Ackesian Falling [Greater Olympus, Closed]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Ackesian Falling [Greater Olympus, Closed]

Postby Achesia » Sat Feb 01, 2020 8:53 pm

It was a field of dark, the stars the only thing above her as she stood in an empty plane of existence devoid of the trappings that earth and home would comfort her with as she stood bare to the existence on whatever ethereal plane she now resided in. Against the stars of space she felt she could hide nothing, not the most dark thoughts of her mind or the petty secrets she kept from those she loved. Only her chestnut eyes shown bright against the darkness she stood, a reflection of the stars above as she gazed around at the oblivion that was before her. Soon she would realize the coldness of her flesh as she grasped on to her own arms as if to comfort herself in her lonely existence. Searching, her eyes prayed for a salvation from the dark, but all she could find was the terror of this place, the fear such a local should be so devoid of all that was good in the world.

As she stood there she shivered, surely this was Beo’s punishment to a girl whom only knew wealth and comfort while others suffered, an eternity exiled to the emptiness of space where she would go mad under the pressure of solitude. But as she came to her senses she began to feel as if only this all was but a passing thought, a premonition into the recesses of space that had been brought to her. As she regained the fortitude that was her birthright, she lowered her arms, revealing herself to this dark void in boldness. It was only then that the world around her revealed itself, though still dark in the shadows and greyscale of such a devoid place, she could see the black grass blades as she walked on, they felt much like they did at home.

Though empty the silence of this place gave but the faintest cries for help. People crying for salvation from this sorrow and darkness. The thought of their suffering was heavy on her heart as she walked around, the voices around her like they were a mob, yet she still saw nothing but the grass under her feet.

For what seemed countless moments she wandered, her footsteps seemed unnatural as existence moved around her at commend but her body stayed tied to a single point in space. Never the less she searched the void for why she was there, and only when she held onto the last strings of the hope she previously had gained did she find the centerpiece of it all.

A tree stood before her, a large oak sprawling around the field without barrier, the lord of the void as it towered over darkness with only the stars to answer to. Its leaves shown a deep and glowing violet, they radiated the energy of its lifeforces as she approached it. The closer she neared the more her skin and golden hair radiated as well. The presence of this lord felt warming and comforting to her, a comfort that felt a lifetime away since she came to this place. As soon as she could she reached out to the trunk of this great oak, her radiant white hand pressing against its warm and ethereal bark as she let out a gasp of air. But as soon as she touched it, the tree withered.

Her cries could be heard across the void as the shreddings of the tree began to float towards space, like smoke from a fire it drifted out of reach and existence. Soon she stood alone once more, cold and afraid as if she were a little girl without home and no salvation to call to. But as she sank to her knees in sorrow, she felt a presence behind her, a hand reaching out from the void that graced her bare shoulder. Startled she turned, her lungs gasping for air as she fought the fear that overtook her. But as her eyes focused, she saw no danger. It was only another girl, no older than she standing above her, just as bare to existence as she was. Her eyes were glowing a magnificent green and hair was like fire as it floated around her.

Looking up at this girl she tried to ask questions, though the words seemed empty and without air. The girl only shook her head and smiled at her brightly. And just as if her smile woke the stars, the light around the two girls turned into a fire, and as she turned to look where the tree once stood she witnessed a magnificent cyan sun blazing amongst the heavens. She was in aw by this star that suddenly appeared, it was a celestial body that gave her hope of home. Yet as the fiery girl kept her hand on her shoulder she felt a squeeze, and then the cyan began to give way to another body.

It was an eclipse like none other she had seen, the cyan sun was crested by something more magnificent and beautiful, a powerful violet shining orb crossed over the cyan gradually. It was producing a magnificent show of lights that was as violent as it was beautiful. Soon the cyan was no more as the violet sun stood before it, unyielding it stopped its transition in front of the cyan sun and did not allow it to return.

While she was sad the beautiful cyan was no more, a tear of sorrow rolling down her cheek in its memory, the violet star was so beautiful she was entrapped by it. But before she was lost in the star’s beauty the girl behind her pulled her should and leaned in to her ear, the warmth of her face against her’s was sensual as her skin prickled with a wave of goosebumps. Her heart raced as she wondered what the girl wanted with her, what this all meant. The girl did not keep her waiting, instead the warmth of her breath was like a breeze over her cheek as the girl gave her the first words she had heard since arriving in this void.

“Break…. Not bend.” She said with a warm whisper.

It was then in her hand appeared a knife, a blade of violet alloys curved like the waves of the sea. The girl plunged it into the other’s heart, and the void disappeared as fast as her death.



Trinity shot up in her bed, her body covered in glistening sweat as she gasped for the air that had left her in so sudden a moment. She grasped her chest, heaving and struggling for air so violently the sound of her breath echoed around the room.

A knock came at the door.

“Milady is everything alright?” It cracked open enough for her handmaiden to address her concern for the Duchesses’ gasping.

Trinity covered her breasts with her duvet as she continued to hyperventilate, her mouth was like cotton and skin damp but she tried to gain composure while she sat up trembling in her own chamber.

“Y..y…yes. I’m fine.” She managed to finally get the words out, her tone and heavy breathing doing everything to the contrary of what she said.

The sense of doubt from her handmaid on the other side of the cracked door needed no verbal confirmation, but there was no danger so Trinity knew she would move along soon enough.

“Oh… of course Milady.” The handmaiden seemed deeply confused, and rightfully so at the Duchesses’ behavior. “Milady, your father, the Prince wonders when you will be down for breakfast.”

Still trying to catch her breath Trinity shook her head, her blonde hair felt sticky to her back as the heat radiated off of her.

“Oh uh… what time is it?”

“Half past seven o’clock milady.”

“Oh… good.” She hadn’t overslept as much as she had thought, the deep dream filled sleep tampered with her senses. “I will be down shortly, that will be all.”

“Indeed Milady.” The door moved to close, but just as the lock nearly clicked it came back open. “I also posted the SignPost of your trip to Levosta yesterday. SignPost seems to be really liking it, you have over a thousand likes!”

Trinity took a long deep breath to try and regulate her breathing. As it all came back to her she recalled her trip to the children’s home the day before. Though she had put on a brave face of the Duchess of Avondale she had wept on the way home. She could see the empty expressions and soulless eyes of the children of Ackesia’s poverty. A sorrowful sight and a product of modern woes, Trinity only wishes she could do more than give them a gift of coin. But instead she was regulated to being a poster child for her father’s Principality, the sweet smiling and beautiful Duchess of Avondale, third in line for the throne of a fledgling and irreverent principality that wishes it were still the great kingdom it once was. Her handmaiden’s mention of SignPost also bringing back the renewed frustration that her social media and connection to the outside world was never under her control, the servants under special instructions by her father to control every aspect of her online persona.

It was all just a ruse, she was just a pretty face and distraction from the hell this country had become. Someone in the crowd told her once when she was a young girl that she was just the heir to a bloodthirsty tyrant, that the royals should fade from this nation entirely and leave even Avondale- the cultural epicenter of the Ackesian people- free from their presence. But as Trinity grew older, she learned that even the detractors of the former monarchy who ran this country had little regard for how they drove it into the ground. President Ackerman who had been elected and reelected, his influence spreading to all aspects of government, was no better than a tyrannical King.

But the words of that stranger in the crowd still haunted her, no matter how much her father tried to tell her that her grandfather, the last King of Ackesia, was misunderstood. It didn’t matter to those children who was ruling over them, the fact was that their rulers had failed them in every way.

“Milady?...” The handmaiden’s tone one of confusion from the long silence.

“That will be all Yuliya.” Her tongue gave a more terse snap than she had intended.

The door closed quietly without a word. Trinity buried her head in her pillow fully intending to drown the day away with more sleep. But her thoughts returned to the strange dream, and of the pain in her heart as she felt around the skin of her chest.

“Just a dream…” She reassured herself before rising to prepare for the day.


“The death toll of the Beldon protests rises to 23 this morning as officials at the St. Klara Memorial Hospital in Beldon confirm that two more protesters succumb to their wounds last night. This makes the clash in the streets of Beldon between recession protesters and Capital Police the most bloody protest since the formation of the Greater Ackesian Republic over 30 years ago. Still no official respon…”

The television returned to darkness as the Prince of Avondale, Deon the XI clicked a button on the remote.

“Good morning Trilly.” The Prince used his pet name for his only daughter, a name he had used with her since she was but an infant in his arms.

“Good morning father.” Trinity stood in the doorway to the private breakfast room staring at the black TV screen.

Her father sighed and scrapped his knife across the flesh of his steak as it clanked against the porcelain of his plate.

“Did you sleep poorly dear?” He lifted a bit of meat to his lips before consuming it, staring at his befuddled daughter as she stared on with empty expression at the TV.

Trinity was lost in thought, not responding to her father’s small talk.

“You look lovely my dear.” He remarked at his daughter’s red plaid dress and neatly manicured exterior. “You looked very nice yesterday at the Children’s home as well.”

“Did I?” Her tone was less a question and more an expression of doubt as she finally took a seat next to her father at the table, quietly letting the servant scoot her chair forward as she looked uninterest at her father’s food.

Her father looked her up and down, thinking about how they warned him 17 years ago he was not ready for a daughter. Sons were easy, two-dimensional even with their eagerness to please him. But not Trinity, always as complex as the world around her, a puzzle even to the man who knew her the longest.

“You did well in what you did. Those children will have a better life with the grant money.” He tried to reassure the troubled conscious of his daughter.

“Better… its relative.” She looked at him in the eyes for the first time that morning.

“You are of the House of Avondale my dear. Charity is our way of looking after our people… it is the only way we can look after our people. We are not the rulers of this land as we once were, we are just the Princes of Avondale, a small section of this land we call home. That is what the people desired 30 years ago.”

He took another bite of his steak as he prayed silently that would put an end to his daughter’s melancholy.

Trinity thought over the events that happened well before she was even a thought in her parent’s mind. The people wanted answers, and her bloodline failed them, and now the people’s government fails them again. Who is really the evil then if neither salvation could truly save Ackesia? She looked at her father, who could only stare at her in that moment. Prince Henry was second in line to rule over Ackesia before the war. But his brother’s actions saw him banished from their country and the monarchy ruined. Trinity often thought if her father had been first in line or the only son of her grandfather that things may be different for their country. But right now, in this moment she felt how much he wanted to see her smile, and not be troubled by past events well before her birth, the troubled legacy of their family.

Trinity gave him what he wanted, a warm and loving smile from a loving daughter.

“I’m sorry father… you’re right I didn’t sleep very well.” She turned in her seat and thanked the servant for her plate of food.

“Well I’m glad you are snapping out of it Trilly.” Her father scarfed down the rest of his food. “Eat up, your brothers and mother are gone today to the east, and you and I have some time to spend together after I have a meeting this morning.

Trinity smiled at the idea of spending the day with her father, something she did not get to do much as times became more troubled in Ackesia. Her father may be one for talk about how they are no longer monarchs of this great nation, but she knew that he still met with advisors and politicians frequently to try and affect some sort of change from behind the scenes… for the people who would wish they not be his subjects he still cared very deeply.

“Is it a meeting about Beldon.” She asked pointedly.

Her father who was nearly out the door sighed and lowered his shoulders in defeat to his daughter’s wit.

“Don’t trouble yourself with the evil of this world Trilly… just be the light it needs.” He walked over and planted a kiss on her forehead before disappearing to his impending meeting.

Light and darkness… what was any of it but shades of grey.
Last edited by Achesia on Sat Jan 16, 2021 11:16 pm, edited 7 times in total.

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Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Tue Feb 04, 2020 6:55 pm


The bitch of this city was the cab drivers are like nervous pheasants when the wind blows fowl. You could stand on the street corner for a long time waiting for one to pass by, and with any luck they would be out of service or already occupied. Ariane Rayne (aka “Rain”) waved her hand frantically at a passing 2001 Gyrari Traction with a taxi bulb on top to no avail, the driver didn’t even bother to look the girls way as she stood hanging ten on the curb.

“Looked like a shit ride anyways.” The short blonde said under her breath with a grunt. The streets of Beldon, the metropolis from hell where all sense of warmth outside of the sewer off-gassing went to die. She stood there blankly, trying to ignore all the passers by who were probably wondering where a school girl was off to this late into the evening dressed in her uniform. Rain just stared down each car as it passed by, waiting for a lit-up globe signifying a free taxi. If she had a phone with the app this would be easy, but that was not an option right now. She had to play the long game.

Finally, what she was looking for came around, and at the same time a tall businessman stepped to her side and raised his own hand to summon the taxi. But as swiftly as he could call it over, so too was Rain’s foot in his shin, with a swift stomp and a sharp release of air from his lungs he stumbled backwards. The cabbie didn’t notice, probably a long shift, all he looked for were hands on the side of the road. The black 2005 Resende Costa pulled off just in front of Rain as she remarked to herself how it looked even more shit than the last car that passed. Regardless she grabbed the handle of the door and looked back at the walking suit she had conquered.

“Nice try.” The fiery tone coming from a not even five foot girl in a plaid skirt and button up white top was more terrifying than it should have been as the tie wearing cab stealer winced at the terrible pain and tried to regain his composure. Rain closed the door quickly as to not give him time to rebuke, settling into the seat with knees together and bag in her lap.

“Where to sweetie?” The cabbie made an effort to turn his head around to look back at the girl, his missing-tooth smile the stuff of prison records.

“Dogs are named sweetie, not me… drive.” Her tongue lashed quickly as she nodded towards the front of the car.

The criminal grin faded into a scowl as he turned around with a weary eye on the girl.

“Punk kid.” She could hear him say under his breath. He let the car lurch forward as he rejoined the chaotic traffic of Beldon’s side streets, cars flowing around them like a rushing river.
“Take me to 12th and 21st West, but use Citadel Street.” Rain ordered casually as she looked out her side window uncaring.

“Listen swee… er kid, where’s your house? Its late and you shouldn’t be walking the city streets dressed like that.” She could see his wandering shit brown eyes in the rear-view mirror leering at her. If anything, she shouldn’t be in a cab with some wretch this late at night… but here they were.

“Thanks for the advice pops… drive.” She snapped and leered back at the reflection of his beady mug. She whipped a strand of blonde hair out of her face as she tried to ignore the stinking smell the interior of the cab let off. Her eyes were focused on the crowd, the fading light of day just enough for her to make individuals out on the side of the street. Despite the driver’s objections Rain knew he wanted to be paid, people who do things for the sole purpose of collecting money were like that. He obediently took a left on Citadel on the way towards the destination, it was far from the ideal route but it was what she needed.

Watching the side of the road as they passed St. Larol’s Park she pretended to be uninterested, watching the crowd walk the sidewalks, the family’s eating dinner at the bakery, and the children playing in the playground, it was all so normal. What would be normal to most but a sign to her was the girl standing underneath the great oak tree at the center of the park. She stood facing north, which was coincidently towards the road, holding a red balloon, staring into the distance.

She exhaled through her nostrils, that was the singal.

“Alright pops, change of plans.” Rain said as she undid the bun of her hair and shook her head around. “Take me to Café Oamenii Lui.”

“Oamenii… aren’t you a bit young for that scene?” The cabbie squinted his eyes at her, he knew something was up, but Rain knew he was the type to shut up if he was paid. She flicked the 100 Mag note she had from her skirt pocket into the front seat and stared the mirror peeping cabbie down.

“Yeah… drive… got it.” HE shook his head and huffed. He didn’t know what this girl was about, but money was money.

Rain on the other hand moved like she had it all worked out. Looking young like she did had its benefits, though she was 19 it was not hard for her to fit the part when she needed to. A tight school girl uniform she acquired and a bit of makeup and there was no telling her apart from the crowd of high-pitched secondary school attendees. Some times it didn’t even take that.

It was just a few minutes’ drive to the Café form where they were, Rain finished her preparations by unbuttoning her top blouse button and trading out her pumps for the heels she had stashed in her backpack. Peaking at her watch she made sure she still was within the timeframe.

Pulling up to the Café minutes later, Rain gave the cab driver a fiery look before tossing him a wad of Mags kept together by a hair tie. She didn’t say anything more to the driver, it was not worth it with him. Instead she stepped out of the cab and swung her backpack over her shoulder. Standing on the curb outside the café she could see in the reflection of the windows that the dirty cabbie nearly crashed looking at her stand. It was all just as she intended.

But the Café was not her target, turning around she put her eye on the true prize, the recently completed 3rd Capital Parking Garage. A behemoth of concrete on the south side of one of dozens of government buildings dotting the capital of Beldon. The lights of the café behind her and the voices of passers by muttering about their daily city lifestyle were nothing to Rain as she acquired her target, stepping out into the road she braved the flow of taxis and black sedans as her heels clapped against the concrete. By this time the sun had set behind the glass silhouettes of skyscrapers and Victorian style palaces as night was falling in Beldon. In the old days no one feared the fall of night in the heart of Ackesia, but poverty did a strange thing to a population and made the streets a harrowing place to be at night. That was in part why Rain was here, and why she choose the guise of a schoolgirl, the least threatening thing in the capital that night.

Entering the parking garage it was quiet, most of the spots were empty as many of the bureaucrats had skipped town early for the weekend, the echoes of her footfalls without impediment as she walked up the incline towards the higher floors. She stuck close to the wall, she knew exactly where the cameras were and didn’t intend for prying eyes to know she was there. Tossing her hair around with her hands she gave it a puffed, wavy, and almost messy look before turning he corner, her objective in her sights. The glass sliding doors of the 3rd floor lobby were illuminated with LED lights near to the odd mix of Victorian and post-modern art that adorned the glass cases at the entrance. Looking down at her watch it was nearly 5:30, and like clockwork the subject emerged from the automatic doors, his long trench coat bundled around him as he felt the cold winter parking garage.

He was tall, dark hair, in his early 40s, and had a goatee on his chin that looked like missed attempt to try and hold on to some sort of youth. It was not unlike how reports detailed his choice in women. He proceeded along the parking garage to one of a few cars still resting there in the government motor pool. The black sedans the very symbol of a lavish bureaucratic government willing to spend thousands on town cars but little on the people starving just outside the garages.

Rain could hear him wrestle for his keys, and she knew it was her time. Stepping out from the shadows, her heels clacking again she acted as if heading for the lobby, her school girl outfit doing the majority of the work as her hips swayed with each step. She made sure to quickly glance at him, nervous expression painted on her face as she feigned a quick jaunt towards the door in a predetermined path to avoid cameras. Her target took the bait easily, stopping in his tracks as he bounced his keys in his hand and watched the girl walk away from him in intimate detail.

“Hey!” He said in a stern tone.

Rain stopped, clutching the strap of her bag tightly as if startled by the mans manufactured tone of authority.

“Y..y.yes?” She said, perfectly maintaining her cover as the image of innocence.

“Its late, what are you doing here?” The man walked back towards the girl

“Um… uh… my mom… she works here. I was going to see if-“ Her eyes darted back and forth.

The man “hmmmed” and shook his head in interruption, still stepping towards her till he was at arm’s length. “
“Nobody here now sweetie. Its all closed up for the weekend. Your mom probably went home.” He looked her up and down and gave a charming smile. It was as charming as a snake could get, if Rain was not so good at her part, she would of wretched at the thought of him calling her sweetie, but instead she batted her eye lashes and gave a frown.

“Oh… well, I guess she forget she was supposed to meet me.” She shrugged her small shoulders and looked at the man with big blue eyes.

“Hm, well its dark out, not a good time for a pretty girl like you to be out.” He gave a hurl inducing smile again. The man came along side her and put his hand in the small of her back. “Common, I’ll drive you home, it would be my treat.”

Rain suppressed a shiver going up her spine as she felt his hand firm against her, his thumb walking the fine line between a twitch and a caress.
“Oh really sir? That would be so sweet.” She smiled as she let him walk her to his black government sedan.

Ever the picture of a plastic gentleman, he opened the back door for Rain and let her slide in, watching her every move as she got comfortable in the back seat. It was not long before the car door shut and he himself sat in the driver seat, watching the girl in the mirror as he started the car and pulled away. It seemed to be one of those nights between Rain and rear-view mirrors, she just gave the man a grin to maintain her cover.

“So where do you live beautiful?” He tried to come off as platonic as possible, but its hard to do that when being such a creep. Rain would rather be called sweetie a hundred times by the missing-tooth cabbie from earlier.

“Oh, in the Trandafir Verde district.” Her voice was squirrelish as she wiggled in her seat.

“That’s not far from here.” She could see his smile in the mirror. “I can take you there no problem.”

Rain gave him a naive smile back, this one was too predictable and was falling right into her trap. The black sedan pulled out of the parking garage on to the main streets of Beldon, following the exact route that Rain needed him to. Without him noticing she watched as they passed each intended CCTV camera, the record of his face driving this direction pivotal. Rain took a deep breath in, and let it out with a long drawn out huff of air. Now it was time for phase two.

They drove for about ten minutes before Rain noted they were in the outer parts of Trandafir Verde. Most notably he had yet to ask her specifically where she lived, but it was suspected and all to her plan. Soon after many awkward moments of him staring at her in the mirror, she saw he was pulling the car off into a dark alleyway, away from any street lights or camera. It was perfect.

The car came to a stop, he idled it for a long moment while still gripping the steering wheel and staring at her. It was only after a long uncomfortable moment did he break the silence.

“Do you know who I am?” His tone was one of cool confidence.

“No sir…” She replied as sheepishly as possible, her hands gripping the strap of the bag tightly.
He gave his signature “hmmm” again, Rain was beginning to think it was a tick of his.
“I am Mr. Nicolescu, I work on President Ackerman’s security you know.” His tone was grave now, a serious look in his eyes.

Rain kept her cool, only pretending to be intimidated as any school girl would. There was no way this stooge was on to her, his candor the stuff of intimidating young women into submission.

Mr. Nicolescu opened the driver side door and stepped out before coming around to the opposite passenger seat as Rain, opening the door and sliding in, ever too close to her.

“You make me curious why you were in the parking garage tonight.” Rain noted how he couldn’t help a perverted smile come across his face.

“Uh huh.” She did her best to make her eyes water and hand tremble. “I was just meeting my mom… honest.” She leaned away from the face of the nearing man.

Nicolescu took a long-drawn breath through his nose.
“Never the less I need to search you…” He said as his right hand grasped her knee and left grabbed the back of her neck. He brought his lips to the girl’s with a smack, his hands getting more and more occupied with her.

Rain’s hand rose up behind her head, the man taking this as a sign of submission and leaning into it, but instead he found a needle in his neck.

“Agghhh…” He stiffened up like a log with a constipated look of terror before falling unconscious.

Rain loosed his arms from her body and let him fall over into the floor board of the passenger seats.

“Sick fuck.” She tsked as she looked down at the paralyzed man.

Now she was on the clock. Rain shuffled through Nicolescu’s coat pocket and acquired his car keys before stepping out of the car herself.

“Stay right there… sweetie.” She knew he was not going anywhere for a while. Walking around to the back she popped open the trunk to see if there were any goodies inside, and sure enough she found just what she was looking for, the standard issue MP9 of President Ackerman’s security detail. Donning a few black gloves and black coat from her bag, she picked up the weapon and slid the receiver back to see if she was loaded. The sight of golden brass was pleasing to her, it was her lucky day that he decided to bring his service weapon home with him as it made the situation cleaner if his own weapon could be used. Smiling at the small black sub-machinegun she let the bolt slide forward with a snap and closed the trunk before hopping in the drivers seat, pulling the car out towards the end of the ally.

Stopping abruptly, she could hear Niclescu’s body thump against the back of her chair.

“Oh sorry sweetie, its gonna be a rough ride.” Her hands fell over her face as she donned a black ski mask. Soon they were off back down the road, MP9 resting on her thigh.


Just a few blocks down was a long stretch of apartment blocks, constructed by the government over a decade ago to aide in housing the booming middle class in Beldon. They were beginning to show their shoddy workmanship, but thanks to the resilience of the Ackesian people they kept some of their charm with beautiful murals and plants near and dear to the Ackesian spirit. There were few who walked this late at night after what happened a few short days ago in the downtown. Many of the residents of Trandafir Verde took part in the ill-fated protests, and no longer felt safe in the streets, fearful that conspiracy theories about Ackerman’s thirst for retaliation be realized.

But not Makariy Naumov, he was an idealist, a believer many would say in the Ackesian Republic. The son of a revolutionary that was famous for flying the flag over the Royal Palace in Beldon after it’s fall to the hands of the ADF during the Siege of Beldon, Makariy had a name to live up to in being the leader of a free Ackesian people. To him that loyalty to his fellow countryman and way of life did not hinge on a single President, even if that president was the hero of the War of Opposing Salvations. Instead he was critical of the economic policies of the current government, the cult of personality Ackerman exuded on his political structure leaving little room for solutions to the problems of today.

In fact, Makariy was one of the leaders of the recent protests, calling for a peaceful demonstration to show the government the will of the people of Beldon. But as things turned bloody on the streets Makariy channeled his inner father and took up rocks to ward off the police from protestors who could not defend themselves. The memories of women and young kids being beaten was fresh in his mind as he walked along down the side walk, the cold air around him was refreshing compared to the stale air of his moldy apartment. He needed this walk to forget those they lost that day.

Passing a couple on the side walk he smiled and nodded. He recognized them from the demonstration, despite the cold the pair had gone topless to the demonstration and wore body paint that read “In sickness and in POVERTY” with a rather inspired attempt at looped wedding bands along their stomachs. He grinned just thinking about how rowdy they got during the demonstration, giving them a knowing look as they smiled back, knowing exactly who he was. Makariy had certainly gained a name for himself during that week, many saying he should run for office. But what was the point of holding political office when the government was so corrupt.

Looking up at the night sky Makariy knew something had to changed… especially for them, the ones who had lost their lives. As he stared at the heavens thinking about the ones that did not make it that day, he scarcely noticed the car pulling up along side of him.

Before he could even look the driver in the face a spray of bullets jumped from the automatic weapon and peppered the protest leader time and time again. The couple whom he passed both screamed, running the opposite direction of the gunfire, Makariy now laying on the sidewalk covering it in his own blood as passed to the heavens just like those whom he thought of moments ago.

The black sedan with government plates sped away, just as witnesses to the murder began to arrive and crowd the dead body of a man whom they had some hope. It was a hope that good people could lead a democratic Ackesia… it was a dead hope.
Last edited by Achesia on Tue Feb 04, 2020 7:41 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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Posts: 6440
Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Sat Feb 08, 2020 9:49 am

Ackesian Free Press
Feb 5


SHOCK this morning as police report of a brutal drive by shooting in the Beldon district of Trandafir Verde reveals that the victim was the leader of the recent violent protests in downtown Beldon, Makariy Naumov. Little has been said about motive other than “radical ideology difference ” amongst the protestors. Police have reported they have one suspect in custody. Read more here...




Palatul Poporului “the People’s Palace” was not always named as such prior to the days of the Greater Republic. Instead it was the Palace of St. Beldon, the royal estate of the House of Avondale in Beldon before the fall of the monarchy. Beldon then was not the capital of the great nation of Ackesia, but it indeed was the largest and arguably the economic hub of the nation. When the Ackesian Democratic Front took over the city after the Massacre of Beldon, Ackerman’s rebels raided the palace, and tore down the emblems and shrines to the monarchy throughout its grounds. But the building still stood, and despite being the home of the monarchs they sought to destroy, it was left to stand only to be renamed to something more fitting the vision Ackerman had for Ackesia.

A palace was however, just that, a place where the elegance and lavishness of ruling life is brought on full display. Despite the economic hardships of the Ackesian Republic and the thousands of citizens living in poverty just a mile away from this very place, the halls of the Palatul Poporului were adorned with festive music, delicious food, and well-dressed bodies floating up and down participating in chatter so separated from the plight of the average Ackesian it would make the casual observer think that the old principles of aristocracy and elitism had returned to this place.

“And so, to conclude my speech as to not bore you any longer.” The suave man with thin beard and white smile smirked as he allowed the chuckles from the crowd to pass before continuing. “Thank you for attending the Ackesian Energy in Lira summit. I hope you have come to see Ackesia as I have, a beautiful nation that loves freedom, and its Liran neighbors. The people of Ackesia are a hard-working people, and our resources are the boon of a culture that stretches back many millennia. In these times of hardship around the world, I hope we may be partners to all in Lira to ensure that Lirans all have a warm home, transportation, and a stove to cook on. Ovaţii!” President Ackerman raised his flute of Champaign to the crowd of representatives from all governments of Lira. But in the corner of his eye he could see Sevastian standing vacant of any joy for the occasion, his hands folded in front of him in solemn duty to his President as Chief Political Advisor.

“Ovaţii!” The crowd repeated as the clanging of crystal echoed around the room before chatter began to rise again.

Stepping off of his podium President Ackerman loosened his tie and strode past Sevastian with urgency. He knew that his advisor had need to speak of him in private, the Palatul Poporului had many such secluded locations for them to do so around the grand halls of the residence of the Ackesian Chief Executive. One such room was a favorite of Ackerman’s to hear about the troubles of their nation. He would use it frequently to be advised of riots, wars, and famine, and not return to the room unless it was of a related topic. It was a funny thing Ackerman did out of a subconscious reasoning to segregate his troubles to a box. Though as he was deep into his 5th term as President he knew very well it did not work that way.

Stepping into the room, Sevastian closed the doors behind them. There was another who stood as the President entered, Maria, Ackerman’s Chief of Staff.

“Mr. President.” Maria nodded as she stood holding her touch pad in her arms.

“Is he talking?” Ackerman fell into the couch, leaning his head back to rest on the ornate gilded brass of the Victorian style couch, letting out a deep breath before running his hand down his face.

“Nothing more than before Sir. He claims he did not do it.” The advisors took seats across from the President, their tense posture a sign of how softly they were treading on this issue.

“I’ve known Nicolescu since the revolution!” Ackerman put his hands up in utter confusion and personal defeat. “He would never do such a thing as this; I trust him with my life.” A strained expression wrought his face as he thought about his friend, whom had been at his side since they fought on the streets of Beldon, was now locked up in the deepest and darkest prison in Ackesia for killing a political dissenter. Something deep inside Ackerman felt this was not right, the man was devoted to the cause Ackerman represented, putting the people of Ackesia first on the world stage and lifting them up to new heights. He knew that Nicolescu would never jeopardize it for such small fish.

“Sir…” Sevastian looked uncomfortable in his seat. “This may sound insensitive, but I must ask you this.” The pinchy looking man shifted. “Did you know about Nicolescu’s drinking problem?”

Ackerman sat silently, staring at Sevastian with a deadpan expression. He needed his chief political advisor, but he did not have to respect him. The man was a soft, privileged elitist who was raised in a rich family and sat on the sidelines during the war. He would have thrived no matter the outcome of the revolution, but here he is in Ackerman’s own court questioning those men who bled along side him on the battlefield for Ackesia’s liberty!

“Sir… I understand this is a sensitive subject. He was a dear friend, a comrade in the revolution, we know this.” Maria piped up. The younger woman on the other hand was very respected by Ackerman, a woman who at the age of 12 ran charities in the north for underprivileged Ackesians. Now here she stood far elevated from her humble beginnings as the daughter of a fisherman.
“… when the police found him in the car he had a blood alcohol level of .14. That’s…. high.” Maria shook her head.
Ackerman sighed, looking towards the window where the early afternoon rays of light shown in.
“Yes… I knew. But he had it under control! I just didn’t care, I drink too, fuck we drank together! I trusted him with my life. We did things together no men should ever have to do. We got through that war… together.”

“Yes sir.” Maria nodded with sympathy. “but he hasn’t left that war. Even his last psych eval the doctor recommended he be pulled from your detail and you overturned it.”

Ackerman looked to the floor.

“He is a liability now Sir. He killed someone who was one of your staunchest critics and the people will not be forgiving of this-“

“We can’t have a problem like this, this close to the election Mr. President.” Sevastian interrupted.

“Oh fuck the elec-“ Ackerman waved his hand away at the notion.

“No sir, don’t fuck the election. You are popular in the eyes of the people yes, but you are not above a series of bad optics. The protests, the murder… there could be more between now and voting day. Our people in the media are hiding this right now but we have to keep this… him under wraps.”

Ackerman knew where this was going.

“He has to stay where he is Sir.” Maria confirmed it.

Left to rot in the deepest dungeon of Ackesia. Away from suspicion and implication that the President was knocking off political opponents. If only the police had shown restraint in repressing the protests so heavy handedly they would not be in a mess like this. The idiot police chief taking the President too literally.

A silence went across the room like a blanket as Ackerman sat there, thinking of how far departed he was from the days of being able to act on what needed to be done with just a rifle in his hands. The silence continued until it was interrupted by the buzzing of Sevastian’s phone, the pinchy man taking it out of his pocket and reading over the message, his eyes growing wide.

“Sir you are going to want to see this.” Sevastian handed the President the phone.

Ackerman sat up straight and took out a pair of reading glasses to look over the message. His expression soured as he digested the meaning of the interruption.

“What the…” Ackerman tore off his glasses and pointed them at Sevastian. “Get the media on damage control, put this away!”

“But Sir… its viral.”

Ackerman shot out of his seat with a huff.

He turned to Maria, his eyes closing for a moment as he tried to breath.

“Get on the phone with Avondale, and find out what the FUCK THEY ARE TRYING TO PULL!” He threw his glasses and Sevastian’s phone to the floor. Walking towards the window with his hands over his head.

He could not fail Ackesia, he could not be pulled down like this. If he failed now how could he lead its people to salvation?


Several Moments Earlier…

“Breaking news this morning out of Beldon in a city reeling from the violent protests there last week now shocked at a violent murder in the streets of Trandafir Verde late last night. Reports say police responded to the 6th Block of the district after frantic calls from witnesses reported automatic gunfire and a man cut down on the very sidewalks frequented by families that live in the area. Police have released the name of the man as Makariy Naumov, an accountant from Beldon and most surprisingly one of the main instigators of last week’s protests. Police say they believe this to be in fighting amongst rival extremist political factions and have a suspect in custody. No further details are being released at this time. In other be-“

Trinity’s handmaid switched off the television after realizing it had taken a depressing turn.

“I’m sorry milady, I didn’t mean to soil your afternoon with such depressing news. She folded her hands in front of her as she waited for the young Duchess to give her orders. Trinity was taking tea in one of the many parlors of the palace as they watched on at the terrible way the country was eating itself. It didn’t matter if she saw that or not, it had all been on her mind anyways. Ever the face of singular emotion Trinity was not allowed to be affected by the happenings within Ackesia. To the contrary her farher still expected her to be the pretty little Duchess, shaking ahnds and kissing children as the world looked on adoringly at the Princes of Avondale, as if it were to distract from the poverty of their nation or make history forget their family gave up on leading it.

Trinity set her empty tea cup down on the saucer and contemplated for a moment all of the struggling voices inside of her head. But it was hard to do so when your servant was standing there silently staring at you as they waited for the next appointment on your schedule.

Trinity just looked at her for a long moment before she finally got the picture. Melany was often a dull girl, but that was to her father’s design. He was fearful that a spirited Trinity would get too many ideas if she did not have someone two-dimensional to weigh her down. But it did not take much dimension or excitement to realize the Duchess needed more tea. On a normal day Trinity would get up and grab it herself but with the news being so somber and the weight on Trinity’s mind she did not feel it.

“Oh I am so sorry milady.” Melany finally got the picture. “More tea?”

Trinity had less polite things to say in that moment, but that was just not her personality. Instead she gave Melany what everyone wanted from Trinity, a smile and a polite courtesy.

“Yes please dear.” She handed Melany the saucer and cup.

In the process of transferring it to her handmaiden, Melany tipped over her bag on the opposite side of the table, the contents spilling out.

“Oh dear me, I am sorry milady. Let me get you more tea and then I will clean that up.” The handmaiden scurried away with Trinity’s cup and she was left alone in the parlor.

Looking across the table at the mess Melany had left, the Duchess of Avondale noticed one thing about the pile of her handmaid’s contents. The official phone for Trinity had leapt out onto the table as if by fate. Access to her contact list, all of her social media, the outside world just at her grasp. Trinity took a deep breath, her head pounding as she looked at the phone. All the voices from her dream seemed to scream out to her, the red headed girl pinching her shoulder, and as she sat there the pain in her heart where the knife stabbed her radiated with a painful sensation. It was all as if to beckon her to pick up the phone.

Trinity in her mind was done with the expectations of her being silent. The children at the Orphanage, the news of the protests, murders, poverty, famine. It all plagued her people. Who was she to be silent in such a time as this?

Reaching across Trinity grabbed the phone, unlocking it and scrolling through the apps her handmaiden had illogically organized until she found SignPost. With a few swipes and furious typing Trinity relieved the burden she had been feeling. As she pressed the “post” button she felt like the pain in her heart, the pinch on her shoulder, and the screams of those calling out to her all subsided. Sliding the phone back across the table she leaned back into he chair and took a deep breath.

She was silent no more.


Duchess Trinity of Avondale
Feb 8


@AckFreePrs violence begets violence, should the President choose to oppress the voices of the people again, like in Beldon last week, I hope he remembers the violence that his people will reap.

Last edited by Achesia on Sat Feb 08, 2020 10:45 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Postby Achesia » Sat Feb 08, 2020 11:04 am

Later that Same Day...

Prince of Avondale
Feb 8


The House of Avondale as well as the Prince of Avondale wish to apologize for the below social media message posted earlier today from the Duchess of Avondale’s SignPost account. A rogue staffer obtained the Duchesses’ phone and posted the message as political subterfuge and it by no means represents the political views of Duchess Trinity or the House of Avondale.

Duchess Trinity of Avondale
Feb 8


@AckFreePrs violence begets violence, should the President choose to oppress the voices of the people again, like in Beldon last week, I hope he remembers the violence that his people will reap.


Last edited by Achesia on Sat Feb 08, 2020 11:05 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Achesia » Sat Feb 08, 2020 7:58 pm

Above all others in the world Trinity loved her father. Since the first days of her being able to socialize as a baby, her coos and expressions under her own control, she was a daddy’s girl. All of these years growing up as the Duchess of Avondale, her father was there to teach her many lessons in life. From history, to social life, to even politics her father had groomed her to be a Duchess just as much as he groomed his sons as Dukes. Trinity was third in line to be the head of state of the Principality of Avondale, just a minor autonomous region of a much larger nation. But that did not matter to Prince Deon, he raised his third heir and only daughter to be the strongest that she could be. All of this made her feel confident in everything she did, and all of this made the moment they were about to share together even harder.

As she sat opposite a silent father, Trinity couldn’t even bring herself to look him in the eye. It was not out of shame or embarrassment, nor was it the fact she had made a fool out of the House of Avondale on the world stage. Instead it was anger, rage even that Trinity felt sitting there. How could after all of these years of her father teaching her what was her duty to do, protect the people, now sit across from her and tell her what she said was wrong. To put out an official statement stating that the SignPost she wrote did not reflect her views, or the views of her family. Her father even went as far as to say that she did not even write it. Trinity balled her fist and clenched it so tight as she recalled the scene of the security guards escorting Melany off palace grounds for being a rogue political dissenter. Trinity had no real love for the girl but she knew that she didn’t deserve that. Perhaps that was Trinity’s only regret, the fact Melany had to take the fall.

Looking up, her eyes full of tears and anger at her father, she waited for him to speak. Perhaps he would even explain why after 18 years of her being on this earth why did he feel the need to be a walking contradiction to that. In the corner of her eye she could see her father’s chief of staff, Vasile Fedorov silently standing with his constant dutiful presence. Vasile had been with their family for years, almost a second father to Trinity. Despite his solemn silence which added depth to her father’s, Trinity could see something too in his eye, something Trinity undoubtfully felt was disappointment.

“You are angry at me Trinity.” Prince Deon Avondale the II leaned forward in his chair, his hands folded on his desk in solemn patience. “But you have no idea what you have done. The Principality we have here is a privilege, a one by rights we should not have given the outcome of the war 30 years ago.”

Trinity couldn’t believe her father would say something so weak.

“You think we live in this Palace by right and the people love us for it. Indeed many in this city, and this province do love us and support what we do. We are charitable, we give people hope and encouragement, we do things for the people.” His tone began to shift. “But we are NOT political Trinity.”

“We sit in the shadows as they suffer father!” A tear ran along the top of her pink lip as she tried to hold herself together. But having this conversation, affirming her belief that she was but the portrait of some princess to be admired by people, it tore her apart.

“As the people wish us to.” Prince Deon sternly reiterated as he gave his chief of staff a quick glance, seemingly almost forgetting he was there.

“No… no. Maybe the people 30 years ago, but not today!” Trinity pointed viperously out the window to make a point.

“You know the will of the people Trilly?” Her father sat back in his chair. “You think out there across all of Ackesia people want to hear royals talking about what should or should not happen in their country?”

“I think they want hope father.” Trinity’s eyes were dry for once. “I think of all things in the world, all of the pain and sorrow our people are seeing now, I think they need hope. Ackerman is draining them of that hope. And maybe I am just a pretty face that is to dance around at balls or kiss babies at orphanages, but I’ll be damned if I should not try to give people hope!” Trinity threw her head into her hands with her last intense words and began to sob.

Prince Deon let out a deep breath.

”Vaslie would you leave us please?” Deon looked over to the ever-silent Chief of Staff.

“Of course, my Prince.” Vasile nodded and gave a bow, as he left the room he looked to Trinity. Trinity could not make out the emotion behind the glance, perhaps because her own emotions now betrayed her. She watched as he exited the room as silently as he stood in it. The creek of the door louder than ever before it shut.

As the door shut, Prince Deon stood up from his chair and walked around his desk to kneel before his daughter, embracing her like a father as she balled.

“My beautiful Trinity. Ever do you have the most beautiful heart. I have raised you to be a leader, someone to do right in this world and give people strength.” He lifted her chin up to look her in the eye. “And I know now It feels like I am telling you the opposite. You spoke out against tyranny, against someone who would ravage our people for his gain. And you may have given some hope.”

Looking at her father, her mascara running from he eyes Trinity hung on every word.

Her father flustered, trying hard to get these next words out of his mouth.
“But… we are no good to the people dead.” He lay his hand on her bare shoulder. “We have to be here, and be strong for the people in trying times. Should we play our cards wrong, and draw attention to ourselves no matter how righteous the cause, those who wish to hurt our people will eliminate us.”

Trinity knew there was fear in her father’s words. It was not something she was used to, Prince Deon being a symbol of strength in uncertain times, not only to the people of Avondale but to her as well. Yet as she looked upon the aged face of a man who for the majority of his life sat as the figurehead of a dying tradition, she knew he felt insatiable fear.

“I spoke with President Ackerman earlier today.” Prince Deon cleared his throat and sat in a chair next to Trinity. “He believed me that it was not you who posted the SignPost. That instead it was a rogue staffer, your handmaiden.”

Trinity’s expression curdled.

Her father put his hands up to calm her. “I did what I must to protect you! Ackerman is backed in the corner as his approval amongst the people deteriorates. There is no telling what he could do in desperation should we become dissenters.”

“So we hide? We let him have his way with the people father?”

Prince Deon became frustrated. Standing up form his chair he ran his fingers across the top of his head.
“I must ensure my family is protected Trinity. Should you listen to anything I’ve said you would know why.” He stood above her now, a towering man just as when Trinity looked up at him as a child. She felt like a child in this moment, a little girl naïve to the ways of the world. What if her father was right? What if he had not been able to convince Ackerman she did not write the SignPost. Trinity soon began to realize the graveness of the situation they were in, how she could bring great harm to her family.

“Ackerman believed you didn’t write the SignPost. But the post went so viral and spread so far that the damage it did can not be fixed with a retraction. Conspiracy theorists are already out there disputing everything our retraction said. They say you are some sort of heroic voice.” Trinity saw the slightest smile slip across her fahter’s face before he managed to wipe it away. It warmed her heart to know at least deep inside her father felt pride for the woman she had become, and what she did.
“So the deal is we must help him fix this. Thursday night you are to go on Morgan Branson Tonight, and dispel what you said in the SignPost. You have to convince Ackerman we are not medaling.”

The little girl beneath her towering father looked despondent to her father’s request. Yet again she must play the face of innocence.

Her father knelt down once more before her.

“Trinity you must do this. You must do this for our family.” His hands were on her shoulders as he plead with her.
Trinity only nodded, her tears returning as her face fell into her father’s chest.

“That’s my Girl, that’s my strong girl.”

But was she strong? In the deep recesses of her mind she heard the screaming from her dream again, the screams of children across the oblivion that was Ackesia.

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Postby Achesia » Sat Feb 08, 2020 9:15 pm


Murder linked closely to President's office as Duchess of Avondale takes to social media
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Shania Blythe (@OBSBlyth)
8 February, 2020| Aatream, Produzland


News in Ackesia has passed several cycles with talk of the intense crackdown on protests in Beldon slipping from the top spot in the headlines yesterday as Ackesians return to their every day lives in the streets of Beldon. The President would have you believe it was all but an anomaly, that bigger and better things are happening in the Greater Republic. The global recession due to the increased tariffs from the Meridiq and the two huge storms that hit SE Nori recently have however hit home in Ackesia, and continue to do damage to the Presidents approval ratings no matter how much doctoring of headlines Ackerman’s regime does. In fact when a media outlet with many connections to the Ackerman regime posted something critical of the President recently, it did not go unnoticed in downtown Beldon.
SignPost from the Ackesian Free Press about the murder.

On the heels of the Beldon protests last week one brave Ackesian “Free” Press reporter posted an article extremely critical to the Police’s response to the recession-based protests claimed the crackdown decision came directly from the President’s office. This unusual angle from an agency known to be close enough with the Chief Executive to spin headlines in his favor was surprising to most outside observers. But what originated as a pleasant surprise soon became troubling as anonymous sources confirmed the reporter responsible for the article, Alwin Fiedler, had not only been let go from the news outlet, but on the same day was arrested by Internal Security Bureau agents. Clearly unbiased news is not welcome at the Ackesian Free Press and those stepping outside of the lines may find themselves more than unemployed. Sources have little information about the fate of Alwin Fiedler since his arrest last week, it is still presumed he is in custody by Ackesian ISB.

As troubling as the arrest of dissenting reporters is, the opposite has become a true problem for the people of Ackesia. Often a casual phone call from the Palatul Poporului can do more than spin a headline off course, it can make the news disappear entirely. Such is the case of what many thought was a small bit of news out of the outer districts of Beldon last week, when the murder of a Beldon protest leader lead to speculation it was the result of political factionism amongst those critical to the regime. The Ackesian Free Press wasted no time trying to both keep the story out of the lime light and make it seem as non-consequential as possible. When so much work is done to keep the news right where it is wanted by those in power, then something must be hidden that is much larger. After much digging and brave sources obtaining police records and evidence, it was discovered by the Observer that the headline spun to blame anarchist for the death of Makariy Naumov was an utter lie.

On the same night, in the same district of Beldon, one Elwin Nicolescu was arrested by capital police and taken to the darkest hole in Ackesia, the Krupin Complex. He was arrested under suspicion of drunken conduct, but the reality of what sources to the Observer discovered in far more chilling. Mr. Nicolescu is in fact a member of President Ackerman’s personal security detail, and beyond that a close friend and supporter of Ackerman who fought along side him in the War of Opposing Salvations. This realization along with evidence in regard to the murder of Makariy Naumov links President Ackerman to his killing. Bullets from Nicolescu’s standard issue MP9 according to the official police report (which was heavily secured by internal protocol) were indeed the ones that sprayed Makariy Naumov in the streets of Trandafir Verde. CCTV footage of the highways between the capital administration building and Trandafir Verde also place Nicolescu in transit between the two locations, a sure sign of pre-meditation.
The Duchess of Avondale last month at a press dinner in the Principality.

Did the order come directly from Ackerman to have Naumov killed? Only Nicolescu knows. But the facts of the close link between the gunman and the President, the obvious doctoring of headlines by the Ackesian Free Press, and the evidence hidden from public record are signs that point to this being a desperate attempt to silence political opposition leading up to an election.

It is all very chilling, the thought the 5-time elected leader of the Greater Ackesian Republic and hero of the revolution would stoop to such levels of gross tyranny. And while the people of Ackesia did not hear about the truth of this story from the news outlets there, someone did indeed point out this story in reference to Ackesia falling to violence at the hands of a dictator unwilling to loosen his grip on the people. Duchess Trinity of Avondale, the only daughter and middle child of the Prince of Avondale posted a SignPost earlier today that caught the eye of not only a generation of younger Ackesians afraid for the direction of their nation, but also the outside world.

“Violence begets violence” she astutely pointed out to social media in response to the Ackesian Free Press’ SignPost about the murder. The young Duchess trending in the top spot of SignPost today as many seek to learn more and more about Ackesia’s most popular political critic of President Ackerman. The eighteen-year-old has spent the majority of her life doing charity work many of the House of Avondale have conducted since the revolution and their abdication of the Ackesian throne. What made her post the words she did remains unknown.

We also may never know, as the official Press Office of the House of Avondale issued an immediate retraction of the SignPost, claiming the words expressed therein were not the views of Trinity Avondale or the House of Avondale. Rather it was claimed a rogue staffer posted the SignPost as subterfuge. Many took to social media in disbelief of the claim, the words expressed on social media by the young Duchess obviously striking a chord in the hearts of Ackesians. But whether you are team #BelieveInTrinity, or just take every headline and ingest it as truth, you will soon be able to hear from the Duchesses’ mouth as the President’s Office announced she would appear on late night talk show Morgan Branson Tonight to talk about the post.

Until then Trinity Avondale remains the #1 search on ZipWord today in Ackesia as people turn to even the elusive possibility someone on high stands for their well-being.

As always, here at the observer we are here for a better tomorrow… for that very hope.

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Postby Achesia » Wed Feb 12, 2020 5:32 am

The Observer
Feb 10


Despite controversy surrounding both the origins and merits of Duchess Trinity of Avondale’s SignPost over the weekend, recent approval poll shows substantial increase of approval for the Duchess amongst the Ackesian people. Polls also indicate slight skepticism over official statements claiming SignPost did not come directly from the Duchess.



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Postby Achesia » Sat Feb 15, 2020 12:11 am

“These false labels of ownership are what they have held over our “the people’s” heads for centuries! I stand here before the alter of these inhumane claims before the people of Ackesia I see as free!”

The fire burned at his feet as he stood upon a wooden barricade. Before him a thousand had gathered to watch the blaze. It was an inferno like no other, engulfing documents of all types: deeds of ownership, notices of estate, titles of nobility. They all either burned in piles or floated around the thick smog filled air as they became cinders consumed by the atmosphere over Beldon. This great bonfire was a testament, a pledge to those people in Beldon who lost their lives at the hands of the army.

“I am calling out to all Ackesians today!” He yelled until his voice was horse. Before him several of his followers held up receivers at the end of long cords leading to the radio towers behind him mounted on the public administration building at Beldon. Much like the fire behind him there was a fire in the eyes of the people gathered before him. Many had come at the behest of their own sensibilities after the loss of so many lives at the hands of the Army several days prior. Some were armed, and even in the most fiery portions of his speech he could hear them firing their guns off into the sky in fervor. Zachariah Ackerman was afraid to some extent; never before did he feel such a burden of responsibility towards so many people. But now as he stood upon the barricade they had erected before the public administration building and gathered the people to hear what he had to say, he knew he had to be strong for the people. Strong for Ackesia.

“Today is not a day for diplomacy. That has failed us in this struggle against the oppression of those who think them better than us. They rape, kill, and steal from us as if it was their right! But today I see many free Ackesians before me who have taken this city from the hands of evil by the might of their own hearts!”

A cheer went up at his words, the fervor could be felt deep into the bone of every man and woman there. The adrenaline of the day was coursing through Zachariah’s veins, having forcefully taken the Public Administration building from the Royal Army hours earlier and begun to set fire to all of the records of the aristocracy.

“Today, we have driven the Royal Forces from our city! These people, this family of thousands has won their liberty and that of their city of Beldon.” Ackerman between the cheers motioned for one of the radio microphones to come closer. “I hereby give notice to those who would wish to make us slaves to their will. I give notice to the King that Beldon is no longer his city, that this place is now free of his rule, and it is OF THE PEOPLE!”

The crowd cheered louder than ever before as gunfire erupted into the air in celebration. Zachariah’s blood bumped harder now as he listened to their cheers. He knew this would not be the end of their struggle but he sure as hell hoped that this would be the beginning of a better nation for his people. A nation where a few did not have unilateral control over the many.

“I call on all of our brothers and sisters of Ackesia outside of this city to join us. Throw off the yoke of the aristocracy and let us form a nation which is of the people, by the people, FOR the people!”

Cheers exceeded all others as Ackerman raised his fist in the air. The triumph of that moment was like a wave of emotion that would never be felt twice in a man’s life. It was the feeling of creating something bigger than one self and fulfilling a purpose in this life. It was a purpose which may not have been realized until that moment, but one served to better the countrymen around him.


It was not until nearly 40 years later did Zachariah Ackerman realize that the emotions he felt that day in 1987 while the highest he has ever felt, were surely not going to be the strongest. Standing in the window buttoning up his white shirt looking out on the protestors in the streets before the Palatul Poporului, President Ackerman could not believe he has now seen the day he was the subject of the protests and demonstrations. The Bonfire Notice was the most pivotal moment of Ackesian Democracy, one which he led thousands of Ackesian to throwing off the oppression of the monarchists from the east. In the decades after, Ackerman led the westernization of Ackesia, a nation steeped in homogenous culture that it created a huge wall to its growth on the world stage. SO much had been achieved by his country, that as he stood watching the protest leader shout chants to the hundreds that had joined him outside the seat of the Ackesian government, he felt despair.

Ackerman believed in the depths of his heart everything he had done that day since 1987 had been in the countries best interest. While certainly there was regret in how certain things turned out, the recent bloody protests in Beldon for one, the rest of it he felt had brought Ackesia forward. That’s why he let his advisors have their way and investigate the reporter from the Ackesian Free Press who wrote the article defaming him about his handling of the Beldon Protests. He didn’t think it would turn out like this, or be on the media stage like this. His advisors swore that his arrest due to tax evasion would be totally transparent to the media and none would be the wiser. But this whole incident involving Nicolescu gunning down the political dissenter in the street change things. It implicated Ackerman in ways that were damning, yet as he reflected on it all he was not sure if he was truly guilty or not.

Did he say something to Nicolescu to encourage him to do this? The two had been old friends since the war and often shared a drink to talk about the world. Maybe off-color remarks about those who opposed what Ackerman thought best for the nation were what encouraged a man on the edge to commit such an act?
“You look like you are over thinking again.” A female voice came from the other side of the room.

Ackerman sighed as he finished buttoning up his shirt and watching the protestors below hold up their signs defaming his good name. Over to his left his Chief of Staff Maria Akulina lay on her stomach nude upon the President’s bed. Her legs her propped up behind her as her hair was disheveled and skin glistening with sweat. She didn’t bother covering up any, just lay staring at him as he contemplated all of his failures before the window of his misery.
“Well…” He motioned at the protestors.

“Give it a news cycle.” She rolled over, her hair pouring over the edge of the bed, it gave Ackerman two distractions from his frustration over protests for just a single moment as he watched her. Her head dropped down over the edge of the bed as she looked at him upside-down. “If it lasts a news cycle then there is a saying, ‘it either lasts 1 cycle or 9’.” Maria ran her fingers through her red hair as she admired her boss’ expressions as he admired her body.

Ackerman stepped closer; he was now looking down at the younger woman as she hung off his bed upside down.

“Hasn’t it already been a news cycle…” The side of his mouth shrugged as he looked down at her.

“Oh…. Yeah I guess it has.” Maria forgetting that after having dealt with the initial fallout from this last night they had retreated to this room to discuss strategy before it devolved into their usual shenanigans and they woke up the next day.

It was now the second cycle.

“I just… I thought I was doing what the people needed here Maria.” He sat next to the woman on the edge of the bed.

“Sir…” She sat up, her bare body pressing against his as she put an arm around him and stroked his chest. “This is just an exercise of democracy, protests happen, and by next month they will be over and the media and people will be on to the next drama.

Ackerman tried to nod and agree, but it felt like more than that. He turned towards Maria, putting his fingers on the side of her neck to caress it, but then placing his thumb on the opposite side as he held her neck there sensually.
“But… you are President Sir. You are President Zachariah Ackerman, the people’s hero. If anyone knew what was best for this nation it would be you.” She reassured him as he held her by the throat.

The two kissed for a long moment as they pressed against each other, not a word left either’s lips until they were done thirsting for the other’s.

“Because of that sir… you could always bring it to the ISB’s concern that there is a terrorism concern with the protests. These political radicals have been known to take extreme measures to get their point across.”

Ackerman felt her words to be some sort of comfort in that moment. It was like he was back in front of the Public administration building all those years ago. It was so easy to take back their liberty with force, to secure the future of Ackesia with force. Back then it was the Royals who stood against them, a clear enemy that was easy to get the people to unite against. But how was he now going to get the Ackesian people to understand that these protestors did not have Ackesia’s best interests at heart, how would he be able to continue to make this nation better with them in the way.

“They have such power to their words.” Ackerman let go of his partners throat and sat with his hands folded before him as he looked at the floor.

“You listened to them didn’t you…” Maria shook her head. “I told you not to, you have such a soft spot for revolutionaries.”

“I can’t believe I would live to see another day when a royal would have such influence on the people. They are out there in worship of her, even when she did not write the damn post!”

“They don’t see it that way Sir.” Maria scooted up against him more. “Trinity Avondale is very popular among the millennials of this nation, she is some sort of symbol for the new generation, and they don’t believe the SignPost came from anyone but her. Plus she is pretty, and you know what pretty girls can do.” She winked in jest.

Ackerman exhaled in frustration.

“But… we have her on Morgan Branson tomorrow. We have her on script. She is a young naive girl and her family is very afraid you’ll throw out the truce should they oppose you politically. The Avondales and the idea of any influence they have outside of their little Principality is dead. Once she gets on Morgan Branson and denounces the sentiment of that SignPost, it will be all over.” She ran her hand along his abdomen as she tried to comfort him.

“I don’t know… I just don’t have a good feeling.” Ackerman looked her over once more as he tried to let his mind loose of the burden of what was unfolding outside.

“You care.” She smiled at him as she got off of the bed. Maria knelt before him as he sat at the edge of his bed, her hands wrapping around his belt buckle as she undid it. “You just need more distraction Mr. President, you just need one more moment with me….”

Ackerman laid back as Maria relieved him of his remaining angst, her youth a simple distraction from the problems of this world. But outside he could still hear the bull horns and vitriol of his nation imploding. Yet this most senior of advisors assured him it was all under control.

“So, you’ll talk to ISB?” Ackerman looked down at her.

Maria lifted her head up as her lips smacked. She took a breath and wiped her mouth before answering with a smile.

“It will be taken care of before tomorrow.” She locked eyes with him as she exhaled with sensual purpose. “Now relax as I take care of something else…”


Hours Later...

The Observer
Feb 14


Breaking: reports of police break up of protest outside the Palatul Poporului. Several injuries reported, more details to come. Situation is currently unfolding as protesters resist being removed from in front of the residence of President Ackerman.


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Postby Achesia » Fri Feb 21, 2020 9:13 pm

Streets of Beldon-

Around her the eyes and eager ears of the world watched and listened as she detailed the plight of the Ackesian people. Behind her the palace of the people, the Palatul Poporului stood in a very contrary manner to its name. It was not the people of Ackesia who entered and exited its grounds, nor stood guard outside its gates. Instead Fences taller than three men atop each other’s shoulders stood as a reminder to those on the outside they were not welcome in the people’s palace. At the gate, guards dressed in ceremonial uniforms holding assault rifles posed apathetically to the citizens gathered outside their palace, guarding a place and those who thought themselves above their fellow man rather than guarding the spirit that was Ackesia. In and out went men and women in suits so far removed from the threadbare vagabonds of the streets of Beldon, indifferent to the starvation and aliments of their country beyond the tall fences they worked behind.

Minerva I'Anson took a deep breath as she watched the parade of apathy continue as it did every day in the heart of Ackesia. The very palace that bears the name of its people was now a temple to those who would make it a monument to themselves, much like those who originally built it. No matter if the palace held the title of “royal” any longer, the people were still not welcome. Even on the very streets outside they were dissidents and looked upon with judgement by those who wielded power. To Minerva this was the peak of Ackesia’s sickness. To fill the void of aristocracy and nobility that once held power here, the cloud of elitism and greed grew. President Ackerman had turned a blind eye to his people, and his actions played out by those whom he calls enforcers of the law were a testament to the once great revolutionary leader’s separation from his common man.

Before Minerva a circle of reporters waiting to hear why she stood now outside the palace, why they had gathered in peaceful defiance to their elected leader’s will. These reporters were not just from Ackesia, but from the world. Soon all of Greater Olympus would hear the plight of Ackeisa and her people. Who better a spokeswoman than the leading opposition candidate from the Ackesian Liberal Alliance, just a handful of days before the election.

“President Ackerman indeed lead our people out of the grips of tyranny.” Minerva braced against the cold wind that flowed between the buildings of Beldon. “With his example all those years ago Ackesians took back their nation for themselves and built this great democracy around them to defend their will, and their rights. They took down the royalist banners of oppression from this city and stood against the armies of those who would enslave us!” Minerva looked towards her campaign manager, who grimaced in a disapproving way.

Rachel had advised her many times to avoid disparaging the royalists. A good chunk of Ackesians in the east still considered themselves as such today, and Minerva would need those votes to oust Ackerman. But Minerva spoke from the heart, part of what made her so appealing to many in the western portions of the nation. But those same constituents were Ackerman’s back yard and fiercest supporters. Ackerman was a hero of the people, one whose legend had outshined every aspect of the mortality and carried him election after election without a true challenge. But this year would be different, Minerva and her followers continued to say. This year they would end this cult of personality around the Hero-President Ackerman.
“There, the Palatul Poporului!” She pointed to the blue walls of the seat of Ackesian government. “The peoples palace! Behind bars of steel far removed from any of the real citizens of this nation. Within the halls of their palace they are blind to the starvation, the disease, the plight of their fellow Ackesians. President Ackerman has lost touch with his people, and now leads through the ignorance of those who would not question him, and only seeks to carry out his will absolutely.”

It was true that top to bottom the influence of the once leader of the Ackesian Revolution held a huge influence on all matters of government. His party held the majority in the Diet of Ackesia, loyal to a fault to his agenda. His close associates sat in the Chamber of Proxy, bowing to his will in every major decision. Judges who sat in benches on the High Courts used his interpretation of the law in their rulings. It was a government of one man, a neo-monarchy with the face of being democratic. Yet just like the real thing, the singular vision of the Ackeisan government has brought with it corruption and indifference to the needs of Ackesia. Ackerman has for many years sought to bring Ackesia on to the world stage as a leader in eastern Lira and beyond. But in stretching the nation so, he has forgotten where home is, and how necessary it is to nurture the soil from which his people grow.

“This election will show that the Ackesian people are ready for a new direction. Ackesia is strong, but the continued focus of President Ackerman in expanding our influence beyond here has brought sickness to our lands. Resources which should be used to feed our children are being used to further agendas in the west. We the Ackesian people cannot continue like this!”

Behind the reporters the hundreds of protestors who had gathered with Minerva cheered, holding their signs aloft and waving them in the air as they listened to Minerva sway the world to her cause. The passion within the crowd was real as they stood there peacefully, a demonstration to those in power that they would not be silent.

But what did silence the crowd was the sudden chirping of klaxons and sirens from up the road. Within an instant a half dozen burly vehicles, armored as if to face an insurgency, made their way down all sides of the road forming a line. On them red and blue lights flashed brilliantly as sirens wailed to announce their arrival.

“Over there over there, point it over there!” The reporters signaled to their cameramen; Minerva was no longer the center of their attention. The two-dozen reflective vest wearing “Press” ran to the sidelines where they could get the best view of both sides of this impending conflict, the Beldon Capital Police and the protestors whose only desire had been to demonstrate peacefully.

Minerva walked out in front of the protestors, her eyes a fixed on the line of heavily armored vehicles lurching slowly towards them now. Out of the corner of her eye she noted the guards of the Palatul Poporului close the gates abruptly, sealing the house of the people off from this impending clash. More guards in less ceremonial uniform also joined them to ensure this conflict did not spill over onto the yard of those above such demonstrations of desperation.

The sirens soon chirped loudly several times and stopped. Behind the riot vehicles several busses with their own flashing lights arrived to drop off many dozens of police officers armored for battle in padded vests, helmets, and shields.

“This is the Beldon National Police, you are ordered to disperse this gathering immediately! I repeat-“

The voice behind the loud speaker repeated this several times as Minerva stood before the lines of protestors. Behind her she could feel the fear, many who gathered here did not intend to clash with police. Some were young and spirted, ready to fight for their country, but others were old or too afraid of being beaten or arrested. Minerva however was not afraid, and as she could see the cameras waiting for what would happen next, she knew this was the opportunity for the world to see the fortitude of the Ackesian people.

“We gather here peacefully! With permit for political demonstration!” She yelled back, fist in the air as the crowd murmured their agreement with Minerva’s sentiment.

“This is the Beldon National Police, you are ordered to disperse this gathering immediately!” Yet more indifference came, without much surprise from Minerva.

“We will not back down in the face of this oppression! It is the right of the people to gather and-“ Minerva’s manifesto was interrupted as a water cannon hit her squarely in the chest, the stream of high pressure water knocking her down and pushing her several feet backwards into the crowd. For her the world went black for a quick moment before she regained her senses on the ground surrounded by demonstrators trying to help her back to her feet. She had hit her head on the concrete when she fell, but was otherwise fine.

The crowd however did not black out when the water cannon hit their leader, they saw the whole thing, and if one thing could unite a crowd who previously stood in fear, it was the blatant act of suppression of their ideals. The crowd howled at the line of police who gathered opposite of them. Chants of anger and dissent began to get louder as those who felt the stir in their hearts enough to confront the police made their way to the front. Some held large signs made of wood in front of them like their own shields, others picked up what little rocks or debris they could find and began to throw them across the no man’s land between them and the law.

The clash had begun.

When Minerva regained her footing the battle had just gotten into full swing. Several canisters of tear gas flew over the heads of the first line of protestors, spreading smoke and confusion all the way until they landed in the middle of the crowd. Many coughed and gagged as they inhaled the toxic smog but despite this they still held ground, the front lines did the best they could to hold off and resist the pressure of the police line that neared.

Soon plexiglass shields and wooden protest signs clashed and protestor and policeman began to brawl. Several of those who separated themselves form the group found themselves surrounded, Minerva could see the police officers beating them with batons on their backs and heads until they submitted, and some even continued to be beaten despite their submission.

This was not how it was supposed to happen, she thought to herself as she watched her followers act as if they were warriors. They surely were not as such, many wielding sticks and pipes as if they were medieval knights, but only in the sense that they watched a few kids cartoons for study. Her people were being beaten to within an inch of their life, and despite the resilience and determination they showed, the police would pick them off until the crowd broke and those who evaded arrest ran home.

“Minerva! Minerva! We need to get you out of here!” Rachel her campaign director came to her side with haste, grabbing her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction of the front lines.

“No! I will not abandon these people today.” She pulled away from Rachel, defiantly watching as more tear gas cannisters were fired into the crowd. Both she and Rachel gagged as the smoke wafted into their direction, the irritation of their eyes and nose causing them to feel panicked as the sights and sounds of the riot around them unfolded.

“We cannot continue the campaign if you are arrested Minerva!” Rachel pleaded, but as she watched Minerva wipe away the snot from her enflamed nose and brace against the crowd shoving around her she knew that talking her out of this situation would be next to impossible.

“They were beating them Rachel… they had already submitted to arrest and they were beating them!” Minerva looked back at her campaign director with a fierceness in her eyes. This was not the Ackesia she had grown up in, this was the product of years of neglect, of a decade of pain that now festered like an infected wound. Now they, the antibodies of society needed to wash out this disease.

Beyond the lines of protestors, the police continued to grab them in small groups, circling around with each clash and isolating small pockets of protestors so they could be detained. Nearly a hundred protestors had been taken into custody this way already. Nearly a hundred were bruised and bloody as police showed little mercy, respect, or decency as they mopped up the streets outside the house of the man whom they answer to.

Was Ackerman a hypocritic? Were all the stirring orations that school children learn about today just a ruse? Did he use the Ackesian people to seek his own power and become their defacto king? Minerva asked all these questions as she watched the beatings, resistance, and suppression continue. Only the sudden pops of rubber bullets being fired into the crowd snapped her out of the trance, the smoke dancing as if the music of blood and suffering were it’s song.

“We got him! Show them what is like!” Minerva heard the crowd jeering a few dozen feet ahead of her. Rushing forward she came to a circle of a dozen or so protestors, each kicking, beating, and spitting into a circle where a police officer curled herself into a ball. The angry mob had the look of revenge in their eyes, the memory of their compatriots being carried off by the police and beaten until they were near death. Minerva could see the international press watching and filming as the protestors who had just hours ago come in peace beat this police officer to death in hate.

She could not let their movement be defined by this.

“Stop!” She rushed forward, blood still crusted in her hair and snot rolling down her nose as she shoved the perpetrators aside. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” She yelled over and over as she made her way into the center of the circle with the policeman. Minerva knew the other police were struggling and too far from their comrade to rescue her in time before she would be killed by the brute nature of hate and revenge.

“This is not what we are here for!” Minerva hoarsely yelled, coughing between words as the toxic smog still filled her lungs. “We came here to speak our resolve. We came here to demonstrate!”

“They beat us for such things! They care not for our resolve!”
“They know only violence!”
The objections of her fellow protestors continued as Minerva stood over the police officer. She was quickly losing her mandate as the leader of this movement unless she took action. But like her words were harsh against those whom her advisors would see her be more political with, Minerva would speak her mind, and be truthful to her conscious.

“They may only know violence, but we do not!” She grabbed the police officer who was stunned from the kicks and fists she had received, hoisting her to her feet. “But this, this is our fellow sister of Ackesia! What is our protest but in unity with our brothers and sisters!” Minerva looked over towards the cameras, walking with the officer towards the police lines.

The chaos had subsided for a moment, the police who desired to get their comrade back waited for Minerva to bring her to them, holding off any further push into the protest until then. Bringing the officer past the last line of protestors Minerva held up her hand to show peace to the officers who stood stoutly with their shields and batons. After handing off the female officer to the police she continued to hold both her hands to either side of the conflict, bidding them both to subside and hear her words.

Minerva who had the first blow struck against her, blood still about her from her fall at the blast of a water cannon, turned towards her fellow protestors.

“We gain nothing from conflict today! We have showed our resolve to the world, we have showed that our message is our desire for freedom. But should we all fall bloody then no one will be there to continue this struggle that we hope to finish in the coming weeks. Let us go home tonight, in peace, and leave this place!”

The crowd muttered amongst each other, some of the more adrenaline-fueled members looked unhappy of the idea of surrender. The police themselves held fast, even their feelings of hope this could be ended peacefully could be felt by the presidential candidate. After a few long tense moments a few dozen from the crowd heeded Minerva’s words, putting down their signs, sticks, and stones and walking away from the zone of conflict to return to their homes.

“I promise you, what we did here is not the end of our fight for freedom! But when I say that, I also say let us do so peacefully while the option remains!” Minerva tried to calm the crowd as she watched more and more disperse. Being the human spark for this blaze she hoped her diffusion of the situation would hold the most weight. And even behind her the police gave more distance to allow the crowd to disperse peacefully.

What started with dozens soon ended with hundreds, even those who wanted to continue their quest for blood began setting down their stones in favor of returning home as free citizens still alive and well that night. Despite many being bruised, bloody, and lungs ablaze, level heads prevailed as Minerva maintained her mandate. Many of her people walked away free that night, yet the anger still lived inside her for what she witnessed happen to those who did not.

As the situation returned to normal, the tear gas dissipating, and rioters leaving, the international press felt it safe to step into the streets again. Several reporters walked towards Minerva for comment.

“Ms. I'Anson, what has happened her tonight.”

Minerva could feel the camera as it swept up and down her body, showing her tattered, wet, and bloody clothes as she tried to compose herself for the press.

“Tonight, we saw what happens to those whose desire for a better Ackesia runs contrary to those desires of President Zachariah Ackerman.” She stared into the camera, hoping he would see the seriousness in her eyes…
Last edited by Achesia on Fri Feb 21, 2020 9:18 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Postby Achesia » Sat Mar 14, 2020 9:41 pm

Should she find herself on the plains of grey darkness and dust again, Trinity swore that she would pinch herself awake before the voices haunted her. But as she had closed her eyes to rest so too did her eyes open in restlessness in the land shadowed by the demons of her dreams. She lay amongst the colorless grass as the stiff and warm wind blew around her glowing form once more, and peering up into the sky only the brightest stars could pierce the haze this world clad around it. As the warm winds torched her bare skin she sat up to survey the hellscape that she was once again unfortunate to visit, stranded amongst the doubts and fears of her mind on a voyage to inner thoughts of her soul.

It was a waking nightmare that Trinity now existed in, she shivered as the chill of isolation and darkness covered her, yet she perspired from the warmth of the violent gusts that tore across the dark terrain. All was empty the way she looked, only the pin-pricks of light beyond the vale could she witness. But though her senses were clouded with fear she could feel a presence behind her, like a gathering she could feel the people all massed in one giant congregation.

Standing up Trinity dared to turn, she knew what she would see would likely stay with her even as she woke, a haunt from beyond that would not depart her. Yet she knew she had to look, she had to see what was beyond her isolation.

As she turned she could see them, thousands of people all standing in mass, their silhouettes were all that she could see, no faces or identities, just the shadows of men women and children standing there singing. At first the fog of her mind hindered her from hearing the chorus they sang, but as she stepped closer the words became clear.

Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Let the song of your choice come alive

Can't lock up the truth
Or chain our beliefs
Can't drown out the song
Of those who are free

Freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom, come on
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Let the song of your choice come alive

Their chorus continued for some time as she watched, the congregation jointly repeating the words of freedom and liberty in tune as their words echoed across the clouded space above them. However tuned their song was, Trinity felt no warmer from it, instead she felt a coldness with something dark underneath the words they sung as she watched them continue in unison to praise their freedom of choice. Each note passing word sent a chill down Trinity’s spine.

For some time she watched, their words tireless as they continued. It was not until the earth shook did Trinity remember the shadows she was surrounded by, it was when the massive dark hand grasped the horizon that she remembered the queerness of this place. At first the hand grasped the dark soil and ripped it, clawing for hold as it pulled up further and further. Once it held on to the land, the mass it was attached to appeared before the congregation. It was a giant abomination with two heads each with a dark crown jeweled with dark stars. ON the crowns were their names: “Freedom” and “Liberty” the gothic words wrot in glowing yellow letters across the abomination’s two brows. Its crown was nailed unto its head, and its black oozing blood stained the surface of the already dark world as it lifted itself onto their plane of existence.

Trinity was struck with fear at the sight of the creature, its heads while sculpted in the likeness of beauty carried eyes of red and yellow terror that ripped their vision through the very soul of her. She held her breath as it gained its footing before the congregation, their song unceasing despite tremor or site of the colossus. The beast stood towers high over the crowd, they were but ants unto him. And as he watched them sing he smirked something sinister, and within his hand appeared a scythe and on the blade was written “Avarice”. The thousands of shadows sang just like they did before the appearance of the giant, unbothered as the sinister creature raised its scythe high above its head.

“No!” Trinity cried out; she did not know why she cared for the people in the crowd but her heart sank as she witnessed the blade rake along the first lines of the crowd. Despite the screams of horror from those who were hewn by the beast, the others continued to sing, albeit even louder than before.

Freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom, come on
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Sing your freedom, freedom, freedom
Let the song of your choice come alive

Trinity sobbed as she watched the lives of men, women, and children snuffed out in bloody trails before her, all the while the beast cackled at the deaths it collected. Sinking to her knees Trinity held her hands to her face, denial of what was happening crept over her as she tried ever so much to awake from this nightmare she was trapped in. All around her the amount of screams of horror began to out number the songs of freedom and choice, their terror was like a stab to her as she covered herself in grief. The souls of those dying before her passed through her in a way she could not herself come to terms with, and with each swing of the abomination’s glave she felt it weigh on her, though she did not dare let her eyes wander from the safety of her palms.

“Break… not bend.” The voice of a child rang closer than all the screams or songs.

Daring to look up Trinity blinked through the tears and horror. Her vision was misty from the tears in her eyes so she could only see the small form before her in the littlest of details.

“Break… not bend.” The voice of a little girl said again as it neared.

“Break… not bend.” Another voice, one of an older man said.

“Wha..?” Trinity couldn’t shake off the tears yet their words continued to echo. Forms of all sizes began to near, a crowd had left the congregation and surrounded her.

“Break… not bend.” The voice of a toddler said.

“Break… not bend.” Now that of a man’s.

“Break… not bend.” Dozens said it before her now.

Overwhelmed Trinity began to heave, the voices getting closer and closer as they chanted those three words.

“Wha… what are you saying! What does it mean!” She cried, her fear gripping her heart. “Why are you saying this?!”

The chanting ended, the crowd simply stood before her, the faint and distant screams of the congregation becoming less and less prevalent as the abomination swung Avarice.
As the chanting ended, Trinity was able to wipe away her tears and clear her vision. Before her the first voice, that of a little girl stood. She first could see she wore tattered clothes, and as she lifted her gaze horror struck her, the face of the small child pale and lifeless. Her eyes were wide with death, and skin rotting, and most horrifically a gash dominated her skull where the dried blood of her lifeforce stained.

Trinity lifted her arms as she maternally reached out for the child who while appearing lifeless, walked and spoke as if she was not. The child neared her, but with the distance of caution between them. Behind the child Trinity could see the colossus was now near, raising his scythe behind his head.

The child looked at Trinity, face to face she came with the glowing girl from beyond, and in the last moments before the sweep of Avarice she smiled, a glowing tear drop running down her lifeless cheek.

“Break… not bend” She whispered.

And then there was Avarice, sweeping across those that gathered around Trinity. No matter how much Trinity screamed her objections to the deed, they died before her. Their bodies were hewn in bloody fashion, and lifeless they became in all senses of the word.

Trinity, unharmed, fell to her back, emotion left her. Only the words they chanted stuck in her mind, the child’s tear in Trinity’s eye.

“Break… Not bend.” Trinity whispered to herself as Avarice drove down into her, bringing the world to nothingness.

Her eyes opened, Trinity again in her bed, in her room, in the palace, in Avondale. She was laying back in dejection just as she did in the field, not urge to shoot up out of fear, the emotion gone from her even in now back in her reality. Yet the tears were carried with her, her pillow drenched in them as she looked up at the ceiling of her chamber.

A knock on the door came.

“Come.” Trinity said just above a whisper as she pulled the cover over her chest, yet did not look away from the ceiling above.
“Milady.” The voice of Vaslie, her fathers Chief of Staff intruded the room as the door cracked open. “Are you alright?”

Trinity did not feel the need to make herself into a better state of appearance, Vaslie being her father’s assistant since Trinity was but a little girl.

“Yes… just a dream.” Trinity looked at him in the corner of her eyes. Vaslie could see they were bloodshot and moist.

“Dreams are heavy affairs Milady.” Vasile walked towards the veiled windows and pulled back the drapes to let sunlight into the room, he hoped it would do much for the Duchess’ spirit. “But they are never without purpose.” He looked to Trinity with an encouraging smile.

Trinity did not have a response. Instead her attention was drawn by two others standing in the door, wearing fine garbs and red cloaks. They were girls not much younger than she, each standing with respectful expression and hands folded before them.

“Should you be ready for the day milady I would like to introduce you to your two knew handmaidens.” Vasile smiled as he gestured to the girls, much shorter than he.

“This is Anya and Petra. They are in fact daughters of a close friend of mine, and will no doubt serve you well.” Vasile smiled as he clasped his hands. He looked at all three of the girls in the room before dismissing himself.
“Milady, it is an important day for you today, I do suggest you get ready. Anya and Petra will certainly aide you in any way possible.”

Without queue they both curtseyed for the Duchess, still standing there with respect.

Trinity was sure they would serve well. Whether they would serve her or her father’s intention to keep her a prisoner of thought was another matter. She looked over the girls, each cute by their own right with bright blue eyes and red and brown hair. They looked like statues standing there, almost creepily watching her and waiting for her first orders.

The door closed behind them all as Vasile left, and still they stood.
“Ok… well. I better get ready for this.” Trinity’s thoughts went to her interview on Morgan Branson Tonight scheduled live for that evening. There she was to perjure her soul before the world and say she did not say a thing that she did. All for her father’s sense of dignity.

Both girls curtseyed again and went about their duties of grabbing Trinity’s clothes and preparing her for the day. Trinity however brought her head to her knees as she sat on the edge of the bed, the girls voice still echoing in her head over and over.

“Break… not bend” She whispered to herself so faintly.


“As you can see on the graph here and here sir, reports of protests and demonstrations that are unlicensed by the Ministry of Interior are up by almost 25% in major urban areas. Beldon specifically has seen a rise of only 10% but that is mostly due to the swift dissolution of unsanctioned mass gatherings in public areas. However this also has put a burden on Capital Police to crack down on these gatherings which according to the Chief of Police is occurring at a growing pace.”

President Ackerman crossed his legs in his chair with one hand running along his bearded chin and the other holding a glass of scotch on the rocks. He stiffened his arms and legs as the whine of the engines grew and his plane, a Heshlin 777, lurched forward down the runway of the Beldon-Markov International Airport. He ignored the sudden force of gravity and light headedness as the meeting in his onboard office went quiet as the plane lifted into the air. He would wait for the plane to normalize its ascent before responding to the graph before him. Each major city of Ackesia was shown on a map with a bar graph indicating licensed and unlicensed demonstrations towering above the cities. Dissention was on the rise, and the heavy-handed approach his advisors had told him to take was like kindling to the fire.

Before he could break the silence his political advisor Sevastian obliged.
“Sir and with the incident out front of the Palatul Poporului yesterday, and the growing disapproval of the responses to the demonstrations, Minerva I'Anson and her party are up in the polls.”

Ackerman smacked his lips and squinted his eyes, unappreciative of the constant reminder from his advisors, particularly Sevastian, that his political enemies were gaining popularity.

“Sir, I know you don’t like to hear that, and all of what Sevastian and Dalca are saying is true, but vast majority of the nation still views you as the hero of the revolution. To them this is all disgruntled and angst-ridden youth rebellion.” The voice of Ackerman’s Chief of Staff Maria Akulina said through to speakerphone on the President’s desk.

“Looked like more than just youth out in that demonstration.” Ackerman nodded towards the video of Presidential Candidate Minerva I'Anson being hosed down by riot police being played on the news over and over.

The staff present in the office sat uncomfortably as they each looked at each other for what the other would say next. Typically, in moments like these Maria, the chief of staff, would melt the ice that was the President’s overbearing conscious and normal business could continue. Yet with Maria remaining in the capital as the President and his staff went on the campaign trail to Levosta, it created an unease in the air.

“Well sir… tonight will be a big help towards quelling any unrest. A large part of these demonstrations have been fueled by the words allegedly posted by the Duchess on SignPost. They firmly believe she has spoken out against you and that dissention has hurt you the most.” Sevastian attempted to reassure.

Ackerman chuckled before taking a sip of his couch. Who knew some pretty blonde girl barely old enough to vote herself, and member of the oppressive Royal Family of Avondale would hold so much sway over the populace still with her uninformed political opinion? It was all ridiculous to Ackerman, the grandchild of those he and many in the nation fought against inciting riots all over the nation. This generation upcoming was surely lost if they looked to her, the daughter of privilege.

“Once she comes out and says those were not her words, then her credibility is dead in their eyes and we should see a drop in these numbers.” Dalca, the deputy national security advisor whom President Ackerman was astonished still had lungs as the stench of smoke came off of him, confirmed Sevastians point.

“How long till they go live?” Ackerman questioned, taking another sip.

“Just a few minutes.” Sevastian turned the channel of the TV from the boring graphics to the intro for Morgan Branson Tonight.

The staff each said their final words before departing the room. Ackerman ignored most of them, focused on the television program before him as he was forced to watch the spawn of his enemies, those who killed his comrades, be paraded around like a darling as she says kind words about him.

Sevastian was the only one who remained to watch as well. He fumbled with his phone as he sent a few texts.
“The Media Minister is on the ground at the studio now. She says all is going to plan and the Duchess is backstage ready to say her piece.”

Ackerman sighed.

At the studio, Morgan Branson, the long-time host and so called “voice of late night Ackesia” gave his famous and humorous opening remarks related to headlines in the Republic. The middle-aged man had strong laugh lines, but even stronger grey hair as he sipped his own drink placed strategically next to a bottle of water on a desk he sat behind before a live studio audience.

“Ah yes, so I heard the weather is pretty poor in the capital this time of year.” Branson looked around knowing he was about to deliver a good zinger, the audience giving its preparatory laughs before the punchline. “Ahh yes, its so poor that I heard even political candidates are getting dumped on.” Branson slapped his desk as he referenced Minerva I'Anson getting hit with a riot hose by Beldon Police.

The studio audience laughed heartily, but Ackerman as he watched simply raised a glass in submission of the fact that Branson got him on this account.

“He has to seem somewhat impartial Sir.” Maria still on the speaker phone reassured the President.

Ackerman did not say a word in response.

“Ah yes, truly am sorry for Minerva, after that hard of a hit even she was questioning her party’s politics.” Branson laugh at his own jab while the audience was divided on their boos or laughs. “Oh common common good fun.” Branson clapped.

“Well aside from cheap shots at political candidates tonight, we do have a very special guest here in the studio. You all know her for charity, social gatherings, and her pictured strewn on every fashion magazine in the nation. She is the darling of Avondale and purveyor of redacted SignPosts, the Duchess Trinity of Avondale everyone!”

In the corner of the stage Trinity winced at the final remark, she was not too fond of being patronized but it came with the territory. Behind her both Vasile, her two handmaidens, and the Minister of Media who was prepping her to recite her lines like a parrot for the last hour all beckoned her on stage as the audience and Branson clapped. Dawning her bright smile and social face, she stepped out before the hungry crowd.

Walking out onto the stage the lights hit her eyes differently this time. She had been on TV dozens of times before for interviews, yet this one felt different in a way. The audience who were remarkably positive to her entrance seemed cold to her, almost eerie in their platitudes. Walking over to Branson who stood up at his desk she shook his hand, even he seemed cold to her, his smile empty.

None of it felt right to Trinity as she sat down in the large chair nearest to Branson’s desk, crossing her legs in a lady like fashion as the crowd still cheered for her. The cameras flashed as they absorbed her likeness to inevitably be on the cover of every magazine and blog by morning.

On his plane 30,000 ft above Ackesia, Ackerman sipped his scotch as he bore the thoughts of what a much younger Ackerman would think viewing the child of his sworn enemies be applauded by Ackesians as she stood there smiling in the ignorance of the death toll her family wrought. Certainly, those who died beside him in the streets of Beldon were not smiling at this sin.

“Duchess Trinity.” Branson sat down behind his desk, smile still on bright. “So good to have you here with us tonight.”

“Thank you.” She smiled pleasantly, all was good, everything was fine there on the stage.

“I trust you had a nice trip all the way from Avondale?” A few audience members from the Principality “wooped” in this moment to show their support.

“It was, it was nice.” Trinity did not have much to say, only knew to keep smiling. In the corner of her eyes she could see the Media Minister texting furiously and watching her like an anxious dog, and Vasile and her handmaidens standing stoutly, their eyes fixed on the two of them.

Branson laughed at the Duchess’ simple answer. “Very to the point my lady.” Branson chuckled. They continued with small talk like any other conversation, aside from this one taking place before the entire nation. President Ackerman watched on impatiently, wishing they would just get o the point and he could be rid of thinking about this whore forever.

“So, my lady.” Branson kept exaggerating both words whenever he referred to her, only the slightest twitch of her eye would every tell of Trinity’s annoyance with it. “Recently I’ve heard you have had a bit of trouble with social media.” Branson’s tone was more serious than before. The Media Minister stopped texting as she waited with baited breath for this conversation.

Trinity shifted in her seat; her smile was all but gone as she put a drifting strand of hair behind her ear.

Branson knew she would be slightly uncomfortable at first with this question, but thankfully he had years of experience asking such questions to big names in Ackesia.
“You know one time someone hacked my Facepage.” He widened his eyes as if it were part of the joke. “Yes, they hacked my facepage just to set a status to “I’m not Funny.” The audience had a small laugh at this. Branson shrugged his shoulders a bit before continuing. “Ehhh yes, well turns out that comment got one thousand laugh reacts.” The audience roared. “Thank you hacker for helping me there.”

Once the audience died down Trinity knew the question was coming.

“So I know you and I have that in common my lady. But your hacker did not do you any favors did they.”

Trinity meant to respond, she knew this was the time she was supposed to relinquish all responsibility for the SignPost criticizing the President. But as Branson queued her, she still sat silent, frozen in her seat with a blank expression.

Ackerman sat forward in his chair.
“She’s not going to do it.” He said taking another long sip of scotch.

“Give her a moment Mr. President, Sevastian reassured.

But inside Trinity’s head all she could hear were whispers. It was the whispers of the congregation, it was the song that they sang, it was the cries as they were killed, it was the words the little girl chanted to her.

“Break, not bend.” It echoed in her mind from the dream last night. Trinity was frozen, and so was the audience as they began to murmur as to why she was not responding.

“Ha… yea its not a very fun thing I know. But when that disgruntled staffer used your phone to post such a charged message that wasn’t a good feeling either was it?”

This is what they meant… she thought to herself sitting there in fear. All of the sudden the fear like ice broke off of her, and she found herself looking at Branson, looking at the camera.


“Well yes I’m sure-“

“No, I mean. There was no hacker, I posted that SignPost.”

The audience, Branson, the Media Minister, Sevastian, and the whole of Ackesia collectively lost their breath. But not Ackerman, he knew this was a bad idea from the start.

“President Ackerman’s actions have brought pain to the Ackesian people, those who died on the streets were killed unjustly for only daring to stand agai-“

The stage lights cut out swiftly.

“We are off the air Branson.” A producer stated from the corner of the stage.

Branson only stared with contempt and anger at Trinity, his smile and humorous demeanor gone like the mask that they were. Trinity jumped as Branson slapped his desk in anger.
“You are going to regret that missy.” Branson stood up and adjusted his coat. “Ohhh you are going to fucking regret that.” The TV show host stormed off the stage as the studio audience began to file out.

“Go get her.” Vasile ordered Petra and Anya to escort Trinity who was frozen in her chair staring at the floor beneath her feet. As the two handmaidens took Trinity by the hand and beckoned her to come with them, an applause began to ring out from the audience who was being dismissed swiftly. Dozens of members of the crowd clapped for the Duchess who felt the warmth begin to crawl back into existence. As the crowd cheered, they were only forced out of the studio faster, producers hastily pushing them out the door before hopefully Branson could get back on the air and explain all of this away.

Trinity felt the voices in her head rest. As funny as it was, she felt they were at peace now that she understood. She understood that she could not bend in moments like that, less the people suffer by her silence.

Things in the air above Ackesia however were not so content. Ackerman stared at his bloody hand in blind rage, the broken glass of scotch underneath his palm against the desk where he smashed it.

Sevastian had not even bothered to turn and look at him yet, only holding his head in his hand as the commercial for LemonZing soda played on the channel that was moments earlier showing Trinity defy the will of the President and his advisors, further damaging their position.

Ackerman sat watching the blood pool on his desk as he thought about all that they had accomplished to build this republic, and all that the Avondales were still undermining after all of these years.

“I am so sorry sir.” Maria’s voice echoed over the speaker phone.

“Fuck that, I should have killed them when we had the chance. When I had that whore’s grandfather in the diner signing the peace treaty, I should have slit his throat!” Ackerman threw the remains of the glass against the bulkhead of the plane.

“Sir we should at least get someone to come tend to your hand.” Sevastian rubbed his mouth and placed his hands on his sides.

“Get out of my sight before I slit your throat.” Ackerman pointed a bloody hand at his political advisor, not forgetting this was all his idea.

Sevastian left with haste as the President sank back in his chair.

He was a tyrant, not in his own mind but those who subscribed to the idea that the granddaughter of a tyrant had any right to call someone else a tyrant. The millennials would drive this country back to ruin if they willed it, their protests, their demonstrations over the simplest things. They defied his authority at every turn. Ackerman was what was best for Ackesia, he knew how to run this country towards prosperity, he should never let anyone question that.

As he sat alone on the flight to his campaign stop, he contemplated a world where he alone made the decisions for Ackesia.
Last edited by Achesia on Sat Mar 14, 2020 9:43 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Sat Mar 21, 2020 9:10 pm

“I’m here today with several students at Beldon National University who as you can see have prepared themselves and their campus for confrontation with the police. Please tell us, why are you wearing all of this? Why have you shut down the campus?”

The camera pans to hundreds of students standing at the entrance of their urban campus barricaded with wood, chairs, tables, and signs. The university itself looks as if it is a war zone with students wearing all manner of PPE such as construction helmets, goggles from chemistry lab, and soccer shin guards as they further barricade their school grounds. Several such students stood front and center with cameras to speak with international reporters there to witness the chaos.

“Hundreds are dying each day here in Ackesia from poverty.” One student who didn’t even bother to remove his face mask to speak. His muffled voice full of weariness after nearly a week besieged by police in their school.
“We began as just a simple demonstration on our school’s campus, a protest against the government to raise awareness. But President Ackerman’s goons have come and taken some of the more active voices of our student movement to… god knows where!”

“Is that why you are hiding your face today?” The reporter leaned in closer.

The student’s eyes, the only characteristic visible to the cameras, looked concerned but determined.
“Yes. I fear for my well being speaking to you.”

“What do you all seek to accomplish hold up in your school?” The camera began to pan to students in the background, using wet concrete and bricks on the single road leading into the campus in hopes to slow down riot vehicles.

Several of the students looked at each other, each knowing their fate at the end of all of this would be a cold cell should a higher power not come to their rescue. One girl, shorter than the rest who dared to have an uncovered face spoke. She wore a Minerva campaign t-shirt, as well as a purple arm band which has come to be an unofficial symbol of solidarity with Trinity Avondale for her high-profile remarks against the President.

“We are here to prove to President Ackerman that you cannot just take away our voices, that we are free peoples here. Criticism of the government is our right!”

The rest of the students, and even the reporter nodded.
“We also appeal to National Diet to call forward a vote of no confidence against the tyrant Zachariah Ackerman!”

“Clearly tensions are high here at Beldon National University in the heart of Ackesia’s capital, with emotions amongst the student body now besieged by Beldon Capital Police at a fever pitch.”

The camera panned to the large barricade of wood, graffitied with many anti-government, pro-Minerva, and pro-Trinity messages. Students stood along the barricade as if it were their battlement, holding sticks, makeshift shields, umbrellas, and bottles of gasoline. Among them a smaller girl, under five foot stood with a single blonde strand leaving her face mask. As the camera panned to her she looked away quickly, clearly fearful of her identity being revealed.

“Reporting from Beldon, Ackesia, this is Vera Chaykovsky, Tanayska Pravda.”

Only miles away from the university, President Zachariah Ackerman sat at his desk watching the report come in on his television.

“Zachariah, the situation is getting out of hand.” The phone on his desk chastised.

“The Police Chief has assured me he has the situation under control.” Ackerman tapped his index finger on the desk.

“This is being reported on international news, it does not look like its under control to me. We are already beginning to feel this in the equities market, our projections for opening tomorrow are not good. Not unless you bring this to a close tonight, and smoothly.” The voice on the other end had a rasp of impatience about it.

“Martin, you have been with me since the beginning, why the doubt now?” Ackerman had his own impatience that he subdued in his voice.

“I am with you Zachariah, but the board is growing inpatient with this situation. The girl has done you a lot of damage.”
The board of Ackesian National Energy was a fickle one, always prone to panic in situations like this. Ackerman had not felt this much pressure from them since Dalengora. The words of a girl from Avondale never would have worried him before, yet this generation coming up it seemed to be like a torch.

“Martin, you keep the board in line, and I’ll keep the country in line. That has always been the way we do these things.”

“Not this time Zach, there is blood in the water, and some of the board seem anxious… too anxious.”

“What do you mean by that Martin?” Martin Lupai had been one of Ackerman’s fiercest supporters amongst the corporate elite since his ascension to the highest office in the land. Yet these past years he had begun to seem flimsy in his stance.

“There is talk about supporting your opponent… look Zach we all respect the hell out of you. You’re a national hero, and you’ve been the only President since this country was founded but-“

“Oh to hell with the niceties Martin, you all want a regime change at the slightest change in the wind!” Ackerman began to tap the desk louder.

“Zach… you’ve been president since ’90. You built this fucking place, no one is denying that. But the world is changing, and old dogs like you and me, well the world doesn’t have eyes for that. They have eyes for people like Minerva, or the young Avondale girl. The public, they just like what looks and sounds good on paper.”

“Fuck all that Martin.”

“Zach… all I can say is handle this, and fast. That’s all there is right now. Get this off the headlines and get the markets trending upwards.”

The phone chimed as Ackerman stabbed the on/off button.

“Tonight, huh old friend?” He furiously hit the hotkey for his secretary.

“Yes sir?” The young female’s voice enquired.

“Get me the chief of police, and shit the Minister General as well.”

“Right away Sir.”


Trinity sat in the foyer outside of her father’s office. He, his advisors, her mother, and some of National Diet Delegates had been meeting inside the Prince’s office for some time. It had been a hell of a week since she went on the late-night talk show and doubled down on her SignPost. To say her father was disappointed would be an understatement, he had not talked to her or even bothered to look at her since. The affect of her words have also been wide spread, demonstrations breaking out all around the country with protests supporting her, the Avondale family, and the anti-Beldon sentiment breaking out the likes of which had not been seen since the end of the civil war. The whole country was a powder keg, yet as Trinity saw it, her words did not cause this. Her words only ignited what was inevitable. Every day the breadlines get longer, and no matter how many times her family dipped into the coffers of the House of Avondale to prevent that from happening on their home turf, even in the Principality the affects of the economic downturn were beginning to be felt.

Across from her was the Avondale family Therapist, one that had been on retainer for their family for what seemed like a generation. The last time Trinity had seen them was when she was a little girl and protestors attacked their motorcade when visiting Beldon over ten years ago. Now he looked even fatter and wrinkled, but her parents had ordered her to see him.

“So these dreams, keep coming to you in your sleep. They seem very vivid?” He grunted as a wad of phlegm built up in his throat.

“Yes…” He talked as if she were crazy, like these dreams were some sort of mania that plagued her. Yet Trinity knew she saw even clearer, both within the dream and after. They were like messages from beyond to her, each with a lesson. “Its like I am there.” She added, clenching Anya’s hand.

Her two handmaidens had been particularly useful in the past week. Despite her previous skepticism she did grow rather fond of them and their lax attitude about her and what she did. They were less observant in the spy sense than previous holders of that office, but at the same time knew exactly what she needed and when. That is why she insisted one of them stay with her as she talked to the psychiatric mass across from her.

“Do the voices tell you to act out like this?” The old man shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable both physically and within his career choice.

Trinity firstly never mentioned anything about voices or premonitions telling her to do things, so that certainly annoyed her more with the situation. The family therapist seemed keener to go after his confirmation bias that she was schizophrenic than actually speaking to her about the problems within her family. Yet after the question settled in, she couldn’t help but let a tear fall down her face. The man clearly thought she was insane, which meant everything he was telling her parents would point to such.

Before she could answer, the door to her father’s office opened, and the various parties within began to exit. Trinity, Anya, and her therapist rose from their seats out of respect. Most of the individuals leaving, various Delegates or advisors passed by her with little regard, yet much judgement.

Last to leave were her parents, both of which had somber looks on their face. Yet as her mother neared Trinity, her somberness turned to anger, and with a flick of her wrist she raked the back of her hand across Trinity’s cheek. The foyer still occupied by advisors or delegates unfortunate to have not left yet to witness the event and her therapist who simply took notes of the occasion, fell silent as Trinity fell to her knees and clasped her reddened cheek.

Anya stooped to help Trinity up, but Yulia Avondale stooped her, grabbing her arm and pushing her backwards.

“Do not help the welp!” The Princess of Avondale snarled as she looked down at her daughter who stared up in fear.
“How dare you!” She clenched her fist. “How dare you do this to your family! Look what you have done to us, done to your father. Do you understand what you have brought upon us! Upon Avondale!”

She did this for Ackesia, not for her family. Trinity thought as she fluttered between contempt for her mother and sorrow for herself.

“You… you’ll never see the light of day again. You have ended yourself! Every time they speak of you it will be of this disgrace!” Her mother made to slap her once more but her father restrained her, shaking his head at his wife.

Yet as her father led Yulia off, he only gave Trinity a single look, and it was far from the loving expressions he gave her during much simpler times.
The Prince and Princess of Avondale exited the room swiftly and the door closed behind them. On all fours Trinity began to sob, the warmth of the world leaving her much like in those dreams of delirium she experienced. To what lengths did a daughter have to go to loose her family’s love? Trinity Avondale certainly felt as if she had discovered such a measurement, her life now that of a failed and unwanted royal to be hid away from the press or public eye. But she did not care about any of that, she cared about what was right. The fact her family only cared about what looked right made her more sorrowful.

Anya soon picked her up off the ground and sat her on the couch next to her. Across from them the therapist scribbled some more notes for what felt like several minutes before breaking the silence between Trinity’s weeping.

“How do you think your mother felt then?” He asked without any sort of feeling or empathy.

Trinity looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, devoid of any polite answer.

“Perhaps that is enough for my lady today.” Anya stated before Trinity could answer, taking her arm and leading her back to her chamber to hopefully regain some of her composure. The therapist tsked as they left the room, scribbling on his note pad furiously as the girls left.

While leading the teary-eyed Duchess back to her chamber hand in hand, Anya leaned into her ear and whispered softly.
“If I may say so milady, I think what you did was brave.” Trinity looked up at her with surprise. “But what is brave is not always expedient in the eyes of our elders. I think what you said will be looked upon as the thing that had to be said. Not all of us have a voice that reaches as far as milady’s.”

Trinity looked at her and contemplated. Despite the judgment she received in these walls what if she had to say what she did. The people who do not get paraded on late night television certainly would not have reached as far as she did.

“Forgive me, milady if I misspoke.” Anya lowered her head.

“No Anya… thank you.” Trinity gave the simplest of smiles she could muster. “Thank you for being here with me.”

“Always milady.” Anya patted the Duchess’ hand as she led her back to her chamber. Trinity only hoped she could enjoy the solitude of her empty mind tonight as she slept without being spirited away into the nether once more.

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Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Wed Jan 13, 2021 11:17 am


“What are you ladies up to today?” A conceited and gravelly tone washed over the dishevelled college pool deck as the sounds of glass bottles breaking rang from the empty pool before them. A trio of college age males wearing black clothes and various miss-matched pieces of armor such as soccer shin-guards and bike helmets trotted up to a small group of females dressed in similar fashion crouched near the dry pool basin.

“I see you all are doing some work finally.” One of the trio snickered as the rest cackled in response.

As they continued in their merriment one of the girls, a short blonde, stood up while simultaneously lighting the gas soaked cloth in the bottle. The petite girl would heave the bottle behind her and chuck it far into the deep end of the pool where a fiery crash erupted at its contact with the bottom.

The onlookers both male and female nodded and recognized the potent explosion of the cocktail the girl threw, one even feigning a clap as they watched the fire continue on from a safe distance.

The blonde girl didn’t pay any attention to their remarks, keeping her face covered with a black garter as she bent down to mix more cocktails together in preparation for the inevitable clash with police.

“That was pretty firey.” One of the males said as he lifted up his construction goggles to his forehead. “I like my women firey…” He approached the short girl, looking her frame up and down as he smirked. The girl despite her rag-tag get-up that matched the rest of the besieged students, looked young for university but not out of place to be a younger looking freshman. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around miss, new to our little rebellion here?” He put out his hand to brush her along her covered cheek, but the instant he got close a bright flame erupted between them as she lit up another cocktail just beyond his fingers. The blonde girl narrowed her eyes as she tossed the molotov to the side without looking, the bottle barely clearing the edge of the pool before dropping into the basin and erupting.

The crowd of students at the edge of the pool could feel its heat, another well mixed cocktail burning long from the blonde girl.

“Careful Dragos… fire burns.” A curly haired girl who stood next to the blonde giggled as she covered her face with a bandana.
“And don’t you have something better to do than touch on little girls?” The firey ginger girl stood up straight. “Ackerman is going to send his goons in at any time to break up this party, you best go pray to whatever god you have now or at least help prepare the campus. I don’t intend to give them this place without a scene.”

“Careful Chanda…” another voice from the side cautioned. “This isn't about violence. We are here to make a peaceful stand against Ackerman and his dogs. To show the world we won't stand for his slights against Ackesian democracy!” Another student chanted as he went on with his dry and tired speech. The freckled ginger rolled her eyes, unsure if to think him too idealistic or too naive.

“All I know is I hope you are ready to spend the night in a jail cell tonight. I know I am.” She nudged her blonde friend next to her who stayed silent though the encounter. “Right… Marina?”

Rain nodded at her freckled “friend” as she kept her cover amongst the students. It would be time soon, just as Chanda had said. At Beldon National University, they were in for a clash…


Hours later they found themselves fulfilling their own prophecy, the evening setting in around Beldon National University as hundreds of students stood clad in sports guards, bike helmets, and street signs. They carried umbrellas, bricks, and baseball bats as they stood along their make-shift barriers of whatever plywood furniture they could find on campus. Students stood at the single entrance of their school, arm in arm as they held a line together. Across from them, Beldon Police assembled their own formation of riot shields and armored trucks, advancing on the student rebellion’s lines.

“No riot here! Just Ackerman’s goons!” A student with a bull horn loudly chanted in the direction of international media. The eyes of the world were on this protest, and despite Ackerman’s desire to keep this under wraps, the rebellion at Beldon National University was already news the world over.

“Our line holds more than Ackerman’s spine!” Another chanted as the police neared. Armored trucks armed with water cannons formed the center of the police’s formation, and once they were in range they began to douse the students with ever increasing pressure.

“This is an unauthorized gathering, you are ordered to disperse.” A deep voice echoed commands over and over again on loud speakers from the trucks. Water cannons ripped into the student’s formations despite their best efforts to hide behind their plywood shields. Students were sent flying, some injured as they slid along the concrete or fell off battlements in an explosion of water.

The majority of the students remained peaceful, continuing to chant and lock arms together as police with riot shields and batons began to press against them. Both crowds shoving back and forth in what seemed like a stalemate, neither wanting to give an inch of ground.

All seemed status quo until a bottle took flight from behind the student lines off of a battlement. The molotov cocktail soared through the air until it came down on the head of a policeman. He and the others around him were taken by surprise as they erupted into flames, a particularly effective mixture of oil and gas keeping them aflame as they danced around in terror.

That signaled the beginning of the chaos as screams on both sides began to erupt. Protestors both encouraged and fearful by the sudden spark of violence began to push back harder on police. Those so inclined began to employ their own more malicious methods of beating back what they viewed as government goons. Throwing rocks, lashing out with bats, and even using slingshots to make the riot police think twice about assaulting their school.

On the other side it did not take long after the cocktail was thrown for tear gas canisters to pepper the protestors from above, launched in unison from behind the lines. Tightly packed students blocking the entrance to the university began to panic as the gas choked them, their cries mixing with the screams of rage from both sides as they continued to clash.

All this while the international media watching from a safe distance was captivated with the chaos unfolding in the streets of the capitol of the Greater Ackesian Republic. Camera shutters rapidly captured images as students were beaten with batons, singled out of the protest lines and arrested, officers were bludgeoned with rocks thrown from plywood battlements, and tear gas canisters were kicked back toward the police by brave students. It was a warzone manifest in the streets of Beldon.

“I told you better be ready to spend the night in a cell.” The red haired Chanda scoffed at her virtuous friend who hours ago boldly stated they should remain peaceful. “Ackerman was never going to let us have a dignified stand, it was meant to end this way-“ she heaved a rock up and over the upended cafeteria table she hid behind. Looking to her side she wanted to gloat some more to her new friend Marina, a girl she had just met only a few short days ago. It was a pretty large campus so she had never seen this girl around, Chanda deduced it was because they were different year groups and studies.

“Marina I hope you have more of those cocktails ready-“ her thoughts trailed off as she looked over to her friend. The small blonde haired girl was nowhere to be seen. Chanda hoped she was not off somewhere getting into trouble, she certainly didn’t seem the type to run away when things got tough…


Rain stuck to the back lines of the protesting students as she made her swift exit from the battlefield. Sticking to alleyways she followed her predetermined exit plan to follow the sewers out of the university. The piping there would be small enough to not attract attention, the Police too busy facing the body of rioting students head on rather than trying to get creative like she was. The clamoring of the riots receded to background noise as she weaved the back alleys of campus, leaving the somewhat typical sounds of the city to grace her ears.

“Hey what's this, a deserter?!” The same male student from before, Draggo, exclaimed from behind Rain as he approached. The blonde shadow didn’t want any witnesses, rolling her eyes and ensuring her garter was in place on her nose as to not let him see her face.
“You coward, you are running away aren't ya girl?!Your flames not so brave anymore?” Draggo stepped towards her with a sort of cheap gangster swagger expected of his type. Never mind the fact Draggo was clearly cowering away from the front lines of the protest himself, Rain did not have time for this.

“Its Malory… no Melania… wait Marina!” His expression played against his fake curiosity as he was ever so close to the small girl now. “You are too cute to be a coward… why don't we- fummguaaah!”

Rain jammed her foot into his instep, then brought her opposite knee into his abdomen doubling him over.

“Piss off.” She said, giving him a quick twack to the head with her steel toed boot.

She had wasted enough time here, she had a small window to work with. Picking up the pace she headed for her exit, and next objective.


“Centaur 5 looks like you got a few suspects looping around your right, may want to extract them.” The officer clad in a black uniform looked through the scope of his rifle. He watched the student protestors below as he relayed information over the radio about their movements. Across the street from the entrenched entrance to Beldon National University, the Beldon Capitol Police sharpshooter lay prone on the roof of a six story office building. From there it was easy to see movements of the protestors and pick out prime targets (those who incited the crowd or acted as leadership) for extraction teams to single out and arrest.

Using antiquated infantry and shield formation techniques dating back centuries, the riot police would uniformly push their line in certain sections and cut off groups of students from the rest. This allowed them to slowly weed out those they thought were the best to apprehend and hopefully bring this whole incident to a close peacefully. Of course this is after the students began to escalate, quickly resulting to violence and using barbaric means to fend off his police comrades.

Officer Andrada resented the situation, students included, and their actions during this time. Andrada was a staunch Ackesian Democratic Union party member, the very party of the President and the majority of the Diet. His patriotism for Ackesia was undoubted by his peers, and he felt his service in the police was a duty to the people of Ackesia and the Greater Republic. These entitled children below him scampered and ranted about how unfair things were, yet in his view they hardly knew the meaning of difficulty and strife. Andrada would often boast about his contempt for the youth and the state of the country due to antics such as these with family and friends, never shy of letting them know his true feelings.

As he watched through his scope from his perch above he would grin as he saw a student take a baton to the stomach. He knew there was no greater wake up call than the air leaving your lungs due to blunt force. Through his enjoyment of the entertainment below he hardly noticed the shadow creeping behind him, Andrada only had eyes for the chaos.

A pressure would weigh on his back in a sudden hair raising grab of his attention. And as he looked backward over his shoulder all he would see is a stray strand of blonde hair peeking up from under a ski mask. From there everything would go dark for Officer Andrada.

Rain held the chloroform soaked cloth over his mouth for a long moment to make sure he had a good sleep. A smirk ran across her face as she thought about how much she enjoyed this type of op. This was beginning to be all too familiar of a tactic for her, the girl’s gloved hand firmly ensuring both his mouth and nose were in her grasp as she straddled the back of the officer where he lay prone. Once she was satisfied he was having sweet dreams, she rolled him to the side quickly, only having a few moments to make her move. She grabbed the rifle and took aim down the scope, perring around she surveyed the riot below.

Without too much searching she found what she was looking for, a bush of red curly hair in her crosshairs as she took aim at her “friend” Chanda as she began to light a molotov atop her fortification.

“Regrettable.” She murmured to herself as she took a deep breath in. Chanda was a spirited girl, pretty, but also ideal. With little hesitation Rain let out her breath, squeezed the trigger, and shot Chanda through the heart…

The crack of the rifle sent a sudden silence through the riot below. And then after all parties realized what transpired, it resumed louder than before…
Last edited by Achesia on Thu Jan 14, 2021 12:04 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Postby Achesia » Wed Jan 13, 2021 5:10 pm


3 Students Killed by Beldon Police Sniper
Shania Blythe (@OBSBlyth)
10 March, 2020| Aatream, Produzland


Beldon National University Runs red tonight after violent clashes with Beldon Capitol Police and besieged BNU students leaves 10 students dead, 50 seriously injured, and countless seeking medical attention. All of this after a police sniper shot and killed 3 of the students who had turned their campus into a fortress in protest of President Ackerman’s recent scandals. Recent weeks have not proven kind for the President as incidents such as the protest leader being gunned down by a Ackerman linked gunman, and several arrests of outspoken students critical of Ackerman, have stoked the fire of Ackesian unrest.

Many critics inside and out of Ackesia have called recent actions by the President reprehensible and contrary to the human rights and political freedoms of his people. Ackerman’s supporters (of which there are many in his majority government) claim these recent actions have been to quell criminal unrest and make safe the streets of a country hit hard with recession.

It all began at 4pm when Beldon Police approached the school in force. International media was present to see hundreds of policemen in full riot gear and formation approach a sea of students linked arm in arm to stand against what they called “Ackerman’s goons” in peaceful protest. Police and students clashed this way, and for a good amount of time the height of the vioence was some shoving between police and students largely along the front lines and the use of water cannons to try and break up the protest. However as the incident escalated a molotov cocktail was thrown from behind one of the many make-shift barricades in-front of the school, setting 3 police officers alight in the blink of an eye.

From there the incident took a more violent turn, more firey home-made bombs were employed by the students as well as rocks being heaved at the riot shields of policemen. Several beatings of students with batons were captured by international media as those who resisted were violently bludgeoned.

It was at this time a shot ran out, and a queer silence took the crowd as 3 students fell dead from leathal wounds dealt to them by a police sniper. From there the crowd descended into a new level of chaos with students rallying around the names of the dead and feverishly assaulting the police lines with little regard for the peaceful demonstration they first set out for. One such student (who asked to remain anonymous) expressed their feelings about that moment to the Observer:

“It was like, when we saw her go down, a hole in her, that was like the moment we all knew there was no going back, and that we didn’t care anymore about what happened to us. They were going to kill us either way.”

The police sniper has been identified as Corporal Andre Andrada, a 5 year member of the police force and former soldier. Andrada, who claims innocence in several incoherent rants to the media as he was being hauled away, has been placed on administrative leave pending investigation. A search of the officer’s social media showed that he was a stout Ackerman supporter, belligerently pushing Ackesian Democratic Union party politics online. Several posts also sternly (and sometimes vulgarly) denounce the protests happening around the nation calling them “babies” and said “they need a wake up”.

Though Andrada was taken into police custody the damage outside the university was already done. After he killed those 3 students the violence rose to something out of a war zone, with actions by police and students causing many more deaths. 6 police officers were also killed during the riot, raising the death toll to 16 and 5 in critical condition.

President Ackerman quickly released a statement denouncing the police actions at the university and officially dismissing the Beldon Police Chief from his post. But many including his election opponent the Progressive Liberal Alliance’s Minerva I'Anson call it too little too late.

“The President’s inaction in rooting out officials who are all too eager to conduct political violence to influence Ackesians caused the deaths of the 10 stufents.” Minerva gave scathing remarks to the Observer and other international media outlets.

President Ackerman’s other staunch critic, the young Duchess Trinity Avondale, was silent today regarding the incident. Many speculate that the royal family of Avondale have kept her closed off from being able to make remarks after her incident on Morgan Branson where she flipped the script on her family and the nation in taking full responsibility for several Signposts critical of the President. It was noted many of the students outside the university wore memorabilia or held signs expressing solidarity with the Duchess and what they consider bravely outspoken remarks.

Election day is only 2 weeks away and at home the national media has been largely silent about this incident, downplaying the severity of the violence. Media connections to the President run deep and this largely is a smoke screen to try and shield the President from as much political backlash as possible before the election. But international media outlets have already given this plenty of attention and thus the people of Ackesia are well aware of whag has transpired. Several demonstrations have been planned for the coming days to speak out against this police and government violence on those less than supportive of Ackesia’s chief executive.

The implications of this incident are yet unclear due to the close nature of Ackerman to many Ackesian institutions. Time will tell if this affects him in the long run.

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Postby Achesia » Thu Jan 14, 2021 11:48 am


Violetists Stage Peaceful Demonstration Outside of Avondale Palace in Support of Duchess Trinity
Shania Blythe (@OBSBlyth)
12 March, 2020| Aatream, Produzland


In stark contrast to bloody protests in the capitol city of Beldon in recent days, A group of demonstrators supporting the Duchess Trinity Avondale’s outspoken criticism of President Ackerman marched through the eastern historic city of Avondale today. They call themselves the Violetists, a group of Ackesians which have come together to stand against the Ackesian Democratic Union majority government, and more specifically echo the words of their inspiration: the Duchess Trinity of Avondale. Wearing armbands matching the violet color of the House of Avondale and carrying signs or portraits of the Duchess through the city streets, these peaceful demonstrators caught a lot of attention in Ackesia days after violence rocked the capitol.

Duchess Trinity Avondale has been a polarizing figure in Ackesian politics in recent months. If you are a supporter of Ackerman or member of the Ackesian Democratic Union, you more than likely view her as a nuisance. The granddaughter of the last King of Ackesia and one who should not be openly discussing Ackesian politics since her house’s removal from power over the nation. Members of the House of Avondale have remained largely apolitical since the civil war in 1989 which ended in their renouncing of titles over the whole of Ackesia. Today they exist only as figureheads in a province Ackesia that is a bastion of royalists. Many have criticized Duchess Trinity’s words as lacking sensitivity to those tormented by her own “dictator” grandfather (as they would call him).

On the contrary, if you are critical of President Ackerman and his actions over ensuing years leading to this juncture in Ackesian history, you might find the Duchess’ words refreshing. Duchess Trinity in a youthful and firey way has stirred up a sense of dissatisfaction for the status quo in many Ackesians, even those in western parts of the country that historically supported democratic reforms. Breaking down political, geographic, and generational barriers the Duchess has reinforced the countries will to speak out against the political majority ADU which is largely backed by big corporations (particularly oil interest). Prior to her firey words on SignPost many despaired their voices would not resonate or affect any change in Ackesia due to political violence and crackdowns by the ADU.

Her words however, have not resonated amongst her own. Duchess Trinity’s breakout moments of political dissension have quickly been swept under the rug, retracted, and recanted by her own family who wish to remain apolitical. The Prince and Princess of Avondale have put out many statements in the wake of their daughters statements, renouncing her willingness to involve herself in Ackesia’s political process, calling it inappropriate. Critics of the Royal family have called this irresponsible and praised the young Duchess for using her position of privilege to call out the injustices in this world.

Despite repercussions Duchess Trinity has shown a willingness to continually speak out when given the chance. Be it on SignPost or Morgan Branson Tonight (which famously caused the show to go off the air for several moments). Due to this rebellious nature deviating from her parent’s political neutrality, she has since been locked away from the public eye in Avondale Palace, her last appearance that ill fated interview on Morgan Branson. As demonstrators passed the Palace today they called for the Duchess’ release and asked to hear her words on what has transpired in the capitol.

Though the demonstrators were not removed, the Royal Family issued a statement asking them to leave, stating they wished to focus on coming closer as a family during this time and felt their involvement in political discourse in Ackesia to be reckless.

Many in Ackesia feel the Duchess’ spirit has inspired them to speak out, and carry that with them whether they wear a violet armband or not. Supporters hope he Duchess will soon find a way to inspire them again.

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Postby Achesia » Sat Jan 16, 2021 11:13 pm

Palace of Avondale, Avondale-

“Attennnn-shhun!” The Colour Sergeant called as the ceremonial detail snapped to. Their violet uniforms called back to centuries past with their brass buttons, white piping, and stylish yet un-functional shakos decked out with white, black, and violet plums. A departure from this style were the Apted AR7s they held at shoulder arms, the black and grey furniture of the modern weapon clashing with the more civilized and fashionable style.

The gilded doors of the Palace of Avondale swept open as the Prince, Princess, their sons, and many staff members strode out to the parade field in front of the palace. The guard detail flanked a red velvet carpet that ran from the door to their awaiting car.

“Yes yes and when we return I would like to review the numbers for the environmental budget with the minister, do tell him?” Prince Deon smiled and nodded to a male staffer which jotted notes as they walked.

“Indeed sir I will ensure that is done.”

“Oh and Deon dear, do tell the minister he should stop by with his wife, I have not seen here in some time, I would love to have some tea.” His wife, Princess Violeta, insisted as she tapped her husband on his coat sleeve.

“Better make that so then.” He gave the staffer another nod as the velocity of his pen increased.

“Father are we leaving Trinity?” The young Duke Ivan trailed behind his mother and father. The 10 year old boy confused as to why his older sister would not be accompanying them to the summer retreat.

Not too far from him his older brother, Duke Florin rolled his eyes and bent down mid walk to his brother’s level.
“I told you, Trinitys been bad so mom and dad have locked her up for a bit.” The eldest child to the Prince and Princess and apparent heir to the Principality seemed annoyed at re-explaining the situation to the boy.

“Florin…” the Prince stopped and turned around to his sons. In contrast the Princess did not even bat an eye at the comment, rolling her eyes as she knew her Prince-husband would reexplain the truth in a more delicate way.
Stooping down to the boys level he addressed his son’s question.
“Your sister has a lot to think about right now. And it's best that she do that alone for now.”

“So you locked her up until then?...” The gravity of his father’s words not quite settling in. Of course it was easy to confuse for a 10 year old due to the activity of recent days around the palace. Thousands had marched past his home waving signs in support of his older sister asking for her release, and even as they walked to the car on their way to a brief vacation in the country, a few dozen demonstrators sat across the road holding signs of support for Trinity.

Prince Deon let out a deep sigh.
“You’ll understand when you are older.”

Trinity was always a kind and loving sister to Ivan, so he hoped that becoming older would happen soon so that he may see her again.

Vasile Fedorov the Prince’s Chief of staff nodded to the chauffeur to open the doors for the royal family as they approached. The ever inquisitive Duke Ivan asking more questions as his brother and mother slid in front of their father who stood back for a moment to look at everything.

“When we get to the retreat we need to talk about what to do with Trinity.” The Prince looked weary in the eyes as he rubbed his mouth. The love as a father he had for his daughter was deep, yet with the way things were going in the past few weeks he had a hard time conveying it to her. Beyond his deep love and present disappointment with her, he felt like a failed father. How could he have raised her to speak the truth yet tell her to be silent now in the face of such turmoil?

“My Prince, I will actually be staying back to look after her.” Vasile said confidently even though it defied the Prince’s expectations.

The Prince looked at his chief of staff, who had constantly been by his side for decades of work as the head of the Principality. His expression evolved from one of befuddlement to confusion and then finally morphing into deep thought.

Stepping much closer to the prince, Vasile leaned in to his ear.

“We are an Undying Chorus my Prince.” He said the words so softly, so matter-of-fact, between them, their own secret in that moment.

The prince’s face turned to pale realization, he worked hard to clear a lump in his throat.

“We… we are.” His voice cracked as he nodded.

Vasile nodded. “And she is our symphony.” He stepped back to give the prince room, his eyes looking off to the many windows of the palace in the direction of her room.

Vasile nodded yet again to Prince Deon, who blank of face joined his family in the car ever so slowly.

The door closed behind him with a thud, the metallic click of the door locks ringing in his ears as they began to pull away from the palace, the car lurching forward.

“Father are you alright? You look quite pale.” Duke Florin looked curiously at his father. The young man had always had an aptitude for emotional empathy.

“I uh… I…” the Prince’s words sputtered out in a babble.

The Princess leaned forward with a conceited but concerned look on her face as she took in her husband’s expression.
“Deon?” She said cocking her head to the right.

“I’m sorry….” he looked at his sons, his wife, remembering the love he had for them. Tears began to run down his face as his family looked more concerned.

Putting a hand on the knee of his son Ivan he wept, shaking his head as they drove away.

“I’m so sor-“

On the third floor of the palace facing west Duchess Trinity Avondale lay in her bed with dead eyes and a blank face much like she had for the past week of her incarceration at home. She gripped the bedsheets in frustration as she kicked her legs out.

What fate did she have that she should be locked up like an animal by her own kin? The coldness she felt in this home, a home that once felt like a bastion of warmth in a cruel world was new and horrible to her. Her father calling her by her pet name, Trilly, her brothers spending time with her talking about pop culture, even the brief and unpleasant time she would spend having tea with her mother all felt like ages away.

They had turned their back on her.

Yet as she lay in bed there was a fire yet burning in her. The confirmation that her words did get somewhere, that they mattered to someone. She remembered looking on at the demonstration passing the palace some days ago. She had lost count some time ago yet the memory of it filled her as she had a brief smiled. That was the life she wanted to lead, inspiring people to live better lives, inspiring Ackesia to be better.

Of course her parents had her ushered away from any window once they began to pass. The demonstrators certainly solidifying her parents position that she should just keep quiet. Stay on the sidelines they would say, the royal family of Avondale has no business in politics. Trinity hated it, what should she use her station in life, her voice, influence, and power to do except make Ackesia better. Her arguments always fell flat in her head, the ego always interjecting exactly what her parents would say in such a situation. Certainly there was not as much violence weeks ago before she spoke out. But in her mind if a few words would spark such outcry then it would come to fruition either way.

The news of the protests in Beldon had reached Trinity from her handmaidens (which frequently shared information with her in secret) troubled her. Ackerman’s actions getting more and more rash as the pressure builds. The election would be drawing near now, and certainly more violence and demonstrations did no favors to the ruling party. It looked as if Minerva would have a favorable lead, yet polls advertised by “official” sources still showed the President ahead.

What else did Ackerman have up his sleeves to stay in power? She wondered as she scrunched the sheets around her chest. More violence certainly would be at hand, despair following should the people not unite, if those with power did not speak up...

And seemingly here Trinity would sit through all of it, never to see the slight of day if her mother had her way. At first she loathed herself for bringing some shame to her family, faulting herself for damaging her parent’s love. Yet after witnessing the violetists march through the streets and tales her handmaidens fed her about students inspired by the Duchess’ words, she held on to a sliver of hope she did the right thing.

It was then that the shockwave hit the palace walls.

Trinity screamed as her window rattled violently and her room shook from the deafening sound. The event frightened the girl enough that she could not make sense of it, drawn to the window as her hands shook with fear.

Pulling back the curtains she saw the black plume of smoke that covered the parade grounds of the Palace of Avondale, a raging fire untamed in the outer gate as violet clad guards yelled and rushed to the fire. But the flames were too fierce for them to intervene, the black shell of a car engulfed in hell.

It was then that she realized her family was dead.

“No…” there were no tears, only shock as her mouth sat gaping.

The door to her room burst open, men in suits pouring in.

“Milady please step away from the window quickly!” They came, pulling her backwards from the glass, their hands taking the girl away from the sight of the burning inferno and to a secure location. They rushed her from the room, her feet moving without even processing what was going on. It was all one blurr.

This was the price she would pay… her boldness had an edge be it right or wrong. Father… mother… Florin… little Ivan… All dead.

Violence was now at her door.
Last edited by Achesia on Sat Jan 16, 2021 11:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Postby Achesia » Thu Jan 21, 2021 9:40 pm


Minerva sat at a white table, lit internally against a dynamic background featuring the most majestic views in Ackesia, picturesque northern mountains peppered with snow. In the corner of her eye she could see Rachel, her campaign director, supporting her with a thumbs up, as she sat hands folded on the table before her on national television. Days away from election day Minerva I’Anon the Liberal Progressive Union’s candidate was on a sprint of campaign appearances, both in front of large crowds and on television spots much like this one. But today was different, today she was on Sunrise Ackesia! The Ackesian Free Press’ spotlight morning program.

The Ackesian Free Press of course being the closest thing her opponent in the election, the Ackesian Democratic Union’s Zachariah Ackerman had to a nationalized press organization. Her appearance here today was knowing full well that her positions, talking points, and facts would be distorted to fit the Ackerman narrative. But Minerva did not back down from a fight, not from police water cannons or beautiful blonde anchor woman whose teeth reflected the sun like the chrome bumper of Ackerman’s limo.

“So just yesterday the nation came together to mourn the loss of the Prince and Princess of Avondale, as well as their two son. The state funeral in Avondale was a sad one as I am sure you know Madam I’Anon, watching the young Duchess Trinity stand alone to become the head of one of Ackesia’s semi-autonomous provinces. What are your thoughts on the tragic bombing of the Prince’s car and the political violence spreading throughout the nation?”

Minerva kept a stern face.
“I think this is the result of a lack of willingness to understand….”

“You refer to the Duchess’ SignPost remarks?” The anchorwoman Melia Vladokov interjected, an obvious and pointed deflection.

“No, the lack of understanding from the Palatul Poporului, the forceful hand of its police and enforcers, there are curfews in almost every city now due to the unrest. This is coupled with a lack of accountability for fringe political supporters, like the gunman who murdered Makariy Naumov and now the bomber of the princes-“

“Just to correct the record here, there is no link to President Ackerman and either the gunman who killed the anarchist you spoke of or the at large bomber of the prince’s car. Claims otherwise have no base.”

“If you don’t mind.” Minerva raised her hand to stop the anchor who interrupted her, frustration painted on her face.
“I think the message is clear here whether you want to link the perpetrators to the President or not. The movement the President has brought about encourages this retaliation against political opponents. It's a shame the young Duchess’ family had to meet such an end, her words on signpost were innocent enough. It's abhorrent that someone should think to bomb her family because of it. I wish her the best.”

The news anchor shook her head in disagreement.

“Take me for another example.” Minerva continued. “Not too long ago I was hosed down by a police water cannon during a sanctioned protest outside the Palatul Poporului. What sort of message does that send!?”

Melia tapped the edges of her papers on the table as she smiled condescendingly.

“The demonstration you were a part of was ordered to disperse by the police.” Her smug expression drowned the camera.

“All too easy then, Ackerman does not like the criticism he just sends in the police? Is that what happened at Beldon National University? Not in my Ackesia.” Minerva brought to the forefront the massacre just a few days ago.

“Well you are down almost 40 points from the President Madam I’Anon, I am not sure what your Ackesia is.”

“Maybe on Ackesian “Free” Press polls.” Minerva mocked accordingly.

The programming shifted to a commercial break as Minerva and the poll graphics faded from the television. The office of the President was contemplative as they watched their biggest electoral threat attack them on air.

“She is a firecracker, she rattles off and attacks like a dog whenever she is in front of people.” Maria, the President’s Chief of Staff waved her hands at the TV which was showing a commercial for Kindred Airlines.
“It's not a good look and it does not poll well.”

Across the room on a couch Sevastian tipped the rim of his glasses and grimaced.
“The real polls…” he emphasized in contrast to what was shown on television, an obvious (to the trained eye) exaggeration of the President’s lead.
“... show that she is only 20 points behind the President.” He gently threw a paper on the table to add some drama. “She may not be as charismatic as you sir but for those who lean towards sympathy for the protestors, students, or or… hell even the Avondale girl, she is the ticket to ride. At least that's how her campaign has made it.”

Ackerman sat silently at his desk, not paying attention, just swishing his whiskey glass side to side as his ice tumbled around like a ship in a gale. He looked out the window of his office, over the cityscape of Beldon, and out towards the west.

Both Maria and Sevastian looked at each other to acknowledge the awkward silence of their President as they argued. But sometimes they knew he needed to keep to himself to think.

“We are just lucky she has not done a TV spot with the Duchess…” Sevastian muttered as he looked dispondantly at the table before him.

“No no…” Ackerman muttered, both Maria and Sevastian perked up to hear.

“No… TV, no campaigning.” He continued, turning his chair to face the pair as he downed a long swig of drink. He was obviously deep into a handle today, though it was not even evening his eyes were heavy with liquor.

“Sir?” Maria approached Ackerman, hoping her usual womanly appeal would help bring him out of the darkness he had been exuding for the past few days. Ever since the Branson show incident there was a broodiness to the President, and inner demons festering within him. When he got news of the car bombing in Avondale, she remembered he only laughed, a hearty laugh of a man holding on to hatred.

It scared Maria to see him like this, not the positive and charismatic man she knew. Luckily he was able to keep up his public composure and be himself during events.

“No she won't be doing any TV or campaign spots…” Ackerman tapped his glass on his oak desk. A sudden sober seriousness returned to him. Reaching out he picked up the phone on his desk and began to dial.

“Minerva… sir?” She questioned who he meant.

Ackerman chuckled, shaking his head as the phone began to ring.

“No… that little bitch.” He cracked his neck with a twitch.

Maria was almost scared of what he would do. She warned him that his anger and hatred of the Avondales would take him too far. But it was burning in him, his expression one of a vindictive man ready to take opportune strikes at an opponent. She wondered if this was the Ackerman of the revolution. Not five term statesman Ackerman, but a younger, more ruthless warrior.

“Sir… she is a child, and alone now. She wouldn’t dare…”

Ackerman held up a finger and gave a cold smile.

“Ah yes Colonel… send them in.” The words flowed effortlessly from him before he hung up the phone and sat back in his chair, proud of himself.

“Send… uh… what in… sir?” Maria felt a nervous twitch run down her arm.

Ackerman smiled at her, standing up from his desk he strode around with a swagger of a much younger man. Standing before him Maria could barely make eye contact, his persona too powerful for her to control in her usual ways.

A hand slipped under her chin, raising it upwards Ackerman leaned close to the younger chief of staff and planted a kiss on her lips. Sevastian who had suspected something was up between them only looked away out of embarrassment.

“It seems the Principality has a large terrorist concern, the royal House of Avondale a target. I have simply ordered that a mechanized unit of the army mobilize from Ostait and provide security for the little Duchess. We of course would not want any more harm to come to the darling of the east.” He wiggled his head around with those words mockingly.
“And of course this also comes with its own… assurances.” His tone was maniacal.

Sevastian his political advisor, simply put his head in his hands.

Maria looked to do the same, but managed to speak up about the situation.

“Sir!” She didn’t hold back, grabbing Ackerman’s hand tightly on her own. She looked up at him with her wide, beautiful green eyes, using every ounce of charm she could.
“The optics of this.. they are really bad. You are essentially putting a political opponent under military house arrest!”

Ackerman shook his head, instead looking out to the west once more.

“Her loyalists protested her own family locking her up. Ackesian Army's largest force to enter the Principality in years moves to secure the palace could start a new war….” Sevastian’s thoughts trailed off as he wondered if that was exactly what Ackerman wanted. He seemed hell bent on destroying the royals.

Ackerman’s eyes shot over to him at the word war… and Sevastian could swear he saw the darkest of flames in them.
Last edited by Achesia on Fri Jan 22, 2021 6:05 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Sat Jan 23, 2021 12:32 am


It was a record cold March in Beldon, several inches of snow ground the populace of Ackesia’s largest city down as much as the standing curfews set by the mayor to curb the unrest in the city. Life was virtually at a standstill that night, in a section of the city known for its nightlife it was dead, not a jubilant soul to be found. Instead roving police clearing the nighttime streets of any who would defy curfew circled around their pre-planned routes. No protests seemed to be occurring at this time, yet the streets of the downtown neighborhood were littered with debris from past unrest.

Few dared to venture out at night. Being caught meant either a large fine or jail time. But Shania Blythe had business to attend to. In just six hour she had a flight back to Cartaganca, Produzland out of Beldon-Markov, her sole purpose here to meet up with a contact who said they had important info.

Sticking to side streets she carefully walked along, wary enough to stick to the shadows and avoid those who would enforce the curfew. The middle aged woman was a reporter for the Observer, a Ackesian opposition paper based in Produzland to avoid the censure of the Ackeisan government under Ackerman. Shania grew up in these streets long ago before moving out of the country to be an expatriate. And since her return this time the streets seemed very different.

It wasn’t just the curfew, it was the sheer amount of homeless in the streets. Single people, families, vagabonds, people hit hard with the recession in Ackesia. The economy was in tatters, and only the rich corporate oil monopolies in Ackesia were making it above water. If the people drowned it was no skin off the board of Ackesian Oil’s back. Instead it was just a news headline a queue to buy more bonds.

Nearing her destination Shania tripped over one such individual as she moved about the alleyways, startled she apologized as she felt the thick fleece blanket rustle around.

“Sorry.” She dared a whisper.

A small head popped out, a young boy no older than 6 peering at her, his face dirty and bruised.

Clearly the situation was degrading, and Shania did not know if her method of writing articles opposing the Ackesian Democratic Union regime would be enough to end the nightmare for this little boy.

“Sorry sweety, go back to sleep.” She gave him a warm smile.

The boy simply and despondently turned over.

Shania sighed as she walked on, turning a few corners until she was at the location her contact specified. It was a dark ally, the steam from the vent of a bakery flowed around her as she buried her hands in her coat pockets. She wondered if this person would even show, it wouldn't be the first false lead she had in her career.

“Were you followed?” A voice suddenly sprung from the shadows. A figure stepped forward enough to be seen as Shania turned around with a fright.

Regaining her composure Shania shook her head and tried to make out the person before her.

“Nuh…no…” she said nervously.

The figure stepped put more, much shorter than her, Shania could make out she had blonde hair. She looked quite young to her, and an overwhelming sense that she had been “had” crept over her.

“Who are you.?” She said skeptically as she looked at the petite female that took the place of her contact. “Are you the one who called me here. I flew all the way from Produzland for this, it better not be a prank.”

The blonde figure simply held out an envelope to Shania, beckoning her to take it.

“Whats this?”

“Open it, there is an mp3 player.” Her contact did not seem shaken by her questioning at all.

Taking the envelope in hand Shania opened it and confirmed that indeed it had an mp3 player, as well as a set of headphones. Shania looked up at the female inquisitively.

“Listen.” The shadow said.

Putting a headphone in one ear she let it play. A few long moments passed as her eyes grew wider with each word she listened to.

“Is that… him?”

“Run voice confirmation software on it, its him.” The blonde shadow nodded. “It's from the inside.” She artfully eluded to a inside man.

Shania took one of the headphones out, her outlook of the contact improved over her initial thoughts of a highschool prankster. Though she had no doubt this information was legit… Shania reminded herself nothing is free.

“And what do you want?” The seasoned reporter asked as she tried to conceive the shadow figure’s intentions.

The figure turned around, making to leave as her mission here was done.

“How am I supposed to stake my career on this if I don’t trust my source… what do you want?”

From the shadows she could make out bright green eyes, a slim blonde figure of a girl that looked almost highschool age firmly stood her ground.

“Justice…” the girl said, just before she faded into the dark once more. “Don’t miss your flight…” were her parting words before she disappeared entirely.

Shania stood dumbfounded, unsure what exactly she had stumbled upon, or who this contact was. But all she did know was the sound bite she held in her hand could change the fate of Ackesia.
Last edited by Achesia on Sat Jan 23, 2021 10:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Sat Jan 23, 2021 11:31 pm


“I crown thee, Trinity, the first, Princess of Avondale.”

A light round of applause filled the chamber as a few dozen statesmen, politicians, and various Avondale figures celebrated the crowning of their new Princess, just a week after a car bomb took the life of their last regent. The coronation was a private affair, both out of consideration to the democratic process ongoing in the nation already fraught with tension and violence, and at the special request of the Ackesian government.

As the crown rest on her head Trinity rose to her feet, her face still stern and without any joy of her new position. Nor did she exhibit great sadness over the recent loss of her family, instead choosing to occupy a purgatory of emotion. It was out of self preservation, and exhaustion she chose to isolate herself. It had been many days of mourning for the girl, blaming herself and her actions for her family’s death. Yet the more she sat in her room alone sobbing, the more she began to understand something about herself.

She was angry.

While some of this anger was directed at herself, it was also directed west. Whether the conspiracy theorists, were correct in that Ackerman has a hand in her family’s death, Trinity knew he enabled an environment that spawned such horrible acts of violence. Be it the shooting of protestors, dissenters, or bombing political rivals, the country had descended to a dark place, and Trinity with it.

Her eyes lacked now a certain youthful innocence that decorated the magazine covers and portraits she had been featured on before. They were now cold, their tears long empty, now she had to decide where to go from here.

“Now my Princess…” First Minister Veaceslav, the majority leader in the provincial parliament of Avondale said as Trinity was led to a table and chair nearby. The crowd followed and gathered around, eager to watch the young girl partake in the dusty old traditions they lived and breathed.

“Today you will sign several items as you assume the title of your forebears. The first of which is the declaration of government, which allows myself and the majority to form the government in your name as it was under your father.”
The old politician's forked tongue lashed back and forth in his mouth as he frothed at the idea of his power continuing under a much less experienced head of providence.

Trinity’s head turned to look at the man, his aged face grew around his charismatic and forced smile like a bleached oak grew around a lamppost. He saw her as nothing more than a naive girl didn’t he? She wondered to herself, the man’s motivation clear. Clearly he saw himself as the chief power in Avondale, the top elected official serving a girl with no experience. He sought to be virtually unopposed in his agenda for their land, her family’s land.

The First Minister handed Trinity the pen to sign the document which was a largely symbolic yet critically important mandate. Once in her hand Trinity, still blank of expression, held it without movement. She stared at its black casing as the crowd fell silent awaiting her move. A camera took a picture here and there, recording the moment, yet the crowd was kept waiting as an awkward amount of time passed.

“My Princess, if there is questions about how your government works I would certainly be happy to explain to you, it's a long boring mess of course but after the-“

“Explain to me, First Minister…” Trinity Interrupted, her hand still on the pen. “Upon my signing this government into action, and you call for the first session, what is your plan in such a critical time for our nation? What is first on your agenda?” Her look would be a stark contrast from a naive girl, the sternness of her tone noted amongst the crowded politicians and busy bodies as they peered left and right.

The First Minister salvaged himself, having fiery daughters of his own he knew they could be quite confident of tone when in mood.
“Well our session is scheduled to convene to hear cases of mineral rights in the northern hills and grant authorizations for mining there. Then we of course must visit exemptions of corporate taxes for technological companies, but that is of course all long and bor-“

The pen rapped the table as Trinity placed it down firmly with no signature yet on the authorization. Her chair slid backwards as she rose, the crowd standing straight as they watched the young princess as she began to walk away.

“My Princess…” Vasile, her father’s Chief of Staff and now hers, interjected. “This is a largely symbolic item, but is still very much critical-“

“It is symbolic… symbolic of the detachment of this government from the plight of its people.”

The collective breath went out of the room.

“First minister… should you desire I authorize a government to be formed with you as First Minister, I suggest you take a walk outside.” She stopped and turned, her blonde hair swishing with her abrupt facing. “There you will find people in the streets, some starving, others freezing. Avondale may be faring better than the rest of Ackesia during this recession but it is not immune. Until I see a plan to combat the spreading of misery in my land there will be no government.” She turned to walk again from the room, her hands shaking in both anger but also fear of overstepping the boundaries of her confidence.

“Perhaps the Princess would do well to understand that the government….” the First Minister interjected before she left the room.

“The First Minister would do well to watch his tongue…. or are you even First Minister without my signature?” Trinity departed, her heels clicking down the marble hall, handmaidens joining her on either flank.

Vasile turned to the crowd and bowed his head.
“Thank you all for attending, we shall keep you informed.” He nodded to a few known to him within the crowd, the collective mood trending towards uncertainty.

Catching up to the princess, he found her as she entered the Royal Study, the place many Kings of Ackesia faced their own challenges during their time leading the nation.

“My Princess, we mustn't alienate the politicians, there us still procedures that must be observed…”

“Vasile.” Trinity looked out her window at the mourners who lay flowers and well wishes at makeshift alters along the palace perimeter. “You were my father’s Chief of Staff… and I thank you for that. But give me good reason not to release you from my service.” She turned, her eyes piercing through the older man’s soul as she took the crown from her head and rested it on the large oak desk near to her.

Vasile took to his knees, lowering his gaze to the red carpet as she outstretched his hands in submission.
“My Princess, I am out of place.” He dared to look back up at the girl, her face both full of confidence and fear. He knew there was an internal battle, a war that Trinity must fight within herself. Either she conceited to grief and fear in these coming weeks past her father’s death, or she rise to the dignity and glory of her ancestors.
“You remember Ackesia and her people… you moved and acted on their behalf, I apologize for being caught up in tradition.”

Trinity nodded, looking towards the door.
“I will need your help Vasile… Avondale… no Ackesia needs us. I will not back down…. I will not… bend…” the last word a whisper as she recalled her dream.
“Break, Not Bend.” She whispered to herself, Vasile’s head perking up as he tried to hear her. There was now a fierceness in her eyes that filled the empty void that sorrow had excavated.

“My Princess?”

“It is nothing…” She shook her head. “Keep me informed should the good First Minister decide he is on the side of the people of Avondale, then I will sign his…” she waved her hand around in the air dismissively. “... paper.”

Vasile bowed his head once more as he still knelt before her. As she exited, a smile came across his face, one of eager anticipation as he admired how she was evolving into everything she needed to become. But she was not entirely ready yet…
Last edited by Achesia on Sat Jan 23, 2021 11:32 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Wed Jan 27, 2021 7:17 pm

Levosta, Ostait Province, Ackesia, January 2020 (“Present Day”)

Rain soaked the streets of the coastal city as a winter monsoon moved across the southern Ackesian coast with avengence. People mulled about still on their way to or from work, children played in the puddles to the protest of their mothers, and cars slid across the motorways kicking up waves of floodwater in the lower quarter streets. Not many lingered, people moved fast enough to not expose themselves to the elements for too long. That is why the hooded girl with the auburn hair perched on the side of the building stood out to Julian as he slowly made his way down the street.

The unshaven man held a wet paper bag in which his poison of choice resided in a somewhat obvious bottle shape. He largely kept to himself, coming and going for means of work or drink, not stopping to socialize unless he had to. Few knew him in these parts, his migration to the south eastern quarter of the city out of necessity. Julian deduced there would be no one else who would know his habits and routes to and from his home, the girl with the Auburn hair could be one of only two people.

He did not look her in the face, he couldn’t, instead he stopped walking, still faced in his direction of travel. The girl gasped when she realized it was him, quickly grabbing his arm with a clench of her long fingernails. Despite his thick jacket, her hand cut deep with her grasp, to an almost spiritual level.

“Julian…” The woman could not help but sob. Julian still did not turn, only looking at the rain pooling by his feet.

The woman examined him, moving around to his side where she got a better look at his worn face. He had large bags under his green orbs, his cheeks prickly and hair uncombed. There was a certain lifelessness about him, and as she moved her hand down to his, she noticed the bottle.

“Julian please… stop this.” Her tears mixed with the rain. “I know… I know you hurt… we all do! But you have to come back to us, come back please.” Her other arm moved to wrap around his, she now hugged him like she would not let go.

Still Julian “the uncouth” did not look at her.

“They’re… they’re gone Julian, they are…” she cried more, hoping against all hopes he would turn and embrace her.
“Won’t you please look at me… look at us…? They might be gone but we are… we are still family!”

Julian’s eyes perked up but froze forward, a thousand yard stare of emotional discipline at the cusp of faltering.

“Kei and I miss you, we want you to get better. You're killing yourself slowly Julian!” Her hand moved to touch his cheek, feeling his rough exterior, his armor that would not break.

“I… uh.. we love you Julian….” Her hand caressed his face softly.

“Look at me Julian….” she pleaded.

Still he did not move his gaze.

“LOOK AT ME!!” Her shrill scream startling many of the other passers by who jumped out of fright.

The rain pattered down on her hood as silence returned, and without a look in her direction or word Julian moved on, his worn leather boots as stretched out as his soul as he made his way home to find the bottom of the bottle.

The auburn haired woman collapsed to the ground, a splash of water soaking her as she sobbed… alone.


Byni (Suburb 25 Miles North of Levosta), Ostait Province, Ackesia, October 2012 (8 years earlier)

For the month of October it was a beautiful day, the skies were blue, the weather was not terribly cold, and the breeze coming off the Rosel was agreeable. Many in the small suburb of Byni were out and about socializing and browsing through the town's market as they prepared for one of the many traditional feasts celebrating the beginning of Jubilee (a traditional Ackesian holiday celebrating the victory of King Brack the III over the invading Lunders in 1123). Many families would be feasting that day with relatives, enjoying the love and communion of close family as is tradition in modern Ackesia.

Children played in the streets while their mothers and grandmothers picked fresh produce from the market. Farmers and merchants could barely keep their stocks of fresh hen or ham so long as the crowds kept demanding it. It was a loud chorus of life that day north of the coastal city, many lived for such moments and memories as they passed Acksian cultural heritage to the next generations.

For Julian Reqyn it was a particularly special Jubilee, though his rather stern and uptight expression did not show it. This would be the first such instance of the holiday he would be spending with others, his last memory of such an event when he was barely a toddler. Having been abandoned by his parents at a young age and growing up as a ward of the state, he did not have high expectations for holidays or other instances of tradition or cultural significance. Yet this time felt different to him, no matter how much time he spent denying it, putting up his usual barriers to attachment and emotion.

But from out of sight all of that came down as he caught a glimpse of auburn hair from across the market. He paused for a moment and looked on at them, two girls carrying baskets full of food. They were both beautiful women in their own right, slender yet endowed and had faces that carried a sort of sweet charm. Neither were like the plastic models of magazine fame or the girls often lauded at nightclubs in inner Levosta. They were the girls nextdoor your babushka would not stop talking about.

One caught a glimpse of him and smiled, her bare arm raising up and catching the sun as she waved him over. The other turned as well and nervously waved, her demeanor far more reserved than her sisters, even though they were identical.

Aina and Chiyo were two of three identical girls, better known as triplets. Their identities to a stranger would be indiscernible, but over the year Julian had gotten to know each of their quirks, habits, and differences, enough to really appreciate them like no other.

Julian watched them as he fought to cross through the crowded market, the girls patiently waiting for him on the other side.

A stiff breeze blew up from the west as he approached him, Chiyo’s skirt fluttered up higher than was comfortable for her, arms dashing to control the fabric as Julian caught the slightest glimpse of black lace on her hip.

Face beet red she looked down at the ground as he approached, her sister Aina giggling.

“Hi Julian, isn’t it a nice day out?” Aina looked from Julian to her sister with teasing green eyes. Aina was the empathetic and clever sister, always observant of the other two triplets and their emotions. The narrowed eyed girl even had a knack for catching Julian out from time to time as she peered back to him, studying his expression next to her flushed sister.

Chiyo, eyes closed, gathered herself from such an embarrassing moment. Bringing her hand in front of her she took a deep breath and exhaled as she lowered her palm.

Her eyes popped back open with a brightness unmatched by any other.
“HI!!” She waved to Julian with yet another radiant smile.

“Hey… do you all need any help? Your hands look full.”

“Fu… fu….” Aina waved her hand dismissively. “Like we can’t carry a couple of baskets.” Her tone wounded as she strode up to another stall where an older woman sold bread.

Both Aina and Chiyo, as well as their currently unpresent sister Kei were Julian’s neighbors this last year in a nice apartment building a few blocks from the market. Being somewhat of a loner Julian did not plan to interact much with his trio of beautiful auburn haired neighbors, his introduction to them was casual when he took up occupancy in the unit across from theres. But through constant encounters in the hall, many requests for help from Chyio to reach something too high for her, Aina’s friendly teasing whenever she saw him outside, and Kei’s stern yet caring correction of his casual wardrobe choices, Julian was drawn into their lives.

After months passed of their relationship as neighbors morphing into that of close friends, they too became an important part of his life, the only women really of note around him. As the hear progressed and more of his time was spent in their apartment as they teased, socialized, and fed him. And from there, their relationship started to turn into something else, a feeling these four adults all had.

Julian and Chiyo began to walk down the path as Aina paid for a loaf of artisan bread for their feast.

“Here is your change sweetie.” The old lady handed Aina some coins as she looked over to her identical sister and the man that walked with him.

“Oh boy….” she shook her head and pointed her thumb in their direction. “If I had a stud like that rearranging my guts every day I’d look that happy too!” Her wrinkled face brightened as she cackled.

“Gahh! Ma’am! How… how could you say something so lewd!” Aina blushed as she hurried along to catch up. Chyio looked red again, obviously hearing the old woman's remark as Julian tried to play it off as if he had not heard a thing.

“Boomers…..” Aina shook her head as she held up her nose.

“Ya! Boomers!” Chiyo echoed. An awkward silence fell on the trio for a few long moments until normal conversation resumed as they headed back to their apartment.

A few blocks north Julian and the triplets prepared for the meal they would share. Kei the more serious and stern sister barked out directions as her sisters goofed off, and Julian, fearful of catching a slap on the back of the head did as he was told like a good soldier. Rolling out the crust for the apricot pie he used his muscles, his braun getting the best of him as he made it too thin.

“Julian!” Kei facepalmed as she crumbled up the crust and made him do it again.

“Sorry Kei.” He smiled, once again picking up the roller.

The girls looked on at him softly, all captivated by his smile as he did not give such an expression often. Both Aina and Kei shook it off, smiling at each other as they felt warmed by the unofficial little family they had here. Yet Chiyo did not take her eyes off him, her heart racing a bit as she cracked an egg into a bowl without considering the shell pieces falling in.

“Uhheerrmm.” Kei cleared her throat as she smiled knowingly at her little sister. Chiyo being the youngest by only an hour blushed at the oldest’s perception.

“Breaking news this afternoon as the President of Sylvkia announced today the nationalization of mineral assets in his country, drawing the ire of some in the international community.”

The television was tuned in to the news, this particular piece catching Julian’s ear as he rolled the doe haphazardly.

“But if the Great Powers would seek to exploit, rather than cooperate, than they have no place in our great nation!” Novez’s voice echoed across the apartment.

Julian knew this was not going to end well.

“Border skirmishes have become more frequent between Skylvkia and its neighbor Vlachavia since this announcement, with the Ackesian Foreign Service Department issuing a no-travel order to Ackesian citizens as troop build ups continue along the border. President Ackerman…”

The TV went black as Julian came to the realization he had rolled the doe too thin again.

“Julian…” Kei’s tone was softer this time, though he could tell she was mad, he also could see the worry on the triplet’s faces.

“Sorry.” He hehe’d as he fixed the doe once more and finished it right quick.

An hour later the food was in the oven and the triplets were setting the table inside. Julian however was on the balcony, looking west as he knew his path would soon head there. Never before did he feel such anxiety before a deployment, the special forces soldier always placing duty before self. Yet he now reflected that was so easy to do when you have nothing. In these past months the triplets had become a part of him that anchored his heart somewhere, and now cast a shadow on his heart as it reminds him of his duty.

“Get there and back before breakfast.” He muttered the famous words of his Flank Sergent. He now knew how important those words were.

“Hey.” A soft voice stepped out from the apartment to the balcony with him. Chiyo’s auburn hair fluttered with the wind as she came behind him.

“Hey.” Julian’s heart skipped as he turned to her, taking in the sight of the beautiful girl and her bright green eyes.

“So… you think they will send you?” She stood still, looking off to the side as if to hide the pain in her eyes.

Julian nodded his head, turning up the corner of his mouth as he conveyed the truth of it to her.

“Oh…” a heaviness came over her. She came just a tad closer, a hair’s movement that conveyed more emotion than any words could.

“But I’ll be back. No worries.” He gave her one of those rare smiles as he reassured her. Though Chiyo knew enough of Julian to know that his reassurance comes with stipulations, she still found comfort in it. She knew that where he went was the most dangerous, and no one, not even him could be certain. Only Beo knew.

“Well I uh…” she came closer, an almost awkward distance as the girl fumbled with her words. Inside, unnoticed by Julian and Chiyo, Aina was nudging Kei to pay attention as they watched through the window.

“We uh…” Chiyo leaned forward, her face entering a zone of comfort beyond the one they had already established as close friends. “We will be here… when you get back…” She smiled at him, her eyes watering. “I will be here when you get back…”

Her mouth met his as they kissed, and Julian accepted it without question, as natural as a surprise kiss could hope to be.

Though they all loved him in their own way, and Julian them, Aina and Kei both knew that he and Chiyo were meant for eachother. Each of them brought out the best in each other. Two souls on the same wavelength.

After a few long moments of not coming up for air Kei banged on the glass of the window. Her raps were stern as she was more than a little jealous. Aina merely wore a smile, happier for her sister than any day since they lost their parents when they were young.

“Alright you love birds!” Kei poked her head out the door to the balcony, as both Julian and Chiyo held each other, blushing.
“Time for family dinner.”

Family dinner… words he never thought he would hear in his life. Sitting down together they enjoyed what little time left they had before Julian revisited duty.


-Present Day

“I’m right here for you.” The voice was warm and welcoming, it washed over Julian Reqyn’s mind like a soothing scent, dulling all other senses as he closed his eyes. Sitting on the couch of his living room he listened to his friend speak, its words affirming that his suffering did not have to continue.

“Just come to me, I can end all your pain.” Julian picked up a glass of golden liquid, taking a full swig as he winced at its bitterness.

A tear ran down his cheek, thinking of how useless he was, how utterly pathetic his existence had become.

“This pain…” the voice like a warm hand on the shoulder. “ does not have to continue, embrace me.” It beckoned him.

Clenching his hand he sobbed, his drink spilling on the couch he sat on, his dark apartment filled with the sound of his shaking sorrow.

In his hand he opened it, a picture. The image struck him harder than any hammer, turning his head swiftly away as he clenched his face and sobbed.

“They love you Julian. Even where they are now.” His friend’s voice attempted to reassure, the words echoing around his brain as he attempted to make every excuse for how he was not worth their love.

As he closed his eyes he saw them again. But not in the happy and warm setting of the image, but as he last saw them… dead. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the face of his wife, Chiyo, an expression of horror and pain frozen on it as she sat dead in the driver seat, body contorted from the collision he witnessed first hand, her auburn hair stained in blood. And as deeply painful as that image was and how much it haunts him, it does not compare to the memory of seeing his daughter, Hana.

There his child, on the eve of her fourth birthday was, dead before she could even begin her life. His own child’s face was a picture of horror as the last breaths of life parted her with only enough strength to look at her father. He saw her expression, one of a child not understanding of the permanence that cursed her as her eyes forze forever.

Julian choked on his tears as he opened his eyes and tried to drown it in liquor. His sisters in law, part of the set of triplets his wife came from, could not even bring him out of this darkness. Julian pushed them away, the only family he had in his life, because he only saw his wife when he looked at them, their identical faces haunting him.

“Julian… it's ok, it doesn’t have to be this way.” The voice struck him.

“STOP!!” He yelled, his empty apartment ringing. “Stop…” his voice calmed as he shook his head.
“I hate myself… I hate myself…” he cried, until finally he balled his fist, striking himself on the temple.

He lay there on the couch, a dark abyss set before him as he waited to hear what wisdom his friend could give a man who lost everything, a man who lost his heart and soul.

“Julian… it doesn’t have to be this way.” The voice was closer now, just in front of him. “You don’t have to feel pain… I could take you to them.”

His friend, the loaded standard issue Steyr M assured him safe passage to see his family.

Julian stopped sobbing for a moment, his heart beginning to race as he thought about it. He was not a religious man before this, no hope for an afterlife ever really stuck to him as he grew up in the orphanages of the north part of the country. But if there was any hope of seeing Chiyo and Hana again, any hope to leave this pain behind, he had to take it.

Taking one last sip of drink, the warm liquid washing down his throat like fire. He picked up the sidearm issued to him, the round already in the chamber. He held it in his palm for a long moment as he felt its weight. Julian had fired it many times before, both in training and in war, yet there was an extra heaviness to it tonight. There were no more tears in his eyes as he contemplated what he must do.

“Embrace me.” It told him in that singsong voice, a reassurance that all the pain would soon be gone. In that moment the thoughts of those that still lived were not in his mind, both Kei and Aina, his wives fellow triplets would surely despair at his death and blame themselves. Those that did not know him would call him selfish taking his own life, pitying his situation but pinning his despair as unnecessary. Yet when he held the pistol he did not think of these things, no person in the abyss of suffering ill enough to come this close to claiming their own life would consider themselves selfish. Only egotists would dare pin that on the sick after they had already perished, if only those who so boldly spoke could be there to assure him everything would be fine now.

Julian had seen enough of his comrades claim their lives, haunted by wars or loss. He sat through the trainings the brass thought prevented this, if only a signature acknowledging the training erased the darkness in him. No one was coming for Julian, no one was bold enough to look him in the eye and say he was worth something. Kei and Aina would be better off without him to worry about.

It was decided, turning the pistol he pressed the barrel to his throat, his eyes closing to think of one last happy memory with Chiyo and Hana, his finger finding the trigger.


His cell rang on the counter behind him. It sung a tune of vibrations assigned to only one person.

Taking a deep breath he made a split second decision, it was either pull the trigger or put it down.

Julian couldn’t find it in him, he exhaled as he lowered the gun, wincing as he sobbed for a moment as his phone beckoned him in a real way, unlike his gun.

A loud tap on the table and his “friend” was back in its place.

“Another time perhaps.”

Drunkenly Julian stumbled to his phone, almost falling over as the blood rushed to his throbbing head.

On the phone a name “Tom” lit up as it sang a diddy that he assigned to the contact. Swiping right he answered.

“Yeah…” his voice raspy.

“Whoa brother you alright? You’re not drinking alone again are you?” A real friend questioned on the other side.

“What else are leave passes for.” His tone so matter of fact his friend did not know how to take it.

After a brief moment of contemplation Tom went on with his reason for calling.
“Well sober up buttercup. All leave has been canceled. Contact your chain of command and initiate a recall, we have orders to spin up in 12 hours.”

“Ah… didn’t realize this was a pleasure call.” Julian looked at his unshaven and unkept self in the mirror as he stroked his face. Bloodshot eyes looked back at him as he tried to peel himself away from his isolated reality.

“I have a feeling you weren't sitting on the beach enjoying yourself anyways.” His friend knew enough about Julian to understand his past and how it affected his present. But he did not know enough to be concerned.

“That it Sir?” Tom was the executive officer of their battalion, and Julian merely a company commander.

“Yeah that's it.” The voice turned a bit more serious. “Clean yourself up man, I can smell the whiskey through the phone. We can talk on the way if you want.”

Julian remained silent.

“Alright, well… see you soon cap’.”

“Roger.” Julian hung up the phone and grabbed the counter, hanging his head.

What was one more mission? He asked himself as he looked back over to his friend on the table. Just one more act of duty before the end.

Julian retired to his room to sleep off this binge, mustering the energy to clean himself up tomorrow and report into his unit.

A day later, Palace of Avondale

Trinity sat at her desk, her head held high as she looked down at the paper before her, pen in hand once more. A new declaration of government, one with stipulations to the Princess’ liking. A full activation of emergency personnel to tackle growing poverty and homelessness. Money from both the Principality and Avondale Family charity flowing to emergency funds to feed and shelter her people. Strategies to put those who were able back to work on civil projects, and best of all a new First Minister.

Constaintin Valeriu, the son of a landed noble with old ties to the north of the principality and up and coming young Royalist Party politician knelt on the opposite side of her desk, head lowered as he presented his Princess with articles solidifying a sustainable plan of action to save the Principality of Avondale.

“My princess.” He said it suave enough to make Trinity want to puke. “I come to you humbled to be nominated by the party as your First Minister. Your words and actions over the course of this crisis have been an inspiration to me and my political career.” His eyes wandered back up to Trinity, drawing over her face and shoulders.

She was skeptical that this man really was inspired by her words, rather than being inspired by an advantageous situation. The young Princess had yet to fully adapt to reading people, her experience being played before in the past months. Yet a Delegate to the National Diet with a healthy political career in Beldon returning to Avondale to demote himself to a provincial parliament seemed like an odd choice. Her suspicions suggested it had more to do with a handsome young nobleman wanting to work closely to an unwed Princess.

Narrowing her eyes as she looked at both him and pen. Beside him were Vasile and other staff and politicians, most of which were new faces as those partied to the last such signing resigned, all smiled and nodded encouragement to her.

Taking the pen she placed her signature at the bottom of the declaration. To finish, her handmaids poured hot wax at the bottom and handed her the seal of her house.

“Thank you Anya, thank you Petra.” She stamped the violet wax with the bird of prey that signified her house and position.

“And thank you First Minister, I hope the parliament’s deliberations are short on these measures.” Trinity’s voice was firm yet still had a hint of nervousness to them. She had the confidence that her path was righteous, yet her vigor and charisma needed to catch up.

Constantin stood up before her and smiled, his white teeth meant to melt her girlish sensibilities.
“I serve at the pleasure of the princess.” He bowed at the waist, before turning about and exiting with his staff and fellow members of parliament.

Trinity exhaled, her stomach fluttering with both girlish lust and equal parts skepticism. Her heart had not yet healed from the events of the past month, it would take more than a handsome man of noble and political fame to break down the walls she was building inside of her. Though as she watched him walk down the hall she wondered…

“He is a good choice for the position my Princess.” Vasile walked beside her to reassure that she made the right choice. “It is a good sign that parliament wants to make way for a new generation of leadership, much like yourself.”

Anya, dressed in violet and black dress came beside Trinity and rubbed her shoulder soothingly. Her handmaidens both had become some of the few people she felt she could rely on, or even confide in. Often they comforted her as she bore the weight of her family’s death and her new role as Princess.

“He seems… nice, in a very polished way… like a boot.” Petra jested as she poured Trinity some tea.

“Petra…” Vasile scolded her.

“Vasile.” Trinity waved a hand to protect her friend and handmaid. “My handmaidens you assigned to me are free to tell me their feelings.” Trinity smiled at Petra as the girl crossed the study with a teacup and saucer, smirking like she just got in trouble with a teacher.

“It is also important you take those connections you have that have political power seriously.” Vasile walked towards the window of the study that overlooked the front of the palace and the parade ground.

It did not take long for the commotion of the front parade grounds to register with him, the guards running up to the gate. As the sun set over the ancient city, a line of Ackesian Army APCs and other various wheeled vehicles sat in front of the Palace of Avondale, soldiers dismounting and taking up positions around the gate as they shouted at the palace guards.

“Princess… wait here.” Vasile dismissed himself, rushing out of the Princess’s study and running down the hall.

Trinity stood up and looked behind her, peeling back the curtains and finding armored vehicles at her doorstep. Wayland FV99s with large 30mm chain guns dominated the mainstreet of the city leading up to the palace, residents gathering around the long column to denounce their presence loudly as the soldiers advanced.

“My lady perhaps you should step away from the window.” Petra said as she sat the tea down on her desk.

Trinity grimaced, she knew they could not kill her, that would be war. But they could keep her locked in here under the guise of security.

“Ackerman…” she cursed his name.

On the parade ground Vasile quickly stepped towards the gate where Royal Guards and soldiers came face to face in a shouting match. Between the bars he could see several Army officers holding papers and pointing furiously at the ornately decorated guardsmen.

“These are orders, straight from Beldon, we are here to provide anti-terrorism security. Internal Security has deemed this Palace a target.” A Commandant (Ackesian major rank equivalent) shouted.

“What is the meaning of all of this.” Vasile parted the guardsmen as he approached with a dignified annoyance.

“Ah thank beo, good, someone in charge.” He readjusted his shoulders and prepared to repeat himself a fourth time.
“We are here under order-“

“We do not recognize the presence of western troops within the city.” Vasile interrupted. “This is a clear violation of the treaty.” He turned his nose as he reminded the officer of the treaty signed between the Ackesian Democratic Front and the Royals decades ago that precluded western forces from entering the city of Avondale proper, unless under wartime necessity.

“This specifically cites the necessity of anti-terrorism related activities with regards to a war on internal terror threats.” Another voice, a captain, pointed out with a sense of annoyance but also calm. Vasile looked the man over, his eyes weary and face marked with the ills of life.
“So captain… Reqyn…” Vasile condescendingly read his name tape. “I presume you are here to interpret law for us?”

Julian turned up the corner of his mouth, this old man was getting on his nerves. In fact if he wanted to he could, his studies at university did include International Relations and treaties.
“Sir there is little interpretation needed, we are here to provide for the security of the Princess and those who reside in and around the palace, what concern-“

“There is no interpretation needed Sir.” A voice from behind came forward, an older wrinkled man wearing the rank of Colonel on his collar stepped in front of his subordinates.

Vasile stood tall, a disgusted expression crossing his face.
“Indeed Colonel, is that why the President sends war criminals to provide security, Colonel Teofil?” He referenced the man before him’s record during the civil war, an Ackesian Democratix Front commander known for his cruelty.

The Colonel chuckled, spitting out a wad of chew through the gates.

Above them the whirls of a helicopter kicked up a breeze, the news outlets of Ackesia capturing footage of the armored column in the streets leading to the ancestral home of the royal family.

Pointing upwards he wagged his finger.
“See that, neither of us want that.” He looked to Vasile, a stoned cold expression shared between both men.

Julian recognized the deep seated hatred the two men shared, a hatred that could never be taught. Only these two men standing here were old enough to be around for the war. Everyone else just had to be told stories of it, their perception taught by whichever side had influence over them. The man who only a day earlier held his life at the end of his own pistol tsked at the thought that this pointless grudge was one day going to cause bloodshed once more.

“Yea those cameras are probably playing in every household across Ackesia, the whole of the nation holding on to their breath as they watch another war start before them.” The Colonel’s smirk was loaded with ill will. The shouts of Avondale citizens protesting the Ackesian Army presence beginning to get louder.

“No matter your justification, I still will not allow-“

“Vasile.” The soft voice of a woman came from behind the richly dressed noble.

Julian’s eyes furrowed, watching as the Royal Guards part as a blonde girl came between them.

“My Princess… you shouldn’t…”

“Vasile, let them in.” The guards and her chief of staff looked to protest as their brows moistened.
“We don’t harbor ill-will towards our Ackesian brothers here.” The girl’s expression was sincere, and wise as she addressed the trio of officers.

Julian had heard of Princess Trinity, mostly what he caught in the news when he cared enough or was sober enough to watch. He never had strong opinions on public figures, it was all neither here nor there to him. Yet he supposed for her to come out here to the gate and speak peace to her men when she could have taken a position of privilege inside where it was safe took some fortitude.

The colonel chuckled at this turn of events, Julian knew his commanding officer served on the side opposite this girl’s forebears. But Julian also knew none of those forebears were here now. He studied her face, as soft as it was there also was sadness, an emotion Julian recognized well. There was a brief moment where their eyes met, Julian wanted to believe it was their own darknesses acknowledging one another as they communed for a long moment, eyes locked.

Before long she turned, her eyes leaving his as she retired back to the palace.

Julian stood there for a long moment, an odd feeling inside of him that he could not come to terms with.

“Eyes front soldier.” Commandant Tom Horea slapped the back to the captain’s head. He studied his friend’s face wondering if there were really any good words to say to him right now. They had a brief talk about what Julian had been going through since his wife and child’s death, but Julian did not tell him even half of it, or what his phone call stopped him from doing.

Tom stood with his hands on the sides of his interceptor vest as the gates to the palace opened and the APCs began to roll in to form a perimeter.
“Did you see that ass though?” Tom awkwardly interjected, subtly enough the Royal Guards standing near could not hear.

Julian looked over at his friend, his face judgemental as he squinted his eyes.

Laughing Tom gave his friend a good punch in the shoulder. They had many tours of duty together under all sorts of commands, so he knew how uptight this guy was.

Julian however kept his cards close to hand, wondering how long he could hold himself together during this duty.
Last edited by Achesia on Fri Feb 19, 2021 8:33 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Fri Jan 29, 2021 6:50 am

The halls of the Palace of Avondale were quiet that evening, an erry meleconcoly filling the air as staff members whispered fears of the worst to each other. They all put on a brave face, trying to act as if nothing was wrong as the Princess passed them, but she knew the same fear lingered in them as it did she. The radio chirps and voices of the men of the 6th Mechanized Battalion echoed around Trinity’s ear as she prepared to retire for the evening. Having finalized their arrival at her home they agreed to only perform their “security” duties on the first floor and around the perimeter of the building.

Despite there being some distance, and her own Royal Guardsmen between her and them, she felt their presence there was more than some kindness. It was not lost on Trinity that Ackerman’s hand now extended to where she lay her head, to her own lands that she presided over. Given it was close to the election he could not make a move in the near term, but should he win the election was there any guarantee he would just leave? Her words must have angered Ackerman at such a level he would take such measures. If any of the stories her father or Vasile told her about the ruthless man who led the Ackesian Democratic Front during the civil war were true, he did not let go of grudges.

“Milady, are you alright?” Petra who walked to her left eyed the Princess. No therapist was needed to see the strain on the young Princess’ face, the creases caused by the sorrow of losing her family and now the fear of Ackerman’s men in her home.

Hours earlier she bravely stood up to her advisors and guards and spoke peace to the soldiers who came to hold her hostage, letting them into her home. Now her base fears have caught up to that decision, her hand shaking as she walked down the hall to her chambers.

“Mmhmm.” Trinity scarce could look over to her handmaiden.

Petra and Anya exchanged a glance, worry besetting them as their princess and friend degraded before them.

Arriving at the doors to her chamber, Trinity stopped and held the handle.

“Thank you ladies, I’m quite tired so I think I will turn in.” She cracked her door, meaning to sneak in.

Anya and Petra opened the door further, holding the princess by her waist they pushed her inside the dark room.

“Heaaayya!” Trinity protested as she stumbled inside.

Both Anya and Petra were silent, leading her to the edge of her bed and sitting her down.

“Milady, it's just us now, the world isn't watching you. Just me and Petra, your friends.” Anya rested her hand on the small of Trinity’s back reassuringly.

Trinity took a long moment, not saying any words as the trio sat together in stillness. It took little time for her to disrobe from the guise she wore about herself, the defiant princess that was taking on the world and carrying the strength of the Ackesian people.

As she finally stripped away the last part of her mask that concealed her, she morphed into the frightened girl that existed underneath. Trinity began to shake, first taking her face in her hands and then burying it in Petra’s shoulder. What was she doing? Trinity wondered if anything she had done today or the past series of days had been the right thing. She acted on impulse and out of some naive self righteous exhibition, but those were the very same impulses that got her family killed a month ago.

The guilt still racked her from that day, watching her family's remains burn in that car before her eyes. The image of the bright flames burnt into her memory no matter how fast her guards pulled her away from the window. Should she not have been a foolish girl would they still be alive?

Anya rubbed her back as she sobbed, both handmaidens nodding to each other as they comforted their friend. The trio had grown much closer together since they met, all close in age they had a special bond. Trinity often broke down like this, in the shadows when only Petra and Anya were listening. Yet they also knew the Princess still put up barriers, even to them. They took it upon themselves to always break those down when they saw them.

“Sweet sweet princess.” Petra stroked the blonde locks of her head. “You did the right thing today.”

“No… I hate myself.” Trinity said through the sobbing.

“Don’t say that, you only blame yourself. A blame that isn't fair. Speaking the truth to power is often a dangerous thing, but if not you who else would do it.” She reminded Trinity of what Anya had said before, the fact that Trinity had a voice like no one else did.

“No…” Trinity growled, sitting up from Petra’s shoulder and grabbing her own hair. She pulled her head down by her locks, shrieking as her legs flailed.
“They are dead! All of them! Dead! Dead because of me, my family, the students, the protestors, all because I said some stupid things on signpost.” Trinity screamed, her heart aching as her darkness took hold of her.

Anya and Petra nodded at eachother once more. Petra grabbed Trinity by both shoulders. The Princess, surprised, let go of her hair as the handmaiden pushed her back on the bed and straddled her waist.

“Princess…” Petra wiped the tears from her cheek as she sat over her. Trinity calmed for a moment, wondering why she was on the bed, her handmaiden on top of her. Anya simply sat to the side, giving Trinity a comforting smile as she took hold and squeezed her hand.

“You are our hero Trinity.” Anya told her as she leaned closer to her face. Not because you are a big strong woman who speaks out without fear, but because you are a girl like us, terrified of the world but vocal nonetheless.”

Trinity sniffled, her heart warming slightly to hear such things, but her despair lingering nonetheless. She felt Petra’s weight shift slightly on her, the handmaiden laying atop her as both of their faces go closer.

“You are a song that we will always sing. Until we are old we will always remember our service to the great Trinity Avondale.” Petra’s warm words began to prickle the skin of Trinity’s neck as her lips lightly caressed the Princess’s skin under her jaw.

Trinity’s head turned, allowing itself to be embraced as her eyes fixed on Anya, still glistening from the tears.

“One day our children will hear the stories about how you saved Ackesia.” Anya’s hands ran through Trinity’s hair as a sharp gasp erupted from her mouth, Petra’s kisses sending a shiver up her spine.

Anya leaned in, pressing her plump lips against Trintiy’s, warmly taking in their fullness as the handmaidens both placed their affections on her. Soon Anya left her lips, sinking behind Petra and out of sight.

Trinity looked for Anya as she let Petra have unbridled access to her neck. She only found her as she felt the warmth of her legs stolen by the cold air, but soon replaced by her handmaiden’s warmth between them.

Trinity sharply gasped as all her fears melted away, her body loosening as she lay back in bliss. This was not to say that her demons had left her, but rather through the efforts of her friends they were kept at bay for one more day.

Moments like these were her only escape from the horrors of reality and the expectations of the world. Yet her dreams were still plagued by those bright flames of death.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Sat Jan 30, 2021 9:24 pm

Presiding over the darkness he stood looming amongst the fields of grey, at his left a ram, its horns spiraled into many lengths as its chest puffed out with braun. On his right hand a dove, white of feather it coo’ed, feathery bosom rising and falling as its small black eyes fixed on the ram.

The judge lifted his arms, his grey flesh and darkened face an judgemental presence, yet indiscernible in recognition. His hands outstretched he signaled for the two to begin with a deafening clap, the beasts both prepared to fight as the sounds of natural war erupted from their throats. The ram made to pull at the ground with his cloven hooves, lowering its large rack to bear on the dove. The dove in turn merely held out its wings, the length of its white feathers glowing against the dark as it stood proudly.

A loud billowing and throaty bleat came from the ram as it set upon the dove, its hooves trotting against the dry grey dust, a cloud enveloping all in its wake. The indiscernible but ever present judge simply looked on from above, its face screened by a queer shade that blocked out all sight. It seemed to enjoy the spectacle of the ram charging at the defiant dove, the bird unmoved as it faced certain death on the end of the rams rack.

As the ram approached, its victory certain, an invisible hand cut away at the bleating creature. First its horns fell from its head, the ram now without the power of its kind. Yet it still charged forward, albeit faster knowing its skull ultimately can crush the dove without concern. The creatures eyes bore the determination of murder, despite iniment injury to itself.

Next its hind legs, cut away as the blood coated its fur. The ram cried out, cursing its luck as its front legs dragged his remaining body forward, in denial that its time had come to pass on, determined to kill. The dove stood its ground without movement as the ram was only inches away from him.

Finally the final blow was landed as the ram sat before the dove, weary it fell to its belly, bleating in finality as its head was severed from its body. Blood splattered over the white dove as it kept its wings outstretched, the crimson ruining the purity of the divine creature.

The battle had been won by the most unlikely, the dove standing victorious over the body of the ram as it took in the praises of distant horns beyond the void. Yet despite this, it still was blood soaked, a dimension of itself stolen forever without return.

Above it all the presiding deity admired the skeptical, its large hands coming together in a single clap that sent blinding light across the fields of grey.

Julian covered his eyes, the flash beyond that of a star as he was kept prisoner to this mccabe theater. Wincing he could not make sense of if, the light slowly fading as he made note the presider and purveyor of this battle had disappeared along with the echos of his gratitude to the combatants. It would be many moments until his eyes adjusted once more to the darkness, the light fading as he tried to make sense of the grey void he found himself in.

When he could finally see once more he saw her, the girl coated in light as she lay on the ground. He knew it was her, the princess there on the ground, nude and sleeping next to the severed goat's head. Painstakingly he tried to move forward, demanding of his limbs to be brought close enough to see her. Moving at a fraction of his pace he neared, the glowing bare body of the girl rising and falling with each faint breath she took.

Soon as he was just a meter away she rose up, propping her upper body up with her hands as she looked around dazed. Julian tried to call to her, his voice empty as only his lips moved in futility. The girl conscious of her nakedness grabbed the ram’s head, covering her breasts as blood ran down her abdomen. Her eyes steeped in confusion as her mind pieced together what was before her, only the rams head covering her dignity.

Julian reached out his hand, as if pulling her away would save her from this void. In turn he saw the Princess’ hand raise with the same eagerness, begging to be saved from this hell.


Julian woke in a cold sweat, heaving as he felt the warm air around him in the canvas tent. Grabbing the cloth of his fatigues over his chest he sat up straight in his cot, heaving as he made peace with his surroundings. A few junior officers opposite him in the tent stopped what they were doing, one in the midst of tying his boot laces gave him a sideways look.

“Sir?... are you alright?” He said as they all stared.

Julian took a long deep breath, balling his fist that he held over his chest he drove it into his leg in jest to himself, shaking his head as he wondered what in the hell he just saw.

“Yeah I’m alright. Fuck it.”

The junior officers, members of Julian’s company looked at each other perplexed as they watched their commander don the rest of his uniform and rapidly leave their sleeping tent.

Once outside, in a make-shift camp near the back of the Palace of Avondale, Julian took a deep breath in as he grabbed his chest once more. He could not make peace with what he just saw, or why the girl was in his dream. He was not a stranger to lucid dreams, his demons often meeting him in the everworld of night when he closed his eyes. But it was never like that, never so vivid.

Looking at his watch he figured he was up early enough to get some chow before reporting in to the command post for the morning, shaking his head along the way as he tried to forget everything he had just dreamt.

A half hour later Julian turned up in the command post with a tray of scrambled powdered eggs, processed link sausages, and a biscuit, not stopping to eat in peace as much work was to be done to refine security rotations. Opening the flap to the command tent he pushed his way in, the air conditioned area smelt of rubber and diesel as he nodded to the yeoman before proceeding to the command area.

“Eyyyo Cap’” Tom waved as he sat legs and arms crossed in a folder chair, leaned back as a cup of coffe balanced between his interceptor vest and his hand. Colonel Teofil stood near him with his own cup, a egoistical smirk across his dried and wrinkled face that Julian came to expect.

“Ah, Captain Reqyn.” His battalion commander addressed him, tipping his coffee cup to him as an informal way of hello.

“Good morning sir.” Julian dispensed with the pleasantries, not terribly fond of his commander since his assignment to their battalion. Teofil had a certain reputation amongst army units, mostly for doing what the hell he wanted when he wanted. For being a commander of the Ackesian Democratic Front nearly 30 years ago it was amazing that he had not made general, yet incredibly obvious why. Teofil was a bull dog of sorts. Someone who was sent on very specific missions in which shit just needed to be tore up. And thats why Julian furrowed his brows the moment he heard he would be in command of this security mission.

“Heh, so anyway that fucking prick there at the gate.” Teofil’s voice raspy from the many cigarettes he smoked since the war. “I remember him quite well when we rolled into the eastern territories still held by the royals…”

Julian, who knew his history, recalled the death toll amongst the civilians when the Ackesia Democratic Front “rolled in” under Teofil’s command.

“...he was just a small time adjutant back then, but it seems now he has weaseled his way up to the top.”

Julain’s Commandant friend nodded as he took in all the stories from the war. Julian however took it with a grain of salt as the Colonel was known for his big flowery words about himself.

“... and now he is working for that little bitch.” Teofil tsked as he shook his head.

Julian’s face was a picture of indigence, Teofil’s tone not quite sitting right with him.

“What's wrong Captain….” The old wrinkly man caught on to his subordinate’s expression.

“Nothing sir.”

“Oh?” Teofil looked to Tom, the Commandant looking uncomfortable.
“What you one of those gentlemanly types don’t like to say the b-word?” He put a boot up on the table and leaned over towards Julian.
“You think she's got a nice ass and tits and don’t wanna hear her talked about that way?” Teofil continued to peel back the layers he fictionalized in his mind.
“Or maybeeee, you hear her spouting off and are questioning your allegiance?” Teofil’s brow furrowed as he sized up the man before him.

Tom stood up, coming between the two.
“Sir, Captain Reqyn here is one of the best soldiers I’ve ever served with. We served a tour in Sylvka together years ago with group. There is no man more loyal than he is.” Tom pat his friend on the back as he tried to defuse the situation.

Teofil smirked, shrugging he took his boot off the table, leaving dirt on the edge as he paced around the back of the room.
“I’m just jillin with you Reqyn.” Teofil winked. “But see your loyalty stays that way. The royal upstairs there is nothing but a self entitled whore who takes in all they claim is their’s… just like her daddy and her daddy’s daddy.” His voice dripped with disdain as he walked to his own work area near the back of the tent.

“Sir, I will proceed along my duties then.” Julian stood to attention and then turned to leave.

Pushing his way out of the tent he heard Tom follow behind closely, he stopped and turned to hear his friend out.

With a deep sigh Tom put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
“He's a… a bit rough around the edges.” Tom said so half heartedly.

“He is a loose cannon. Does command know what they sent out here?” Julian came close to his friend, their tones hushed.

“Why do you think we are out here Julian?”

“Security, anti-terrorism, protect the girl.” Julian stated it matter of fact.

Tom shook his head, a look of disbelief crossing his face.
“Have you been under a rock the past few months Julian?” He looked his friend in the eye with a seriousness reserved for the most tense of moments.
“That girl has been causing a lot of problems for the government, stirring up a lot of shit. I have it on good authority Ackerman picked Teofil himself to come out here, they were buddies during the war and all.”

Julian stepped back, wiping his face and shaking his head.
“Fuck, Tom.”

“Yea thats right man, fuck. So why do you think we are out here?”

Julian began to walk away.
“Julian?!” Tom called after him.

“Fuck it Commendant, I don’t play games, I don’t play poltitics.” Julian didn’t know what to believe anymore.

Tom shook his head. His friend really was naive.


Julian marched through the first floor of the palace on his regular rounds checking on the guards at various stations. It amazed him just how massive the maze of halls in the Palace of Avondale was as he wandered them. Carrying a clipboard in one hand and his helmet under the other, the Captain admired the decor and artistry of it all, the effort that must have been put in to assemble such a structure at a time when little to no technology existed to do so.

Through the course of his admiration, he did not notice his wandering had led him from his intended path, beyond the security zone they were assigned. Turning a corner, he found himself face to face with a familiar blonde girl, one he just reached out to in the void of his terrible dream.

Trinity Avondale froze at the sight of him, her eyes wide as Julian thought for a moment he saw a tremble in her arms. But before he could apologize for his mistake, the two handmaidens to the Princess made known their displeasure.

“This is not a place you all have been welcomed.” The brown haired girl in a formal violet dress snapped as she stepped in front of Trinity. She looked angry, in contrast to Trinity’s thinly veiled fear.

“I think you should go back the way you came.” The other spirited handmaid snarled.

Julian threw up his hands in surrender, trying to don an apologetic smile as he backed away slowly. It was truly an unfortunate mistake, and he honestly could not blame the Princess for being fearful, not after he heard how Teofil spoke about her. He supposed the feeling was mutual between them, the two opposing sides of the coin in Ackesia. Trinity surely would never wish to cross paths with a soldier of the republic.

As he started to turn away he studied her face, only the second time he had seen her in person she didn’t seem as big and mighty as she was made out to be in the tv. To him, she looked like a scared girl, a wonder that so much fear and doubt was cast over her presence in Ackesian discourse.

“Anya… Petra…” A shaken voice sprung, their raised hairs and tense expressions towards him relaxing. “He means us no harm, it's just a mistake… right… captain?” Trinity sized up the man before her, again their eyes meeting. Instead of a chance look between strangers like a few days ago at the gates, there was a queer familiarty to how she looked upon him. A surprise was written on her face much like Julian felt when he ran into her.

“Indeed my lady, I apologize.” Julian bowed his head out of respect as he backed away. There was something more to her than a scared girl he supposed, something she conveyed to him with her eyes, purposefully or not.

Turning about, he made his way to where he was supposed to be, far from the fear and disruption he nearly caused. Turning a few more corners however, his path was soon blocked by yet another familiar face, the nobleman from the gate that greeted them in a rather unwelcoming way.

“If it isn't the man who wishes to interpret treaties to fit his government’s agenda.” Vasile looked down his nose at the army officer.

“Apologies, Sir Vasile, but I did study International Relations and Law at university. It is the exact reasoning Beldon sent us to provide secur-“

“Do you really expect us to believe you are all here to protect her?” The nobleman looked upon him skeptically, his eyes drawing upon emotional cues of Julian.

Julian wanted to respond yes, that was their mandate and as far as he was concerned it was his mission. But could he really look Vasile in the eye and tell him that was everyone's intention? His duty would see him say yes, believe us for we are here in peace. But his heart would have him speak the truth, much like he knew Trinity has over the course of months.

“No…” Julian shook his head as he looked off to a piece of art hanging on the wall. “No, there is history here, on all sides.” He looked Vasile in the eyes, a plea of sincerity in his own. “I wouldn’t expect you to rest easy when they send someone like Teofil. Someone who you know well from the war.” Julian again was reminded of the many war crimes committed by the ADF in the eastern parts of the country, those that are conveniently left out of most textbooks.

Julian did not know why he was being this upfront with a man that looks down on him from his nose. This was a serious breach of protocol, but what else did he have to lose? Just days ago he was planning to blow his own head off, ending a painful chapter of life that he never wanted to risk feeling again. So what did it matter if he was honest here, duty be damned.

Vasile stood silently listening as he wondered why this man would be so upfront.
“I don’t know all that is at play here Sir. But I do know one thing, it is that I didn’t come here with ill intent. If I joined the army for any reason it was to protect those of my countrymen that wanted to speak out. So why should the Princess be different? So in that regard, yes I am here to protect her, and everyone in this building, even if it's from people like Teofil...”

Julian bowed his head once more, Vasile nodding in return as he walked around the nobleman and out of the area he should not have been in that first place. All the while he wondered if he had said too much, doubt and fear besetting his mind.

Just meters from this discussion a door was cracked, and a girl with blonde hair watched the exchange while listening to every word from the strange soldier. A lump in Trinity’s throat grew as she watched him walk away, the man who reached out to her in the void of her dream as she clenched the bloody rams head to her chest. She grabbed her chest, it felt heavy to breath as her heart beat rapidly.

If he was there, in the void, but here with Ackerman’s men. What part in all of this did he have to play?

Sinking against the wall in the room she hid, Trinity pondered the meaning, the man’s face burnt into her as he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the light.
Last edited by Achesia on Sat Jan 30, 2021 9:46 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Mon Feb 01, 2021 9:40 am


Protest and Counter Protests Outside the Palace of Avondale
Shania Blythe (@OBSBlyth)
31 March, 2020| Aatream, Produzland


The division between western and eastern Ackesia has been a prominent scar on the country's political landscape since the civil war that ended in 1989. This divide can be characterized by both largely urban in the west with largely rural populations in the east, religious divisions between Recantism/Non-religious in the west and Verro/Folk Religions in the east, and finally the most notable division in Ackesia being loyalty to the royal family. Tensions in the 3 decades since the war had been largely cauterized allowing for Ackesia to grow as an economic juggernaut of energy in eastern Lira, but the recent recession has reopened old wounds.

Nowhere in Ackesia is that more evident than in the Principality of Avondale tonight as protestors converged on the Palace of Avondale, the former seat of Ackesian government and current seat of the Princess of Avondale who oversees the Governing of the semi-autonomous Principality. It has been over a week since Ackesian Army units converged on the Palace following the car bombing of the late Prince Deon, his wife and two sons. Spokespersons for the Army have stated the Army’s deployment is to provide for anti-terrorism supoort around what was classified as a likely target for future poltical violence.

Pro-Trinity Avondale demonstrators (known widely as Violetists) vehemently disagreed with that sentiment, converging on the Palace of Avondale to show solidarity with the Princess in what they call an imprisonment for being a political dissenter to President Ackerman in the days leading up to the election. It is hard to argue with this assumption as the Palace has not been able to be contacted for statements with regards to these claims by demonstrators, instead Army spokesmen have been acting as the middlemen saying that the Princess desires privacy during these difficult times.

But what makes this situation unique to the hundreds of violent demonstrations throughout Ackesia that have been ongoing for the weeks leading up to the election? Unlike most protests this one has its own counter protest which started this evening outside the palace.

Hundreds of pro-Ackesian Democratic Union (party of current President Zachariah Ackerman) also converged on the Palace this evening, bitter verbal confrontations flaring up with their antithesis Vilotist demonstrators. It is hard to say where these protestors come from, in several interviews with the protestors that would cooperate, they said they were bussed in from all around Ackesia. Their motivation is clear, to tell Trinity Avondale that she is not welcome in the political discourse of Ackesia, and counter those that would speak ill of incumbent President Ackerman.
Princess Trinity Avondale at her last public appearance on Morgan Branson.

“This is a free Ackesia! The people over there that support that b****h, they ain’t welcome in Ackesia.” One protestor wearing a “Beo and Guns” shirt under his overalls screamed at international reporters.

It is worth pointing out these ADU protestors also were rather hostile to any press outside those of state sponsored outlets. Most would not speak to the Observer or other outlets they deem to be influencing the election against President Ackerman.

“I fought in the war.” A Vilotist demonstrator said. “I remember things like this, when we face off against people speaking just like them.” The demonstrator yelled and pointed at the ADU protests across from him. “I’m not afraid to do it again.”

Avondale Police have erected a barrier between both demonstrators but are stretched thin as clashes between smaller groups have begun happening throughout the city. Meanwhile Army spokespersons at the Palace have said they will remain under full lockdown for the safety of the Princess and those working there.

“She has spoken the truth they don’t want to hear!” A woman wearing a homemade shirt emblazoned with Trinity’s photo. “They will not let her speak! They fear her!”

Much of the pro-Trinity crowd are concerned for the Princess’ safety, surrounded by Ackerman’s men in a pseudo-siege. Many expressed anger about the situation, but are faced with superior military firepower.

Tension builds by the minutes as both camps seem
set to clash.

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©The Observer, 2020


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Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Mon Feb 01, 2021 1:16 pm

Nighttime in the ancient city of Avondale was usually a quiet affair, the central portion of the old city mostly closed at 8pm and nightlife existed in other outlying districts. Yet ss Commandant Thomas “Tom” Ruzandra made his way into the command post that evening, the surrounding ambiance was sound and fury.

It was earlier that afternoon when the protestors on both sides descended on the Palace. For now they seemed content to just yell at each other from afar as police tried to keep space between the two groups. Thus far their police contact told the battalion executive officer they did not need army assistance, but Tom knew it was going to come sooner or later.

“Evening sir.” The Yeoman popped tall as the Commandant entered the command tent.

“As you were soldier. The Colonel over here?” Tom motioned over to the command and staff area of the tent.

The young yeoman nodded, sitting back down in his chair and tending to his log.

Walking back past folding desks, hellish folding chairs, laptops, papers, and the occasional cardboard cup of stiff coffee, Tom found his way to the commanding officer who requested to speak with him.

“Sir.” Tom announced himself as he walked towards Teofil’s desk.

“Ah good, Commandant.” He motioned to a stiff and comfortless metal chair opposite him. The command tent was quiet as most of the staff were on stand-too during this time, bolstering their presence around the perimeter.
“Say Tom, you're an A-D-U guy yourself right?” The colonel suggested which political party Tom was related to as he tended to a wad of chew in his cheek. The Ackesian Democratic Union (ADU) that he mentioned being the majority party in Ackesia.

Tom’s eyes shifted wondering where this was going, but decided to entertain his question given the propensity of older folks to venture towards political discussion.

“Err yessir. Ever since I first registered to vote.”

“Oh yea? Well good man.” Teofil nodded, his lips curling in an approving way as he nodded.
“I’m an ADU guy myself, been that way since the war as you know…”

It was no surprise to Tom since Teofil was one of the more notorious members of the Ackesian Democratic Front, the predecessor to the ADU.

“I wanted to ask you something… errr off the record, between two patriots.”

Tom nodded, hearing the colonel out. He was still a very highly respected member of the Army.

“Of course sir, anything.”

“Good that's what I like to hear.” Teofil leaned forward, looking down the long tent seemingly to check if they were alone. His raspy tone came to a whisper as he continued.
“You know this outfit best, I was just assigned here after all.” He shrugged. “I need you to get me about two dozen true sons of Ackesia together. You know, men like us.” His tone heavily implying ADU members. “Just have em ready, you know on standby in case they are needed. But make sure they don’t breathe a word about it.” Teofil leaned back, confident this subordinate would carry this task out.

“What's the mission sir?” Tom blankly asked.

Teofil lips curled in a more displeasing way.
“Just have em ready Commandant, the mission will come later.” He let the last few words roll off his tongue slowly.

Tom nodded his head and stood up, ready to proceed as he was ordered.
“It will be done sir.” He turned and proceeded towards the exit.

“Oh hey and Tom…” Teofil stopped him before he could go too far.
“... make sure you don’t mention this to your captain friend at all. I don’t think he votes right.” Teofil spit a wad into the trashcan next to him.
Last edited by Achesia on Mon Feb 01, 2021 1:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Tue Feb 02, 2021 11:06 am

Julian recalled fondly the lips of his late wife Chiyo, drifting off into a daydream as he stood in the cold morning wind coming off the Rosel. It was forever burned into his memory the softness of her plump bottom lip as it curled over his, its moist warmth coating him with a sense of security. Grasping at the dream he imagined how he would envelope Chiyo’s thinner upper lip, its honeyed taste permeating his senses as they locked together as one. The gateways to their bodies embracing in a union of intimacy.

Pulling back from her he recalled Chiyo’s blue eyes, glistening with an affection unique in his life, having been raised without a mother or family. Her hair would give off a scent that was intoxicating to him, no matter how unwashed it was he was content to envelop himself in it, taking in her aroma. Looking on her in his daydream he felt so at home, unlike the real world which felt so empty and forbidding. As he imagined himself holding on to her cheek, her auburn hair flowing, a slight flash crossed over him. In the blink of an eye her hair turned blonde and eyes a bright green. On the end of his embracing hand was a different woman.

Shaking himself from this daydream Julian huffed as he returned to the discontent nature of the real world. Instead of sweet aromas of women whom he loved there were hundreds of cries of discontent around him, the tall gilded fence of the Palace grounds the only barrier between him, the men of his company, and hundreds of protestors ready to wage a war.

“Police forces are about to pull back, over.” A voice chriped on the radio.

Avondale Royal Police were overwhelmed by protestors on both sides in the early morning hours. Barricades that once existed between the two camps had been harried by demonstrators in an attempt to drive back the over labored police force. Finally as the army began to bolster positions around the Palace to prevent a spill over, the Royal Police signalled they could do nothing more against the onslaught of a thousand-person angry mob.

Teofil’s orders were to stay out of the situation. Julian resented that man. Instead he was ordered to watch on at the impending blood bath.

If only he pulled that trigger days ago, maybe he would be feeling the warmth of his wife’s lips again.

Three hooded figures moved through the crowd of picket wielding, horn blowing, and curse throwing purple armband wearers towards the edges of the protest line. The crowd was densely packed, many pushing to the front to claim the honor of the first brave idiot to die in a needless fight. There was no sense to any of this in the minds of the trio as they shoved their way forward, most not paying them mind as they concealed their faces.

The Police would not last much longer, the promise of a thousand person brawl in the streets of Avondale too much for a police force that had not seen such violence since the 80s. Once there was no barrier between the Violetists and the ADU demonstrators Ackerman would get exactly what he was craving, blood in the streets.

The President was probably tired of the media narrative of the government putting down anti-Ackerman demonstrations using violent force. This close to the election it was a liability. Yet a clash between a frothing at the mouth royalist mob and pro-Ackerman supporters in the streets outside the last bastion of Royalty in Ackesia could flip the narrative. It could even flip it long enough to squeeze Ackerman through the election. His media pawns ability to twist the narrative would have the Violetists looking like the instigators of a new civil war.

No one needed to get hurt, no one needed to die. As she pushed past the last few Violetist protestors near the front of the formation, Trinity Avondale took a long drawn breath of salty Rosel air.

Anya and Petra followed close behind her, also dressed in casual street clothes to conceal themselves in the crowd. Trinity would not have made it this far without them, their crafty natures allowing her to escape the Palace through a secret passage. Now that they had gotten her this far, it was her turn.

Both crowds now had a clear shot to each other, just meters apart as the battle lines inched forward. No police between them things would soon turn violent, Trinity had to act then, or watch as the world burned.
Stepping out from the crowd, her pace much quicker than the rest she found a place between the two groups, where she then pulled back her hood.

“Stop this!!!” She pleaded at the top of her lungs, both crowds freezing as they processed who it was shouting. The international media which had taken up positions along the side of the road frantically pointed their cameramen in her direction as they recognized the Princess of Avondale in jeans and a hoodie.

“This is madness!” Trinity looked within herself for the words to quiet this storm. “No amount of violence will solve our issues here, put down your-“

A swift rock flew from the ADU crowd and struck Trinity in the side of the face, sending her down to the ground with an audible exclamation as her temple bled.

Anya and Petra rushed forward to grab her, the Violetist crowd screamed in rage as they saw their princess bleeding on the ground. All looked to plunge into utter chaos as the Violetists began to rush forward, that was until Trinity rose from the ground, bloodied.

“Stop!!!” She pointed furiously at the lead instigator of the Violetists, leading the charge with a baseball bat in hand to foolishly die first in a worthless battle.

“Stop…” her voice calmed as the protestors did, heeding her words as they stood their ground. On the other side some instigators in the ADU lines looked to be trying to stir up trouble, but many of the others pushed them aside as they waited to hear what Trinity had to say.

“No sane person wants another civil war!” She cried out to both crowds, her fists balled. “Thank you, for coming to support me.” She spoke kindly to the Violetists. “But I don’t want this, I don't want blood shed on my behalf. In the end I am just a girl, and you all are people. Just like those over there, are people.” She raised her voice to let the ADU crowd hear, blood still streaming down her face. “They are Ackesians, just like you and me. I would rather die than see Ackesians killing Ackesians, either on my doorstep, in the news, or throughout the land.”

Trinity’s tone softened as she got to the heart of what she had to say, as she prayed they would hear her. She could hear some in the ADU jeering her, calling her names, but she knew this was all beyond that.

“The only differences you all have is you were born into families on opposite sides of an old war. Most of you were not even alive to see it!” Some nods from both crowds came. “You all have families, children, jobs, you don’t need to be here, killing each other.” Trinity walked closer to the ADU crowd, but still kept a safe distance.

“That stupid girl…” Julian grunted as his breath quickened with his pace. Racing out of the front gate of the palace grounds at the head of a few dozen of his men he sprinted towards the Princess who foolishly stood within the wolf’s jaws.

Trinity addressed those who opposed her, a certain fear and discomfort in her eyes, yet also sincerity and determination.
“I know you all don’t care for me.” She said in a sober tone. “... and that's fine, not everyone will see eye to eye. But please, don’t give in to the invisible hand of hate that wants Ackssians to bring harm to each other!” She placed her hand over her heart, watching the reactions for the crowd before her. Their faces were stoic, but a few nods and a less hostile tone told Trinity they seemed amicable to her pleas. Though from the back she could still hear jeering and curses thrown her way. Feeling slightly dizzy from the rock, she took a breath before continuing.

It was near this time Julian and his men came onto the scene, Julian’s breath labored as he approached Trinity.

“Alright Princess this is no place for you, you're going to get yourself killed.” Julians tone had a strike of both annoyance and concern. He grabbed Trinity’s arm while assessing the wound on her head, her head pretty battered and expression dazed. He was content to drag her back to the palace with him by force so she could be treated properly.

The crowd seemed to be stirred by the sudden appearance of soldiers, tensions rising again as Julian made to take Trinity away.

For a long moment Trinity looked up at Julian, a look of trepidation as he pulled at her arm. But soon she furrowed her brow, wrestling her arm free.
“Fly soldier boy…” she grunted. “Guns are no more use here.” Trinity stood firmly as she ignored the man beside her trying to take her away.

“Please, go home to your families. There is no need for any of this.” She widened her eyes, begging them to lay this all aside.

Turning around she addressed the Violetists, the crowd concerned by the soldiers.

“Please don’t worry about me.” She said humbled. “Don’t think you need to take on the world for me, take it on for yourselves. These men are just here to make sure I am safe, but I first wanted to come and stop this, so you all would be safe, my Ackesian brothers and sisters.” She smiled to both crowds despite her pounding head.

The Violetists nodded, shouting out praises and encouragement to their Princess before they slowly began to turn and leave. Trinity hoped that with their departure the others would as well, and that there would be no need for bloodshed.

“Alright, we need to get you inside.” Julian said concerned, his head on a swivel as he once again reached out his hand to grab her arm.

Trinity looked at him, reminded of her dream when he reached out to her in the void of grey. Her bright green eyes began to water as she let him grasp her, leading her away from the eyes of the crowd and media.

“You are a brave fool.” Julian admitted to her, his voice hushed as he looked down at the girl whose tears began to run. “But... as they always say, you can’t argue with results.” He squeezed her arm in jest before letting her go, leading her forward with his hand behind her.

Despite her glistening tear covered cheeks Julian managed to get a small laugh out of her, he watched as her eyes trailed up his body to meet his own. Her emeralds flickered with emotion as they looked up at him a small smile creeping over her bloodied face.

It was then he saw her for what she truly was, the illustrious Princess of Avondale just a fragile girl in over her head. Julian swore to himself in that moment, he wouldn’t let things go the way he foresaw them. He would protect her, a brave and foolish promise to himself. Duty be damned.

A thousand miles away Zachariah Ackerman watched the scene unfold on live TV, a pen buried tip first in his desk as his advisors sitting before him white as sheets.
Last edited by Achesia on Tue Feb 02, 2021 1:58 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Founded: Sep 26, 2009
Father Knows Best State

Postby Achesia » Wed Feb 03, 2021 4:56 pm


Zachariah Ackerman and Minerva I’anon prepare to go head to head in the closest election in Ackesian history.
Shania Blythe (@OBSBlyth)
6 April, 2020| Cartaganca, Produzland


In an election season that has been fraught with violence, corruption, protests, and the most upheaval since the formation of the republic, many Ackesians are looking forward to the reprieve tomorrow's vote will hopefully bring. Voters tomorrow will cast their ballots in the most heavily contested election in Ackesian history, all despite what state endorsed media outlets would tell you. The Ackesian Free Press, and other outlets that receive government funding have all but said the election is a done deal, touting numerous polls, graphs, videos, and “experts” that claim 5 time President Zachariah Ackerman will claim his 6th term on Wednesday. For those following this election abroad and have been paying attention to the thousands of protests (often turned riots), political violence (including the gunning down of a well known protest leader, and car bombing of a prince), and a mass shooting/arrest of political dissenters, the proclamation of Ackerman’s undeniable lead may sound fishy. Are Ackesians blind? Do they believe Ackerman beyond reproach?

None of the above.

If you have been following and question the official polls coming out of Ackesia you are sharper than the state endorsed media grants you. This race is far from over, with the Liberal Progressive Union’s Minerva I’anon polling just 5 points behind the incumbent Zachariah Ackerman according to an accredited Observer poll. A study has shown that the political upheaval within the Greater Republic is much more widespread than the state media’s claim that it is sporadic and unorganized agitators. Over 23% of Ackesians polled have claimed they took part in a demonstration at some point in the last 3 months. That is a much larger number than Ackerman would want you to know, the savior of the Republic at his least popular since his ascension in 1989 with accredited approval ratings averaging 40%.


What has caused the President’s fall from grace? Has he outlived his welcome as the nation’s chief executive? Have Ackesians moved on politically?

The underlying issues hurting Ackerman images are as dynamic as the progressing unrest in the nation. To simply blame the recession as a source (like the President’s campaign has on numerous occasions) is belittling much of what has happened in Ackeisa. The government’s handling of various situations progressing over the last few months has put a bad taste in many Ackesian’s mouths, many questioning if Ackerman is desperate to cling to power for longer and some calling him a wannabe despot “president for life”. From his heavy hand in squashing protests, sudden deaths of political opponents in the streets, and his heavier hand at squashing protests resulting from the above, he has earned his title as dictator in many eyes.

Numerous political opponents and critics have risen to point out the growing corruption within the administration's style of governance, and this article would be remiss to not mention the two most notable: Presidential Challenger Minerva I’anon and the newly crowned Princess Trinity Avondale the I. Both of these women have captured the headlines of Ackesian media with their sharp criticisms of the President in dynamic and very different fashions. It was just under a week ago that Princess Trinity Avondale snuck out of her palace (under lockdown by Ackerman’s men) and talked down two rivaling crowds of protestors about to go to war, while in the process of this, taking a rock to the face and sustaining minor injuries. This act of peaceful leadership at risk to her own safety has dealt a huge blow to Ackerman’s campaign which some claim sponsored one side of those protests opposing the Princess. The rock heard round the world struck Trinity Avondale’s head, yet it was her defiance and standing back up bloodied that sent ripples through Ackesian political discourse, including having the added effect of bolstering Minerva I’anon’s polling numbers.

Political observers have marveled at the phenomenon they dubbed the Trinity Effect: that is whenever Trinity Avondale does anything in defiance of President Ackerman, be it her SignPosts lecturing him, her doubling down on said SignPosts on late night television, or even taking a rock in the face, Ackerman’s presidential opponents see a huge boost in the polls at the expense of his own polling numbers. The President’s campaign has refuted this, claiming there is no discernible influence by Trinity Avondale on how people will vote come Wednesday, but many other political analysts have staked their careers on the fact her actions may be one of the biggest influences.

The royals of the Principality of Avondale (one of Ackesias two semi-autonomous provinces), have largely been out of the political spotlight on the greater Ackesian scene since the end of the war in 1989. But with a new generation at the helm Trinity Avondale has not been shy in expressing her deep seated desire to see the Ackesian people thrive. Call her young and naive, idealistic, or an annoyance, she has had an undeniable effect on Ackesia leading up to the election. And despite all of that, she has yet to officially endorse any candidate for President.

Many however have noted that the one candidate that has benefited the most from the Trinity Effect is Minerva I’anon the center-left Liberal Progressive Union’s minority bulldog in the National Diet. The 7 term Delegate has represented the North Eastern Rombu region of the Ostait province since the early 2000s, earning her a reputation as a fierce opponent to the ADU majority. This election is not the first she has run against President Ackerman in, but it is indeed the first she stands any chance.

When Mrs. I’anon’s campaign was questioned whether they see Trinity’s influence on their campaign as being positive, they issued this statement:

“It is undeniable that Princess Trinity Avondale’s words have had a profound effect on Ackesian political discourse. She has found the pulse of an otherwise quiet younger generation that has grown up in a free Ackesia and stands to take the reigns of our Republic in the coming decade. Presidential Candidate Minerva I’anon echoes the words the princess said to the protestors in the streets of Avondale, that during this time of change in the republic we should seek peace with our fellow Ackesians. We do not however consider the Princess’ statements or actions to have a profound effect on our campaign, nor do we claim/endorse any association with the Princess.”

Just days before the election it seems that the Minerva campaign sees any association with a royal as a liability and have taken many lengths to distance themselves from that label despite the objective numerical advantage the Princess has given them. Equally when the palace was approached prior to their occupation by Ackesian troops, they stated they do not officially endorse any candidate for President and insist that the Princess’ calls for peace be heard by all in office both before and after the election to protect a peaceful Ackesia.

Most all candidates besides Ackerman have echoed similar statements in the wake of the bloodiest tension the nation has seen since the civil war. Many Ackesians have stated they simply wish to return to their lives without fear of political discourse spilling into the streets. Yet those with a propensity to be heard have stated they wish to take this election to the end, in an effort which they hope carves out a better nation.

Polls open 0800 tomorrow across Ackesia to determine the nation’s fate. Live coverage of results will begin at 1700.

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©The Observer, 2020


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