitted herself to sleep it was light, brief, and could be measured in minutes. Florian supposed that was how you had to be on such a dangerous stretch of road, indulge in complacency and end up a snack for the vultures.

“Danek's gap is close now, a few more miles, this is the most dangerous stretch private, keep your head on a swivel and if I tell you to gun it, I expect you to do so without hesitation” Jutta explained in a commanding voice

“Why would someone attack us so close to a settlement?” Florian asked unable to contain his curiosity

“Convoys tend to get complacent the closer to safety they get, the gutters* wait till we’re tired and sloppy and then they strike” Jutta explained in a matter of face tone

Florian had never seen a gutter up close; the barracks gossip was always filled with horror stories about beheaded truckers and cannibals that would skin prisoners alive. Florian suspected embellishment, but the fact that a standard convoy required a military escort suggested that these bandits were dangerous and good at what they did.

He stared out at the other convoy vehicles; two jeeps and an armored truck had been assigned to guard the civilian oil tanker and another truck carrying valuable ores. That should have been more than enough to keep raiders away, but Florian was beginning to suspect it might be barely enough to hold them off. He sighed and tried to focus on the road, fighting every impulse in his body to close his eyes or lie back.

“Should have taken that supermarket job” he muttered wearily

“Super what?” Jutta asked in a rare tone of uncertainty

Florian felt his face redden with embarrassment, it must have been the fatigue making his tongue loose, still, it was the first time in a while that Jutta had spoken at all.

“It's....in Norisa...lots of places really, we have...shops...it's a building.... where you can buy food for money,” Florian said nervously as he tried to explain

“I know what a shop is Norsian, what exactly makes this market super?” Jutta replied irritably

“All sorts, fish, meat, eggs, they have these little cans of Pate* that taste great with bread, there usually a foreign section as well where you can get stuff from other countries,” Florian said descending into nostalgia as he did so

“People do not hunt or farm in Norsia” Jutta asked bluntly

“Plenty do, but usually for fun, most people just rely on the supermarkets” Florian explained

Florian was from a rural town in southern Norsia, he knew how to shoot and how to track prey better than most of his countrymen, the last time he had used those skills to kill and cook something though? That he struggled to remember. Life was just different in Norsia, the scarcity of the steppe was unheard of in craviters great northern empire, he suddenly felt slightly guilty, aware of how for granted he took his fortunes.

“That will be us one day, abundance at the expense of practical skills,” Jutta said tone suddenly resigned

Essalaneans were an odd culture, simultaneously proud of their culture but also often aware of how endangered it was becoming. They had opened their borders and society to foreign influences and now it was picking up so much speed it was hard to fathom where it would end. Lots of clans were benefiting from the transition, but there was always a sorrowful undercurrent, the proud frontier losing its identity as Essalanea was tamed.

“it's not so bad, people live well and there's no raids” Florian offered in a consoling tone

“Perhaps, the lack of raids would be different, I'm not sure I know what a world without them looks like though,” Jutta said suddenly sounding rather philosophical

Maybe It was just bad luck, perhaps the gods had heard Jutta’s choice of words and decided it was time for a reminder, on the horizon clouds of smoke and dust were kicking up. The Gutters had chosen their moment at last.

***********************************************************************************

“Shit!” Jutta snarled as she snatched up the radio “Convoy increase speed, we’ve been made!” she yelled as Florian and every driver in the convoy began to accelerate

Florian glanced out the window, shapes were forming on the hills near the highway, the silhouette of bikes and buggies unmistakably clear in the afternoon glare. It wasn’t long before the raiders were racing down the hill at full speed toward the convoy, the buzzing of dirt bike engines quickly took on a menace as it grew louder and more frequent. Florian felt his heart pounding so hard it might smash through his chest, this was it.

“Steady at the wheel soldier!” Jutta yelled over the roar of engines snapping Florian back into focus

He put his foot down on the accelerator and began to move in sync with the other convoy vehicles, Jutta cocked the bolt of her carbine and waited. The dirt bikes were the first to make contact, leaping onto the road and weaving between the trucks like a swarm of biting insects. They were two men to a bike, a rider, and an armed passenger, they were a chaotic mass of worn leather boots, battered tan road gear, and faces covered by cloth and goggles.

One of the raiders moved down the side of the convoy, Florian saw the passenger throw something into the window of one of the jeeps up ahead. He gritted his teeth and instinctively turned the wheel, moments later a blast of fire and debris tore across the road, the stricken vehicle crashing to its side in a burning inferno of scorched metal and charred human remains. The rest of the convoy scrambled to evade the new obstacle; Florian was silently grateful for the proficiency of his driving instructors.

Jutta leaned from the side of the jeep and fired off a shot at the fleeing bike, its passenger seized up and fell crashing to the road, a great chunk of his back exposed to the world as he bled out on the tarmac. Climbing back in Jutta reached for the radio.

“Centaur one this is Centaur actual, get someone on that mg and keep these pests off our backs!” Jutta yelled over the raging cacophony of engines and gunfire

Moments later a withering hail of machine gun fire ripped into the weaving dirt bikes, high caliber rounds tearing men to pieces, Florian winced as he saw a rider’s head disappear in a cloud of skull fragments and brain matter before crashing to the dirt in a mass of mangled metal and shredded flesh. Another rider was thrown from his bike as the rounds smashed into the engine, he crashed to the steppe floor, a cloud of dust rising from the impact.

Faced with a similarly gruesome fate the bikes peeled off and began retreating into the wastes, most succeeded in disengaging, one rider was not so fortunate. A lone raider stalled his bike cutting out as he tried to escape, he screamed as the oil tanker raced towards him and pulled him and his stricken bike under its enormous wheels. The rest of the convoy drove over the corpse, sickening thuds following, and tires crushed and burst the contents beneath them.

“Keep it up men we’re close!” Jutta yelled encouragingly over the radio

The buggies now moved to join the battle, racing up to bite at the convoy's proverbial heels, Florian felt his entire body clench momentarily as a stray RPG round exploded mere meters from the rear of the jeep. Soon though the convoy had picked up enough speed to outpace the raiders and in the distance, the hills and prefab houses of Danek’s gap began to loom. Eventually, the raiders pulled back, vanishing back over the hills to lick their wounds.

*************************************************************************************Florian watched as the goods from their convoy were offloaded and checked before being transferred without ceremony into the waiting holds of new vehicles. Florian looked on with a mix of fascination and bewilderment, there had been four men in the jeep that had been struck, four men had died for what amounted to a shipping job. He silently wondered if the buyers in the rest of Eras would have any idea how much blood had been spent to deliver their orders.

He took a long drag on his cigarette and felt the shaking finally begin to recede as the mix of nicotine and exhaustion started to work its dubious magic. He noticed his reflection glaring back at him from the truck window, an unshaven twenty-something with tired blue eyes stared back at him, it was the first time he’d seen himself without his combat helmet in three days.

His thoughts turned to home, he needed to call his mother she would be worried after the mandatory operational silence. He wondered what she would make of all this, a boy from Norsia’s Rural's fighting for Essalanea, he wondered what he himself made of it all. Budislav had never seemed more distant, if he was lucky enough to get back would he even recognize that old life? Probably not he guessed, stacking shelves and tending livestock would be as alien as walking on Abaddon after this.

He wondered what they would think about his story back in Norsia? He guessed there would be the usual mix of pride and condemnation, some would say he was doing a noble thing and others would complain of wasted lives and taxes. Florian remembered his uncle's returning from the civil war, silent and sullen men who had seen the worst atrocities of the silverguard. One had turned to drink and died years ago in a car accident, the other remained though, however distant he might have been.

Florian decided he would visit his uncle when he got home, they had something in common now, a burden that only those who had fought could ever understand. Perhaps after that he would study or travel, it all seemed bizarre right now, the comfortable illusion of safety back in Norsia seemed cheapened by the realities of life in the rest of Eras, it was a bubble that Florian suspected he would never be able to return to.

“Enough!” a familiar voice called out, snapping him out of his unhappy contemplation

“Ma’am,” he said saluting awkwardly

“don’t ever call me that again, its Jutta” she replied bluntly, brushing off his salute dismissively

“Apologies...Jutta” he replied the informality filling him with discomfort

“Stop overthinking things, I can practically hear you from across the depot, you won't ever make sense of this day so no point in beating yourself up over it” Jutta said tone surprisingly relaxed, warm even

“What was it all for? We lost four good men for what? So some businessman in Syrixia or Goyanes makes their monthly import KPI?” Florian asked despondently

“Pretty much yeah, I'm aware it must seem petty, but my country relies on those exports to grow, think of all the changes occurring right now, they don’t pay for themselves, and those convoys afford us medicine, education and the means to better our lot, at least that’s how I see it, anyway enough moping, Jurgan’s* is open and you're driving has earned you a drink!” Jutta said clapping Florian on the shoulder and leading him toward the waiting bar.

The night continued as though all the death and spent ammunition had never happened, for now at least the steppe rested in silent peace.

*********************************************************************************\

The fires on the stone highway continued to burn late into the night, it would be a considerable amount of time before a security detail returned in force to retrieve fallen comrades and by that time the flames and the carrion eaters would have had their feast. The vulture perched upon the fallen corpse of a raider and pecked at its exposed brain with gleeful strikes, as long as the two-legged apes fought, she would never starve.







*Casualty rates are very high amongst convoy details, Western Essalanea is notably a breeding ground for lawlessness and banditry.

*Warrior rings, a common Essalanean fashion, metal rings formed from the broken weapons of enemies, each ring signifies a triumph of arms.

*Essalanean Marshals are a Norsian trained gendarmerie, designed to patrol the various clan territories and to provide protection on the king's roads. Their duties often bring them into violent conflict with bandits and aggressive clan factions. They are highly trained but also thinly spread and suffer from high casualties.

*A loose and violent collection of rebels, criminals and thieves that plague the convoys that ship goods out of Essalanea. A recent phenomenon that began to occur in increasing frequency following the Karg war, these bandits earned the name “gutters” due to their ferocious habit of stripping and looting everything not nailed down and leaving nothing but corpses and fire gutted vehicles in their wake.

*The Pate is amazing and goes well with everything, goodluck finding a can outside of a Norsian base on the steppe though.

*Named after its proprietor, Jurgen Morgenstern, the bar is probably the best watering hole in Essalanea outside of Kimbria...it's also the only watering hole for miles....

31 December 2023
7:01 pm
On a Sunday
television screens across Prydania
The King's New Year's Address had just begun as people across the country tuned into RÚV. It was something of an inauguration of festivities. The King spoke and then the partying into the night- and the new year- would begin.

Already many Prydanians of a younger persuasion were decked out in traditional New Year's Eve garb- red and white coloured clothing and flags for capes and scarves. Prydanian flag patterned novelty top hats, viking helmets, and even plastic sunglasses.

The King himself was dressed in a very mild version of this outfit. He was wearing a burgundy red sweater over a white collared shirt, a flag pin pinned above his heart.

"Good evening," he said pleasantly, his slight Austurland accent seeming warm as he addressed the nation from his office in Absalonhöll, the cozy lighting and wood paneled walls adding to the warm feeling, the snowy dark sky visible behind him out the window.

"I hope you'll all forgive me, just a moment," he continued as he picked up a Börn Egg*, unwrapping the foil covering and splitting it open. He took out the basic blue plastic action figure and set it down on his desk.

"I was hoping for green myself," he said with a smile. It was something of a joke, green being the primary colour of the royal family.

"But we'll save the rest for later," he put the two plastic haves to the side.

"This year," he said, beginning the speech in earnest, yet remaining warm as he smiled, "has been one I've found affirming. That's not to say challenges didn't persist. But we've met them, and created new things. Wonderful things. Existential dread from the south reared its head. And we proved that when we all do our part peace is possible. Our government forged new international partnerships. The Association of Nations will champion democracy and liberty abroad. And we are not passive passengers. It is a goal we worked towards. We made it happen. I believe in the goodness of people and of my country most of all, and the forging of the Association of Nations proves me, and the rest of us, right."

The King smiled and adjusted himself ever so slightly.

"My sons turned three this year, and Alycia and I welcomed our daughter into the world. This has proven more challenging than any statecraft," he smiled wide, "but it's been even more rewarding. Our nation has many families. Many young families like ours in fact. To my fathers-in-arms of young children I would just like to say that I too am haunted by the theme song of Áfram Syfjaðurbær! in my dreams," he said with a chuckle referring to a popular children's show that was not shy about breaking into musical numbers.

"But you know it's not so bad. Because like a lot of young men in our country I find myself having to be a father and think about raising a child or children, when so much of my earlier life was about survival and fighting. How do you do that? Some say I should know! But we all know I'm as clueless as anyone else! So you know, maybe the endless musical numbers about the elf that who likes to promote healthy living isn't the worse thing for the little
ones? I donno. But what I do know is that they are the most important thing in the world. And maybe we don't always have the answers but every year we learn a little bit more and..."

Tobias checked his watch.

"Well in around five hours we'll all be another year smarter. Not much, but every little bit helps. So be marry! Smash the chipped and tarnished finery on your friends' doorsteps, welcome in the New Year, and when 2024 rolls around just remember that we will figure out the future together. May God preserve Prydania, friends."

The RÚV anchors faded into view as King Tobias' speech ended. In some homes it was a sign to begin dinner. In others- and quite a few pubs- well meaning patriotic inebriates saluted the sovereign with a "here here!" and a raise of a glass of beer, mead, whisky, or brennivín. For many of the young people it was a sign to start the night. Hours of drinking, dancing, and kissing awaited.

But in Absalonhöll Tobias removed the mic from his sweater, thanked the RÚV crew that had broadcast the speech, and made his way to the private quarters of the Royal residence. There was a full slate of hockey games on tonight, and he aimed to spend the evening with his family.

---

*Börn Egg- Kinder Egg!

OOC Note: This is addressed to the Prime Minister of @Kyle's nation of Saintonge.

Chianmei, Anmativeda
6:32 PM, August 24, 2020

Than Win glanced over his shoulder as he walked the streets of the country’s largest city. It was getting late and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make it back home before the military junta’s curfew set in at 8. Oh well, he thought, wouldn’t be the first time he would have had to sneak through the city’s streets. The usually crowded streets of Chianmei waned with the sun’s light.

Than Win’s eyes were drawn to his destination. It was quite hard to miss the Anmativeda Students’ Front for Democracy’s regional headquarters was hard to miss. The organization‘s flags hung proudly from the shabby, old concrete building’s facade: a red peacock lunging at a red star on the nation’s ubiquitous yellow field. He hadn’t visited in a long time and wasn’t even a member of the organization any longer but it was hard to have ignored the invitation to meet some old friends.

He rapped his knuckles on the building’s locked door and tried to take a peek through its shuttered windows. The inside was dark and the windows were shuttered, had the Thhar* already shut the ASFD down? Just as he was about to abandon his mission, the door creaked its way open and the face of a middle aged Araki man with thinning hair peeked out. Just as he was about to greet his old friend, Than Win was grabbed by the shirt collar and pulled into the building.

The man locked the door behind the two of them and peeked between the blinds. “Were you followed, Ko Than Win*?”

“As far as I can tell, no. I see you’ve gotten no better at greeting guests, Ko Soe Naing.” Than Win straightened his shirt and grinned at his friend from a bygone age of his life.

Soe Naing returned the grin with a smile that was a few teeth short of a full set. “Only one of us learned the niceties of civilization after we left the jungles.” With a gesture, Soe Naing led Than Win through the labyrinth of desks and old desktop computers to a door at the back of the building. “This is what I called you here for, Ko. Nothing that happens in this room leaves this room, understand?” Than Win nodded and thought of what could be so exciting as to have him agree to silence.

A group of men sat around the meeting table, on which sat a number of firearms. It took Than Win a moment to recognize Vice President Makara Soun without his characteristic combover and black suit. Shocked, Than Win quickly bowed before turning to Soe Naing. “Why is the vice president sitting at a table in your office?” He hissed to his old friend.

“Eh. There’s a lot to explain. Sit, Ko Than Win.” The pair sat in their seats at the table. Soe Naing grabbed a rifle from the table and rested it across his lap. “Gentlemen, this is Than Win. He is one of the best smooth talkers I’ve ever met in my time with the Front.”

Vice President Makara Soun raised an eyebrow, “Really? He looks like a clerk.”

Than Win cut off Soe Naing’s answer, “That’s because I am. Ko Soe Naing, please explain to me why I’m here and why the vice president of the country is at this table.”

“I apologize for not telling you beforehand but you can see the sensitive nature of this meeting. We need to get the vice president out of the city.” Soe Naing replied as if it were the most normal statement in the world.

Than Win protested, “I’m not a militant anymore, Ko Soe Naing, I’m a middle manager!”

“Ko Than Win, your inclusion is a precaution. The plan has already been put in place. It’ll be a little adventure, a final send off, two days max. Do this for me and I’ll never ask anything from you ever again, Ko.”

“Fine. If it’ll get you out of my hair.” Than Win relented.

“Are you two done bickering? What’s the plan?!” Makara Soun said, obviously annoyed. “We’re wasting time, Maung Soe Naing*.”

“Of course. We will go to the Park of the Revolution. There, I have arranged for my associates to provide us with police vehicles and uniforms. We will put on those uniforms and use those vehicles to ensure we do not arouse suspicion. From there, we will drive to the village of Zon Do. I have connections there who can keep you out of the public eye, at least for now.”

“And the guns?” Than Win inquired.

“What do you think they’re there for? We kill anyone who tries to take the Vice President.” Soe Naing remarked as if this contingency were as simple as taking off one’s shoes before entering an office.

Than Win grumbled “Glad we cleared that up.”

“Enough complaining.” Soe Naing said. “We have a schedule to stick to and we must leave soon if we want to keep it.” He stood and slung the rifle over his shoulder. Soe Naing slid one of the pistols across the table to Than Win and pushed one of the rifles towards the vice president. “Let’s go.”



*The Thhar is the military of Anmativeda, which initiated a coup against the democratically elected government on August 21, 2020
*Ko is an honorific used in Anmativeda for a man of similar age, roughly means “brother”
*Maung is an honorific used to refer to a man younger than oneself

5 August 2030
3:21 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Can we go hunting with you pabbi?" Baldr asked as Tobias cut into his chicken.

"You and your brother are still a bit too young," he answered with a smile. He so enjoyed time with his family at dinner.

"But pabbi!"

Tobias looked at his son, and raised an eyebrow.
"Oh that's my mistake," he said with a chuckle.
"I guess I wasn't clear enough when I said no."

Alycia smiled. Honestly, the boys would be ten in a month. That wasn't too young in her book, but she knew her husband. He was the protective sort.

"But we're almost ten and..."

"Baldr," Alycia replied sternly.
"Your father said no." Baldr gulped and nodded. Sons and their fathers. The sons always felt they could negotiate, but when it came to sons and mothers? A mother's word was final. Though she did notice that Hael wasn't pushing for this like his brother was.

"I told you, a few years ago, that I would take you both hunting when you turned twelve. You two will just have to suffer through two more years of my arbitrary cruelty," Tobias chuckled.

"I don't think you're cruel, Pabbi!" Hael said, only for his brother to stick his tongue out at him.
"Suckup!"

Hael blushed but shot back.
"Am not!"

"Are too!"

Hanna, at only six, looked world-weary and rolled her eyes. Alycia noticed that.
"You're very brave to have put up with your brothers on that long plane ride from Saintonge back home."
Long- two hours was hardly long. Though for children it was an eternity.

"Why'd you two have to argue the entire plane ride?" she groaned.

"Because they're brothers, and that's what brothers do," Alycia chuckled.

"Not Uncle T-bo and Uncle T-Mo," Hanna replied.

"She's sharp for six," Tobias smirked.

"Well brothers grow out of it. Eventually," Alycia added, shooting her sons a look that said "settle down."

Tobias chuckled. Fatherhood was something he never knew how to handle at first. Like with so many things he wished his parents were here. He missed them deeply... but he found genuine happiness in his children. Even when they could be a bit much. And as his children got older he realized that even if his mama and pabbi were here, there's no magic secret they could tell him. Parenting was learning by doing.

"You two watch out," he said as he ate.
"You never know. Maybe when Hanna is twelve she'll be a better shot then you two."

"Nah," Baldr said confidently.
"She's a girl."

Alycia had to stifle a laugh. If he only knew. Tobias, too, laughed.

"You should watch yourself, young man. You know your friend Tobias-Brice?" he was referring to the son of Thorbjörn Höjsleth in Saintonge.
"I hear his mama is a better shot then anyone else around."

"Aunt Addý?" Hael asked.
"No way!"

"That's what Thorbjörn says," Tobias added.
"She tried to downplay it but..." Tobias looked at Alycia and smiled.
"I have an eye for a woman with aim," he said with a wink.

"Gross," Baldr muttered at his parents showing signs of affection.

"Hush you," Tobias said with a chuckle. He sipped some brennivín when...

There it was. A pop. And then another. And then another. Explosions. But Tobias had lived through a war. He knew what a truly deadly explosion sounded like, and this was not that. This was....
"Fireworks," he muttered as he stared down at his drink. His sweet, sweet drink. Brennivín and chicken. A nice, Prydanian meal to celebrate returning home after a trip to Saintonge and Predice to meet with friends and family. His comfort food. And it would all go away when...

"GET DOWN MY KING!"

Laurids Hummel ran into the dining room and tackled Tobias to the floor, his glass of brennivín flying as he was tackled out of his seat. Knights of the Storm emerged almost as soon as the explosion had gone off, forcing the Royal family down, as protocol for this sort of eventuality was enacted.

---

"I'm telling you, it's fireworks," Tobias said as the armoured convoy raced out of Býkonsviði.

Hummel put his hand up as he talked through his radio.
"Path is clear? Roger. Have the helicopters clear the path ahead," before he returned to the King.

"We need to be sure," Laurids replied.
"Protocol and all."

"Are we even sure it came from the Palace? Alycia asked.
"Midsummer was just two months ago. It could have been some teenagers with spare fireworks nearby."

"We've detected smoke and explosive residue in the Palace, Your Grace."

"Laying it on a bit thick?" Tobias replied. Laurids survived the same war he did. And he couldn't help but nod.

"Look, I know, but it's better safe than sorry."

Tobias signed. Being whisked away to a safe haven in the middle of the night wasn't new to him. He just thought he'd left that part of his life behind. Though as he looked around the armoured vehicle transporting his family he noticed his sons, fidgeting slightly. And, he thought, for a moment, trying to hide smiles.
"Hmmm," he muttered, before closing his eyes.

---

"Good God above, it really is like the War," Tobias said as he and his family were led into a bunker. It wasn't like the old Fascist War-era bunkers he'd have to hide out in. It was far more recent, made for this contingency, in the event of an attack on the Royal family or country. They were under a wheat field just far out from Býkonsviði to be considered the middle of nowhere. But despite the modern decour, it was still a box. And Tobias had spent enough of his life in boxes.

"Oh it won't be so bad," Alycia replied.
"It's only for a few hours."

"Not bad... for me, sure," Tobias said, looking at the kids as they fanned out into the central room.

"Does this place have tv?" Baldr asked.

"No. For your own safety, Your Highness," Laurids replied, "no signals in or out except through secured and encrypted lines."

Baldr frowned but Tobias picked up on that.
"Then let's get on that line and figure out when we can get home."

Laurids nodded and picked the phone up, entering in enough codes that Tobias thought he might be sending a rocket to Iþunn* before he got someone on the other end.

"This is Mobile HQ. Confirmation code 64914AH36.... umhm... umhm... verifying."
Laurids pulled out a piece of doublesided paper, breaking the glue seal that held it together to open it and read the code inside.
"Confirmed."

"Pabbi, what's he doing?" Hael asked as Tobias lay down on one of the beds provided.

"He's doing what prepared military men do."

"I need to be patched through to Alpha Team..... excellent. I'll inform His Majesty."

Laurids covered the phone as he turned to the Royal family.
"They found the source. It's Princess Hanna's room."

"MY ROOM?" Hanna asked only for Alycia to settle her. Tobias propped his head up on the pillows and looked at Baldr and Hael. And noticed nervous attempts to hide a smile again.
He'd alway forbidden his children from getting fireworks. Something was...off.

Laurids returned to the phone.
"Mobile HQ here. Has the explosion zone been breached?... Excellent." He then turned to Royal family again.

"It appears that... Princess Hanna's dollhouse has... exploded."

"WHAT?" Hanna asked again, her mother's attempts to settle her in ruins... much like her dollhouse.

Tobias didn't wait for what Laurids had to say next. He turned to his sons.
"What did you two do?"

The two boys cuckled as they both tried to proclaim innocense.

"It wasn't us pabbi! We were at dinner!"

"No, it was you!" Hanna insisted and before long two nine year olds and a six year old were arguing as Tobias sighed. And then...Laurids looked at him through the commotion.

"They found a label. Fireworks all right."

Tobias could only nod and sigh, but then...

"The label said Fatto in Predice*."

"Made in Predice," Tobias said under his breath.
"Vittorio," he grumbled. And yet... he couldn't help but smile as he did so.

---

Tobias had to admit... his sons had a good plan. Through probbing and prodding, they got the full story. Vittorio, aware that Tobias would never buy his sons fireworks, had given them some when they'd visited Predice as part of their Meteran trip. And once they realized they could extend the fuse... they realized they could render their sister's dollhouse a smoldering pile and have an allaby.

Hanna screamed about how much she hated her brothers as Baldr and Hael laughed. Alycia admonished the boys for tormenting their sister and Tobias was stuck between mild annoyance and respect for his sons' inginuity.

But fireworks...

When the drama had settled Tobias grabbed the phone. And once he'd navigated the codes needed to send a signal out...

"Hello?"

"Hello Vittorio."

"Toby! We were just sitting down to dinner."

"There'a funny thing about that. So was I, a few hours ago."

"Oh?"

"Já now I'm in a bunker three hours outside of Býkonsviði under enough wheat to feed the Imperium and..."

"HIS MAJESTY CANNOT CONFIRM OR DENY HIS LOCATION AT THIS TIME!" Laurids insisted as he grabbed the phone from Tobias, only for the King to grab it back.

"Give me that!"

"Anyway, Vittorio, I was enjoying a lovely dinner when the sound of fireworks going off in my daughters room caused a small national emergancy."

"Fireworks? Oh... oh dear."

"Já..." Tobias said.
"Já... Hanna's dollhouse is a smoking pile of melted plastic and burnt dolls..." Hanna began to cry as Tobias sighed...
"And in the midst of the carnage are chared Predician wrappers."

"Ohhhh....."

"Jááááááá...."

The two understood each other.

"I'll have a talk with them. That was NOT my intention, Tobias."

Tobias nodded.
He really couldn't be mad at Vittorio. Not really. Though one could connect their families through distant relations... that wasn't why Tobias considered him family and his family to be...well... family.
"I know," Tobias said with a smile.
"I'll go easy then. 'cause I'd hate to be them when you're dissapointed."

"Oh I'll give them a proper talking to, don't you worry."

"Heh... I know you will. Have a good dinner Vittorio. Tell everyone I said hello."

"Of course. Try to enjoy the rest of the night."

"It's not me you should be worried about," Tobias replied with a chuckle. When he hung up and gave the phone back to Laurids he shook his head.

"So since we're now all aware we're not under attack, can we go home?"

"Well protocol..."

"Já," Tobias muttered. They'd be here all night.

"Oh well," Tobias kicked off his shoes, found a book on the stocked shelf, and got back into the bed he'd claimed earlier as he began to read. So many times before... and here he was again.

"Pabbi, what are we going to do until we can go home?" Hael asked tenatively.

"I'll be fine," Tobias said with a smirk.
"Just fine. Now you all... that's going to take some adjusting."

Alycia essentially put the boys on silent mode for the night under penalty of motherly rage, got Hanna calm, and snuggled with her husband as he read. Under the dingy light of a bunker. Like old times.

And after what seemed like an hour he caught Baldr's bored face out of the corner of his eye.

"Sucks doesn't it?" he said to himself before smirking. And turning the page.

---

*Iþunn- The Prydanian name for Eras' second, smaller, moon
*Fatto in Predice- Made in Predice

---

We Didn't Start the Fire by Billy Joel, 4:51

The holding cell was gray: the walls were gray, the ceiling was gray, the bars and benches were gray, even the corner that now filled the room with the smell of urine was somehow still gray. Cold, gray light barely illuminated the cell from a lone swinging bare bulb in the hall. Henry Balogh sat quietly on his bench, much too close to the cell’s designated piss corner for his liking.

The only noises now were the creaks of the old police station. Despite there being ten men sitting there, nobody seemed to be in the mood to talk. That might have been because half of them didn’t speak Folyan or Mercanti. That didn’t matter to the Thhar apparently. He and his colleagues had been thrown in this cell with these Anmativedan criminals. Didn’t they know who he was, who his friends were? He was an aid worker and a foreign national, for fuck’s sake! He’d been arrested weeks ago and sent to half a dozen police stations. Treason, they said, they were aiding enemies of Anmativeda. Horseshit, he thought, we were delivering food to starving people.

This cell was particularly bad in Henry’s mind. It lacked the window the last few had at least had. He was pretty sure it was night now and his eyelids were indeed getting heavy but he dared not doze off here. He rubbed the bruises on his arms that had been given to him by a guard for whatever arbitrary reason they could find.

Henry leaned back against the wall. He might as well try to rest even if he didn’t want to sleep. But his eyelids were so heavy it was hard to resist and he quietly slipped into sleep.

Henry was quite rudely awakened by a loud bang and shouting from the room over. To him, it was nothing to worry about. Something had fallen over and the Anmativedan police officers were yelling at some subordinate who was clearly at fault for the incident. It was only when the noise started to get closer that he sat up and tried to look as non threatening as possible.

One of the officers trampled his way through the door to the cells. However, rather than the anger that Henry had come to expect on his face, the man appeared to be almost afraid of something. A second man walked through the door with a rifle pointed at the first. Henry was taken aback; a soldier? He certainly didn’t look like the Anmativedan troops he’d seen. For one, his equipment looked like it hadn’t been acquired from a dollar store. He also appeared to be well built, a rarity among Anmativedans if he really was one.

“Peid pratū.”* the soldier nodded to the door but kept his rifle pointed at the policeman. His accent was notably not Anmativedan, to Henry’s delight. The frightened officer fumbled some keys off his belt and unlocked the cell door. “Xán thad pi.”** the soldier pushed the guard further into the cell block as two more masked soldiers entered.

One soldier had different equipment compared to the other two, which Henry recognized quickly from his time as a cook in the Hexastalian Army. “It’s the Hexastalian Army!” Henry shouted with pride. Wait, why was the Hexastalian army here?

The soldier didn’t acknowledge the outburst and said in his accented Mercanti, “If you are a foreign national, please come with me.”

Henry and the rest of the aid workers that had been imprisoned were led out of the police station. As they left one of the other soldiers called from within the cells, “Thā khun pen Vedi mā kab chan.”*** Police officers sat handcuffed in the halls guarded by more soldiers. Ironic, thought Henry.

The former prisoners were piled into the back of a box truck in front of the police station. Gunfire and explosions echoed through the still night air from elsewhere in the city. As the soldier closed the truck’s door he announced, “Next stop: Hexastalia. Stay seated because the truck doesn’t have any seatbelts and we don’t need you getting hurt after so much effort to get you out of here.” With that, the door shut and Henry and the prisoners were once again plunged into darkness.


*”Open the door” in Meng
** “The next one.” In Meng
*** “If you are [Anmaitvedan] come with me.”

April 16, 2024
Evening
かた이じ ま みず우み しく(Karaiji Mizūmi Chiku - District of Hardland)
み차み-けん (Mishami Prefecture - City of Miccan)
Tardine

---

---

[1] Klaiden's Economic Recovery Plan reduced the inflation at the cost of sinking wages and increasing the living costs, specially to the poorest ones.

[2] Caring Tardine is a Govenrment aid that gives an amount of money montly to the poorest Tardineannen. The other program, to help small business stay afloat in the months that followed the end of the civil war was discontinued in 2024.

[3] A soulsoup, otherwise known as charity soup, is a soup prepared with bones or eggs plus rice or noddle and a lot of water. It is usually made by poor people who do not have money to buy better ingredients.

City of Eriksvík, The United Commonwealth
Summer, 1852
Morning

Two men enter, stopping after taking one step away from the door. One in a clean military uniform, the other dressed in a fine, black frock coat.

A man dressed in a white coat is standing in the room, seemingly waiting for them.

The two men at the door bow from the head.

Aide-de-Camp, speaking in Lechite: The Chairman of the Council of State, Your Majesty.

Rodulf Bohuslæn-Loðbrók, speaking in Andrennian: Good morning, Count Borowski.

Count Stefan Borowski: Your Majesty. So, how do you find your new home?

Rodulf points at two armchairs facing each other in the middle of the room. They take a seat in either of them.

R: It's cold. I come from the north, but this is unexpectedly colder.

C: Oh. We thought it would make a good summer residence.

R: Probably not on my first night in this country. We Prydanians pray for more months of sunshine. The fireplaces should've been lit earlier.

C: It hasn't been used. The last time was when Prydania ruled this part of the Commonwealth.

R: Are you certain? It doesn't look too bad. I assumed it was in recent use.

C: It was rebuilt to be a fortress during the war. It never saw action. Then it was renovated to house the government. There were plans to make Eriksvík the capital. But they ended up choosing Nowogrod.

R: I think Nowogrod is a better choice. I read that Lechites, Alemans, Prydanians, Volhynians, Aydinis, and Khastenians populate the city.

C: It is crowded, Your Majesty.

R: It might be. I never visited the city before the election. That is why I look forward to seeing it for my inauguration.

C: Speaking of your inauguration, have you decided on your regnal name?

R: I will use my baptismal name.

C: So that would be <speaking in Lechite> Rudolf, Krawiterskan King?

R: Is that what my name sounds like in your language? I look forward to learning Lechite. It is...warrior-like.

C: I'm flattered. Usually, non-speakers call it barbaric. That extends to all the Szlavic languages.

R: I hope a Gotic like myself would be useful in bringing an end to that way of thinking.

C: It will be a long way, but us National-Republicanists believe in our little union of Craviterian nations. It will show the continent that Craviter can do better closer together, not far apart.

R: I will have to admit that I do not like Chevalier.

C: Us National-Republicanists also believe in a free country.

R: There are ideas from Chevalier that I support. My aunt and I believe ordinary people should have a say in government. But a stratocracy and class-based government? It is far from the democratic ideals his followers claim to represent.

C: At least most of my colleagues in the Courantist Democrat Party don't subscribe to all of Chevalier's ideas.

R: And you?

C: I used to. I was young and naive. Working with all manner of folks has tempered me. I learned ideals are better left as compasses. We have to find a middle ground. To maintain unity. To be brother-citizens.

R: To be passionate of your beliefs is always admirable. I hope, in spite of our differences, we will find more things that unite us than divide us.

C: Speaking of, Parliament will be voting for its first Marshal. Apart from being your guide, I would like to inform you of my intentions to become a candidate in that election.

R: The Marshal...<he glances aside to a document on an adjacent end table> is the head of parliament. He controls the legislative agenda. Do you intend to lead the government from that office?

C: If that aligns with Your Majesty's plans for government.

R: I will have to align any plans for government with you. I can't do anything without you and your party's support. Though I'm a bit surprised. I expected the separation of powers to be taken literally.

C: The Constitution only mandated that there will be executive, legislative, and judicial branches. But nothing to enforce their total separation.

R: I do agree with the practice of forming a government from the legislature. Parliament, especially the Chamber of Deputies, was elected by the people.

C: Limited franchise, I'm afraid. But it's better than most countries.

R: If you win the election-

C: It is a certainty, Your Majesty.

R: You might be surprised. But if you do, that makes you my first First Minister.

C: I'm not a monarchist. But that is an honor I would gladly accept from our first First Citizen.

They laugh together.

The frontpage headline of the Gazeta Nowogrodski morning edition dated June 11, 1852:

PARLIAMENT VOTES: BOROWSKI, 175; SEVEROV, 134


City of Eriksvík, The United Commonwealth
Eriksvíkvigi Castle
June 12, 1852
Afternoon

Aide-de-Camp, speaking in Lechite: The Marshal of the Krawiterskan Parliament, Your Majesty.

Rodulf Bohuslæn-Loðbrók: Thank you, Lieutenant. How is my Lechite?

A: It is very good, sire.

R: Thank you!

Rodulf, speaking in Andrennian: Congratulations on your election!

C: Thank you, Your Majesty.

The Aide-de-Camp salutes Rodulf before he leaves the room to the King and Count Stefan Borowski. They take their seats in the two armchairs, like last time.

R: Severov getting support from both <he attempts to speak Lechite> Rzeczpospolita Laurenistów and Ruch Restoracyjny Tsirkunova... <he starts speaking Andrennian again> Tell me, was that a surprise?

Count Borowski smiles.

C: No. I anticipated it after rejecting a coalition offer from the Restorationists. They threatened a possible coalition between them and the Laurenist Commonwealth.

R: Not much of a threat. They never had the votes.

C: There was a real threat. It was coming from the Democratic right. They believed in a powerful monarch.

Rodulf chuckles.

R: Did they?

C: Either sincerely or for another reason. The latter was their consensus, and it was mostly to protect <speaking in Santonian> the Ancient Regime.

R: Well, the sooner they accept that nothing will ever be the same in Craviter again, the better we can all live in the present and build the future. Listening to the people is the future.

C: We have to build a cabinet for the people first.

R: How fun! I'm assuming we'll be filling in the existing ministry.

C: I am hoping to establish new ones and include advisers without an official post. But yes, let us start with the existing ministry.

R: Good. Let me get this... <he reaches over to the adjacent end table and grabs a document> Hmm... Ah. Yes. I've read there are six existing departments: The Commission of Education, the Ministry of the Seal, the Ministry of War, the State Treasury, and the Ministry of State.

C: The Commission of Education is an interesting entity. It is led by a collegial body comprised of leaders of the four major religions in the Commonwealth: Courantism, Laurenism, Mehrabism, and Zmeyism.

R: How do they get along?

C: They don't. The only reason why they agreed to this arrangement was to maintain control of their schools.

Rodulf raises an eyebrow.

R: How is children's education under such a divided leadership?

C: The Chairman of the Commission is always secular. A member of the Krawiterskan Parliament. <he raises a finger> Appointed by you, of course. Hopefully, he will always be a nominee from the Marshal.

R: Always. I can assure you that for this and other appointments.

C: The confessions and religions build and manage the upkeep of schools. What the Commission does is standardizing educational policy but which theological instructions are taught will depend if it is a Courantist school, a Laurenist school, et cetera. That will be the only other difference between schools apart from the language of instruction and the separation of sexes.

R: It sounds to me like a massive effort.

C: It is a challenge the Krawiterskan Parliament and I are willing to undertake. The Commission prides itself in the founding of the Society of Elementary Books. Because books and manuals are severely lacking, the Society has been sponsoring competitions to fund the best books. In the future, all children in the country will read the same books on chemistry, physics, mathematics, or grammar.

R: Will all children be taught a lingua mercator? I haven't read any mention of an official language for the country.

C: There will be no single official language. But we are considering Andrennian as the primary contender for the language of instruction.

R: I think one of the local languages should suffice.

C: And risk disunity by an implicit preference for one of the six nations of the Commonwealth? We can't let that happen.

Rodulf shrugs.

R: We will eventually choose.

C: If you believe so, sir. That aside, I have a list... <he reaches under his coat and takes out a piece of paper> let's appoint the first ministry under your reign.

City of Nowogrod, The United Commonwealth
Governor-General's Palace
Fall, 1852
Mid-day

Two men are eating lunch in an ornate dining room. On the wall hangs a huge portrait of Queen Isabelle of Andrenne.

They speak to each other in Szlavonic.

Dionisiy Buryakov Vasilievich: I'm surprised they voted for me again. A Khastenian.

Abram Erlich: You did refuse to cooperate with the Andrennian when they deployed their troops here. The confusion allowed mutineers from the Krajnan Army to prepare in time for the first battle.

D: My family and I were on a boat, waiting for the hostilities to cease. When news of the Andrennian retreat was rowed to me by a servant, we had to back to the palace to protect our property. The bumbling bureaucrats told the people about my whereabouts. Everyone, including the juridices who hated me, praised me for my supposed resistance.

A: It doesn't matter now. We won. You're the Hero President of Nowogrod!

Dionisiy cuts deeply through his meal, his knife causing a loud clink against the plate.

D: I would be more happy if the reconstruction progressed quicker.

A: <He dabs his napkin on his mouth> Why progress quicker? The reconstruction is a driver of growth. <He smirks as he places the napkin back on his lap> It's good money. My craftsmen have been all over the city, preparing the foundations of the New Nowogrod.

D: For those who can afford it, yes. But haven't you read the papers?

A: Are you talking about the indemnity claims? I wonder how that is going to work. The idiots in the so-called Krawiterskan Parliament were so focused on liberating other people that they forgot to make the Khastenians actually pay for it.

D: People have no choice but turn to the government in hopes of compensation or a little assistance. Just to rebuild their lives.

Czyhyryn, Cossack Hetmanate
Bohdan Khmelnytskyi Square
September 21, 1852
Dusk

Under the dimming red sky, masses of people, men and women, young and old, gathered in front of a man standing on a makeshift platform. They are all carrying lit torches.

The man shouts, addressing the people in Volhynian.

"Our city is in ruins! The demon soldiers! Of that Satanic imperial family! Have raped our women! Stolen our wealth! Deprived us of our resources! Now, we won! We have our independence! The men in Nowogrod tell us that it is time to rebuild!"

The man growls. He looks beyond the crowd and sees the city in front of him. Or, rather, what is left of it. The shop windows are blackened from the flames. Storefronts once full of goods have been smashed open and completely looted. The rubble and refuse thrown out to the streets by the Andrennian and Khastenian soldier-raiders are still scattered. These are blocking the thoroughfare, making it difficult for much-needed restitution to arrive.

"REBUILD WITH WHAT?! THE KHASTENIANS TOOK EVERYTHING FROM US!"

The man points at a nearby street. He can see people scurrying in and out of the street. In comparison to much of the square's surroundings, many of this particular street's buildings escaped unscathed from Siloyev's military reprisals. As if nothing happened. Some of the people from this street simply stand and watch the crowd in the square.

"TONIGHT! THEY WILL PAY! AN EYE FOR AN EYE! WE WILL TAKE EVERYTHING FROM THEM!"

City of Eriksvík, State of Florinnssandur
Eriksvíkvigi Castle
September 24
Afternoon

Rodulf is reading a heavy book on his lap. He and Count Stefan Borowski are speaking to each other in Andrennian.

Rodulf Bohuslæn-Loðbrók: The Khastenians or Andrennians will never agree to these terms.

Si: The Council of State and I have the same view. Mind you, more claims are being recorded as we speak.

Rodulf closes the book and sighs.

R: We will have to help them.

S: Which is why <He looks away for a brief moment, shaking his head> W-Which is why we will introduce a bill to seize Khastenian and Andrennian property and wealth. It will partially fund the reparations demanded by the people.

R: That is against the Constitution. Most Khastenians and Andrennians in this country are Krawiterskan citizens.

S: The bill will also revoke their citizenship.

R: I do not agree with this.

S: Everyone else is rioting. The Khastenian and Andrennian quarters are burning. Entire Khastenian villages in the east have been chased out. Many of them, ordinary people, are being killed in their own homes. Defenestration, lynching, and <he pauses> rapes. This is the only way to save them. With government action, we can safely transport them to the border.

R: There is another way. I commanded our troops to put a stop to this.

S: <He frowns> You have only made this worse. It is making everyone involved move quickly.

R: I have to. The Constitution empowers me to act in a situation like this. We have to defend the rights of all Krawiterskans.

S: Parliament will vote on this. We know what the result will be.

R: The Democratic right wasn't going to stick with you and your like-minded colleagues. But the mass defections in the Laurenist Commonwealth and the Restorationists? That was unexpected.

S: The Restorationists have practically disbanded. The defectees are going to band together to introduce a bill to expel all Khastenians and Andrennians from the United Commonwealth.

R: Do we have the votes?

S: I fear not. The silver lining is that the Democratic right is open to the idea of returning.

R: What do they want?

S: They still want to expel Khastenians and Andrennians. They just want to expel those living in Nowogrod.

9:47 AM
12 April 2024
Saintes

“Thor, I have pencilled-in Caulaincourt High School’s invitation for you as their keynote speaker for their graduation ceremonies on July 6th,” Cassandra told her boss as he passed by her table on his way to get something from the bookshelf.

Thorbjörn Höjsleth glanced at his secretary. “Sure, I hope I’m still someone important by then,” the deputy from Saintes said half-jokingly. The lycée of Caulaincourt was both his alma mater and the school he used to teach in, before he got called to become a member of the Santonian National Assembly.

The elections for the Santonian National Assembly, though, will occur on May 25th. Even as the National Party candidate and incumbent member for the electoral district Saintes-Sud-Ouest, Höjsleth was not taking campaigning for granted. He shouldn’t get too cocky about winning in his home district, which includes his home borough of Caulaincourt and its neighbours Saint-Jourdain and Sainte-Honorine, containing sizable Prydanian immigrant populations.

“Err, I think that’s why it’s just pencilled…?” Cassandra’s voice trailed off.

Thorbjörn chuckled. “Yeah, I understand,” he said as he pulled a book out of the shelf. “Invitation will become real if I win.” Thorbjörn closed the bookshelf’s glass sliding door. “Cancelled if I lose.”

“Isn’t that offensive?”

“No, not really,” Thorbjörn replied. “I know Caulaincourt’s headmaster. He told me as much.” He leafed through the pages in the book. “Seems fair. Even I would probably not want to speak in such an event after losing an election – ”

Thorbjörn lifted his head up from the book he was looking at when he heard that familiar ringing sound.

“Is that… a summoning bell?”


Every member of the Santonian Parliament is acquainted with the sound of Parliament’s summoning bells. In the olden days, the Parliament’s pages physically went through the Palais de l’Assemblée and all seven parliamentary office buildings to inform deputies that they were needed on the floor for a quorum or a vote. They rang small bronze bells as they walked through the corridors. Nowadays, electronic bells with a distinct sound ring throughout the National Assembly and the parliamentary offices to summon the members of Parliament to the main chamber.

“That’s odd, there isn’t any vote scheduled today,” Thorbjörn murmured as he closed the book. “Looks like we’re needed on the floor.” Thorbjörn put the book on his secretary’s desk and headed out of his office.

Thorbjörn was closing the door behind him when he also saw his friend, Baudouin-Tjeerd Blanckaert, deputy from the Inde, walking towards him. His office was just the next door down from Thorbjörn’s.

“You know what this is about?” Baudouin asked.

Thorbjörn wagged his head. “Nope.”

“It’s a quorum bell,” Baudouin stated the obvious as they started walking down the hallway towards the elevators. “Would they even reach a quorum? It’s not a regular parliamentary business day. Heck, we shouldn’t even be here, right?”

“Then why are you here?”

“Attending to some stuff here in Saintes. I’m supposed to go back to Beauraing later tonight to campaign on the weekend.”


Amidst the murmuring members of Parliament, Thorbjörn and Baudouin quietly filed through one of the entrances of the main chamber of the National Assembly building. The two spotted the National Assembly President, Sophie-Anne Laliberté, sitting on the Speaker’s chair in formal attire, with a sombre look on her face.

Beside her was another throne, where Duke Timothée II of Aunis, Presider of the House of Lords, was sitting. In front of him, on the lower level of the stage, were Archbishop Sébastien Étard of Sancoins, delegate of the Lords Spiritual; and Gérard d'Écu de Licorne, delegate of the Lords Temporal. All were in their formal garb, with serious expressions on their faces.

“Is this… a joint sitting of both houses of Parliament?” Baudouin whispered to Thorbjörn.

The delegate of the Lords Temporal, Duke Guigues IX of the Grésivaudan, was absent. The seats below Speaker Laliberté – meant for the Prime Minister and Opposition Leader – were also vacant.

The murmurs became louder as both the lower hemicycle where the National Assembly deputies were, and the upper balconies where the Lords were sitting, started to fill up.

Brice-Casimir Brisemeister from the Saine-et-Loine, whose seat was just behind Thorbjörn’s and Baudouin’s, leant forward to whisper to them. “Anybody know what this is about?”

Baudouin shrugged.

“I heard it’s bad news,” the Corb’s Matthieu-Archambault Hauducoeur told them in a soft voice.

“Any details?” Brice asked.

“My source hasn’t got any, they said they’re keeping a tight lid on the news,” Archambault answered. “But historically joint sittings of the National Assembly and the House of Lords are for serious events and extremely major votes.”

The deputies’ suspicions got stronger when their party leader and Prime Minister Matthieu-Gauvain Lamblin entered the room with the opposition leader, both with sombre looks on their faces.

“Looks like you’re correct,” Brice commented.

As soon as the Prime Minister sat down, the Speaker stood up, prompting the all the deputies present to sit down by convention. The chamber was only a quarter-full. It wasn’t a regular parliamentary day; not all deputies were expected to be present. A lot of them were probably campaigning for the elections. Theoretically speaking, there even was no National Assembly to summon, as the National Assembly was technically dissolved because of the upcoming elections in six weeks. The entire setup all seemed fishy.

The Speaker approached the lectern. With a visibly shaking hand, she adjusted the microphone on the lectern. “Members of the National Assembly, Members of the House of Lords, thank you for coming.”

The din of the whispers and the chatters died down quickly. She didn’t even have to call the house to order. The tone of her voice was enough to silence attendees into listening.

“Today, there is unfortunate news.”

The chatters resumed. Speaker Laliberté raised her right hand to silence the chamber.

“The Royal Herald will bring the news.”


“Merde, I think I know what this is,” Archambault muttered.

Up in front, the Royal Herald – formally a member of the Santonian Royal Guard – emerged from the curtains behind the stage and approached the lectern. Speaker Laliberté yielded the floor to the Royal Herald, who was clad in a rarely-seen black version of their uniform; Royal Guards usually wore red.

The Royal Guard started speaking into the microphone, reading from a paper in front of him. He was clearly trying hard to read the words in front of him as dispassionately as he could.

“People of Saintonge! Esteemed representatives of the Santonian people, I am the Royal Herald.

“I have come to bring news from the Royal Palace.

“It is my unfortunate duty to inform the Parliament of Saintonge, the Lords Temporal and Spiritual, and the representatives of the people assembled today, that King Thibault II had died at 7:30 AM this morning.”

An audible wave of shocked expressions rippled through the chamber. King Thibault II wasn’t sick, he wasn’t even old and frail… he’s dead?

“The Royal Palace…” the herald’s voice cracked a bit from emotion, “… wishes to ask Saintonge and the Santonian people to join in the mourning for our deceased king.”

Murmurs rippled again through the crowd.

“What now? We have no king, in the middle of an election campaign?” Thorbjörn whispered to himself.

The Royal Herald had the answer.

“In accordance with the Constitution of the Kingdom of Saintonge and the customs and statutes of this kingdom, Princes Thibault-Maximilian and Timothée-Brice are now co-Kings of Saintonge, reigning together as Kings Thibault III and Timothée III.”

“Le roi est mort, vive les rois!”

The audience was too stunned to react.

“Le roi est mort, vive les rois!”

“Vive les rois!” was the lone reply from the lower part of the hemicycle. It was Jean-Gohard Balanant, longtime deputy from the Avaloirs. One of the longest-tenured deputies in the National Assembly. He had been here, in 2006, when King Timothée II died and King Thibault II acceded to the throne. It seemed unseemly and unusual to cheer after a death has been announced, but apparently the proper protocol in Saintonge was to cheer for the new monarch. Or in this case, the new monarchs. The event was so sudden that people weren’t prepared or briefed on what to do when the monarch dies.

This time Speaker Laliberté took up the cue and started it. She raised her fist in the air. “Vive les rois!”

“Vive!” Only a few deputies joined in. Most of the still-stunned attendees meekly raised their fists.

“Vive les rois!”

“Vive!” This time louder.

“Vive le Saintonge!”

“Vive!”

Speaker Laliberté nodded and thanked the Royal Herald. The Royal Herald stepped away from the lectern and went away.

The Speaker took the podium again. “Members of the National Assembly and the House of Lords, we will be starting the emergency joint sitting of the Parliament of Saintonge…”

Journal of Prince Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók

6 November 2043
6:49 pm
On a Friday
University of Kariyevgrad
Kariyevgrad, Khastenia

Silivanov Timofey made his way through the hallway, his wet flip-flop clad feet against the cheap carpet of the dorm, one hand clutching the towel around his waste. He didn't have anything to be a shamed of honestly. His chestnut hair was just curly enough to catch girls' eyes, even when wet, and he had a skinny if healthy form. No he couldn't compete with the rugby jock he turned sideways to avoid but he certainly didn't have anything to feel...

"Umph!"

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to..." he said before looking down. It was a girl. One he'd noticed just the other...

"Oh no sorry," she replied blushing. That just made Silivanov blush too since well... she'd bumped into him and he was almost naked and...

"I got in your way, sorry," the girl finished, turning to get out of his way and head back down the hallway.

"It's ok," Silivanov replied, sounding awkward as she was already gone. But her voice... her Khastenian had an accent. He looked over her shoulder and saw the girl walking away and entering one of the rooms.

That was it! It was a Prydanian accent! When he bumped into her he saw she was wearing sweat shorts adorned with the uni's logo, and a t-shirt of a famous Khastenian band, but seeing her from behind let him see that the top half of the back of the green vest she was wearing over that shirt was a Prydanian flag pattern.

"Bro!"

"Huh?"

"You gonna stand there naked or you gonna get dressed?"

It was Raskalov, his roommate.

"Oh yeah," Silivanov replied, quickly getting into his dorm. He got into his individual room before discarding the towel and getting dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt.

"What got you all mesmerized in the hallway?" Raskalov asked as he turned on the tv and flipped through the channels.

"Bumped into a girl," Silivanov replied as he grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge.

"And you almost had your dick out too! Nice. Next time finish the job!"

Silivanov chuckled and rolled his eyes at his roommate.
"It was... fuck what's her name?"

"Who cares?"

"Aren't you a gentleman?"

"Look bro, when I find that special lady to settle down with I'll be the perfect man. Until then no promises."

Silivanov chuckled at Raskalov as he dropped down next to him on the couch and sipped his juice.

"It was the girl who's a few doors down. She's foreign?"

"Ah yeah! The foreign girl! You talked about her last week!"

"I did!"

"Da!"

Silivanov laughed nervously.
"I just found out she's Prydanian. The accent was hard for me to place at first but I saw her with a flag on her vest just now."

"So what bro. You like this chick?"

"She's cute," Silivanov said with a shrug.
"Don't know her name but at least I know where she comes from."

"What ya gonna do? Get her a tractor or something?" Raskalov said with a chuckle.

"You're an idiot."

"Well I donno bro what do you want? You been watching this girl for a while? Go say hi!"

"You know anything about her?"

"She's got one of those very Nordik names, I donno, starts with an R."

"How do you know that?" Silivanov asked.

"I have a class with her, geology."

"Ok... Prydanian, science, name starts with an R. Got it," Silivanov said as he got up.

"Where you going?"

"Like you said, she's seen me mostly naked. What else could I do to drive her away?" Silivanov answered with a smile as he left the room.

Raskalov shrugged as he channel surfed. It was his roommate's funeral.

---

Silivanov walked down the hallway to the room he saw the Prydanian girl go into and he coughed once from nerves, before knocking. And a girl who was very much not who he was looking for answered. The goth girl gave him a raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?"

"Um... is your roommate in?"

The girl's black eyebrow peaked curiously and she turned around.
"Radi! Someone wants to talk to you."

The black-clad girl left, only for the door to be taken by the same girl he'd seen earlier. She was wearing the same thing, and Silivanov noticed some more details. She had a FRE patch on the front of her vest. It was something he'd pulled from some buried memory from high school history once he saw it.

"Oh it's you!" the Prydanian girl... Radi apparently... said as she brushed some of her peppered blonde hair behind her ears.
"And you're dressed!" she said with a teasing smile.

"Yeah about that... that was rude. I um... can I make it up to you?"

"Oh you don't need to..."

"Dinner? It's on me. My mom can't help it, she's always filling up our fridge every weekend and... well I could treat you to a dinner on my meal card. It's no big deal."

Silivanov blushes. That was bad. That was awkward. His mom? You don't bring up your mom when asking a girl out and...

"Sure," Radi said with a smile.
"I'm going to grab dinner, Dvoyneva, you want anything from the mess hall?"

"No..." the goth girl called back.
"Just don't get pregnant."

Radi blushes and chuckled nervously prompting Silivanov to as well as Radi slipped out of the dorm.
"So shall we?"

---

The mess hall of the dorm wasn't dead but it was a Friday night. Almost everyone was getting ready to go out. So it was about as quiet as it got during the week, with only a study group keeping to themselves on the other end.

The food wasn't bad either. Rather than staff it with a cafeteria the university had a mini food court. Fast food, pizza, wraps, Arianese food, it was posh.

"So Radi...? I'm Silivanov but you can call me Silivia."

Radi took her meal and sat down across from him at a table they had to themselves.

"Ráðhildur Öxndal," the girl replied with a
smile.
"Radi works though. I know 'Ráðhildur' can be tough in Khastenian," she said.

"Well yeah but not in Prydanian right because..." Silvia blushed because he realized he had no way to finish this thought in a way that made him look smart.
"...because um... that's where you're from..."

Radi laughed a bit and sipped her pop.
"Nothing gets by you."

Silvia smiled, relieved that she just took it in stride and wasn't looking at him like a moron.

"So, where from Prydania are you from?" he asked, trying to salvage the line of thought.

Radi chuckled and shrugged.
"Well I'm from a farm that's just outside a small town called Kiojaleit, which is just outside of Erkiengill. So... Erkiengill, kinda."

"Oh farmer girl. I didn't want to assume just because you were Prydanian..."

"That I came from a farm? Guilty as charged," she chuckled.

"Nice, nice! I mean I'm from here. So you know... mostly just know the city. I've never been on a farm before."

"Oh if you're ever in Central Prydania call me and you can visit," Radi replied with a grin.
"But! Only if you show me around town. I've been here since August and I haven't left campus yet."

"Deal," Silvia replied with a grin, but then...
"How am I gonna call you? I don't have your number?"

His heart was pounding. For the first time he'd made a move that wasn't bumbling around in the dark but it was still a big move. But Radi grabbed a pen from inside her vest and scribbled a phone number on a napkin.

"Now you do," she said with a smile.

Silvia's heart leapt and he took the napkin.
"Thanks! Um..." he took a bite of his burger as Radi ate her salad.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Silvia replied.
"But..." he pointed to the right breast of Radi's vest.
"Is that FRE patch... I mean it's not yours but like... did your dad fight in the Civil War?"

Radi had a sort of quiet demeanour about her, but a friendly face and blue eyes that just dazzled Silvia but this was the first time she seemed withdrawn and didn't say anything at first.

"I'm sorry I know it's sensitive and..."

"No it's ok...my pabbi... didn't fight. He was only ten when the Syndicalists took our farm. He grew up in one of the homesteads."

Silvia nodded. He knew enough to know that was very bad... and sad. So he just didn't say anything.

"This..." Radi replied as she tapped the FRE badge, "was a patch worn by one of the soldiers who liberated him at the end of the War. Pabbi kept it framed, until he gave it to me."

"That's beautiful."

"Are you just saying that?"

Radi didn't sound angry or accusatory when she asked that. It sounded like a genuine question.

"I mean it. History was never my thing but... but that's beautiful. And I think it pulls your whole look together."

Radi smirked some and ate some more.
"Well," she said as she swallowed some salad.
"It's supposed to be this whole punk country look."

"Music?"

"Fashion," Radi corrected her.
"I'm tone deaf you don't want me singing anything, but I do know fashion."

"Huh my roommate said you were in a geology class with him. I assumed you were studying science not fashion."

Radi laughed as she sipped pop and nearly lost it before shaking her head.
"Fashion's a hobby. I'm here studying paleo-metrology."

"Ohhh!" Silvia chuckled.

"What? Did you think some poor Prydanian farm girl couldn't amount to anything but a fashion degree?"

"What? No I just... I..."

Silvia noticed that Radi's face had gone from serious to amused again.

"I'm kidding! Oh man. You're fun, Silvia."

Silvia laughed but the joke did shine a light on something he didn't intend but that she might take the wrong way. And well... he thought this was going well. So he... didn't want to leave that hanging.

"If you thought I was implying you couldn't afford dinner or anything I... I didn't mean that. Not at all. I just wanted to do a nice thing and..." he stopped seeing Radi grin ear to ear.

"Do you know what we grow on my pabbi's farm?"

Silvia shook his head.

"Wheat," she answered and pulled the top burger pattie off of Silvia's sandwich.

"This may have come from my pabbi's farm," she said holding it up.

It was cute actually. She said it with a sort of cheerful goofiness to let him know she wasn't offended but also had a bit of pride in it. Like she was proud of what her family did. She gave the half eaten pattie back to Silvia.
"So you don't have to worry about offending me. Besides you're sweet that you care. I don't go looking for malice where there was none."

"She thinks I'm sweet!" he thought to himself before he continued.
"Thanks... so um... paleo-metrology?"

Radi nodded.
"We can study sediments in fossil records, wind patterns, and such, and with enough data I could tell you all about a hurricane that hit Khastenia during the time of the dinosaurs."

"That's far out," Silvia replied.
"Like... I had no idea that was possible."

"It's really cool. Some day we'll have a complete record of the planet's weather dating back... well... I donno! It's insane how far back technology can push."

"What got you interested in metrology?" Silvia asked as he nibbled on some Saints fries.

"Well city boy," she said teasingly, "it's hard to see here but on a farm the entire sky is a canvas. And when it rains or snows you can see it all dancin' overhead. And it's captivatin'."

"And that made you want to go study ancient hurricanes."

"What can I say? It's too cool."

Radi sipped more pop and began to pick at the tomatoes in her salad.

"So what are you here studying?" she asked.

"Business."

"Oh cool. My big bro Ástvar is studying that at University of Býkonsviði."

"Does he like it?" Silvia asked.

"Yeah," Radi replied.

"Well I'm glad someone does."

"You don't?" Radi asked, sounding concerned.

"When I started my last year of high school," Silvia said with a sigh, "my old man asked me what I was going to major in. Thing is a year earlier he told me I had a year to decide. If I didn't have an answer I'd be studying business. And when he asked me... even though I had a year to think about it... I didn't have an answer."

"Why not?" Radi asked.

"I just... you're lucky you're really into something they can make and degree out of. Me? I donno. I just... don't know. So dad said I was going to study business because it had the most uses as a degree."

"I don't think he's wrong really. Means you can do almost anything."

"If I manage to live long enough to get my MBA without killing myself, sure."

"Well don't kill yourself just yet. You need to live long enough to call me to let me know you're in Central Prydania so I can show you around our farm."

Silvia smiled as he leaned forward a bit and grabbed his cup of pop and held it out like he was toasting.

"To meeting you Radi Öxndal."

"To meeting you Silvia Timofey."

Two cardboard cups full of ice and orange pop tapped each other as they smiled at each other, as the sparse mess hall emptied out into the Friday night. Leaving the two to talk and talk. Until Friday became Saturday.

OOC Note: Written with @Arc 's permission

22 February 1947
2:04 pm
On a Saturday
Northern Ba Feng mountains

Captain Liang Xinya felt the sting of the icey wind on his face. The wind. It never stopped. Not at these heights.

The guns had been silent for days. His own camp, their beachhead on this mountain of ice and rock, was utterly empty of everything but death. The bodies of his men, his comrades, scattered throughout. Every bullet. Every shell. Gone. And the same was true for the food. He finished his last pickled quail egg. The only thing he'd eaten in two days. The last bit of food left. Maybe the Suavidici side would have more food? Judging from the silence from their camp though, unlikely. Chances are that they were just as depeleated as he was.

Xinya finished his egg. It would have to do, to get him across this glacier. He stuck his hand under his coat, into his officer's jacket, and pulled out a yellowed and worn picture of his wife, Jie. And his son, Tai. His son...he'd never seen him. He was shipped out here, to defend Ba Feng, while his wife was still pregnant. The letter this picture had come with was the last he heard from his wife. She was counting down the days until they could be a family.

Xinya stuffed the picture in his jacket. Heaven willing, he would make it back. He just had to cross this glacier. The sounds of the cheers of the crowd, the patriot songs sung as they were shipped of ringing in his ears... was it all a lie? To watch the men under his command- all younger than him when he was not yet thirty-die to hold onto one chunk of ice and rock among seemingly thousands?
No. He had a duty. His duty was to take this glacier for the Empire. For his nation. He walked across the ice, his boots crunching the snow underneath. If he was right, if the Suavidici side was as depleated as his then it was possible... possible that everyone in their camp was dead. After all he felt barely alive, fuelled only by a single pickled egg and a desire to see his wife and son. Perhaps, Heaven willing, the elements had taken all the Suavidici. If so then... then he will have fulfilled his duty. The young men- boys- he commanded who were dead, will have died for a cause, to complete their objective. He could radio command. The galcier had been held. He could... go home.

He trudged himself towards the Suavidici line. The way was clear, despite the wind. It kicked snow up from the ground to be sure, but it was not new snow. A minor blessing. Still, the cold cut through his winter army jacket.

And then he saw him. He had emerged from the Suavidici camp. He looked ragged, like him, but he could make out, just barely, an officer's uniform. And Xinya felt his heart sink but he shook off the feeling. Yes, it would be easy if no one survived, but to expect the universe to gift you anything was arrogance. Xinya stood as he waited. If more than one Suavidici emerged from their lines then he'd have to decide if he would fight to the death or surrender.... but no one else did.

Instead the Suavidici officer yelled something, in Umbrial. A language Xinya didn't understand.

"He must be the only one... like me" he thought, and trudged forward. And as he did... the Suavidici officer did as well.

"So... at the end of the world, only one of us will walk away..."

As cowardly as it was, surrender did seem to be a viable option if he was outnumbered. He would fight though, if it was only one Suavidici and him. Two survivors of this futile battle. Only one would win. Xinya straighteened his posture, and discarded his long winter coat. The cold cut deeper now, but his adrenaline was kicking in, and he didn't seem to care. He drew his jian blade. The Suavidici likewise discarded his winter coat, drawing his gladius. These two men couldn't speak to each other, but they understood each other.
They were sons of empires, the two Empires of the World, the Two Eyes of Civilization. They each had their duty. They each understood.

They didn't run. There was no need, and it would have wasted what energy both men had left. As they got closer Xinya could see the Suavidici was about his age, and had the rank of Captain. Like him. Good. It would come down to the commanding officers. As it should. One man would join his comrades. The other would be victorious in their memory.

It was almost casual as they approached, the two only stopping in the middle of the glacier, rock and ice surrounding them as far as they could see, the only two living things in this Godforsaken corner of the world, to take in each other.

And then the swords clashed. The vibration of the blade ringing down the sword to Xinya's hands, causing his pained, cold, cracked hands to ache but no matter, he saw the same pain on the Suavidici. The blades clashed again, as the wind picked up, Heaven taking notice of their fight. The howl of the elements echoing in their ears as they leaned into each other, blades crossed, before they stumbled apart.

Again, blades clashed. The pain not even registering to Xinya anymore. His hands, no longer having the comfort of his winter coat, were now frozen. Or felt that way, at least.

Again. Again. Again. Against the howl of the wind. Again. Again. Xinya could feel his energy drain, yet he entered a trance like state. That he could keep fighting. And would. As long as his opponent remained standing. And then he charged. He let out a grunt as his blade crashed against the Suavidici's, and he pushed him back. One last desperate attempt to take his position. To secure this glacier. The Suavidici grunted back and dug his boots into the ice below them, both of them dropping to one knee as they looked into each other's eyes, blades crossed on a hunk of ice in the middle of nowhere. They pushed against each other, and both collapsed due to exhaustion.


Xinya felt the cold of the ice underneath him. It burned, and he pushed himself up, just as the Suavidici did. He swung. This time the blades didn't clash, because in his wobbly state from losing his balance he'd left his torso open. The gladius had been stabbed through his gut. He dropped the jian sword. The weapon he'd been gifted when he'd been made an officer... and he dropped to his knees. The Suavidici Captain who'd delievered the killing blow dropped to his knees too, likely out of exhaustion. He leaned into him. And Xinya was face to face with the Suavidici who had bested him. Who... after months of pointless fighting.... had taken the glacier.

Xinya spoke no Umbrial, but he had a classical education. He could speak some Mercanti.

"You fought well Suavidici..." he said as he coughed up blood, the cold that was biting him earlier seeming so distant. The Suavidici replied. His Mercanti just as accented.

"You as well," he said as he pulled the gladius from Xinya.

Xinya fell. Collapsed on the ice. The cold was quickly seeming distant, but he'd done it. He'd not won, no, but fate hardly works like that. He'd done his duty though. Until the last man. Content that he'd honoured his oath to his nation and Emperor, content that he'd served as well as he could... he permitted himself one that last induldgence before the darkness took him, and he thought about his wife and child.

“Spam” Hill

Southern Aria

1948

Hongwon had fallen months ago, Ethia was almost entirely back in allied hands, the war should have been over, but here Varro was thousands of miles from the family ranch in Volsha, here he was years after enlisting still fighting the enemy. from where he was standing the nearby hills seemed deceptively peaceful, it seemed insane to think that a few miles ahead thousands of enemy troops were dug in. Reaching for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his front pocket Varro pondered the merits of lighting up a smoke, a series of small booms in the distance seemed to answer his query in the negative.Varro didn’t even have time to curse as the shells came raining down on his position, it was all he could do to leap into the nearest crater and curl into a fetal position. The earth around him shook as the shells impacted and detonated, it reminded him of his grandfather's bedtime stories about titans, as though those ancient giants had risen from myth to smash the earth once more.

The shaking soon began to recede, and the young marine hauled himself up and took the risk of peaking from his foxhole. There was a cold silence, the air felt charged as though an electrical current was running through everything, the pause before the carnage resumed most likely. There was a thumping sound and then Varro nearly soiled himself as a large figure landed behind him.

“Get your rifle up marine! Those scale-faces* aren’t finished yet” Sergeant Makaegh growled from once side of his face, the other still chomping on an unlit cigar

A proud coast lander, Makaegh’s wild red beard and near incomprehensible accent hadn’t stopped him from being one of the most effective NCOs in the corps, he drove his men hard, but he was always there alongside them. All it took was the sergeants order for Varro to grab his rifle and return to his place on the firing line.

“Hicks, keep that MG trained on the tree line but don’t start firing until I give the single, they won't be hidden for long boys this is it!”

“WANSUIII!!!!!” came a booming roar from the treeline as hundreds of Arianese soldiers came roaring out of the forest with their weapons raised

The war had been raging for almost a decade now, it had taken countless sacrifices to push the empire out of Ethia, now the Arianese were on the defensive and growing increasingly desperate. Any sane enemy would have recognized the futility, their ports blockaded and their air space choked with enemy planes, the Arianese did not appear to be acting with any sanity. Instead they fought on even as their ammo and food grew scarce and their numbers dwindled.

“Steady!” Makaegh roared over the noise of the charging enemy

The marines of the 141st had been fighting the entrenched Arianese forces for the better part of a month, the armies of Meng Tao fortifying every hill and defensible position as they fought a bloody retreat further north. The current target was proving increasingly hard to seize, the Arianese fighting tooth and nail to hold the hill overlooking the main road north.

The marines had taken to calling it “Spam” hill, the constant bombardment and endless casualties having led to the position resembling an abattoir, slaughtered humanity tainting every spot on the once verdant land. Varro was convinced that the locals would keep fighting until the last man, they didn’t seem to care that they were taking horrendous losses every moment they remained at war.

The Arianese drew close, their tattered blue uniforms clear as day in the fading afternoon light, Varro’s heart began to pound as they drew closer and closer, their footfalls going from distant to unbearably loud.

“Open fire, let em have it!” came the command from Makeagh

Varro squeezed the trigger of his carbine, the whole motion instinctive by now, the crack of rifle fire filled the air as the entire section opened up and tore into the charging attackers with a withering hail of disciplined shots. The Arianese were ripped to pieces, bodies torn about by countless rounds and men reduced to hunks of burned meat as grenades were thrown liberally at the approaching enemy.

A sane enemy would have retreated, the Arianese were not sane, they kept coming and even as it became obvious they would not break the enemy line, still they charged. A screaming officer was the first to make contact, leaping into the foxhole and swinging his dao wildly, he took off Hicks’s head just below the neck. He lunged at Varro only to be thrown back by a blast from Makaegh’s shotgun.

“Don’t stand there gawking Varro get on the MG!” Makaegh roared as he pulled back the slide to expel a used shell from the trench gun

Varro did as he was instructed, shoving Hick’s headless body aside and firing wildly, he felt a sick knot form in his stomach as he realized the grips of the MG were still warm and sweaty from the grasp of the previous owner. He kept firing, the barrel of the gun growing red hot and smoking as it churned out death on an industrial scale.

The Arianese fought bravely, and they died horribly for their trouble, Varro wondered if their leaders even knew or cared that these men were literally throwing themselves at the enemy? It didn’t really matter; they had started this war and now it had finally come back to their shores. The killing wouldn’t stop until the enemy finally realized they had lost.

“Heads down!” Makaegh bellowed over the noise of gunfire

The enemy was retreating, evidently the colonel had decided he didn’t want any of them making it back to their own lines, a sound like thunderclap drowning out everything else. Shells from the nearby firebase rained down, this time on the enemy, the no man’s land between the hill and the marines entrenchment vanishing in a sea of fire and smoke. The retreating enemy were consumed by the creeping barrage, when the smoke finally began to clear, only blackened earth and burning meat remained.

“Cease fire, get this line back in order, the enemy isn’t going to stop hurling themselves at us just because of one setback”

It had in fact been the third assault in as many days, Varro whispered a silent prayer to Aurora, the enemy had already lost but they seemed intent on fighting until there was no one left alive.

*A Racial slur used by F.E.U. citizens and soldiers to described the Arianese during the Fascist Wars in Auroria. The slur appears to stem from the extensive use of dragons in Arianese culture and also the poorly understood system by which the Emperor and the Five Dragons rule Aria. As of 1989 the term was officially designated a form of hate speech by the FEU senate.

27 March, 1925
Edward III Hall, Uphampton, Eamont, mid-Sutherland
around 8h15

A hurried voice, erratic, rang from the end of the corridor. Godfred Roscow's personal secretary, who could not have been more than a twenty, shambled after it, his arms cradling a mess of papers and folders against his admittedly immaculate suit.

"Is Godfred awake?"

The boy stopped three feet short of a man thrice his age, whose hair had receded to a faded bronze crown fading to grey. A thin, partly see-through bar of wispy hair crossed the brow of his tall visage, making the boy wonder why he didn't just cut his losses and shave it off.
"Aye, Lord* Roscow is awake." The man grunted indignantly, adjusting his flat cap slightly. "When i'n't he?"

The boy returned a frantic nod, spat out a "Sorry", nodded again for good measure, then pushed open the door wide into a dour room with equally dour men sat around it. A fireplace burnt bright to the corner of his right eye. His eyes, however, settled instantly on the only man of any importance in the room - Godfred Roscow.

"What news brings you?" Godfred asked, his eyebrow raised. He looked shattered, deep bags etched under his bloodshot eyes. He already knows. I think, anywho.
"Hanrick, he's-"

Roscow slammed a veiny hand hard onto the table in front of him, but did not utter a word. Definitely knows. Better move on.

"The, uhm, the..."

"Spit it out, boy." Roscow's new Richeman Theobald Kelder, the man now in charge of the paramilitary wing, barked, giving a slight look to Godfred before looking back at his personal secretary. The only interesting feature the boy noted, apart from the joy Kelder seemed to take in attempting to do his good friend's bidding from the thin smile momentarily twisted onto his face, was how wrinkled Kelder was - he knew for a fact Kelder was younger than Roscow, and while Roscow didn't look great for 55, he looked positively statuesque in comparison to the hunched over, wizened Kelder.

"Our men, m'lord, have been pushed out of Westmorland. Franklin is soon to follow. That may leave the, uh... traitors with total control in the keystones of the east and south."
Godfred pondered this for a moment.

"So, if-" Kelder began, but Godfred's open hand shot up in protest, so he shut himself up at once. Godfred's secretary just barely held in a laugh. He's no Hanrick, that's for fucking sure.
Roscow took a sip from his water, and then leant forward to face nobody in particular. "They'll give up." He began, proudly. "They gave up last time. The rats will crawl back into the sewer a second time."

You lost half the nation overnight, as well as nearing on half of what's left since, last time you barely lost a single city, the boy considered interjecting, but he thought wiser of certain death, so Godfred continued his ramble.
"I say we use the 2nd Sheltrum* on-"

"They're dead or captured." The Minister for War, Walder Wilson bluntly called out. "Unless you propose raising their corpses from the fields of Westmorland to free their compatriots from rebel control, you might need a second plan. They must start digging in as soon as possible, and hold the line until the bastards get bored of fighting us and go back to fighting each other."
Godfred smiled. Kelder followed suit, naturally.

"No, no, you are right." Roscow admitted, glancing at the clock briefly with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, but still ignored the bulk of Wilson's recommendation. Whether out of refusal or confusion, the boy couldn't quite work out. "No, I will send word to our friends down in Oxenrigg and Iveness* to force their way-"

Wilson interrupted a second time. "Fred, they're barely able to stop for a breath as the rebels force their way towards us at a rapid rate. This is not going to be solved today or tomorrow."
The boy could swear he saw Godfred's eye twitch, but then Roscow smiled nevertheless.
"It will be solved as soon as, I promise." He said.

Kelder slipped in a smug "yeah," and suddenly Wilson's eyes were daggers, steel pointed at Kelder.

"What in the fuck are you here for, apart from to nod along to the conversation us adults are having, eh?" Wilson blustered, his fingers white and crooked from gripping the wooden armrest. "The only reason you are here, rather than being with the rest of the fucking nobodies, Theo, is because Hanrick went loopy and threw himself at some trade unionists' gunfire. Shut up. Do you understand?"

"And who are you exactly to-"

"Well, looks as if you don't." Wilson drew his firearm, loaded it calmly, and leant forward, pointing the barrel straight towards the space between Kelder's wide and startled eyes. "Understand now, do you?" Roscow visibly considered intervening, but just shrugged, leant back and muttered something about it being too early under his breath.

Kelder managed an uneasy smile and nodded slowly as Wilson's finger held deathly still on the trigger.

"Keep it that way." Wilson got up suddenly, the movement causing Kelder to let out a pathetic squeal, and passed Godfred's secretary while putting his firearm away, dropping a letter into the boy's coat pocket as he left.

---

Lord - often used in a similar context to "Sir" in Mercanti
Sheltrum - battalion
Oxenrigg, Iveness - provinces to the north of Westmorland, directly south of Eamont