"A rule begun in bloodshed can only be expected to end in kind." - Emperor Adrianus of Segland, Meditations on History
Great Seglandic PlainsIt does not require Arthuria's geographical eloquence to describe the landscape of the Great Seglandic Plains, a terrain utterly featureless from horizon to horizon -- save for two moving vehicles set on courses to intercept one another in the blackness of night.
One of these was less of a vehicle and more of an ugly, improvised train. Its name was the Holy Cathedral of Our Lady St. Olga
1, and it stretched on for almost a mile. With most of its segments having tank-like treads and being rigged to move at the same speed, it was able to move fairly easily without need of roads, an ability that was priceless in the sparsely populated Plains. It also happened that evangelism was only possible in the Plains, with the Demarchist Party actively suppressing the majority of religious activity elsewhere. The Party turned a blind eye to the nomadic cults here, for they helped to facilitate trading and transport between the small towns of the steppe. It could be thought of as a passive government investment.
The vehicle approaching the Cathedral was merely a tractor. Riding in it were two men equipped with a short-range radio and a shipment of food; they would have appeared as nothing more than pair of farmers keen on making a trade with the cultists. In fact, the men were
intelligence officers with a specialty in the varied religious groups of the Plains, and more importantly, they were friends of Alexei Haussmann.
While one man drove, the other waited in tense anticipation to be hailed by the Cathedral. This state of affairs continued for several minutes until the radio finally emitted a sound vaguely resembling human speech.
"Why do they have to give us this cheap crap," muttered the driver before being hushed by his partner. The radio transmission started to resolve into clear sentences:
"...repeat, this is Monsignor Karlos Dupretivich of Our Lady St. Olga. You are headed for our cathedral; please identify yourself..."
The officer manning the radio grinned and took hold of the transmitter. "Hey, uh, Monsignor Doopevich, I'm Hans Neirne from the nearby co-op farm. Do you happen to be open for a business transaction?" He leaned in, waiting for the reply.
After a pause of some length, "Yes, are you carrying foodstuffs?" asked the monsignor.
"That we are."
"Very well, Herr Hans. Continue on your present course and we will bring around our docking segment."
"That was easy," said Hans to his partner, Yego.
"So far, yeah. But I'd be careful around that monsignor. Judging by the way he talks, he's probably ex-military of some sort," speculated Yego.
"Guess this cult is friendly towards gays, then," quipped Hans, chuckling.
2"Aw, go to hell, man," said Yego. "I served in the Navy for 7 years and no more than half of the guys were gay."
"Huh. And let me guess, that half includes you."
"I--" Yego's reply was interrupted by a thud that sent vibrations throughout the tractor, followed by a mechanical screeching that preceded two more thuds.
"Must be the clamps from the Cathedral's dock," Hans remarked.
"I was barely paying attention to our surroundings, thanks to you," muttered Yego.
A door on the docking segment pivoted upwards and cast light out upon the two men and their tractor. A red-robed figure, rather tall and imposing, was looking down on the men (for the main body of the Cathedral train was elevated considerably above ground level). He beckoned to them, pointing at a set of stairs that extended a few feet from the train and nearly made it to the cab. Both men easily crossed the divide between the tractor and the train, then squeezed through the doorway where the robed person had been standing.
The docking segment's interior was cramped, the walls mostly covered by machinery and control panels. A single, bare light bulb hang from the ceiling and illuminated the trio, who could barely fit in the compartment. The man who had greeted Hans and Yego couldn't fully turn to face them, so instead he awkwardly looked back over his shoulder and addressed them.
"I'm Monsignor Dupretivich -- mind your head, sir, it's tight in here -- welcome to our Cathedral. Shall I have a boy fetch your cargo?"
As they stepped one-by-one into a seemingly wider compartment, Hans replied, "Go ahead. Oh, and you have a trade officer, right?"
"Unfortunately, our old one left us to return to his village the other day. I'm the acting trade officer until God provides us with a new one." He radioed someone to retrieve the food on the tractor. "Say... you wouldn't be interested in --"
"No, thanks; I'm not the religious type," said Hans. "Sorry, Monsignor."
The monsignor shrugged and continued on walking. In the train's interior lighting, Hans and Yego were both able to notice that Dupretivich's red robe was actually rather dirty, smeared with grease and oil stains. Yego wondered what duties other than trade officer this man had to take on occasionally.
A musty, antique sort of smell hit them as they entered the next room. It was the unmistakable stench of old books. Hans pretended to show little interest, for he was supposed to be a simple farmer, but in his mind he picked out a number of major cult holy books on the shelves: the Gringo Bible
3, Thoughts of Adrianus the Christ
4, Triumph and Fall
5. He mused that this must be one of the more liberal cults if they permitted holy books of other groups in their cathedral. If he had designed this operation, he might've picked a fundamentalist cult -- one that he'd be content with ruining. But Monsignor Dupretivich seemed like a decent man, a man unworthy of the fate that would inevitably befall him with fury after the operation's completion.
Yego's voice cut into his thoughts. "Er, Monsignor, if you don't mind me asking, where is everyone? Or is this a one-man show?"
Dupretivich smiled. "Except for a skeleton crew which currently happens to include me, everyone is doing nocturns and hymns in the nave."
"Nocturns?" Yego asked, feigning ignorance.
"A reading of religious poems. Common in churches like us; churches of the Catholic tradition."
"Catholic, eh? So you people get to go up in the cities sometimes?" asked Hans.
6"Sometimes. At least, we're not arrested and tortured when we do it like those of other denominations and churches," the monsignor answered, no longer smiling.
Right then, a young man with a scraggly beard entered the library room. "Sir," he said, nodding at the monsignor. "We've weighed and inspected their cargo." He went on with technical jargon that neither intelligence officer fully understood. "All in all, I'd think a 850 credit allowance is in order," he finished.
The monsignor looked at Hans and Yego. "He thinks your trade is worth 850 scrip to spend in our trade store. It's pegged to the mark. Naturally, you both have the right to protest this assessment if you so elect."
Hans glanced at Yego, and Yego simply nodded. They hadn't come out here into the middle of nowhere to argue with the cathedral staff about the value of their goods. They'd seen the train schematics; the objective of their mission should be located in a compartment adjacent to the trade store. It was best to get there as smoothly as possible.
"We don't so, uh, elect. I figure the word of a religious man is trustworthy," Hans said.
"Well, you make it easy," replied the monsignor. "It can be a hassle when a stubborn farmer thinks he isn't getting his money's worth. Why, Spiegel, wasn't it just yesterday that the officer from the prison farm thought we were offering only half the fair price for his marijuana?"
The bearded man named Spiegel said, "Aye, Lieutena - I mean, Father. But I think that's more because he was a Demarchist functionary. Totally convinced of the evil of organized religion, shamelessly bigoted towards us." Spiegel regarded Hans and Yego. "I hope I can speak frankly in your presence of our ruling party. With all the good they've done for our country, they've done commensurate bad."
"Politics isn't my area," Yego spoke up. "But if you don't mind me asking, were you referring to Monsignor Dupretivich as a lieutenant?"
"I was a Navy man a long time ago, and many here call me by that name, although I was really just a sublieutenant," answered the monsignor himself.
"Come, let's get moving to the trade store. I can tell you about my service days on the way."
As the party traversed the train, Monsignor (formerly Sublieutenant) Dupretivich regaled them with tales of how he had witnessed firsthand the rebuilding of Segland's navy after the disastrous Seglandic Civil War. He explained how the chaplains and his more openly religious comrades had later been arrested, court-martialed, and shot when Hugo Nimitz initiated the most radical phase of his secularization program.
7He told of how he, fearing for his life, had deserted while in port and fled to his native Conpatrian Mountains to discover a populace being systematically butchered by the Demarchist secret police. Unable to find his family and believing that God had purposely spared him from the killings, he had trekked to the Great Plains to plant a church in defiance of Nimitz.
"And that's why I'm here today," concluded the monsignor as they entered into a compartment littered with stationery and papers and even an ancient-looking computer terminal in the corner.
"We keep lots of stuff in here; schedules, service programs, even financial receipts. Sometimes we'll slip a pamphlet in the pocket of an unsuspecting trader looking at store goods. Very disorganized, I know; it goes against my military better instincts. But then again, it's not as if anyone ever audits us," the monsignor informed the men, all of them having warmed up toward each other considerably on the way to the trade store.
"Actually, Monsignor, I've gotten pretty curious about your religion. These things aren't top-secret, are they?" asked Yego, who had established a rapport with the other Navy serviceman (even with Dupretivich being unaware of Yego's service). He ran a hand over some of the papers without waiting for a reply.
The monsignor couldn't help but grin at the interest being shown. "Feel free to look through them to sate your curiosity. Just be sure to leave everything where you found it... Spiegel, you stay with Yego here while Hans and I look through the trade store."
With that settled, the monsignor punched a string of digits into the digital lock -- the only modern piece of technology Hans had seen so far -- on the next door and proceeded to slide it aside. Hans gaped at what he saw in the room: shelves lined with sleek computers, smartphones, and advanced tools.
The monsignor noticed his expression and said, "We wouldn't have a very effective trading operation if the only people we did business with were farmers. There are high-tech factories to the east who view us as reliable wholesale partners."
"Pretty nice," remarked Hans, catching sight of a smartphone model more recent than his own.
Meanwhile, in the previous compartment, Yego was searching for the document he needed. It would be a list of city missionaries with the dates they were visiting particular cities, as well as the locations at which they were proselytizing. The intelligence community already knew this church, the Holy Cathedral of Our Lady St. Olga, to be one that proselytized in cities.
The believability of this operation hinged on finding a document that proved the location of the evangelists, and particularly one that could be independently verified later by investigators. Fortunately, just then Yego's eyes locked onto something that seemed to fit the bill.
"Hey, Spiegel, what's this?" he asked, pointing to one of the many papers lying on a table set into the wall. He used his comprehensive GHB training to make his query seem completely innocuous.
Spiegel came over to get a better look. Rubbing his beard, he said, "A schedule, I think. Let's see... Der Arkangel, Callei, Ryutsvaag... must be a proselytization list. Plenty of these around here, I'm sure."
"Oh," Yego muttered and pretended to lose interest. He continued to survey the table, obviously without real object, for he had already found what he needed. Now he just needed to wait for Hans and Dupretivich to finish up in the other room.
Minutes later, though it seemed to Yego like much longer, Hans exited the trade store with several phones and a laptop cradled in his arms. Monsignor Dupretivich followed.
"I believe we've executed an amicable deal," the monsignor declared, bowing slightly toward Hans and then toward Yego. "Is there any other way I can help you two?"
"Pray for a good harvest," Yego recommended with a smile.
"I'm sure the worshipers are doing just that as we speak, but I'll remember to do so personally," said the monsignor. "Well... let's head back to your tractor, shall we? Thank you, Spiegel." At that, Spiegel hurried off ahead of them. Hans immediately engaged the monsignor in conversation, distracting him as much as he could. Thus no one observed Yego slipping a proselytization schedule into his back pocket.
Once the two intelligence officers were back in their tractor, waving at the red-robed monsignor as the docking clamps retracted, Yego realized he had come to like Dupretivich. He wondered whether he could persuade Haussmann to spare him in the aftermath of the operation.
He wondered whether God would spare the monsignor a second time.
Demarchist Party Headquarters Main Building
Ryutsvaag, Segland"And you really think that the public will allow this man to live after what they'll think he's done?" asked Alexei Haussmann with mild disbelief as he took his seat behind the colorless, utilitarian desk in his office.
The two intelligence officers seated themselves on the other side of the desk. They had met the Minister of Liaison in the building's main lobby and got him up to date on their mission during the half-hour-long walk they took to his office through the labyrinthine Demarchist HQ. With the building set apart from Ryutsvaag's central business district for security reasons, many of its rooms commanded impressive views of the city's entire skyline. The Liaison Minister's office was one of these rooms.
The man who had gone by Yego but whose real name was Abel answered first. He avoided the inscrutable gaze of Haussmann and instead looked at the skyscrapers outside as he spoke. "We have to show at least a bit of lenience in dealing with this cathedral, or the other nomadic churches will get spooked into becoming even more insular, ceasing trade with the populace and damaging the Plains economy considerably."
"A thoroughly rational explanation," replied Haussmann with the vaguest hint of a sneer. He sat up higher in his chair. "But you didn't answer my question. How will we ever convince the public to let this"—he glanced down at a folder—"Dupretivich get away with his life? As far as they're concerned, he'll be a terrorist."
Abel gave a short burst of a laugh. "That's the simple part, is it not? We -- as in the Demarchist Party -- guide and practically control the flow of information in Segland. It's as easy as not telling the news networks that Monsignor Dupretivich was involved in the attack. Telling them that he was would be a lie, regardless."
"We're in the business of lying," Haussmann shot back. Looking down as if apologetically, he ran a finger over the matte finish of his desk. A lightning flash of thoughts seared through his mind in the few seconds of silence. This wasn't the first time a subordinate's sudden reservations had aggravated his plans... for now, lip service would have to do. He addressed Abel without looking back up. "But you do have a point about trade, and showing some mercy will keep the other cults relatively calm. Not to mention the—"
The other officer, who had operated as Hans but was actually named Peter, interjected. "Er, what's bothering me is this..." he started, trailing off as he prepared what he was about to say. He continued, "You still haven't told me or Abel the final purpose of all this maneuvering. Why the undercover visit to the cult and the schedule of their urban evangelism? Tell us as friends, Alexei."
Haussmann sighed inaudibly. He had hoped his two trusted and loyal officers would keep everything purely professional, not asking questions about the reasoning behind their work. It was what was expected of any GHB officer, especially of captains like Abel and Peter. Now, however, if he lied to them, they'd find out once the final stages of the plan went into motion. But an outright explanation could prove to be too startling. A half-truth, then, was the safest route to go.
"Fine, I'll tell you. But you might not like it. It's the beginning of a large-scale anti-corruption operation regarding entrenched interests in the state. I have good reason to believe that there are powerful individuals within the Party who are plotting against the very secular nature of the Republic.
"They are striking illegal deals with the nomadic Plains cults, bribing police to turn a blind eye to urban proselytizers, and may well have as their goal... the eventual establishment of a Seglandic theocracy."
"But there couldn't possibly be enough public support for them to ever do that," said Peter, incredulous.
"Public support is the unknown variable, and upon it rests their gamble," Haussmann explained with an important air. "History has several cases of populations reverting to religion after an atheistic regime is toppled, for religion is part of the natural and fallen state of man. That is why this theocratic threat must be obliterated by any means necessary."
Monsignor Dupretivich hadn't struck Abel as a schemer or a conspirator, and he was still willing to give the clergyman the benefit of the doubt. But Alexei had also never lied to him before, so he supposed that there must indeed be some form of a theocratic plot against Demarchism, even if Dupretivich wasn't personally involved.
"Fair enough. What should we do, then, with the list we stole from the cathedral?" Abel asked.
Haussmann smiled. "Leave that to me. I have an altogether different task for you two; one I'm sure you'll be thrilled by."
Infinitie Klüb
Ryutsvaag Salon DistrictYou are to plant a bomb inside Infinitie Klüb.
You will have exactly 5 minutes to leave once the bomb is armed. See Colonel Toht for your full briefing.That had been the last either Abel or Peter had seen of the Liaison Minister. As if on a timer, GHB Colonel Koriolanus Toht had burst into the office right then and taken the officers outside, into an unmarked car, and away to a building in a different sector of the city. They were all familiar with it: the GHB's main base in the Seglandic capital. There they received a detailed briefing, disguises, and equipment. Incognito as repair men hauling a large box on a dolly, they were driven and dropped off in the salon district.
It was approaching dusk as Abel and Peter stepped onto the sidewalk, a few salons down from
Infinitie Klüb. This was, of course, the time that everyone who was anyone was arriving for a night of revelry and drugged-up fun. The fact that it was Friday night meant there were even more people than usual.
The crowds were elbow-to-elbow, and the road was packed with luxury cars, one of which had a (hopefully inactive) tank turret affixed to the roof. The characters now filling the sidewalks were even stranger, seemingly in a constant competition to outdo each other with the exoticism of their outfits and makeup. Some were dressed up as animals or historical figures. One woman was unloading what appeared to be a live bobcat from a car. Oppressive perfumes and fragrances hung in the air.
Abel and Peter felt conspicuously out of place among the glitterati. Neither one came from a wealthy family, and considering they were disguised as repair men, there was no way to fake their status. Surely they'd be found out --
"Hey, I love you guys' outfits," said a man walking alongside them. He appeared to be costumed as Emperor Akiyasu of Tuthina, and there were other, more bizarre get-ups around him, but he was genuinely entranced by the repair man outfits. "That's, like, so bold...and against the grain. Where are you going?"
"To the, uh,
Infinitie Klüb," Peter answered.
The man grinned and bobbed his head enthusiastically. "One of the toniest places in town. The Morningstars are patrons there. Well, have fun, my dudes."
At last, the flow of the crowd brought the two officers to
Infinitie Klüb's entrance, an unpretentious recess set into a much larger building. They detached from the main body of people and got into a line for the salon. Two security guards were at the front, checking IDs against a whitelist of permitted persons. Colonel Toht had assured Abel and Peter that they were on that whitelist, and they had been given cards that would identify them as maintenance workers to any officials at the salon.
Slowly, they moved forward in the line, and within a few minutes they were at the front. The guards, both bald and stocky, didn't ask for any ID and instead stared at the two disguised officers.
"Wow. That's hip," said one finally, and the other gave a hearty chuckle. "No one who doesn't belong here would have the audacity to come in
that. I feel like I'd be insulting you guys if I even asked for ID... you can head on in after I check that box you're hauling."
He lifted open the flaps of the box and saw that contained in it was a white refrigerator. It encased an explosive mechanism, of course, but on exterior it appeared as any refrigerator would. The guard laughed and shook his head. "And you even brought a life-sized prop," he said before waving them through.
Abel and Peter walked through the entrance, hiding the astonishment they felt. But what awaited them inside was even greater cause for amazement.
Infinitie Klüb's interior was, to the perception of the human eye, totally dimensionless. The only things lending any sense of perspective were the dim figures of partiers undulating to hypnomusic and the colored light trails that flashed across what must have been the walls. Everything else, however, was pitch black. Peter supposed all the surfaces were coated in some sort of superdark material, an expenditure that must have cost millions of marks.
"Adrianus," Abel whispered reverently.
"Honestly, I was a little pissed when Alexei revealed
we were the ones who'd have to plant this bomb, instead of some freshie private. But this all justifies it," Peter declared.
"He wanted the job done right," said Abel. "So let's do it and not get caught up in the flashiness of salon life."
They wheeled the boxed refrigerator around the pulsating nucleus of dancers. It was difficult to figure out where the walls were despite the light displays, so they skirted the outer edge of the people grouped in the center.
The building plan they had viewed dictated that there were a number of equally spaced alcoves in the back of the club, meant to provide some privacy for drug use or lovemaking or whatever other whims the saloniers had. They'd also provide an excellent hiding spot for a bomb. The two intelligence officers moved toward them with purpose.
Finding a vacant alcove, Abel decided to act like they were lovers, and he grabbed Peter's free hand as they walked in with the dolly.
"Huh, so you
are gay, after all," said Peter snickeringly.
Abel opened the box and the top door of the refrigerator. Its arming mechanism had the appearance of a thermostat, and he punched in a sequence of buttons that would commence the internal countdown.
"So, anything you'd like to say before we blow this place sky-high?" Abel asked after satisfying himself that the bomb was indeed armed.
"Yeah -- I'm ready to get my damn promotion to Colonel," Peter said.
"Agreed. Let's leave, and let's do it fast before anyone gets suspicious about why we're leaving without the dolly and box."
They exited the alcove and walked as quickly as they could, while still appearing somewhat inconspicuous, back to the salon's entrance. The hypnomusic had reached its feverish climax, with the dancers now jerking around wildly. All the light was warm shades approaching blood red. Soon, they knew, everything would collapse into darkness, and the saloniers would come back to their senses as the tentative first notes of a new song reached out. Such was the unending cycle of the hypnomusic and its requisite narcotic.
Abel pushed open the door. The salon's endless interior was suffused with streetlight just as the music cut off and the dancers seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. The door fell back into place, leaving Abel and Peter out on the sidewalk.
A security guard, the same one who had let them in, was still standing there. "Aw, you're leaving so soon? Th—"
A stomach-wrenching roar, a brilliant flash of light, and a burning gale-force wind came forth all at the same time. For just a moment, it was daytime again as the explosive energy of the thermobaric weapon incinerated everything and everyone in its path. The entire building had imploded on itself by the time the fireball radiated away. Alarms all along the street began to go off.
The first screams rang out into the night.
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BREAKING: 200+ KILLED IN RYUTSVAAG SALON BOMBING
MUELLER, HAUSSMANN VOW TO BRING THOSE RESPONSIBLE TO JUSTICE
Firefighters battling the still-smoldering ruins the next morning.
Officials suspect terrorism with at least 200 men and women dead after a powerful bomb exploded at the Infinitie Klüb nightclub on Friday night.
At 11:41 PM EST, an explosive device detonated inside the Infinitie Klüb in the salon district of Ryutsvaag, instantly killing and maiming anyone caught in the blast and resultant blaze. Several adjacent buildings sustained fire damage, and the Klüb itself collapsed after the explosion.
This bombing is set to be the deadliest terrorist incident -- as well as the first -- since the Little Jesus atrocities in 1953.
Emergency responders rushed to the scene at Imels Street, where a crowd of saloniers from other clubs had gathered to observe the devastation. Firefighters remained on site throughout the night and well into the morning to contain a fire from a gas line that ruptured as a result of the explosion. One firefighter had to be treated for smoke inhalation at Kostler Priß Hospital.
Rescuers were only able to delve into the wreckage and search for survivors once the gas fire had been extinguished. For this reason, it is believed that most of the survivors would have perished during the long night hours. Emergency workers are still, at the time of this article's publishing, extracting bodies and looking through the rubble for anyone alive.
The chief of Ryutsvaag Police, retired Brigadier General Ruger Nilssen, announced through a media channel that the device used in the attack was some form of fuel-air bomb. He elaborated on how such a bomb works.
"What basically happens is that an initial charge releases fuel that scatters and diffuses throughout any open spaces, mixing with the oxygenated air. The inside of the salon would have been filled with this fuel quite quickly. Then, a second charge provides the big boom, and the fuel cloud is ignited in a blast of gigantic proportions. The dearth of oxygen and pressure afterwards would cause trapped victims to slowly suffocate as they burned, that is, if their lungs and other internal organs hadn't already burst with the shockwave."
Nilssen added, "We won't stop until we apprehend the monsters who executed this attack. I know that Ryutsvaag is the greatest city in the world, and everyone here is pulling together in the aftermath. We won't be cowed by terrorists."
When questioned by a reporter, Nilssen clarified that there were no tangible leads yet as to those responsible for the bombing, but he said multiple security and intelligence agencies were already coordinating an investigation.
Few people were out on Imels Street at the exact time of the explosion, but it could be felt and heard in every part of the city. One woman reported being woken up to what she thought was a nearby clap of thunder.
"I sat straight up in my bed, thinking that a thunderstorm had started and our apartments had been hit by lightning or something," she said. "But then I noticed the window was cracking, so I woke my husband and we turned on the TV to see what was going on."
Similar experiences were to be had across Ryutsvaag. There were shattered windows, alarm bells going off, and nonlethal injuries to those not far enough removed from the blast radius, particularly to the elderly and infirm. Some even believed it to be the beginning of an invasion by Radiatia, but an informed citizen dispelled those rumors on social media.
The capital police have been out in force, with bomb units sweeping high-profile areas of the city to determine if any further attacks are imminent. Police presence is heaviest in the financial and government sectors. Much of the salon district was evacuated by authorities following the blast.
Liaison Minister Haussmann gave a press conference early this morning. "This is sure to be a trying time for our nation," he stated in his opening remarks. "The death toll will rise. I grieve with the families who don't know if their loved ones made it out, for I too have close friends who are members of that salon.
"But what we must have now is strong and resolute leadership: men who will find the despicable animals who did this and punish them accordingly. And believe me, they will be punished, because in Segland, justice always prevails." This was met with applause from the attending journalists, who were packed tightly into the Demarchist Party HQ press room.
The chancellor is set to give a speech at 8 PM Eastern, which will be broadcast live on Segland Premier News Network.
This article will be duly updated as new information becomes available.
EDIT #1: A working list of the dead has been released by police, and it includes Karl and Liane Morningstar, Hanna Kraus, Axel Salzwedel, and several other prominent Seglanders.
EDIT #2: In his speech, Chancellor Mueller stated that there was one survivor from Infinitie Klüb but did not release his/her name.
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Footnotes1 This cult centers itself around Saint Olga (birth name Olga Werszewic), a nun who assisted in the attempted 1911 overthrow of Erdmann Lehrer but was soon afterwards burned at the stake by her own order for violating her vow of political apathy.
2 A reference to the unusually high percentage of gays in the military. This is a result of intentional programs enacted by the Social Justice Agency to concentrate Segland's gays in one tolerant group, while still appeasing the country's social conservatives.
3 Deriving its name from the Seglandic word Gringeil, which means "alien" or "foreigner", the Gringo Bible was supposedly authored by aliens who visited Noctur thousands of years ago and planted the seed for the Germanic peoples to grow into the planet's master race.
4 A compendium of spiritual sayings and fables, spuriously attributed to Emperor Adrianus. Cults worshiping Adrianus in some fashion are the second most common type of religious group in post-Anatheon Segland, behind Christian groups.
5 This lengthy epic, which chronicles the many lives and reincarnations of a man seeking heavenly release, fuses elements of Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity. Scholars hypothesize that it may have come to Segland from al-Djezer in ancient times.
6 Some restrictions on religion have loosened in recent years, and Catholic cults are now permitted to send evangelists into major urban centers for limited periods at a time.
7 When Hugo Nimitz took power in 1964, the nation was still plagued by racial issues between those who claimed Aazeronian ancestry and those who claimed to be descended from a pure Germanic line. Nimitz deftly addressed this by proclaiming that the two lines were destined to blend in a marriage of cultures, producing a uniquely Seglandic race. However, he also believed that he needed to bury the racial divide permanently by replacing it with another divide: that of religion. In 1967, paramilitary forces organized by the Demarchist Party began their iconoclastic reign of terror, rounding up and killing anyone suspected of being religious. Known as the Anatheon, this activity peaked from 1968-1971 and was internationally condemned as a genocide.