Vignettes(stories of South Ethia)

[North Timistania]

Brotherly love


May 2022

Bad Kessel, Official imperial residence

Vossland

South Ethia





The afternoon sun hovered languidly over the plains, it was the sort of day that was perfect for doing nothing at all, even the animals seemed to move at a more relaxed pace, as if nature had decreed sedation for all things.

Located on a rounded hill that had long been clothed in brown tinder grass, the manor of Bad Kessel had long served the Severyn-Tirols as a pleasant summer home. True, Graffenburg might have been more impressive with its immense elevation and imposing fortifications, but a stronghold was a poor stand in for a family house and Kessel had a vineyard.

Emperor Luther Marten-Gabriel Severyn-Tirol had spent more time at Kessel than any of the dozens of official residences his family owned. There was something about the place that put him at ease, the gentle hill country serving as a perfect retreat from the concrete paved mania that was New Bergum.

It was small by the grandiose standards one would typically expect of Severyn’s, a two-wing mansion with a small walled-off garden. Its design was simple and yet elegant, its walls formed from red brick from the nearby Drakken mountains, and its two floors framed by elegant balconies of white oak. A row of rounded steps marked the entrance to the home and a large cypress that had been planted in 1770 loomed over the manor.

The manor house had been built as a wedding gift from Oskar II to his beloved wife Cynthia, the two had spent their honeymoon here and filled it with mementos of their lives. The love that had been so evident in the place’s construction had been one of the primary draws for Luther and his family, it was a place with a warm spirit and in a world filled with gaudy and miserable old estates it was a rare jewel.

Of all the manor houses’ many features, it was the garden with its well-trimmed hedges and sea of bright flowers that was the family’s pride and joy. Luther had spent the better part of years restoring the flowerbeds and filling them with beautiful specimens from across Eras. The yellow roses were positively aglow in the afternoon light, but it was always the red carnations he had brought home from iteria that caught Luther’s eye, and which were the pride of his collection.

It was amidst this realm of colour and warmth that Luther had chosen to luncheon with his closest family, his brother Duke Otto had arrived for a rare break from his official duties and Luther intended to make the most of the occasion. He had uncorked a bottle of merlot marked “Donnauer 1885” and filled everyone’s cups, the chef meanwhile had been hard at work on one of his famed one pots, the smell of meat and stock filling the air with a mouth-watering aroma.

“Say what you will about father, the man knew good wine!” Otto mused as he sipped the merlot with a pleased smile

The side of Luther’s mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of his father, a flicker of disapproval that was so well hidden as to be almost invisible. Manfred III the so called “Summer Kaiser” had been so enamored with drink and revelry that he had sipped his way into an early grave. It was this early humiliation that had led Luther to abstain from alcohol save for on special occasions and which had cemented his disgust regarding all things decadent.

“Would that he had lived to enjoy it with us” Luther replied, the bitterness in his voice carefully masked

The two men toasted wordlessly and then sipped from their glasses, Luther didn’t drink often but he had never felt shame in savoring the small pleasures wine afforded when he did choose to indulge. The wine was soft, velvety even and it had a flavor that was woodsmoke and cherry, this was indeed a good vintage.

“How are the children?” Luther asked his tone warm and smile gentle

“Hans is a terror, runs rings around his teachers and minders! I swear the boy will be the death of me! Marla never takes her headphones off, I think she once expressed interest in botany, I’ve had more luck deciphering terrorist movements then the mind of a teenage girl! In short, I am content to know they are alive and happy, though I will not claim to understand them!”

The younger brother, Otto, had always struggled to balance his role as a general alongside the realities of fatherhood. Luther noted that Otto had not mentioned Naya once, the couple now long estranged but too proud to separate. He loved his brother, but he knew that the man was married to the service, his family would always be second fiddle to the military.

“And you cousin, how is your sentence treating you!?” Otto asked with a wicked grin as he sipped more wine

Luther sat back, wine swirling in his glass as he pondered his family, his wife Claudia seemed happy if at times distant, her legal practice and various corporate projects kept her busy enough. They had not married for love, but the emperor had come first to respect and then in his own way adore her, they were both busy, purposeful and relatively content. It was not romance for ages, but it worked, something many more passionate loves could not boast.

“We know each other, we have our separate worlds, and we respect each other, I have no complaints, as for the children, Lucien continues to thrive as both a scholar and musician and Emilia’s tutors are positively aglow with praise, they say she has some of the highest scores they have yet seen. I am happy with my “sentence” Otto, I could not ask for better”

That was the truth, it was an odd thing to admit, there was little excitement or drama to point to, it just worked. His children were each brilliant in their own ways and Luther was content to let them develop without much interference, it was a far cry from his own chaotic upbringing, his mother’s religious devotion clashing endlessly with his father’s hedonism. His family had stability and that was Luther’s crowning achievement as a patriarch to provide it.

“Speaking of which, where is everyone?”

“Claudia took Naya and the children out to the old church; I’d wager they will be back any minute now”

“I best down another before the old battle axe shows up” Otto muttered crassly as he poured his third glass

The side of Luther’s mouth twitched, this time more visibly as he regarded his brother with a cold and judgmental look, one he quickly masked, though not fast enough that Otto didn’t see. The two men sat in awkward silence knowing the mood was about to become soured.

“Oh, for fucks sake Luther! We can’t all be mothers’ perfect ascetics! Some of us must live in the real world and experience actual emotions!” Otto growled before going silent, his face a rictus of resentment and anger

Luther said nothing for a time, he regarded his brother, now with a softer but more disappointed expression. Otto was far more like father in both temperament and appearance, his thick red beard and full ruddy face, a dead ringer for the late emperor. The alcoholism had been there for a long time, a slow release poison that had doomed generations to make the same mistakes as their forebears. Otto had never looked more like father than with that third glass in hand.

“Perhaps you are right brother, it isn’t my place to judge, and I didn’t bring you here to do so, I do wish however that you wouldn’t talk about your wife so poorly, she is the mother of your children for god’s sake”

Otto was about to say something, probably uncharitable when the doors to the house swung open audibly and a cacophony of children’s voices filled the air. The wives were home, and they’d brought the little ones with them.

“Allo papa!” Lucien exclaimed joyfully as he tackled the seated Luther with a hug, the emperor tussled his son’s hair affectionately as the boy unlatched and ran to greet his uncle

Claudia soon walked into view, her face elegant and regal as ever, her blonde curls were held in neat braids and her fine boned features and bronzed skin were as radiant a sight as they had been when they had first met.

“Hello darling!” Luther said with a genuine smile, rising to kiss his wife

“Have you boys been behaving?” She asked in an amused tone as she motioned to the open wine

“Always!” Otto barked his tone light but perhaps a little more defensive than necessary

Naya soon arrived, her expression muted, the other children soon arrived behind her, she regarded the open wine bottle with a weary stare, one belonging to someone used to disappointment. Wordlessly she sat down without so much as a hello for her husband. Luther sighed inwardly and forced a smile.

 

[North Timistania]

Official Engagement

Siloyev, capital of Khastenia

2025



If there was one thing the Szlavs were good at, it was the expression of misery, Otto couldn’t understand half of what was being said but the tearful wailing and grim organ music gave all the context one needed. Otto was in Khastenia representing his brother, the Kaiser of south Ethia, so far, he had succeeded in all the ways such a role required. He was trussed up in his stiffest military uniform, starched greens and rows of medals, a black funerary band on his right arm completing the ensemble.

Otto had not known President Kobilin and while he would never be crass enough to admit it, he was really more broken up about the lack of an open bar then the current proceedings. It wasn’t that he was heartless, but genuine grief did not arrive easily, he had lost such comforts years before in Prydania. the ceremony was reaching some sort of finale, priests were chanting mournful hymns to their dragon gods, it reminded Otto of scene from a fantasy novel.

As the ceremony reached its end people rose from their chairs and began to make their way to the exit, hands were shaken and condolences received, but the event itself was over. As far as Otto understood things, Kobilin’s body would be cremated on a pyre in a private ritual, it all sounded rather occultic, but he supposed they might say the same about Messianism.

Due to the security concerns there was little in the way of crowds, fleets of black state limousines and sedans had arrived, and the guests quickly piled into their respective vehicles. There were police and army everywhere, the heart of the republic had been assaulted mere days ago, the Khastenian’s were taking no chances now. For Otto’s part it meant no inane conversation, no press and most importantly no delayed return to his hotel.

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Back In the sterile finery of his hotel suite the familiar droning silence of complete loneliness returned, it was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the outside world. Otto wondered had always preferred such places, there was something meditative to these places, the quiet allowing him to exist outside of the constraints of rank, status or life. Here Otto could be his truest self, for a time at least. He already thrown his jacket onto a waiting chair and removed his tie; he took deep satisfaction in being freed from the shackles that were his regalia. He was presently sitting at the dining room table, the oval-shaped room illuminated by the lights glittering in the dark below. From up here the entire capital was outstretched like a tapestry of stars, millions of lives shrouded in the dark of early evening.

He was smoking, some stubby brown cigs from a cheap looking pack with a grinning Cossack on the front. He didn’t know what the writing said but he suspected the brand was trying to offset its cheapness by evoking rustic everyman vibes, they tasted rough, like burning straw with a caustic aftertaste. He nodded approvingly and stubbed out his second.

“Not bad” he muttered contentedly before reaching for a very important bottle

Brage Oklands 80 proof, cheap cigarettes could be forgiven but Otto refused to drink the swill the locals called booze, he had ensured a bottle of good whiskey was waiting after the funeral. He poured himself a full glass and drank half in one smooth motion, it was good somewhere between a smooth burn and a slap in the face. The timing of his first drink was important, the memories were always nastier when it got dark, Merkovich’s face coming apart as the syndie bullets had rained down, not a sight Otto cared to remember.

His phone buzzed, a text message flashing across the screen, the nanny back in South Ethia most likely. He reached over and scanned the screen with a disinterested eye, finishing the rest of his glass while he did so.

“Kids are asleep, Hans said he misses you” the message read, a dull stab of guilt filling Otto’s chest as he read the last part

Otto never knew how to relate to his children, his wife he ignored as a matter of necessity, their marriage a hollow and loveless shell for many years now. But the children, that was a harder situation, he simply didn’t know how to relate to them, deep down he might have loved them, but they might as well have existed on a separate planet. He toyed with the idea of sending a good night text or asking the staff to remind his son he missed him as well, but then he decided to let it lie.

He poured himself another tall glass of whiskey and once again halved its contents with one violent motion, then reached for the hotel phone and buzzed room service. He didn’t care for Szlav food much more than their booze, but one thing he did appreciate was that they considered liver as worthwhile a dish as he did. He ordered the lamb fry on onion; Great Uncle Marten would have approved he thought with a mirthless grin.

He might have been a good father once, maybe even a decent husband, but the man that had shipped off to western Prydania had never come home, Otto was the withered husk that had survived. He grimaced as he considered the irony of his existence, his older brother had always been closer to great uncle marten, but the reality was that it was Otto who held the same coldness.

He snarled, a flash of anger flickering across his face as he thought about his brother, Luther, always the proud man of faith, perfect and judgmental Luther. he loved his brother of course but also hated him with just as deep a passion, there was a gross unfairness in being the “alcoholic mess” his life defined by his trauma. His brother had never served, hadn’t seen the things Otto had and yet the man who had spent his summers at architectural school felt justified in judging the man who had fought.

“And now he sends me to watch lizard kissers weeping over some crispy stiff! Here’s to you brother!” he said almost hissing the words before downing yet another cup

A single loud knock filled the air, dispelling the vile silence

“Room service!” a cheerful voice called out

Otto straightened slightly and walked to door, opening it to let the hotel staff in, a steaming tray of fried liver and onions was efficiently placed on the dining room table. He muttered thanks and moments later the door shut and he was once again alone. He slumped back into his chair and began to eat with disgusting speed all decorum lost.

 

[North Timistania]

AN OUTING WITH UNCLE MARTEN

1999

Continent of Craviter

Northern Maloria



At ten Luther was still somewhat short for his age, yet to experience the wild growth that characterized his line, he was currently struggling under the weight of a rifle that was twice his height. Great Uncle Marten was leading the way, eyes focused on the hill country ahead, Luther knew however that the elder Severyn would be assessing and cataloging his every comment and action, this was as much a test as an outing and Luther had no intention of failing.

“This land did not birth you and yet it is your mother young Luther, take in every detail and commit it to memory, a Severyn must grant his territory a level of familiarity reserved only for his family and his firearms” Marten said in a matter-fact though not unkind tone

Luther raised the rifle and redoubled his efforts to keep up, he would not be found wanting when the time came, the firearm he had been entrusted to might burn and bite at his shoulders, but he would not complain or drop it. Great Uncle Marten was an exacting man, possessed of a mind few could match and of a coldness that defied any normal logic, to succeed was to be held in esteem and to fail was to be discarded.

The underbrush of the forest was starting to give way to hills covered in tall scrub grasses, the scent of which was heavenly in the cool morning breeze, the plains below were outstretched in all their glory. Great herds of beasts grazed upon the tall bison grass contentedly and flocks of elegant birds filled the sky with their ever-shifting formations. It was a humbling sight, all of god’s creation laid out before the waking eye.

“Down!” Marten snapped in the faintest of whispers

The two Severyn’s crouched behind a fallen oak, Luther brought the rifle to bear and settled it in place on the body of the dead tree. Marten raised his finger in a slow and gradual gesture, taking pains to make no sudden moves that might be picked up by the quarry below. He pointed to a massive shape in the plains below, a full grown Malorian bison with its long horns and wooly black coat marking it as an adult with some summers already under its belt.

“Load the rifle gently and steady yourself on the log” Marten explained with a gentle whisper

Luther had been instructed to practice for nearly a week before they had left the lodge for the planes, night after night he had repeated the motions of loading, taking aim and firing. He reached into his ammo belt and produced a long 30 caliber round; he slid the bullet into his rifle and gentle pressed the bolt into a closed position. He was ready, he stared through the scope, the vast creature oblivious to the danger above.

“Remember, heart and lungs, hit the brute in anywhere else and it will bolt without a second thought” Marten explained his tone slow and ghostly quiet

Luther nodded and leaned in, the stock of the rifle pressed against his shoulder to prevent the recoil from shattering his shoulder, the reticle hovered over the beast’s chest as Luther took slow and practiced breaths. One final inhalation and then the young severyn held his weapon in perfect stillness, the breath released in a gentle motion and the trigger pulled back simultaneously, a shot rang out and the tranquil realm was shattered.

The birds scattered in every direction as the gunshot rang out, the beasts of the plains fled in a chaotic stampede, the very silence of gods creation had been undone by mans mad ingenuity. The beast did not move, it lay slumped on its side kicking weakly as a patch of bright crimson darkened the scrub, it soon ceased any movement and lay in silent defeat.

The two Severyn’s moved down the hill with cautious steps, Marten had produced a large revolver which he kept cocked at his side, there was always the risk of predators. Soon they were standing over the kill, the elder Severyn regarding the latter with silent approval. Luther suspected his nights of practice had paid off, great uncle Marten didn’t say anything, but the boy knew he had earned respect.

“a clean kill is always best, remember that Luther, it won’t just be bison you may one day have to put down” Marten said giving the boy an approving pat on the shoulder

Soon their companionable silence was broken once more, a tall man in faded military overalls emerged from the bush flanked by two similarly garbed retainers. The tall man bowed his head slightly in deference to great uncle marten who nodded and motioned to the vast mass of dead bison behind them.

“Gregori, have that beast loaded onto the truck, my nephew will skin and gut it here”

Marten turned to regard Luther, the look was not one of warmth, the elder severyn had never been known for that, this was something deeper. Both uncle and nephew had always possessed an unspoken bond, the same analytical minds and the same cold logic that permeated both souls. Luther suspected in his own youthful way that his uncle was teaching him to harness it without becoming as the elder had become. The look was one of recognition, like an elder lion acknowledging its cub.

“Luther, ensure you do as I taught you, save the liver, it will make for a fine delicacy” the elder severyn explained gently before turning and wordlessly walking back in the direction of the lodge

Luther blazed with the moment of victory, all his diligent practice, all his careful focus, the sleepless repetition and the stoicism in the face of pain. He had succeeded and this moment would be his for all time.

“Hey boy, good kill, won’t skin itself though” Gregori Sterk muttered with an amused look on his worn face

Luther nodded and drew a long knife from his belt, it was almost too big for a boy of his age, his uncle had told him it was from a distant place called Essalanea. Luther didn’t know what that meant yet, he did know that it was razor sharp and perfect for dressing a kill, he smiled inwardly and set about his work with quiet enthusiasm.