Among the Survivors: IC, MT, PMT

[Osagal]

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Among the Survivors...

You see a scrubby office building on the edge of town. Both doors are locked on closer inspection, but their glass was knocked out some time ago. The front desk turns up nothing, save a slouched skeletal figure. You notice something odd about him though. In his bony right hand he clutches something blue and cylindrical. A pen. In front of him, enscribed on yellowing parchment is what appears to be a note. You examine it.

---

What's going on...?

---

It's been eighty long years since the United States formally disbanded, but the cause of the collapse had been doing it's work since the inception of the Industrial Revolution. Climate change. From its cultivation in the mind of Svante Arrhenius in eighteen ninety six to the mid nineteen nineties when it became a hot button political issue, this specter went largely ignored by both citizens and governments alike. Of course it was a contentiously debated topic, but whatever action taken was ultimately too little to amount to much. Whatever flimsy goals world powers drew up to slow down the crisis only did that -slow it down-. Global warming was always seen as a distant threat, the hazy carbon shadow we'd cast on our posterity instead of ourselves. In retrospect, it was less like a shadow and more like an explosion. It didn't just impact the lives of the future generations, but to the dismay of millions, ours as well.

The news media covered it poorly, without a doubt. They'd find time to work it in between recent terrorist attacks or other political drama, most of the time that is. On a few occasions the topic was dropped altogether in favor of a fresher, more click-baity story. Shocker: "How A Leaked Tape of Donald Trump Bragged About Groping" got more views than "Study Reveals Stunning Acceleration of Sea Level Rise". Putting it to the back burner did little to stop it though. During the first weeks of the flooding nobody batted an eye. Weather phenomena was the norm by then, but everything always returned to normal. But it didn't. They built the levees higher, but mounds of dirt can’t hold back the sea for long. Florida was the first to slip beneath the waves. Meanwhile, a Mississippi River bloated from rising oceans and a few seasonal hurricanes swallowed Louisiana and Arkansas whole. In later years large swathes of California would also be reclaimed by the deep blue.

Arguably the aftershock was more devastating than the losses themselves. The world’s markets felt the worst of it, plunging the globe into a new era of economic depression. The value of the dollar fell to it’s lowest point in history, being almost as valuable as the Confederate’s money had been during the Civil War. Speaking of which, Secessionist movements became increasingly popular in the new United States we’d made for ourselves. Texas was the first state to officially announce its independence from the faltering Union. New Mexico, California, and others were quick to follow suit. To put it lightly, the U.S respectfully declined their request to break away. All but one were brought to heel in less than a year, with the full power of the American war machine on their doorsteps. Texas, the most formidably armed rebel power, managed to hold the fighting to just south of the Red River for about five years. That was, until the news of the epidemic broke.

The Scourge had it’s roots in the decline of the Republic. In city streets and choked off islands (spits of high ground that endured the flooding in places like Florida and Louisiana) alike, American families lived in utter squalor and depravity. Men and women had to resort to all time lows just to feed themselves and their families. It started with cats and dogs. “People have to eat!” I remember them saying. Then came the rats. You did what you had to do, right? But all other alternatives were hunted to extinction, there were few other options than to turn on our own. Nobody said anything then. I wasn’t proud of it. None of us were. Few even admitted to it. Moreover, there was never a shortage of corpses, nor has there ever been since then. Thanks to us. We never suspected the medical implications of our diet. How we’d go mad. How we’d grow a lust for human flesh. In my day they use to say: “You are what you eat”. They weren’t so wrong, it turns out. We became corpses ourselves, cursed to walk among you living.

Anywho, we were the deathblow for the land of the free… We swept from east to west, north by south, turning people as we went. A few brave souls held us back, but the weak didn’t last long. The final joint-session of the House of Representatives was held to announce the United States’ capitulation to Texas, and all other states who bidded for their liberty. They wished North America farewell in their absence in a long speech, now forgotten. And their wishes paid off. New nations are rising to fill the void they left. In my time wandering this land, I think I’ve seen a great many of them. But now my days are done. As I slowly starve, my insanity has begun to fade. A frail clarity returns to me now, ironically when I need it the least. I write this now more for myself rather than whoever might find it. When the Scourge takes you, nothing seems to change. Only the lust for flesh drives you, nothing more. I’m surprised to see how much I’ve forgotten. Thanks for reading, I suppose. If you're to come here before I perish, finish me, please oh please. At this point nothing would be sweeter than dea-

---

At this point nothing would be sweeter than dea-

---

The letter finishes in sloppy, childish handwriting. You search the building for anything more important, but turn up nothing of great value. You head for the door, and emerge back into the gloomy ruination of a city outside. On the air, more than just the smell of death and decay wafts. A whisper also calls out to you. You hardly recognize it at first, but then you realize what it is. Adventure. It's calling your name.

The Known World

https://i.imgsafe.org/c4ec8d362f.png (Just use the link, the picture's too big.)

Crimson= The Empire of San Velasco- San Velasco
-Born from the Convention of Velasco, the meeting that unified long fighting Texan citystates.
-Evolved into a fascist empire, bent on expansion.
-Shares an western border with Osagal

Orange= The Holy Empire of Osagal- Osagal
-Started as an apocalypse cult in the American south known as the Communion of the Elect (CotE).
-Engaged in a series of long wars with a rival cult, the Revallist, and win by a large margin.
-Bishop Lucius-Judeaus declared war hero Belehedron Lysender as King of the conquered lands, establishing the Holy Empire of Osagal.

Light Red= The Confederal Republic of Vermont- Kihdis/The Champlain
-After epidemic ravages the U.S, sectarians in Vermont and parts of upstate New York left the Union as one entity.
-Once the House formally disbands the United States, this new nation becomes known as the Champlain Alliance, or just The Champlain.
-The Champlain became self sufficient and powerful, only interacting with other continental powers for the sake of military alliances.

Green= The Democracy of Vancouver- Great Canadian Dominion
-After the fall of the Canadian government, Vancouver and surrounding British Columbia became independent.
-The first years were terribly rough, but the citizenry persevered, a constitution was written, and things feel slowly into place.
-Asians make up the largest demographic of this nation, considering they had the fastest growing population rates after the collapse.

Sky Blue= The New Confederate States of America- Fre Eva Rinese
-Founded on the basis of southern unity and culture, a reincarnation of the nation's namesake.
-Cultural cornerstones include white supremacy and slavery.
-Shares an eastern border with Osagal.

Yellow= The Lakes Republic- Tsunegara
-Seceded from the U.S and Canada just before their official demise, to salvage and restore democracy in the waste of North America.
-Holds Niagara Falls and most of the Great Lakes region.
-Continues to expand it's influence throughout the former U.S and Canada.

Dark Blue= The Empire of Blythe- Candro
-Rose from the power vacuum left by retreating and disbanding United States forces.
-Controlled by a powerful military junta that rules through nationalistic fervor.
-Derives it's name from the small town it was founded in.

[Great Canadian Dominion]

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Hye ran through the streets of Cheyenne, knife in hand. She had recently got into a confrontation with bandits and just barely escaped, her leg was bleeding and her back was bruised, having been stabbed and smashed in both of those areas by a very thick, and spiked piece of wood, which was likely from a cottonwood tree. While running, Hye collapsed into a puddle and spraining her leg, Hye attempted to get up but her back wouldn't let her, a stab wound through her now-sprained leg also didn't help. "Ttong! somebody help!" perhaps that wasn't the smartest thing to say, since there was a lot of people who would be happy to loot, kill or abuse a disadvantaged stranger, such as Hye herself.

Someone on a building not very far away had definitely spotted Hye, and was ready to do something. The man pulled out a sniper rifle, clearly damaged and old, and aimed at Hye's head "One...two....three..." bam, the bullet went flying directly towards Hye's head. But she saw it coming even before he fired, and rolled over, her clothes were now entirely wet. The sniper took out another bullet and loaded it into his gun. Hye climbed out of the puddle and attempted to crawl away but too no avail, her body gave up making her collapse once more. Hye turned around to face the sniper, trying to scoot away quickly.

The sniper fired, once again, again misfiring and striking Hye in the upper groin rather than the head due to her sudden movement, making Hye screech in paim "ARGH!" the sniper was out of bullets now and fled. Hye layed there with three injuries, a stabbed leg, a beaten back and a gunshot through her groin. Hye climbed her way into a nearby building and sat there sobbing for a few minutes. Eventually she tossed her fanny pack onto the floor and began cutting parts of her pants off to use as makeshift bandages for her wounds. Now, she was certainly at her most vulnerable.

[The Champlain]

Burlington

Chief Governor Hayden finishes his speech telling the people of the Confederation about the official finishing of the Hero Dam project, to protect Lake Champlain from the rapidly incurring Atlantic Ocean over the St/ Lawrence River region. The encroaching sea caused a great period of unrest in the northern cantons, as many people were concerned that their land would be destroyed.

The second part of the presentation from the federal government contained an announcement that the northern cantons of the Confederation would be cooperating in a military action to seize the remains of Montreal, which in public was said to be for the protection of the remaining stranded Canadians there, but in actuality would be to gain another major port into the Atlantic, from where the nation could launch invasions of eastern Canada, as well as begin colonisation of ruined areas of the northeastern Atlantic. Many citizens were aware of the possibility of becoming rich by joining colonisation programs, but the government never spoke explicitly of this activity.

In the evening, the northern cantons began mobilising scouts to scope out the remaining area surrounding Montreal, and would begin planning the invasion soon afterwards.

[Great Canadian Dominion]

20 000 Vancouverite soldiers, 10 trucks and 5 helicopters stormed into Western Alberta as the nation attempts to take the province back from anarchy, alongside the oil and mineral resources which come packaged with the area. Weather conditions for the soldiers are stable, as the area hasn't been affected by flooding one bit, it was just a matter of mustering enough resources, which Vancouver had plenty, to push continue pushing forwards.

Meanwhile several ships and soldiers have deployed onto small Alaskan islands off the coast of B.C to take them over, after all they are close to home and it would take a half a month at most to take them all. The recent legalization of marijuana and cocaine, rather than keeping them decriminalized has opened a whole new economic sector in Vancouver which has become one of the biggest economy boosters involving teenagers, among the ranks of pornography, anime and the K, C and J-pop music genres which have exploded in the nation during the last few years.

[Osagal]

Osagali Wilderness

The mud beneath his feet squelched and sucked away one of his boots as he ran through the clearing. The cold rain and muck against his blisters was welcome relief, but not nearly enough. Preston’s breath had almost left him completely, seemingly with all of his lower body strength as well. Surely I can stop for a minute. The boy thought, dazed. I’ve been running for how long now? A few hours? A day? Awareness of time seemed to fade in and out for him. One minute felt like a thousand years, while the next came and went like the wind. Paranoia urged him to look down at his arm. He slowed and finally stopped near a boulder perhaps one tenth his size, but it was the only semi-reliable cover the meadow offered him, so he took it.

Squatting in the knee high grass he pulled up his sleeve and studied the bite. It was as raw and bloody as the day he got it, but something was different. The flesh about the wound had begun to turn yellow in addition to emitting a slight heat. After feeling it with his other hand, he confirmed the worst. The fever had set in. At that moment he began to wonder why he was running at all. Before long he’d become one of them, and nothing could be done about it. Why not let the hunters hack him to little bits? He’d lose his good sense to a feral madness soon anyway, if the rumors were true.The desire to give up was tempting, but he talked himself out of it. That’s the disease talking. At the next village I’ll have somebody lop it off. He decided, hopefully. He never thought he’d ever be so enthusiastic to lose his right arm.

With that he uneasily rose to his feet, determined to get to the next town. A forest, a lake, and a blur of other natural landmarks later there still were no towns. Only the wilds of this foreign land which stretched for days in all directions. Many miles more he bumbled through the southern brush, always on the brink of letting the rival voice in his head win out. When he at last saw the light burning brightly against the gathering darkness, he thought he’d lost it. However, as he grew closer, what he thought was a mirage only grew in size and solidity. By the time he came out of the pine thicket and onto the bleak stone steps of the village’s church, he was on all fours and weeping. For as long as his tired body permitted, he wept. For whom or what, he did not know or want to know. He only knew he’d made it. He’d survived.

When he woke, the silhouette of a full town made itself known against the predawn gloom. The wee morning hours were quiet, save some mumbling he didn't quite comprehend until he looked up. A man he assumed was the town’s Priest stood over him, a rosary in hand.

“God our father, your power brings us to birth, your providence guides our lives, and by your command we return to the dust. Lord, those who die still live in your presence, their lives change but do not end…” The man's words were as wispy as the thin hairs on his head.

Slowly, Preston recalled the words the Priest muttered. They had been said at his grandfather’s funeral, and his mother’s funeral after that. The catholic prayer for the dead. He did not understand, until he did… Glancing at his hand, the skin there had began to mottle with pale green and yellow marks, whilst some areas had already started slipping away from the very bone. His eyes filled with dread at the realization. He thinks I’ve already turned!

“Please father! I’m not dead! I’m fine, look, I can move see!” His flailing of his right arm sent a sleeve of rotten skin hurling at the church door.

“Help me up, please, I’m alive! All I need is a little help! Just an amputation!” He moaned, not stopping the prayer for an instant.

His cries for mercy mixed with screams of terror at the sight of his browning muscle and exposed bone...This can't be happening! I made it so far! The Priest only spoke louder when his howls grew more beastial still.

“I'M NOT DEAD I TELL YOU! HELP ME OFF THESE STEPS YOU LOON! I'M NOT DEAD!” He exclaimed once more, summoning all of his strength.

“I’M NOT DEAD!” He repeated.

“I’M NOT DEAD!” This time the phrase came out frail and malformed.

“NOT DEAD!!!!” His last words were hardly audible.

“...in company with Christ, who died and now lives, may he rejoice in Your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away, unite us together again as one family, to sing your praise forever and ever. Amen.” He said, making the sign of the cross before giving a curt nod to somebody unseen.

He’d never know exactly how dead he truly was.

It was letting out some sort of incoherent moaning as the Priest finished his parting words. By then it was frothing at the mouth and jerking wildly on the ground. He had never seen a victim cling to life for so long, but it didn’t matter. When he planted his spear into the creature’s neck, the amount of time it took to turn was of little consequence. The corpse let out a brief death rattle as it choked on its life’s blood, and went limp after a few agonizing seconds. Byron decided he’d properly finish the prayer the foolish old man had started.

“And death was his wages…” He declared, solemnly.

“Blasphemy! God loves all of his children, though all of them are sinners. Take your cultish filth elsewhere, sir. I will not have it spoil this holy site. Not today. Not ever.” The Priest retorted, clearly offended.

That caused the Renegade to chuckle a little. He glanced around smiling, taking full notice of the town’s state. The red brick roads were perhaps the only solid thing about the place, save for the church itself which was built of the same brick. The rest of the settlement was merely clusters of thatch and pitch hovels. Empty shitpots from the night prior gathered a thick fog of flies in the streets, and half starved mice rustled through the town’s washed out ditches.

“All of his children, eh? I see he loves you just about as much as he does the rats. You starve here all the same.” He scoffed, looking the old bag of bones up and down.

“We will eat like kings in the next life. You will dine on hot ashes, Renegade.”

The old nickname made him flush bright red, and his hands balled into fist.

“Your insolent tongue doesn't complement your soft head, granddad. I have half a mind to separate them myself, but other matters are more pressing right now. Look to your sins, fool.” Byron spoke through gritted teeth.

He waited a moment for the pious hunchback to call back with some low cunning remark, but alas, his wits had seemed to return to him when he needed them most. With a grunt Lynch snatched the butt of his spear, and wiped it’s business-end speedily on the deceased’s moth eaten jacket.

When he reached the town’s stables, he was barely surprised by their sub-par quality. They looked just as shity in the moonlight as they did by shine of the sun. It was a small, three walled building, roofed with rusted old tin. The only thing that kept the horses housed within from running off was a rickety wire fence, held up by a post that must have been older than the rest of the town. When he entered through the open door frame, the smell hit him like a sack of bricks. Is it the stables or the whole cursed town? Byron went out into the yard to find his mare just as he left her, saddled, bridled, and ready to leave. If he knew Keres just as well as he thought he did, she couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge either. The Renegade took her by the reins and led her out of the crumby stable and into the street. Mrs Landry’s stopping point.

The air smelt less of horse dung and more of rain again. From looking to the west he could tell it was far from done. He hesitated for a moment, but then began to strip. His vermilion leather jerkin was first to go. It was good at stopping the stray arrow, but it did little to keep the chill from his bones. Next was his faded garnet half cape, a nice garment to be sure, but nothing but a wet rag when the storms rolled overhead. Lynch kept his woolen breeches and boots, deciding to defer to a heavier white and fox fur trimmed cloak over a cotton pull down. He was putting on his spurs when his Outriders finally showed up.

“So nice of you two to finally join me.” Byron jested, mounting atop Keres.

“We were… Held up. What’s the news with the Scourge? The one on the church steps?” Ryland asked, gulping.

“I was well past Renguard when I saw him. He was stumbling like a drunken fool down the road and when I rode up to talk to him all he did was babble some nonsense I couldn't make heads or tales of. That’s when I saw the bite. I pointed it out, he ran, and I followed. I gave him a day’s head start, just to see how far he’d get. Best hunt I’ve had in a few good years.” He chuckled, sheathing his spear into his back sling.

“You really shouldn’t leave us like that. We ran into some ill luck on the road tracking you and your… Prey. They were hunters, going south to catch a ship to Farcry. They were good company while it lasted, but they had some valuable information. Information that they shouldn't have known.” Vonce sighed, patting his sabre.

“You… You killed them?” Byron was astounded.

It was a great offense against the Old Laws to kill a man, even if they did commit a crime. Worse still, only death could pay for death, as only an eye could an eye in the Old Book. He hoped he wouldn’t be the one to swing the blade in judgement.

“I had to! If word would have gotten out... I don't know how to put this... We would have lost more than a couple of huntsmen.” The Outrider decided at last.

“Like what, might I ask? Or will you have to kill me too if I know the truth?” The Renegade snapped.

“An Empire, Byron. The finest one these lands have ever known. The Trenchtown has been burning for three days, and still rages on. The moment these southerners realize that the Trench is weak, they’ll be on us like a flock of vultures. What they don’t know can't hurt them.” He said, somberly.

He wasn’t wrong. Redrunn Trench was the only barrier protecting the peninsula from the barbarism of the north, however, it was hardly the shield it was built to be. Just as a locked door keeps outsiders from coming within, it also keeps insiders from going without. Over the years, the tyrannical Trenchmen had made Alamiss a prison. Food passed south through the fortress’ gates only at their leave, and the trade galleons only sailed if they willed it. Power lied in the north, and the north was burning.

From the nameless town to Renguard, and from Renguard to Haythe, and from Haythe to Twelve Towers, the sound of hooves beated like drums against paving stones and open ground alike. He regretted not slaying the murderer, it was true, but he knew if he stayed a second longer he’d never forgive himself. Every second a little more stability slipped away. Every second, the line of succession flashed in his mind's eye, washing away in baptismal fire. Every second, they called to him. The potters, the beggars, the thieves and the whores. Their voices called to him from his mind’s eye. Make way for the King! All Hail! King Lynch! King Lynch!!!

[San Velasco]

Amarillo, Texas

The empty glass bottle suddenly shattered only a second after the rifle had fired, sending glass shards everywhere on the range. 400 yards (4 football fields) away from the shards, Castelo cycled the bolt, ejecting the shell and sending another bullet into the chamber nearly simultaneously. A woman stood over him, peering through a pair of binoculars. She lowered them, adjusting her field cap and the pair of goggles strapped to them.

"Hit." she spoke.

Castelo flipped the safety on and released his grip on it, allowing the bipod to do its job. He rose to his feet, looking down the range.

"Four hundred yards. That puts three hundred and sixty-five meters between you and Emperor Crowe." she continued, carrying a quite distinctive northern accent.

"Still not far enough. We'll never get that close. Castelo spoke with a rather Spanish accent.

The two turned away from the range, looking back at the two horses that were tied down to an old barn house. A look of concern flooded Cassian.

"It is not your precision that worries you. Is it?" she asked.

Castelo looked down, then back to the range.

"We need more than one angle." he answered.

"Recruitment?" she pondered.

"I'll speak to the General about it. Grab the Lee. Let's go." he finished.

With one swift order, she quickly ran to the sniper set up. Wrapping up the Lee Enfield and casing it. Castelo already untied his Stallion and mounted upon it, already steering away from the range. She was quick to follow along with him. The sun was setting in the west, while they traveled eastward, a storm was settling itself over the remnants of the Great Plains.

[Fre Eva Rinese]

South Virgina
Devus was meeting with the House of Assembly today. He stomach was doing flips. He was proposing a law that would break 70 years of tradition and livelihood but he knew it was the right thing to do. He also knew he already had enough support from the Assembly. The House was changing to new ideas the main cause being that the Old World thinkers were dying or were retiring. Their were 175 seats in the House he only needed 80 seats to vote in favor for him to pass the law. The President stood up and walked out the door and into the assembly. His heart was racing blood pounding into his ears as he walked towards the coloumn. An abrupt silence came over the room all eyes were on him. Duves leaned into the Micrphone and spoke.
"Hello and good morning to all of you today. I am here to propose something drastic and I hope you will take it well." A quite murmur came through the room they had heard rumors but it ended with a surprising quickness."I propose a permanent ban on Slavery in all districts and for for all enslaved unless serving a crime be granted independence and equal citizenship for all. For a new day has come a day upon which I see a new reign of glory upon the NCSA. I would also like to propose a settlement campaign into former D.C and a expansion into our armed forces. I will know leave you towards your decision and I hope you will decided well." The military and D.C bit was to throw the dis approving parties off and make it look like he not a bad guy not that he was in the first place but better safe than sorry.

[The Champlain]

Burlington

The Chief Minister of Foreign Monitoring excitedly burst into Governor Hayden's office.

"Gvr. Hayden, I have news from the situation in the Confederacy, you know, down south."

"What could possibly be coming from there that is of value to us?"

"Well... they're voting to outlaw commercial slavery! This means that we could begin to negotiate cooperation with them."

"Right... Well, all we can really do is hope that the legislators wise up, right?"

The Minister's face grew more serious. "Well, we could do that. Or, we could sabotage the vote."

"That seems irresponsible and risky. I don't want to risk starting a war over the policies of a nation we have no relations with. Besides, there's nothing in our power that could influence the vote. Their military is definitely more developed than ours is, and outright demanding it is out of the question. All I am going to do is send messages to the President. If the bill falls through, then it is not our problem, and we will not run the risk of conflict."

---

To: The New Confederate States of America
From: The Confederal Republic of Vermont

President Davus,

We applaud your proposal to ban the abhorrent practice of slavery. We wish you the best of luck in your campaign, and are willing to discuss terms of a military alliance in the case of your bill's passing. If it fails to pass, we still offer you the hand of friendship, and seek to declare a non-aggression treaty, as well as establish mutual neutrality, if that is the situation.

Best of luck to you,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden

[Fre Eva Rinese]

Frank sat waiting for the vote to come in it had been two hours since his speech when an e-mail appeared.
To: The New Confederate States of America
From: The Confederal Republic of Vermont

President Davus,

We applaud your proposal to ban the abhorrent practice of slavery. We wish you the best of luck in your campaign, and are willing to discuss terms of a military alliance in the case of your bill's passing. If it fails to pass, we still offer you the hand of friendship, and seek to declare a non-aggression treaty, as well as establish mutual neutrality, if that is the situation.

Best of luck to you,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden
He gave a small grin, "Let's just hope it will pass " He said to himself.

A gruesome hour later a knock came to his door. A small aide came in "Mr. President the House has decided." Frank got up with hope filling in his chest he walked towards the Assembly. After walking in he sat behind the podium. "In response towards President Frank Davus call against slavery. A 87 Ya 44 Na and 22 abstain." A resounding cheer came across the room. Frank gave a quick smile and stepped up and walked out.

He walked back with a victory smile on his face. " Jennifer call Dermitz tell him I need him in my office." The aide walking beside him gave a quick yes Mr President and walked off. Field Marshal Dermitz was the leader of the NCSA military. Frank sat down at his computer and typed an e-mail.
To:The Confederal Republic of Vermont
From: New Confederate States of America
Chief Governor Connor Hayden
The vote has passed and slavery is over I would gladly accept your alliance offer and would also like to propose an Ecnomic alliance as well.
President Frank Duvus

[The Champlain]

To: The New Confederate States of America
From: The Confederal Republic of Vermont

President Davus,

Congratulations on your victory against the scourge of slavery. We will happily honor the military alliance. However, we must put to referendum the proposition of an economic relationship. I personally believe that we could mutually benefit from such a relationship, but our constitution forbids the executive from performing such an order without consent.

Cordially,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden

[Tsunegara]

Buffalo, New York

A scout team of 65, lead by Erin Ledley, moved silently through the cold streets of outer Buffalo. The tall office buildings now ruined and covered in moss towered over her, blocking the moonlight from shining into their current position. She held her rifle close to her, a cheap ripoff Kalashnikov, as they paused to take a breath. Buffalo would be the site of the next Republic annexation, as full control of the Niagara region could be key for trade in the future, as it was the quickest way to get to Ohio from New England. Buffalo was rumored to be a warzone, the east side at constant chaos, fighting between different bandit tribes and political movements. Ledley had been told they had made contact with a friendly Republican movement holding the coast from the Peace Bridge down to the Canalside, that were willing to work with the Lakes Republic.

"Alright boys let's move." she whispered to the group, as they pushed down towards a building that once housed a company called "Synacor", that now was the home of the Buffalo Republican Movement. Across the region, various Republican Movements were in similar situations. Communist movements had came across better weapons, including tanks and fighter jets. The team raised their banner, signalling that they were a republican movement, and they were welcomed into the building by guards.

"Awful late ta be out here ya know?" one of the guards said, with a thick African accent. "A young girl like you could've been taken as a slave for not just hard labour by the communists..." another whispered. They were escorted to a room with beds and storage facilities by the guards, they would begin diplomatic talks tomorrow, before they would return to St. Catherines with some of the Buffalo Republicans before a full scale invasion and "cleansing" of Buffalo began. Cleansing was the codename for a ruthless full scale assault tactic involving outnumbering and overpowering, before the mass imprisonment, enslavement and killing of anti-Republican enemies. It had been used successfully to conquer most of Niagara and they believed they could use it in Buffalo. Slaves were still held today, used to clean up major cities and make areas habitable, as well as to manufacture weapons and supplies for soldiers and civilians of the Lakes Republic. It was the dark side of the Republic, many of the politicians and civilians disagreed with it, but new it had to be done.

"Thank you." Ledley said to the guards, smiling.
"No problem young girl. Sleep well, there will be breakfast, lunch and depending on when you leave, dinner ready for you." one of them responded.

[Fre Eva Rinese]

Virgina
Frank was sitting at his desk reviewing his economy. It was in okay shape with the fishing industry rising but the cotton was declining. A knock came to his door and a man walked in. " Good morning Field Marshal I assume you got the message." "Yes Mr President what would you like to talk about." "What are our chances of taking D.C? " The Field Marshel sat for a few moments." We have a good chance but Intel from D.C says that small army numbering around 1,000 men calling them selves the presidents own, I think it would be wise to take the Stonwalls and assault the city with 5,000 of our regular troops to act as mop up."
"Good and time?"
"Give or take a month at the most."
"Do you think that we would have to bring in Little Bird?"
" No we can probably handle it with the shortage of fuel."
" Well good meet with Godwin and plan the assault I want troops by the end of this week."
"Yes Mr President I will take with commander Godwin immediately."

After he walked out an aide came in " Sir a telegram from Vermont."
She handed him a sheet of paper.
To: The New Confederate States of America
From: The Confederal Republic of Vermont

President Davus,

Congratulations on your victory against the scourge of slavery. We will happily honor the military alliance. However, we must put to referendum the proposition of an economic relationship. I personally believe that we could mutually benefit from such a relationship, but our constitution forbids the executive from performing such an order without consent.

Cordially,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden

He read the telegraph with a grin and wrote his own response.

To:The Confederal Republic of Vermont
From: New Confederate States of America
Chief Governor Connor Hayden

Thank you for the choice of the military alliance. I hope the referendum goes well. I would also like to propose a division of land between us in order not to cause border friction. I will have half of Massachusetts and you can have the realist of New York and everything North.

From
President Frank Davus

[The Champlain]

Burlington City Hall, Governor's Office

Hayden could hear the buzz of arguing advisers and canton representatives outside his door. He sighed heavily, and told his secretary to let them in, one by one. The first official to enter was Michael McReavis, ambassador of the Adirondack Canton.

"Chief Governor, my forces were very excited to hear back from the scouts. The reported no resistance from Montreal, and that the city was vastly depopulated. Under my command we took the region overnight. Now I came to just discuss the terms of integration for the Montreal Canton, as we've named it. I think that if we - "
The ambassador was interrupted by a buzzing telegraph on Governor Hayden's desk. The address stated that it came from the New Confederacy. There was a request for land division and colonial cooperation.

"Mr. Ambassador, if you mind, we will discuss integration later. Keep the area under control with your canton's militia, and go to Minister Sanders if you need further military support. She has my full authorisation to act in any means necessary to protect the colony. I have to respond to this. It is urgent."
He shook the ambassador's hand, and wished him to lock the office door upon leaving.

---

Hayden sat down at his desk and began responding to the telegram.

To: President Frank Davus
From: Chief Governor Connor Hayden

Colonial division will be difficult to sell to our people, after our recent expenditure in Montreal. It was more successful than we anticipated, but the nation was quickly drained of resources, as the rapid expansion was very wealth-consuming. However, the future of New England does ultimately depend on us, and I would not like to see the rest of my region fall deeper into chaos.
New York City will be difficult. Even with depopulation, there are still 3 million destitute people living there, all divided by wars over resources. This city is the most lucrative port in all of North America. In the interest of both of our populaces, I request that you halt expansion north of the southern Pennsylvania border, in exchange for joint control of New York City with us. Understand that taking this city will be one of the most difficult operations of both of our military's existence, but the payoff will be immense. I hope that you will consider this negotiation.

Cordially,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden

[Great Canadian Dominion]

Vancouverite forces manage to capture the Alaskan islands bordering B.C while they prepare to push even further into Alberta, where a large amount of oil is located. This oil could be used to power cars, factories and increase trade, which now is strictly reduced to bartering as money is not worth anything in a world where resources, consumer goods and commodities are scarce. A helicopter containing a diplomata and two pilots has been sent out eastwards in search of civilization.

[Fre Eva Rinese]

After an hour discussing with the Durmitz about D.C a telegraph buzzed.


To: President Frank Davus
From: Chief Governor Connor Hayden

Colonial division will be difficult to sell to our people, after our recent expenditure in Montreal. It was more successful than we anticipated, but the nation was quickly drained of resources, as the rapid expansion was very wealth-consuming. However, the future of New England does ultimately depend on us, and I would not like to see the rest of my region fall deeper into chaos.
New York City will be difficult. Even with depopulation, there are still 3 million destitute people living there, all divided by wars over resources. This city is the most lucrative port in all of North America. In the interest of both of our populaces, I request that you halt expansion north of the southern Pennsylvania border, in exchange for joint control of New York City with us. Understand that taking this city will be one of the most difficult operations of both of our military's existence, but the payoff will be immense. I hope that you will consider this negotiation.

Cordially,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden

Frank read it thoughtfully. " Change of plans ready you soliders for New York."
"Yes Mr President."

To:Chief Governor Connor Hayden
From: President Frank Davus II

I will accept your agreement for the halt into PA. I do not think though we will need much force in NYC. I propose supporting groups with the same ideas as us and send forces and weapons to support them. We can then make them our puppet state or annex them,that way we can conquer with little to no casualties on our side.

From: President Frank Davus II

[Tsunegara]

Buffalo Republican Movement Base, Buffalo, New York

"Good morning Ms. Ledley! I trust you slept well?" General Andy Larken said, one of the leaders of the Buffalo republicans.
"Yes I did thank you Mr. Larken. Shall we discuss the important stuff over lunch?" she replied
"Certainly. Food supplies have been dwindling recently since we lost access to a supply line that came through Niagara Square. We're actually just out of war now with a socialist group, this is the least territory we've held in decades. That's why we're so eager to have you take Buffalo."
"Well we all need to work together. President Rathar has discussed plans of making a new combined autonomous state with Buffalo the capital of it, we're sure you would like that?"
"Absolutely! That's even better than what we were originally going to propose. Now then, shall we head to the dining room?"

Most of the building had been restored and looked brand new. It had been designated the main headquarters of the republicans since left-wing movements captured Buffalo City Hall four years ago. For the last two months, the Lakes Republic and the Buffalo republicans had been in talks to annex the city into the Lakes Republic. Ledley planned to request a full scale offensive with the assistance of the Buffalo republicans to cleanse the city within a few months.

London, Ontario, The Lakes Republic

London was one of those cities that had never fully been assimilated into the Republic. Only the eastern side of it was considered safe, the west was still habitable and all, but there was a lot of bandits and "wanderers" there. Wanderers was a term given to lone travelers that weren't very friendly, that usually killed inncoents for supplies, sometimes for no reason at all. Soldiers patrolled heavily past a border going down Warncliffe Road, as this was seen as where it began to get dangerous. Due to threats from the western part of the city, all schools had been moved into the east. But one of President Rathar's policies that he has implemented while Provisional President in an attempt to get votes from the real election, was to fully "assimilate" all settlements in the Republic. Several military bases in Ontario had been looted, and military grade vehicles and weapons would be used for the mass occupation and cleansing of West London. The operation would take place immediately after the annexation of Buffalo and it's surroundings.

[Osagal]

The Kabal's Chamber, The Trenchtown, Osagal

The table the invited sat around was oval in shape and made of glittering black and blue marble, a model of the city at one end with the rest of the peninsula replicated below it in full three dimensions. Landor Syvelle sat on the western side of the slab not far from the beginning of the row, just shy of Twelve Tower’s obelisk. Though the Kabal’s Chamber was packed to bursting, an uneasy hushnessed had settled over the room like an unwelcome humidity. Wealthy traders whispered uncertainties to the monopolized marketeers. His fellow army officers told unsavory rumors to the galley captains in stifled voices. The group’s more devout attendees, mostly comprised of Trenchtown’s higher clergy, mouthed wordless prayers to God above, begging for his providence.

It would have gone on forever like that, had the doors not swung open about thirty minutes into the ponderous wait. With breaths held, the congregated sat up as straight as their spines could bring them. Their hopes were dashed as soon as the arrival came into focus in the dimly lit hall. Stunningly, King Aidylen didn’t stand in the door; in his place was his last born son of His Serenity’s three other children, Nohelyon.

Without a word, he strode into the Chamber and took his father’s seat. The Kabal was at a loss for words. It was not just ill mannered, but true treason for a man of his station to place himself at such a post. It appeared as though as the guards at the door didn’t seem to mind though, nor those who were placed to keep the session in order. Before anyone else could protest, the boy stood up in the chair and dug around for a moment in the inner pocket of his doublet, out from which he produced a crisp piece of purple dyed parchment.

“A message from my royal father-” He began, clearing some phlegm from his windpipe before continuing.

The room quaked when at last he spoke. He wasn’t loud, nor was his voice commanding. The hall was simply so shrouded in silence that when sound did return it didn’t seem natural or befitting of the place.

“‘My humble servants of the Kabal, I regret to inform you that I will not be attending the emergency meeting you requested today. The smoke off the fires has gotten the better of my old lungs, and I’ve taken absence of my duties. Till I can return to aforementioned duties, I leave mine own son…’ Does anybody want to take a stab at which son he left in charge?” The young Prince laughed, staring down at his subjects.

The only response he received were the withering stares of the elder members below him, and the room returned to unadulterated silence.

“Me!” He found this hysterical, and cackled accordingly.

None laughed with him.

“In the name of our King, The Second Aidylen, of the Bloodline Lysender, The Shield of the South, Pillar of the Faith, and The Anvil, I officially call this session of the Kabal into order.” He declared, sitting back down.

He passed along the purple letter down to the man on his right, a scruffy old man with deep bags under his eyes and a long white beard. The fossil looked over the paper carefully, nodding before passing it down further. By the time it got down to him, Landor didn’t doubt it’s authenticity and simply sent it along to the next person who might care to.

“So. What will be our first order of business?” He asked, sounding just as cheerful as he looked.

“The fire!” A disembodied shout went up.

Syvelle and several more took up the call before Nohelyen put up a hand to silence them all.

“Ivon? Everyone knows your grandfather supervised the digging of this Trench. Your father oversaw the rising of the city within it and the walls without it. What do you know that could help us save their work?” He inquired, focusing all eyes in the room on him.

The second in command rapped his fingers against the table whilst he thought, eyes locked with his superior’s all the while.

“I think we’re out of time on that front. If we would have acted a day, maybe a half a day ago, perhaps some of the inner city could have been saved. This isn’t then though. Now all we can do is reserve our manpower. We need to get our remaining civilians to safety, and fast.” He said between the tapping of his fingertips against the marble.

“I trust your council and I take it with much consideration, but how do you propose we save said civilians?” Retorted Lysender, gaze unbroken.

The man resorted to more tapping still. To Landor, it was a curious thing the man’s fingers went but grounded down stubs from all the tapping he did. He wondered how long the boy would tolerate it. Nohelyen wasn’t known for his patience, and for good reason.

“We need open ground, a place away from the smoke and ash.” The words came out slowly, as if he was unsure if they were correct.

The Prince grabbed at his nonexistent beard, nodding all the while.

“The Palace Gardens. They’re huge. Captain Locke! Send your civil patrols into the salvageable parts of the city and round up all the survivors. Open our gates for them.” He demanded, whipping his head around to one of the door guards.

Locke looked dumbfounded.

“Open the gates? To the rabble? Boy-”

“Locke. Proceed me boy again and you’ll soon wish you hadn’t. Get the people. Open the gates. If you can't, I’ll find another who will.” Nohelyen shifted uncomfortably in his father’s absurdly tall cyprus chair.

The words stung, even though Landor knew they were meant for another. In the Kabal, members were meant to defend one another from these kinds of veiled threats. An attack on one was an attack on all. This appeared to mean little to his fellow attendees though, as they meekly sat and watched as the Captain strode from the hall.

“And what will be next on the agenda?” Nohelyen queried.

A dozen or so cried of for a discussion of defense, while the rest demanded for the conversation to transition into how the peasantry would be feed and housed upon entering the Gardens. A few present Keep Keepers and local Lords protested against both, for they wanted to open the real gate, the one opening to the north. It’d been three long weeks since the last meeting, in which King Aidylen called for them to remain shut. Punishment for some impudent remark one of the land holders had said about the King or something like that. His Serenity was never thick of skin.

“We’ll get to defense soon, I promise, but I think I’ll wrap up this current issue. They were sleeping in shit houses before the fire. They were living in ruins before we took them in. I think they’ll manage a few nights in the Gardens. As for food, Greenskeeper? Does anyone know if Loughan is here?” Asked the Prince, hopefully.

For a moment on murmurs went up in response, but alas he stood. Clad in a juniper green tunic and brown leather pants, it looked as though a tree had just sprouted up in the Kabal Chamber, the man was so tall.

“Aye! I’m here!” bellowed Loughan in his monstrously deep voice.

“How much food can the fruit bearing trees in my Garden supply?” Nohelyen grabbed his smoothly shaved chin once more.

“Two, three days worth for all the people you mean to bring in.” The tree trumpeted, loud enough to be heard two or three days in the future.

The Prince gave a single nod, gesturing the man to take his seat again. The Chamber was once again clear cut once again, Syvelle found.

“The fire should be burnt out by then, I’d hope at least. If we need to supply them any more after that, we shall open the North Gate!” Lysender avowed, bringing up cheers from the landowners.

After that, the leader’s icy stare rested on him, and when he spoke the words felt just as cold. Not sharp like the ones used toward the Captain, but… Eerily chilled. As though each word came of the breath of one of the Scourged.

“Now onto defense. Captain Syvelle. Would you be so good as to educate me on the current state of the Rest? The Red Rest?” The Prince asked, with cold grey eyes transfixed on him.

The Red Rest weren't large or impressive fortifications, but they’d always done their part. In the first days of the Trenchtown, the Rest were the first and last line of defense and were manned more often than not. Every year it seemed a horde of treasonous southerners would be thrown back by their defenders. Back then though they were just a dozen or more earthen blockhouses with three or four breastworks thrown up between them at any given time. Now however, the Rest had become a proper fortress. The breastworks had been converted from packed dirt and clay to four foot high stone slabs, lined with tin on the exterior side. The blockhouses had seen upgrades too in their years of service, also shedding dirt for rock, and wood for tin.

“They’re strong.” Stronger than I Am right now. He thought after hearing his squeaky, low voice in comparison to Nohelyon’s.

“In the past six months, budgeting has allowed us to add three new trebuchets behind the third and final breastwork. Deep pitfalls have also been dug and disguised for at least a mile in the fields approaching the Rest. We’ve made hollow hills too. Once a few people reach its crest, it caves in. A score are filled with razor wire on the inside, a few dozen more scorpions or snakes. Some are large enough to swallow a company whole.” He summarized

The Prince smiled at that.

“Excellent. I want every man who can hold a lance from here to Haythe manning the southern Rest for the next two months. Old and young, rich and poor. If they can stand, they can fight.” Lysender announced, folding his arms as he looked down at the table.

Some presumably affluent Keep Keepers susurrate back and forth between one another, eventually bringing a couple of merchants and traders into their conversation. One of them stood up after a few more minutes of that, and cleared his throat.

“Poor and rich? You’d see me bleed to death alongside those flea ridden swine herds? Besides, no reports of the fire have spread past Haythe. A certain Captain Lonxcross saw to that quite well. His rounds have confined the news to no more than thirty miles of here.” The pompous, red faced lordling asserted.

“You in a battle? That’s funnier than those big goldfish eyes of yours. Honestly I’d prefer to see you in a clown suit. It would be far more becoming of you. And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed or not…” The Prince looked both ways mockingly, pretending to make sure if they were alone.

The torrent of uncontrollable laughter only stopped to hear the Princes strained whisper of voice continue.

“...But there's a tower of smoke five miles high above us! SHHHHH!” He put a lone finger over his lips.

“Be sure not to tell anybody and I’m sure the southerns won't see it!!!” The end of the jest spawned another wave of gut busting amusement.

The attendees, including Syvelle were still in shambles when Locke tottered in. The Captain was ghost white, save for smatters of blood and brains spread across his haunted face. His steel breastplate was dented, and a thin finger of blood ran down from one of the deeper crevices in his armor. He stood shaking in the doorway, sabre half poking out from it’s crimson sheathe. When he opened his mouth to speak, his weak voice was drowned out by the boisterous merry making of the Kabal. Nobody else seemed to see him either, save Nohelyon, who wheeled around in his seat to look at the Captain. After a mostly silent exchange, the Prince’s face morphed from it’s regular smile to an ominous yet sickening grin. He nodded at the Captain and waited for the banter to subside. When it did, he rose.

“My faithful retainers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for attending today’s meeting and helping me to keep my father’s realm safe and secure in his time of… ailment.” He paused.

“However, it’s growing late and I have prior obligations. We will adjourn for now, and resume this session tomorrow at daybreak.” He declared, stopping the repartee in it’s tracks.

Landor didn’t understand. Although the heavy velvet canopy that covered the Chamber’s immaculate stained glass ceiling was fully in place, small shafts of rainbow light still danced across the table from the Trench to Farcry. The day was far from over, and nobody seemed to have been complaining. Not a single person had asked permission to leave yet, citing ‘nature’s call’ or for the small elect of younger women in the assembly, ‘women’s troubles’. Apparently he was the only one who thought that way though, as all of his fellow attendees filed out of the room coolly and quietly, undisturbed by the unusual and unceremonious dismissal. He went with it. What else was there to do? It’s nothing, surely. Just the inexperience of a last born Prince. He excused.

After a few intensely uninvolving minutes of shaking hands and making meaningless small talk with some of the younger Captains, Syvelle made his move toward the door. He never thought there was such relief in this life as exiting those woven redwood doors. That was, until he sensed it. A chill in the air, a palpable and permeating rush of cold.

“Ah, Captain Syvelle.” Even though the boy was not a day older than fifteen, his voice still made the hairs on his neck stand at attention.

“My Prin-” He began.

“Walk with me, we’ve still got a lot to talk about, you and I.” Nohelyon sighed, looking down at his sharp, crooked fingernails.

The Kabal Chambers let out into a smaller hall of whitewashed marble. Animal pelts of all descriptions lined the floors, unlike those of polished stone in the main room from whence the building got it’s name. The same beast skellington's stood vigil at the base of the looming doors, one a bear on it’s hind legs, the other a crouched wolf. The antechamber’s walls were barren, save for the nanoscale collection of portraits that lined the left wall coming into the structure. Landor recognized the Kings among them. Only two hung, for there were only two to be recalled. Alamiss had declared for several monarchs after the fracture, but none had done anything worth remembering. King Aidylen’s eyes followed him as he and the man’s son walked out into the courtyard.

“There’s much to think about in these coming days. Father’s condition only deteriorates. They tell me all I can do is pray. Do you believe that?” Asked the Nohelyon, making a sharp left down a flight of stairs leading from the Chamber’s courtyard to the castle’s southern ward.

“I’m no expert on medicine, but…” He was cut short once more.

“Not that…”

“That…” He pointed.

The castle was built upon a steep man made hill near the Trench’s center, allowing even those standing in the southern ward to be on level with the tops of the fort’s curtain wall that wrapped around the artificial mountain. The Prince gestured to the Red Rest, which looked almost microscopic in the distance. Far below the Trenchtown rose to meet the base of the castle, but where the trench ended the main walls climbed to the skies again. Comparative to the acres of blackened rubble that presently made up the city’s heart at least. Past that were the Rest, just a thick black line on the southern horizon.

“If the southern’s rally their armies and march on us, with father abed, what can we do? Who do the troops rally to? Whose commands do our armies listen to when their city faces siege?” Lysender continued, breaking into a brisk walk as he closed in on the next set of steps.

“If the southern’s rally their armies and march on us, they march to defeat. Only once has a rebel warband overrun the Rest, and even they were thrown back at the walls. Besides, it’s customary for the King or Queen to lead the Trench to war, if need be. You’ve nothing to worry about. Either your father will get better… Or God forbid… He passes, and the Rites of Succession place your sister Lyhesia on the throne. More likely your tenure will last no more than a month.” Declared the Captain.

He broke into a sweat trying to keep pace, but the stairs were flanked on both sides by tall willows, providing relative shade for the rest of the climb.

“Whoever sits the throne, I don’t intend to let our enemies past the Rest, or even get to them. An ace in the hole, Captain. It makes all the difference. If they come here, no… When, they get here, they’ll be in for a surprise indeed. History will remember me by my cunning.”

That peaked the old man’s attention.

“And what would that be?” He tested the waters carefully.

“I’m taking you to it as we speak.” He smirked, taking a deep breath at the last step.

At the end of their journey they found themselves at the foot of the Zephyr Palace. A single glass candle burned in each of the gatehouses windows, filling the darkness behind them with flickering tones of red and blue and green and purple. A silent omen of mourning to come, one mostly reserved for the fall of a city or the death of an allied leader outside the protection of the Trench. Uncertainty gnawed at his very soul as the six inch thick iron bars fell down into their holes with a deafening clangor.

The thinly forested area of pines and willows outside the entryway was dead quiet. No bird did sing, no racket ascended from the city ‘neath them, nor did any creature make itself known. Only the sound of crunching gravel under the men’s boots break the monotonous stillness. Everything seemed to take on a haunted feeling then, there coming up on the Zephyr’s elegant stepped and twisting spires. It must be this surprise. He decided, still unable to calm his churning stomach. The pair climbed more stairs, higher and higher until through the thin tower windows the Earth below shrank to a green blob, freckled with brown, grey, and black. By the sixteenth floor, the old Captain was out of breath, but it appeared as though the youngster’s energy had seen him through. Nohelyon led the way, shoving through the strung sapphires that hung in the doorway that separated the core of the Breeze Tower from its most elevated room.

Upon entering the room was incredibly bright, despite the walls being made of midnight black basalt bricks, outlined only by a thin white mortar. The chamber also smelled sugary sweet too, and not in a nice way. Rich people and their incense. The roof was completely open, save for a deep royal blue canopy that kept out the sunlight. The glassless windows were not draped today, however, explaining the harsh light. Again, things were oddly out of order. The penthouses’ navy couches had been moved out somehow, along with the sky blue Californian rugs. The room’s last vestiges of finery incarnated themselves in the forms of sleek black marble statues depicting nude women, chiseled from great pillars which stretched all the way around the ring-shaped room. But that wasn’t all. Three pieces of furniture had managed to survive. Also carved from the basalt, three silver inlaid thrones crept up, flanked by two of the statues. The only difference was these two held deep iron braziers. And the thrones… They held things of their own.

With wreaths of black roses in place of helms, three Palace guards knelt at their feet, whatever they were. At the right side of the last seat was Captain Locke, battered and bloodied with a face so bruised it made Syvelle wonder if he belonged on a throne too. The thought forced him to study the husk on the chairs. Their forms were so odd and contorted he’d purposely looked away when he entered, but now he made himself stare. The bodies were clad in simple silken lounge clothes, thin but baggy. Most of the garments were ripped to ribbons now, though, so that was not much to speak of. Truly, it was the corpses themselves that instilled horror.

All but one of the faces was caved in from the front, and the one that wasn’t looked so warped and grinded down that it made him question if it’d had facial features to begin with. Landor went to look down at the rest of the bodies, but he wretched before he got the chance. Some poor sot a couple of thousand feet below got a shower of vomit as he threw himself against a nearby window. That’s when he bumped into it. A gold censer hung by a silver chain, creating a fog of syrupy sweet fumes that reminded him of rot. That’s where that smell was coming from. He realized feeling more sick than he had before. They’re trying to hide the smell.

“Wha- wha- wha-t’s this. Who are they?” He asked, wiping bile with the sleeve of his chainmail.

“My sister. My brother. My other sister. Shame they had to go. I missed them so much whilst away at Renguard. They were on a walk in the Palace Gardens when I opened the back Gates. They were trampled. When people realized who they were, the kind folk of the city paid them their… respects. The girls at least. You see, Captain? This is my surprise. Leadership!” Smiled the boy, showing a mouthful of pearly white teeth.

“When those filthy southerners make their way down here, they won't be greeted by some simpering whore in a pretty dress or a jester in a crown. No. They’ll meet me. And they don’t want to meet me, I promise.” He sneered to the corpses.

The boy gestured for Captain Locke to step forward and the stooge complied eagerly. The man moved mechanically as he stepped over the last guard’s trailing cape, drawing his gory sabre with a soul piercing rasp.

“Put down the sword, Locke. If the King finds ou-” The words feel on deaf ears, and the monster within the Captain was soon bearing down upon Syvelle.

The combatant’s steel rang loud as church bells when Landor brought out his own blade. It was a savage weapon, forged of northern black steel and coiled with gnarly barbs. He’d plucked it from the icy dead hands of an enemy warrior in the Third war with Revallia, a time he remembered fondly. However the wielder had aged while the sword remained timeless. To the contrary, his opponent's blade was as simple as they came. It was a standard issue short sword, it’s only ornament a long flare of ruby blood from it’s leather bound hilt to it’s naked sharp extremity.

The duel wasn’t only a brutal battle, but also a fast, high tempo dance. One lunged forward and the other improvisationally stepped back in order to keep their toes from being stepped on or an arm from being hacked off. Back and forth they went, Nohelyen cackling the whole time off in the foreground. At first the fighting went well for the elder Captain. His ragged blade took hold of Locke’s cape. It quickly became entangled in the barbs, making it easy to throw the sycophant off his feet in one lightning fast move. The thin cloth was prone to ripping though, and it clung hopelessly to the sword’s barbs once detached from the rest of the garment. Outside of this new hindrance, the Captain managed to roll as he collapsed, jumping right back up to the conflict not a second later. When the two continued their brawl, the part of the cape still choking Landor’s sword proved a great hindrance, throwing him off balance and making his swings slower than they already were.

Before the conflict had even started Syvelle knew it was lost. In all honesty he just didn’t want to be looked back upon as the Captain they executed. When it finally came -death, that is- it didn’t come by Locke’s hand. Or even Nohelyon’s. He was backed into a corner when it hit him, on the verge of being pushed through one of the body sized windows anyway; an unholy surge of pain in his chest. Did I perry too slow? Was my guard down? He looked down seeing no blood, but the pain subsisted. His steel feel to his feet, and him to his knees, clutching his chest. The fierce light that filled the room at his arrival faded to utter darkness. Dear God… An inner peace so strong washed over him he forget the rest of the prayer’s words. He didn’t fight the reaper when he placed his clammy hand on his shoulder. Landor’s eyes fluttered, then shut, never to open again.

Nohelyon looked on giddily as Adam’s prior swing cascaded down clean and unblocked, splitting the senile old goat open from balls to brains. Before Syvelle’s innards had much time to fall out, Locke sent the shell flying by the toe of his boot through the open window.

“Great work. Now all that’s left to do is find the body and burn it. We’ll continue this in good time.” Lysender smiled, tossing the Captain a plump bag of purple marks.

He caught it mid flight and opened the bag by it’s drawstring. Locke tumbled the dyed gold over his fingers, astonished by their legitimacy. He’s never seen so much money in his whole life. The Prince realized, rubbing a hand over his stubble.

“Is there more where this came from?” Mused Adam, still enchanted.

“Do the Scourged shit in the north? Just make sure the body is burned and no talk gets around. I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re dismissed.” He finished with a snort.

Captain Locke nodded, returning the grin. The brainless sot must have kept that stupid look on his face all the way to the bank. I really need smarter hirelings. A time for that would come later though. Right now he needed to work with what he could get and just hope for the best while still preparing for the worst. It got me this far He reflected, satisfied by his own resourcefulness. Adam was long gone when the stranger stumbled into the room, clad all in musty furs and leathers, stinking of the sea and forest. The stench of a southerner. Nohelyen identified him as one of his many private servants who rode with him from Renguard. Lysender barely recognized him without his clothes on...

“My Prince, our friend of Renguard has come to offer tribute. The Renegade seeks an audience with acting Queen Lyhesia.” The servant explained, looking to the thrones.

“And he’ll have it tomorrow in the Kabal Chamber. I’m tired. My wit’s are on a knife's edge.” He confessed.

Plotting always had exhausted him, but it always felt worth it to see such a convoluted plan come to fruition.

“He waits without. He says he won't leave that spot till he’s addressed.” Jonah insisted.

“Very well, send him in on your way out. The old fool was never one for waiting. Be ready tonight with Naomi this time.” He commanded, waving him off.

Byron Lynch hastened himself into the chamber, oblivious to much around him, or Nohelyon figured so anyway. The Renegade paced around restlessly, completely ignoring him altogether. Then it dawned on him. He doesn’t know yet. Nobody knows yet. He wanted to laugh at his own stupidity, but that’d be counter intuitive. I have just spent the last seventy two hours plotting the downfall of my family and friends, Lysender allowed himself. Some slip ups were allowed, here and there.

“On the throne. Don't wake her though! She’s kind of a light sleeper.” Lysender whispered, catching the man off his guard.

The southern Lord walked around the black wreathed guards, and began examining the forms who sat atop the thrones. If Byron was surprised or upset at the truth, his poker face had grown exceptional.

“Prince Nohelyon. You’ve returned. Couldn’t stand Renguard without me there?” He jested, opening his arms for a bear hug.

Nohelyon ran into the embrace. Lynch was probably the only southerner the Prince had even mild respect for after touring all of the lands in the protection of the Trench. He was more of a father to him than King Aidylen had ever been, and taught him the ways of the world. Importing things he never learned in the capitol. How to bed a woman. How to ride a horse. How to throw a lance. Basic things he would have remained ignorant of for the rest of his life without the Renegade’s help. He’d be forever thankful for his friendship.

“Renguard was fine. It was the Trench that troubled me. News of father’s illness traveled fast, and I needed to see if the reports were true. If not for his sake then for mine. I have superior leadership in my pinky finger than they did in all of their bodies combined.” He finished, turning from his brother and sisters.

“I see. Where are the rest of the Palace Guards? I thought you’d have sense enough protect yourself in such times. Looks like you’ve already needed to do so.” Byron pointed down at the barbed sword and it’s pool of syrupy blood.

The words hurt a little coming from his mentor, but he’d expected as much. He pondered his reasoning carefully before exposing it.

“Where they'd normally be during such a tragedy. In the churches down in the Trenchtown, praying for the souls of the royal dead. I want everything to resolve itself as naturally as possible. If I kept them here, questions would have been raised. Besides, I’m not dead, am I? That’s foes’ blood down there.” The Prince declared braggartly.

“I have no doubt. He had a fine blade, whoever he was. May I?” Lynch asked, receiving a nod of approval in response.

He brought up the crusty blade from it’s puddle, bringing the prickly edge up to his nose. He tried to do a few tricks, but the black steel was clearly too heavy to be so easily tossed about.

“Great balance, but heavy.” The Renegade observed, shoving the monstrosity into his belt.

The Lord of Renguard glided across the hall’s expanse on soft feet. He finally parked himself in front of the middle throne, analyzing the late Princess’ remains.

“His Serenity, The First Nohelyon, of the Bloodline Lysender, The Shield of the South, and Pillar of the Faith… It’s kind of ironic. I came here to pledge to your sister, and indeed she sits a throne alright. But I find myself swearing my fealty to the man who put her there. The man with the true power, as it’s always been.” Byron stated slowly, his face unflinching at the desecrated body.

“Don’t ingratiate me, Lynch. Do you think that army you raised at Renguard is just a big, marching chameleon? My scouts saw it before you even left the city proper. Three thousand afoot. Seven hundred light cavalry. Four hundred heavy horse. Make no mistake in what I’m about to say; I love you like an uncle, but I can still read you like a book. If you would have stood in my way, I’d have killed you myself.” The Prince’s voice grew stiffer and stronger at that moment.

The Renegade rested his hand on the pommel of Syvelle’s sword and shook his head slowly. Instead of commenting back, his Lordship just allowed his face to bloom into a small, lippy smirk that gave even Nohelyon a disagreeable feeling. It was so rare to see a smile in his presence these days. The sight of one was exoitic and unwelcome now, a childish habit washed away by the stresses of rule.

“Will you ever learn? You keep forgetting I had no idea of their deaths before I came into this room. I marched for you, not against you. Someday I hope you’ll learn to be grateful. I know as well as you do that your daddy is as good as dead now. The Rites would see us all doomed. Your sister would sooner sew a gown than run an Empire. And your brother… I wish he’d came to Renguard with you, all those years ago. Mayhaps he wouldn't have turned out the way he did.” He reflected, noting the other Prince’s soft, lanky corpse.

Lysender couldn’t help but take the lie as gospel. As boldfaced as it was, the Prince never brought himself to argue any further. The falsehood inflated his already swollen ego to the point of imploding. He took it and ran with it.

“You have my apologies, dear Renegade.” He uttered, trying to make the name sound more endearing than insulting.

“And you my acceptance, Nohelyon. But now isn’t the time for pleasantries. I advise you save your breath. You’ll need it tomorrow.” Replied Byron, moving nearer a window.

He looked seriously into the abyss below, his vacant eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“A mile south, I command all the Riders of Renguard, a strong host to be sure. Nothing compared to yours though. You on the other hand have taken charge of an entirely different sort of beast. Your army is made of Merchants, Priest, and Galley Captains. The Kabal. Snub it and they call you absentee. Blanket them with attention and they brand you nosy or power hungry. A King has to walk a fine line. You’ve started on this line by murdering three fifths of the royal family and slaying some poor fellow where he stood. They'll expect an explanation. A good one, if you plan to be King for very long.” Warned Lynch.

“I’ll help you, but soon there'll be little more for me to teach you. You'll have to apply your current wealth of knowledge. If you don't, I sure as hell will. And if I do, there won't be another chance to use your brain…”

[Jadwell]

Hye crawled around on the floor, using tables, chairs, ledges, whatever she could find to search around the building for medical supplies. After minutes of searching, without any success. She silently sat there in pain while rubbing her back with part of her pantleg which she cut off to use as a bandage. She certainly spotted something in the distance. It was a walkie talkie. Hye slowly maked her way over to the small device, and picked it up. Inspecting it she pressed a little button on its side, making a sound which confused Hye "이 물건은 무엇입니까?"

[San Velasco]

Dodge City, Kansas

The chilling chant of 10,000 Imperial Guards marched forth towards the Rocky Mountains. Either on horseback or marching by foot, there were only three infantry trucks in the entirety of the convoy. One in the front, in the middle and the rear. The soldiers marched nearly unmatched, using the former highway as their guide to what was former Colorado. There was mention of a weapons stash that dotted the three military bases in what remained of Colorado Springs. This is what had determined the Emperor to dispatch such a large sized group to seize that said stash and take whatever other resources they could in the process. Sitting in the middle infantry truck, the commanding officer of the occupation force sat in his black uniform, his officer cap sitting on the dash of the truck. Plucking his leather gloves from his hands, he joined them with his cap. On either side of the truck, a long line of soldiers proceeded forward with horses sharing the road as well. The Major took in the view of the plains, thinking back to his recent promotion and his current assignment.

"What do you believe awaits us in Colorado Springs, Sergeant?" the Major asked the driver.

The Sergeant was hesitant to answer as he was too focused on driving. He however quickly delivered his response.

"The weapons stash, sir." the Sergeant responded.

"Agh. Cease the formalities...what do you really believe awaits us there? In a place such as that with no known order to enforce stability...I would recognize immediately, we are about to enter the center of chaos. Do you agree?" the Major insisted.

"Yes, sir." the Sergeant answered quickly.

"We might even find some fuel there to make it back in time for the Summer Festival...let's hope so." the Major finished.

The Major rolled down the window, poking his head out. Immediately, the chants hit him. An old war song that had been fitted just for the Guard. A chant that would only frighten anyone into reconsidering their decision to attempt to oppose them. A chant that signified the Guards determination and unbreakable resolve to fight for the Emperor. The Major smiled with joy, putting his head back in. He thought for a moment, realizing they had only just left Dodge City. It was going to be a good 4-day march to Colorado Springs which meant, lots of breaks along the way.

[The Champlain]

Serkeft sat up from his makeshift bed inside his shelter, made of salvaged supplies from the small city of La Junta. The morning was still crisp, as the sun had not fully risen yet. He added more dried grass to his bonfire, which had been reduced to mere embers overnight. Soon, the fire was raging once again, and Serkeft placed a tin of water over it, secured by two charred sticks. Once he saw that the water was boiling, he dug through his pockets to find a teabag, and then placed it in the water.
While he was watching it steep, he began to hear sounds from the walkie talkie he carried with him. He carried it superstitiously, as he thought that he would never hear from another person for a long time, especially not in the wilderness where he was. He heard a girl's voice through the static. He could not make out what she was saying, as the girl appeared not to have been speaking English, and the reception in the wilderness was very poor. Still, Serkeft had hope.

He questioned himself, "this thing still works?"
He held down the button to speak, "Hello? Was anyone on here?"
He repeated his question multiple times, but did not hear any response. Despite this, the experience had given him hope. Throughout the rest of the day, Serkeft periodically spoke into the device, praying that the girl on the other side would hear him.

[Jadwell]

Serkeft sat up from his makeshift bed inside his shelter, made of salvaged supplies from the small city of La Junta. The morning was still crisp, as the sun had not fully risen yet. He added more dried grass to his bonfire, which had been reduced to mere embers overnight. Soon, the fire was raging once again, and Serkeft placed a tin of water over it, secured by two charred sticks. Once he saw that the water was boiling, he dug through his pockets to find a teabag, and then placed it in the water.
While he was watching it steep, he began to hear sounds from the walkie talkie he carried with him. He carried it superstitiously, as he thought that he would never hear from another person for a long time, especially not in the wilderness where he was. He heard a girl's voice through the static. He could not make out what she was saying, as the girl appeared not to have been speaking English, and the reception in the wilderness was very poor. Still, Serkeft had hope.

He questioned himself, "this thing still works?"
He held down the button to speak, "Hello? Was anyone on here?"
He repeated his question multiple times, but did not hear any response. Despite this, the experience had given him hope. Throughout the rest of the day, Serkeft periodically spoke into the device, praying that the girl on the other side would hear him.

Hye heard the response but she was still at a loss about how to actually use the damned thing. After messing with it for a while, she thought she had figured it out, which she did. Hye was about to speak Korean as she held down the button, but remembered that most people in the world didn't speak Korean, and due to what had happened earlier, she knew he certainty didn't. "Helro, are you still there?" by now her back was fine, but her leg was still in pain, so was her groin, which was only getting worse, making her voice express pain as she spoke through the walkie talkie.

[The Champlain]

Around noon, Serkeft finally heard the girl's voice again. Through the static he could hear that the girl was not in the best condition, and he responded in the simplest English he could,
"Hello? I need your location. I need to know where you are. I am in the Comanche Grasslands, in Colorado. If you know where you are, please tell me. I will find you, and I will help."
He set the device down and anxiously awaited a response. He knew it would be getting dark soon, so he began to rekindle his fire.

[Jadwell]

Around noon, Serkeft finally heard the girl's voice again. Through the static he could hear that the girl was not in the best condition, and he responded in the simplest English he could,
"Hello? I need your location. I need to know where you are. I am in the Comanche Grasslands, in Colorado. If you know where you are, please tell me. I will find you, and I will help."
He set the device down and anxiously awaited a response. He knew it would be getting dark soon, so he began to rekindle his fire.

Hye smiled, she finally found a human being not trying to shoot her down, of course it could all be a setup but she had to be optimistic about this "I am....in..." Hye took a few seconds to think about where she was "Che...Che...Cheyenne, Wyom..ing? Somewhere in a house near the.. I don't know ...somewhere there"

[Fre Eva Rinese]

Frank was sitting at his desk when a knock came into his door. A tall man walked in with jet black hair and square glasses holding a note book.It was William Jackson his head of R&D for the military. " Hello Mr President I would like to propose a new weapon of war for you." He laid the notebook diwn and pointed towards a picture in the center.It was a hulking figure standing at 10 feet tall according to the notebook. It had Stella plating on all sides with a small done cap on top. The top had a small machine gun while the center had a cannon. In the back was two wheels tucked underneath the vessel along with what looked like a steam pipe rising from the back. "Alright" Frank said " I'm interested what is it." " It is a tank that can run on steam power its big and bulky but it could be a valuable asset into our armed forces it will be expensive but will be great." " Alright how long will it take and what will it be called." "It would take from drawing board to prototype around two to three months and the name I think I will call it the Mosby ST Mk1." "Good now I will invest my funding into this project."
"Thank you sir and have a nice day."

William walked out the door with a giddy step. Moments later Field Marshel Dormitz walked in.
" Sir you wanted to see me again sir" "Oh yes do please come and and sit I need you to pull the forces from the PA front and put them on the border with West Virgina."
" Yes sir and for what reason?"
" Vermont wants us to pull expansion from the border, but keep the SF there and bring in 10,000 men to the front."
"Yes sir"





Steam Tank project-2%

[The Champlain]

Outskirts of La Junta, Colorado
Serkeft heard through the static, "Cheyenne, Wyoming."
He picked up his old, tattered map and looked around the area. He assumed the city was much closer than it actually was. When he located the city on the map, his face grew more sullen.
"Three hundred miles," he thought. "How is this thing even picking you up?"
He remained optimistic though, and began the long trek north, despite the gnawing thought in the back of his head that he was walking right into a trap.
"Stay where you are," he muttered into the device, "I'm coming to Cheyenne."
Serkeft packed his bag, and left his camp at dusk.

---

Burlington, Vermont
Hayden is notified of the Confederate response. He writes a note, and hands it to his adviser.
"I need this to be sent immediately via telegram to the Confederate president. Do not alter anything."

To: President Frank Davus
From: The Office of Chief Governor Connor Hayden

Joint rule over the puppet state is an excellent idea. I know of the group that we should support:
The People's Movement of New York, an isolationist and socialist movement seeking a centralised city state.
Our government has supported them for years. They treat us with utmost respect, and they should respect any alliances we offer and have. They are friendly to your government following the banning of slavery. I hope you accept this.

Cordially,
Chief Governor Connor Hayden