Once Upon a Time in Esquarium [DEAD]

[Nebesina]

A magazine cover from Slivinski, the Nebesinan equivalent of Maclean's.

[Namor]

Yunglang's Testament

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The testament of Yunglang Antelope was written by the Paramount Leader on October 31, NMR 2315 (1975), a few weeks before his death on November 11. It was done when he sensed his impeding death, but after his death was kept secret by his wife, Jenna Antelope, and is shared with Gretel Antelope, who constantly referred to it with his inner circle but never with the public. Now, it has finally been published by the Namorese government, and reveals rather shocking details.

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ON THE FUTURE OF THE PARTY

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My fellow comrades and brothers of the Party:

Let is be known that, as much as you have chanted and sang for me to be immortal, my time is coming and is coming closer as I write this document. My health is deteriorating, and in a few weeks I will no longer be a living person. That, comrades, is the truth of my situation, and whether you tell this to the people or not it doesn't matter; for having read this letter you will understand the truth and the inevitable. My ultimate wish is that the Party and the Revolution passes on, even without me. I did my job in bringing the Revolution to its present state, and the future state of the revolution depends on the people who will carry it on.

I, then, ask for my fellow comrades to end this madness that is the Green Fever. When I began it with the help of Comrade Brother Kiang Ssxu and the directory, I genuinely thought that it would do good for the Namorese people. For years, all the movement did accomplish was alienate our country from our closest allies, and we made allies we aren't supposed to make alliances with in the first place. All the movement did was inscribe my name all over the country's face, and it makes me look more like a corrupt emperor instead of anything else. The Green Fever, alas, has not turned Namor into a revolutionary state, it has turned it into an authoritarian state that has deviated off of the true path of Liberationism. Let us abandon the movement and return to the roots of the revolution. Our government has transformed from one that has the supports of the grassroots level into any counter-revolutionary government the Republicans or the Antelopians could raise. Our Politburo members must return to old ways---listening to the people's demands instead of "acting like leaders," sealing the people away from their residences and acting like bureaucrats. We were rebellious pigs, yet now we are as chaotic and inefficient as the oppressive farmer we overthrew. This must change.

In terms of who I desire to succeed the revolution, many of you have guessed my choices----there is Comrade-Brother Kiang Ssxu and there is Comrade Gretel Antelope, whom I haven't seen in months for some apparent reason. My personal opinion is that Kiang knows how to enforce the law, but he does not know how to rule, that is, care for the people and exercise democratic powers. Also, through the years I eventually realized that Kiang is no more or less than an arrogant person, the victimizing adviser who oppresses in my name and carries my goals in the wrong direction. He is the true counter-revolutionary and the true disloyal, and I tell my fellow Party comrades that they should find the best ways to remove Kiang from his post as President-General immediately once my time comes. I believe my son is more fit to be the revolutionary torchbearer than he will ever be in ten thousand years.

That is all I have to say to the party---change immediately, or the people will turn against us, if they haven't already. Go down this route and our revolution will lose steam. The Green Fever is a mistake, and I must take on the unfortunate task of being responsible for it, as well as having realized it a mistake so late.

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ON RELATIONS WITH THE REST OF THE UNITED ESQUARIAN REPUBLIC

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While I criticize the happenings of our Party today, I will not criticize my stance against the evil forces of imperialism. The imperialist forces of East Luziyca are trying to ruin our country, and again I call for the government to reform, otherwise the imperialists will score the ultimate victory and smile the ultimate smile. Part of this is to immediately abandon our alliances with anyone who doesn't act against imperialism the correct way, that is, break our reliance and strong ties with the Communist countries immediately upon reading this testament of mine.

I say that West Luziyca should not be relied upon. Erov Haclav is a fake friend---he reaches his hand out to us, then severs it once he considers his own personal interests. He is like any Luziycan---vile, selfish and arrogant---and we should treat him and his regime as cautiously as we do to their eastern counterparts.

With that, I say also that Soviet Orientalia should not be relied upon for the same reasons I say we shouldn't to West Luziyca. They are not Liberationists, we must remember, they are Communists who are too extreme for the liking of our ideology. One day they will turn against us, if we haven't already. Once we reform and change our ways as I say it, they will not be satisfied with us.

And finally I turn to Katranjiev. Let is be known that anywhere where there are real, genuine Liberationists, there are fake Liberationists as well, and Huankun Chen is one of them. I met with him three days before, and I must admit that while I see a revolutionary in military uniform, in my keen mind and heart I see a brash tyrant. He has achieved power without popular support, and instead of fostering a revolution like we did, he had to appease the corrupt and evil king first. I tell my brotherly comrades in the Party that we have kept the secret that Chen skewed the elections to gain power, a rather dishonorable and dishonest act, but we must do something to contain such a dishonorable act and person. In order for the revolution to succeed, it must be run by people who are actually understanding of the Liberationist ideology, not those (like Chen) who claim to understand it. We must not have a muezzin educate us about Christianity, or a rabbi educating us about Txoism. Such is same when applied to Chen himself...

[Britanno]

An Empty Post - Part 2
07:30 | 31st March, 2014 | 10 Caddington Street | Candover | Britanno

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Negotiations had been taking place for a week, but it had seemed much longer for Elizabeth Fletcher. As President of Britanno and a leading member of the Liberal Party, she had been a major force in the coalition negotiations and had led the effort to establish ties with the Conservatives.

She knew her party would not be in government without the Conservatives, but she also knew that if they rejected her offers, they would be forced into a coalition with the Libertarians and Monarchists. Despite these risks, Edward Field's party seemed determined to destroy coalition hopes. Large numbers of Conservative backbenchers had called for no alliance with the Liberals, and they had real influence at times.

Things were finally looking better for the first female President however, and she sensed a deal was closer to being established. Marcus Browning had seemed more keen to getting a coalition formed than his party leader, and he had recently convinced Edward Field that such an idea was the best option for the Conservatives.

This was probably the last day before talks ended, but is was still not completely decided how they would conclude. Elizabeth was eager to make a deal and she suspected the leaders of the Conservatives were as well. They couldn't lead a minority government, and a majority would require either the support of the Nationals, Libertarians and Monarchists or the Nationals, Libertarians and Centrist Moderates. The Centrist Moderates had already stated they would not join a coalition if the Liberals were not a member, and a deal between Conservatives and Libertarians was incredibly unlikely. They needed the Liberals.

As the President approached the steps of 10 Caddington Street - the official residence of either the Prime Minister or the Acting Prime Minister - she saw Edward Field and the back of another gentleman. She could only see the Conservative leader from over the shoulder of the other man, which meant she was incapable of recognising William Jones - the Centrist Moderate leader.

[Katranjiev]

Huankun Chen's testament

The testament was written by Paramount Leader Huankun Chen on June 26th, 1984, two days before he slipped into a coma that lasted until the end of his life on Oct. 16th of that year. He sensed his death, and was barely able to utter. After his death, Nuoju Zeng kept it secret, but after the government fell in 1989, it was released the public. She made frequent references to it, and a good chunk was released prior to the downfall. The last section was event sent by Nuoju Zeng in 1985 to Namo.

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ON THE FUTURE OF THE PARTY

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To my fellow comrades and brothers of the Liberationist Party:

I have heard desires by many people, chants that praise my immortality, and at best of times, made me feel as if I can guide the country forever. However, since the death of the Great Benevolent Leader (Yunglang Antelope), my health has been crumbling. I tried having this disease treated and it went away for a while. Now, it has come back, and it is terminal. My days are numbered, and I sense that in days, I will be scarcely able to function. Once that moment occurs, I will have no ability to guide the future of the People's Republic, and it will only be a while before I get to meet the Great Benevolent Leader again.

Hence, I urge that when I expire, to recognize Premier Nuoju Zeng as the head of government and to take orders from her, not from the revisionist traitor Baikun Qing who claims to be President. He will seek to destroy the nation and divert it away from the path that the Great Benevolent Leader laid out. My wife shall try to stabilize the nation and continue on that path, all the way to its logical conclusion. However, knowing the Shuvet and how they will be torn, I feel that the Shuvet will be gridlocked until the two factions effectively nominate their own candidates in 1986 and lead to dire consequences for my country.

As for who I desire to succeed the revolution, the choices are clearly Comrades Baikun Qing and Nuoju Zeng. My personal opinion is that Nuoju Zeng has a right to carry the torch forward, and that she will carry the goals of the Great Benevolent Leader in the right correction. Baikun Qing is a true counter-revolutionary, who seeks to misuse both my name and the name of the Great Benevolent Leader, and carry our goals in the wrong direction. I will trust my fellow comrades to try and remove Qing from office when the iron is hot.

This is all I ought to say to the Party, proceed the way that the Great Benevolent Leader wants us to. That was how I ruled this great country, and I am certain that my wife will do a better job in progressing to true Liberationism.

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ON THE FUTURE OF THE COUNTRY

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To my brothers and sisters who reside in Katranjiev, I have done a great benefit to you. In the thirty-three years since the Revolution was achieved by free and fair elections that were condemned by monarchists and East Luziycan spies as fraudulent, we have granted equal rights. Everyone, regardless of race, gender, age, or creed, gets the same rights as one another. They have the freedom to reside, the freedom of speech and thought, the freedom to practice any ideology, freedom of religion and culture. I have raised the status of the Namorese underclass from the lowest of the low to the highest of every race in the country, and now, every major official is of Namorese descent. We have proved that all Slavs will inevitably be counter-revolutionary.

However, there is a threat looming on the horizon: once I go, the Party will falter and collapse into factions, they will compete in 1986, and even if Qing or Zeng win, it is the end of the Republic. In a few years, everyone will have enough of the People's Republic and demand the restoration of the Bethlehemian client state who imposed feudalism on every person. They will embrace the new "freedoms" until realizing that even if they are rich, they have lost something: a cultural identity. Their statues of myself will be pulled down, except the Namorese east, that will still respect me. The people will have fraudulent elections, changing parties to give an indication of change, there will be a welfare state, but not as extensive as under the great People's Republic. Homelessness and poverty will rise.

Thirty years later, the Namorese will have fallen into poverty and ultimately leave Katranjiev for Namor, ever hopeful of improvement of Liberationism, to bring back the glory days under my rule and Antelope's rule. Anyone that dares to intervene here shall face wholesale collapse, the restoration of the regime, and an end to the treacherous Katranjians and Luziycans by the mean of a final solution to the Slavic problem.

I fear your future, and I pray that you will stand up and defend the People's Republic from the monarchists for a future realm of liberty!

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ON RELATIONS WITH NAMOR

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To Comrade Gretel Antelope, you and I both know one thing, that I am the last of the old Liberationist guard.

Since your father has died, I have noticed that your nation is going on a downhill slide, away from the path that your father has set, towards a degenerate state that will inevitably lead to East Luziyca: a People's Republic only in name, where it no longer represents the people, like how the Christian Republic of Luziyca no longer is a theocracy, let alone controls all of Luziyca. Capitalism is starting to be unleashed, few wish to honor your father as a Great Benevolent Leader like he really is.

The worrisome thing is that you are starting to see Katranjiev as corrupt, while just a decade ago, we were the apple in your eye. I am considering that once I go and Premier Zeng consolidates her power, I urge her to reconsider ties with Namo, and determine whether ties with the once-great nation is worth maintaining due to its severe revisionism. Your Father was a hero to the people, and have set out the course that we must follow. Hence, I beg to ask one question.

Which regime will last longer? The revisionist state that will wind up like Luziyca? Or the true Liberationist state which will follow your father's policies to its logical conclusion?

It is the latter, of course. The revolutionary path set out by your father shall inevitably lead to Great Unity, where everyone and everything is at peace. An ideal Liberationist society shall be ruled by the public, where the people chose men of virtue and ability, and valued trust and harmony. People did not only love their own parents and children, but also secured the living of the elderly until their ends, let the adults be of use to the society, and helped the young grow. Those who were widowed, orphaned, childless, handicapped and diseased were all taken care of. Males and females took their responsibilities and all had their homes. People disliked seeing resources being dumped on ground but did not seek to process them; they wanted to exert their strength but did not do it for their own benefit. Therefore, the selfish thoughts were dismissed, thieves and robbers refrained themselves and the outer doors remained open.

At this point, we are closer to this goal than you have, due to this setback. I sincerely hope that Nuoju Zeng shall try and ensure that you correct this setback and lead to this ideal. If Baikun Qing were in charge, you will become just like Luziyca: an unregulated capitalist robber barony. Be wary about this, Gretel.

[Ghant]

"Sara Hanover in Ghish"
Ghish, Ghant
(OOC: by Braetia and Ghant)

Sara Hanover walked quickly down the streets of Ghish. She was here for business, more specifically business with the Emperor. She wore a light blue raincoat and held a light blue umbrella in her left hand and a black suitcase in the other. In it, she had everything she might need to show the Emperor: documents, photographs, agendas, minutes, the works. She took a back route to the Imperial Palace and nearly ran to a small door in the back. the sooner she could get out of the rain, and into a conversation with Emperor Nathan, the better. She did a secret knock on the door that only she, Emperor Nathan, and some of his closest staff knew.

After a few moments, a man with a scruffy black beard opened the door. "Aye, who goes there?"

Sara gave him a glare. "I think you know who I am."

"There be a few people that know that knock. You speak with a...silly accent though. I reckon you be Mrs. Hanover. Follow me."

Hanover followed him through the doorway and into the palace, remembering first to close the umbrella and pulling down her hood. "Silly" is definitely not a word that comes up a lot when referring to the Head of the Commonwealth, but Ghantar seem to love calling Bretians silly for reasons that are known only to them. Everyone knows they're the silly ones, thought Sara.

He led her down the corridors. A few minutes passed as they wandered through the Palace, past portraits, statues, busts and doors. Finally they stopped at a double door. The man knocked on it twice. A voice came from inside. "Yes, Morzan, what is it?"

"Mrs. Hanover is here to see you." A hasty noise was heard from inside, and the Emperor opened the door. "Sara, such a pleasure to see you here. Please come in."

Sara walked in slowly, taking a short look around first. She doesn't know why she bothers, nothing changes in this Palace. She took off her coat and smiled. "Hi Nathan, it's really great to see you again. See, I have a few things to talk about, so I was hoping to see if you were willing to take some time out of your day to talk about... y'know..."

The room was large, but comfortable. The walls and ceiling were gold and white, and there was a large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The floor was covered in a red and gold carpet. There were several bookshelves, paintings on the wall, a firepit on the wall opposite the door, and two chairs facing at an angle towards the firepit and the opposite chair. There was a coffee table in between with a large pitcher of tea, and also there were several books on it. The one that was opened and face down was An Annotated History of House Pazuzu. The Emperor was wearing khaki pants and a thin sweater, and was barefoot. "Yes, Sara, I am glad you came to speak with me. Such occasions are...too few. What brings you all the way to Ghish, to my little corner of the world?"

Sara took off her wet boots before replying, "You probably know we have a... situation in Braetia right now where half of the country is swarmed with protesters and rebels who want the kingdom back, and the other representatives in the House are bailing out of sessions... we're really a mess."

Nathan made a "mhm" sound, and walked back over to his seat. "Please, take a seat, and have some tea. Sophia made it, and no one makes it better."

"Why thank you." Sara walked over to the other chair, sat down and had a sip of tea. "Mm, great stuff. Anyways, while everyone else in the region is going ballistic over Ocidenia and all that while not actually doing anything, we need serious help to defuse this situation domestically, and we need a powerful ally to step in."

"Right. This situation is a natural outcome of...the fact that your country doesn't have drugs, or guns, or anything like that. People don't have anything to unwind with, so they are taking their angst out in the streets like a bunch of ruffians." Nathan took a deep gulp from his tea glass. "Having said that, I don't think there is much of a problem here. That fool McTannagh is done, I would never take the throne, and my distant cousin Paara is a greenboy who couldn't tell his face from his ass." Nathan poured more tea into his glass. "What you need is a distraction, long enough for people to forget about this business. Time is not on these people's side."

"Sure, what kind of distraction are you referring to, and who the hell is this distant cousin you never told me about?"

Nathan stared into the fire. “My third cousin, Paara Selaki. Some 17 year old boy. His great-grandfather Caedmon ven Miende was the older brother of my great-grandmother Dorotea. Paara has the strongest claim to the throne. I have never met him, and he probably is ignorant of his relationship to me, but the facts are the facts." Nathan looked back at Sara and smiled. "People need to know that their government has a purpose, that it is the best. So do something. Do something that would unite people. I'm not a political leader. I stopped going to school when I was nine, and I don't have the charisma or charm that you do." Nathan took a drink again. "If that doesn't work, then I suggest you move to enthrone Paara, and introduce him to my younger half-sister Amelia. She is pretty and charming, and Paara would take to her like a fish takes to juicy bait. This would unite the Unionist and these 'Snowguards', and provide a strong relationship with Korencia, which will have our cousin Harold on the throne soon enough."

Sara nearly spat out her tea. "Enthrone some teenage boy in Ecra? I don't think so, especially when there's no reason to give him any sort of power. Our republic is just fine, and what we need is to tighten control over the country so we don't have nutcases taking over government buildings and all that!" She took another sip of tea. "In fact, we might as well deploy the army into the north to shut down these protests.”

Nathan looked in her eyes. "Sara, all I have ever wanted for you is to be happy, and for your people to know peace and prosperity. If the situation continues to deteriorate, that is an option that you must consider, for the sake of nation." Nathan looked at the book on his coffee table, and looked back at Sara. "See that book? There is a man in that book, who was in a similar position then as you are now. He used his army to shut down protests too."

"Are you comparing me to Pazuzu? I'll have you know that what Ghant was then and what Braetia is now are two very distinct scenarios. We aren't oppressing anyone or shutting down those who oppose our government. Your country was filled with people who wanted their rights back, people who wanted to move forward. Our north is filled with people who can never be satisfied with what we give them, and want to drag the country down. If force is needed to knock sense back into them, so be it."

"I know you are not anything like Pazuzu, Sara. Don't be ridiculous! But sending the army to shut down protests is not the answer. That will make matters only worse, and turn the people against you."

"We have Medden, Brethes, Drenle and a lot of Vierte on our side, and there are thousands upon thousands of people who don't want this conflict, but are trapped in a state of anarchy and can't do anything about it. Unlike Zimya, I'm prepared to damage my own reputation for the good of a country. I'm a mom first, wife second, comedian third... you get it. Politics isn't what I want to be known for. Hell, running was an unlikely scenario. This isn't my calling, I don't want this to be my life.”

"Sara, you need to choose your next move very carefully. Not only could that damage your own reputation, but you could damage Braetia, beyond repair. You could be remembered as the last head of the Bretian Commonwealth. Think about that for a moment. Think about...your son, and what kind of country awaits him." Nathan looker her in the eyes again, as if to search for something. "Turning the army lose on your own people is not the answer. I know you know that."

Sara sighed. "I'm not turning the army loose. The last thing we want to do is to cause chaos, I know you know that, but using the military is the only thing we have to create order again.”

"Good, I am glad to hear it. Braetia is a place of peace and cooperation, and you will prove to many people how quality you are as a person. I know you can find a way to resolve the situation peacefully. I believe in you. I always have."

"It pains me to say this, but this is the most peaceful resolution that comes to mind. We aren't going to fire on anyone. All we want is for Bretians to be safe and brave. If we don't do anything and let this reign of terror continue, then I'm going to be known as someone who couldn't do anything for her country. If we don't press this issue and do
something more than just talk about it, what do we have? Half a country and a weak government. Braetia will fall if nothing gets done."

"Indeed. Something needs to be done, without a doubt."

"So what do you suggest should be done?"

"I don't know, Sara. Such a situation is beyond my competency."

Sara shook her head. "Nathan, you're not helping me like I thought you would. You're not giving me any ideas, and the way you sound makes me think that you might be siding with those rebels! Is a bloody Ashengard sword, no matter how legendary it is, worth a friendship? I mean between our two countries, as well as us two personally. This isn't a history book where you can just turn the page and everything is all right. This is a real-life crisis."

Just then, the door opened. Nathan turned his head, and his eyes grew wide. The Empress walked in. She was wearing a tight purple dress, and her hair was in a long ponytail behind her, that fell halfway down her back. Nathan looked at Sara quickly. "There is someone that can help you better then I."

The Empress stopped when she saw Sara in the seat. "Hello, Sara. I wasn't expecting to...see you...here. I have heard of your troubles in Braetia. It worries me greatly. If there is anyway that I can help you, please ask."

"So you know everything that's been happening, and how badly we need a solution? Because mister pacifist here hasn't been of much help..."

Sophia shook her head. "He spends his days and nights wrapped in books and history. Someone must be keen to the affairs of state. I think the solution is rather simple. Organize a non-binding referendum. The minute its declared, people will calm down. And, once the referendum has been conducted, you will know better how to proceed, especially in terms of which precincts support which outcome. Such a strategy has been effective elsewhere, and it offers a productive conduit for people's energy."

“A referendum in Braetia... Hm." Sara sat in silence for a few seconds. "I do agree that referendums in other areas have been successful, such as in Concordia, but I really doubt that Bretians would be able to have a referendum, let alone make the right choice. Also, with all the tension around your referendum, I am not very keen on adopting this i
dea so quickly. That also begs the question, how do I organize it when half the country is unreachable without the use of force?"

"You need only approach the Commonwealth representatives, who can do all the heavy lifting for you in terms of dispersing the referendum throughout the country. Once enough people have received word, they shall begin productive discourse." Sophia walked over to the table, and took Nathan's glass. "I don't think you give Bretians much credit. Give them the opportunity to decide, and they will be grateful for it." She took a drink.

"Half the representatives dropped out of sessions in favour of the rebels. Only Drenle and Brethes still have full attendance for their representatives. Besides, you must remember I am also a representative, so their heavy lifting is my heavy lifting. I don't have any easy way out."

Sophia looked at Nathan, who sat there, staring at the fire. Then she looked at Sara again. "In a situation in which representatives have dropped out under the circumstances that you have stated, perhaps it would be prudent to appoint new representatives for those jurisdictions, that are loyal to Braetia. Then they can disseminate the referendum. My father once told me that if someone is unwilling to do their job, then you find someone else that is."

Sara looked Sophia right in the eyes and gave a cold yet sincere smile. "That can quite easily be arranged. Ah, Sophia, thank you very much for helping me out in my time of need. I'll be sure to return the favor to you someday." She rose from her seat and offered a handshake.

Sophia nodded her head slowly, and bowed gracefully. Her deep blue eyes caught the smile. She shook Sara’s hand. "It was a great pleasure to see you here. Please, if you would do me the honor, I will show you out..."

Nathan stood up. "No. I will see her out, if I may."

Sophia looked at him, and then at Sara again. "Be my guest."

Sara shrugged a little. "No need to fight. We can go together."

Sophia slid out, through the doors, and into the hallway. Nathan and Sara were alone again. "Follow me, Sara. I will show you the way." He opened the door and walked the other way. He turned around again. "Sophia is an elegant, beautiful, and intelligent woman. There are few women as marvelous as she. Despite all that, she is still insecure when it comes to you."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Still? It's been 10 years, I've known you since you were a teenager. She should know by now it's just a friendship. I'm not trying to threaten her."

Nathan laughed. "I will never understand women, truly."

Sara gave Nathan another look. He should know why. "I was actually going to ask Yula Zimya about her opinion, but I think I have the answer I need. Can you promise me to shut down this silly Unionist movement before this referendum happens?"

"The Yellow Dragon will be furious when she finds out you came to Ghish and didn't pay her a visit. She will take that as a grave insult." Nathan found the door to the outside, and stood in front of it. "I will release a public statement addressing these Unionists, rest assured."

"She'll be furious if I don't visit her... is that a yes or a no?" Sara smiled a little as she put on her raincoat.

"She will be mad if you don't see her. Can you afford not to see her at this point?" Nathan unlocked and opened the door.

Sara stepped outside with her boots, raincoat and umbrella. "Can't get any worse than what it's been since 2012. Seriously though, I will drop by to say hello. But if she says any of that 'silly Bretian' crap, I'm outta there. Once again," Sara smiled again, "thank you for everything."

Nathan took Sara's hand, and kissed it. "Be safe and well, Sara. May the Gods be with you." Nathan shut the door.

Sara walked with confidence across to (wherever Yula Zimya would be). I've nothing to lose, she thought, Yula lost it all already.

Across the City Square was the Government Palace, with its wide marble steps and high columns. The greeter at the large wood double doors recognized her on sight. "Mrs. Head of the Commonwealth, welcome. What can we do for you today?"

"I would like to just pop in and say hi to the PM, if she's not busy." I hope she is, Sara thought.

"Certainly. Please, follow me." He lead her in, and took her to the elevator. They went up to the Prime Minister's floor. "The room at the end of the hall on the left, my lady."

Sara walked down the hall to the last door on the left. She knocked once.

"Enter" was said from within the room.

Sara entered the room. "Hi, it's me."

The room was large. The floor was decorated with exotic rugs from the corners of the world. The heads of animals were mounted on the walls. A small fireplace was burning in one corner. And at the desk sat Yula Zimya, writing away on some papers. She wore a loose wrap around dress. Her hair was in her customary bun. "Hello Hanover. Sit down." She said without looking up.

Hanover sat down. "So, are you aware of the situation in..." She waited for Zimya to cut her off.

"…Yes, I am fully aware." Zimya put her pen down, and looked up at Sara. Zimya's eyes were wide and dark, like an abyss, meant to swallow those who looked inside. "We are trying to eliminate monarchy from the Northwest, not spread it."

"You don't know how long I've waited to hear someone to say that. This monarchy business is unwelcome in a modern Braetia, and I'm not getting any help, especially not from the Emperor."

"The Emperor is an idiot. Ghant will be better when he and that uppity wife of his are rid of." Zimya got up from her desk. "These monarchists, they think you are weak. Some scared little girl. You need to make them respect you. Fear you."

"Well yes, thank you, and I want to show that I'm not some pushover. I don't know how to end this, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, but first we need to break the walls we have on our roads and train tracks and lines of communication. I am saddened to say that the only plausible way is through force."

"The only way is by force. They think you are weak. Show them that you are strong. They make your country bleed, so make them pay for it. I would have done that here already, except that everyone has guns. That isn't the case in Braetia. You can run through them like a hot knife through butter. Do it soon, and Braetia will be better for it."

Sara's eyes lit up. Unlike Yula's dark voids, her eyes beamed with love, benevolence, and energy. "This is for the good of the people, and if the people respect me, they will stand by me. They will no longer have to resist a rebellion. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"

"Yes, Sara. Next time you come to Ghant, come to me first. Don't go snooping around by yourself to the Imperial Palace like some back alley whore."

"Oh my gosh, sorry for wanting to visit a friend." Sara's eyes narrowed. "Look, I appreciate your ideas and all, Ms. Zimya, but with all due respect, you appear to be forgetting the real leader of Ghant. So, unless you have something else to say, I'll be off. I want to try that new sushi place that opened up four blocks west."

"I am the real leader of Ghant. The referendum will all but seal it. Don't forget that. You can show yourself out."

Sara walked out without a word. She had made up her mind already, and there was no point in staying longer and taking more offense. She said nothing to anyone until she had walked to the sushi place. Those were some really good spring rolls.

[Namor]

ЛисиТаи
THE HISTORYCHANNEL
presents the following documentary

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128 years ago, saw perhaps the most humiliating war in the history of contemporary Namor. A war which ended in the signing of a treaty, one Namor wants to take back.
Badly.

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Two people are shown sitting on opposite sides of a wooden table. The person on the right is an unidentified Antelopian Namorese diplomat, wearing a traditional Namorese minister suit, holing the traditional Namorese brush used to write stuff on documents. On the other side, another official wearing a blue, western military uniform, holding a quill pen.

A clerk shows up and presents a paper, a big piece of paper, and places it on the desk, and reads it aloud---words that will humiliate the man on the right and the people he came to represent.

"The Empire of Namor, at the will of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor, hereby agrees into ceding Nantay and Oteki to the Christian Republic, allowing merchants from the Christian Republic to enter the Northwestern Territories of the Namorese Empire with or without a permit... The Namorese Empire shall, upon signing this treaty, be forbidden from recognizing Nantay and Oteki as part of its territory, let alone as a subject of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor's control...."

The trailer showed a close-up of the stiffed face of the Namorese minister. His eyes closed, as if he and his country were diving into a sovereign nightmare, but then he looked up. The clerk was looking at him.

"Sir, shall we sign the treaty?"

The minister gave a long sigh. Steadily, he raised his paintbrush, and made his first strokes on the treaty.

"This Treaty is thus signed and approved by both the governments of the Empire of Namor and the Christian Republic of Luziyca, on the 1st Day of the Tenth Gregorian Month, on the One Thousand, Eight-Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Year of Our Lord."

The stroke. The stroke that explains everything. Why in this deep fabric of Namorese patriotism and nationalism, there exists---and always will---a deep resentment for the modern country that borders them to the west.

Across the table, the other minister, the one who had signed the treaty before the Namorese man did, smirked. And that is the last thing you see before the trailer ends.

IN THE SHADOWS OFTHETREATY
weekdays 21h only on the History Channel

[Ghant]

"Ghantish Chronicles"
Onmutu and Ghish, Ghant
Summer, 1000 C.E.

Gorleminoc had been to Ghish once before, many years ago. An old city, but not as old as most of the others in the south of Ghant. It was raining there, and as he approached the Great Castle of the King of Ghant, he felt a sense of unease. He reflected on the events that had led him there.

Gorleminoc took a great deal of pride in being the emissary of Lord Onius of Onmutu. Onius was the richest lord in all of Ghant, who sat fat and content in Argiadorre, otherwise known as the Lightower, his ancient fortress at the southernmost tip of the continent. Gorleminoc himself was born of traders in Onmutu, and as such lived much better then the average commoner, but did not experience the benefits of being either a Lord or Knight. In any case, his father was a good man and well respected, and Gorleminoc received a decent tutelage at the court of Onius, who had dealings with his father, and was impressed with Gorleminoc's sharp mind and keen eye.

It was not on good tidings that Onius summoned Gorleminoc to court with great urgency. He had been sleeping in his modest dwelling within the "tiptown" district of Onmutu, the part closest to the Lightower, when a knight of Onius knocked obnoxiously at dawn until he had risen from his slumber, bidding him come to court. Gorleminoc dressed quickly in a two piece suit and came rushing to Court. He had found Onius reading a letter.

Onius was a man of 45, tall and with dark brown hair and light blue eyes. He was dressed in fine robes of silk and satin lined with fur, and he sat perched atop his seat in the round hall of the Lightower, with ancient Ghantish Runes carved into the stone walls. Nobody knew what they said, and nobody knew how old the Lightower was either. Most just assumed it had been there since before the coming of the ice, from the time before the Gods punished Ghant with the cold for their vanity.

Onius looked at Gorleminoc down below. "I received a letter this morning, brought by a raven just before dawn. Read it".

Gorleminoc approached his lord and took the parchment from his hand. It read as followed:

Code: Select all

From: The Sjömännen

To: The native tribes of these lands

Send forth your ships filled with tribute and send forth your sons to do us homage over the seas to where the sun rises, or, like the rising sun, we will burn and scorch your lands until your land gives to us all the fertile bounties that you gather by the sun's good grace.

Onius calmly looked at the emissary and decreed, "this letter is quite troubling. Although I fear not the machinations of wayward barbarian plunderers, the people of the coasts might be in danger. I would have you take this letter to the King of Ghant himself, and inform him of these tidings. You are to depart for Ghish at once. Return only once the King has seen the letter and provided his response to me on how to deal with it."

"Yes, my lord", replied Gorleminoc. He wasted little time in executing his orders. In three days time of riding hard through the towns and villages of southern Ghant upon a mare assigned to him by Onius, he came upon Ghish.

All he needed to do to get into the city and up to the King's Castle was show the guards the seal of the Lord of Onmutu. The Castle was old- it had been built by the Lords of Ghish from the time before the first King of Ghant almost 100 years ago. It was made of black stone, and dimly lit by torches that lined the sconces in the walls. Tapestries dangled from the walls, depicting great battles against Dakmoor, the Tjǫrnmenn and the Ecrans, all of whom had been vanquished by Ghantish strength and perseverance.

Gorleminoc followed the white carpet along the length of the floor of the castle, into a large round chamber, again dimly lit and scantly decorated. The chamber was so quiet he could hear a pin drop. At the end of the room was the Obsidian Throne itself, and seated upon it was his majesty, King Richard II of Ghant, with many knights, retainers and servants about him.

Richard II had reigned for 21 years. Once he was tall, strong, and well-respected. A hundred battles had left his once powerful body weak, mangled and deformed. He had whispy grey hair upon his otherwise bald head, a lazy eye, a lockjaw and scars upon a fat and pitted face. He was fat and gouty, and his left leg was crooked and bent. At the base of the throne sat an iron bucket.

Gorleminoc bowed before the king as he approached, and handed a retainer his official seal and the letter. The king coughed and then spoke, "So, the fat and happy great lord of Onmutu has something for me, aye? Hopefully it is his maiden daughter. Although I can no longer lay with a woman the way a man ought to, I am sure she would be most satisfying". The king laughed at his own vulgar joke, and then proceeded to cough up blood with what could only be described as chunks of flesh contained, into the iron bucket below.

"Only the Gods know what this cough is from. Such a pity, I won't survive the winter ahead. My time is precious, boy. Its good to be the king, but I don't have much time left to enjoy it. Me needs find me some pretty young wench, and quickly. So lets get this business over with".

"Your majesty", replied Gorleminoc, "There are matters of urgency that I bring before you today. My Lord received a letter via raven, and bid me show it to you. Please, my lord, I beseech you to read it."

The king reached over and snatched the letter from the retainer, and began to read it out loud. The room began to mumble once it had been read.

"These Sjömännen are such pleasant people. They took the time to learn how to write in Ghantish! Or maybe they had some poor Ghantish slave write it out for them. In any case, I mean to tell these arrogant fools to piss off."

"You mean to ignore their letter, your majesty?"

"No. I will write a reply. I am thinking about having it read something like this". The King took a blank piece of parchment paper and began scribbling down on it. After a few minutes, he handed it to the retainer, who then passed it onto Gorleminoc:

Code: Select all

From: The Kingdom of Ghant

To: The Sjömännen

Please, send forth your barbarian pissants to our fair and noble land. Watch as we slay them with Ghantish steel and mount their heads upon spikes all along the coasts, and shove their filthy privy parts down their throats,  so that when anymore of your doggish brethren dare harass our lands, you will know their fate, and share in it if you so dare encroach. If you want our sons, feel free to come and capture them, and if you dare, feel free to harvest our fertile bounties. If you want it, come and get it, or may all of the World know you as craven barbarian bastards.

With all due respect,

King Richard, the Second of His Name, King of Ghant, Sixth King on the Obsidian Throne, Observer of the Old Laws, Defender of Justice and Protector of the Realm

"There you go, boy, you like that?" The King began to laugh, before he had to choke up more blood.

"Your majesty, do you think it wise to provoke and antagonize these foreigners?"

"Wise, no. Amusing, yes. Let them come, boy. This is Ghant! We pride ourselves on humiliating fools such as these. The sea protects us. We are far-flung and isolated from the warm lands. Any who dare sail the Sea of Ghant, and somehow find themselves upon our shores, best not be looking for trouble. They will find it, and it will bite them hard in the ass."

"Would you be willing to wager the blood of innocents on it, your majesty?".

The King frowned, and his yellow eyes glistened. "What do you know of blood, boy? Ghant is blood."

"I do not understand, your majesty."

The king rose from his throne, although it looked like a painful endeavor. He grasped a cane next to the throne, and limped down the steps. When he got to the bottom, he stood within arms reach of Gorleminoc. He paused, and then drew a knife from his belt, and dragged it across the palm of his left hand.

"You see that? You know what that is?"

"That is Odolzin, the ancient blood seal, a sign of great trust and faith. Any man who cuts his palm swears an oath upon his life."

"Indeed, you are correct. We Ghantish believe that blood is the most important thing in all the world. All the things that men do in the world, they do for blood. The blood of their women, children, their king, what have you. These Sjömännen, they seek resources, to preserve their own blood. That would come at the expense of ours. We can either give them what belongs to us, or they can come and attempt to take it, and fail. Then it will be their blood that nourishes the grass, not ours."

"I see."

"Do you? Hear me, boy. The world should fear us. We are a divided land, a land of many kingdoms. Gaemar, Dakmoor, Odolargia, Ashvagosha, Gauekoizarra, and all the rest. Each has their own blood. There is power in blood, more then most realize. It is precious, yes, but also expendable, in time. Although now it may seem unlikely, one day that blood could become one from many. The blood of all these lands could flow through the veins of one man. One man could unite all of these lands, with blood. And when that day comes, these Sjömännen will need to lock up their women and pray to whatever heathen gods they worship, begging them to show them mercy. Because on that day, not even their gods will be able to shelter them from our wrath. Then they will know the price of blood." The king began to cough more violently, and began limping on his cane back up to the throne.

"What should I tell my lord, your majesty?"

Still limping up towards the throne and without looking back, the King spoke. "Do nothing, and sit and wait. We will deal with the Sjömännen if and when they decide to come to Ghant. Until then, its business as usual. No go."

Gorleminoc bowed, and turned and walked out of the Castle, with the new letter in hand. His mind could not stop thinking about what he had just heard, and how it was a conversation that would need to be recorded. Time could only tell if the King would be right.

[Katranjiev]

A day in the life of Apostol XV - aged 6. May 1, 1955

---

This palace and its grounds were all he knew. About a few miles east of Krasimir, was the Prokudin Palace. It wasn't the Krasimir Castle that he, his dead father, and his grandfather were born at. The Liberationists sent the family there in 1952, after a show trial, and were barred from leaving the premises. Guards were stationed at the gate, ostensibly to protect them from kidnapping attempts, but all the members knew what those guards were meant to do: keep them in and isolated from the outside world.

To the Liberationists, he was Josip Suvet, the Suvet surname being imposed upon the family by the new government. It was Katranjian for rat, and it was meant to degrade the royal family, to someone inferior to even the Namorese. But he knew who he was: he was Prince Josip Krasimir, and he would inherit the throne one day. That is, if he ever got out of Prokudin and back to the castle which was the ruling center of their family. He decided to play house with his younger sister, Princess Evgeni, a cute four year old.

He was the father, she was the mother, and her youngest, a three year old, Princess Maritsa was the baby. They headed to a playroom in the nursery wing. Well, a secret playroom accessible from Maritsa's room which was in theory, a crawlspace opening up into a storage room. In practice, it was a playroom, and it was quite useful. They can play in there for hours and hours, and nobody will notice until dinner, even if Maritsa (as the baby) does soil the diapers stored in the room (cloth) which when they play house usually doesn't, but she wets them quite frequently. But despite that, the game was quite fun, and it was easy to play it for hours, forgetting about the situation outside Prokudin.

Josip smiled at Maritsa, saying, "I love you, Maritsa," and Maritsa laughed. He was quite nice to his siblings, treating them quite respectfully, and refused to look down on anyone. It wasn't like a normal game of house; but more of a relaxation technique. They wanted to be a bit like normal children, and not seem like royals trapped there. Playing house was a good way to escape from reality, yes, but it was a bit boring. So they decide to just go to a small picnic table and play some Go Fish. After a few hours, dinner was ready and they all headed to the dinner table. They said their prayers and then began to eat.

A day in the life of Viktor Kahut - aged 12. December 11, 1976

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It was a big day. From his window in a new district of Krasimir where his family was relocated to in the 1960s due to his father's "election" in the Shuvet na Khorata; the Council of the People that ruled the country. All the seats were controlled by the Liberationists since they abolished the monarchy in 1951. And indeed, he looked out the window. In the distance were new flats being under construction, which will soon block the view of the Prokudin Palace, which was the place where the King was said to live. Sure, there was still some space around it so the guards will keep an eye on escape attempts, but he realized how much things had changed since his parents moved here in 1966.

Kahut was born in 1964 in Evgeni commune, and the family had been ardent supports of the Liberationists. Sure, his father visits Evgeni every now and then, but Kahut identifies more with Krasimir, instead of Evgeni. But today, he was looking forward. He got dressed in his uniform of the 26th of July Movement, who he joined when he was 10 at his school, and was excited.

He quickly sat down at the table and ate his food. He really wanted to go quickly, to meet up with the other members, and listen to Huankun Chen, the father of the modern nation. School had taught him that Chen freed Katranjiev from the shackles of feudalism, and brought equality to all civilians. And he believed it, like almost all children his age. He remembered how Yunglang saw Chen as the next torchbearer of the Liberationist revolution, and he was enthusiastic to carry on his legacy. Soon, his family were ready and headed down to the street. A car was parked legally, and it was their car: in a city where everyone used public transport, they were among the lucky few allowed to own a car in Katranjiev bought after 1954. It was a 1951 Vostgavan Jubilee, the most recent year in which cars were allowed to be sold (in 1952, East Luziyca banned trade with Katranjiev, and as a result, 1951 cars were the last year you can buy, but only with official approval except if you bought it before Dec. 11, 1954). Viktor quickly got in, and so did his parents and his little sister, Daria Kahut, who was seven. The car quickly started, and soon pulled out of its space and onto the road. In 30 minutes, they arrived close to the Eleventh of December Square, and Daria was dropped off at a daycare center near the building where the Shuvet na Khorata met. Viktor and his parents walked to the square.

Magarhita Kahut said to Viktor, "Good luck sir. You will do great today."
"I will. It is the twenty-fifth anniversary since Katranjiev was liberated from the feudalism that it had endured for the past thousand years," Viktor replied. "Who wouldn't?"
"The Luzzies," Grigor Kahut said, and the family laughed. Soon, they all headed off, the father to the tribune where the MPs will watch alongside Huankun Chen and the President, Nuoju Zeng. Viktor headed to the square and lined up behind the members of the communal movement. He was given the task of carrying the flag of Katranjiev: the white and green, a blue and white strip, and a red star, based off the Namorese flag. So were the other leaders.

Finally, the event began. It began with a march of Namorese, Katranjians and Luziycans in a chain gang, struggling to go to the other end of the square. The balls (of the ball and chain) were emblazoned with the crown and the symbol of the monarchy that preceded the Liberationists. Soon, a figure resembling Yunglang Antelope and another resembling Huankun Chen broke the chains, one by one, until everyone was released. The balls and chains were quickly moved off, but the group then began marching at a quick pace to the other side. Then the military came and marched until they paused. The anthem of Katranjiev was performed and the whole crowd sang. Then after that, Huankun Chen made a long speech, praising the virtues of the youth, the Liberationists, mourning Yunglang Antelope, et cetera. Then the youth began their march, all in unison, and by commune. By five pm, the parade was done, and they all headed home.

[Namor]

---

Announcement from the Central Committee of the Namorese Liberationist Party to the masses [URGENT]
November 12, NMR 2315

---

Fellow citizens of the People's Republic and hardworking brotherly comrades of the Liberationist Revolution:

It is the painful duty of the Liberationist Party of Namor, the vanguard of the Liberationist Revolution in the country, to announce that on the 11th of November, NMR 2315, on 04:30 hours, Respected Paramount Leader Yunglang Antelope, lead torchbearer of the Namorese Revolution and savior of the Namorese people, High Chairman of the Liberationist Party and Supreme Commander of the Namorese Liberation Army, passed away at the age of seventy-nine from great physical and mental strain.

The passing of Yunglang is indeed tremendous loss to the Namorese Revolution, the Party and the Namorese people. Through his entire life, Yunglang helped lead the Liberationist Party to its correct path, using successful tactics to overthrow the oppressive Republican clique government and winning and hearts and minds of the Namorese masses, an act which the party well deserved under his leadership. These feats, including Yunglang's extensive knowledge of the nature of leadership and people's politics, led to the foundation of the People's Republic of Namor, the first people's regime in the history of this land.

It was Yunglang who brought all classes of the Namorese society together and allowed them to co-exist and solve their problems through diplomatic means, bringing about the ultimate unification of the Namorese people in general.

It was Yunglang who stressed the importance of a new democratic socialist economy, where the people are the true owners of property, and equality rules over all. He was a leader who truly believed in economic, social and political justice. Under his leadership, politics never became the same.

Furthermore, Yunglang was a firm freedom fighter, one who did not hesitate to call for the liberation of all Namorese and the eternal preservation of the territorial integrity of the Namorese people. During his time, he was the prime leader and helmsman of the Esquarian Anti-Imperialist Movement, and looked up to by the peoples of other countries who also wished to combat the evil forces of conservative imperialism. Yunglang understood that without cooperation, the struggle against imperialism cannot be successful, hence the United Esquarian Republic grew out of the palm of his hands.

With his fierce determination to win back the integrity of all Namorese, his fellow citizens, Yunglang drove the oppressive Luziycan imperialists from the motherland, and told them not to infringe upon the face of any Namorese. Against all odds and speculations that Namor is "no match" for the bullies out west, Yunglang is living proof that the myth of East Luziycan military superiority and invincibility is just a myth and nothing more, and that in the end, the forces of anti-imperialism will always and forever triumph over the aggressors.

In the twenty-five years Yunglang was Paramount Leader, Namor transformed from a backwards autocracy to a strong, prosperous and self-reliant nation that no longer needs to beg other countries to benefit itself. All of this must be accredited to Yunglang's efficient leadership and the ideas of revolutionary Liberationism, socialism and social democracy, ideas that Yunglang proves cannot be flawed.

Yunglang's passing is an event all Namorese will weep over, as he has been a great friend of his fellow citizens. Not only a leader, but a brother who volunteered to help his citizens who are his equals.

We must transform sorrow into strength by continuing the great Liberationist Revolution, support the decision made by the 10th Party Congress and our goal for Namor to become the largest producer of wheat by the year NMR 2330. The prosperity of Namor will decide the future of the revolution across borders. We will continue to appreciate the freedoms and rights granted to us by the Liberationist Revolution and Yunglang himself---the right to free education, free medical care, housing, employment, security, leisure and rest. Above all, we will continue to make sure the central tenet of Liberationism---that all of these rights are shared by all Namorese---is supported and kept.

In the history of humankind, no leader showed more respect for justice than Great Yunglang himself.

A period of mourning for Paramount Leader Yunglang Antelope has been announced. Good day.

[Iglesian Archipelago]

Sophia of Dakmoor and her status in Iglesiantis

---

---

It is much known these days that Sophia of Dakmoor, the Empress of Ghant, is married to Nathan IV, the Emperor of Ghant. Thing is, it seems it is not a thing people always know. Sophia is not only a member of the Ghantist royal family. She is a socialite, she was Miss Ghant. She was also voted the most beautiful woman in Esquarium too by the Ghantish Times. But let me give you a more detailed explanation of what's going on to write this.

Sophia of Dakmoor is a popular public figure to many Iglesians. But mainly who? The teenage boys who can't look at anybody else but her! In Larena, I have friends of mine, around 15, 16, 17 years old, who have a picture of her in their bedrooms. Like if they can't sleep without her. Well, far away those were the times when president Yaryn Yagara was rumoured to have had a love affair with the Empress of Ghant. Let me guess, has Yenyn Neydaye, that pop star who made success through videos spreading throughout the Internet, a crush on her? Probably yes, who knows...? I'm not generalising that all teenage boys have a crush on her, but... it seems that what I am observing is that Sophia of Dakmoor, Empress of Ghant, is being turned into a sex symbol because of some Igles. Varyvela Earyna, Varyvela Wyeruda, who remembers these girls, respectively Miss Iglesiantis 2014 and 2013? No! Who is in fashion is a Ghantish empress! Like if we returned to the 18th century, when women who were part of the royal family were in fashion.

As such, how will Sophia react to all of this, this whole legion of fans she has across Iglesiantis? Who knows, but either she feels herself excited or she feels shocked. I don't know the fate of all of this, don't ask me!

[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

To Fill the Shoes, Part III

Connors was sitting all by himself, looking impatiently at a wall. He is in his office in the Assembly of the People, given to him three days before by the Party. He was recently promoted to the Party's de facto number two in a move by Hae Jae Bon that confused everyone besides the very inner reaches of the Party. It was due to his threat of personal harm to the General Secretary via the Jahistic Youth Corps that he was given so much power.

He was now the Chairman of the Jahistic Party's Discipline Commission, Vice-Marshal of the Jahistic People's Army and the Vice-Chairman of the Jahistic Party's Defense Commission. He had been given so much so fast and people were confused.

He had his television set to the so called Unolian Broadcasting Company, now reduced to a shell in Roubao. You can hear it in the background, talking about how Connors was an "unorthodox pick" for the number two spot. The hollowed voices of the television seems to haunt Connors like a man with schizophrenia who has to act "normal" in front of people.

How hollow can a victory feel? He's still looking at the wall, instead of you.

It does feel pretty hollow. I have all these titles now. I have the General Secretary blowing me-- He turns to face you slowly and eerily on "blowing"-- and I have two out of seven of the most powerful people in the nation on my side. Yes, yes, Miss Juno and Mr. Terry are supportive of my role now and completely against our dear General. People in the outside world clearly have no idea what is about go on.

No one. Not the clown that calls herself the "President of the People's Republic of Namor" nor our neighbors in Vyvland nor anyone else.

So why would this be hollow? I have what I want for now, I have everything I need to reignite the Revolution except for the highest offices in the land. But sometimes when progress is so tainted by reactionaries like Weng, eggs need to be cracked. Weng and Tugstein needs to go.

Oh? You think that's selfish of me?

He flips the channel to the Firebrand News Network where it shows Weng Duhan announcing President Khan of Namor's visit to Unolia.

Tell me how that's not contamination? I mean, sure, Thuman had Wolf come here and that's all well and good. Well, it was all well and good until she had her military encroach on our sovereignty. Can Weng possibly think that the same will not happen in this circumstance? But no, I have to put on a fake smile because she'll be a guest of the Jahistic Party and not the State. I have to pretend that I actually want to see her face.

It's a fucking shame! He's given up on Roubao, he's distancing himself from the Triumvirate and he announced in a private meeting that he was considering taking the portrait of the Great Leader off the Assembly. He wants to remove Jarrod Thuman from our thinking, even though he's the reason we have an elected President instead of a King. So gutsy for a man who's still in his first 100 days in power.

I need something on him. A big scandal. Anything to have his incompetency shown.

Anything.

[Victoriala]

NoraCajan!

Victoriala's premiere youth culture magazine

Music Spotlight: "Ampara!"

They are groovy, classic yet are party masters, "Ampara!" has been one of the newest hit sensations on the electronic musical scene with their hit single "Black Vajra". Mixing their old Gambulan Music from their hometown of Akhuwa (Aroha Pulau) with modern synthesizer and bass, they quickly rose up to the ranks and now a pioneer of the Tradi-Wub genre, along with the Raga, AltRock, TradiWub and Electro-House band Pantheon. Varajhan Sarapura interviews here the members of this dynamic duo: Vrishan and Latifah.

Q: So how did you come up with "Ampara!"? How did you two become this big, from being bedroom DJs to this?
L: We started in different ways. I was a part of the Raga band Awaji until 2006, after I went solo. I also entered the Internet Video thingy that got popular and then that's how I met Vrisha.
V: Yeah. That's how we first met. We met IRL back in Nova Club back in Renba'i when I was one of the DJs there. I found that she also a us getting a liking at the synths. I was kinda suprised she looked goth.
L: (Laughs)
V: I was also trying to do an original mix for myself. We then started working with each other then BAM! We got a new kind of cool beat like Pantheon and Negative-1. That's how Ampara was born.

Q: Why "Ampara!"?
V: I have no idea. (Laughs)
L: Actually I was the one who thought of the name. We were thinking of cool names for hours then I thought of using a name of mythological figure Ampurha. I mixed it with the "Ampere" word then that's how I got the name!

Q: Who influenced you two?
Both: Each other.
V: And Art Blogs in Turiva.
L: what.

Q: so what are your next projects?
L: We're going to complete the Black Vajra EP. Then prolly do am album or a collab with the Luziycan band here [Shelov bar Hellish]

Q: Anything else before we finish the interview?
V: Nah, I'm good.
L: I guess I'll just say download our new single. (Laughs)

[Iglesian Archipelago]

The next Iglesian music revelation

Meet Marlene Leanne. Crolacian by birth, but essentially Iglesian as she moved there with her family when she was only one year old. Now, she is sixteen years old. And she is competing at TopStara (also known as TopStar, a singing competition originating from Iglesiantis and televised there by TV4 between January and April), where she is getting an astounding reception from the audience, the coaches and the public in general. When everything began with her singing Orwen Blijansson's hit Come Out (Orwen Blijansson is a Noroponian pop artist), the path to being champion has been all belonging to her.

19th April, 2014. 23:45. It was time Marlene Leanne sang Rock More, by Robusts (a Hepto-Castlese rock band). Massive applauses were heard. We're speaking of the final of the 2014 edition of TopStara. The other three finalists were Kyara Leysena, Wyn Loruka and Meryal Tekenga. However, what happens is that the predictions get inclined towards a clear victory to Marlene, according to public vote from the semifinals. And the predictions turned out to be truth. Marlene got the largest number of public votes and became the winner of the 2014 edition of TopStara. The country is in party overnight as a result. Now, she is planning new tours in Iglesiantis and abroad.

[Namor]

PTH Flyer on "Piano Battle"

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[Iglesian Archipelago]

RTI promo to Piano Battle

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[Ghant]

“Intel”
Onmutu, Ghant

Quintin was a nobody. Just another “punk kid”. Bushy black hair, tall and skinny, and with thick black glasses. He was a sophomore at the University of Onmutu, studying Computer Engineering.

He sat at his messy desk, in his messy room, in his messy apartment. There were clothes and empty bags of chips everywhere, with a few posters on the walls, a couple of Ghantboy.

There was even a winking Ghantboy bobblehead on his desk. At least Ghantboy was happy.

Quintin was not. He was down and out. Grades were alright, but his girlfriend dumped him, he left his shitty job, and he spent way too much time on his computer. Not to mention he had a raging hangover from the night before. He puked last night from drinking, and he felt like shit.

Hacking.

Quintin was a hacker, and a good one at that. Always digging. Always fishing. For something big.

That’s when he found…something.

Just then, his roommate barged in. “Woah dude, you need to clean up your room. It’s a pigsty in here.”

“I know, Liron.”

“Oh man, you are tense. Don’t worry. I just got some dank weed. Lets roll up.”

“Not right now, I’m doing something.”

Liron jumped over to the computer screen, and took a look. “Dude. That’s some heavy shit.”

Indeed it is, Quintin thought. “Do you know what this is, exactly, and what it means?”

“I’m not that smart, dude. I’m just a stoner. Maybe you can fill me in?”

Quintin shook his head. “Basically, to make a long story short, Weng Duhan, the leader of Unolia, personally ordered the use of White Phosphorous bombs on a residential neighborhood area of Valga, Kulsandia, during that war. That killed a lot of innocent people, and for no reason other then being a terror bombing.” He said that as the intel was being saved onto a flash drive.

“Dude, that is fucked up. Didn’t the Mad Emperor do stuff like that, back in the day?”

“Yes he did. And he paid for it. So will Weng Duhan.”

“How, though?”

“I don’t know.”

“Couldn’t you just leak it or something?”

“I don’t know what to do with it, honestly. It could easily just be dismissed, or it could get smothered if it fell into the wrong hands.”

“Uh…I got an idea. Why not take it to the Nibbler guys?”

And that was it hit him. One of the guys that was a contributor at the Nibbler in Onmutu was Nymon Izarbegiratzeak, a friend of his grandfather’s. He was a political commentator, comedian, and all around good guy. If there was anyone he could trust with it, it would be Nymon.

“Liron, you are a genius.” He said as he jumped out of his chair, grabbing the flash drive, and then fist bumping Liron in the chest. He put his shoes on in haste, and ran out of the apartment. He jumped on his bike, and rode it straight to the Nibbler building.

Quintin pushed open the door. A hot young secretary greeted him. “Hi, welcome to the Nibbler.”

“Is Nymon Izarbegiratzeak here? I need to speak with him.”

“He’s out for lunch right now with some friends. He should be back in an…”

Just then, Nymon walked in with some guys he was laughing with. Guys in suits and ties. And guards.

“Mr. Izarbegiratzeak, its me, Quintin.”

Nymon noticed him after a few seconds. “Quintin, my boy, hello hello.” He said as he reached out and drew him into a bear hug. “How are you?”

Quintin wasted no time. “Mr. Izarbegiratzeak, I got something big. I didn’t know who to trust with it, so I came straight to you first.”

Nymon smiled. “Your trust is well placed. Come with me to my office.”
Nymon lead the way, and Quintin followed. When the got to his office, Nymon closed the door behind them. Then he sat down, and exhaled.

“I can’t believe I am going to be 70 years old this year. Where does the time go? Enjoy your youth while you have it. Before you know it, you will be old and fat like me.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“Good, good. Now, what do you got for me that is so important?”

Quintin took the flash drive out of his pocket and placed it on Nymon’s desk. “Its on there.”

Nymon stroked his chin. “Hmm, lets see here…” He picked it up and stuck it into his computer.

He put on his reading glasses, and squinted at the computer screen for a few moments.

“What do you think, Mr. Izarbegiratzeak?”

Nymon hardly made any visible reaction to what he read. “Yes, yes, that is very interesting. Could have…far reaching implications. You made a good decision coming to me with this. I will make sure that it…doesn’t fall into the…wrong hands.”

“Good, sir, I am relieved. I knew I could trust you.”

Nymon leaned over a bit towards Quintin. “Who all knows about this besides you?”

“Just me and my roommate.”

“Neither of should say anything about this to anyone. Ever. Do you understand? This is some serious business.”

“…Yes, Mr. Izarbegiratzeak, I understand. I will make sure my roommate does too.”

“Good, good. Go home, relax. And be careful. I don’t know how you got this ‘intel’, and I don’t really want to know. Just watch yourself and try not to…dig around where you shouldn’t be digging.”

“Yes sir. Thank you. Have a nice day.”


Nymon Izarbegiratzeak spent his life being the fat funny guy. The guy that nobody took seriously, the guy that couldn’t get any respect. Sure, he was a popular figure, and rich, but he had nothing to show for it. He was almost 70 years old, never married and had no children. Nymon was an only child too, and his cousins were dead. He had no family, and a legacy of dubious import. The thought made him sad, and he yearned to finish his life with meaning, and have an impact.

Being the public personality that he was, he had many friends, and many more acquaintances. One such was Jacob Connors of Unolia, through mutual business interests.

He knew that Connors was an ambitious man. A man that could make great use of this ‘intel’. But he had to be careful. He had to proceed with caution.

He didn’t trust sending the ‘intel’ out over any channel. Things could go very badly for him and for the boy that brought him the intel. Quintin is a good boy, and his grandfather was a good man, a real friend to me. I have an obligation to ensure his safety.

To: Jacob Connors
From: Nymon Izarbegiratzeak

Hello friend,

Haven’t spoken to you in awhile, how is everything?

I was thinking, Jacob. Things in Unolia must be pretty stressful, you know, having to put up with all the bullshit and red tape and everything like that. So, I was thinking. Take a day off and come visit your old pal Nymon here in Onmutu, just for a day. We got some catching up to do, and I even got you a present that I know you will enjoy very much.

What do you think? Anytime, old friend.

Sincerely,

Nymon

Nymon sent that message off, and then he put the flash drive in his desk drawer. He thought about how Connors might take advantage of his present. The thought made Nymon grin from ear to ear.

[Namor]

The Beginning of the End - One

---

Novi Namor | Peitoa, Republic of Namor

---

"There are protests."

President Jung Fa of the Republic of Namor on Peitoa clenched his fists on the table as he was meeting in a dark room in front of a panel of generals.

"Thousands are out there, Mr. President," began General Ryan Cha, who, like the other generals, held much power in the government. "They are calling for you to deliver the aid to them. They're starving out there, if we don't answer them the might call for more--"

"Look," interrupted Jung Fa, "look, look. You guys don't understand. It's not like we don't want to help them, we can't. Name me one fucking country in Esquarium that has diplomatic ties with us. One."

The generals didn't speak. Disgusted, Jung Fa left the table, and threw his pencil on the floor. "Assholes. There are protests and you didn't warn me before. Never mind, you know the drill. Crush them."

"We're sorry, Mr. President," began Cha, "but we can't crush them, at least not now. They're not going to forgive us for it. We are falling apart, and the only thing that manages to hold us together is the economy, but even that isn't as robust as before. Now that the economy is done for...we have nothing left to lean ourselves upon. The only thing we can do is listen to the people."

"CHA!" hissed Jung Fa. "Who are you, an obedient general or a freak who speaks against your country?"

Ryan Cha didn't hesitate to respond. "I can speak whenever I want to--"

"Don't talk smart to me, alright? I'm a statesman and I have a brain as much as you do!" Jung snapped back. "You are a general in the Republic of Namor Armed Forces, and I am your commander-in-chief! Yes, our country's in a mess now, but who's helping us? Heavens, Khan wants us dead, who are you calling on, her to help us? Bullshit, we are still in war with the mainland, you know!"

"Technically," added one general next to Cha.

Jung shook his dead violently. "Yes," he murmured, "technically. But back to the point."

He returned to the generals, and looked at Cha. "All of you, we will...not take care of them now. Perhaps later; now, we'll try to convince these people to leave and understand what's really going on. Maybe if we inform them, they will lay the blame of all this damage on the mainlanders than us."

Ryan Cha saluted. "Yes, sir." Clearly he was satisfied with this order, although it didn't go as far as he wanted it to go.

[Ghant]

“Ghantish Chronicles”
Thule, Ghant
1187 C.E.

The snows fell, the winds howled, and the icy air stabbed at the King’s lungs. Every inhale and exhale was painful. The north of Ghant in the winter was not a good place to be.

Magnus IV of Ghant fancied himself a strong man. But nothing prepared him for this. His greatest test as a man. Leading a host of southerners against the barbarians of Thule, in hopes of conquest.

He was 36, and had been king since 17. He was a good soldier, but not such a good king. Well, he thought he was a good king, but not many other people did. He lacked the refinements that were said to be necessary for rule, and his Queen died young, leaving a stillborn daughter.

Magnus was a hard man. He had few friends, and many enemies. His kingdom was divided against itself, and men whispered of plots and schemes to remove from the Obsidian Throne, in favor of his brother. His brother was a weaker man, but a more influential man, who had many more friends at court.

His brother and others at court often mocked him openly to his face. They pointed out all the little mistakes and missteps he made, hunting for reasons to make him feel isolated and weak. He tried not to let all of that get to him, but eventually it did. He would lock himself away, in places of the Castle where he could be alone. For he few friends, and people that he could trust. The feeling of being a man against the world gripped him at times.

Magnus had to do something. So he declared that he would march north. Past Gaemar, Draconis, and the ice coasts, into Thule itself. He argued that by conquering Thule, that they would access to great beasts of the North, and they could move from there south into Eskura, and defeat the warring petty kingdoms, one by one.

He called upon on noble and virtuous men to rise for his cause. “Knights and Lords of the Kingdom of Ghant, the time has come to take the battle to the northern barbarians! Let us bring to them the light of modernity and justice! Let’s us purge them of their heathen ways. Let us make the realm for everyone, so that it might not serve a few, but serve many. Victory awaits our glorious cause!”

And many men did flock to his cause. It was thought that many encouraged the campaign, if not to see Harold upon the throne as soon as he left. After a month of gathering a large host numbering roughly 75,000 men, they left in the late summer, thinking they could get to Thule before winter.

He rode out with his large host, many of them knights and men on mounted horse, the rest foot soldiers. Many of the Lords were minor lords, seeking to add glory, fame and fortune to their houses. Others were hedge knights, seeking to fight and serve in exchange for food and the prospect of elevating their status. Still others were common men, looking to earn glory enough to elevate them from some small status to song and poem.

It took them months to move along the east coast of Ghant, through Langael, and then Onia, and then onto Gaemar, and then through the Grey Wastes, into Draconis. Beyond Draconis, they began to suffer many ambushes from barbarians, from Ziri and the mountains to the north of there.

But continue north, they did. After some time, they entered the lands of his cousin, Zalam the Ice King. Magnus’s mother was Isolde, who was the sister of the Ice King’s father. They greated each other warmly, and he and his greatest knights were treated to a feast. Perhaps our last one .

Zalam was a curious, as well as practical man. “What madness has lead you to ride against the northerners?”

“Glory, cousin. To prove my valor, and worthiness to lead.”

Zalam was not impressed. “You are foolish, cousin. Do you think that riding in on some horse, in a blaze of glory, and trying to become a big shot, will win you any support, and the admiration and respect of the people? It won’t. It will only lead to scorn, animosity, and your demise. They will turn against you all the same.”

Magnus was angered by that. “And what you suggest I do?”

Zalam stared at him with those, hard, stone cold blue eyes. “Earn their trust and respect. Become one of them, adapt to them. Then they will learn to like you enough to entertain the notion of allowing you to lead them.”

Magnus snorted. “But I have a Crown upon my head!”

Zalam chuckled that time. “If you think a Crown makes a man a King, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“How dare you mock me, like everyone else! I am the King! I am the best man for it, to lead and protect the Kingdom! How dare they cast stones at me, after all that I have done!”

Zalam contorted his face. “With that attitude, you are forsaken. I shall pray for you, Magnus, that you might see the error of your ways, and so that you might have the wisdom to preserve what little dignity and honor remains to you.”

Magnus pushed himself away from Zalam’s feast table, and readied his men to continue the march north. Who the hell does he think he is? That patronizing bastard! I will not bow, and I will not break. I shall defy them until the bitter end!

As the marched north, they attracted many free-riders, hedge knights, and soldiers of fortune to their cause, from the mountains. The supplementary forces were most welcome.

And then they reached the northern reaches of Izotzlurrak, west of the Lands of Black Ice. That country was a cold, desolate wasteland. Men froze in their armor, and horses began to die in droves, only to be converted into horsemeat to feet starving men.

They urged him to turn around, to turn back, to abandon his fight. “Your majesty, no man of the south can hope to survive in this country.” His loyal advisor Dago told him. “This country is filled with dragons, trolls, atogs and lhurgoyfs, and hairless men with filed teeth that live in caves and feed on the flesh of men.”

The king was fearless. “I am not afraid. Let the Gods throw at us what they will. I am the King of Ghant, and I am a rock.”

If he was a rock, he was a cold one. He had stuffed his armor with cloth, to keep his skin from freezing against the cold armor that encased him. Other knights were not so fortunate. They suffered from the frostbite, and their noses, ears, cheeks, fingers and toes turned black, and gave way to rot.

They had to slow down and hunt, in order to sustain their rations. But game was hard to find, and many hunters that went out to catch wild game, never returned. Magnus shuddered to think what happened to them. He thought that perhaps their bones decorated the cave of some savage cannibal of the Lands of Black Ice.

By the time they entered the lands men know as Thule, they were in winter. The blizzard swirled around them, thickening the air white. The wind was searing, and cut into his skin, even through the covers of face.

They had a general idea of where they were going. There was said to be a great fortress of a Thulak King, not too far north into Thule. He had heard that their defenses were minimal, with a light garrison, so Magnus assumed that a quick attack with his mounted knights would be enough to take the fortress. Once there, they could regroup and hunker down if needs be, before moving east.

They couldn’t find the fortress. He sent scouts out into the blizzard to look for it, and most didn’t come back. The ones that did, were either near death, or delusional.

And he missed the sun. Up here, there wasn’t one. The nights were pitch black, and the days were cloudy to such an extent that hardly any light could be seen at all. On occasion, when it did poke through, it was a dull color, like some greenish blue.

To make matters worse, the blizzards were so thick, that he could hardly see but a few feet in front of him. Men got lost and fell behind, and were never seen again in the thickness of it. And the way it howled when it blew. It was like some great and ancient beast, that consumed men and beast alike in its frozen maw.

And sleep was hard. Often times, he could not, even though he would lay there in a bundle of cloth and furs. He could feel the cold in his bones, stabbing at him, gnawing at him.

He was fortunate though. Many of his best men did not have the same luxuries that he did. They would sleep and not wake up, just laying there frozen. The thought made him sad, because these knights, loyal and true, would never return to their homes, to their families. Their bodies would remain, frozen in place, for all time, as grim reminders of a King’s folly.

But it was too late now, to turn back, to admit that he was a fool, or that he was wrong. He had what he wanted. He had marched into the heart of winter, and survived. He had survived whatever the Gods of Ice and Storm could throw at him. He just had to continue. He had to endure. He had to push on into the blizzard, against the odds.

One morning as they wandered through the blizzard, a boy approached him from behind on foot. The boy was freezing and gaunt, and rapped in rags.

The King looked at him. “Boy, how old are you?”

“Eleven, your majesty.”

“Where are you from?”

“Uptown Ghish, if it please your majesty.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“I was an orphan, your grace. A poor nobody, growing up in the streets. I heard you were gathering men, and I snuck off with some other boys. We followed behind the main host. Most of them boys are dead, done froze to death. I am the last one. And I would rather die up here, as part of your adventure, then live and die a nobody in the slums.”

That resonated with the King. The boy is right. Is not better to go out in a blaze of glory, fighting against the world, then it is to languish in the shadows and die a no one?

“What is your name, boy?”

“Karo, your majesty.”

“And your family name?”

“Ain’t got one, your majesty.”

“Well, Karo, stay close. You must be important yet, otherwise the Gods would have killed you already.”

The boy gave a slight smile. “I will try, your majesty.”

The following day, the King’s squire was found dead. He had froze to death in the night.

Karo was still alive, and not any worse for the wear. He was not far from where the King slept. “You, Karo.”

The boy struggled to his feet. “Yes your majesty?”

“It seems that I am short of a squire this morning. Perhaps you can be my new one?”

The boy dropped to his knees. “It would be an honor, your majesty. The thing is though, is I don’t know how to be no squire. I ain’t no noble boy that can be a proper squire.”

Magnus surveyed the field. He could make out the visages of black mounds on the ground, but he could not tell who was dead or who was alive. Much the same of late. Then he looked at Karo again. “All the noble boys are dead. You are the only boy that I see anywhere, and I don’t feel like looking for another one. Don’t be shy, boy, I will tell you a squire does.”

And so, in a day, he taught the slum orphan boy how to be a squire, there in the darkness and cold of the Northern blizzard. The boy learned fast. No wonder he is still alive.

He then asked the boy, “tell me true, boy. Does anyone care if you live or die? Do you have any friends or family, that pray for you back home?”

The boy looked sad. “No, your majesty. Nobody. Most people don’t like me. They cast stones at me wherever I go, and curse me. Such is the life of a poor boy, me thinks.”

Magnus nodded. Me and this peasant boy have much in common. There is no man or woman who prays for me. They all curse and mock me. No matter what I try to do that is good for realm, they wish ill upon me. I won’t die for them. I won’t give them the satisfaction.

That was when the King came to realize what he and the boy had in common. Resolve. The will to continue, to fight. The will to prove something.

And so they continued on, to find their fabled fortress, by now reduced to an unorganized band of men, wandering aimlessly through the blizzard, until they either dropped dead or survived long enough to accomplish the goal.

But the Gods were crueler then that. The horses died first, forcing the men to continue on foot. Even the King’s own horse died from under him, forcing him to find a new horse, which took some time.

His loyal advisor Dago was still alive, albeit barely. He was puny, sickly and weak. Raw horsemeat was any man’s first choice of food, but out here, it was better then nothing.

Dago spoke meekly. “Your majesty. There is a frozen lake not too far to the north, and on the other side is the fortress, so says the scouts.”

“Good, we ride for it with great haste.”

And so they did. They rode out to the edge of it. It was rather large, surrounded to the left and right by cliffs, barely visible through the snow and ice. They couldn’t see far beyond it. Magnus stopped at the edge of it, and waited for what was left of his forces to gather, which they did, slowly but surely.

“Good men of Ghant. We are close to our destination. On the other side of that frozen lake, lies our destined fortress. We have the strength in men to take it, and we can refresh ourselves upon its stores, and rest for a time as needs be, while we recover our strength.”

The men, already of noticeably low morale, feebly shouted in approval. The shouting of half-dead men.

Magnus wouldn’t waste any time. He rode out onto the frozen lake. The ice was thick beneath the hooves of his worse. There was a dim light penetrating the clouds ahead, through the blizzard. He squinted to look closer. There was castle nestled against a jagged protrusion of rock. Yes, we are almost there, Magnus thought.

A wise man once told Magnus, when he was but a boy, that often times, a man was the furthest away from that which he desired, when he was the closest to it. And also, be careful what you wish for.

That was what Magnus was thinking when he heard the horn. It blew off in the distance, a long, low, bellowing noise, that sent shivers down his spine. He had heard it said that you hear them before you see them.

And then, to his horror, he saw them. Great beasts of fur and tusk loomed in the distance, making noises with their trunks. Men sat atop them. And men began to appear along the cliffs to his left and right. We are surrounded, Magnus thought. Gods save us.

It was clearly a trap, set up by the Thulak to lure the king and his weakened forces into an area where they could be easily killed. And they were outnumbered too, he guessed, as the Thulak swarmed along the cliffs and on the opposite side of the lake.

The King wasn’t going to sit there and die. He drew his Ashengard steel sword, Ordainsari, and held it high, as he shouted. Then he charged. He rode straight and true, to the other side of the lake, where the beasts and their riders were waiting. His men rode behind him, what few had horses, and the others charged on foot.

The Thulak on the cliffs rained arrows and rocks upon them. Magnus shouted. “Stay in the middle!” Those who deviated to far to either side would be more likely to get hit by a projectile.

And then they came upon the opposite side of the lake. The great beasts bellowed, and rose up on their hind legs. When Magnus and his forces came upon them, he shouted “bring down the beasts! Go for their eyes and legs!”

And then the vanguard collided with the beasts. They came down with their front legs, smashing men undertow, and swinging their tusks, which were fitted with spikes. One swing of their tusks could impale several men, and they did, at least those who went for the beasts legs. Men were skewered right off of their horses, to die being flung around by some great northern shambling beast.

The archers and pikmen had no better luck going for the creature’s eyes. They were so harry, so shaggy, that they could not be seen. And when one soldier got close enough to the beast to do damage, the beast rider up on top would rain down arrows and rocks.

“Shoot the riders!” The King shouted, and the archers tried, to mild effect. Despite killing the rider, there was still the beast to be considered.

Several mounted knights swarmed one beast, cutting its legs, and brining the creature and its riders down. The morale gained from felling one such beast was short lived, as men began to charge their position. Grizzled men with massive, double bladed axes and warhammers. They bared down upon the mounted knights, crushing them or their horses with one mighty swing. The warhammers proved to be the bane of the mounted knights, as one swing could send a man to the ground with every rib shattered.

The King soon found himself beset by a pack of them. But he was ready. He used his horse to maneuver around them, and he brought Ordainsari down upon a few of their heads. The Thulak were heavily armed, but lacked in quality armor, seemingly fighting in leather and cloth. So the legendary sword of his house, with its black hilt and pale white blade, bore down and hacked away. One barbarian brought up his maul to parry the sword, and the sword cut right through the handle and bit down into his face. It was like bringing a hot knife through a stick of butter.

His short moment of triumph went away in one moment, when he looked and say a tall, strong woman with long, dark curly hair, wielding a double bladed battleaxe. She raised it high into the air, and then brought it down on his horse’s head. The head came off in a sudden burst of blood and gore, and the King was flung from its back as it fell to the ground.

While still disoriented, and before he knew what had just happened, she was upon him. With a knife she bared down upon him, as if to cut his throat. He struggled against the barbarian woman, but she was strong and swift. The knife cut into his face and on the sides of his neck. He could feel the pain, and the blood, barely against the cold that enveloped him.

He was losing his strength, it was hard to resist him. He wasn’t sure he could do it again. As she raised it high to come down with a powerful plunge into his neck, she grimaced in pain. A spear poked through her chest.

As she fell on top of him, he could see his advisor, Dago standing there, with spear in hand. “Rise your majesty. The battle is lost, we must fall back…”

Just then, his head burst open as a stone came upon him, from a nearby beast rider. Dago’s body convulsed as it collapsed in a bloody heap before him.

Magnus kept hearing something from deep within him. Get up, get up. You are not done! The Gods are not done with you yet!

Bleeding and wounded, he pushed the dead barbarian woman off of him, and he struggled to stand. His leg burned as he tried to walk on it, away from the carnage. He found his sword in the snow, and picked it up. He looked around him, and saw the barbarians fighting with a great sense of purpose, with a unity he had never seen . They hate me. They want to see me suffer. They want to see me die.

His men were being cut down at a rapid pace. The giant beasts were beyond count, and the barbarians were swarming now. Any man of his in the hoarde was dead within instants. Men were dying as they attempted to flee, many screaming in pain, crying for their mothers as they meet their demise.

It was all he could do to shout “fall back, fall back!” But he didn’t have to say that. Men were running the way had come from, many crawling, others throwing down their weapons as if to surrender or to run faster. There will be no mercy for us. We are beyond saving. Gods help us.

With all his remaining strength, he ran. Ran from the enemies, from certain death. Before long, he found himself upon the frozen lake once more. Many of his men were still there, fighting off barbarian footmen. The giant beasts could not follow them onto the lake, but the barbarians could. And so they did in great number.

The barbarians made a formation in the middle, as if to push the intruders to the sides, where the cliffs rose up to reveal archers and stone throwers. Any man too close to the middle was cut down, and any man too close to the edge would be picked off. It is an alley of death, Magnus thought.

He was not ready to die in such a despicable manner- to choose his death. He would defy them, they would cast arrows and stones upon him. And so, defiantly, he raised his sword and said “through them! Make them bleed!”

And the men of King Magnus pushed through the blizzard at the barbarians on the ice, that tried to corral the men towards the cliffs. Magnus achieved a second wind, and cut through them with Ordainsari. His brazen defiance of the barbarians gave a newfound source of strength to his men, who fought for their lives to get away.

Futile, though, he realized, upon seeing that the way they came from was also swarming with barbarians, who had cut down the rearguard, and were now moving out onto the ice. That is when the cold hard truth gripped him. There is no escape. We are surrounded. We will die.

The sudden realization that there was no getting out of this, and that death was inevitable, gripped him. The thought burned him on the inside, and filled his body with a limp despair. The time was near, in which his time would come to an end.

He looked around him. Many of the northerners who rode alongside him and helped him get that far, had turned him. They joined the barbarians in cutting down the knights. They were on all sides, mercilessly slaughtering.

It was all happening in slow motion now. Enough time for him to pray within his head. Not to the Old Gods, but to the God of the Christians. Dear God, I ask you for forgiveness. I have committed many wrongdoings, and I have sinned. I know it is too late for me now, but I only ask that you show me mercy, as I pass on. I ask only for redemption.

Then, for a moment, he thought of his predicament. It made him very sad. I could have avoided this situation. If I had been a better King, then I would never had felt the need to prove myself. To ride out here and lead men to their dooms. I am truly a forsaken man.

They were upon him now, cutting at him. His arms, legs, chest. He was being cut to pieces. But with Ordainsari, he fought back, cutting them apart with hefty swings of his sword. A few of his men were here and there, still fighting as well.

He could hear the barbarians shouting. “Die! Be gone! You are no King!” They were mocking him, taunting him. Brining it all down upon him. Just like everyone always has.

That was when he made a choice. He was not going to die their way, to wait to be cut down. He was going to go out his way. God give me strength, he thought to himself.

And then, he raised Ordainsari high in to the air, and he let out a mighty roar. And with a sudden, swift motion, he slammed his sword down into the ice beneath his feet. The Ashengard steel cut through the ice below, and sunk deep.

The ice began to crack around the sword. The sound of it echoed across the lake. Everyone heard it, southerner and northerner alike. Some continued to fight, and others began to run.

And then he pulled the sword out of the ice, in a jerking motion. As the ice began to give way, he looked out to the shore from whence they had originally came. There he spotted Karo, with a horse, being inconspicuous, as if to avoid notice. With one hefty heave, he threw the sword in his general direction, just far enough to clear the lake. Retrieve my sword, boy, and return to Ghish with it, he thought to himself. And then he began to fall.

He fell into the freezing water, and it took him quickly. He began to sink, under the weight of his armor. He looked around through the murky water. In the dull haze of the water, he could see horses, knights and barbarians alike, sinking to their watery graves.

Magnus struggled at first, fighting to get the armor off of him. But he couldn’t. He began to panic for a moment, knowing that he was drowning. He realized that his cousin Zalam was right. And this final moment was the culmination of his transgressions. Patu is real, and it has finally come for me.

His life began to flash before his eyes. His birth, his family, becoming King, getting married, his dying wife and his stillborn daughter. He saw everything happen again, right before his eyes. He wished he could have done things differently. But it was too late now. His time had come.

He struggled against the water filling his lungs. He grasped for air that wasn’t there. And, after a few moments, he accepted that death was upon him. To hell with them all. Down here, in the abyss, I will always be a King. That was his last thought, as he took his dying gulp for air. He tried to smile in that final moment, as he felt a soothing blissfulness surround him. And then he passed from this world, in the depths of that frozen lake.

[Victoriala]

NoraCajan!

Victoriala's premiere youth culture magazine

Crazy Projects Spotlight: Encyclopædia Eordana
Story by: Javayar Virata, Shakti Harija, and Makara Farajhan

Amidst the weird artsites (Artistic Websites) that sprang up the Victorialan Internet, there is a small yet growing community of writers, artists, and people who love social studies, with a hobby some might even think far out: Geofiction, also known as Geographical Fiction.

Geofiction is a type of World building that can be described as "Hardcore", wprldbuilding for the sake of it, for no reason at all except fir personal entertainment. Putting highly immense detail on it's overview, statistics and even humanities, something even the likes of K. R. Turner would think it is too much. Some focused on one area, some even focused on worlds. Some even collaborated and even made online encyclopedias, one which has been growing popular and is described as the most complex, diverse and put with effort world that is, Encyclopædia Eordana.

Encyclopædia Eordana is a collaborative fiction and pseudo-pedia (A mock online encyclopedia project)
In the vein of Vicipedia. Founded by former college students Oskar Nævning (Valkmarian), Zein Citade (Gillenor), and Li Hualiao (Namor-Bakayan) back in 2004, Eordana has become a very convincing world that most even thought they were reading a real wiki.

So what is Eordana? Eordana is a world close to the size of Esquarium, where major cultures have almost no influence nor direct contact from each other, without much globalization happening in it's modern times. Various major fiction guilds have been commending their works, and so has reached even recognition by the media. As of now, there are about 40 active participants, 62 nations and even a published actual encyclopedia in 15 volumes, documented various aspects of the project, from culture, religion, economy, politics and even biology.

This Geofiction gig is now being emulated by other sites like "Infinitus" and "Baptizatia", mainly targeted on intellectual college students and smart people who love writing fiction. ||||

[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

The Hospital Visit

The gloomy day surrounded Highland People's Hospital in Brookopolis, and in the teenager's ward, the prognosis did not look good for Weng Lee, a local Jahistic Youth Corpsman who was diagnosed with leukemia and had his prognosis given to him the day before. He was set to die in five months, if he was lucky. The year was 2008 and the seventeen year old had so much to look forward to in life before he received his news. Now all he had was the same fifteen video games and the bed that he was assigned to.

And a letter.

He wrote his idol, the leader of the revolution, Jarrod Thuman. He found his solace in praising and venting to the Unolian leader. It was an extremely unprecedented move, since many people thought of the Chairman as a reclusive God-like figure. He wrote in his best handwriting and sent it off with no less than ten stamps on the envelope, making sure that the letter would make it to his office.

To his surprise, he received a letter in a week. The somewhat legible, yet obviously sloppy, penmanship of the leader of a revolution and a people. The letter was one of encouragement and prayer on the behalf of Thuman, encouraging him to "fear nothing" that "evil" throws at him. He ended the letter with a verse from the Bible-- Psalm 23:4-- "Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil."

The letter would make Weng's day and week and month, one after another. He gave it a place of honor in his hospital room and he found himself reading it every single day for encouragement as the doctors tried their hardest to give Weng a new lease on life. Besides from this letter, he had nothing. His parents had given up on him when he joined the Jahistic Youth Corps and his JYC squad was only able to visit once a month.

The very next day after that, he was informed by his parent's insurance company that the company would not be charging the co-pay because the local Party office had paid all of the hospital bills for the next year in full. This was done obviously on the behalf of the man who had made him so happy the day before.

A month went by and his condition was getting worse and worse by every passing hour. On March 11th, 2008, he fell asleep for a typical nap. He woke up to a group of well dressed and highly decorated men surrounding him. In the middle, there was a man, although not quite as dressed, that stood out instantly to Weng. And he couldn't believe it.

Jarrod Thuman himself had visited him. Although no video documentation of the incident exists, it is known that the Chairman gave him a promotion to JYC General and several decorations on top of it. And the best part was that Thuman sat down and played video games with him for three hours straight. When Weng passed on four weeks later, Thuman paid for his funeral expenses and sent a wreath to his memorial service. And it had all started with a letter that no one thought would be replied to.

[Saracenia]

((OOC: Homage and parody of Lovecraft and Dancing Plague mashed! Enjoy!))

Dance, there's nothing you can worry about

This happened over a simple whisper uttered by a hole. A goat herder, came in by looking for his lost cattle, founded a black, giant hole in contrast of the green grasses around it and orange sky of the sunset. There he hunched over in hope of hearing a bleat of his goat.

He didn't found any bleat. Instead there was cryptic murmur under the hole, spoke by an otherwordly language the shepherd cannot identify and repeating the same message over and over. The speaker, so told the herder frantically to his master, cannot be seen by him, it must be hidden beneath the darkness of the hole. But for his surprise he could identify the message and as he slowly decipher it...

“God has dead.”

At the same time as he translated the murmur, he saw a writhing movement inside the hole. As the goat shepherd's eyes conformed with darkness he could saw an appendage-like object responsible for it inside the hole. The appendage was colourless and slimy. The goat herder was not quite sure whether it has countless or no orifice at all. The appendage now twisting erratically in bottom of the hole, meters below him.

The hills around him trembled and the appendage now has fully awakened from its slumber. Now it climbed the hole, slowly but surely, its tip swayed from right to left passionately. It has climbed the half of the hole now, still murmuring, eagerly approaching the first man that listened to it.

The shepherd's face paled and in fear he raced back for his master's house. He promptly ignore any goats, for that time only willed to from the hole and appendage that shall haunt him for the next days.

=============================================

It was unknown whether the herder's story was false or not, but he was very convincing in telling it. Similarly he was convinced with the words of the appendage. “God has dead” he repeated. “God has dead, there shall be no problem in the world, not any more, not under the whim of the omnipresent tyrant! There will be no salah, no zakat, no hajj, no sawm!”

Quickly he saw himself shunned by the devout villagers who shocked to see this mosque-visiting young chap turned into a Nietzchean nonsense. Marabout per marabout visiting his family's house and trying to exorcise him and all of them failed, they ran away in shock after attempting to reveal the herder's soul and proclaiming that the Iblis himself has possess him. One marabout was gruesomely injured and went to insanity.

The whispers were still there spoken secretly behind the presence of self righteous marabouts among the villagers. God has dead, so their good man herder said. He wasn't right, a milkman said sharply. Perhaps, another said. But the herder happened to believe it, and so are us..the appendage has locked their mind somewhere, forced them into wanting to believe. It could happen, yes...

One day, cackling, the herder went out of his family's house. Ignoring their cries and begging did he continued his walk into the mosque's frontyard, where a marabout that has failed to exorcise the devil within him was preaching another verse of Qur'an.

His cackle was louder and gather the attention of the congregation and people walked around him. The herder, in the middle of his cackling, proclaimed the death of God that descend the Qur'an into mankind, walking to the marabout and taking away his scripture, ripping and trampling it. Ignoring the crowd's shock he raised his hands and erratically moving his legs, swiveling while laughing and saying,

“When God is no more, Tyranny is no more!”

He danced, and later the entire congregation joined the dance.

And thus begin the endless march of dance in the village, led by the herder himself revered as the saint among the dancers. Slowly people began swarmed and join the march. Children, men and women alike all sank in hysteria and succumbing their sanity upon delight. Even the marabouts did participate, those who refused later escape from the village in terror.

Third day, many are fallen to death, exhausted. Fourth day, a fifth of the dancers are remained.

And by a week none of them were but rotting corpses swarmed by the wolves.

[The Jahistic Unified Republic]

Connors is back at that familiar desk only three weeks later. Weng Duhan had announced that the Sixth Party Congress would be held on the 20th of May in a press conference and although Connors looked happy during that conference, he was shaken on the inside. He didn't want Weng to use the Congress as a propaganda tool to increase his support. He had twenty whole days to decrease Weng's influence so much that it would ruin him. The clock kept ticking to it's annoying rhythm as Connors stared at a wall.

A ding from his email, indicating it was an urgent message.

And it was. It was a message from a foreign friend of his that had found out that Weng Duhan authorized a white phosphorous attack on Kulsandia's residential district, resulting in the deaths of hundreds. The fact that the attack happened was no secret in itself, but there was now concrete evidence that the General Secretary, acting in his position as Commander-in-Chief, authorized and encouraged a war crime. He asked for concrete confirmation and he got it in another thirty minutes.

I can't say I wouldn't have done the same thing. But I didn't. Weng did, and so he must pay for being caught.

He presses a button.

"Lisa, can you please get Miss Juno, Mister Terry and Admiral Buling to meet in my office in two hours?"

He had the meeting scheduled, but something was missing. He slowly gets up, the creek of the office chair was strangle more audible than any other time he had sat down or gotten up, and walks down the hall to the General Secretary's office. Weng was there, talking with some old friends when he noticed his unfortunate deputy standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, comrades, Comrade Weng will be preoccupied for a while. Please leave."

"General Connors, I didn't ask your permission to come here."

"Leave!" Connors shouted at Weng's friends as they went out. Connors shut the door rather violently behind him. In reality, he was really calm, but he needed to portray anger. If he played his cards right, he could force a resignation from Weng in the next twenty minutes.

"What are you doing here?" Weng shouted in confusion.

"It didn't take me fucking long to find dirt on you, General. But no, not the normal dirt. Not a sex scandal or a bribe here or there, but you've committed a war crime, General."

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Kulsandia, you authorized the deaths of hundreds of people using a cruel and unusual weapon."

Weng sat down and sighed. "Jacob, you don't understand how war works. In war, people die. Some of them die in painful ways and some not so painful. The point of war isn't to kill, however, it's to send a message with death. Do you feel any remorse for the Koy soldiers that died on that innocent boat? Do you feel any remorse for their families or their comrades?"

"You're a child killer, General." Connors interrupted. "I'm going to give you the chance to cede control of the army to me and retire with some honor and a nice pension."

"You have nothing on me, Comrade. Get the hell out of my office!"

Connors leaves.

Weng was right about one thing: in wars, people do die. It'll be really unfortunate when I present this to the Jahistic National Committee on the third and they arrest him in order to protect the integrity of the Party. Well, if the Jahistic Youth Corps doesn't get to him first.

[Maryginia]

"Jacobs, calm down, are you saying that the four highest members of the Yellows, are plotting, a coup?" Queen Madison Aduana said,

"Yes, here's the list of their plans we found, They plan to lead an attack, Taking the palace, executing if they can, exiling if not, You, and trying to put Romeo back on the throne, We all know he doesn't want it, but still." Rachel Jacobs, The Queens Foreign policy adviser said.

"And there's others on this list, Get Romeo under Royal Protective custody, the rest get them under custody for questioning, We'll figure out if this is true or not."

"Yes, my queen."

A few hours later, an annoyed cousin of the queen's and former monarch Romeo Lantren, came to the palace.

"What is this placing me under royal protective custody, seriously, What the Fuck is going on?"

"I'll tell you later get settled in and we'll talk."

[Saracenia]

Ssh! The horses' conference is still ongoing!

“Ugh. Screw it.”

A noise following, and an eighteen year old boy moaned in desperation, struggling to escape from thorny bushes that somehow has coiled around him in a noodle incident few seconds earlier. In front of him, a young cat-eared woman in white-and-pink robe, seemed to be unharmed and unconcerned. She patiently waited for the boy while humming some odd-language songs, occasionally conversing to plants and animals around him.

“Oh, don't make noises, you could disturb the ponies!” the woman shouted to the boy while waving her hand, cheering for him while remain in the place, stroking a hare. “Just struggle a little and you could go free!”

Suleiman Akbari was certainly wrong in coming with casual T-shirt and jeans into this damned forests. Hailed from a spoiled, wealthy, happy noble family in the town of Nippur miles away from this wildlife sanctuary, he never see any forest but the local park that his father donated for the townsfolk. His companion, the sanctuary's ranger and local nature goddess priestess was very carefree towards him and anything—what a typical catgirl. She also looked far younger than she really was, seventeen compared to fifty-six.

So the priestess in front of him wasn't really a chick. She was a crazy cat lady.

Wait, Suleiman, focus. He told himself. He pulled himself out of the bushes and it was successful—or too successful. He immediately pushed into another side of the footpath and slammed down in a very unpleasant manner, but at least he could continue his travel with the Crazy Cat Lady who immediately dropped the surprised hare and glomped him.

After some moment of awkward silence, Suleiman managed to move and pushed the catgirl. “So...uh, are those ponies near here?”

“Yes!” she nodded, twitching her ears and standing, motioned for Suleiman to follow her. She aded a whisper: “So be careful, don't shock them! They're having a conference!”

It was quite difficult to follow the catgirl's frantic yet voiceless move, almost like a ballet. Then Suleiman remembered he never did any ballet. Nevertheless he tread very carefully on the footpath, the cracking voice of him stepping dried leaves always met by her shush. From a distance, he could heard the voice of stomping hooves and neighing horses, perhaps a traditional dance of the ponies.

“Stop!” the catgirl whispered a few seconds later. She pointed to the field, then to a large, decaying wood. “Now there are your ponies! Watch from this and don't make any voice!”

The catgirl was right. This was the end of the footpath and the forest, in front of his eyes there was only endless steppes beyond. There perhaps hundreds of small horses of various colours gathered, stomped their feet and neighing in a large celebration. Even there were traditional tables made in civilised way where the ponies placed their food. God only knows how could hooves chopped trees!

“This is amazing. You know, I haven't see them before but in some documentaries. Watching them is..well, they're also very pretty.”

“Yes, they're pretty. Very cute! Look at their fur!” the catgirl pointed to a filly standing near to her mother, shy even to the friendly colts and fillies around her. “Do you see her? That purple filly that don't go play with others? I rescued her when she was a foal! Her mother was very happy when they rejoined. You know, there was a very, very big forest fires some months ago and only half of them managed to escape..”

He was only half-listened to her's rambling, because something has caught to her attention. “Hey,” he pointed to a purple mare, an unicorn, seeing the horn perched on her hand, with authoritative eyes resting her body to a high podium. “Is she the queen of the ponies?”

“Oh, yes! People referred to her as she's a demigod or something. They said she's the daughter of Sun. Or Moon? I cannot remember. Ponies worship nature, you see, just as me. So I'm usually—“

“Uhh, Ma'am.”

“Yes?”

“I'm only asking one question.”

“Oh.” the catgirl bit her lip. “I'm sorry.”

An awkward silence, again, following. Then the catgirl finally spoke. “I'm really sorry. You see, I'm lonely here, friendless but with ponies. I don't understand their language and they don't understand mine either. Then animals...they love me, but again the language problem. So I tend to ramble. There are other no workers in this section but me.“

“No workers?” Suleiman turned to her.

She nodded. “Yes, no—“

“Who said there are no other workers?” Suleiman cut her words. “I'll work here. This seems very fitting for me, I'm an animal lover after all! Beside I like pastel poni—ugh!”

“Oh, I'm sorry, I'm just sooo happy!” she glomped to Suleiman again, now suffocating the latter. “Don't mind me at all, no Siree! Don't mind me, just do your work!”

“Egh—well I should really mind you—you're on me, after all.”

“So!” she detached herself from Suleiman. “You could call me Eri. Ranger Eri, perhaps, Ranger Suleiman! You'll follow a little test here..” she gave him a bundle of papers. “And the Minister of Environment will approve it, then you return here and we'll work! Together!”

“Well, sort of can't be avoided, eh.” he shrugged. “And shh, I think the ponies are watching us now.”

[Luziyca]

The Final Days of Haclav's Regime
December 20, 1989
Erov Haclav City, Luziycan SR, Democratic People's Republic of Luziyca (West Luziyca)

Erov Haclav had prepared himself for the speech in front of the Supreme People's Assmelby. At the ripe old age of 91, he spent 54 years ruling over a powerful nation, and still claimed its neighbor to the east. He was growing paranoid that someone would oust him, and lately was installing bugs in all high ranking official's home. He was now facing a stagnation in the economy which was leaving it trailing behind the west. He just needed to tighten his tie and then he can make his speech. He did that, and made it more professional. Last was his communist lapel and his medals, and then he came out.

As he came out onto the podium in front of the Supreme People's Assembly, an orderly chant and applause of "EROV HACLAV" was heard and he felt satisfied. He then reached it and it stopped.

"Dogory Druzhena!" he began. "Chera, my smotrim nasheme uspekhi mi vokhodima ultima decennia i stoven ano."
Dear Comrades! Today, we look back on our successes as we enter the last decade of the present century.

"Petdiesyet-cinq ano, perdidit Fevrali Revolutsia y borbani vincere kommunsima nashey nacion," he said. "Mi bili dalig, y semdisyet ano, lucraturi kapitalista."
Nearly fifty-five years ago, we were devastated by the February Revolution and the struggle to achieve communism in our nation. We were poor, and that for over seventy years, we were exploited by the bourgeoisie.

"Chera, my socialista nebesa. Ano du milia, my uppna kommunism att store Karl Marx uzhe videbat," Haclav explained. "Y tunc mi budem vesti drugoy naciona: Kebek, Kofeiya, Namor, y Orientalia ke tomu zhe semita!"
Today, we are a socialist paradise. By the year 2000, we will achieve communism that the great Karl Marx has envisioned. And only then, shall we lead other nations: Quebec, Kofeiya, Namor, and Orientalia to the same path!

The rest of the Supreme People's Assembly applauded as it was the custom.

Haclav then continued, "Chera, Politburo fecita exsecutiva resheniye en novi plotina rymma ratuschiy speros elektrasitiya." A brief pause and then Haclav resumes the speech. "On budet idti Sprska Rado y stroitelstvo deinde Apreli y budut zaversheny i ano du milia dis. Kogda eto zaversheno..."
"Today, the Politburo has made an executive decision to construct a new dam to accommodate growing demand for electricity. It will go across the Sprska River and construction shall start next April and be completed by 2010. When it is completed...

By now, booing was heard. A representative chanted "Adhibe nashu ekonomiko!" (Fix our economy), while others chanted "Pensiyu!" (Retire!). Soon, virtually the chamber was chanting either of the two and he was unable to finish his speech.

He then shouted, "POCHEMU INCLUSISTI?" to the chamber to try and get order. He used that many times in the past to shut critics up.
Why don't you shut up?

But it won't work. The anger grew louder and Soren Nabova asked Haclav, "Bör Inleda blivit suverän?" Should Inleda become sovereign?
Haclav replied in Swedish, "Endast om det sköttes av hårdföra som jag själv." Only if it was run by hardliners like myself.

Finally, Haclav waved to the crowd and returned to his seat, feeling utterly humiliated by the response. The crowd went silent, and Adam Chernenko, his Vice-President proposed a motion.

"Yesli Erov Haclav utyi iz locona i Presidenta i DPRL y Predsedetel i Prezidium, a takzhe ta bort alla krafter i Generala-Secretaria?"
Should Erov Haclav retire from the positions of the Presidency of the DPRL and the Chairman of the Presidium, as well as strip the General-Secretary of all powers?"

The motion quickly got into vote in less than 30 minutes, and out of the 1,000 representatives, 260 representatives, all from the Inleda SR voted against for the vote of no confidence, while 73 of the Inledan representatives, 333 of the Arazei SRs representatives (all of them) and 333 of the Luziycan SR voted yes. Only one (Erov Haclav) of the Luziycan SR voted against the motion.

"Ita est, inquam Adam Chernenko kak ament tempus i eti du locus," Adam Chernenko said, clearly in the third person.
Thus, I declare Adam Chernenko as interim holder of these two positions.

In one fell swoop, Erov Haclav fell from being the undisputed strongman of West Luziyca to being a powerless bureaucrat. It was karma in a way: his ambition to power convinced the party to dismiss the aling Rod Bakunin in 1928 and have him take his place as Chairman of the Presidium, but both were allowed to remain members. The difference was that Erov Haclav was only a General-Secretary, but unlike in his late 20s and early 30s, or up until a few hours ago, he didn't have the same power and influence. Actually, he was no longer in charge of anything meaningful.

He muttered, "Zhelayu celare potero."
I wish I could suppress them.