Sunset over Nordania (Esquarian Canon, IC)

[Sjealand]

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OOC

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21st of May · Anno Respublica 1729 · The Most Sublime Capital City of Asgård · Archkingdom of Sjealand

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The stench was simply nauseating, the old man had without a question emptied his bowels after death. She covered her nose with a handkerchief, gesturing for the thrall to approach her. ''And you're absolutely certain this is how you found him? You haven't touched anything?'' The thrall shook his head, visibly afraid, has facial tattoo was still new, this boy had recently been bought. She gestured for two of the guards to take the thrall into custody before returning her gaze to the ambassador. So much for a simple job, get the ambassador and escort him to the palace to sign the treaty. His Majesty wouldn't be pleased about this.

Walking closer to the desk she studied the pose of the corpse. Slumped over the desk, quill in one hand and the other hanging limp down the side, he had been writing something. Vilhelm and Karl slowly lifted the body upright into the chair as she removed the paper he had been writing. Several dried out inkstains covered it but parts were still legible, but in Anglish, she would have to have it translated. Nothing much else seemed out of the ordinary, no food or drink had been in the room and the Baron of Campchath had no wounds or marks on his body. ''Wilhelm, take 8 men and secure the embassy, i'm alerting the court.'' she paused, then added: ''Secure the thralls, noone leaves the embassy-'' He bowed, fastening his mask before leaving the room. She nodded to Karl who gathered their bags before following her out of the room as well, closing the door behind him. She breathed a sigh of relief, she was used to the Ambrosians lacking in perfumes but this stench of death and excrement was too much. She fastened her mask and began making her way down the hallway, thralls cowering as she walked by. None of the Ambrosians in the embassy had been informed as far as she knew, better to make sure that continued, at least for some hours yet. She was thankful the Thane of Fife was not at the Embassy at the momement, he was known for his distrust for Sjealanders and would without a doubt cause trouble. As she approached the door she turned one last time to the men remaining, ''Do everything in your power besides violence to keep the Thane of Fife away from the Ambassadors room.'' She turned, exiting the embassy and descending down to the street where she could finally breathe through her nose again. Outside several other chevaliers had already prepared her a horse and an armed escort.

She swung on the horse, before barking a few orders at her soldiers who did the same, following her lead as they made their way down Kongensgade. She did not show it, but she felt a gloom over herself. Several at court, both noblemen and merchant-princes were pushing the Archking for war, to call up the armies and retake the Ambrosian throne. But the negotiations had gone so well thanks to the Ambrosian ambassador, who knew what the future would now bring. As they passed the other embassies everything seemed business as usual, but she knew they were being watched by the foreigners, they always were. At least five of the embassy guards at the Montecaran embassy were spies for Caxenù, and probably more were without knowing it. Thankfully the Royal Gardens were a lot less crowded, only a few nobles and merchants could be seen walking through the lush areas, barely paying her and her men any mind as they approached the waterfront. Crossing the Bannister Bridge unto the State Archipelago, her corps were saluted by the guards, to whom she nodded. She could finally breathe a sigh of relief, these men she knew, they were her own spies and subtle signal one of them had sent her as he saluted her showed that no known foreign informants were in the area as of now. The road to the palace itself was still bustling with activity however, there was a ball tomorrow so of course His Majesty was spending a fortune decking out the ballrooms in enough splendour to impress to foreign dignitaries that he liked to entertain. He had to spend a fortune, Sjealand was the strongest and the richest nation on the continent, and there was no way he could afford to show anything else to the foreigners, lest they dare threaten Sjealands stranglehold on the Borean trade. By the gates to the Asgård palace most of her man dismounted but she continued into the courtyard, towards the Royal Wing where she would have to report. Their reception at the palace was rushed as they hadnt been expected for another half hour. The Court Chamberlain approached her with a shocked expression. ''You're here early, where is the Ambassador?''. She handed the reins of the horse to a thrall before turning to the Chamberlain. ''He is dead, i need to see His Majesty. Now.''

''Sorry i must have misheard you Knight-Captain. It sounded like you said the Ambassador is dead.''. She lowered her head before responding. ''He is dead Your Majesty, i found him slumped over his desk this morning''. Frederik II sighed heavily before turning to the window, gazing out at the city. ''Five years i spent in the field fighting the Ambrosian rebels. Over thirty years ive spent making it clear to them who is the dominant monarch in Nordania, now i have spent two years negotiationg a lasting peace in Nordania and you're telling me their Ambassador has just up and died on me?'' She handed him the letter the Ambassador had been writing. Frederik looked at her: ''Do you speak Anglish de Villesborg?'' She shook her head. ''Then let me translate what is legible for you. If this letter is to be believed the Ambrosians have been playing us for fools. Along with someone i cant make out they are planning to take our possessions in Vestmannaland and the Tårnøerne along with something i also cant make out.'' She gasped, ''Your Majesty, who might that be?''. He looked at her smiling before pointing to the map on the wall. ''The Swastrians obviously, only barbarians would support other barbarians in such a breaking of truces. Alert the other Guards tonight during the ball, i want postings around the palace and inside it as well. As for the Ambassador, let the Ambrosians take care of his body, i trust you to finish the investigation on your own. Dismissed''. She clicked her heels, curtseyed and left the room, a dozen guards men following her outside as she relayed orders and invitations for the nights ball. Thralls and servants were rushing through the hallways as well, carrying trays, silverware and foodstuffs so she was in a rush to get out again. Outside a few officers had been waiting for her with a new horse and a package, she brought both along to the guard room, where she took out her social mask, dress and jewelry, quickly changing out of her armor and into it. Her men would secure the palace, she was going to have a talk with Ambassador Caxenù in the meantime.

[Eibenland]

Karl Wilhelm Fischer looked out the window of the room at the inn he had been staying at in Asgard. It was near sunset and the sunsets in the city were exceptionally beautiful. The room was a small one and it could get cold at night but the bed was comfortable and there was a sturdy table where he did some bookkeeping. The window provided a view of the street and the ocean in the distance. He loved the sights and the opulence of Asgard.

As he looked out of the window, he thought about how far he had come in the past four years. He had gone from working on the family farm to a successful merchant in Sjealand. He obtained silk and spices from East Borean, mainly Tuthinan, merchants and worked with partners in Eibenland to transport the goods to wealthy buyers. Still, he knew it was too early to settle in and become complacent. He needed to respond to rising competition and trade with a broader range of partners. A friend had told him that a Senrian envoy had arrived in Sjealand. The Senrians were involved in the spice trade and Fischer wanted to learn about potential trading opportunities. However, he did not know how to get into contact with the envoy.

[Hethland]

The skies were grey above Hageborg on this dismal evening, as Henrik Øvermann walked through these streets lined by tenments whose clean, deceptively ornamented façades gave the illusion of wealth whilst hiding the grey, the dirty, the cheerless backyards. It started raining heavily as if the Gods were angered and wanted to punish mankind with this deluge. Henrik was near the place he has been calling «home» since a few months by this point. It was the flat of a good friend whom he had seen as his last hope to escape the feeling of being trapped, the feeling of being unfree that he had used to feel back in Goldhavn. The young man went through the narrow and dirty alleyway, across the deserted backyard and entered the building into a dark straircase. He has had this grim presentiment that something bad would happen since the start of this horrible day and it was now, as the only thing he heard was silence, as the only this he saw was darkness, that he felt as if it was to consume him gruesomely for he could no longer ignore it. And it was now, as he was mentally absent, deep in his worries, as a young woman — seemingly out of a nowhere — stood before him, scaring him. He winced. «There is no need to be scared,» she said in a calm voice, continuing «’tis just me, Friðe.» He felt relieved. Friðe, his friend’s sister, had become a very dear friend to him since his arrival. She and her brother, Bėrn, were the only people he told about how he had felt back at his parents’ in Goldhavn and how he wanted to escape. He thought about the happy times they have had during the past months, perhaps the most he has been happy in the entirety of his entire life, which, admittedly, had not yet been the longest that had ever been lived. «I have something for you,» she said, adding «but I don’t think that you will like it. Follow me.» Deep down, he already knew what it would be. The two of them went into a larger, well-lit and richly decorated room. On a table in the centre of which, there was a letter from his mother. «Is it what I think it is about,» Friðe asked after he has read it and kept looking at the letter for a while. «Yes,» he responded. His mother reacted to his father’s health deteriorating, and did so by asking — no, not ‹asking› — by demanding Henrik come back to Goldhavn and become the merchant his father had been — and accept his family planning everything in his life. Neither him nor Friðe knew what to do. They just stood there in silence. He looked out of the window at the rain and the darkness of the approaching night making the deserted backyard look even more bleak than before. He knew that, had he not come out of free will, his mother would have tried to find a way to make him come — be it threatening or abducting him. Feeling the spirit of abysmal despair inside himself, he turned to Friðe and said: «I will have to go away — further than Hageborg.» «Where would that be?,» she asked and Henrik could feel the sadness in her voice. «I don’t know,» he replied. «I need to go somewhere, where noone will find me — Asgaard maybe?» He had never actually been to Asgaard, but what he knew was that it was far away for him to feel safe, but also close enough for him to communicate with the locals. He talked with Friðe for a moment, before leaving the room for his own one so he could pack up his belongings. It must have been half an hour or so before midnight for Bėrn to come home. Henrik knew that there would be a ship leaving for Asgaard today at midnight, so he did not have a lot of time to say goodbye to Bėrn and Friðe if he wanted to make it in time. It was a sad evening, with the weather making setting the mood even drearier. Promising to come back one day, Henrik left and made his way to the harbour. Amongst the many Sjealander ships, there was only one that was to leave this night. After boarding it, Henrik looked back at Hageborg. One could definitely have seen that the Sjealander influence in the city with its — mostly derelicted — fortresses and with its beautiful Renaissance and Baroque-influenced architecture. He felt as if the words he needed to describe how he felt about leaving this city and leaving his closest friends behind have not yet been invented. As he stood there, on this ship, the city eventually disappeared behind a wall of fog.

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As the rising sun scared away the fog laying over the scene, Asgaard, the capital of Sjealand, the pearl of the Tynic, was revealed. For the first time in his life, Henrik saw this famous city on the horizon. He could not believe his eyes. It was surreal to him; Just a few days prior he had been afraid that he was never going to see this, now he has come so close to it. For Henrik, Asgaard meant freedom. A freedom that he would not have been able to enjoy, had he stayed in Ethland. It was an overwhelming joy that replaced the worries of the past days as the young man looked at the city with its large fortresses and port. The ship came closer to the city and eventually passed by barracks and an artificial island with a seventeen metre tall statue of Berkana, the Godess of the Sea, with her right hand reaching up. As the ship sailed further North through the river, passing by smaller boats and larger ships, Henrik could not decide what to look at. So many beautiful mansions with generously ornamented façades, so many heavily decorated gondolas. He turned around, infront of him, a series of isles, some with various kinds of military installations and canons on one side, others with mansions of a plethora of different architectual styles ranging from Rococo over Baroque to Renaissance and inbetween a large palace with gardens surrounding it. «That is the State Archipelago,» a voice said from right to him. Henrik, who in his fascination had not noticed him yet is startled and turned his head towards him. «That,» he said while pointing at a building, «is the Grand Temple.» A long, straight road leads up to an impressive white building with spires and a large flag that depicts a sort of sun. «You are in Asgaard for the first time, am I right?,» he continued. «Yes,» says Henrik who is too overwhelmed to even realize that all of this was really happening. The two of them continued to talk until the boat eventually arrived at their destination, Nybyggen. A guard wearing a typical Sjealander mask checked Henrik’s papers. Looking around, he realized just how many Sjealanders seemed to wear masks in their everyday life. After everything was sorted out, he decided to take a walk through the city on this wonderful morning. He went through the wide streets of Nybyggen with its Rococo buildings and grid-like layout. The style of mainland Sjealand was more notably different than he expected, having lived in Goldhavn, a part of the Archkingdom, for most of his life. The women of Asgaard wore dresses as wide as those of Goldhavn, but with significantly more decorations. To him, it still seemed surreal, like something out of a dream. As he walked around Nybyggen, he slowly realized that a new part of his life had started today: A life of freedom.

[Wosrac]

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The grey skies above the city seemed to cry as the citizens prepared for heavy rain. Umbrellas seemed to be purchasable from almost every shop, restaurant and work place. The cold wind whistled past the cities buildings. The breeze made no distinction for historic buildings or the newly constructed, the wind made its own path over the hills and fields. Valleys and peaks were hard to distinguish through the thick fog, and grasslands and plains seemed, overnight, to become bogged down mud-lands. The far stretched horizon wrestled against the fog and dark clouds, as the sun retreated away from sight.

"Cold, ma'am?" The servant gestured towards the pile of firewood, stacked next to the beautifully crafted fireplace. Ymidda smirked, "I'd save most'a that for when it starts snowing" With a chuckle, Ymidda made the young servant nervous. "Relax, boy. I only meant to joke. You must be new." The servant, slightly embarrassed, cleared his throat. "Yes Ma'am, I arrived only last week, the weather was just like this when I arrived." Ymidda leaned back in her chair, inspecting her miniature replica of the RWS Maudew, the ship she had served on during the Ellanghas War. "Say, lad, do you not have plans for later in life. Surely you don't dream of wasting away in another country, far away from all you know?" The servant, a little shocked by the apparent randomness of the question, placed his hand on his chin. "I suppose I haven't Ma'am, I have trained for this job for most of my life. I am currently in a better position than I could of dreamed of." Ymidda took a sip from her glass of mead. "Well, I suppose you're doing well. Here, you may go for your afternoon break early." The servant only respectfully nodded his head before leaving the room and closing the doors behind him.

Ymidda pulled open a box by her replica of the Maudew, and retrieved two paint brushes and a small pot of water. Reaching behind her desk, she placed her paint selection on the table and began painting her miniature replica of the RWS Maudew. The ship had always held a special place in her heart, she had captained it in the last months of the war, and used her position to hunt down pirates on the seas. Originally called the RWS Calondur, the Brig-Of-War had been the last ship her brother served on before his death. For just a moment, all the dangers of Naval combat flooded Ymidda's mind, a image of the grapeshot round that would claim her brother's life. Ymidda was more than aware of the dangers of her past life. She looked out of the window, and for a moment the fog seemed to clear by the coastline.

Ymidda's reverie was interrupted by a loud knocking of her room in the embassy's door. Carefully placing her miniature on her literacy desk, she went to greet the visitor she had been expecting, only to find a young courier boy with a letter. "Dear ambassador" it was easy to tell that Wosracan was not the boy's first language, but none the less he was understandable. "I bring news of upmost importance." Ymidda gestured for the young boy to be seated. "You have my attention lad, what is it?"

The boy's skin turned visibly pale. "I am afraid, dear ambassador, it is not pleasant news"...