Cuppet V Tournament Thread - Rosters/RPs/Results

[Polar Islandstates]

Marcelo has replaced Old Guard/Bleak Rock in the tournament, as per Apox's wishes. We are now all systems go.

[Aquillian]

La Selección Aquilliana :: World Cuppet V

Head Coach

Octavio Velez

• 47 years old
• 18 years coaching experience
• Very media savvy, but hates it
• Manager of Academia Real
• Once played for Utica United. Literally once.
• Walks with a limp, due to old knee injury
• Secretly doesn't hate Osarius

Head Coach: Octavio Velez
Replacing Alfredo Herrera after the protracted legal wranglings that followed Aquillian's thid place finish in Cuppet 4 was always going to be difficult, but in Velez, FADA have identified a coach with proven pedigree working with quality professionals, who was happy to agree to a part-time contract. Velez is contracted only to coach The Islanders during Cuppet V, after which he will return to his regular duties at Academia Real, while FADA seek "the next sucker" as Herrera puts it.

Predictably, the Academia Real man trusts his own players more than others, and they make up almost a third of the squad -- more if we count Academia graduates he has coached in the past -- prompting many to question his integrity. Academia finished firmly in mid-table last season in the League of Aquillian, suggesting a lack of genuine quality. Velez takes offence at such remarks, however, and likens his squad -- perhaps unwisely, given the frosty relations between the nations -- to the Osarius squad which Amandeep Sahota led to a World Cup semi final recently.

"A great team is far more than the sum of its parts, as Senor Sahota proved with an Osarius squad nobody thought was very strong. I believe I can lead our nation to glory in the Cuppet, because I know what these players are capable of, and how to combine them in the best way, under the principles of Futbol Aquilliano." His open commitment to having the team play Futbol Aquilliano will win over some fans, but if this incarnation of The islanders doesn’t prove it's worth on the pitch, things could get ugly. Fans and players alike were less than pleased with the decision to sack Herrera, and they are no doubt waiting for an excuse to get on Velez's back now.

Assistant Head Coach

Rodrigo Vallejo

• 52 years old
• 13 years coaching experience
• Silent but deadly
• Built like a brick shithouse
• Goalkeeping coach at Santos Torreón
• Contrary to popular belief, is capable of smiling
• Big fan of Bachata music

Assistant Head Coach: Rodrigo Vallejo
A quiet, subtle man by all accounts. Even moreso than Velez. So subtle, he makes the long-suffering Sergio Galindo appear flamboyant. Yes, Galindo. He of the plain, black, training ground tracksuits. Vallejo's true value is in his intimidation factor, however. Being a man of few words is perfectly fine, especially when, like Vallejo, you are an expert at making them count. And also huge.

Aquillian captain Kendrick Prince, who has worked with the self-confessed "outsider" for the majority of his career at Torreón, revealed that he is one of the few people he dare not cross under any circumstances. "Yeah, coach Vallejo's a baaaad man. Not someone to cross. He's quicker and more agile than he looks. Trust me." Prince said in a recent interview.

His general demeanour and obvious advantages in any imagined physical confrontation give him the appearance and vibe of an "enforcer" type character. Which would make perfect sense, given the nature of the Aquilliano squad without the sobering influence of Herrera to keep them in line.


Captain: Kendrick Prince
Outrageously experienced goalkeeper, with remarkable focus. Known to build card castles on the team coach between matches in the League of Aquillian (no, we don't know how he does it either). Undisputed Jenga champion of the squad. Highly irritable on match days.

Vice-captain: Valentin Alcantar
Off the pitch, if he were any more laid back, he'd be in a coma. Many suspect he has a mild form of narcolepsy, due to his often "half-asleep" appearance. More likely he's been hypnotized though, because he's completely the opposite on the pitch.

Style of play: Very attacking. High line of pressure, with regular overloads on the flanks (+3)
Futbol Aquilliano is the national style, it's unorthodox, intense, and extremely entertaining.
The players need supreme fitness to pull it off, even if lacking somewhat in technical areas.

RP notes
Aquillian has a tropical climate, so weather could be a concern for this tournament. Expect extra layers, long sleeves and gloves. And lots of fidgeting.

The style of play, selection process and former manager are all based -- with varying degrees of "looseness" -- on those of Athletic Bilbao, if that helps at all. In the absence of Senor Herrera's military-like strictness, it is expected that the players will ... "let loose", so to speak.

The squad list:
Names in ALLCAPS are the names which appear on players' shirts, except Ryan Craig, who has Avispón on the back of his. Yes that's an RP hint about his playing style.

###  Pos.   Name               Age     Club                     
#01  [GK]   Kendrick PRINCE    31 y/o  Santos Torreón
#02  [LWB]  Gael URBINA        25 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes
#03  [RWB]  Kenard LAWES       26 y/o  Estudiantes Pachuebla
#04  [CB]   Mattias PELAYO     29 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes
#05  [CB]   STERLIN O'Connor   30 y/o  Real Seaga
#06  [CB]   Santiago FERRER    23 y/o  Genesia
#07  [RW]   Marco BARRERA      23 y/o  Bahía Rojo
#08  [CM]   VALENTIN Alcantar  23 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes
#09  [CF]   Leon MUNOZ         29 y/o  Parque Jalisco
#10  [AM]   Nicolas CUELLAR    24 y/o  Rahobi United
#11  [CM]   Sebastian GRANA    20 y/o  Estudiantes Pachuebla
#12  [LW]   Guyton DOUGLAS     24 y/o  Montelia
#13  [AM]   OSCAR Santa Cruz   27 y/o  Real Seaga
#14  [ST]   Ryan CRAIG         19 y/o  Otomi Rétaro
#15  [CB]   Daevon REID        28 y/o  Rahobi United
#16  [DM]   Demetrio CADENA    29 y/o  Bahía Rojo
#17  [CB]   Hernan CONTRERAS   25 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes
#18  [RW]   DeMarion MORRISON  32 y/o  Parque Jalisco
#19  [RWB]  Damian SANCHEZ     19 y/o  Rahobi United
#20  [LW]   Jorge JUAREZ       16 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes
#21  [LWB]  Clemente QUINTERO  29 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes
#22  [GK]   QUIQUE Millan      28 y/o  Otomi Rétaro
#23  [GK]   Sean  MONAGHAN     20 y/o  Academia Real de Deportes

Usual Starting Formation

[ 3-3-1-3 ]
Douglas -- Munoz -- Barrera
Oscar
Urbina ------- Valentin -------- Lawes
Pelayo -- Sterlin -- Ferrer
Prince

RP notes
I have no specific permissions regarding the team beyond "no killing, please" ... and though I'd prefer if you cleared a major injury beforehand, I can roll with it. Do as you wish, otherwise. If it helps, Aquillian is a largely conservative, somewhat-religious nation with a lingering resentment for Osarius. If you want a RL reference point, it's basically a cultural, social and political mélange of Mexico and Jamaica.

I've also noticed people don't know what to call the people of Aquillian, but generally I go with Aquillish or Aquilliano, depending on who is saying it. Natives never call themselves Aquillish because English is the language of their hated former overlords etc etc. Yep, any excuse to rebel, these guys. A running theme is the highly patriarchic society and flat out refusal of FADA to sanction female professional players. Which I like to think opens doors for mucho irony in RP. Run with it if you like.

[Misrantis]

Misrantis Roster
World Cuppet 2: Runner-Up

Manager: The Esteemed and Famous Rahman Omer Hilali
Style: +2

Goalkeepers
82 - Akh Ka
80 - Ba Shabaaqo

Defenders

9 - Nynetjer Re
3 - Manetho Acropolises
4 - Apis Bakle
5 - Memphica Araomo
2 - Saqqa Ra-ahra

Midfield

27 - Mitsur Jhailides
22 - Nebti Arrahuni
16 - Perisa Cambyta
13 - Mitsunne Konne
25 - Reahnk Maiore
29 - Liaor Diaumni Leriv
14 - Hierkomt D'sonne

Forwards

38 - Unkiesh Misral
33 - Semer Debjit
34 - Rehmay Re Torre
31 - Umfali Maraset




My opponent, if they RP first, may do the following:
Choose my goalscorers Y/
Godmod scoring events Y/
RP injuries to my players Y/
Godmod injuries to my players Y/
Hand out yellow cards to my players Y/
Hand out red cards to my players Y/
Godmod other events Y/

[Aquillian]

"Dad, you're talking crazy. You can't seriously believe that eating traditional Aquilliano food is what made Jordan Broderick break the 10 second barrier."

Dad was espousing the magical properties of traditional food to me again.

"Of course it's not magical, he had to train hard, too. But it definitely helped. I used to run 100m in just under 11 seconds, you know."

"Yes, yes I know. And you had trials at Rahobi, and you reached the nationals for track. You narrowly lost in the Juniors to DeMarion Morrison. You've only told me a thousand times."

"And you know what I ate?"

*sigh* "Traditional Aquilliano food"

"Exactly! Now shut up and eat your yam."

Dad got like this fairly often. He couldn't accept that the olden days methods weren't necessarily the best way to approach things now. It was almost as if it hurt him to accept that science had moved forward. He was still rambling.

"If the Lord had wanted is to eat food grown in a science lab with all the chemicals and additives, why would he make plants?"

"But Dad, this is too heavy and starchy, it's going to interfere with my tr-"

"You didn't hear me?"

"But D-"

"Did I stutter?"

Why couldn't he just listen to me? He was being stupid.

"Yes. You stuttered." I told him, hoping to catch him off guard.

I should have known better. Without missing a beat, he snapped back. "Then I told you twice, now eat the blasted yam!"

I resigned myself to having to eat the heavy, starchy meal in the end. Of course, carbohydrates aren't all bad, and traditional Aquilliano cuisine does have several positives, but when I'm trying to cut weight to drop down a weight class for a tournament next month, it really doesn't help.

When Nico was around, Dad was even worse. Because Nico ate like a horse. It was different for him, though. He had a freakishly high metabolism, and being a futbol player, he was constantly burning off any excess calories anyway.

"Vico, you need to take a leaf out of your brother's book, you know?" Dad would tell me. "He's going to play international futbol again this week. But you don't want to listen, so you don't make a big change."

Yeah yeah yeah, Victor Cuellar, perpetual failure. Never mind the fact that I was one of the hottest young prospects on the island in my sport. Never mind the fact that I could get picked up by the OCF if I do well in my tournament next week and get far more exposure than Nico does now.
Dad just sees his methods working with Nico, and not with me.

* * * * *

Quad-A in Shock as Sprinters Fail Doping Tests

The Asociación Atlética de Administración Aquilliano (Quad-A) has been stunned by the relevation that hugely popular sprinters Jordan Broderick, Isaiah Alden and Aaliyah Stevenson all failed routine drug tests this past weekend.

Several commenters have long questioned Aquillian's continual production of what Aldous Jeremies famously called "freakishly talented athletes", and more than a few eyebrows have been raised at the news.

"For a long time now, we've wondered if they could really just be that quick, and that strong. Now we know we were right to question it." Said Osarian athletics pundit Valentina Ranno. "What I worry about is the impact this kind of revelation has on the sport as a whole. If Patricia Dawson were to fail a test now, for example, trust in athletics might be shattered."

Patricia Dawson has come out and spoken candidly about drug testing, insisting that she is clean, and speaking of her "profound surprise" that Aaliyah Stevenson's sample came back positive.

In a related incident, FADA have received notification of questionable results in the samples of two players at the fifth Cuppet in Polar Islandstates. Names are yet to be released, while testers examine second samples, though the outlook seems grim.

[Urbis Tractus]

URBIS TRACTUS NATIONAL TEAM – FIFTH WORLD CUPPET

In their first Campionato Esportiva, the moving city of Urbis Tractus was invaded by some Licentian footballers, and a Communadi agent, who went onto destroy half the city. The governors of the city decided that they would enter as many football competitions as they could, in an attempt to find the Licentians and Communadis, and blow them to Kingdom Come. Good luck on that in the Cuppet.

ROSTER:
GK – Racer
CB – Diamondback
CB – Sidewinder
CB – Boa
DM – Mamba
LM – Asp
CM – Keelback
CM – Viper
RM – Cobra
ST – Python
ST – Fer-de-lance

Permissions:
Choose my goalscorers? Y
Godmod scoring events? Y, I could hardly say no, could I ??
RP injuries to my players? N, see OOC spoiler for reasoning
Godmod injuries to my players? N, see above
Hand out yellow cards to my players? Y, but it’s not likely to happen, as robots don’t have emotions
Hand out red cards to my players? Y, but see above
Godmod other events? Y, see second permission

So, here come the nuances of this nation.

Firstly, as you may have guessed from the nation name, or if you’ve read through previous RPs with this nation, Urbis Tractus is a moving city. As such, the city, its people, and the football team will be moving to The Commune for the duration of the Campionato. You can choose to mention this in your RPs or not.

Secondly, the team is a group of robots, all controlled by the manager/controller. This team has a working life of 20 years, which means these lot, all named after snakes, will be representing Urbis Tractus for quite a while (if I remember to RP it). It also means that injury wise, you aren’t likely to injure them, but they are likely to injure you.

Thirdly, most people from Urbis Tractus are rude, thuggish, have heavy accents, and swear like troopers. As such, when Tractians speak in RPs, nation names will likely be spelled as they would be said, and there will be a lot of abbreviations and cursing.

I hope this will present an interesting challenge for people in my group, as it has for me when preparing the backstory and RPs for this nation.

[Polar Islandstates]

Today's cut-off brought to you by the letter C, and the number 8.

Cutoff.

[Polar Islandstates]

Group A
The Ultimate Evil 0–2 Marcelo
The Holy Forden Church 0–1 Misrantis

Group B
Rigerata 1–0 Ark
Flock Nation 0–3 Anksgaard

Group C
Mystaria 0–1 Advar
Septen Islands 0–0 Aquillian

Group D
Socialist Republic of New Ireland 0–1 Barra e Janeiro
Mavaria 1–2 Ibex

Group E
Urszag-Csatoria 2–0 Silexhera
Heltigon 2–4 First Nation of Pre-Koselites

Group F
Zombiestan 2–1 Inisgarve
Acedonia 1–4 Urbis Tractus




OP and tables will be updated tomorrow.

[Septen Islands]

---

LOST IN TRANSLATION
Part Two: On The Training Ground

---

Part One: The Press Conference

Two men and a woman walk into a bar in Longyearbyen.

One of them was Achilles Rustad, the young Team Liaison Officer for The Septen Islands football team - he was working for the Polarian Cuppet Committee during the summer recess from his studies in francophonics at Geidenheim University. The others were Nicolaj Bjelland, a professor of Atlantian Oceanic Studies at the Longyearbyen Military Academy and Linnea Rong, a fine Valhallan woman too old for Achilles and too young for Nicolaj, not that it stopped either of them from hoping. Nicolaj was one of those theorists who theorised about something or other. He theorised that all human life in the multiverse originated in what is now modern Vilita. As such, he knows a thing or two about the ancient northmen of AO, and seemed ideally suited, in the eyes of the Cuppet Committee, to liaise for the Pre-Koselite Nation, a post he was only too delighted to accept. Linnea was being cagey about her background... The three of them had been enjoying a poor quality coffee in the staff canteen of the temporary offices of the Cuppet Committee in Longyearbyen, on Svalbard where all this tournament malarky was occuring. But in truth they hadn't been enjoying the coffee at all, and when Ilya Muller started regaling the other Team Liaison Officers about the Silexherans and their... well, you know, those things they do with... anyways, Achilles and Nicolaj, who had struck up a bit of a friendship, decided to head to a bar instead, and neither was prepared to say no to Linnea when she invited herself along.

A couple of beers in and Achilles was trying to explain just how difficult it was working with the Septentrionax.

"The who, the what?" asked Götz Pflug, a local bar fly who had spotted Linnea, carefully assessed the chances of either Achilles or Nicolaj either (a) being involved with her or (2) standing a chance of being involved with her, and having come up with a very low probability factor indeed decided to join them and throw his bobble hat into the ring. Had he but known it, his own probability factor was even lower than the two Liaison Officers. But Götz was not one to ponder his own probability.

"People of the Septen Islands," said Nicolaj, helpfully, "it's a demonym."

Götz laughed demonstratively. As if, he thought. He'd never been one for all that religious clap trap. "I'll just be up front with you," he said, glancing at Linnea, "I don't believe in all that mystical clap trap. Frickin demonyms, for Thor's sake!" And he shook his head, also demonstratively. We can all be the academic, he thought, glancing at the academics.

Achilles proceeded with his tale.

He'd been helping out down at the training ground that morning in Svenskøya, translating for the Valhallan-speaking joint manager of the Septentrionax (that is to say, Götz, the Septen Islanders) in Francosept -

"The franking what-the...?" - Götz.

"French, I suppose," replied the ever patient Achilles, "as spoken by the Septentri... the Septen Islanders."

"No such thing as French, or France for that matter," said Götz, displaying a surprising insight despite his apparent minimal grasp of multiversal dynamics.

"Indeed, hence Francosept. May I?"

Achilles had been helping out down at the training ground that morning in Svenskøya, translating for the Valhallan-speaking joint manager of the Septentrionax Magnus Fjelden into Francosept for the squad, and back again for Mr. Fjelden. But then there was the other joint manager, Mr. Yaregi of Astograth, who had no French and very little Valhallan. And quite a short fuse. Mr. Fjelden, something of a cunning linguist himself, could speak pidgin Astograthi. So he was often translating himself and his instructions to Mr. Yaregi, and translating Mr. Yaregi for the benefit of the squad. But obviously, since the squad spoke neither Valhallan nor Astograthi, Mr. Fjelden's translation of Mr. Yaregi had to go via Achilles, the Francosept speaker.

"Can we just call it French?" declared Götz Pflug, who was beginning to abandon all pretence of academic heritage.

Whether Mr. Yaregi's instructions were being lost in translation by Achilles, or the players were just poor at football, or whether, as Achilles suspected, Mr. Fjelden was deliberately fudging Mr. Yaregi's instructions, the net result was a chaotic training session. The players didn't seem to know what to do next. Achilles had a headache by the end.

"And yet," observed Nicolaj, "your boys got a very creditable draw against the much-fancied Aquillian, who are something of giants in the pool of minnow football."

"I could not say Messrs Fjelden or Yaregi could take much credit for that," said Achilles. "The team captain, Florent Gáspár Daniël, spoke to me after the training session, to ask me if I knew which, if either, of the two coaches was actually a qualified coach. I was rather embarrassed. So I explained they were both considered world class managers in their day and told him it was probably just a little communication that needed ironing out."

"Speaking of ironing," said Götz, winking at Linnea.

When he woke up the next morning in Longyearbyen A&E, he could not say which of the three had broken his nose for the seventh time. But it was almost straight again, which was nice.

[East Kulmsaar]

Vladimir Johansen smiled a grizzled smile as a wild shot from a Barra e Janeiro forward ballooned off his foot and into the face of Vitaliy Defederico, sitting two rows in front of Johansen. The team were at the impressively busy Paniston Island, watching their next opposition getting beaten by the Barra a Janeiro side from the stands. Vladimir wasn't entirely sure he fit in with the locals, despite the shared language and cultural base, but he did know for certain that Vitaliy was a cocksure knowitall fisherman from Cisnes with an altogether too Sargossan sounding a name for his liking. A football to the face could be just the thing to take him down the peg or two he needed.

The short trip across the town of Svenskøya was unlikely to tire out the Socialist Republic of New Ireland side, so it was just as well they were being given the run around here, he thought. He didn't know an awful lot about what specifics he should be scouting, but he did know football, and he could set a side up out on the pitch without a doubt. Between him and his assistant, Johan, they'd figure this management thing out.

Besides, some of the guys were actually pretty good. Sergei Sudakov had played for Islay Town Mechanical's youth setup before he joined the navy, and Edvard Tullio had turned out for Agheim CF in his youth before eventually dropping to the amateur tiers as well. There was talent there, definitely. Even, begrudgingly, in Vitaliy Defederico. Still he wouldn't be starting. Johansen chuckled as the right back ran up the stars and into the stadium to attempt to stem the flow of crimson currently flowing down his face from his broken nose.

The final whistle went, and Vladimir had seen enough. He stood up, and Johan stopped making notes.

"Come on lads," he said as they began to file up the stairs with the rest of the interested fans, "let's get back to the training pitch. Last one round the fitness course stays up tonight to stitch the pennants together..."

[Senippilihp]

Group E
Senippilihp
Urszag-Csatoria
Heltigon
First Nation of Pre-Koselites
Silexhera

The groups have been drawn, and the Onipilip were drawn into a tough group. They have Urszag-Csatoria, Heltigon, First Nation of Pre-Koselites and Silexhera to navigate throgh to know if they will advance to the knockout stages. With the top two qualifying automatically, four best third placers will join them into the round of sixteen, and do we expect the Onipilip to advance? Well, possibly, but we aren't sure of what will happen in the next matchdays.

Matchday one was already done and Urszag-Csatoria and Pre-Koselites won their first matches, and with Senippilihp facing an in-form Urszag-Csatoria side. Can we win? Find out.

---

The Empire of Senippilihp

The Empire of Senippilihp is an empire that is currently ruled by a dictator, named Oniuqa Yonyon, who "tries" to show his people the "straight path", but it seems that this path is not what his people wanted. In the span of years, the politicians, government agencies and even establishments learned how to be corrupt, as opposed to previous leader Oyorra-Lagapacam Airolg, who never had a report of her regarding corruption. She was one of the best leaders and people had hope that her reign would last, but when Yonyon took over, it all went to pieces.

The people in Senippilihp are very inhospitable, and since their tourism department were also corrupt now, they had imposed higher tax to non-Onipilip people and the money that they got are spent on nonsense things that weren't needed for the agency to run smoothly. TV stations must display Yonyon's face every three hours for ten minutes, otherwise they are penalized heavily. Also, newspapers, taboids or broadsheets must have one page of Yonyon's face and internet sites must have Yonyon's face displayed for five minutes before redirecting to their home page. and like TV stations, are penalized heavily for violations or even lack of seconds of showing, or if his picture is not displayed on a whole page of newspapers, the penalty is the same as not posting it at all.

More in our next update...

[Urbis Tractus]

Two Tractian Fans

In Geidenheim following the four one win over Acedonia

“OOOOOOOHHHHHHH !!”

“Shut up pal, s’not that big a deal.”

“Course, it’s a big fucking deal !! Four one !! Four fucking one !!”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of Arse-er-don-yans over there, and I don’ fancy ‘aving seven bell kicked out o’ me.”

“Fuckin’ pussy.”

“Shut up.”

“No. So what if they want a fight ?? We can knock any bugger out when we want.”

“Really ?? When was’t last time you fought someone ??”

“...”

“C’mon then, you cocky fecker. When ??”

“...”

“Exactly. Now shut the fuck up.”

"Who are we 'gainst next ??"

"We've got a bye day next."

"A bye day ?? What's that, a match that shags men and women ??"

*slaps"

"Oh come on, that was a good one. Oo'd'we play then ??"

"We play In-is-gar-vee in Spits-beer-gun."

"Beer ?? Good plan, let's go get pissed."

"Yeah, good plan."

[Aquillian]

Velez Blames "Overzealous Testing" For Poor Performance

In the wake of a surprisingly stale goalless draw against the similarly attack-minded Septen Islands in the Cuppet, interim head coach Octavio Velez came under fire from the Aquilliano press. "No Qwality" read one headline, mocking the new boss' peculiar accent. "Futbol AquilliaNO" read another, referring to the lack of the characteristic intensity and attacking impetus that has defined the nation's style for the past ten years.

To his credit, Velez tried admirably to deflect the criticisms away from his players, insisting that the doping scandal which has rocked Aquilliano athletics was to blame. "The scandals back home have led to increased scrutiny here, and I have had no less than thirteen of my players -- which is a number of ill fortune itself -- summoned to give samples on at least one occasion. This extensive testing is physically and mentally draining, and makes it difficult for these players to play at their maximum level."

* * * * *

"Yeah I haven't told Dad yet." Nico sounded worried.

"He's gonna flip, you know... He won't believe it."

"The test can't be wrong though. Both samples came back positive, that's practically guaranteed. And it doesn't make sense! I haven't taken anything!" Now he was starting to freak out a bit.

"They'll go through it all and you'll be cleared, Nico. They won't hang you out to dry. They can't. Everybody knows you haven't done anything wrong."

"But the results, Vico! They are right here! It's a 0.01% chance it's wrong." He started sobbing down the phone. I didn't know what else to say. My big brother, the hero of the family. Apparently on the verge of being crucified in the media as a drug cheat.

I let him sob it out a bit. "Nico, you have to rationalise this. Is there somebody there you can speak to and appeal this?"

Appealing to reason worked pretty well with Nico. He was more like Mom in that sense, I guess. "You're right Vico. You're always right abuot these things. There's a liaison officer type person, I'll ask her."

"Before you do, try and remember absolutely everything you've eaten in the past month or so, maybe it was an accident?"

"No, Vico, all I've eaten is meals prepared by the hotel staff, and Mom's home cooking before I left for this tournament."

"Okay, well keep thinking about it. There has to be something. I know you would never cheat, hermano."

"Thanks, Vico. Remember, you can't tell Dad."

"I won't."

[Pre-Koselites]

---

CULTURAL STUDIES
Part One: Mistè Kaanda

---

Nicolaj Bjelland was enjoying a drink with his new friends Achilles and Linnea, fellow Liaison Officers for the Polarian Cuppet Committee. They had been sharing tales of their days' work when an old drunk had interrupted their banter. What happened next was a bit of a blur, but Nicolaj definitely recalled the old soak getting overly suggestive with Linnea. The next thing, he was out cold and the three friends had moved to another bar. They had all been a little drunk before the incident, but that had sobered them up nicely. Enough for the college professor to enlighten his involuntary students on the peculiar discussion he had recently had with the Pre-Koselite Indigene and goalkeeper Clam Lowlight. His real name, explained Nicolaj, was Claumie Kaanda Antielle although nobody among those strange white-purple haired folk used these formal names except, apparently, when remonstrating with someone who has caused displeasure. What most interested Nicolaj was the middle name, Kaanda, which Clam Lowlight explained was his Mistè.

A spirit, of sorts.

Although Clam Lowlight did not like the word spirit. Clam and Nicolaj bandied around different terms that seemed more appropriate, and came up with a loose combination of 'patron saint' and 'official sponsor'. When the Indigenes, who call themselves Vojaĝanto, reach adulthood they undergo a peculiar ceremony called Riding The Donkey - Clam was mercifully vague on the details - at the end of which one of the Mistè would offer to sponsor the ritualite in exchange for certain favours, usually amounting to some eccentric behaviour characteristics or an adopted comedy phobia. Once sponsored by the Mistè one could harness certain powers and charms of that entity. In the case of Clam Lowlight, he was sponsored by the Mistè Kaanda. Spirit of the needle.

"The needle?" asked Achilles, feigning interest. Linnea may or may not have been interested, it was difficult to tell.

"Traditionally, a spirit associated with snakes according to Clam, what with their fangs and all," explained the professor, Nicolaj, "but these days, with snakes on the decline and people not so easily impressed any more, Kaanda has moved more into sharps."

"Sharps?"

"You know, hyperdermics, sewing, knitting. That sort of thing. He is the patron of anaesthetists, heroin addicts, tattooists, type A diabetics, knitting circles and seamstresses. Also has a sideline in drawing pins, safety pins and badges."

And what does Clam Lowlight get for his sponsorship? Well, though it's not widely known, he's a world class scratch turntablist. And the cost of this bargain? To quote Clam himself, he can be a bit of a prick.

---

HISTORY LESSONS
Part Two: The Vojaĝanto Nomads

---

Part One: The Ancient Northmen of Atlantian Oceania

Several tribes of the hard-pressed Rhyuun who were already of a nomadic disposition fled eastward during the Xile conquests and Starblaydi incursions, establishing a pattern of behaviour under pressure for the future descendents of the Rhyuun who eventually settled in the north eastern outposts of Atlantian Oceania. Despite the fact that both Xile and Starblaydia were encroaching from the east, the nomadic tribes, who are known by the Indigenes of Wight as the Vojaĝanto – an approximate translation appears to be ‘travellers’ – turned precisely into the oncoming storm to escape the destruction of their lands and civilisations at home. The Indigene understand this ‘hiding in plain sight’ philosophy – something they have done for hundreds of years on the Koseli landmass, during times of upheaval and oppression.

To what degree the nomads had any choice but to head east remains a moot point. Fearful of the ocean and facing several coastal raiders including the Xile Empire, the last of the Anumian port holders and, more westerly, the Salamatic raiders, the north was closed to the Rhyuun. The Salamatic had also closed off the western routes in their conflict with the Noth. To the south, toward their wellspring of the Vilitan Cove, the dreaded Tachbeians harried the coasts, and the Rhyuun in general had an overwhelming fear of these cut-throat seadogs, further reinforcing their general antipathy of the sea. Overall, the Rhyuun were pressed on all sides, and for the Vojaĝanto, east was probably only as perilous as any other route. If it had any advantage, it was that hundreds of miles of landmass lay ahead of them, and each step east was, for the best part of the journey, a step away from the waters that brought such discontent on their brothers.

Little detail remains of these nomadic peoples, who moved in disorganised waves through the outlying southern provinces of Xile, hotly contested between the old Empire and the encroaching sylvan empire of Starblaydia. Between 200 and 100 BV the Vojaĝanto negotiated paths through conflict, hiding in plain sight for the most part, and occasionally being caught in the storm with horrendous consequences. The Pre-Koselite Indigenes have a story of a group of nomads captured by Starblaydi elves and manacled for a long march east to Jhanna and a fate only darkly eluded to as the ‘tunnel with no end’. A daring chieftain of the travellers, known in the story as Peter Cálamo, led a rare raid on the Starblaydi to release the hostages during the long march, and while the raid succeeded initially, the ambushed elves regrouped to track down the Vojaĝanto. The story tells that the travellers, expert in stealth and retreat, eluded the sylvan hunters for twenty-three days, but on the twenty-fourth, a small party of the elfin pursuit overtook Peter Cálamo at a river ford, where he heroically denied them the ford while the fugitives made good their escape, before being captured. Hidden in the hills that night the Vojaĝanto heard the screams of their liberator Peter Cálamo, as he was flayed by his captors. The story illustrates the horrors faced by the travellers on their road east, but serves also as a lesson for the descendants of the Rhyuun, that hiding is the most viable form of valour, and heroism will get you skinned.

Around 100 BV the nomadic peoples reached the shores of the Neyman Straits, passing through the largely empty country of Nemya which would soon fall to the Starblaydi. By this time numbers had dwindled to few as one or two hundred, arriving at the Strait in small ragged groupings and finding their way blocked once more by the ocean. Back in the west behind them, the Rhyuun and their relatives the Noth, already near broken by the Xile Empire, the Salamatic, and the Starblaydi, were about to face a new challenge. The Vegai and Marraqi were prowling the Salamantic Sea, and as Xile foundered they would take up the pace of conquest, adding a new load of tribulations on the bending backs of the ancient Northmen. Meanwhile, for the Vojaĝanto, they had the elves at their backs and the water in front of them. It was time to learn trust in the ocean.

[Urszag-Csatoria]

The NIT watched the celebrations carefully. That was their job. The very cream of the crop, only the most hardline party members were chosen to accompany the national football team on this dangerous trip to the ideological wastelands of Polar Islandstates. One lieutenant had made the unfortunate decision to broadcast his opinion on the way to the airport that he thought the Polarian brand of leftism could have a real future if only they'd really commit to it. He was hauled off the carrier before they could blink.

The players, well, they were different. They were sportsmen, workers. They got paid the same base rate as any miner or logger or smelter would in the country, just with the bonus of not having to do as much work comparatively. They therefore had had the same amount of loyalist education drilled into them in their youth as any average citizen, and they all carried their membership cards for the compulsory Socialist Party, same as anybody else. Except for the Csar. Obviously.

A socialist dictatorship, ruled in secret by the "advisors' board" of the Tanácsadók, but with a visible head of state in the hereditary Csar. It was complicated, and very few people knew how much power the Tanácsadók really held. For the vast majority, they were happy to go along with the idea that the Csar ran the rule over the country. Certainly, it was easier than trying to get their heads around the fact that the man was a mere puppet controlled by the Tanácsadók for the good of the state.

Indivisibiliter ac Inseparabiliter. That was the way, and it always would be. They may not have had the same power as they did when they'd bossed around Sameba and What Would Become Eura, but the Unified Csardom was still an intensely proud and insular place. Convincing the Tanácsadók that going to the Cuppet again was a good idea had taken a long time, and one of the tasks assigned to the NIT during the trip was not to let the players come into contact with too many foreign radicals.

The team had just beaten Silexhera by two goals to nil, and so, understandably there was a bit of a party in the changing room. Pleasingly strong Polarian liquors were being passed around the room by the players, but the members of the NIT stood still and ever watchful, always on guard.

There was a knock at the door. The players were thirteen verses into ancient shanty Zoltán the Saucy Loggerman and were oblivious. But Chief Hussar Ferenc Todorov was stationed right by the door, and he opened it a crack.

"Yis?" he barked.

"It's, er, it's me. Linnea Rong." came the female voice on the other side of the door.

"Ah, yis, please leave the details on the seat of the team coach. We will collect them in time when we leave," said Todorov, keen to avoid as much interaction with the team liaison officer as possible.

"Oh no, no, I've done that already," said Rong, well used to the NIT's ways as part of her Urszcsar studies years before, "no, I've got some people here to see you."

"See us? Who?" asked Todorov through the door suspiciously.

"Ferenc Zukauskas and Zako Csizmadia!" she said, rather more triumphantly than was necessary.

The names immediately rang a bell to Todorov. The banned list. Two players, coincidentally the same age, that had been memberrs of families that had fled the nation and moved abroad, since picked up by Polarian teams. World class, but still hopeful of playing for their mother nation they'd both turned both call ups to the Polarian national side, yet both were excommunicated by the party and had no hope of every playing for the Hussars. They'd lived in Polar Islandstates nearly all their lives. No chance. Dangerous free radicals.

"No thank you, I don't think so. Thank you. Goodbye. See you tomorrow." said Todorov with authority well earned, and he shut the door with an abrupt click.

Rong looked at the disappointed but not surprised Urszcsar players standing either side of her in the corridor.

"Okay, well, sorry." she said. "I tried."

"It's what we expected," shrugged Zako, "don't worry about it."

"I'll show you out," she offered, but the players waved her down.

"It's fine," said Ferenc, "we know the way. Thanks anyway."

She stood feeling slightly like a spare part as the two players walked away down the corridor, conversing freely between Urszcsar and Valhallan without noticing. Locked outside of the party with the people she was meant to be looking after, and casually dismissed by two more who had come to her for help. She sighed. The Urszcsar could be difficult to deal with.

"You alright, there?" asked a friendly cleaner, pushing his unplugged floorbuffer along towards her.

She thought about it.

"Yeah, fine," she said eventually, "just dealing with the difficult Urszcsars, that's all. I don't know what I expected."

"Urszcsar? Where's that then?" said the cleaner, looking confused as he tried to remember which of the baffling array of Cuppet nationalities had played at the stadium that day.

"Oh, you know," continued Linnea, "way out deep east down on the continent. Got a few players over here that've won some stuff."

"Ah, yeah, them. I know. I remember," nodded the cleaner, "JAN MAYEN STRONK and all that, right?"

"No no," corrected Linnea, "they're Euran."

"Well, steady on love. I've not an Ospreys fan either but there's no need for toilet humour."

"No, not urine, Euran. Oh, never mind."

[Polar Islandstates]

OOC:
I had a lot to do tonight. Consequently, cutoff will be in ONE HOUR. Apologies for the slightly later time.

[Polar Islandstates]

CUTOFF.

[Zombiestan]

After the game the team will make a trip with the ferry to Gerolstein for seightseeing and enjoy the free day, before returning to Spitsbergen. Hopefully we will get some nice photos.

[Polar Islandstates]

Group A
Marcelo 0–1 The Holy Forden Church
Eslogic Islands 0–1 The Ultimate Evil

  Group A                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Marcelo                             2   1  0  1    2   1  +1    3
2 Misrantis                           1   1  0  0    1   0  +1    3
3 The Holy Forden Church              2   1  0  1    1   1   0    3
4 The Ultimate Evil                   2   1  0  1    1   2  −1    3
5 Eslogic Islands                     1   0  0  1    0   1  −1    0

Group B
Ark 2–0 Flock Nation
Pilipin Repablik 1–1 Rigerata

  Group B                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Rigerata                            2   1  1  0    2   1  +1    4
2 Anksgaard                           1   1  0  0    3   0  +3    3
3 Ark                                 2   1  0  1    2   1  +1    3
4 Pilipin Repablik                    1   0  1  0    1   1   0    1
5 Flock Nation                        2   0  0  2    0   5  −5    0

Group C
Advar 2–2 Septen Islands
Mollary 0–0 Mystaria

  Group C                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Advar                               2   1  1  0    3   2  +1    4
2 Septen Islands                      2   0  2  0    2   2   0    2
3 Aquillian                           1   0  1  0    0   0   0    1
4 Mollary                             1   0  1  0    0   0   0    1
5 Mystaria                            2   0  1  1    0   1  −1    1

Group D
Barra e Janeiro 4–1 Mavaria
East Külmsaar 2–1 Socialist Republic of New Ireland

  Group D                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Barra e Janeiro                     2   2  0  0    5   1  +4    6
2 East Külmsaar                       1   1  0  0    2   1  +1    3
3 Ibex                                1   1  0  0    2   1  +1    3
4 Socialist Republic of New Ireland   2   0  0  2    1   3  −2    0
5 Mavaria                             2   0  0  2    2   6  −4    0

Group E
Silexhera 1–0 Heltigon
Senippilihp 2–2 Urszag-Csatoria

  Group E                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Urszag-Csatoria                     2   1  1  0    4   2  +2    4
2 First Nation of Pre-Koselites       1   1  0  0    4   2  +2    3
3 Silexhera                           2   1  0  1    1   2  −1    3
4 Senippilihp                         1   0  1  0    2   2   0    1
5 Heltigon                            2   0  0  2    2   5  −3    0

Group F
Inisgarve 2–3 Acedonia
Slovekistan 1–1 Zombiestan

  Group F                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Zombiestan                          2   1  1  0    3   2  +1    4
2 Urbis Tractus                       1   1  0  0    4   1  +3    3
3 Acedonia                            2   1  0  1    4   6  −2    3
4 Slovekistan                         1   0  1  0    1   1   0    1
5 Inisgarve                           2   0  0  2    3   5  −2    0

[Mystaria]

"No, no, no!" shouted Faddexan from the touchline as Private Narvask tackled the Mollary defender with his shoulder, resembling a wrestling move more than a football tackle. The rules about only tackling with your feet hadn't sunk in yet, and as the referee drew his fourth red card, Narvask gave a quizzical look towards the bench. Faddexan looked down and sighed, a loss, with 5 red cards, which meant that they had to bring in all but two subs, and then bring two more as two of the replacements had been suspended.

Narvask came off with a shake of the head and a pat on the back from the team physio, who'd stepped in to help the opposition physios' when time got tough. He sat down on the bench and took a sip of a beer which was handed to him by a team mate. They still drank beer and smoked the occasional pipe, which showed that they were soldiers first and footballers second, and that this was considered a break from duty.

Mystaria could defend, but scoring goals had proved to be an issue, Faddexan promised himself to focus on it in training. They hadn't bagged a single goal in the tournament, and only 5 shots between two games. It was odd, considering the striker Articus Leventhusk was a airship gunner and one of the finest shots in the entire armed forces.

(Sorry for the shortness, I'm short on time)

[Septen Islands]

---

LOST IN TRANSLATION
Part Three: The Tacticians

---

The Press Conference | On The Training Ground

It was lunchtime in Longyearbyen.

A few of the Team Liaison Officers were in the staff canteen of the temporary Polarian Cuppet Committee offices. Some, like Kirsten Antonsen the liaison for Heltigon and Jo Nurmela for Advar were there because their teams had not called upon them for anything so far. Some, like Achilles Rustad liaison for the Septen Islands and Nicolaj Bjelland for the Pre-Koselites, were there to catch up with friends and exchange notes. Nicolaj had become something of a mentor for young Achilles, and Achilles had gone out of his way en route to Eilinn Pass for some advice from the history professor, who was enjoying a free day with Pre-Koselites on a bye. Both had also rather hoped to bump into Linnea Rong, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"The trouble is, they can't see eye to eye on anything," explained Achilles, woefully. The joint managers of his team, Magnus Fjelden and Gunutz Yaregi, were indeed at odds. Neither was especially pleased to find themselves joint manager of the team, after the fact. Only that clause, XXIII.ii.(a), had kept them from resigning. But they were not making happy bedfellows. Magnus favoured a typically Polarian gently conservative defensive formation but built on attractive football, while Gunutz preferred a controversially (in Astograth) conservative defensive formation built on attractive football. Anyone would think it a match made in heaven, but the Polarian and the Astograthi were inclined to disagree. Completely different concepts, they said in completely different languages to the flustered Achilles, who was to pass the conflicting messages on to the bemused squad who spoke neither Polarian nor Astograthi. To make matters worse, Magnus Fjelden was the only one who had any grasp of Astograthi at all, and so he was translating Gunutz into Valhallan for the benefit of the translator Achilles, and then arguing back. He appeared, for all the world, like he was arguing to himself in two languages at once:

"Mr. Yaregi just told me I wouldn't know a three point switch if it hit me in the eighteen yard box, which makes little to no sense whatsoever. That makes no sense, and you are talking out your Astobottom! I just told him that he is making no sense whatsoever, and then I insulted him, mildly and in a light-hearted fashion; however, he appears to have taken offence. He told me to go to hell. No, you go to Helheim. I told him to go to hell. Now he wants to punch me, and he called my mother a bearded moose. How dare he? How dare you? Calling my mother a bearded moose, you great oaf. I told him he has got a nerve, calling my mother a bearded moose, and then I called him something like an oaf, or the Astogathi approximation of it. I don't need to translate that hand signal do I? Are you kidding me, chum? I'll box your blinking ears! I just goaded him, called him something like mate, and warned him that I would box his ears. He looks like he might..."

And so on.

Achilles Rustad told his friend and colleague Nicolaj Bjelland that the tactical meeting was a complete nightmare to translate, and he is not sure he did a very good job, all things considered. But he did admit the Septen Islanders seemed to enjoy it.

"And another draw for the Frenchies, I see!" said Nicolaj, "They seem to be getting the message just fine, I think, for a new and completely untried team. Well done you, Achilles." The professor was a great comfort to the young student translator. "Now, a quick pint before you hit the road to Eilinn Pass? I wonder where that Linnea will be, right now."

The randy old boffin, thought Achilles, before wondering about Linnea himself.

[Polar Islandstates]

Apologies for lateness once again (long story), but cutoff will be in ONE HOUR.

[Polar Islandstates]

Right, rather embarrassed at lack of host RP in my own tournament, going to have to cutoff there.

Just to be 100% clear, I mean from myself, there - not guilt-tripping anyone at all.

[Polar Islandstates]

Group A
The Holy Forden Church 1–0 Eslogic Islands
Misrantis 1–0 Marcelo

  Group A                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Misrantis                           2   2  0  0    2   0  +2    6
2 The Holy Forden Church              3   2  0  1    2   1  +1    6
3 Marcelo                             3   1  0  2    2   2   0    3
4 The Ultimate Evil                   2   1  0  1    1   2  −1    3
5 Eslogic Islands                     2   0  0  2    0   2  −2    0

Group B
Flock Nation 2–3 Pilipin Repablik
Anksgaard 2–0 Ark

  Group B                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Anksgaard                           2   2  0  0    5   0  +5    6
2 Pilipin Repablik                    2   1  1  0    4   3  +1    4
3 Rigerata                            2   1  1  0    2   1  +1    4
4 Ark                                 3   1  0  2    2   3  −1    3
5 Flock Nation                        3   0  0  3    2   8  −6    0

Group C
Septen Islands 1–0 Mollary
Aquillian 1–0 Advar

  Group C                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Septen Islands                      3   1  2  0    3   2  +1    5
2 Aquillian                           2   1  1  0    1   0  +1    4
3 Advar                               3   1  1  1    3   3   0    4
4 Mollary                             2   0  1  1    0   1  −1    1
5 Mystaria                            2   0  1  1    0   1  −1    1

Group D
Mavaria 1–2 East Külmsaar
Ibex 4–1 Barra e Janeiro

  Group D                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Ibex                                2   2  0  0    6   2  +4    6
2 East Külmsaar                       2   2  0  0    4   2  +2    6
3 Barra e Janeiro                     3   2  0  1    6   5  +1    6
4 Socialist Republic of New Ireland   2   0  0  2    1   3  −2    0
5 Mavaria                             3   0  0  3    3   8  −5    0

Group E
Heltigon 1–0 Senippilihp
First Nation of Pre-Koselites 3–1 Silexhera

  Group E                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 First Nation of Pre-Koselites       2   2  0  0    7   3  +4    6
2 Urszag-Csatoria                     2   1  1  0    4   2  +2    4
3 Heltigon                            3   1  0  2    3   5  −2    3
4 Silexhera                           3   1  0  2    2   5  −3    3
5 Senippilihp                         2   0  1  1    2   3  −1    1

Group F
Acedonia 1–2 Slovekistan
Urbis Tractus 2–0 Inisgarve

  Group F                           Pld   W  D  L   GF  GA  GD  Pts 
1 Urbis Tractus                       2   2  0  0    6   1  +5    6
2 Slovekistan                         2   1  1  0    3   2  +1    4
3 Zombiestan                          2   1  1  0    3   2  +1    4
4 Acedonia                            3   1  0  2    5   8  −3    3
5 Inisgarve                           3   0  0  3    3   7  −4    0

As we reach the halfway point in the group stage, tomorrow's MD sees the last match for many in the groups, so it will be a vital one.

[Pre-Koselites]

---

HISTORY LESSONS
Part Three: Settling Malproksimen

---

The Ancient Northmen of Atlantian Oceania | The Vojaĝanto Nomads

The small bands of roving, dispossessed Rhyuun reached the shores of the Neyman Straits around 120 BV by scholars best estimates, and populated the sparse northern coastline around the area occupied now by modern Montepool, Starblaydia. While there are stories of the traumas they encountered along the road from their former homelands back west, there is little by way of explanation for their crossing of the Northandryun Passage, and yet they must have braved their natural suspicion of the sea in order to overcome that barrier and reach the Straits. However they achieved the crossing, this must have had some bearing on their thinking when they reached Nemya. Perhaps by then they had acquired some skill with navigating waters, which led them to cast off into the sea when roving Nemyan bands and later Starblaydi conquerors began to harass their small dwelling-sites on the coast. According to the folk tellers of the Indegene, the last stand of the Rhyuun on the mainland of northern AO was at a cove they remember as Belvidejo, and from there, under pressure from Sylvan expansion and slave-taking, they pushed out into the Neyman Straits in small canoe-like boats carved out of tree-trunks.

It took the water-borne Rhyuun refugees, the Vojaĝanto, twenty years of coastal exploration to reach their settled island of Malproksimen. Scholars piecing together the stories of their adventures suggest that from Belvidejo the canoeists first made landfall on Naŭdekvin, which was probably the old Vegai island now home of 95X. Encountering old enemies there, various journeys of discovery led them to places they name Ileksotrê and Simiolando (probably different sites on modern-day Vettrera), Ryerakabano (the islands of Hutt River) Akvo (Starblaydi Aquilana) and Lleĝayogxejo (Karin Islands). These journeys were made by several parties and remarkably though they were wholly unsuccessful in finding permanent homes, so that the Rhyuun began to call themselves Marocigano or sea gypsies, most of the journeys ended in reunion on the empty coast of Malproksimen, where, despite their continued troubles, the Rhyuun, or Vojaĝanto, have remained into the modern day.

Since the Rhyuun first encountered other peoples through conflict, perhaps three hundred years before – and let us not forget that prior to this was a period of two thousand years of internecine struggle with their close cousins the Noth – there had been nothing but extended periods of running from overwhelming enemies. Finally, on remote and empty Malproksimen, the Vojaĝanto enjoyed a settled and extended period of stabilisation. The Long Peace (Etendita Malstreĉiĝo) lasted nearly four centuries, from the discovery and settlement of the island around 100 BV to the end of the third century VE. On Malproksimen the Vojaĝanto found a bleak and mountainous shelter from the troubles of the world, but one rich in agricultural potential which they were quick to exploit. They were soon reasonably prosperous and organised, based largely around the coast with some inroads to the mountains where, full of caution and smart preparation, they built key shelters for times when trouble might come to their promised shore. And come it most surely did.

---

CULTURAL STUDIES
Part Two: Mistè Jula

---

Part One: Mistè Kaanda

Things had been very quiet for the Team Liaison Officers of the fifth Cuppet in Longyearbyen. Linnea Rong complained that her sociopathic Urszcsar guests had stonewalled her suspiciously, while most of the others claimed the teams had not even been in touch. Ilya Muller was having a whale of a time with the Silexherans and their... well, those, you know, things they can make with their... But apart from Ilya, it was fairly quiet on the Cuppet front, so far, for most of the Liaisons. In the late afternoon they had mostly gathered at the temporary offices of the Cuppet Committee for a bit of social time and to discuss 'pro-active solutions' with their supervisors (managerspeak for 'devising excuses and being prepared for when senior managers ask "why?"). Nicolaj Bjelland's friend Achilles was surprisingly not around, but Nicolaj had heard things had really gone off in the Septentrionax' camp, so he was no doubt busy sorting that out. Poor Achilles, only a youngster and a nice chap - probably not ready for all that testosterone-fuelled joint manager tosh going on over in Barentsburg.

I must call him, thought Nicolaj, when I'm done here.

Jo Nurmela the liaison for Advar wasn't around either, but apart from that, everyone had come in for an afternoon of 'team-building' exercises. Nicolaj, in contrast to most, was having a fine time with his liaison duties for the Pre-Koselites, whom he studied as a professor of history at the Longyearbyen Military Academy. For him this was a busman's holiday. He'd made friends with most of the strange fellows of the indigenous Atlantian tribe, and a couple of them had even come over to the offices to hear his entertaining talk on the settlement of Malproksimen by the Vojaĝanto. Admittedly the talk went over the heads of most of the liaison officers - Nicolaj had never been much of a speaker for the 'popular' audience - but his Indigene friends Roy Hollowfruit and Malcolm Trauma seemed most impressed, in an impassive sort of way common to the Pre-Koselites. Nicolaj was only now beginning to read them, thanks to this anthropological project he'd been lucky enough to get involved with.

And he'd been glad to have them around, all things considered. Whilst preparing his talk earlier that day, his laptop had crashed in the middle of building his presentation slide show. "Bloody elf-built piece of shit!" he'd exclaimed in a rare moment of emotion: he had a point, it was one of those cheap imports from the southern elf states of AO (everything seemed to have 'Made In Valanora' on it these days). Malcolm Trauma sagely explained that he would be better off investing in the more expensive and somewhat pretentious Melon Umbrella computers (or Brolly, for short: stylish, reliable, and mostly used by creative professional types, said Malcolm). Roy Hollowfruit was more helpful, quickly and impressively performing a full data recovery, and optimising the cheap device for optimum performance. He even helped with linking the computer to the wireless projector and the internet, as the audience gathered for Nicolaj's presentation and his panic at not having the right access key rose dramatically.

Later Roy explained his natural knack with computers. His Mistè, a patron spirit or sponsor - every Pre-Koselite had one - was Jula, the Spirit of Wifi.

"He used to be the Spirit of Humors and Ill-Winds," said Roy, "but lately he's diversified his port folio and currently he's riding the electronic boom."

[Septen Islands]

---

LOST IN TRANSLATION
Part Four: Keep Calm & Breathe Through Your Mouth

---

The Press Conference | On The Training Ground | The Tacticians

Achilles Rustad found it difficult to talk on the phone, what with his broken nose.

He was at Accident & Emergency in Barentsburg when his fellow liaison officer, friend and mentor Nicolaj Bjelland called him to check on his progress with the stubborn old joint managers of the Septentrionax. He had his head between his knees on advice from the triage nurse, and another colleague, Jo Nurmela, was at the water cooler getting him a plastic cup of Valhallan spring water. As the woefully underemployed liaison officer for Advar, a tiny unknown subnational region of marginally larger and famously unfamiliar Albaie, Jo was in Barentsburg too, since their teams would be playing each other later. They hooked up for lunch and though she was no Linnea Rong - by any stretch of the imagination - still Achilles had been hoping to hook up again after the match for a little more than lunch. He reflected on this as he counted stars and blood dripped from his nose onto his trousers, his shoes, the hospital floor and, sparingly, the medical wipes the nurse had given him without ceremony or sympathy. "You're spilling a bit, there, Achilles," she said, passing him the cool water, and then adding, as if to comfort him, "at least you've got all your teeth."

His phone rang. It was Nicolaj.

"Heddo?"

"Achilles? I heard there was a fight up at camp today - how exciting! Were you there when it happened? Did that old Astograthi warrior really lamp Magnus Fjelden?"

"Ahdinktats gggharw id sdardid kkkyess. Prab-bb-bkkly."

"Um, Achilles? Is that you? The reception is terrible up there, by the sounds of it."

Achilles passed the phone to Jo Nurmela, who explained everything to Nicolaj. Achilles could hear him laughing at the other end, and then Jo passed the phone back.

"You walked right into that one, my young friend, by the sound of it. Still, at least you've got all your teeth. You do have all your teeth still, right?"

"Dessz Nikkkclllaj idyll kkhavallmedeet."

Nicolaj was laughing as he rang off. A drip of blood spattered on the floor.

While Achilles quietly bled, wondering how it had come to all this, Jo reviewed the potential conflict of interests regarding what was going to happen later. As in, after the match. After all, the two liaison officers of opposing teams, seen together in public at lunch - how could they be missed? Especially when the fight broke out between the two managers of the Septen Islands, and despite rumours to the contrary, old Gunutz Yaregi had hardly lamped Magnus Fjelden. Achilles and Jo had been lunching together when the team had unexpectedly walked in, so the liaison officers were hiding in a booth with their goat cheese and ginger crumbles so as not to be spotted when the argument erupted. It had all been a bit of pushing and shoving and shouting, what one might call handbags at dawn, and really - as Jo advised at the time - Achilles need not have got involved. But he felt he would be failing his duty not to intervene, and he walked right into the one and only punch that was thrown in anger.

It knocked him out.

[The identity of the pugilist responsible has been withheld for reasons of discretion and as a narrative device] and Gunutz [dammit] helped the stricken Achilles to a seat where he was attended by the snotty waiter with the First Aid certificate, and when his nose was certifiably refusing to stop bleeding, they took him to the hospital. By this time Jo had stepped in to accompany him to A&E, while [name withheld] and Gunutz shook hands and agreed, belatedly, not to fight any more.

Jo's point was, they had already been seen together. And she wondered whether they ought to declare what they were going to do to each other later to their supervisor, just for transparency. At that point Achilles passed out. He didn't know it until then, because he had never experienced it before, but he had mild haemophobia. Which has two principle symptoms: passing out, and not recognising a come-on (before passing out).