The Purging Fire [OPEN]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pabbi..."

"Is that my Alex?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The Aurorians Pabbi?"

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

"Pabbi I..."

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

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

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

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

"Pabbi..."

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

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

Rikard smiled meekly...

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

"What is it Pabbi?"

"Be with me.... please."

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

"Of course Pabbi."

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

---

Queen of Kings by Alessandra, 2:28

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

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

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

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

"Name?" one of the bouncers asked.

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

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

"Miss Allen is expecting me," he pleaded.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The fire rises!"

---

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

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

"Lesson two. No one is safe."

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

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

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

The screen fizzled into static...

---

Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Who is he?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kjell tapped the table a bit.

"Is Marshal Stahl correct? Were their rumours?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you never told anyone."

Max had enough.

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

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

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

"How many did you try?"

"The most important one."

"The Messianic League uprising," Kaleb added.

"That," Max confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that this... Satrap?"

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

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

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

"Where are they now?"

"I don't know."

"How many are there?"

"I don't know."

"Have they infiltrated us or our allies?"

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

"What do you know?"

"That we're at war."

"War?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keizer Suites Tower
Djanstra, Kaliva

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

“Cut!”

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

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

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

“Jus-just look at this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“New hires…” he groans.

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

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

“Yes, thank you Karolina,” he replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Cloud News Studios
Mjonsk, Kaliva

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

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

“Thanks for having me, Ljjkhnr.”[3]

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

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

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

---

The Crystal Cabaret
Sud Djanstra, Kaliva

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

The Bridge Restaraunt
Mjonsk, Kaliva

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's Bayardi."

"I see."

---

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

Somewhere in Aydin
"I demand to see him!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"at your own peril!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kill Alycia Saitta-Loðbrók."

---

*Yalı- An Aydini villa built on the water

23 May 956
2:46 pm
On a Friday
Siwangzhicheng, Aria

"The Lord of Storms' army is at the gates!" Farshid Olia gasped as he clutched his right arm. Blood seeped through his fingers as he gripped the wound, and it soaked through the dark brown tunic under his armour.

Ringed fingers tapped the long table that divided the room. The scarlet banners bearing the Ten Rings' insignia fluttered in the air tainted by the smells of blood and Arian gunpowder.

"The Golden Dragon's gambit has paid off..." the man tapping the table muttered.

"What was that, my Lord?"

The man looked up.
"Nothing Farshid. You've failed."

"But Satrap, my Lord..."

"No," the Satrap replied, holding up a hand.
"The axe wielders have brought our armies to their knees. It falls on me..."

The Satrap walked to Farshid, and in one fluid motion, cut across his neck with a knife hidden in his robes.

"...to cut off their head."

Farshid gasped and dropped to the ground, looking up at his leader with disbelief... but the Satrap paid him no mind.

"Red Claw!"

A matronly woman in robes and a veil approached, a crimson claw pendant hanging from her necklace.

"Send a raven. The Army in Aria has fallen. Let them know that survive or not, the Ten Rings must vanish... for now. Until we are ready."

"Yes, Satrap."

The woman and her retinue vanished up the chamber's staircase as the Satrap cleaned the blood from his knife and momentarily glanced at Farshid's lifeless body. He slipped the knife up his sleeve and took a sharp and curved blade from the wall. And then he sat. And waited.

---

Red viking banners depicting the three arrows of House Scylfing and green banners depicting the gold flames and golden dragons of the Heavily Arianese Emperor entered the gates of Siwangzhicheng. Finnleik Scylfing removed his helmet as the last of the Ten Rings infantry broke... the sun was high and the Arianese troops he was with seemed to be taking in the majesty of the ancient sight- the City of the Dead it was called.

Finnleik, however, was not concerned with that. He had made a pledge to the Golden Dragon Emperor that he would rid his realm of this rogue enemy. And now he would finish it.

"They say that this spot is where the forces of hell come forth onto Eras," Quan Yu, the Emperor's most trusted General who had led the purging of the Ten Rings' agents from court, commented in Mercanti. It was the only way the Arianese and their viking allies could communicate.

"How fitting then," Finnleik remarked, that this insidious rabble would seize this place as a home."

"I'm not a man for superstition," Quan muttered.
"It's sacred land. The Scarlet Dragon Lords who rule here in the south are forbidden to enter unless on the holiest of days. The Ten Rings aren't demons. They just know how to scare the ignorant."

He turned and angrily shouted "別再顫抖了，狗狗們，繼續前進吧！我們讓他們在逃!" at soldiers to his left who seemed unsure about going further into the city.

"Aye, we have conjurors and charlatans in our homeland too, but not many who could amass an army to conquer an Empire," Finnleik mused as he and Quan entered the city with their combined troops.

"The Emperor is a good man. Kind too, but that is his weakness. He didn't see the rot before it was nearly too late. Had you not arrived to scour them from the coasts we may have lost the Capital."

"Well," Finnleik said as he dismounted and drew his sword.
"Let's burn this rot out once and for all."

Quan followed suit.

"I've noticed most of your kind prefer axes. Yet you wield a straight blade."

"My family's preference for the sword," Finnleik replied, "is a tradition. It's simply what I was trained to use."

"Well," Quan said as he drew his, "let's see which wins a bigger prize. Your straight blade or my curved."

"Perhaps we'll split it. Five rings each?"

Quan chuckled and the two marched up on the Temple of the City of Death as tattered Ten Rings banners fluttered in the air.

---

"Finnleik Scylfing... Quan Yu..."

The two stopped. The dark skinned man in the green robes rose from the long table he sat at, holding a sword at his side.

"I meet the men who have caused me so much grief, and am disappointed to instead see two dogs. A northern barbarian mutt and a lapdog to a dottering fool."

Quan went to speak but Finnleik spoke instead, not in the mood for more Arianese dramatics.

"Well what does that make you then?"

The Satrap smirked.

"By the end of the day I'll be the man who killed you both. Your pathetic Emperor will tremble in fear knowing that despite his army's victory we are eternal. We are immortal."

"You're a gang of thieves, and thugs, nothing more," Quran replied.
"And I will be proud to present my Emperor with your head."

"Don't be so sure," Finnleik smirked.
"My Lord back across the seas might find it a novelty worth having."

The two drew blades and the Satrap walked out in front of the table, his blade held limply at his side.

"Here I am now, entertain me," he said with a smile as the two warriors charged him.

And it was like a puppet being controlled by string. The limp form of the Satrap sprung to life. Swirling once, his blade deflected Quan's and his hidden knife slid into his other hand, cutting Finnleik across the cheek.

Finnleik wasn't stunned though, fighting through the pain to charge again, as the Satrap kicked Quran back and exchanged parries with the Viking lord.

"You fight well! Maybe we'll emerge in your lands, your people might make suitable attack dogs!"

Finnleik charged again, blades clashing as Quan once again re-entered the fight. And the Satrap, noticing things were shifting to a disadvantage, fell back to the table.

"Usually, the Emperor names such spineless fools to do his bidding..." the Satrap chuckled as he positioned himself on the other side of the long table that nearly spanned the width of the room.
"But I can see he found some competent people. Finally. But no matter. Any foe can be overcome."

He threw his knife to a pillar to his right, cutting a rope tied around it. Paper screens all around the room's second level began to collapse and then...

It hissed through the air, a rocket! The Arianese had them, for their army, but this one exploded in the middle of the room, engulfing everyone in fire and smoke, and throwing Finnleik and Quan back.

Quan coughed, pulling himself up, fire and smoke was everywhere.
"Finnleik! Where are..."

He gasped. His throat had been cut and the Satrap stood over him as he collapsed.
"Such heroic nonsense" he muttered at the fallen general. He always knew Quan would be a problem. If only he'd gotten rid of him earlier...

"Quan!"

The Satrap looked cross the flames and smoke as Finnleik cried out to his fallen ally.

"He served a fool who nearly lost his Empire. He deserved nothing but scorn. Now go Northman. This isn't your fight."

"He was a man of honour, who fought for his liege lord," Finnleik called back.
"The same lord I promised I would kill you for."

"Why throw away your life so recklessly?" the Satrap asked, but the only answer he got was Finnleik charging and the clashing of steel. Blades meeting amidst smoke and steel.

The Satrap smirked though, as they danced. The Viking was skilled, but his sort fought head on. He, however, had been trained in the art of combat, from all directions. He cared not for honour, it was all the same when the enemy was dead anyway. And the fire and smoke... for it was getting hotter and harder to breath, favoured him.

He spun and used his robes as a shield to catch Finnleik's blade, slipping from the garment to bring his sword down on the viking from the side when...

The Satrap gasped. Instead of struggling with his sword he'd dropped it. And know he'd stabbed him in the stomach with a knife from his belt... a move the Satrap never considered he'd make... or see him make... through the smoke...

Finnleik drove the knife in deeper and the Satrap gasped again... dropping his sword as he looked into the angry eyes of Finnleik Scylfing... the last thing he saw before he died.

---

*別再顫抖了，狗狗們，繼續前進吧！我們讓他們在逃!- Stop trembling, dogs, and push the advance! We have them on the run!

---

Star Wars: Jedi Temple March/Order 66 (EPIC VIKING VERSION) by Ihsan Dincer, 2:47

Luscova, Norsia

"You know I'll never improve if you keep letting me win," Alycia remarked as she put her sword down to grab a towel and wipe some sweat away as Colart grabbed a water bottle.

"Your Grace thinks so little of me that I'd throw a match?" he replied dryly but with a bit of a smirk.
"You've just gotten good enough to beat me. Finally. It took you long enough." He smirked again. He had to keep her humble.

"Well three kids tends to cut down on the time I could practice, but I've found my groove again," Alycia replied as she too grabbed a water bottle.

"Speaking of, where are the little ones?" Colart asked.

"Toby has them. He's taking them out to countryside for the day."

"Your husband is dealing with the three of them? That might be a bit much."

"You saw what he went through, back in the day. You shouldn't underestimate him."

"I don't," Colart replied dryly.
"But toddlers are harder than any war."

Alycia chuckled.
"Well he's not alone. He's got Rylond with him. Which, I suppose, technically counts as a helping hand."

"Ugh," Colart muttered.
"I suppose..."

"I suppose he's something of an idiot," Alycia said with a chuckle as she took another swig of water.

"So do you want to go again?"'

"You really want to beat up on an old man?" Colart replied.

"Only one as capable as you."

Colart smirked and grabbed his sword.
"Get your weapon. Let's go."

Alycia nodded, grabbing her own sword and meeting Colart in the middle of the White Palace's fencing gym. She met his
en garde position and tapped his blade with her own when...

The door at the far end of the room had opened. She'd just caught it in the corner of her eye.

"Yes?" she asked, as a woman in a White Guardsman's uniform walked in and then...

Alycia could remember Colart throwing her back as a loud pop and blinding white light filled the room... the flash grenade had filled the room, and Alycia could barely see as she heard an explosion in the distance...

---

Red Claw drew two Aydini short swords and charged the disoriented Colart, knowing he'd have to be neutralized before she could secure her target, who was lying prone behind him. She didn't have much time, but the explosion on the other end of the White Palace should cause enough chaos to give her time to do the deed.

"Greetings from the Satrap," she hissed as she went to drive a blade into Colart's chest only for him to stagger back and block it with his own sword. He grumbled and shook his head. His vision wasn't blurry, but his head was pounding. Just looking and using his eyes caused him a massive headache but he didn't care, holding his blade up.

"I've been threatened worse by better scum," he sneered.

Red Claw scowled, her blades coming down against Colart's hard. The sound of the metal crashing and pinging made Colart's grenade-induced headache worse but he soldiered on.

Red Claw was relentless. She brought blow after blow, using two blades so that Colart was forced to react as quick as possible to parry or dodge. But eventually, as he found some mild relief from the pain in his head by focusing, he noticed her wide, sweeping strikes. And momentum...

... could be reversed. He pushed back as their blades locked up and forced her to spin back as he pressed the advantage.

"You picked the wrong guy to mess with lass," Colart chuckled as he pressed his advantage.
"Champion level fencers aren't people you want to get into duels with."

Red Claw chortled dismissively.
"I've been trained by the deadliest assassins in the world, I'm not afraid of some fencer champ from the upper class."

"Try University of Luscova, Division One," Colart smirked, pressing his advantage as he made her wobble backtracking.
"Would have made it to the Odinspyl if I didn't go into the Army!"

He he pushed the assailant against the wall, but Red Claw leaned back, bending her leg so her foot pressed against the wall and pressed forward, using the leverage to push in and jump, and Colart staggered, his head pain too much for a brief moment. Red Claw brought the blunt end of her sword's hilt down on his temple. A vicious look came over her face as she brought the other sword's hilt down on him. The blades would be quicker. She wanted to bloody this old fool with trauma. Again. Again. And Again. Finally Colart fell.

His head was ringing, his ears full of blood... he only wished...

"Leave him be. You want me, right?"

... Colart smiled. Even through the pain. That's his girl.

Alycia had pulled herself up.
She'd shaken the disorientation off, thanks to Colart sparing her most of the blast. And she had her sword.

Red Claw licked her lips, running at Alycia with her blades aimed with deadly precision as Alycia parried. But she wouldn't let herself stay on the defensive. She presses herself, forcing Red Claw to adjust her strikes, Alycia never letting her finish her attacks in full.

"You'll pay for desecrating my home," Alycia growled.

"The Satrap will see you, and your kin burn in the streets," Red Claw hissed back.

She had hoped the taunt would drive Alycia into a rage, but... she just saw pure hatred in the Norsian Empress' eyes as their blades met.

Red Claw tried to pull back, but Alycia got the blade inside and forced one of her attacker's swords away. Red Claw tried to push the one she had into Alycia's gut but Alycia had too much leverage. She forced her against the wall, her blade pressing to her throat, Red Claw having to use her own blade to stop it. Still she looked manic and licked her lips.

"Tic tock, you get what you get for your choices," Red Claw taunted.
Alycia narrowed her eyes.
"So do you."

"Yes" Red Claw chuckled as she bit into the false tooth. Cyanid.

Alycia stepped back as Red Claw's body spasmed, dropping to the floor. Twitching as white foam and drool leaked from her mouth.

Alycia stared at her. This woman who she never knew but who hated her to the core, take her own life and die... shaken by that idea before pulling herself away to attend to Colart as White Guardsmen rushed in...

"You'll be ok... you'll be ok..." she said in a panic getting a good look at how beaten he was.

"You're safe... that's what matters..." he muttered.

"No," she said as she cried softly.
"No it isn't."

"Do I have your attention now?"

Tobias watched as the Satrap once again took the screen. He was wearing what were now familiar green and gold robes, sitting in a dark room, as if he were a singular point of focus in a formless void.

"You missed me in the skies over Auroria when I took the Iraelian ambassador. You've missed me on Sil Dorsett, in Kaliva, and in Norsia. I've been getting closer, do you feel it?"

Tobias watched... it was surreal. Maybe it's because this latest tragedy WAS so close to home. Maybe he couldn't help but assume that the madman talking was talking to him...

"You've missed me yet again. And you'll never. See me. Coming."

There was a pause and the Satrap sat back in his chair.

"We don't have much time, as the agents of the world's televisions scramble to win back control of their signals. So I will make this brief. King Tobias III of Prydania..."

It was like a pit had opened up in Tobias' stomach. He was talking to him. He grabbed the television remote from Kjell and turned it up.

"...you've resisted my attempts to educate you, sir. And forced me to take the life of President Winters and his staff. Reduced to atoms in the sky at the flick of my fingers."

The Satrap snapped, and Tobias just... stared.

"So let this be the harshest lesson yet. All nations of the world have retained diplomatic relations with the Kingdom of Prydania in one week's time open themselves up to being attacked by the righteous fury of the Ten Rings. Any nation that continues to maintain diplomatic ties with Prydania or remains a treatied ally of Prydania, opens their leadership... and populous... up to be targeted."

Kjell picked up the phone to call the ÖSU as the rest of the government watched on with the King.

"This is the harshest lesson yet, Your Majesty, but it won't be the last."

The screen flickered to a Ten Rings emblem. As the screen faded to black...

Ladies, gentlemen, sheep. Some people call me a terrorist. I consider myself a teacher. Lesson number one. Democracy, there's no such thing.

Tobias remembered when the Satrap had announced the Ten Rings to the world at the AN founding in Kariste. He'd said that...Tobias remembered watching the announcement in shock with the rest of the AN leadership.

Since then the Ten Rings had made themselves known but... but he'd never realized it was personnel. It couldn't be. He summarized the Satrap wished to attack the AN and those sympathetic to it, and Prydania had been a major player in getting it off the ground but... Prydania was still not a world power. Why would... would the Satrap target him? Target them?

The sun wasn't quite ready to set over Býkonsviði but it would be soon. The late summer breeze blew by as Tobias stood on the roof of Absalonhöll, his Stormurholmr FF jersey not much at keeping the breeze at bay. This was where he and Rylond would occasionally drink but he was alone tonight. He just stared off into the cityscape.

You don't know who I am. You don't know where I am. And you'll never see me coming.

Tobias shivered. It was unnerving. He'd spent most of his early life trying to survive Syndicalist assassination. But as morbid as that was.... it was, in its own way, understandable. They wanted him dead because of what he represented, who he was. Tobias never realized it before, but now that he was faced with someone like the Satrap, he realized there was a comfort to the horrors of the past. However awful, however traumatic his childhood... it made sense.

This didn't.

Why? Why him? The AN? Was that it? If so why hadn't the Satrap sicked the Ten Rings on Scalvia? After all they had been Prydania's partners in the AN project.

He'd asked that before, with the Lightbringer during the Civil War. Even that, as delusional as Levis was, made some sense. This just didn't.

"Max told me you'd be brooding here alone."

Tobias just let his wife's words wash over him for a moment without saying anything.

"Toby," Alycia pressed before walking up to his side. She knew better than to not come at him from behind, thanks to PTSD from the Civil War. Still, that raised its own question.

"A terrorist threatens you and you're standing here in the open on the roof?" she asked as she took his right hand gently.

"Better men then him have tried to kill me," Tobias muttered.

"So you're going to make it easier for him?" Alycia replied. Tobias grumbled. Mostly because he knew his wife was dead set on getting him inside, and he couldn't fight that. So he nodded, leading her to the access door that led to the maintenance hallway up here. Alycia followed, happy that her husband had seen reason, but still put off by his coldness. She waited though, until they were both inside.

"Talk to me," she said softly. Tobias looked back at her, said nothing at first, before realizing it would invite more scorn, and sighed.

"Why me?"

Alycia ducked under some beams that were common in the service hallways up here as she and her husband descended back into the palace.

"Why me?" Tobias repeated.
"Prydania hasn't... our military's defensive. We can't power project. Why's he targeting me? Us?"

"Toby."

"Já?"

"He tried to have me killed."

"Because of me. Everything. The Satrap made it very clear. Every death, every bomb, every bullet they kill with is because of me."

"So you're going to stand around, feeling sorry for yourself?"
Tobias turned as they emerged from a stairwell into one of the palace's main hallways.
"I've had people wanting me dead all my life, but at least I understood why. But I've never done anything to this Satrap."

"Maybe it's because of who you are. He seems to despise democracy. You stood up to the Syndicalists. You proved democracy can overcome tyranny."

"I was doing," Tobias contiued, as he paced directionlessly, "what was right. I didn't think of anything that... grand. I was just trying to save my country."

"Do you remember our wedding?"

"Of course I do."

"Then you remember Svrtan nearly pisseing himself meeting you?"

Tobias, for the first time that day, cracked a smile.
"That's not what I remember from that night."

Alycia smiled back and chuckled before shaking her head.
"You'd never done anything to hurt him either. But he was scared of you, because of what you represented. Even you didn't mean to be that, that's what happened. And some monsters aren't scared, they try to bite back."

"Well I'm tired of it," Tobias muttered, finally choosing to go to his office. Alycia, however, was not so eaily shaken.

"Tired of it? Tired of being who you are?"

"Who I am?" Tobias asked as he entered his office, dropping himself into the chair at his desk and slumping in it.
"Who I am? I'm..." he began to chuckle, before leaned over his desk and buried his face in his hands, his chuckling becoming crying.

It was a familar sight. Alycia had to help her husband through a lot of trauma over the years, but time and therapy had been good to him, helping scars heel. She'd not had to comfort him like this for a few years now. Still, she sat across from him and leaned forward to grab his hands and pull them close to her.

"Tell me," she said softly.
"Tell me who you are."

Tobias gasped, sniffling and let his head hang.

"I'm Toby," he said softly.
"I just... I'm tired of being something else."

"You're the King of Prydania."

"I was...people wanted me to be something grand during the War. So I was. People wanted me to be a King, so I was. I worried, worried I could never be what people needed, but I always tried... but..."

"What is it, láska*?"

"After everything that happened, I wanted it to end. But no. People can't do that, can they? Foreign socialists chime in on my existence like I give a fok about what they think, Santróttæklingar* talk about you, me, and our children as if we're any of their business, and now... now this. I'm tired of the assholes of the world thinking they can take from me to prove a point. The ones from my own country took my family from me. I don't owe anything else to anyone."

"No..." Alycia said softly. She'd gotten good at dealing with Tobias when he got like this, even if she hadn't had to do it in a few years. Still, she rubbed his hands with her thumb.
"You're a King. I'd tell you that comes with certain responsibilities, but I think you may know that better than I do."

Tobias just looked down, and so Alycia continued.

"But I know why I fell in love with you."

Still, Tobias said nothing, and that was fine by Alycia. She continued to stroke his hands with her thumbs.

"You didn't just do those things during the War, and after the War because people expected it from you. If you did, you wouldn't have cared if you were good enough. Look at me, Toby."

That got her husband to look up. His green eyes a bit bloodshot.

"You comforted your people during the war because you're kind. And that kindness meant you picked up a gun, and you fought, even when everyone in the world was willing to make up excuses for why you shouldn't. And then when the fighting was done, and you got more money dumped on you than most people will ever see what did you do? You bought homes for people. You bought medicine for people. Because you, Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók, are kind. And kind people attract bad people. This man..."

"He's threatened my country," Tobias replied.

"Not a single world government has bowed to his 'threat.'"

"So people will die. Because of me."

"The AN and PGU will hound them."

"Good men and women, soldiers, will die because of me."

"When FRE soldiers died for you, it was in the name of a better Prydania. Here... it's because the Satrap is a scared man, like Svrtan. Only he's hiding the fact that he's pissing himself by putting the blame on you. You're a good and kind person. It's why I love you. Don't let men like this get to you."

"I'm trying not to. But his henchwoman nearly got to you."

"I've been trained by an Odinspyle-level fencer, it was her funeral."

"Maybe..." Tobias muttered.
"There's a bunker."

"Like one of the ones you lived in during the war?"

"No. A new one, built to keep us safe in case of an attack. It's outside of the city. Under a wheat field on a farm owned by a crown coporoation."

"I'm not hiding in a bunker."

"You and the kids are."

"No."

"Alcyica..."

"I don't run from a fight, and neither do you. We didn't during the war."

"Things are different now. It's not just me. I need to protect the four people I can't live without. You and the kids."

"You can't hide us away."

"Just until this is..."

"Over? And then what? There are always going to be dangerous people. You can't hide us away every time."

"The White Guard and Knights of the Storm will..."

"Will keep Hael, Baldr, Hanna, and I safe, by your side. Here. And in Luscova. And everywhere else."
Alycia took his hands, pulled them towards her, and kissed them.

"You're never alone."

Tobias sighed and hung his head.
"President Winters died..."

"...because a madman killed him. That's why," Alycia finished his setence so he couldn't blame himself.
"The AN and the PGU were partially formed to deal with people like this. Let the world help."

Tobias didn't say or do anything at first. He just remembered what his aunt Mélisende said to him on his honeymoon. He needed to try to not take the world in his hands so much.
"I'll get Kjell on the phone. I need to address the PGU."

---

*láska- Norsian for "love"
*Santróttæklingar- Prydanian for "Santonian Radicals"

Rivage Palace
Norvalle, Sil Dorsett

Charles Barbier styled himself a Colonel. PMC Exposition Nord was his baby. For many years, since the reign of Christophe II, his force was the way the Dorsetts engaged in military action abroad. The princely family had for a while been reluctant to send its forces abroad, citing a lack of desire from the public to show force; Exposition Nord was their way around it. However, Princess Claidie's morals brought a level of uncertainty regarding the company's prospects going forward. She desired to keep to the family's plan of not engaging in foreign hostilities abroad if it could be avoided, except now limiting the use of the PMC was considered as part of that plan.

When Charles heard about the attack on Malorie Allen's life, he assumed his force was going to be the one to respond. However, he hadn't received an immediate request. Much time elapsed and nothing was done. It was the one rare occurance where he had to reach out to the Dorsetts himself. He was told there was no contract available, that the attack on the ambassador was an isolated incident.

The Chamber of Law took up the issue following an investigation, fully aware of the threat the Ten Rings posed. Claidie was given encouragement by her peers, those who knew of the PMC and their favor with the Dorsetts, to reconsider.

Then, Ethian One fell from the sky. Encouragement soon became demand. Charles was granted his meeting.

Claidie tried to keep the meeting light-hearted, almost apologetically offering the Colonel wine and hors d'oeuvres, though she abstained from the wine herself. Charles was polite and partook, but was still all business.

"Miss Dorsett, the delay in allocating my team to this issue is causing unnecessary risk to the nation," Charles said. "What is the reason for this?" he asked.

Claidie was honest. "Look, you know my reluctance to put us into foreign conflicts. I wasn't the only one though; the Prime Minister was also afraid of sending forces abroad. The people weren't happy with her willingness to use force abroad, and it nearly cost her the election. It might have if Masson hadn't been such a pretentious oaf."

Charles perked up. "I thought it was limited to the regular army. We are the solution to that problem," he stated.

"Almost..." Claidie interjected. "Funding was also an issue. What I'm able to offer depends on whether I have government funding or not, and I gave up my ability to force the government into providing it. You don't want to be underpaid, do you?"

"Of course not, but... was an issue, you said?" Charles asked.

"The government reconsidered. The Prime Minister and the Chamber wants them eliminated, and so do I. There's a coalition of AN partners coming together to strike directly at these terrorists. You're going to be part of that force, augmenting special forces from the regular army. Do what they tell you, and you'll get paid."

"We can do that," Charles agreed, shaking the princess's hand to seal the deal.

The outskirts of Batlıurfa, Aydin

Major General Akiva Rami felt the Aydini sun beating down on him.

Field Marshal Mukhtar Sumbhaji of the Syrixian Imperial Armed Forces was heading a massive coalition. Syrixia. Iraelia. Skanda. Esthursia. Hexastalia. Rayvostoka. Kaliva. Sil Dorsett and their mercenary contingent. Aydin.

That last one worried Rami. He didn't trust the Aydini at all, and the revelation via Prydanian ÖSU intelligence that the Ten Rings was here of all places just made him more suspicious. But Aydin was an ally of Syrixia and in a roundabout way that made them an Iraelian ally. And the Syrixians insisted on Aydin having representation on this expedition.

Rami didn't care for that. He raised binoculars up and peered through them.
“Flat grassy fields make me uneasy,” he muttered.

“Sir?”

Rami grunted.
“Nothing Lt. What is it?”

“News breaking from Auroria Sir, the Ten Rings just took credit for the downing of Ethian One!”

Ten Rings HQ

The pounding, thunderous sounds from outside only served to make the Satrap’s pronouncements greater.

"Do I have your attention now?"

He cracked his knuckles.

"You missed me in the skies over Auroria when I took the Iraelian ambassador. You've missed me on Sil Dorsett, in Kaliva, and in Norsia. I've been getting closer, do you feel it?"

The booming sounds from outside rocked the building as the Satrap looked into the camera…

The outskirts of Batlıurfa, Aydin

“Apparently you could hear our artillery in the background of the Satrap’s broadcast when he took credit for it,” the Lt added, as he reported to General Rami.

Akiva looked at the kid and nodded.
“Then we’ll have to pound him into the dirt faster before he decides to vlog again won't we?”

“Yes Sir!”

“Dismissed, Lt.”

“Sir!”

He picked up the phone in his mobile command center.
“Field Marshal Sumbhaji.”

“Major General Rami,” Akiva’s Syrixian counterpart replied.
“I take it you've heard the news from Auroria?”

“I have Sir, and I think it's imperative our forces move in on the Ten Rings compound.”

“I agree, Major General. Aerial reconnaissance has indicated that our weeks-long campaign may finally be at an end. We broke their lines and their soldiers are in retreat.”

“The longer we have to hold back from Ten Rings HQ the longer they can dig in their defenses. My suggestion is that we advance as quickly as we can and end this.”

“Press the south, Major General,” Field Marshal Sumbhaji replied.

“We'll press from the north and east while our extraction team gets Ambassador Gedaliah out.”

“Yes Sir,” Rami replied, hanging up. He grabbed the radio.

“The command is given… move out.”

Joint Iterian Forward Operating Base Zara

The Skandans were not in the AN, but they had volunteered to aid in this attack on the basis that the abduction of an Iraelian ambassador constituted an attack on an Iterian League ally.

The joint Iterian Command had pushed on Batlıurfa, the Aydini town that had been taken over by Ten Rings militants and where it was believed the Satrap himself was hiding. The loud booms of the coalition artillery could be heard even as the Satrap threatened any nation that maintained diplomatic ties to Prydania.

“Why Prydania?” Colonel Yūji Niishima asked.

Rami didn’t have an answer for his Skandan counterpart at first.
“We can ask him soon enough.”

“It takes either a cornered snake or a sly fox to make threats like that in his situation,” Niishima replied.

“He’s a fundamentalist,” Rami pointed out. “He probably thinks he’s getting to heaven regardless of what happens.”

“The Silean mercenaries should be entering the town now. Hopefully they can get us answers,” Niishima said, feeling uneasy about all of this.

Batlıurfa, Aydin

Antoine Bechard peeked out for only half a second from a window on the second floor of a house his squad, Lance-Didier, secured, only long enough to see a trio of his fellow Exposition Nord technicals split off from each other before he moved back into cover. Lance-Didier was taking a break to eat. They had sent three terrorists to their graves, but one of their own was wounded, and they needed to wait for the regular army to send medical to evacuate him.

Antoine ripped open the top of his MRE's entree, duck with mashed potatoes, and ate it... cold. His squad leader, "Sergeant" Horace Gosse, looked at him funny. "Not going to heat that up?" Antoine just looked back at him perplexed. "Never used a ration heater before," Horace asked, mockingly.

"First time doing any of this," Antoine replied.

Horace nodded and shrugged. "First contract. Not surprised. You look new, and business has been bad for years."

"Yeah," Antoine mumbled.

"You make it back, you stickin' around, or you cashing out?"

"Dunno. Seems kinda lame to bail after the first op, but at least I have a choice, not like those army boys."

"Is that why you signed up with us?"

The chatter was broken up by commotion downstairs as the army arrived to take their busted up squadmate out of the combat zone. The few waiting by the staircase assured those above that everything was fine.

"Not just," Antoine replied. "Army wouldn't take me anyways. Got a felony on my record."

"What for?"

"Theft. Stole a bottle of wine from a shop, an expensive one. Shopkeep said the bottle was worth more than five thousand.^($2200)."

"Bullshit... that's a felony?"

Some small arms fire could be heard in the distance, unsurprisingly given how hot the village was, but Lance-Didier ignored it. There were plenty of other ENPMC units throughout the streets.

"Only bullshit was the price the shopkeep said the wine was. Did that just to make sure it was a felony. Said to myself I was gonna go straight after that. My brother Julien told himself the same thing after he got rung up by the Covingtons."

"How's that been for him?"

"He's dead. Got slumped on the job serving drinks to Phoebe's friends. And now here I am possibly getting killed on the job too."

"Eh. If that happens your family still gets your pay."

"I'd rather have it for myself."

The conversation was interrupted by another of the squad who had the radio, calling out urgency. "Lance-Celeste is pinned down just west of us. We're the closest ones to them, Command wants us to bail them out."

"It's time to earn our paycheck," Antoine declared.

"Amen to that and that. Let's move."

The outskirts of Batlıurfa, Aydin

Field Marshal Sumbhaji’s Syrixian forces had surrounded part of the town as the Iraelian and Skandan forces had encircled the rest. Syrixian troops had movied into the town’s outskirts to take command of bridges and major road crossings. The post office and town hall were under coalition control, and a Lt had just informed him that the Ten Rings fighters seemed to be in route.

And then the phone rang.

“Sumbhaji here,” the Field Marshal remarked.

“Colonel Barbier here,” the Silian-Santonian accented voice on the other end reported. Sumbhaji made a face. Mercenaries. Still, they’d proven their metal and they were the first coalition force to break into the town.

“Yes Colonel?”

“We’ve secured what we believe to be the Ten Rings headquarters.”

“Excellent,” Sumbhaji replied excitedly.
“Tell me Colonel, have Coalition troops secured the personnel on the targeted list? Is the Satrap in Coalition custody?”

The pause that followed caused the Field Marshal’s stomach to tie up. It was only a brief silence. But it told him everything.

Ten Rings HQ

The Satrap put on a pair of aviator sunglasses as he opened the door. Though it was summer, the air here was cooler than he was used to. The fresh, cool sea air of an isolated Korovan ocean-side retreat was invigorating. The storm that had caused his previous message to the world to sound like the world was barring down on him, had just passed, and the calmness of the sea was… inspiring.

“Satrap, my lord…”

The Satrap looked behind him, at a Ten Rings militant.

“Yes?”

“The AN coalition has raised the Aydini compound.”

The Satrap smirked.

“Let them chase ghosts and whispers.”

---

OOC Note: Post co-written with @Sil Dorsett , @Syrixia , @Andrenne , and written with the approval of @Greater Ale Permars

Toronteau-de-Bâcle, Saintonge

Lt.Gen. Charles-Clarent de Cluseret may have been the chief of the SRS, but the head of Santonian intelligence didn’t look it. He wasn’t even wearing formal clothes, much less a uniform. Instead he was wearing a lowkey sweater, khakis, and loafers. The choice of outfit was by design. He wasn’t looking to draw attention to himself as he made his way into Le paradis du banquecosse, a family owned restaurant in the Saintes suburb of Toronteau-de-Bâcle. He scanned the clientele- mostly full as it was peak lunch hours- and found who he was meeting. And raised an eyebrow.

Max Hveiti, the head of the ÖSU, had not followed his Santonian counterpart’s preference for a lowkey outfit. He was wearing what he always wore, which included a bright Skandan shirt.
It honestly wouldn’t be all that bad, lots of people liked Skandan shirts and normally the head of Prydanian intelligence wouldn’t be well known in Saintonge. It was just that Hveiti-gate had briefly led to him being covered in the media, which meant it wasn’t crazy to think someone would recognize him. Especially dressed in the Skandan shirts he was known for.

Charles-Clarent waved the hostess away to make his way over to Max, taking the seat opposite him.

“Maximilian,” Charles greeted with a faint smile as he began to go over the menu.

“Chalres-Clarent, always a pleasure,” Max replied. They spoke in Santonian. Max’s was very fluent. He retained a Prydanian accent, but it was very subtle.

“I thought, that after that hubbub about the spying, that you would want to keep a lower profile,” Charles said as he motioned to Max’s torso and the teal and orange and blue Skandan shirt.

“Why do you think that we’re here and not in Saintes proper?” Max answered.
“Well, that and this place has the best croissants bar none,” he added, taking one from a basket off to the side on the table.
“The glaze has a pinch of honey that I don’t think I’ve had anywhere else.”
Charles shrugged and took one himself, nodding his approval as he tasted the complimentary pastry.

“Besides, it’s not like your Parliament took me up on my offer to answer questions.”

“Politicians,” Charles replied, “like to hear themselves talk. So much hot air.”

“Well what’s past is the past,” Max mused.

“Is it? I don’t believe the ÖSU ever made a statement about how the Santonian press got those documents in the first place.” Charles smiled slightly and Max… well… he didn’t respond at all, only tilting his brown framed glasses just a bit.

The fact was that the SRS had agents in Prydania. They weren’t acting maliciously, but Prydania had received a lot of Santonian aid since the end of the War. And they’d grown closer in other ways. It made sense that the Santonians would want to keep tabs on the Prydanians.
Max knew who a few of these agents were. He did nothing because they weren’t acting maliciously and the truth was that this sort of thing was far more common- even among friendly nations- then most people knew. Still, Max didn’t know all of the SRS agents active in Prydania. And that was to his relief. Max respected Charles as a master of the craft. He would be dissaponted if he knew who all of his agents in Prydania were.

Still, Max knew that the SRS didn’t leak the ÖSU documents that had caused him to speak to the Santonian press. First, nothing in them was new to the SRS. It was only a “scandal” because the public didn’t know. Secondly, well, Max did know who was at fault. And certain circumstances had stopped him from acting overtly. For now.

“The internal review of the matter was concluded to my satisfaction,” Max replied with a soft smile of his own.
“Still, I’d keep an eye on RÚV. Stuff like this… always seems to breed more news.”

Charles raised an eyebrow but chose not to pry. There was a degree of intrigue there but he knew Max would never tell him, and besides. It wasn't why he was here.

“Well as you said the past is the past,” Charles continued.
“So let's get to the present.”

“Well…” Max began before he paused as a waiter arrived with a plate of food.
“Merci,” he said as the waiter put the plate down. A small top sirloin topped with bearnaise sauce and a side of potatoes with greens.

“Steak for lunch?” Charles asked bemused.

“I’m seeing some sights after we talk, then flying back to Býkonsviði tonight. So I won't have time to grab a proper dinner.” He began to cut into the steak and eat.
“Anyway this place also does a wonderful bearnaise. You should get something to eat too. This place really is a hidden gem.”

Charles smirked just a bit. He'd spoken directly with Max before. He had a tendency to hop around a conversation. Change the topic on a whim before circling back through the conversational scenic route. In the business he was in he had to assume that this was something of a tactic on Max’s part, to get people looking every which way while engaging with what mattered on his terms. He admitted that while it wasn't his preferred method he had is own ways of staying guarded. Anyone in this craft did.
But part of him suspected this was just how Max was. Regardless, he smiled at the waiter.

“I’ll have the tenderstem galette with lardons, mushrooms and brie,” he said, returning his attention to Max after the waiter left.

“So the present.”

Max nodded, drank a bit of pop, rolled his head and adjusted himself in his chair.

“Let's start with something close to your house,” Max began.
“The Prydania Today/Thorbjörn Höjsleth business.”

“What about it?”

“When the ÖSU uncovered the Prydania Today connection with Kelman Winters Jr we began to dig into his network. It was what you'd expect, mostly. He was an arms dealer who was trying to branch out into the field of psychological manipulation.”

“That's not a crazy notion,” Charles mused.
“Arms dealers manipulating the populace to create conflict. Why be a passive merchant when you can create demand?”

“We had proof tying him to the Syndicalist Republic, providing arms and funds for them. When they fell he switched to right wing populism,” Max continued, pacing himself between explaining why he'd called Charles here and eating.
“And I didn't feel comfortable assuming those were his only two kicks at the can.”

“So you found a connection with the Ten Rings.”

Charles said it rather than ask it. Given all that was happening it couldn't be anything else.

“I looked at the Messianic League uprising. After all, our boy didn't seem concerned with ideological purity. And once I applied what we knew about Ventur and the Syndies and Ventur and the Prydania Today case we were able to tie him to funding the Messianic League uprising. I've spent the years since trying to see what else he was involved in.”

Max dipped some potatoes in the sauce and munched before continuing.

“You're right, I found the Ten Rings but it's…” he paused and sipped his drink. And then continued with a lower voice.
“It's more than you know.”

Charles was intrigued to say the least. He's heard of the Ten Rings since he began his career in intelligence, but as a rumour. A ghost story agents told each other. It was almost a joke, a punchline to humorously explain something going wrong, even in the smallest ways.

Now though…the Ten Rings had declared war on the world. Suddenly the SRS- and every other intelligence agency on the planet- was scouring through those old ghost stories to see what they could find.

So Charles was intrigued… but he was also unnerved. Max’s cheerful demeanour, even the carefree way he'd dance around and through a topic… changed on a time. He whispered. This was… well… it was worth the chief of the ÖSU flying to Saintonge to tell the chief of the SRS in person.

“I found a labyrinth, Charles. I found shell companies, holding companies, legal entities that only existed on paper. The ones Ventur used to funnel cash and arms to the Syndies and Prydania Today were a vast enough network but once the Messianic League connection was made well… I found a rabbit hole that led to more rabbit holes. This couldn't be one arms dealer’s operation. Ventur owned a casino in Skanda he used as a cover for his operation. I don't care how pissed he is at his birth country for offing his pabbi in the 80s, the legal web of money and personnel I found wasn't his. He was just… a pawn.”

“Personnel…. we’ve suspected the Ten Rings must have a number of agents embedded in sensitive areas around the world,” Charles replied.
“The Iraelian ambassador and the Ethian president don't get blown out of the air without someone on the inside.”

He hoped, he really hoped, Max was going to give him a list of names. If anyone in Saintonge was tied to the Ten Rings… he shivered at the thought. It didn't take much. Just one or two people in the right spot to undermine an entire security apparatus.

“It's remarkable really. I thought that too, but what I found was more ingenious. How do you planet agents all over the world, in every government, in every security and intelligence agency and not raise any red flags?”

Charles nodded. The light went on in his head as soon as Max had said it.

“You don't,” Charles replied.

“Exactly,” Max said with a nod and a mouth full of steak and potatoes.

“Do you know…” he paused and ate some more as the waiter returned with Charles’ food and Max made sure he was out of earshot before beginning.

“Do you know how much easier it is to just blackmail someone? Emotional, financial, whatever. Leverage gets you a willing agent and no one makes a connection because your network…”

“... isn't a network,” Charles said finishing the thought.

“I've been working my way through this for years,” Max continued.
“The black market crackdowns after the Civil War? That was a good way to dig into organized crime. And from there we began to piece things together. Not just in Prydania, but across Craviter. Election meddling in Maloria. Alemreich. Coerced agents and dark money all over. A web so insidious that unless you knew the right pieces were connected you'd never see the whole thing. I still don't.”

“You don't?” Charles asked.

“Every layer begets more information. Clearly they have people in the Aurorias. We need to dig deeper there. And…” he lowered his voice.
“Meterra.”

Charles adjusted himself nervously.

“Max, I need you to understand that if you have anything about the Ten Rings in Meterra then I need to see this intel. I’m not one for games, and I’m asking to you as…”

“... a friend?” Max asked.

“I said no games.”

“And I agree. It's why I'm here, isn't it?” Max replied.
“Look. I told the press, your press, that I had better things to do then spy on Saintonge in the present, because it's the truth. The ÖSU has to be picky about where it allocates resources and I'd be rather shit at my job if I sent them all to spy on a country that has done nothing but help mine. And that's why I’m here, Charles, because I’m very good at my job. This is a cynical business but I try to not let it eat at me. When I act on behalf of Prydania, I consider Saintonge a friend. And from one friend to another…” he reached down and pulled up a mundane looking satchel from his feet and placed it on the table, pushing it towards Charles.
“I want to say ‘thank you.’ And do something to return the favour.”

Charles looked at the satchel for a moment and pulled it across the table to him. He was older than Max, but he knew Max had a preference for physical records. Strangely Charles, the older of the two by a considerable margin, was more comfortable with tech.
Still… he opened the satchel. Inside were folders all marked and organized… he pulled out part of the package and began to thumb through them.

“We found connections to a web of money and… let's call them compromised people… across Meterra, including Saintonge. This is still early stages but my best profilers have broken down Ten Rings dark money ops into a separate categories…”

“... I see that,” Charles mused as he went through the files.

“If I were a betting man… and I have known to put some krossar down on hockey now and then… I'd say these different profiles for how money is moved represent different types of destabilization ops. The way the Ten Rings moves in Saintonge is very reminiscent of how they moved in Maloria and Alemreich.”

“They're gearing up to interfere in the electoral process,” Charles muttered before he leaned forward in his chair just a bit.

“I’ll need to confirm everything in this satchel.”

Max smirked and dug into his pocket and tossed a thumb drive to Charles across the table.

“A thumb drive? I’m honestly impressed, Max. There's hope for you yet.”

“Don't be too impressed. Everything on that thumb drive- and in that satchel- are copies. The original physicals are back in an ÖSU vault and I’ll make sure they're buried with me if I have to,” he chuckled.
“But everything I gave you can be verified. You have an election coming up do you not?”

“We do.”

Max nodded.
“I’ve dug as deep as I can go. But I can't interrogate Santonian citizens and how deep I can go is limited. But the makings of the network and its activity are meticulously documented. You can dig far deeper in Saintonge than I can. Take it, and bust the drullusokkar*.”

Charles nodded as he continued to read. Some of this was familiar. The SRS had been monitoring what it deemed suspicious activity in realms that could be related to election interference, but the pieces here tying it to the Ten Rings and ties to individuals who could be considered compromised provided a more complete picture.”

“Thank you, Max,” Charles said with a nod before he went back to working on his own lunch.

“Það er ekkert*,” Max said, seemingly switching between Santonian and his native Prydanian.

“You know, everyone says the world is complicated. That this business is complicated. But it's not. You just have to cut through the bullshit. And when you find the truth… you act on it.”

“That's the fucked up paradox of it all, isn't it?” Charles replied.
“It's both that easy and never that easy.”

Max thought for a moment. Part of him wanted to argue but he was working on moving past knee jerk reactions. Fact was they were two men in the same scummy profession… and they'd gotten there two very different ways. In the end reality forced things to be done a certain way, but Max had retained a certain idealistic streak that came from fighting the Syndicalists. That he managed to pair that idealism with the grime of spycraft’s reality and not get overwhelmed by the contradictions was perhaps his greatest strength as a spymaster.

“If anything else comes across my desk,” he said, “I’ll pass it to you as well.”

“Likewise, Max. I suspect we’ll be able to dig up quite a lot. And I’ll see to it if anything needs to be passed along.”

“Merci,” Max replied.
“Now,” he added.
“Let's enjoy lunch.”

“I’d toast but we don't have wine,” Charles said, knowing that it was best if both parties were sober for a meeting like this.

“A sober toast never hurt anyone,” Max replied.
“To a little bit more light in the darkness.”

“Poetic,” Charles mused, “but I like it.”

Their glasses clinked. Charles’ own people would be very busy as soon as he returned.

---

*drullusokkar- Prydanian for “toilet plunger,” it has become slang for “bastard” or “prick”

*Það er ekkert- Prydanian for “it's nothing”

OOC Note: approved by @Kyle

Tobias just tried to block the panic out around him. It was the only way he could stay sane. He'd been pulled away from a family dinner in Luscova. The confused questions and pleas from Baldr and Hael still hung in his mind, Hanna's crying as Alycia tried to comfort her... Alycia. She'd practically demanded she be here, with him. He had to convince her otherwise, to go into secure custody with their children.

The fact was this wasn't new. He knew all about compartmentalized security from the War. Alys' safety as Empress of Norsia... as co-monarch of Prydania... their children's safety not just as their children but...

He tried to block it out as he entered a secured location outside of Býkonsviði, a bunker warroom under an unassuming wheat field outside of the Prydanian capital for emergencies. Tobias had hoped it would never have to be used... and while the Ten Rings had not visited war on Prydania properly... this was the closest thing.

"He usually cuts into in-progress transmissions," Tobias replied, sitting down at the head of a conference table.
"Why'd he tell us when he was broadcasting this time?"

"He wanted yo... us to see it," Max Hveiti said as he brushed through a thick folder of intelligence information.

"Location is secured," Laurids Hummel remarked, entering the main room, sitting down.
"The Prime Minister is here, he's just getting his barrings."

Tobias nodded....
Max had let slip what was bothering him. He almost said "you." Tobias began to ruminate on it before shook his head, and turned the ÖSU chief himself.
"Do you know why he's fixated on me?"

Max shook his head, as he didn't even look up from what he was reading.
"No, Your Majesty..."

Tobias looked at what was scattered across the table. Notes connecting the Ten Rings to Kurt Ventur Jr, to the Prydania Today affair....

"And it's gotten harder. The Skandans informed us that Kurt Ventur Jr was found dead in his prison cell."

"Jesus tapdancing Christ," Stig Eiderwig muttered, having caught that as he entered.
"They say it looks like suicide but they know and we know it wasn't," Max added, still not looking up.

"But why us? Why me?" Tobias asked.

"I wish I knew, but there's something missing..." Max replied.

"Should Military Intellegence take over? If the ÖSU can't cut it..." Stig grumbled, only for Max to finally look up, pushing his glasses up a bit.

"If Kaleb Stahl wants thinks he can do a better job reconstructing a ghost from whispers and half-baked stories then...."

"All I know," Stig shot back, "is that you got caught with your pants down..."

"The whole world got caught with their pants down..."

"And now you're..."

"What, Field Marshal? Just teased out a Ten Rings network across Meterra, constructed from urban legends and dark money? I'd like to see the military do better."

"Well maybe it..."

"Everyone shut up."

Everyone looked up as Kjell Svane entered the room. The Prime Minister was not a loud man, usually, but he'd used everyone else's fixation on each other to make a rather firm demand stand out.

"Thank you," Tobias replied, having sunk into his chair a bit as Max and Stig had argued around him.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Kjell replied, taking his seat.
"Now, what's the status on whatever this is supposed to be?"

"We're three minutes away," Max replied. The muted television that dominated the far end of the wall was playing RÚV, the anchors looking tense. They knew what was coming."

"We're working with the Syrixians and Goyaneans to try and track whatever signal comes through," Max replied.
"But it takes time. Everything the Ten Rings has done has been about obscuring any link back to them. This won't be any different."

"I still want to know why," Tobias said softly.
"Why me?"

"The Satrap is an ideologue," Max replied.
"Even if we don't know what that ideology is."

"He's made it clear he hates democracy. He's trying to kill the AN, we had a part in its founding," Stig explained, but Max shook his head.

"Intellegence analysis is all about sussing out what's not there. And what's not there is telling." Stig shot back an incedulous look but Max shook his head again, thumbing through papers.

"The King didn't concieve of the AN. The Prime Minister did," Max explained.
"And this isn't exactly a secret. Svane here, he's the one who pitched the idea to the Scalvians, he's the one who made the announcement in Prydania. It's his baby. So why the focus on the King?"

"I'm the figurehead of the country?" Tobias asked, but Max shook his head again.
"A recently dead Prydanian expat arms dealer who funnelled guns to the Syndicalists has ties to the Ten Rings. This predates the AN by..."

Max suddenly stopped. The screen had switched from the RÚV's evening news to static. Kjell turned the volume on and then...

Tobias was staring at the visage of a man who'd come to threaten him. His country. He'd killed others of course, and on some level Tobias felt guilty he was fixating on himself and those closest to him but...

"Your Majesty," the Satrap remarked. Sitting in a chari in a dark, dimly lit room.
"Your Coalition friends missed me in Aydin. But that's fine. I intend to finish this business soon."
The camera pulled out a bit, having just enough of a shake to indicate it was hand held.

"Tracing is under way," Max muttered after reading a text from his phone.

And then... the camera had pulled back. The Satrap was sitting down. And at his feet, gaged with a strip of cloth... was Shuni Gedaliah. The Iraelian ambassador to the AN who was kidnapped by the Ten Rings before the founding conference.

"Meet Ambassaor Shuni Gedaliah, Your Majesty," the Satrap replied, his Mercanti accent difficult to place but strangely sing-songy.
"Good strong Shaddaist name, good strong job. Shuni here has a distinguished career in the Iraelian Foreign Affairs ministry. And I'm sure he's a really good guy."

Tobias leaned forward in his chair, the rest of the table, Stig, Max, Kjell watching on as Shuni's gagged groans and mewling protests filled the space between the Satrap's words.

"I'm going to shoot him in the head, live on your television..." the Satrap continued, picking up a pistol from a small table next to his chair.
"...in thirty seconds. The number for this telephone..." he pointed to a phone on the table next to him, "is in your cell phone, Your Majesty."

Tobias hurrdily pulled his Nolf cell phone from his pocket, and there it was. Listed under "10 Rings" in his contacts. At the top of the list. Unavoidable.

"I need to see that phone," Max insisted, but Tobias put his hand up to quiet him. The Satrap had just said he would kill a man in half a minute.

"It's exciting, isn't it? Imagining how it got there."

Tobias grit his teeth. He had to. Becuase while that thougt mocked him, he couldn't induldge it. He was just trying to focus on the moment.

"Prydania. If your King calls me in the next half minute and proves he truly cares for the lives of his AN allies, Shuni lives. Go."

"Do not call that number," Kjell immediately insisted.

"He's going to kill him."

"Your Majesty we can't allow terrorists to..."

"I'm not going to let another person die because of me," Tobias grumbled, standing and hitting "hringja*."

The phone on the Satrap's broadcast began to ring. In tandemn with the ringing tone Tobias heard from his cell phone. He felt like his entire body was jelly. He had no idea wha he'd say to this man. No idea what he'd do next but he had to do this. He wasn't going to let someone else die because...

The shot rang out as the cell phone dropped from Tobias' hand.

He'd done it. The Satrap had heard the phone ringing. He'd heard the call. And he'd shot Shuni Gedaliah in the head. On live television. Tobias had seen people shot before. He'd watched it happen. As helpless as he was right now... and none of that made it easier. He stood even though it felt like his legs would give out. He just stood and watched...

"We're very close to meeting Your Majesty, so kiss your children goodbye 'cause nothing. Not your neutured army, not your ÖSU attack dogs, will save you!"

Tobias and the rest of the room watched, speechless, as a pregnant pause filled the air. Tension that just needed somewhere to go...

"I'll see you soon."

Static cut the feed, and the RÚV's lead anchors returned. Max grabbed the phone Tobias had dropped. The Prime Minister and Field Marshal were each on their own phones.... and Laurids Hummel noticed Tobias turning to leave.

"Your Majesty..." he got up to follow him. And Tobias turned, giving Laurids an expression he'd not seen from him before. One of pure... anger.

"I'm going to go smoke."

"You don't smoke."

"I'm starting."

Laurids followed him through the bunker, up a flight of stairs and...

"My access code isn't working," Tobias said emotionless. His voice sounded like it was trembling, yet void of any feeling as he punched a code into the keypad by the door.

"It's..."

"It's not working."

"Your Majesty, it's not going to work. For your own protection you can't leave until we're sure it's sa..."

"IT'S NOT WORKING!" Tobias bellowed, slamming his fist down on the keypad. Laurids wasn't sure what to say. He was just... shocked. He'd only gotten to know the King personally when he was made Lord Marshal of the Knights of the Storm. And in that time he'd known Tobias as quiet, friendly, gentle. Never... angry.
He could hardly blame him given what had just happened but...

"Your Majesty, I need to see to your safety. You cannot leave this bunker. Not yet."

"My safety... my safety... what about Shuni Gedaliah's safety?"

"Your Majesty..."

"It was in my name! The invitation to the AN was in MY NAME LAURIDS!"

"It's a formality. You know how this stuff is..."

"His country accepted an invitation IN MY NAME AND HE'S DEAD!"

"I..."

"He's dead..." Tobias repeated and just sank to a sitting position on the floor of the bunker, by the first access door.
"He's dead... people die.... in my name. Because of me."

"You're being unfair to yourself Your Majesty. You're..."

"It happened during the War. It's happening now... people die... in my name.... and people tell me... it's ok..."

"That's not what's happening. You did everything you could just now and..."

"I watched him. Like I watched Kol and Kaþarina die...I couldn't save him and..."

"TOBIAS!"

The King was jerked to attention, slumped against the wall of the bunker as he looked at Laurids, who'd sat down next to him.

"I..." he began, but Laurids cut him off.

"I don't know why you or why us... but I know you have to get your shit together."

Tobias sniffled a bit, wiping away some tears. He smiled. Just a bit, because he... well... he missed when people would just talk to him like that. And be straight with what they wanted to say, without couching it in formal language.

"I've seen people die for me before...it's hard to sit there. Watch people die for you and you can't... stop it."

"My job is to keep you safe, and if that means from your own bullshit then ok."

"My own bullshit," Tobias muttered with a bit of a smile.
"What I had to see..."

"The War sucked," Laurids cut him off.
"But you know why I joined the FRE?"

"No, I never asked," Tobias muttered. In all their time together... Tobias just never asked. He appreciated not picking at his own old wounds, much less someone else's.

"I'm from Darrow," Laurids continued.

"I know... I figured it was the hangings."

"Yeah, it was," Laurids replied.
"But you don't know, how it felt. The night they rounded up everyone, I was watching. It could have been me you know. I could have been in that group."

"But you were lucky," Tobias muttered.

"No. I was protected."

Tobias looked at his Lord Marshal strangely. Laurids wasn't a former Syndicalist. Nor was anyone in his family.

"My pabbi was a mechanic. He'd work on the Syndies' trucks and boats. They had enough sense to not give him a reason to stop, so when they rounded up all those people for the hangings, I got spared. But I watched. I watched from the window, and I saw the people pulled from their homes. I saw friends of mine die, Tobias. And I couldn't stop it."

"Yeah..." Tobias muttered in response, the image of his family getting gunned down suddenly very vivid in his mind, as he closed his eyes to try and suppress it.

"I joined the FRE later 'cause I couldn't change the past, but I could change the future."

Tobias just kept his eyes closed, but he allowed himself to relax a bit as he sniffled again.
"It's just one thing after another."

"Yeah it is... but we're not going to let this thing end like this, are we?"

"You're making it sound like I have a choice."

"Not if I can help it," Laurids remarked. He stood and offered his King his hand. Tobias grabbed it as Laurids helped him to his feet.
"You need to call Herra Gedaliah's family."

"Probably," Tobias replied, sounding more burnt out than anything.
"Já... já you're right."
Hummel nodded as he led him back.

"You never told me about a Kol and Kaþarina."

"I don't wanna talk about 'em."

"Ok," Laurids replied as he led him back to the main conference hall, the sound of people barking orders into phones and trying to figure out what the hell had happened filling the air.
Tobias' re-entry into the room, his bloodshot eyes very clear for all to see, quieted things down. He slumped into his chair. And he just said a single thing.

"I need to call Shuni Gedaliah's family."

---

*hringja- call

2 September 2002
2:01 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Jannik Lieftur was, if nothing else, weary of the man who he was leading through Absalonhöll. He didn't trust foreigners. Used to keep the honest Prydanian worker down, so the capitalists could pay less for cheap labour. The stringent anti-immigration laws were one of the few things he respected the now deposed Toft Social Commonwealth government for. Even though, this specific foreigner just chaffed him. This Payam Zarku may not have been Prydanian but the way he talked, dressed, and moved.... he was nobility of some sort. He'd just finished killing most of the nobles in the capital. Now Tom wanted him to play nice with this foreign one...he took advantage of the fact that he was leading the way to scowl.

"Watch your step," he grunted. Absalonhöll was a mess. The Syndicalist People's Militia had stormed it. Old tapestries had been turn down, shot up... the stags etched into marbel chipped away... bullet holes and smoke permiated every room, as riches were looted, burnt, toppled.

Payam usually had disgust for such politics. Socialists had made his own home country a failed state under mob rule, where the culture and traditions that been refined through the ages was torn down the angry crowds... what was happening here would be a tragedy, if he hadn't made sure the guns to make it possible had been delivered. The House of Loðbrók had fallen. And soon...

"Here," Jannik said as the two stopped at an old wooden door in what had been King Anders III's office. Payam held out a hand to stop him and Jannik scowled. Every finger had a ring. He was grateful to this man for providing the weapons the Syndicalists had needed, but that it was this stuffy, self important noble from some southern backwater...

"I trust that you've made sure your rabble haven't breached THIS area? It would be a shame if what I was promised wasn't behind that door."

"The syndicates and people of this country took their destiny into their own hands," Jannik shot back.
"But we secured this and other senstive areas, for the common good of the people's government."

"Spare me. Open the door."

"Now listen here..." but Jannik was cut off. Payam had snatched the keys out of his hand and had opened the door himself. Jannik glared but looked behind him. To the open doorway to the King's office. He nodded at the two People's Militia who had been trailing them.
Payam had opened the door. The room he found himself in was small, but splendid. Unlike the rest of the palace, it truly was untouched. The wood carvings of Messianist Saints and Thunic gods on the wall weren't defaced or pried away, the book shelves that lined the wall, the cases that held treasures... unspoiled. It was those cases. One specifically.

"Ah... there you are, Nightbringer..." he looked over a glass case containing the ring, a dark onyx piece with an unknown language carved along it... unknown to most of the world but he could read it.

"You have a lot of rings, rich man," Jannik said as the two People's Militia guards came up behind him, and Payam smirked.
"Why you want ole' Tumble Down Andy's?"

"Because..." Payam said, holding up his left hand. Unlike his right one, this one was missing a ring. His index finger was missing one.
"The descendent of your late King killed my people's ruler, and scattered these rings, of my people. I've been the first of my kind to find nine of them and now... the final one... the one Finnleik took for himself."

"History was never my strong suit..." Jannik muttered.

"Ironically on point for a Picardist," Payam replied.

"Watch it. We're doing you a favour here."

"No, you're upholding your end of a bargin. We had common interests," Payam replied as he smashed the glass around the ring with a desk bust serving as a book end on a nearby shelf. He took the ring, slipping it onto his one free finger on his left hand.

Jannik rolled his eyes. But this man also wasn't his problem.
"On behalf of the Syndicalist Republic may I apologize for the Loðbrók tyranny towards your homeland."

"So long as the House of Loðbrók is gone. The tendrils in Gothis and Meterra will be dealt with in time, but you eliminated the head."

That was another reason Jannik put up with this guy. Despite his dislike for nobility he had it out for the Loðbrók clan. And if that meant he'd kill more crowned heads then all the better.
"We got 'em. Most of 'em. Robert's brat kid got away but I have my agents on i..."
Payam turned.
"You what?"

"Tobias Loðbrók, Robert and his whore Hanna's son. Some royalists got him out but I got his picture all over. He'll be dead by New Year's."

Payam cocked his head a bit and walked up to Jannik. The two People's Militia raised their rifles...ironically the rifles they had because of Payam.

"You were given a task," he growled.

"It's a spoilt seven year old brat," Jannik muttered. "The only downside is he'll be dead before we can milk it for any propaganda value."

"I saw that, you shot a twelve year old on television."

"You knew what we'd do when you sent us those guns."

"No, I expected you to do something. I see that I set my expectations too high."

"Listen kúkalabbi*, I've done worse things to better people then you," Jannik growled, and motioned for his men to raise their guns, but Payam didn't back down. He didn't do anything for a moment but stare right through Jannik.

"Do you think I'm one of your trained attack dogs? I've burnt citities to the ground."

"So have I," Jannik said with a smirk.

Payam leaned in, to whisper into Jannik's ear.
"But I'm not afraid if the people know it was me."

Jannik's jaw tightened up.

"And," Payam added.
"I suspect the UKAG powers will be sanctioning you into obvlivion. Don't make the Ten Rings your enemy, or you won't have the bullets to fight us with."

He simply walked around Jannik and the two People's Militia soldiers, leaving the study and the former King Anders' office.
"I believe that, for now at least, our business is concluded."

Jannik growled softly. He was right, and Tom had told him not to antagonize this man. The Syndicalist Republic needed friends like him abroad, at least for the time being.

"Herra Zarku..."

"No," Payam said as he stopped.
"With this..." he held up the hand with the ring he'd just added.
"I'm the Satrap."

---

*kúkalabbi- walking sh*t pile

The sea... the sea never interested him. The sea was far from where he grew up, a villa sitting on arid plains of gold and green.

The sea... well that was far. The coast, where the cities were, were filled with pirates, traders, mercenaries... the sea choked you with the salt in the air, that stuck to your clothes and hair.

Ironic that pirates, traders, and mercenaries were his business, but the Satrap didn't let such inconsistencies bother him. Life was like that. Sometimes you needed a hammer, but that didn't mean you owed your life to a hammer. Tools were meant to be used, after all.

And yet here he was. The cold air of the open ocean enveloped him. He'd normally not be here, outside... but they were close. Oh so close...

Finnleik Scylfing had scattered the ten rings... the very rings that he wore on each finger. He'd scattered them to the far corners of the world. He had found them, he had been the first leader of the Ten Rings worthy of being called "Satrap" since the year 956, when in 2002 he took the last of the lost rings from Finnleik Scylfing's descendent Anders III Loðbrók's desecrated palace.

That palace which was no longer desecrated.

"We'll be in range of their radar soon," Bavard Damri said as he approached the Satrap, who nodded in response.

"I never liked the sea, but it has a way of making one introspective."

"We're on the verge of stealing a nuclear weapon. I suppose we all should be."
"Does it bother you, Bavard?"

"Should it not?"

"We are arms dealers, Bavard. Our agent, Kurt Ventur, the elder one, would have detonated an Iraelian nuke on Skandan soil back in the 80s had our plan not been intercepted."

"That was to further our aims," Bavard remarked as he crossed his arms.
"Re-ignite the Skandan-Iraelian War, kill the Iterian League. Good for business."

"This isn't?" the Satrap asked, calmly.
"When Saintes is consumed with atomic fire, Meterra will collapse. War will ravage it, and we'll be the ones supplying the guns."

"That's not what I meant. The vendetta..."

"The vendetta is decried by Mare d'Rabuta in heaven," the Satrap shot back, sharply though lacking any overt anger.

"The Lord of Storms' line had been broken though," Bavard replied.
"Even if their throne was restored. He knew nothing of us."

"All the more dangerous. His AN would have been our end... a slow and suffocating death. I did not reclaim our legacy only to watch us die. I will fulfill Mare d'Rabuta's decree, Bavard. Our enemies will be slain, and there will be blood."

---

Commander Jules Besnard kept running his finger over his crucifix around his neck. He was not an overly religious man despite it. He had not been to church since high school, but he still considered his faith part of who he was. In some small way. Yet a crisis had its ways of making faith all the more important.

Not that there was any sign there was a crisis. The bridge of the Intrépide was calm, and Jules had to fit in.

How could he though? They had his Wife. His one year old child. Could he do this? Could he betray his oath? Was his country's oath worth more than his family?

High minded patriotism said yes, but it was astonishing how utterly contemptuous that idea seemed when the choice was yours to make. Best case no one would know it was him. But he'd know. And whatever they did with their cargo... he'd know...

The distance between Ultramont and the Faraways was open ocean. So much could happen...

"Number one!"

Captain Hervé Boulanger.
"You look pale. Is everything alright?"

Jules thought of what to say. There were any number of things he could say.

But he only said one of them.
"Oui."

Gunfire rang out through the cabin. Heavy duty bolts secured the bridge, as the helmsman and another junior officer opened fire on the rest of the bridge crew. It happened so fast. Jules was still in shock he'd shot his captain.

"Besnard!"

Jules didn't answer.

"Besnard! Wake the fuck up!"

Jules shook his head, the two bridge crew... Ten Rings operatives... pushing the bodies out of the way, finally registered with him.

"I shot him..."

"And the Marines will storm the bridge as we speak! So grab his key, and shut down our coms!"

"Oui," Jules nodded, grabbing the key from around his dead Captain's neck and removing his own from next to his crucifix. He placed both keys into the coms console and turned. A series of panels next to buttons lit up green, and he pressed all of them, turning them red.

"There. Our coms are dead. No one's broadcasting off this boat."

"Excellent."

"You'll free my wife and child?"

"Yes. The Satrap is a man of his word."

"Ok. Now shoot me. Make it look good, so they don't know I was part of this." He closed his eyes and winced, expected a bullet in his shoulder.

And then it all went quiet. The pain was burning and then nothing. Nothing, as his body collapsed to the floor, a bullet in the head.

"Your wife and child will be spared. But the Satrap made you no such promises," the Helmsman said. They would be here soon.

---

Smoke, the smell of gunpowder, and the smell of blood filled the air. The jack of the Ultramontese Navy fluttered above the carnage. The bodies of Ten Rings soldiers and Ultramontese marines littered the halls of the ship as the Satrap entered the lower levels.

"In some small way, each soul will be part of our divine revelation," he said as he stepped over dead bodies.
"But we're not here for the dead. We're here for the power of the sun."

"In the palm of our hand," Bavard said with a smirk as he led the Satrap through the ship’s halls. There was a door marked with caution tape, and a Ten Rings operative handed Bavard the two keys taken from the dead Captain and Commander. Together they opened the door. Bavard stepped aside as the Satrap entered, lights flickering and smoke from the gunfire filling the air. He removed his aviator sunglasses, smiling. A M67 nuclear warhead.

“Kill the captured crewmen,” the Satrap whispered.
“Let them become Mare d'Rabuta's children in death.”

The operative who had handed Bavard the keys nodded, loading a fresh clip into his gun and leading some Ten Rings fighters out.

“As for the rest of you,” the Satrap continued, “unload the weapon onto our ship. And make for Saintes.”

“Where will you go?” Bavard asked.
“Are you not going to watch over the preparations?”

“No,” the Satrap replied calmly.
“I must return to Korova, to prepare for my meeting with Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók.”

“The fire rises, Satrap,” Bavard said, solemnly.

“The fire rises.”

OOC Note: Thank you to @Paxiosolange for not only letting me use Ultramont for this, but for looking over this post and providing feedback!