Stories of Olympus (Slice of Life) [Greater Olympus]

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Stories of Olympus

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This is a "slice of life" thread for the members of Greater Olympus. They can be from bygone eras or the contemporary times.

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[Bnnu]

A little motivation
By: Bnnu

Azighul sat in his study trying to push out of his mind the mass white papers from his wazirs, and requests from the various high nobles he hadn’t made his contempt for clear and a few who did but nevertheless persisted. He thought back to simpler times when he was a relatively innocuous prince of the royal clan. No one would thought to see him at the throne, to be at the helm of the very nation, least of all young Azighul. Finally physically distancing himself he pulled away from his desk and began to pace his humble little study, it was his favorite one in the palace to use, tucked away in a mess of ancient corridors it was small but that made it all the better for Azighul. There was so much to be done and so little time, but there was always time for Dihya, even if it had to be in his mind as he “worked” in his little study. Zhe couldn’t help but think back to the day one of the many stray princes decided to claw his way to the top.

“Am I not still at least a prince Isri? 43rd in line or not am I still not a prince?” (he should at least understand me a little here).
“Azighul is not a prince here, is he? I thought he was just Azi the young officer cadet in need of a break.” Isri states in his smug matter of fact tone he just loves.
“Here perhaps, but Instructor Afaw doesn't know Azi and never will!, regardless of that how do I explain this little shiner he gave me!? But whatever I didn’t come to old quarter to think about things that aren’t inside my favorite coffeehouse did I Isri?”
“Perhaps if you gave the implications that strategic depth has on defensive operations that kind of dedication there would be no wall to wall counseling”
“Lock it up Isri or so help…”
“Just take me to this oh so special coffeehouse and let me this Angel voiced beauty that is worth all the risk of sneaking out so much and studying so little, she must be heavenly to be worth your chance at being more than some obscure prince” (I know Isri, I know, you’re more concerned for me than I am but you need to see her)
“right this way Isri” I said hoping brush off his remarks till he at least got to see her. "For her Isri I would do anything and give her everything."
"And if she wanted you to be more than an underachieving junior officer of a prince you seem intent on becoming?"
"I would seize the throne itself and start another Olympic war if it meant getting to have her." Isri stared blankly, clearly shocked at seeing me actually motivated for anything and soon the gears in his head began to move faster and faster (even if I couldn't see it then, I remember it now and know that look all too well)
“Prove it.” by this time we had walked far enough I could make out Dihya’s figure singing inside through the coffeehouse and time slowed as I drank in the sight of her, she really was heavenly, the idea of her having to eek out a living doing small time gigs in Sifaks old quarter when she deserved much more… well I suppose Isri had a point. “What? Not going to make good on all that bravado? Guess she can live off coffeehouse shows and a lieutenant’s pa..”
“Alright Isri! In exchange for keeping my little secret here I’ll show you my i’m more than just words, I’ll replace you as the star pupil for starters and then, I’ll do everything I can to give her the life she deserves”
“Funny, all this talk of what I want and what I deserve and yet i haven’t even gotten to say a word, hell you’ve even been hiding you were minor royalty, poorly at that.”
“Dihya I… well.. but...”
“Then tell my lovestruck friend what it is you do want”
“I want it all, I want you to seize everything this world can give us Az.. Prince Azighul”
“I better get to work then”

“I better get to work then” Emperor Azighu lsaid as he sat back down at his desk and picked up his pen.

[Riscelnia]

Copied from Ecelea's SoL.

Seeker VI Launch
By: Allied Republics of Nori / Riscelnia

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Disclaimer; Some of this is wrong, and I will post a updated version which is more realistic at some point.
Skald National Space Centre
Republic of Sydfält
November 15, 2017 I.S.
13:52 ERT (CTZ+9) local time

The Skald National Space Centre was buzzing with activity, with various people rushing in and out of the Rocket Assembly Building (RAB), whilst in the Communications and Control Tower (CCT), silence and thin but noticable tension hung in the air as the leading operators awaited communications from the lead engineers, whom were busy overseeing the state of the rocket they were planning on launching today. One of the operators, Tobias Hansson, went over the mission planning as he waited.
Seeker 6's mission was simple enough; Fly to Ares, orbit the planet twice while taking pictures of the surface in an attempt at locating locations suitable for colonisation should the day come, then land on the north pole and take samples of the surface. The mission would then be to travel around the planet and continue taking samples as long as there was enough power to the drone.

A radio transmission through the loud speakers set up around the CCT broke the tension.
"Engineering to Tower, repeat, Engineering to Tower, come in, over."
Tobias, being the chief ground coordinator for this mission, scrambled to get to his post, rushing past various people and even accidentally knocking one over before he got to his post where he sat down, picked up his headphones, switched the loudspeakers off in favor of his headset, and activated the microphone.

"Engineering, this is Tower Ground, go ahead, over," Tobias said anxiously as a couple others operators started grouping around him, awaiting the news from Engineering wether or not the Seeker VI was ready to launch yet or there'd be a second delay.
"Tower Ground, Seeker systems check are complete, Engineering reports clear for launch."
"Copy that, Engineering, Seeker is go for towing," he answered, the tension on his shoulders falling noticably. He glanced at the operator responsible for the transportation of the Seeker Vi to the launch pad, nodded to him, who nodded back in return and began talking into his headset. "Ground Transportation Team has been notified, they'll take it from here."
"Tower Ground, copy that. I wish us all luck with this launch. Engineering, out."

And with that, Tobias shut off his station, took off his headphones, and resigned to watching the launch on the big screen erected at the front of the slightly angled room from his booth. Pre-launch preparations went by rather quickly; The Seeker was moved to the launch pad without any complications, the weather was clear, and morale in the space centre was high. All in all, the launch was expected to go as planned.

At 14:24, loudspeakers spoke for a second time that day.
"Tower Launch, this is Engineering. All launch systems green, personell evacuated, ready to launch on your mark," the same voice Tobias had spoken with before said. "Tower Launch copies, Seeker is ready for launch," the operator assigned as Tower Launch, Elias Wasserweg, responded. He then nodded to the Vessel Launch Operator (VLO), whom initiated a 60 second count-down to launch. For 30 seconds, the room as almost completely silent, until the 30 second mark came up, when everyone's attention turned back to their stations, including Tobias'. At the 15 second mark, the VLO flipped open the lid covering the launch button, and started shivering in anticipation. With 10 seconds left, the loudspeakers started counting down vocally as well. On the 5 second mark, the VLO's finger was almost entirely on the button.

At 0, he pressed it, and the Seeker's rocket engine fired, lifting the rocket off the ground in a massive cloud of smoke. CCT immediatly became a massive a hive of activity, with various operators looking over their station to make sure all systems remained operational until the rocket had been confirmed to have left the atmosphere. For Tobias' part, he simply stared at the screen, which focused entirely on the rocket, as his task was over for this flight.

A while later, a shout rang out throughout the CCT from the Seeker project director, Alvar Lynnbäck.
"The Seeker is on the path!"

[Nordwalsh]

God Commands It
By: Nordwalsh

The rain hadn't relented for the past week. Breno was quite dry in his little shack, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor fools he was tasked with guarding. Hundreds of Waldzers lazed around under thin canvas that did not protect them from the deluge; their work of piling sandbags against the rapidly rising river had been suspended - the weather had deteriorated to the point that Breno's superiors didn't even want to risk sending prisoners to the riverside.

The Waldzers were an odd people; tall, pale, and blonde, like Breno imagined a fellow from Budery or Almerland might look. As far as he could tell, though, that's where the similarities ended. Waldzenia was a land far to the east, Breno knew, farther even than Ecelea, though he probably couldn't point it out on a map. Their language sounded strange to him - he didn't have much experience with anything besides Produz, but it was like a bastard chimera of what he thought Almerish, Budeirc and Etrurian sounded like. He heard a lot of Waltch, listening to their idle chatter, their songs - oh, Beo, there was so much singing. It didn't sound bad, per se, but it quickly grew annoying. They were singing about home, his sergeant had told him once; snow covered pines, blue lakes, vast pastures as far as the eye could see. Every Sunday, they held some sort of mass in the central square of the camp, slightly after their Produz captors finished their own worship. It was strange - clearly resembling a Beoin mass, but so foreign in every way; the sergeant said that they were Soraians - they called themselves Beoin, but any good, god-fearing Verroin knew that they were a bunch of heretics at best, heathenish pagans at worst. Breno couldn't help but agree with the sentiment, whenever he watched them in prayer around a small metal dragon. It was ludicrous to Breno that men who prayed to a mythical dragon could claim to be Beoin with such sincerity.

Breno often wondered what the Waldzers - a people so far away, so removed from the Almerish they called brothers - would have to gain from this Great War the world now found itself embroiled in, why these men would agree to storm the beaches of a land they had nothing to do with, that had never done anything to their republic besides ally with the correct powers. It was pride, the sergeant always told him. The Viktoria Corps were the outcast republic of Waldzenia's desperate attempt to gain recognition, respect. They were sent on the worst operations, the most dangerous; but these men, these farmers, ranchers, lumberjacks, and factory workers, donned their silly slouch hats and hoisted their hunting rifles and went into the fray without question. For the Republic, some of them declared. Those men had gotten quieter by the day. They never lost heart though; they sang songs, they kept their uniforms in as good a condition as they could, made makeshift blue-white-and-orange tricolors which they defiantly hung from their bunks. However, they never celebrated their leader, the President Rousch, or any of their officers; never sang about the virtues of their silly republic. Every now and again, they'd receive mail that the Produz would feel obligated to pass along to them, and they'd be momentarily energized over some minute victory or another, but as a whole the sinking of their spirit was tangible as the months dragged on.

On day in particular, though, on day in particular, 3rd of July, 1923, the Waldzers were absolutely livid, celebrating, singing songs that Breno had not yet heard, words that seemed entirely new. A radio broadcast had brought news - a revolution in Waldzenia. Union militias prowled the streets of Viktoria and other large cities (well, large by Waltch standards, the sergeant quipped); rail and river traffic across the country was halted; congregations in countless towns broke ties with the Soraianic Temple and the government. The Mass Strike, people were calling it.

How could these captured soldiers be so...so happy at their country being embroiled in chaos? The government they were fighting for being overthrown? It wasn't as if opinion was split among the throng of men; everywhere, almost universally, they seemed overjoyed. The sergeant asked one of the older Waldzers.

"It's been a long time coming." Was all he said. Others echoed the sentiment.

"Aren't you scared? For your wives? Your daughters?" The sergeant implored.

"We've been scared for decades. I'd rather it be a comrade I can punch, than a baron I can't see."

"You're pious men, in your own way; are you not outraged by the churches being ransacked, that the anarchists will trample on your god?"

At this, the Waldzers laughed. The sergeant was not amused, and wondered if perhaps there had been a misunderstanding in translation.

"My friend," The old Waldzer placed a hand on the sergeant's shoulder, something the prisoners would usually never dare even think of. "our god ordered us to do so." The sergeant, further bewildered, demanded an explanation, his mustache flapping wildly at this clearly mad notion. "You see, sergeant, this is a revelation that will eventually come to all faithful...Beoism is socialism. It doesn't matter if we believe Beo was prophet to different gods, his word carries the universal truth of egalitarianism and liberty." This further energized the men. Now that the Revolution had come to a nation like Waldzenia, it would surely spread with ease to other Liran nations; if it did not, it would be a betrayal of faith, and the people would rise up against their heretical overlords. It was a holy mission, a crusade, to kill tyrants and redistribute their wealth. God commanded it, no matter which ones you worshiped.

At the notion of their Emperor being a heretic, the guards shut down all discussion about the revolution. They forbade Sunday Mass for the Waldzers, they banned singing of any kind, at any time. Still, the Waldzers defiantly waved their tricolors, now emblazoned with the crimson dragon of the Soraianic Socialist Front copied from letters.

Even now, in this torrential downpour, Breno stared at the dragons, trying to puzzle out the logic of the Waldzers. It was so outlandish, so outrageous.

But it made sense, didn't it?

[Nordwalsh]

A Word For Winter
By: Nordwalsh

Somewhere on the Prairies,
Waldzenia, 1873

There should be a word, Edmond thought - a word for that time of winter when the bitter cold assaulted every fiber of your being; when it burrowed deep into your skin, your nose, your eyes; when it was physically painful to inhale, to keep your eyes open, to simply exist.

That time usually came in January. This time, it was in November. Winter had come in like a lion, like a dragon - the very fury of Soraia herself.

Edmond sat huddled in the center of the room, staring at the desolate fireplace before him. Throughout the small one-room cabin, a coat of frost clung to every conceivable surface and a brutal chill permeated the air. On the bed in the corner, two small forms lay still, lifeless, the color drained from their skin, all warmth long since gone from them.

Their mother had gone three days ago. Complications with the baby, the doc had said, combined with the sudden onset of the cold. Edmond had tried his best to explain to the little ones what had happened, but found himself completely unable incapable without his beloved. He tried to hide his grief, to remain stoic for the children.

He didn't have to stay stoic anymore. The fire had gone out some time in the middle of the night, and the cold immediately launched it's ruthless campaign against the cabin. By the time Edmond awoke, the little cubs clinging to him were gone. Their fragile little bodies were already sickly, an illness from their mother's side; they couldn't handle the shock.

Edmond had considered going to get the doc. Maybe they were just in a deep sleep, maybe there was still time. He couldn't leave though. Not only was the snow too deep to walk through for long, but Edmond also couldn't bring himself to leave the spot in front of the mantelpiece he now found himself rooted to, simply gazing deeply into the dark, cold charcoal.

It was his fault. Of course, he knew the risks when he came out here with her three years ago, a fresh young couple of newly-weds out of Hannes, ready to start a new life together on a farm planted atop free land on the frontier. This though...the ferocity and cruelty of this winter was completely unexpected. Unprecedented, even. First the crops died, then the animals. Nothing Edmond could do seemed to be able to soften winter's blows, which came one after another in quick succession. He was ruined - he'd have to take out more loans now to cover the damages. Buy new animals. Count the dead among his friends and bury them. No matter how much he thought about it, Edmond couldn't shake the idea that all of this was preventable - he could've done something to save the farm, protect his family.

There was nothing he could do now though. Eventually the snow would melt, the cold would retreat, and life would go on. The Church would still demand its tithe, the government its taxes, the banks their interest. But his family would never return. Nothing would ever be the same.

A word for the horrible, consuming maw that was the deep winter. Edmond mused on this, not feeling the frigid steel of the shotgun barrel in his hands; he had long since lost all feeling there. Gazing into the blackness of the hearth, he found that he wasn't able to put the idea into words; Father Winter stumped even his intellect.

One final slight, Edmond thought as he pulled the trigger.

[Produzir]

Baltinburgh Palace, Oranienburg, Produzland-Amidia
May 23rd, 1866

The lands of Suleste were completely occupied now by the Produz-Amidian Empire. Produzland always remained in the shadows of western Lira, but now they were something feared. Just 52 years ago, Produzland defeated what was once thought to be an undefeated nation, Etrurie. Produzland drove them to lose their heir to the throne and lose territory they had held since the collapse of the Empire of Ausbrichten. The empire stretched as far away as Produz Cimeiro next to Almerish Hongtinwei, to ports in East Meridiq. The Produz West Gulf Company was probably the richest corporation in the world. Now Produzland bathed in victory and wealth. With the signing of the Treaty of St. Aurélio and the end of the Produz War of Succession, the new emperor Octávio II and Prime Minister César Baltazar started making reforms to better the empire. First they changed the empire into the Produz-Amidian Empire to make the Amidians in the empire happy. They moved the capital from the Produz centralised capital of Vieréns in Aatréam to a new capital on the Seratme River Baltazar named "Oranienburg". They fully colonized the region of Produz North Hontinwei in 1819. Together they would go down as one of the best Emperors and the best Prime Minister in Produz history. Now after Emperor Octávio III had completed Baltinburgh Palace in Baltinburgh, Oranienburg, his son Cristóvão III would marry the Lunderfrausian princess Joanna of Lunderfrau and dance at a masquerade ball with her in the beautiful palace his grandfather and father built together.

The walls of the massive ballroom were decorated with paintings of Produz monarchs from Prince Tristao I of the Principality of Azloviros to Emperor Octávio III. They were accompanied by banners of the blue and white cross of the Coat of Arms and the black, white, blue, and orange tricolor hanging from rods. All the expensive decorations of the palace to the buildings of Aatréam to the span of the Produz-Amidian Empire showed that the empire deserved it's motto, "Um Império Glorioso Construído para Durar", or in Lorian, "A Glorious Empire Built to Last".

[L E F]

Tales from Al-Meriq #1 January,2016 - somewhere in the Kingdom of Al-Meriq

An obscure YT channel publishes its first video:

"Hello, guys! This is Andre speaking from the "great" nation of Al-Meriq. Who am I kidding ? I have no subscribers, I doubt anybody will watch this but I had to take this off my chest."
The speaker is never shown and instead a couple of images appear on the screen. The speaker clearly does not want to reveal his identity.

"So... I've been living and working in Al-Meriq for over a year now. I have never travel outside Lira in my entire life before coming here for a lucrative job in... never mind that. It was and still is a culture shock. One of my buddies at work, he's also from Lira, keeps saying that Al-Meriq is not a country but a state of mind. I have to say that's the closest to defining Al-Meriq I ever heard. Now if you've never heard of Al-Meriq before, let me tell you it's a country in the middle of the Meridiq continent. And here is where things start to go off track. Al-Meriq is named after the Meriq clan who owns the country. I kid you not. They named the country after them! Now you would expect them to be super rich and own a lot of land and resources. Guess what? You would be right, they do. For whatever reason they call themselves "The Royal Company" and their seal is everywhere around Al-Meriq but they especially dominate the mining industry.

Nothing special you say? Ok, how about the country has no parliament or elections for that matter. The Meriq clan is the highest court, the government and legislative branch. And before you say absolute monarchy or some other fancy name, let me just stop you there and say that there nothing royal about them. They are more like the CEO or kingpin depending on how you look it. They are at the top of a large pyramid system that is the Kingdom of Al-Meriq. The layer just below them are their buddies, the other clans that helped them gain independence from Winst. There are numerous layers below until you reach the bottom. What's there at the bottom of the pyramid you ask? The slaves. Surprised ? Yes, in the 21st century Al-Meriq has slaves! And not just any type of slavery but chattel slavery. Now you see why I had to start this channel and talk about this? It's like I'm living in Theatre of the Absurd and I had to record to this so I can keep my sanity.
I have to go now, see you soon for another tale from Al-Meriq. "

[L E F]

Tales from Al-Meriq #2 February,2016 - somewhere in the Kingdom of Al-Meriq

The same obscure YT Channel publishes a second video. Just like before some images from the Kingdom of Al-Meriq appear on the screen. The same male voice begins speaking:

""Hello ladies and gents!
Let me start by saying that I'm shocked to see I have a couple of dozen subscribers. I don't know how that happened since I never expected people to actually watch the video let alone subscribe to the channel but stranger things have happened, I guess.
I initially had planned to continue describing Al-Meriq in general terms but today I had an incident at the bank that I just have to share.
So it happened that I needed another card besides the one a got from work, a regular debit card, nothing fancy. You'd expect it to be easy to get one, right? NOT in Al-Meriq. I went this morning to the ... one of the big banks here and asked how I could get a debit card. The bank clerk, a lady in her mid thirties, very politely asked me a series of questions about nationality, employment, how much I make etc. Anyways, when I got to the part where I explained that I just wanted a card for some regular transactions and that I wasn't a millioner or something, she told me that issuing fee is one thousand dinars (approx. 1000 USD). Naturally, I protested, asked to see the manager but it was pointless. From what I understand, they do not issue cards but have some sort of agreement with a bank in Bnnu (the country in the East, bordering Al-Meriq) that issues them in the name of the Al-Meriqan bank here. So they don't do this just for anybody. I tried another bank and basically got the same response.
Now aside from the absurdity of the situation there's one more reason I had to share this story with you. That and to vent out my frustration, is to show you that words have a different meaning in Al-Meriq than the rest of the world. Here a bank isn't really an institution where the average Joe can get banking services but a money laundering institution for the very rich or less reputable groups that happens to also offer regular banking services for the employees of the major companies in Al-Meriq(that's how I got my checking account where I get my salary). This is Al-Meriq for you, even words mean different things here.
That's all I had for today, see you soon for another tale from Al-Meriq."

[Volcanu]

1911 Eruption of “Pico de Fuego”

April 12, 1911 3:12 AM It was a clear cool night with the full moon reflecting off the north slope glaciers of Pico de Fuego. All was peaceful until the ground started to rumble and sway, fissures opened up on the peak of the volcano and the mountain ruptured and blasted jets of fire, pumice and ashes high into the air in a towering mushroom shaped column. Soon the rim of the crater collapsed and unleashed a wave of fire, gases and rock that engulfed the surrounding countryside including 23 villages. The eruption lasted for hours until at 5:47 AM, the eruption ceased and the column collapsed and rushed down the mountain slopes, burying anything in its path.

When dawn came, the light showed a devastated grey landscape of polluted rivers, burnt plants, piles of volcanic debris and flattened villages. 465 people died in the eruption and thousands of tons of ash and sulfur were injected into the stratosphere and will cause extreme climates all across the world.