Demokratiske Arbejderparti Sweeps Elections [OPEN]

by **Stjernland** » Mon Jun 27, 2016 5:56 pm

The result was unexpected, though perhaps it ought not to have been.

In the months prior to the elections, a general malaise had crept into the hearts of Stjernland's people. Work had grown scarce as the economy contracted, and, by the time speeches began to sputter through spotty Storstrand radios, tens of thousands relied on meager government handouts to keep their families from starvation. Even those citizens secure in their employment faced dwindling hours, not to mention severe pay reductions. By January 8th, runaway inflation had caused the price of milk to climb to 6.20 eiras per gallon, whereas the price of bread had skyrocketed to 8.80 eiras per loaf. Making matters worse, Herman Evenstad's government categorically refused to consider adjusting welfare policies to accommodate the tens of thousands who had been laid off, opting instead to allow the market to remedy itself. As the distress of the most destitute citizens grew, more and more became disenchanted with the Konservative Parti's stalwart commitment to laissez faire economics.

On January 23rd, the Nationale Union af Skovhuggere (NUS), the Kombineret Lærerforening (KLF), the Stjernlandhinghir Skibsbesætninger Union (SSU), and the Stålarbejderliga (SAL)¹ staged a series of workplace strikes and town-hall type demonstrations against the apparent inaction of the Althing². Lumber in particular comprised a substantial part of Stjernland's shrinking primary sector, giving the NUS a symbolic role as the soul of anti-establishment protests. Furthermore, the SSU's influence over the bustling docklands of Sollefterness, Thyrmhindhor, and Nylfliende meant that their picketing exacerbated existing shortages, especially those of imported goods. Union leaders stood firm despite stern words from Herman Evenstad, the Forseti Althingis³, who characterized the protesters as "rabble-rousing terrorists who had taken the nation hostage." Norman Falk, President of the NUS, responded aggressively, decrying Evenstad's remarks as "inappropriate and symptomatic of the elitist mentality of a man altogether apathetic to the plight of the working classes." His fiery speech, given in the Azurblå Rådhusplads⁴ on February 3rd, called for the dissolution of the current government pending a vote of no confidence.

Four days later, on February 7th, Herman Evenstad announced across-the-board tax cuts aimed at stimulating private sector growth and hiring. He also promised to push for a public sector jobs program, addressing the principal concern put forth by organized labor. These measures placated the vast majority of the protesters temporarily, though sporadic strikes continued with increasing frequency as shortages led to breadlines in Vintershoven, Retfærdigheim, Kristiania, and other large cities. Months passed without serious attempts by the Konservative fulltrúar⁵ in the Althing to make good on Evenstad's promises. On March 18th, the Olson-Grimstad Bill proposed by Franz Olson and Asgar Grimstad of the left-wing Demokratiske Arbejderparti was overwhelmingly defeated following a five day legislative battle. Meanwhile, the more moderate Swenhaugen Bill proposed by Valter Swenhaugen and edited by Sigmund de Marinis had been sent to committee by Evenstad, ensuring that it would never come to a vote. The watered-down Barlie-Selberg Bill, a creation of the ruling Konservative Parti, eventually passed on March 25th, over the dissent of the more radical fulltrúar, though it was seen as impotent and toothless by the unions and their allies.

The Barlie-Selberg Bill sequestered close to fifty million eiras as part of a so-called stimulus package. Critics lambasted the sequestration as "too little, too late," and bemoaned the allocation of sixty percent of it to large corporations in the form of subsidies. As the details of the legislation became more readily available, especially through outlets like Erik Losnedahl's popular left-wing talk show, the anger of opposition forces became more palatable. On March 28th, protests resumed, reaching an unprecedented mass. Highways were shutdown by marches and pickets, resulting in a compete economic shutdown. Sigmund de Marinis, the leader of the Kristendemokraterne, a moderate Catholic-backed party serving in Herman Evenstad's coalition government, denounced the Forseti Althingis, hinting that a dissolution might be imminent unless a deal could be reached. On March 30th, a vote of no confidence occurred, with sixty percent of the Althing voting for Evenstad to call special elections and step down. Finally, on March 31st, Evenstad acquiesced to the request of his colleagues, proclaiming his resignation in a heartfelt address, as well as his retirement from political life.

In the resulting elections, the Kristendemokraterne and the Demokratiske Arbejderparti were expected to have strong showings at the polls, with the former projected to sweep the elections with thirty eight percent of the vote. Socialism had never been popular in Stjernland, excusing a brief stint in the 1930's, and most educated people viewed the ideology as foreign and extreme. Despite this, Niklaus Bruunik's Demokratiske Arbejderparti seemed to gain as April wore on, climbing from nineteen percent of the vote to twenty eight percent of the vote. Some in more moderate circles suggested that the Konservative Parti's softened stance on the Swenhaugen Bill, promoted by the energetic leadership of Valter Rasmussen, would undermine the support enjoyed by the Kristendemokraterne. Additionally, some commentators began to suspect that the educated elites had underestimated the extent to which the unions had become radicalized by their experiences with the recession and corporate crackdowns. When voting closed on April 30th, their fears were proven legitimate.

The Demokratiske Arbejderparti had swept the elections, amassing 34% of the vote and securing 60 seats in the 175 seat Althing.

Election Results

Demokratiske Arbejderparti - 34%
Konservative Parti - 31%
Kristendemokraterne - 29%
Jord og Fred - 3%
Folkeforsamling: Lysendflamme - 3%

While this victory was unprecedented and impressive, it marked the beginning of an upward battle. The Konservative Parti had acquired 54 seats in the Althing, shocking analysts who had predicted the downfall of conservatism as a viable ideology in the wake of growing cynicism towards economic liberalism. This left the wounded Kristendemokraterne, who had under-performed by seizing a relatively meager 51 seats, with a conundrum. Sigmund de Marinis and Valter Rasmussen, ignoring the unlikely threat of their socialist rivals, had waged a mutually bitter campaign, parrying vitriolic words with personal attacks and mudslinging. By the time the polls had closed, a strong antipathy had sprung up between the two men, making cooperation nearly unthinkable. De Marinis, for his part, felt distrustful of Rasmussen's assurance that he would lobby for the passage of a renewed Swenhaugen Bill, believing that this campaign promise had been a gimmick designed to undermine his own party's soaring popularity.

Sensing the profound enmity between his political opponents, Niklaus Bruunik reached out to de Marinis on May 2nd, proposing a coalition government. Bruunik guaranteed that the passage of the Swenhaugen Bill, albeit in a more expanded format, would be a priority of his administration. Furthermore, the Kristendemokraterne would be treated as equal partners in the coalition, a departure from their former status as the back-benchers of a right-wing Althing. The Kristendemokraterne having wanted for a taste of genuine power for close to eight years readily accepted this proposal, and, on May 4th, a joint Demokratiske Arbejderparti-Kristendemokraterne-Jord og Fred government was announced, with Niklaus Bruunik sitting as Forseti Althingis.

Ástandkontor, Forgildhus¹
Sollefterness, Kingdom of Stjernland

Astrid blinked several times in quick succession, then bit her lower lip to suppress the yawn that had been threatening to escape for the better part of an hour.

"So, you as you can see, Your Highness," the bald man in a stuffy gray suit prattled, "It is imperative that the Crown acknowledges the good sense of this legislative undertaking. The Bruunik-Swenhaugen Act polls favorably with most demographics and will be seen as a decisive, proactive response to our recent economic woes. More importantly, it will mark the beginning of our resurgence as a respected nation-state with a stable, modern economy." This verbose statement punctuated what had been a three-hour conversation on the subject of economics. It had meandered around the topics of discouraging speculation, hiking taxes, passing regulations to discourage frivolous loans, and engaging in robust stimulus spending, feeling more like a soliloquy than a conversation much of the time. Astrid managed to nod or mumble her agreement occasionally, but this was never anything more than halfhearted and cursory.

Despite having endured a month-long barrage of scholarly terms and poorly-sketched graphs, Astrid was still clueless about how economics functioned. Herman Evenstad had rambled about something called a Laffer Curve, and waxed passionate about the evils of protectionism and dead-weight loss about a week ago. He had been followed by a man whose name she couldn't remember, who thought interest rates essential to correcting all the world's problems. Terms of trade, collusion, oligopolies, progressive income taxes, aggregate demand, inflation, price ceilings, and all manner of other things had been mentioned since then. These phrases flitted aimlessly through Astrid's brain. She could not recall any of it most of the time, and, even when she did, it came out as a confusing jumble of unintelligible hogwash. In truth, she had begun to wonder whether any of these suits, as she called them with contempt, even understood their elaborate theories and grand designs. Probably not, she thought, heaving a sigh.

She toyed with a strand of her hair, twirling it between her thumb and pointer finger absentmindedly. I'm getting split ends, she noted with frustration, And these lectures aren't helping. God, I need a break. A polite cough stirred her from her reveries. Niklaus Bruunik was still sitting across from her, a single well-muscled hand thumping lightly against his mahogany desk with a grandfather's patience. He was peering at her expectantly through the glasses that sat like a slug atop his bulbous nose, a trio of wrinkles etching themselves into his broad, gently sloping forehead. "Um..." Astrid began, pursing her lips and glancing sideways out a window to her left. An orchard trimmed with rosy pink flowers greeted her from the courtyard. She thought it a much more attractive sight than the man who had just gotten himself elected as the Forseti Althingis. It was certainly more interesting. Flowers seldom attempted to scold her on the virtues of this or that economic policy.

"I was just explaining why the Crown should support the Bruunik-Swenhaugen Act," Bruunik remarked dryly. "Oh, right!" Astrid exclaimed, feigning excitement, "You made a lot of good points. I'll bring it up with uncle Frederick as soon as I leave." A tense albeit shrewd smile crossed Bruunik's face, causing his high cheek bones to jut out, making him seem even gaunter than he actually was. "Thank you, Your Highness," he said simply. Rising from her chair, Astrid groaned inwardly about her shaky her legs were. Her right foot had fallen asleep an hour and a half ago, and had been revived by a swift kick to the desk. This had caused the Forseti Althingis to raise an eyebrow and, more importantly, had put a small but noticeable scratch on her boot. She was grumpy already. Staying any longer would only put her in a worse mood. "Is that everything?" she asked, looking pitifully at her damaged boot. "It is," he said with a nod, "I wouldn't want to keep the queen from her duties..." Astrid strolled towards the door, striving to preserve a facade of elegance and cool decorum. "Likewise," she called back, "I wish you the best, sir."

Once the queen had escaped the confines of the Ástandkontor, she hurried down to the courtyard, where a motorcade of black Cadillac automobiles waited to spirit her back to Skumringfallas². The scent of the orchard was intoxicating as she passed, with the light breeze of early afternoon causing dying petals to dance from branch to ground in a slow, graceful motion. A warm buzzing sound echoed through the trees as a pair of bumble bees swirled around the flowers. They were collecting honey no doubt. I'll have to ask the cook to make honningkager³ for dessert, Astrid thought, her mouth watering as she imagined the mingled taste of savory honey, sweet baked fruits, and light dessert wines. She also made a note to work the bag for an hour before supper, though swimming was an equally tantalizing possibility. Dining with her uncle would be a less pleasant experience, of course, but he was a kind man, despite his sternness. Stepping briskly through the center Cadillac's opened door, Astrid cleanly rubbed the wrinkles from her skirt. She disliked skirts generally, preferring jeans or tights, but her uncle Frederick had insisted on her looking proper today.

"Maybe I'll dine in my bikini tonight," she mused, giggling at the image of her uncle's tomato red face as he fumed. What a prank that would be!

by **Stjernland** » Tue Jun 28, 2016 12:29 pm

OOC: I see that a decent number of folks have read the original post, and have voted using the poll. However, while I'm grateful for any attention my role-plays get, I'd like to get the ball rolling as far as in-character responses to the elections go. I'd like to see different nations applauding the results, criticizing the results, adjusting their diplomatic relations with Stjernland to address the first genuine left-wing government in decades, etc. etc. Additionally, and I might make another thread for this, I'd like to begin building my royal family. It will be strongly tied to other royal families, so much so that Queen Astrid may hail from a foreign house. This means that her uncle, the regent, will likely be a foreign royal of some sort.

AS AN IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: I'm looking for someone to role-play Astrid's uncle Frederick. He is the brother of the late Prince-Consort, Astrid's father, and should be the member of a foreign royal family, likely a younger son of some king or queen. I'm looking for a noble in his late forties or so. He is the current regent, boasting considerable political clout. This role will give whoever plays it lasting influence with Stjernland's royal court, so it should only be taken on by a dedicated role-player who is interested in future role-plays. Send a telegram to me if you're interested in role-playing Frederick. The name is still negotiable by the way, though something English, French, German, or Nordic is preferred.

by **Knootoss** » Tue Jun 28, 2016 1:05 pm

Alas, the election in the small Scandinavian country went largely unnoticed in the Dutch Democratic Republic of Knootoss. Recent events simply didn't play into any of the narratives that were currently playing well on KNN, the most dominant media outlet. The 'scary socialists taking over the world' line was hampered somewhat by the evident reasonableness of the shift in the face of economic circumstances and the fact that... well... they hadn't actually won themselves a majority! Nor were there any nice visuals of looting to act as B-roll for a news report.

A belated press release acknowledged the bare facts of the case, then, when an irate bureaucrat noted that the media had ignored the situation.

Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Defence
"Omnia mutantur nos et mutamur in illis"

For immediate release: Stjernlander elections yield new government

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Defence is pleased to note that peaceful elections have recently taken place in the Kingdom of Stjernland. The people have had their say in free and fair elections even in the face of violence by trades unions and relative economic instability. The government of the Dutch Democratic Republic is pleased to note that a non-socialist majority has been returned to parliament and that a coalition government has been formed with a commitment to democratic ideals. In accordance with Prime Minister Maurits Viljoens' commitment to protecting and developing democracy, the ministry will continue to monitor the situation.

This government communication has been printed on biodegradable paper. All carbon emissions associated with the creation of this government communication have been off-set with new plantings in Colombia, using the Pink Bunny Tree™ Carbon Offset Scheme, sponsored by the Pink Bunny Cola Corporation and the Global Hell Group. For more information about the Pink Bunny Tree™ Carbon Offset Scheme, consult http://www.futureproof.kn.

((Love the RP concept, even if I really don't have any hooks to go with on further interaction. Keep on truckin'! ))

by **Praciba** » Tue Jun 28, 2016 1:21 pm

To Her Majesty the Queen of Stjernland,

News of the elections within your nation have reached our ears. While the future always remains an uncertain thing, especially in these general times of turmoil, we wish to convey our most sincere feelings of hope and hopefulness towards yourself and your fine nation. As a long standing monarchy that has accepted the ideas of the people according to our royal decrees, we know the pitfalls that a government of the people can bring, as you know as well, we are sure. Then again, in this day and age, a government of the people is almost always required to provide for the progress needed to steer a nation to greatness. To help in this time of possible uncertainty, we hereby offer our hand in friendship and progress and we hereby invite a delegation to the Pillizion mós Scarandos to incite the dialogue that will bring together our nations in a closer bond. While our obvious preference would go towards Your Majesty's self, we will leave the decision in regards to the delegation to yourself, as is your right as a sovereign. As-is the decision to send or not a send a delegation, obviously.

Perhaps until soon in the sunny city of Civitanam,

Serenissimi Principis Augustus Thorvaldsson Patania-Pracib
Serenissimi Principis þor Praßiba unt þor Praßib, Heir of Patan, Þrúkibðuß mós ßiviþinam, Count of the Civitanam Capital City, Count of the Internal Areas, Count of the Outer Regions, Brikð Second Class of the Order of Gravius, Eel Third Class of the Order of the Royal Eel, Cupbearer of the Holy Water of the Knights of the Holy Water of Ormuß

by **Stjernland** » Tue Jun 28, 2016 8:09 pm

Royal Bedchambers, Skumringfallas
Sollefterness, Kingdom of Stjernland

The flame had gradually sunk lower and lower as the wick dissolved into ashes. A pale light blanketed the room, its softness mimicking the glow of fireflies as they darted by the windowpane. Only the sweet fragrance of vanilla had kept Astrid from wadding her letter into a ball and tossing it into the rubbish bin at the base of her combined dresser and desk. Giving a little huff, she brushed back a few stray hairs then pinched her brow. "Who even talks like this?" she complained, massaging her forehead between her fingers. "It's just stupid." She glared at Augustus's letter, pressing her lips together with distaste. "Imbecilic," she spat in a mocking tone, "That's probably how you'd write it anyway, huh?" Astrid had been scribbling for several hours, striving to sound as dignified and royal as possible, but she kept hitting roadblocks. More than once, she had considered asking her uncle to complete the letter, but she was loathe to admit defeat on a matter as trivial as this. Not today. Not after the argument that had happened that afternoon.

He, meaning her uncle Frederick, had flown into a frenzy after she quarreled with her violin instructor. The day had begun badly as it was. Astrid had been woken by severe cramps, with her tummy bloating up soon after. She would have preferred to spend the morning curled up in a mass on one side of her mattress with blankets and pillows heaped over her, but, according to Magda, one of her ladies-in-waiting, a queen had responsibilities. Magda, together with Iris and Ragna, had pulled her from her little fastness, weaving her golden hair into a braid, painting her eyelashes with mascara, and patting her face with powder and blush. Astrid, after handling her womanly issue, had sat with her tutors most of the morning, learning French, German, and Latin. Her instruction in the natural sciences had gone stellar as usual, merely involving a bit of fidgeting with the makeshift solar panel she had built from copper sheets the week before. She cheerfully jotted down a few small observations in her journal before finalizing her report. The day would've ended on a high note, except for the fact that Astrid was virtually tone deaf. On this particular day, her violin teacher, Mademoiselle Haillet, had scolded her for forgetting the sheet music. Astrid had called her "a heinous bitch" and smashed her violin to pieces against the tile floor before storming off. Mademoiselle Haillet then burst into tears, weeping uncontrollably until Astrid's uncle escorted her to her quarters. When Frederick returned to address her, she had greeted him with a sullen silence. He had sternly reproached her, saying that she had behaved like a spoiled child and that she had no business calling herself a queen if she could not manage her responsibilities like an adult.

Huffing again, Astrid plucked her pen from its inkwell, hardly aware of how dim the room had grown. "You'll see just how much of an adult I am," she said hotly. "Will lead the delegation..." she began hesitantly before changing her mind, "No. That's not right. That's too simple... How about... shall act as the head... the symbolic head of the delegation, our uncle - our beloved uncle..." An ironic smile brightened her face. I guess I do love him, she conceded to herself, Even if I hate that he treats me like a kid. Determined to prove herself, Astrid carefully completed the letter's rough draft. The final copy went even more smoothly. A giggle erupted from the queen's lips when she leaned back to gaze analytically at her work. "Even uncle Frederick won't have anything bad to say about it," she said, beaming radiantly. Carefully, she shuffled towards her bed, stopping only to blow out the scented candles that littered her drawers.

"Ragna, sweetie?" she called softly. A grumpy mumble answered her in the darkness. In the light of the half moon, Astrid could just make out the cascade of auburn tresses that belonged to the fifteen year old girl. She had fallen asleep in her maroon skirt and cream-colored silk blouse, and, knowing her, would likely wake up in her maroon skirt and cream-colored silk blouse. Smiling warmly, Astrid, who had changed into her night gown hours ago, cuddled against her friend. Long before she fell asleep, Ragna's gentle snoring began to lure her into a stupor. Tossing and turning was a given with Ragna most nights, but tonight was more tranquil than Astrid had expected. I'm happy... Astrid mused, Why can't every bad day end like this?

Royal House of Alfsangr

After the darkness, dawn will break.

To His Serene Highness the Prince Augustus Thorvaldsson of Patania-Pracib,

We are exceedingly grateful for your offer of sincere friendship and support amid these troublesome times that do test the esteem in which democratic governance is held most sternly, and it would please us greatly to attend you at the Pillizion mós Scarandos with a mind to resolving the present economic crisis that has gripped our fair nation. With your blessings we will depart for the Serenissimus Regnum within one week's time to discuss potential solutions to what has become an enduring problem. While we, Astridr Katharina Gry Hildegaard af Alfsangr, by the Unending Grace of God, Queen of Stjernland, Princess-Elector of Grael, Duchess of Brandeis-Loringhoven, Countess of Skye and Orkney, and Lady of the Evening Star shall act as the symbolic head of the delegation, our beloved uncle Frederick Wilhelm Augustus of Bellegarde-Thrystaine, Lord-Regent of Stjernland, Kongenshånd, and Duke of Mailáth shall handle any and all negotiations on account of our well-attested minority. We pray this arrangement is satisfactory to you, our much cherished friends in the Serenissimus Regnum.

Until the stars smile upon our meeting,

Her Royal Highness the Queen of Stjernland

by **Praciba** » Wed Jun 29, 2016 4:38 am

To Our Friend, Her Majesty the Queen of Stjernland,

The arrangement is satisfactory to both myself and my brother, the Ibðuß. We shall arrange for ample rooms to be available for the delegation within the Pillizion mós Scarandos and Titané D'Light, our Royal Stylist, has decided on an extravagant velvet theme for the meeting and feels that the Velvet Wing, not that that surprises anyone, would suit perfectly as accommodation for the delegation. Should your beloved uncle have a dislike to velvet, he should feel free to announce such a preference when he arrives. I'm sure that we could arrange for something else if that happens, although I myself will not be available to aid him in such an endeavor, as university business will be pulling me away for a large part. Any sane person should have a loathing of examinations, in my opinion, but alas they are needed to receive the treasured piece of paper at the end. We shall further arrange for a satellite connection to be available from our side, should the need arise to maintain a link with those back in Stjernland.

Security measures shall be handled by our very capable Royal Guard and it's leader, General Frasiéré, although the delegation is free to bring along security if there is a need from your side. Should there be any special requests in regards to the entertainment or food during the meeting, we are sure that we will receive them in a timely fashion from the delegation.

With my personal pleasure and hope towards the future of our two nations,

Serenissimi Principis Augustus Thorvaldsson Patania-Pracib
Serenissimi Principis þor Praßiba unt þor Praßib, Heir of Patan, Þrúkibðuß mós ßiviþinam, Count of the Civitanam Capital City, Count of the Internal Areas, Count of the Outer Regions, Brikð Second Class of the Order of Gravius, Eel Third Class of the Order of the Royal Eel, Cupbearer of the Holy Water of the Knights of the Holy Water of Ormuß

by **Stjernland** » Wed Jun 29, 2016 12:37 pm

Forgreninghår - the Call to Action

Premier Nationalist Newsletter of Stjernland

Why the elections don't reflect the true will of the folk

Dagfinn Mogensen, Forgreninghår - the Call to Action

Over the last few weeks it has become irrefutably evident that our cherished democratic traditions have been trampled under foot and transgressed in every conceivable manner by our elected representatives and the political machines they operate. While some might vacillate in doing so, I will not hesitate to acknowledge those relentless, uncouth enemies of our beleaguered nation, those moral vacuums who comport themselves without tact, decency, or honor, for what they are: seditious criminals.

It has become generally accepted, even by esteemed academics and foreign ministries, such as Knootoss's Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Defence, that violence on the part of trade unions undermined the ruling Konservative Parti government, leading to its dissolution and the resignation of Herman Evenstad. No stretch of the imagination is demanded to assert that Norman Falk and his mendacious coterie of czars, who may only be called elites despite their entrenchment in the ranks of organized, blue-collar labor, are in fact proxies of Niklaus Bruunik's left-wing Demokratiske Arbejderparti, and prime conspirators in his ascent to the office of Forseti Althingis. Falk, Poulsen, Svendsen, and the others are all well-attested, high-profile, card-carrying members of the Demokratiske Arbejderparti, as a matter of course, and each of them, to a man, threw their robust support behind Bruunik's elective coup.

Following the defeat of the Olson-Grimstad Bill, a pattern of debilitating strikes, congesting marches, burdensome picket lines, and left-wing thuggery, including no less than twenty three brawls between trade unionists and so-called scabs, gripped our nation. These brawls were not tame affairs either, not merely the result of impassioned throngs of workers acting on the caprices of mob mentality. At least fifteen counter-demonstrators suffered severe cuts and lacerations, requiring immediate medical attention in the aftermath of their infliction. One observer referred to it as "a systematic campaign of intimidation and repression, where only a singe voice, that of the Left, could be heard." When the Barlie-Selberg Act, a conservative-sponsored compromise bill aimed at stimulating the economy, passed in the Althing by a narrow margin, the violence and rioting intensified, leading to a complete economic shutdown. This ultimately accomplished the objective of the Left: compelling Evenstad, a well-known, popular, and, by most accounts, brilliant statesmen to resign the office he had held without interruption for eight long, prosperous years.

And, just like that, the violence ended. There were no more strikes, no more picket lines, no more long-winded speeches to accompany the marches that had blocked off principal roads, no more riots in the streets of Kristiania or Sollefterness, and no more brutal stabbings of the opposition. Only an utter fool, an inconceivable dolt, a studied ignoramus, would suggest that this was anything less than subterfuge on the part of a shadow government to replace the existing government, which is precisely what occurred in the aftermath. Bruunik's cabal of socialists seized the reins of power with a coerced popular mandate after ruining their rivals and exacerbating the economic woes of the nation as a whole. This represents an absolute departure from the spirit of democratic practice, and this conspiracy must be overturned if the true spirit of the folk is to shine through in the halls of governance. It is the responsibility of Her Majesty's subjects to safeguard the welfare of the kingdom by whatever means necessary. This has ever been a well-regarded truth, since the very foundation of Stjernland.

In closing, I will reiterate the worrisome plight of our nation. We have been consigned to destitution in the wake of last years market collapse and recession, and,, while we ought to be unified as a single people, some unscrupulous vultures have perceived this moment in which our state is enervate as an opportunity to enrich and elevate themselves as the expense of the nation as a whole in a sordid act of sedition. It is seemly to reflect on the justice that no doubt awaits those thugs and charlatans when the people have had their fill of disreputable left-wing politicking. However, justice must come at the hands of an energized, indignant populace, and that, dear readers, is why I am addressing you now. Violence must be met with overwhelming violence. Appeasement has been demonstrated, time and again, to be a futile endeavor. Let us remember this going forward, until the day that we see our homeland freed of all tyranny and corruption.

by **Stjernland** » Tue Jul 05, 2016 2:35 pm

Einar's Grove, Skumringfallas
Sollefterness, Kingdom of Stjernland

A veil of green leaves provided ample shelter from the sunlight that filtered lazily through the forest canopy. It was a warm, indolent summer afternoon on the sort of day when dragonflies drifted carelessly around the edges of the great pond that sat less than a hundred yards from the northern perimeter, circling around cattails with all the grace of a drunkard stumbling through the streets of the Valmarinn district at 3 AM. Astrid had promised Ragna and Iris that they would make up a picnic one day soon, before the mid-summer festival, and would busy themselves swimming in the clear, pristine water and feeding the ducks with handfuls of dark brown, oval seeds. She would have insisted on bringing a few rods along as well, but Magda and Iris found fishing repulsive and cruel, not to mention her uncle Frederick very vocal disapproval of such unladylike activities. A soft smile creased across her lips as she thought of how excitedly Iris had squealed when their biology instructor, hearing of their plans, had casually mentioned that a couple swans might have made the pond their summer home.

Einar's Grove, as it had been called for centuries, was a large clump of oak, ash, and pine trees that was nestled in a secluded, quiet corner of Skumringfallas. According to the royal historian, Adolf Brenner, it matched the description of the site where Einar of the Golden Hair had sworn an oath of undying brotherhood with his eventual successor King Ramirus the Elf-Singer in the old sagas. For untold generations, persons of regal or noble blood had sealed contracts in blood within sight of the gnarled, old oak that towered over the cool, dark heart of the grove, following the example of their forefathers. Even the conversion of King Ottomar in 1091 had not curbed the practice, though it lost any religious significance in the aftermath of this pivotal event. It was a solemn place, where few flowers grew, altogether different from the palatial gardens that sat adjacent to it. Every word, every breath, seemed to echo through the pines, growing faint as a whisper yet lingering in the heart longer than seemed normal. To those, like Astrid, who could not yet understand the traditions that resided here, older than all but the oldest trees, it was unsettling, haunting even.

The queen had not wandered into the somber depths of the grove, where ravens occasionally perched, cawing at her with stern eyes, instead lingering at its edge. The gargantuan oak with its sweetly rotting bark, the uncanny silence that prevailed throughout the inky wood, and the whisper of the breeze that too often mimicked a hushed gurgle of human voices unnerved her. Even strolling into the eaves had taken the lion's share of her courage, and she sat shivering as the branches rattled and creaked overhead. "What's taking her so long?" Astrid croaked. The ghostly tendril of a low hanging branch brushed against her crown as if scolding her, its fingers snatching knots and tangles of her hair. She let out a high-pitched squeak, then wrestled her hair loose, careful not to snap so much as a twig from the menacing ash tree that had taken note of her. A simple prayer, the kind spoken by children before bed, hurried from her parched lips. Somewhere near the center of the grove, several pines and oaks creaked, though the low din recalled the restrained chuckling of parents amused at a toddler's precocious nature. Astrid bit her lip nervously, drawing a small trickle of blood. In the distance, a soaring raven cried out cheerfully.

"Your Highness!" came a panicked call, "Your Highness!" Mademoiselle Haillet scuttled haphazardly between a pair of tree trunks, almost falling on her face in the process. She looked distressed, her pretty features having been contorted by fear. Her slender eyebrows, a demure shade of chestnut brown, arched high in her now wrinkled brow, while her jaw hung limp. Her nostrils flared out with each labored breath. All color had drained from her face. Einar's Grove tended to have this effect on foreigners. It was forbidding and grim, just like the men who had settled them. One could not say definitively whether the woods had made the men or the men had made the woods. Astrid sprang to her feet, brushing a bit of dust from her jeans. She had the sneaking suspicion that she had dressed too casually, but pressed through it anyhow, eager to leave the grove behind as quickly as possible. "I'm here, Madaemoiselle Haillet," she announced herself, smiling, "I've been waiting for you."

Josephine's flustered gaze flitted towards her, her dilated pupils narrowing accusingly. "This isn't a prank," Astrid assured her hurriedly, "I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other day, and my uncle Rikard says this is where the king and queens of old made their peaces." The violinist was taken aback, then stared at her intently. Astrid understood her suspicion immediately. "This is my own decision," she blurted out, "My uncle Frederick had nothing to do with it." Josephine nodded, her features softening somewhat. It was sometimes hard for Astrid to remember that the woman was only seven years her senior, but moments like this reminded her acutely of that fact. "This place gives me the creeps," Josephine murmured at last, glancing around semi-frantically. "I'm not surprised," Astrid giggled, her laughter sounding more nervous than intended, "I feel the same way." She moseyed forward, gripping her tutor's arms firmly. Her fingers slid down Josephine's thin arms until she cupped the tutor's hands in her side-turned palms. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, and for smashing the violin," she confessed, blinking with shame, "I was so beastly to you. That's not how a queen is supposed to act. I wanted to make up for it."

Bending down, Astrid clutched the neck of a violin composed of scented rose-wood. It was delicately strung with silver chords that twinkled as serenely as any star, even amid the bleakness of the grove. Lovely runic symbols embellished the design, chiseled into the wood and embossed with tiny shards of obsidian. They recounted the feats of Ramirus the Elf-Singer who could weave melodies in the language of the birds. "I know how much you loved that violin," she said, "So I had Lars carve a new one. It's yours." Josephine took the violin gingerly, not trusting its ostensible frailty. She could not muster so much as a single word, and tears were flooding her eyes. "Lastly," Astrid intoned, her expression as solemn as the atmosphere in that moment, "I would like you to accompany me to the Pillizion mós Scarandos. I'll need a violin instructor, no doubt, and I wish to show how thankful I am for your service. Will you forgive me? Please?"

"It's so beautiful," Josephine managed at last, "Thank you, Your Highness. I'll do my best to support you at the Pillizion mós Scarandos as well. And there's nothing to forgive." She hugged Astrid awkwardly, sobbing gently the whole time. When they broke their embrace to follow the path that meandered through the grove back to the palatial gardens, Astrid said, "I've already packed your bags. You'll wear nothing but your favorite dresses. And you might find some new favorites too." This brought a giggle from Josephine, who wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her roughly. "What will your uncle say about all this?" she teased, "Spoiling the servants?" Astrid smiled radiantly, enjoying the banter. "I'm the queen," she laughed, "I can spoil whoever I want. I'm not a very sophisticated girl, so buying dresses is really the only way I know of showing my appreciation." Josephine nodded, snorting slightly at the remark. "That's why I'm here, Your Highness," she said, "I'll teach you to play a sonata so lovely that the angels up in heaven will weep to hear it."

"Hey!" she exclaimed "I'm not that bad at the violin!" They continued their happy chatter all along the path, trading japes and well-intended insults until they reached their destination. Any servants who saw them would have marveled at how well the two of them got along. Everyone knew that the queen seldom had anything positive to say about Mademoiselle Haillet. This marked the beginning of a change. None knew then what might come of it.

Docking Terminal Alpha, Maximilian T. Hattestad International Airport
Sollefterness, Kingdom of Stjernland

Ragna nibbled voraciously on the half-sandwiches that Iris had been sweet enough to make that morning. They consisted of lightly toasted bread, a savory spread of creamy feta cheese sweetened with delicate additions of strawberry extract, and toppings that included sliced granny smith apples, raisins of two colors, and lightly-salted, roasted walnuts. Iris had intended them as a light snack, but Ragna had already devoured six of the sandwiches, not counting the one that was swiftly dissolving into crumbs before their eyes. Magda had assumed her general lofty air, deigning only to glare at her gluttonous friend. "What?" Ragna griped at last. "You're so ill-mannered, Ragna," Magda huffed, "A lady is supposed to eat slowly." The younger girl took one last, massive mouthful to finish the sandwich, almost choking until she washed it down with a gulp of water. "I was hungry," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"How on earth were you hungry!?" Magda exclaimed, "You ate two bowls of fruit and five granola bars at breakfast!" Ragna shrugged again, brushing crumbs from her dress with rough strokes of her tiny hands. This caused wrinkles to form her rich verdant dress, but the inattentive fifteen year old failed to take any notice. "She's a growing girl," Astrid laughed, "Those sandwiches are in a better place now." As if to accentuate the point, Astrid lightly squeezed one of Ragna's breasts, making the younger girl turn a bright shade of crimson. "You're such a perv, Kat," her victim complained grumpily. "It is rather undignified," Magda agreed sternly, "Queens don't just go around groping their friends' boobs."

"I guess that's true," Astrid conceded, "Besides, if I'm always fondling your boobs, no boy'll ever get the chance." Ragna looked as though she might jump out the window of the private jetliner, while Magda's mouth hung agape. Iris, who had been quietly reading a book of romantic poetry from Al-Imaru, giggled softly at the remark. "You're being mean today, Kat," she scolded her, "You shouldn't tease her so." Astrid glanced at her inquisitively. Iris was a demur, bookish girl; slender, snow-blonde, and pretty. She was not quite as close to Astrid as Ragna, but her sweet, careful nature balanced wonderfully with Astrid's much more impulsive tendencies. "Don't be jealous, Iris," she shot back, "While it may be difficult to find them, I'll squeeze your boobs one day too. Perhaps I'll dispatch a royal search party to scour your blouse for clues!" A few stifled giggles erupted from the girls, with Ragna snorting audibly as she struggled to contain intermittent bursts of laughter. "You're one to talk," Magda said, a mischievous smile reaching to her cheeks, "You used to stuff your bra with tissue paper every morning." This remark was greeted with additional chortling.

"I did," Astrid admitted, blushing a pretty pink hue, "I was too young to know better then, but I'm a woman now. And every grown woman knows that a push-up bra is the way to go. Or maybe two push-up bras." Ragna stamped her foot. "Is that the speech that got you elected president of the itty-bitty titty committee?" the girl inquired, cocking her head winsomely. "What if it is?" Astrid asked. "Then Stjernland is doomed," Magda said, pretending to bemoan the fate of their nation, "We've never had a tit-less queen who couldn't give a speech. What ever will we do?" Astrid glanced at her friends conspiratorially. "We've had worse," she said quietly, "We've had dozens of kings." The laughter was unrestrained this time. Ragna slammed her hands together in riotous applause, Magda had tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, and Iris even folded her book shut amid fits of tremulous giggling.

"You mentioned boys earlier, Kat?" Iris finally managed, "Why don't you tell us about your admirer?" Astrid frowned, folding her arms stiffly across her chest. "Augustus is NOT an admirer," she sniffed, "I can't stand him anyhow. He's so stiff and pretentious and boring." A soft smile blossomed on the other girl's face. "That's precisely what a girl half in love would say," Iris reasoned. "You've been reading too many romance novels," Astrid grumbled, biting her lip in irritation.

"You'd be better off marrying his older brother anyhow," Magda asserted. Ragna made a disgusted face, tensing her fists into little, fleshy balls. "He's so plain-looking though," she said, dragging her words out for emphasis. "He has a pretty smile," Iris allowed, attempting to focus on Francisco's redeeming qualities, "And his sense of humor is rumored to be very keen." Magda shook her head forcefully. "None of that matters," she said, "He's a king. That should be enough for anyone." Every one of them knew that Magda prioritized a man's status and wealth over his looks, personality, or manners. She was the granddaughter of the Duke of Thyrmhindhor, as her full name Magdalena Havslot made abundantly clear, and this had shaped her views of marriage from an early age. The Duke was a strict, old-fashioned man who firmly believed that the needs of one's family came before personal desires. This explained many of Magda's behaviors and much of her attitude. "It's talk like that that makes everyone think you're going to marry a fat, old man one day," Ragna remarked playfully. Magda laughed, but it was halfhearted and her gaze looked pained.

Astrid peered at Magda sympathetically, knowing full well how wounding the innocent joke had been. "I'm not going to Praciba to get hitched," she said at last, "Prince Augustus merely invited us to discuss the recession. His looks and charm are irrelevant to me." Iris seemed to heave a sigh of relief, whereas Magda gave her queen a thankful glance. "Yuck," Ragna said. "It's necessary," Astrid replied, "Uncle Frederick still refuses to allow me to appoint Iris as our Chancellor of the Exchequer, so I figure this is our next best option." Iris beamed at her, a slight blush creeping onto her pale skin. Economics, literature, and languages were the three areas where Iris excelled as a student, and, while normally humble, she was very open to flattery from people she respected and adored.

"I see land!" Ragna screamed excitedly. "And so it begins," Magda said ominously, as the jet began to descend. "I wonder what Praciba will be like," Iris muttered, opening her book to the exact page she had been reading.

by **Praciba** » Fri Jul 08, 2016 11:09 am

Pillizion mós Scarandos, Civitanam Capital City
Honorary Grand Duchy of Civitanam, Praciba

The Pillizion mós Scarandos. Scarandos Palace. Depending on whom you would ask, either a wretched hive of the capitalist and royalist movements of Praciba or a genuinely nice place where history, culture, economics and leadership came together. In any way however, the Pillizion mós Scarandos, named after the legendary first ruler of Civitanam, was as close as a building could come to the monster of Frankenstein. Prominently featured on the Royal Hill, or Deuro mós Zillion, in the middle of the city of Civitanam, the palace was rumoured to have had a view over the entire area back in it's earlier days. While this feature was no longer available, the palace was still sporting a view over the majority of the city and property with a view of the palace had slowly turned ever-so-popular and up-priced within the city.

Throughout the ages, rulers had added sections to the palace whenever they could, an addition seen as a solid way to proclaim one's wealth and power as a ruler in a lasting way as old sections were rarely removed. Rather, old sections were delicately renovated and, when needed, filled with replica furniture and fittings if originals were no longer available. With each ruler adding to the palace, the palace was both a 'living' piece of history, for as far as a building could live, and a mash-up of all kinds of architectural designs. With the hill slowly filling up, modern constructions and additions were often done underground or up.

Francisco I, or Magní as he preferred to be known as among friends, relatives and brikð, had also ensured his legacy within the palace. While his personal wealth was somewhat lacking, although by no means minor, the Royal Pracib Nobleman concern had been more than happy to provide the materials and workers for the construction, as an addition to the palace also meant an addition to their headquarters. The fact that Royal Pracib Nobleman was entirely led by the members of his royal branch was, of course, completely unrelated.

His addition, the Velvet Wing, had been a suggestion of his Royal Stylist, the flamboyant Titané D'Light. While velvet as a material had gone down in importance in other nations, the Pracib still enjoyed the luxurious feel and touch of the material and this was something that had been continued in the wing and in the underlying idea, namely that Francisco's reign would be and be remembered as one of wealth and progress. Featuring lavish suites, with bathrooms containing a hot tub and private sauna and living/bedrooms containing 60 inch televisions and modular entertainment systems. A fancy name for a place where special-made objects could be mounted on, modular entertainment systems could feature dance poles, hookah's, aquariums and a variety of other items, all of which could be changed when wanted.

Each of the ten suites featured a different colour of velvet as it's floor, ceilings and walls, with large sections of the fabric draped from and on the ceilings, with the hallways featuring light blue velvet in the Pracib royal colour. Lighting was made available through carefully hidden LED light-strips, capable of changing colours while giving off no heat, thus removing any chance of the velvet suddenly bursting into flames. When the Ibðuß was in the palace, the lights were light blue, while when he was out, the lights would colour white during the day and red during the night. Lights in the rooms were left to the person or persons staying there, although an automatic feature was included.

As the visitors were soon to arrive, the Velvet Wing was being checked for every small detail. The dance poles and hookah's that had been chosen by the previous guests had been removed as it wasn't known how the future guests would react to that and changed with aquariums, each featuring a pair of anguilla anguilla, and a two-page list had been left in each room containing the various possibilities. While many nations had more majestic or even mythological animals, the Pracib nation found itself more in common with the anguilla anguilla, a delicious and strangely attractive animal that managed to survive regardless of the conditions thanks to it's slippery, near-untouchable nature and ability to adapt. Tap, tap, tap could be heard on the velvety floor of the hallways as the high heels of the Royal Stylist moved around the wing, giving orders to the various servants that were finishing the last touches.

''Is everything ready?''
''Oh darling! I hadn't seen you! You sneak!''
''Having to sneak out of dodgy places in my youth has had it's benefits, you know.''
''Sure, sure, darling. Yes, everything is ready. I have even spoken to my mother, the lovely witch, to arrange for the royal guard escort.''
''Well done Titané. Meet me in my room in five, we have to go over the outfit.''

As smooth as he had sneaked in, Francisco walked out to prepare his outfit. Extravagance was a feature, a characteristic that had been lauded throughout the ages in the Royal Decrees, the rule-books and guides that were amended and added to by every royal in power, as it was believed that showing off would scare off possible enemies while showing possible friends that you were able to be an equal partner in any relationship. While the truth of this may have been diluted somewhat throughout the ages, the importance of the Royal Decrees and Titané's styling style had ensured that Francisco was to be put in an outfit that could be deemed as wearing an entire zoo, an outfit that he had used on occasion for royal banquets and other royal occasions.

University of Civitanam, Civitanam
The Duchy of Civitanam, Praciba

The examination room was filled with dozens of teenagers and adults, all taking tests of various levels and subjects. Their faces, most of which were focused on the sections of paper in front of them, were bunched up in a myriad of emotions. Some were happy, as their tests were going well, while others were confused, angry or sad. Only a minority of the people located in this room were actual students of the university, as it offered space in it's examination rooms to organisations that offered home studies and private teachers.

The faces that were not focused on the papers in front of them were looking towards a student in the middle of the room. While those in the room that were active participants in the Civitanam nightlife had often seen the Pracib heir to the throne at one point or another and gave him a smile and a hand gesture, others were shocked that a member of the royal family and one of the more important ones at that would be in a regular room like this. In reality however, Augustus had never liked being separated from the people, especially when there were so many attractive and interesting people to interact with. While the Royal Guard often complained about the security risks due to his free and open lifestyle, nothing had ever happened and Augustus had slowly become good at analysing any situation. Of course, the fact that his family owned the most popular nightclub of Civitanam and his favourite spot-to-be also helped.

I don't get why I should follow Modern Morals...
In the smoker's bar, a scruffy man comes to you and asks if he can share as he has no money. What do you do?
What kind of question is that? Sigh...

Quickly scribbling down that he would set up the man with something to smoke of his own, he checked his test. While Modern Morals only accounted for three percent of his total courses, he knew that even three percent could mean the difference between passing and failing like a fishing boat with bananas on board. Seeing all fields filled in, he put down both the test and his pen and checked the only clock in the room, a large grandfather clock standing at the front wall between the two surveillance people that ensured no one talked or gave answers to each other.

Five minutes left before I can go... Might actually be on time to greet the guests, how lovely. Hey, I know that guy!

After giving the guy, a bartender from the VræumasÞð nightclub, a friendly hand gesture that was quickly reciprocated, Augustus continued looking around the room. While some would think that he was looking for others, it was mostly because Augustus remembered exactly why he remembered the bartender and he didn't have time to spare. Although it would have been fun to catch up with the man, time was of essence now as he preferred to be there when the guests arrived. Late arrivals of the host tended to be awkward, in his experience. Making a mental note of sending the man a text message later on, he checked the clock again.

Two minutes... Oh, come on!

He suddenly felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. A short vibration, Augustus figured that it was probably his brother checking on him if he would be back on time. Or perhaps the bartender. as he had always been quick and nimble with his hands. While texting or use of any phone was strictly forbidden during examinations, due to the risk of a person cheating, the man would have been able to do it without being caught due to his job as Head Cocktail Master ensured that his eye-hand coordination was one of the best. It could also be Titané, bothering him with one or another absurd fashion choice. While he meant well, Augustus was almost sure that Titané's taste in fashion most certainly did not feature as the fashion taste of most of the world.

''Put down your pencils and pens, time is up! Leave your papers on the table, we will collect them. Please do not talk as other examinations are going on. Phones may be turned back on. Thank you for your time and we hope that you have succeeded.''

Augustus kept seated for a moment, letting others leave through the front entrance. While he would have normally left that way as well, walking through the halls as any normal person, he had ensured that a vehicle would be waiting for him at the side entrance to the room, as it was located next to the road going out of the university. Hearing a tap on the window, his eyes darted towards the side door where a young man in a light blue uniform, the outfit of the Royal Guard, was standing next to an ULRaG vehicle.

I hate you Henry, hate. I have to squeeze in one of those Mentris minicars... Good looking soldier though.

Standing up, he walked towards the side door while checking his phone. A not-so-wise decision as he promptly bumped his feet on one of the solid wood tables, ensuring a fair amount of pain shooting up his leg and nearly tripping him. The soldier, unable to open the side door through conventional means, swiftly kicked the centre part of the door, consisting of clear glass, out and rushed in, leaving both Augustus and the surveillance people shocked.

''Prince, Prince! Are you alright?''
''You fool! Why did you destroy that door?''
''I thought you might have become unwell...''
''I'm not! And now I have to pay for the door, vlakthus.''
''I apologise, sir. Please don't tell the General, sir.''
''Wait in the car while I leave money to pay for the door, thanks. You're lucky you're attr... Eh, never mind.''
''Yes sir, thank you sir.''

Pulling out his wallet out of his other pocket, Augustus quickly grabbed a note and put it on the table, looking if the surveillance people saw it. While it was far too much for the repair alone, Augustus felt that they deserved something to calm the nerves as well.

''Seven-thousand-five-hundred Florina's, to pay for the door and you're free to spend whatever is left. If you take it all, I'll know so be fair.''
''Thank you, Your Highness. It was not needed, I am sure the University would have gladly paid for the door repair.''

From: Titané

Are you here soon? I have your outfit ready... U want fur, velvet or silk? Magní is going for fur. Fur is always good with the ladies, you know. I think it's that deep, hairy cave people desire that everyone has. I know I love a guy with fur, haha. See you soon.

From: Augustus PP

U made me bonk my foot on a table :'( No fur for me, give me silk. They're staying in the velvet wing, they'll have enough of velvet. U know if Jon and Jon are hired? Hope we're going Pracib with dinner, I'd love some smoked sausage or eel right now... See you

Pillizion mós Scarandos, Civitanam Capital City
Honorary Grand Duchy of Civitanam, Praciba

The gate had barely opened before the ULRaG, a heavily modified Mentris Jólasveinn, once again accelerated. As there was only one road to the palace, one would first pass the business part of the palace before the entrance of the living section was reached, on the opposite side. While an additional road could have easily been placed, it had a practical reason for the Royal Guard: By limiting the palace to one road, vehicles could only come from one point as the walls surrounding the palace were reinforced to resist a large amount of damage, anything smaller than a lorry at full speed would have a hard time coming through.

As the vehicle reached the front doors of the palace, Augustus could be seen near-jumping out of it, happy to be out of the cramped vehicle and rushing to ensure that he was ready for when the guests arrived. While he was unsure of their arrival time, it always flattered a person to be ready on or before time. At the same time, the doors flew open with the high-heeled Titané holding two different outfits. Both made from extravagant silk, Titané held up a wide-styled orange-red silk suit, similar to what Francisco would wear as part of his outfit, and a light-blue silk suit, far more form fitting and featuring the coat of arms of his Duchy delicately embroidered onto it with a fine weave of gold. Not wishing to have the same outfit as his brother, Augustus quickly decided on the light-blue silk suit.

''The left one.''
''Good choice, darling. I'll follow you to your bedroom, go go!''

Maintaining the pace with which he came out of the small vehicle, Augustus speed-walked to his room to fit the outfit. While Titané was skilled and thus, Augustus foresaw no problems with the outfit, it was always handy to have someone around to help, tuck and pluck to ensure that he looked as perfect as possible.

In the dining room, located to the left of the entrance hall, Francisco was discussing with the General of the Royal Guard in regards to the idea that Francisco had to allow photographers of the media. Henrico Frasiéré, the General, was an old-fashioned man with a unending loyalty to the royalist cause, a general of the old ways. A man that cared about the soldiers under him and the men and women that he swore to defend and keep safe. Sporting a round figure, most would call him chubby, that was put in a light blue uniform that was just a bit too tight around his belly, there had been occasions when people had underestimated this man. They were often too late to change their estimation before they were down, Henrico proving to be far faster and nimbler when needed than his figure showed. While he hadn't seen actual combat for ages, he continued training to keep himself up-to-date with modern equipment and requirements. In his mind, this was more than normal as a general could hardly lead his troops without knowing what they have to work with.

''We can't have random people walking around here!''
''Not random people. Checked media figures that will only be here for the welcome, so the newspapers have a nice picture for their stories.''
''No, no! It's a risk.''
''Henry, I know that you're always cautious. But it won't matter, no one will try anything. There are enough Royal Guards on the grounds to take over a small country!''
''But...''
''No, I'm allowing it. I'm the king, it'll be on my head if anything goes wrong. Promise.''
''I'll still put some extra men on the balconies.''

Taking a portable radio that was laying on the table, Henrico pushed the button on the side slowly. A small crackling sound could be heard coming from the radio as he wet his lips slowly, his tongue covering the dry areas.

''I want Squad F on the balconies. Have Squad E ready their ULRaG's, I want a anti-personnel and a light area denial ULRaG standing ready at the gate.''

Letting go of the button, Henrico reattached the radio to his belt, which further contained a baton, a can of pepper spray and a semi-automatic pistol, in a neat black leather holster. Checking to see if everything was attached properly and wouldn't fall off, he pulled and picked at the various items until everything was near-perfectly straight. Looking back at Francisco, who was doing something similar with his outfit, he couldn't keep himself from asking a question that was in his mind.

''So, what's with the outfit?''
''Oh, you know. Titané.''
''I don't know how you keep up with him, he seems... tiring.''
''He means well and besides, the man knows how to make an entrance. And that's what's important.''
''Ah, I guess you're right. Each to his own. I will go and check the perimeter.''
''Sounds like a plan, Henry. Will you join us for dinner?''
''Hmm... Perhaps. My wife is having her book club so I'm free.''
''I'll have the staff put another plate down, it's no hassle and I insist.''

In front of the Pillizion mós Scarandos' 'living' entrance

The doors in front of the small collection of men were made of hand-carved wood, featuring miniature carvings of Pracib flowers on the lower end while the upper part of the doors contained delicate stained glass, depicting the Pillizion back in a simpler time. Not that the guests would see much of this as the doors were kept completely open by two servants, each holding a door.

Francisco had received word from the gate that the vehicles carrying the guests from Stjernland were coming and as such, he, his brother, Titané and the General stood ready, standing inside to ensure that none of the outfits would get ruffled from the wind. Outside, off to the side, stood a dozen of journalists, all of which carrying a camera. Held back by fences and two rather bulky and large members of the Royal Guard, they were waiting as well. Waiting for that perfect shot, the perfect picture to go with their story. A meeting between royals from different nations was big news in Praciba and people generally liked stories involving the royals, ensuring that anyone who got the best picture and the best story was earning the best bucks.

Francisco's clothing ensemble started with his shoes, resembling a variation of those that Pracib noblemen used to wear for protection, featuring a large point that would have normally been steel but had been replaced with rare, albino kangaroo fur while the rest of the shoe featured seal fur, gotten from terminally ill baby seals. His pants, wide-legged style, had been made of the finest and most decadent orange-red silk, the legs embroidered with a fine weave of twenty-two carat gold, depicting the national symbols of Praciba, such as the Royal Eel, the Royal Coat of Arms and the silver birch, the national tree of Praciba. Followed by a shirt of both similar material and embroidery, it was covered by a waistcoat made from the reddest of red panda furs, matching the silk in color. Having been 'pasted' on a thicker piece of baby elephant leather, the sides were decorated with various gemstones, ensuring that the waistcoat made sounds, from the gemstones on either side bumping into each other, when it was left open and unbuttoned, or from the inner gemstones sliding up and down the silk of his shirt when it was closed and buttoned. A coat-and-cape finished his regular outfit, featuring thick, luscious snow leopard fur as the coat and outer strip of the cape with the inner part of the cape consisting of an evenly thick and luscious panda bear fur.

Outside of his regular outfit, he wore an opulent, absolutely extravagant crown that had a hidden multi-tiered system in the back, allowing a full, magnificent collection of flamingo feathers to spring up and further enhance the beauty of the crown, providing a unique mix between crown and headdress. This 'springing up' would be done during the greeting, thought up by Titané D'Light to allow for an even larger entrance. A triple-finger ring was on his left hand. Made from two types of gold, a lighter, both in carat and color, gold that made up the part of the ring that enclosed the fingers and a darker, both in carat and gold, gold that made up a fine-sculptured eel resting on the lighter gold. Due to the darker gold's inherently softer nature, it had ensured that the eel contained fine touches, including eyes that had been endowed by, purest of black, onyx's, giving the eel the same beady eyes as a true eel.

Augustus stood next to him, wearing an opulent light blue silk suit, fitted to his body and handmade by the Royal Stylist, Titané. While Praciba did not manufacture silk on a large scale, there had been small scale operations in Gloriatra since the 1800's that provided the Pracib elite with homemade high-quality silk. The Pracib were not a foreigner-shy people, having trade with other continents and places across the seas since the time of sea and ocean-faring ships, but everyone still had a higher level of trust in products made in Praciba. The fine silk had been embroidered with a equally fine weave of gold, depicting the coat of arms of his duchy, the Duchy of Civitanam. The first feudal state to be upgraded/promoted by the High Guide, Æpp II, of the Guidance of the All-Being in 890, Civitanam had always been a place of importance and it's coat of arms reflected that.

While it had seen some changes throughout the years, the basic figure of the coat of arms had stayed the same, a simple shield flanked left and right by stylised anguilla anguilla and a crown behind it. The shield itself was divided in four, each representing a section of Civitanam. Grain for the land, a crown for the nobility, a sceptre for the religious and a bag of coins for the citizens. A small version of the coat of arms was depicted on the front of his jacket while the back was covered by a far larger and more detailed version of it. A white satin shirt and darker blue bowtie broke up the light-blue of the pants and jacket and provided an eye-pleasing whole in regards to his clothing.

His shoes were of a similar design as his brother's but instead of kangaroo and seal, it featured a body of alligator skin with a tip of boa constrictor. On his hands were two rings, one on each ring finger. One was clearly a more recent design, featuring the letter A in crystal clear emeralds set upon twenty-carat gold, while the other one was a far older ring that featured a lower amount of gold carats. A bulky ring, it featured a rough rose carved from gold and encrusted with rubies to give it the impression, for as far as it was possible with a piece of jewellery, of a genuine red rose.

The General, Henrico Frasiéré, stood next to Augustus. The man proudly stood, his hands loosely holding his belt while keeping in his stomach, an attempt to look better in the picture that the media would take. His light blue uniform, immaculately maintained and spotless, featured a large amount of medals and the two ribbons that depicted his status in the Order of the Royal Eel and the Knights of the Holy Water of Ormuß. The uniform was buttoned up entirely, leaving only a glance of a black shirt underneath, and his shoes were rather simple leather boots that were shined up to a point that one could see their own reflection in them. A simple gold wedding ring, fitted with a small carat pink diamond, was on his right hand.

Titané D'Light, the flamboyant fashion designer and Royal Stylist, stood behind Francisco, using a can of the strongest hairspray available in Praciba to keep his fur in control. Wearing a pair of silver, glitter high heels of his own TdL fashion brand, denim shorts that didn't even come close to halfway to the knee, a leather jacket with studs and spikes on it and pilot-style sunglasses featuring a gold rim with blue-tinted glasses. While it was a rather informal outfit, Titané was an informal person and couldn't care less about the opinion of the media. It was a trait that he had inherited from his mother, Variana, who was the mayor of Civitanam and a washed-up pop star.

Now, all that was left to do was to wait for the arrival of the vehicles that were carrying the Stjernland guests.

by **Stjernland** » Tue Jul 12, 2016 11:23 am

Pillizion mós Scarandos, Civitanam Capital City
Honorary Grand Duchy of Civitanam, Praciba

Opulent. No other word could accurately describe the cavalcade of posh convertibles that had been assigned to ferry them from the airport to the palace. Then again, Stjernland was not renowned for its automotive industry, relying almost wholly on imported vehicles from Al-Imaru to populate the highways that ran like arteries through the urban hub that connected Sollefterness to Retfærdigheim. Any high-class automobile, most especially any convertible, would have struck Astrid and her entourage as almost garish in its extravagance. Ragna halted for a moment behind her, gawking at the machines as though they were some alien contraption, until Magda tugged determinedly on her hand. "Scintillating," Iris mused, "Look at the craftsmanship on the hood. It's so elegant." The vehicle she had pointed out resembled a Rolls Royce to some degree. Its shimmering enameled coat of dark maroon, so dusky it almost appeared black, concealed a stainless steel frame, and an ornamental eagle rose from its embellished hood. Astrid raised her chin indignantly. "I'd expect nothing less from the likes of Augustus and Magnus," she said, contempt oozing from her lips, "I'm not impressed yet."

"It would be imprudent to say as much in the presence of the Velvet King," a harsh, authoritarian voice growled behind her. Frederick Wilhelm Augustus de Bellegarde-Thrystaine marched briskly towards the waiting cavalcade, each stride seeming more dignified and self-assured than the last. He was a tall, powerfully-built man in his mid fifties, with a regal albeit dour face and a bald crown. A goatee of auburn hair, consisting of a bushy mustache that curled outward and a close-cropped beard, grew around his subtle, perpetually stiff lips. His eyes glinted bright yellow with flakes of gold dancing amid their fiery irises. They resembled the color of the sun just after dawn had broken out like a fading bruise amid the summer sky. To foreigners, such eyes would have inspired curiosity due to their peculiarity, or perhaps even fear, but Stjernlanders knew precisely what they meant. The beast-men who hailed from the Electorate of Grael considered such eyes normal, and, in truth, the phenotype predominated among the general population of the island. It was, however, unknown in Stjernland itself, and thus served to mark those of Grelian heritage.

The Duke of Mailáth displayed neither pride in nor disdain for his culture. He defined himself in other ways. He had enlisted in Stjernland's navy at the tender age of seventeen and had remained a fixture in its command structure well into his thirties, rising to the rank of captain, as evidenced by the muscles that ran from his shoulders down to his arms, like bands of interwoven steel sinews. After his brother, Astrid's father, had married, becoming Prince-Consort in the process, Frederick had acted as a dutiful servant and courtier, a right-hand man of sorts. Now, as Lord-Regent, he was arguably the most influential man in the entire kingdom. This had invited all manner of rumors and gossip. Some alleged that the duke had arranged to have his brother and sister-in-law killed, though such stories were dubious and often told drunkenly. Others argued that he all but dictated foreign policy, pulling the strings of the ambassadors and generals to meet his whims, and that he planned to marry his niece in a bid to legitimize this usurped authority. Astrid had heard these tales in the past, and they turned her stomach. She refused to believe such lies.

"I know," she sulked, ambling after him. Her designer skinny jeans, leather boots, brown leather jacket, and white silk scarf had been deemed too casual for the occasion, and had been discarded in favor of a Stygian blue dressed trimmed with ebony silk that accentuated her pale complexion beautifully. It would have suited a brunette better, at least in her opinion, but it would not draw much criticism on her either. In any case, Praciba was too warm for jackets and scarves. Beads of perspiration already clung to her skin, and she was wearing a dress that covered only three quarters of her thigh and the upper third of her arms. The heels she wore, intended to pair with the black silk trim of her dress, made her clumsy. She seldom wore such cumbersome shoes anywhere else, but her uncle had fought fiercely on this one point, and now it took most of Astrid's concentration to avoid an embarrassing fall. She was naturally tall at 5'5", and the heels made her two inches taller.

Her ladies were similarly dressed. Magda wore a cream-colored blouse embellished with baby-blue winter roses stitched from cloth and a mauve dress that brought out the deep blue, almost indigo, hue of her eyes. Her rose-blonde hair hung in a loose but proper ponytail that had been casually flung over her right shoulder. Iris wore a dark green dress that similarly flattered her sea-green eyes. She had kept the stylist busy, weaving it into elaborate braids, while a cascade of wintry locks fell down to her lower back. Ragna wore a light blue dress, muddled with crumbs that she desperately tried to beat off. Her hair was disheveled, worn down, with no braiding or adornment other than a single lily that Astrid had weaved into it. She looked like a hot mess. Josephine, who scuttled behind them nervously, wore a plain gray dress that encapsulated her love of simple elegance. A violin case was stowed carefully under one arm.

"Let's go meet the Velvet King," Astrid called to her friends, climbing into a separate vehicle from her uncle. She had chosen Ragna and Josephine to ride with her, while Iris and Magda chatted excitedly in the foremost convertible, falling into a hush whenever Frederick shot a glare their way. Other persons of note occupied the automobiles behind them, including various ministers, experts, and necessary servants. "I wonder if he'll have a pool," Ragna said, looking bored as the sights slid by. "I'm certain he will," Astrid assured her, "If not, I'll push him into the first fountain we see." This elicited a giggle from the younger girl. "I don't think Freddie will like that much," she chimed, using the name he hated. "Oh, he'll tan my hide," Astrid laughed, "But it'll be worth it just to see the look on Magnus's face."

A low rumble filled the air, too loud to be the calm din of the expensive engine. "Hungry again?" the queen asked. "Yes," Ragna confessed glumly, "I hope they serve meat of some kind. I'm tired of eating like a rabbit." A warm, matronly smile spread from cheek to cheek, as Astrid marveled at her friend's lack of decorum. "I know," she said, "But that's what happens when you make poor Iris do all the cooking." Ragna gave her an impatient stare. "How does she do it?" she demanded, "Being a vegan must be awful. I feel like I'm dying."

"You're so dramatic," Astrid crooned, brushing her hair back, "I tell you what. I'll cook you a nice steak when we get back to Stjernland." This made Ragna beam. "You promise!?" she cried. "I do," Astrid replied happily, "I can't make any promises about the quality though. I burn half the food I touch." Ragna snickered at this. "Yeah, you do," she agreed, before lapsing into silence. They drank in the city of Civitanam as they rode, enjoying the bustling atmosphere and the snaps and flashes of cameras. It made them feel like movie stars. All at once, perhaps too soon for their nerves, they arrived at the palace, where an assembly of strange people, including a man in heels taller than Astrid's own, waited to greet them. "Is that the Velvet King?" Ragna asked, pointing conspicuously at Titané. "He's the one with the crown," she corrected her, stepping awkwardly from the opened door. Astrid's entourage of eighteen, some looking as prim and proper as her uncle, others looking as confused and graceless as Ragna, filed slowly towards their hosts, enduring the shouts of the press and the bright lights of cameras.

by **Praciba** » Sun Jul 17, 2016 3:38 am

Pillizion mós Scarandos, Civitanam Capital City
Honorary Grand Duchy of Civitanam, Praciba

Unlike the Stjernlanders, who had to import their vehicles from Al Imaru, Praciba contained a somewhat thriving indigenous automotive industry, primarily led by the Mentris Car and Telephone Corporation. The Mentris family had originally hailed from a small town in Gloriatra, where Antonis Mentris operated a small workshop for hand-crafted automobiles and bicycles from 1899 to 1909. While Antonis lacked the business sense needed to promote and enlarge his business, his son Patrós did have the sense needed and through careful negotiations with King-in-Exile Gregory XXI and moving to the ducal capital of Gloriatra, the Mentris Car and Telephone Corporation was born. While they no longer kept their operations limited to automobiles and telephones, with their operations having expanded to fields such as personal jets, consumer electronics and restaurants, the name had stayed the same throughout the times.

The luck of the delegation was the fact that they had not been transported by the best known automobile of the Mentris Car and Telephone Corporation, the Mentris Jólasveinn. A mini-car that technically seated four and had been named after the Icelandic word for Santa Claus, it had been part of a elaborate advertisement campaign, stating that the small and relatively cheap automobile would have been a perfect gift for your teenage son or daughter. A basic version went for a listed price of thirty-five thousand Pracib Florina's or thirty-five hundred NationStates Dollars while a more luxurious version, featuring a built-in radio, airbags, electronic windows, a better engine and power steering, went for a listed price of fifty thousand Pracib Florina's or five-thousand NationStates Dollars.

The car had also been the base vehicle for the ULRaG, one of the more unique Pracib forays into the world of military equipment. The Ultra Light Recon and Garrison vehicle featured three different versions, a light anti-personnel version which featured two light machine guns, a light area denial version that featured a mortar and a light anti-vehicle version that featured a grenade launcher. While they were not in use in other nations, they had been accepted with fervour by the Pracib Royal Guard to replace their ageing PLR motorcycles.

As the delegation exited their vehicles, the press started shouting and snapping pictures. While the wildest of them were being kept under control by the Royal Guards, who were able to keep them down with a well-timed wink and the barrel of their gun aimed a bit too much to the wild reporter to be a coincidence, the shouting proved a bit too much for General Frasiéré. A rather daring and loud reporter of the Bentrus Backstabber, a tabloid particularly known for it's slanderous stories, tried and succeeded to shout harder than anyone else and within a matter of seconds, a hand gesture was made and the man was being escorted off the grounds by one of the Royal Guards standing near the media. While the others still shouted to the delegation, their volume remained far more restrained and ensured that normal conversation was possible.

With the delegation nearing the door, two additional servants could be seen coming from a undefined area inside the Pillizion mós Scarandos, each taking a part of the Royal Cape. As the two servants carried the cape, Magnus was able to walk a bit faster than otherwise, taking his place a simple step outside of the door. While the distance was relatively minute, being less than a meter or two, it allowed the media to take better pictures of the two groups meeting than otherwise would have been possible, as the inside of the Pillizion mós Scarandos remained secret to most of the public and wasn't generally allowed to be photographed. More rapid flashes followed from the cameras, although they only lasted a short while when compared to when the delegation from Stjernland stepped out of their vehicles.

Augustus joined his brother, quickly followed by Titané who had decided to shift his attention from one to the other, a decision that had been influenced by the fact that the interference of the Royal Stylist would not have been any help during the first greeting. Those that paid attention to Titané could see that he had a small buzzer in his hand. The buzzer was to be used during the greeting, to set off the mechanism attached to the crown. The Royal Cape and the general size of the outfit ensured that the flamingo feathers were mostly well-hidden with the mechanism itself being battery-powered and manually-activated with the ability to detach it from the crown when needed. The General stayed behind, standing at the door to keep an eye on the Royal Guard left at the media enclosure and a better eye on the entire situation.

When the entire delegation stood in front of them, Magnus glanced quickly at the media as a sign for them to take notice, a sign that was quickly picked up by most of the media. Lifting his arms up to align his hands to his head, the crown's mechanism was activated by Titané and flamingo feathers shot up, enlarging Magnus' presence and ensuring the attention of all who were present.

''Hereby, I, Serenissimi Regis Francisco I Pracib of the Pracib People and the Pracib nation, the Ibðuß mós þor Pracib unt Praciba, Great Patriot of the Pracib Homeland, Grand Duke of the Civitanam Capital City, Grand Duke of the Internal Areas, Grand Duke of the Outer Regions, Count of Gloriatra, Count of Menstra, Count of Kistracia and Count of both Paloris Minor and Major, welcome the honoured delegates, our honoured friends, our brikð of royal blood from Stjernland to the Pillizion mós Scarandos! May your visit to us be prosperous, diligent, decadent, enjoyable and bring a era of prosperity, further friendship and progress between our two nations and people! Praß Praciba, Praß Stjernland, Praß Patania unt Validania Pracib, Praß Alfsangr!''

Once Magnus finished his predetermined greeting, as the Royal Decrees had ensured that there had been a predetermined greeting for Pracib royals since it's 203rd change in 1608, he lowered his arms. Before 1589, or 1587 when the nation was technically unified but hadn't yet been lifted to kingdom level, each Duchy had their own, separate Royal Decrees and thus, also it's own separate greetings. After the Kingdom of Praciba, or Þor Ibaðuß mós Praßiba as it was known in the Pracib language, was founded, the Royal Decrees of the various Duchies were brought into line with those from Civitanam. While the Duchies were, and still are, allowed to deviate from the Civitanam Royal Decrees in many ways, the greetings among nobles and royals were one of the areas where they were not allowed to deviate in. Even when the Royal Decrees had lost most of their power during the modern times, it was always consulted by those of blue blood when taking an official decision. As the Pracib believed that history repeating itself was a good thing, a thing one could use to one's advantage and the Royal Decrees were seen as a way to preserve knowledge from the ages, to allow the Pracib to repeat the good parts of history, Magnus was forced to do the song and dance that the media and the people wanted on official occasions.

While Magnus looked at the media to ensure they caught it on camera and they could go inside, where he would be able to shed most of his outfit and loosen up, Augustus quickly took over, taking the opportunity to smile at and introduce himself to all of the delegates in a general sense. Titané could be seen darting back to Magnus, ensuring that his outfit stayed in pristine shape and to help him get out of said outfit when the time came. Fur had always been popular in Praciba and while some fringe politicians had attempted to restrict the importation, exportation and production of fur, their attempts failed miserably. So long as you kept the fur in the best condition you could afford, people in Praciba couldn't care less about the fact that you were wearing one or more animals

''Praß to all, I am Prince Augustus Patania-Pracib, Duke of Civitanam. Welcome to Praciba, sorry for letting you wait here while His Majesty sees if the media was successful. I hope your drive through my duchy was to your liking. We will be going into the Living Hall after this, where we have some light refreshments ready for you and where we will be able to talk without the cameras. The man behind His Majesty is our Royal Stylist, mister D'Light. If any of you require or wish for clothing, hairdressing, make-up materials or make-up application, makeovers and so forth, feel more than free to ask him. The man by the door is the Honorable General Frasiéré, leader of the Pracib Royal Guard, who will be providing our security.''

Magnus tapped Augustus on his arm, giving him a thumbs up as soon as Augustus was able to see it.

''And everything has gone right, good. Let us go in, His Majesty will join us after. It's no fun walking around with a cape and crown when you don't need it.''

Augustus turned around and started walking inside slowly, allowing the delegation to catch up with ease. The Living Hall was found to the right of the Entrance Hall, the name being rather explanatory. The Entrance Hall featured light marble floors and contained massive wooden stairs in it's middle, leading to a second floor that was little more than a gallery clinging to the sides, giving the entire hall a far greater feeling due to the extra high ceiling, the second floor featuring a variety of different style doors leading to different parts of the Palace. Between these doors, there were portrait paintings of various Pracib kings throughout the ages and among them, a portrait of Magnus.

The portrait of Magnus saw him in a undefinable forest, sitting on a fabulous white horse in his Royal Outfit, the same he had been wearing on this occasion. In his only visible hand, the right one, was the Sceptre of Guidance. A quasi-religious artifact that had been used when crowning the first king of Praciba, the sceptre had become the sign that the king was accepted by the religious clergy and their religion, the Guidance of the All-Being, and was thus, deemed legitimate by them. It was three meters long and featured a large golden orb which was engraved with numerous quotes of the Pracib Scriptures mounted on a silver cane that had been moulded into the general shape of an eel and encrusted with various gemstones, each type featuring five times. Numerology was an important part of the Guidance of the All-Being and the number five was seen as a number that stood for certainty.

The rest of the Entrance Hall featured the Dining Hall entrance taking up most of the left, the entrance featuring two large, modern wooden doors. While the Dining Hall entrance originally featured massive dark wooden doors, they had been quickly changed by Magnus for light wooden doors that were more window than wood. The General had been against their placement, as the former doors were thick enough to provide a form of defence if it was ever needed. His protests had little use however and the doors had been promptly changed, a decision that had let far more light spread through the Dining and Entrance Hall. When one would look inside, they could see servants still preparing the Hall for the dinner and dinner entertainment later on, which would be live music. Multiple flags from both nations could be seen hanging on the walls of the dining hall, alternating equally between the two.

A short space left and right of the wooden stairs had been left open and two more doors could be seen there, closed. There had been rumours among internet users that those two doors, as they had been one of the most photographed sections of the palace due to the media rarely being allowed in, lead to a wild variety of rooms with people guessing various insane options, including but not limited to a private adult film studio, an inside golf course or a nightclub. The reality was far more mundane and boring.

To the right was the entrance to the Living Hall, featuring the same doors as the Dining Hall. Inside the living hall was high-quality shag carpet, allowing one to walk around comfortably even when one was without shoes or socks, and the walls featured velvet, a hint to the current theme. As far to the left as possible were roll-able buffet tables, featuring two dozen different dishes including sandwiches with smoked eel and egg salad, smoked sausage sandwiches, crispy baked blood sausage, soused herring with diced onions on the side and deep fried battered fish chunks, served with a selection of dipping cups of various mayonnaise-based sauces. For those that preferred a meal that did not involve eating animals, parts of animals or things that came out of animals, there were salads, including freshly made pasta salad with toppings to one's own choosing, tofu in various forms with seasoning and three kinds of soup, a light onion soup with grated cheese, a vegetable soup containing eight different types of vegetables and a simple tomato soup.

Next to the buffet tables was a bar, tended to by a barman that looked to be around his 20's in a simple but neat black outfit from the VræumasÞð nightclub. The wall behind the bar had been made into shelve space, showing a multitude of bottles. While the shelve space itself contained a large amount of bottles, around a hundred, the actual collection of the palace was far larger and was rumoured to contain a bottle of every Pracib-made alcohol from modern times. The bar featured six stools, allowing those that wished to sit and eat and/or drink at the bar to do so while the bar itself had a faux-wood look mixed with copper taps and other features. Due to the fact that the bar did not see a lot of activity on normal days, no beer was on tap although bottles of Magnus' favourite brand, Þornoþ, were kept chilled at all times. For those that sought a non-alcoholic beverage, various sodas, milk, soy milk, almond milk, juices and yogurt drinks, all also in bottles, were kept cool. Tea and coffee was also made available, although those were not made at the bar but simply ordered at the bar and then made in the kitchen.

The rest of the living hall was divided into a sitting area with a large television mounted on the wall, a large aquarium with standing tables in front of it and a sitting area with a small pool in the middle. The television, a 60 inch one that was capable of 3D if one wore the glasses that came with it, had been set to PRMusic, a Pracib television channel that only broadcast music videos and had not strayed from it throughout the years. The sounds that came from it, kept to a reasonable background level, were recognisable to those that had followed the Pracib entries to the WorldVision Song Contest and the World Hit Festival, as the channel was apparently holding a marathon, if the short time that those videos were together could have been called a marathon, of those. The sitting area in front of it was a large, opulent corner couch, able to seat a dozen people if needed. While the material looked and felt like leather, it was made of a special faux leather that had been treated to lack the genuine's product worse sides, such as the fact that one could 'stick' to leather on a warm day, and to ensure a reasonable level of stain resistance.

The aquarium featured various tropical fish, none of which were actually native to Praciba, and featured a miniature version of the Pillizion mós Scarandos, Magnus and Augustus as decoration pieces. A very low hum could be heard coming from the aquarium, a sound that could generally only be heard by those that stood close to the aquarium. The aquarium covered the far right corner and four wooden standing tables had been spread in front of it, to allow those that enjoyed eating while standing their enjoyment, with velvet of various colours being used to decorate them, each table a different colour of velvet.

The sitting area surrounding the pool was completely circular, a feature that was also seen in the VræumasÞð nightclub. While it had previously contained a regular couch, Augustus had changed it after a particularly bawdy night out had ensured that the previous couch needed a pretty darn good cleaning before anyone would even think to sit on it. The circular couch, featuring a lower back to ease the jumping action one had to make to get in, was made of the same material as the couch in front of the television although it had been covered by a specially made velvet couch cover, one in a delightfully hot pink colour. The pool itself was a durable, reinforced one, around three meters in diameter and was part of the modular entertainment systems within the living hall. Usually used when there was an exotic dancer, as there was the capability to change a section in the middle of the pool in order to put a pole there, the pool was originally intended to be removed before the delegated arrived but had been part of a mix up. Without enough time to actually change it, the servants had quickly changed the contents of the pool from scented oils to water. While those that decided to sniff the pool from a close angle would be able to detect the lingering faint smell of scented relaxation oils, the scent being aptly named 'Strangely Seductive Cherry', no one thought that that would actually happen.

While Augustus was unsure whether the delegation wanted to eat and even then, if they wanted to eat the refreshments made by the Palace's kitchen, he had been eyeing the smoked eel and egg salad sandwiches. As he previously had to hurry, there had been no time left for even a small bite to eat and that had left him a bit peckish.

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