World Cup 95 Roleplay Thread

[Ochre Islands]

External publishing permitted

Mertagnian harvest spectacularly fails
Fingers pointed at blameless nation - Bostopia - in false flag exersize

'In the region of Fyle, Mertagnian soldiers have been busying themselves with creating a false flag exersize following the spectacular failure of the Mertagnian harvest. Soldiers and scientists were seen on the site with doctored 'measuring instruments' which were used to spread the expansive Mertagnian worldview that Bostopia had launched an attack against them which somehow caused the harvest to fail.

Of course, Bostopia knows the truth. Mertagne was so busy with their warmongering against Bostopia that they failed to ensure the food security of their populace. Mertagne failed to care for their own citizens in the way they care about their lackluster military 'might' and 'prowess'. Bostopia did, of course, offer a peace where Bostopia took the province of Touchpoint, to prevent any further Mertagnian presence and therefore aggression on The Bekk, whilst also taking the province of Wesaxe in its entirety, which includes the region of Fyle, where the false flag attack took place, in order to not only clean up, but restore the region's food growing ability under the proper management.

Mertagne has so far not responded to this deal at all, leaving the Bostopian Government in Newfort to conclude that Mertagne only wishes the war to drag on, while pulling in more of Anaia on a path towards extinction as Bostopia is forced to defend herself more vigorously than they already have. Krytenia is the latest nation to join Mertagne in creating a war-like atmosphere, with their Prime Minister, Penelope Baker, referring to themselves as a 'beast', something this paper finds itself in rare agreement with the Krytenians on. Whilst the Krytenian 'beast' snarls and gnashes near the gates of our border, clearly also with expansion on the mind, Newfort has been forced to respond, pouring our own brave forces westwards, ready to meet any Krytenian who dares let even their breath defile our homeland with a response so blinding they will be thankful for their swift end.

Bostopia's enemies - Mertagne, Ko-oren and Krytenia. Expansionist, aggressive and foolhardy.'

Willow, not for the first time lately, stood up from her desk and put down the Bostopian newspaper she'd been presented with and let out a heavy sigh. She began walking out of her office in central Bellflower towards a corridor. 'Clearly, the invasion of the Ochres was the start of a deadly chess match' she thought 'though one which is rapidly spiralling out of control.' Willow clutched her necklace slightly as she was about to step into the corridor, before the ground beneath her feet started to shake. Knowing the tell-tale sign of earthquakes, (the Ochres being hit by around 500 a year, due to their position above a geological hot spot) Willow remained in the doorway and pushed her hands out either side of her, pressing her palms firmly against them. While the earthquake passed fairly quickly, it was still the strongest they'd had that year since the Ochre Gods had brought the barriers down.

Not long later, she'd found herself speaking to Scientists brought into her office to discuss what had happened. 'It looks like, Prime Minister' said one, adjusting his glasses which had slipped down his nose a little. 'There's increased activity around the Island of Fire.' 'Good news for tourism then' Willow replied, knowing how a lot of Grand Ochre's economy fed off the tourists who visited specifically to see an ever-spewing volcanic island. 'Somewhat' he replied. 'While it does look like the - "Island of Fire", as you know it - may be set to resume one eruption or two, it does seem that the hot spot is moving north-east, away from the "Island of Fire" and the Ochres could soon see a new island be born there. Perhaps there'll be a "New Island of Fire."' 'Even better news for tourism then' Willow laughed. But in the back of her mind, she worried that all it really meant was something else to defend.

[Cabo Azure]

Delaclava 2–3 Cabo Azure
Starting XI: Gomez | Soares, M'bah-Pinho, Furtado, Branco | Gontijo, Bastos, Florencio | Cardoso (c) (goal 71'), Mendonça (goal 38'), Gouveia (off 75')
Subs: Magalhaes (on 75', goal 86')

A hard-fought match to preserve the Maçaricas' perfect qualifying
Khautov scored early to put the Azurean side behind, a goal which was only answered by Mendonça in the waning minutes of the first half. The Phoenixes retook the lead after halftime and the game cooled significantly, with Delaclava looking to preserve their lead and Cabo Azure unwilling to take too many risks in looking for an equalizer. Cardoso finally scored on a tap-in when the Maçaricas were able to get numbers into the box, sending the teams into the final twenty minutes on level terms. Zanetti subbed out a struggling Gouveia despite his proclivity for late-game heroics, a choice which was vindicated when sub Magalhaes scored the game winner against the run of play.

Cabo Azure 4–2 Astograth
Starting XI: Gomez | Soares, M'bah-Pinho, Furtado, Branco (c) | Gontijo, Bastos, Florencio (goal 62') | Santos, Mendonça (goal 90'+1) Gouveia (goals 12', 50')
Subs:

An incredibly complete performance in the final home match at Natal's home ground, Stadio Gonsalves. The Maçaricas remained on the attack for ninety minutes plus, only conceding one on a mistimed set piece and another from a well-placed corner kick that caughtGomez flat-footed.

Projected Starting XI @ Huayramarca: Gomez | Soares, M'bah-Pinho, Furtado, Branco | Gontijo, Bastos, Florencio | Cardoso, Mendonça, Silveira (c)

Princess Solveig told herself, in fact reminded herself regularly, that her interest in Azurean history was academic, but that didn’t stop her from learning things that pertained to her “day job.” The history of Cabo Azure is in large part the history of the di Portelo dynasty, her family from which she was disconnected until recently, so it should not have surprised her that she was continually running into anecdotes that piqued her personal curiosity. Among the most prominent were references to the praetorians, a defunct organization which had apparently once been the main protectors of the royal family.

Solvieg recalled learning about the praetorians from their successors, the two frogmen from the Destacamento de Segurança Marítima who’d accompanied her and Princess Veronica on their fateful dive to the wreckage of the Donzola de Pólvora off Sao Simone. Those two young men, one of whose grandfather had been a praetorian, had dismissed the praetorians as soldiers who became complacent bureaucrats and overstepped their boundaries. What Solveig learned now contradicted that narrative; rather than simple self-preserving bureaucrats, she saw an active political faction exerting its will on the Azurean state.

Administratively the praetorians were best understood as the last gasp of the Knights of St. Simon, the martial order which originally settled the Azure Islands. When Sebastien di Portelo was crowned King of the Azure Islands, he levied a tax from each of the other islands that included one of their best knights. The role of this individual was originally akin to a hostage, but over generations morphed into an honor guard that protected the king while advocating for their individual islands. Over generations the same families sent their sons and later daughters to Portelo, where the praetorians, as they became known, formed a social caste technically beneath the nobility but notable for their unfettered access to the king.

After the shift from hostages to trusted companions, which took hold over the course of about a generation, and the much slower shift from honorary to hereditary assignment, which was never made official, the next paradigm shift for the praetorians came during the time of King Adolfo II, who reigned a century and a half before Manuel. According to legend, on his first day as king Adolfo heard a widow from the island of Sao Cristobal who told her that her island's noble patron had taken her late husband's entire estate as payment for his debts and left her penniless. Whatever the reason, young King Adolfo ordered an audit of all the noble families in Cabo Azure, which found they were negligent, decadent, and living lavishly on their serfs' dime while providing little in the way of value in return.

Adolfo's response was to strip his nobility of the right to levy taxes and consolidate power in Portelo, a move which greatly strengthened the political stature of his praetorians. Throughout his long reign, Adolfo relied on his praetorians as enforcers, generals, advisors, and fixers, elevating their status to be nearly equal to what the nobility had been. When word came that King Adolfo had died at sea, it was the praetorians who kept order, operating under the direction of Adolfo's son-in-law Prince Alexandre VI of Quebec and Dom Tito Silva, while Prince Carlos was paralyzed with grief.

At least that's what the history books said, but Solveig found that the official accounts contradicted what she knew from those who had been alive during Carlos III's reign, namely her cousin Queen Abigail and Abby's mother Queen Carlotta. Their accounts, as well as other contemporaries, consistently described Carlos as level headed and dispassionate, not the sort of person who loses his mind in grief. In their discussions of statecraft, Queen Abigail always counseled Solveig to look for the real reasons for things, so the next chance she had, the princess brought up her concern.

"You sound like Ray," Abby chuckled behind the cheap desk of her office at Maritime. Office hours with the Queen Mother required a prior appointment and a reasonable justification, but otherwise worked the same as for any other member of the faculty at Maritime, and Solveig went through the same process as anyone else.

“King Reinaldo II?” Solveig clarified, though she knew the nickname. Diminutive nicknames were common for those whose namesakes were still alive, to differentiate them–even the venerable Dom Carlos Silva, named after King Carlos III, had gone by “Carlito” the first half of his life. That Reinaldo II’s nickname was a homophone for “king” served an additional dose of irony.

“Yes, him,” Abby confirmed, not hiding the mirth in her voice. “He was always paranoid, and one of his fixations was why Carlos took so long to take the throne after Adolfo was killed.”

“I always assumed it was because Carlos hoped his father might be found alive.” Solveig in fact assumed no such thing, but she felt she had to bring up the orthodox theory in order to discount it.

“It’s possible,” Abigail said, which Solveig knew was as close to a dismissal as she was going to get. A politician to the last, Queen Abby rarely committed herself in conversation.

“What did King Reinaldo think was the reason?” asked Solveig. “Reinaldo II, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” answered Abby, and Solveig almost believed her. “There was an envelope that was in his mother’s, Queen Isabella’s, possession when she died. She told him over and over that if anything happened to her, he should find the envelope, but he never did. I think it ate him, whatever was in that envelope.”

Solveig played along. “What do you think was in the envelope?”

“I have no idea,” said Abby. “I don’t even know what could be in there. Adolfo died at sea, that’s almost a given, and who can know what happened, except who was on his ship when she went down? Ray believed a lot of insane things, but that envelope was at the heart of a lot of it.”

“And you never found it? The envelope?”

“Never looked.”

[Polar Islandstates]

SOUR CHERRIES
Volume Two; Chapter 2
ii.Jasmine
Volume One
i.Alexsandr - ii.Jasmine - iii.Stina - iiii.Federico - v.Jos - vi.Silas - vii.Marta - viii.Filip – ix.Sebastian - x.Ingeborg - xi.Aino - xii.The Twelfth
Volume Three
** ** ** ** **

“Alexsandr? Alxsandr van Sorensen?” persisted the voice.

Alexsandr looked surprised, as well he might. He was used to being recognised, since emerging from his semi-self-imposed isolation he had been pointed out and stared at in airports and city centres the length and breadth of the Federation. He’d grown familiar with the conversations by this point; the tone of voice, the shock, the sense that the bystander was talking to someone that they already knew. That last effect was particularly pronounced in Jan Mayen, where he was a particular hero, but this voice wasn’t that. This wasn’t someone asking for a photograph.

He’d also grown used to the mock surprise and shallow impression of a coincidence that came from agents, of whom he ‘bumped into’ a surprising amount these days. Literary agents angling for a book deal, television bookers looking for the next guest on their magazine show, advertisers and brand managers hoping for a famous face to endorse their shonky products, and even misguided revolutionaries hoping to exploit his well-known - but rarely-celebrated - political opinions for the latest doomed student movement. But this wasn’t that either.

This was different in a number of ways.

For a start, he recognised the faced smiling down at him. That didn’t always happen in these circumstances. In face, he recognised a number of the faces that were present in the room, which considering the proportion of faces he didn’t recognise, and acknowledging the location of the cafe they were sitting in, and the fact one of the men in the corner was wearing a clearly fake beard and toupee, represented a level of coincidence that pushed this situation from ‘noteworthy’ into ‘suspicious’.

Or it would have done, had he not also noticed the surprise on the faces of those around him. Not only were they surprised at having Alexsandr himself walk into the small cafe they were sitting in, but some of them were also eyeing each other with a sense of vague recognition, and as they watched the tall blonde woman get up and confidently, if with a tone of astonishment, address Alexsandr with some level of familiarity, they were then showing further shock that they themselves were not in fact the only person in the room to know Alexsandr personally. The odds for which must have been astronomical.

It was just very surprising all round.

“Erm, yes,” stammered Alexsandr hesitantly, looking around and half standing to offer his hand to shake, “is it... Jasmine?”

Realisation dawned on those around him, and a smile broke out on the face of the woman in front of him. She took his hand, shook it, and gestured for his to sit down.

“That’s right, Jasmine Lindblom,” she said warmly, “I interviewed you a long time ago on the practicalities of Divisjon One marketing itself abroad given the rise in Party Politik.”

“Of course, yes, for, erm…” thought Alexsandr.

“For FPINN, yes. My colleagues in the sports department arranged it,” continued Lindblom, gesturing at and then taking the spare seat next to Alexsandr once he nodded, “but it never went out in the end. Shame, it was a good piece.”

The figures in the room that had been looking quizzically at the pair of them nodded and leaned backwards in their chairs somewhat, happy to have put a name to the face at last.

Jasmine Lindblom had made a name for herself in local reporting back in her home state of Svalbard, but it was her interest in stories that picked out how macro-scale national or international decision making impacted the people themselves on a micro-level that brought her to the attention of the Federal networks. Upon starting for FPINN, a series of documentary pieces that picked out the impact of Party policies on defence contracts, security, and the manufacturing base had all brought her positive reviews and good-favour with Party officials. A brief promotion to national anchor followed, initially on the lower-profile rolling news networks and lunchtime broadcasts, but her desire for frontline reporting meant she didn’t last long. Subsequent reports on the growing impact of immigration policy, foreign investment, and local political fringe parties had then made her less popular with her superiors, who feared Party pushback, and when the Executive for Sport and Culture appointed an ‘overseer’ to the FPINN, her chances of frontline reporting were severely diminished.

“It never went out? How come?” asked Alexsandr.

“Well, you were, erm…” started Lindblom, trying to find the right words in order to be diplomatic.

“...placed under house arrest?” finished Alexsandr.

“Yes. Well, if that’s what we’re calling it.”

“We might as well,” said Alexsandr, wearily, waving a dismissive hand in the air, “I’m finding I care much less about what people think in my old age.”

“Oh definitely,” smiled Lindblom, revealing a collection of crows feet and laughter lines around her deep blue eyes, “it’s much more fun that way, isn’t it? Don't let the make-up on television fool you - I'm older than I look. I find myself approaching rather a sweet spot like that myself.”

Alexsandr smiled at her. Her high cheekbones and uncharacteristically dark eyebrows marked her out as a distinctive figure, though with her shoulder length hair pulled back in a high bun rather than in her usual ‘broadcast-ready’ low waves she could have passed through most crowded places almost unseen. The ability to both blend-in and be a household name must have been an enviable skill for a reporter like Lindblom to have, he reasoned.

“So what are you up to, these days,” he enquired politely, “still with the FPINN?”

“Oh, no, not anymore,” she grinned.

“Since when?”

“Since about… half an hour,” she answered, looking at her watch.

“You’re joking!” exclaimed Alexsandr, “Oh, I’m sorry for asking.”

“Oh don’t be silly, I was beginning to feel like I’d outgrown that particular establishment anyhow...”

“What happened?” asked Alexsandr, before interrupting himself and adding “Sorry, sorry, I’m being nosey and here you are having just been fired.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

“But you barely know me.”

“That’s okay, I need to tell someone or my head might explode with it all.” She said, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Oh?”

“Well, there I am, sitting in my nice comfortable desk in Franz Josef City, knowing that the FPINN doesn’t want to get rid of a respected name like me, someone who has a reputation for actual journalism, but also knowing that the Party overseer is watching everything they, and therefore I, put out. So, I’m trying to pick my next story carefully.”

Alexsandr looked around the café. Even though he and Lindblom were leaning in towards each other in order to talk more privately, he couldn’t help but feel that the rest of the room were doing their best to continue listening. The televisions in the corners were still muted, and had gotten up as far as some painful slow-motion replays of the Terns’ capitulation against Basel-Triesen in that disastrous first half of qualifying, but the café owner had stopped cleaning the coffee machine and had chosen to polish some cutlery instead. Having seen the cutlery, Alexsandr reasoned that this was a futile effort, but she wasn’t the only one. The man with his head hidden behind an open laptop seemed to have one ear cocked and straining to the side in order to hear around it, and the man in the terrible disguise in particular seemed to have almost stopped moving entirely in order to hear as much as he could – even leaving a half-eaten omelette that would surely not taste nice once it was cold... although to be fair, it mightn’t have tasted nice anyway. Even the ceiling fan seemed to be moving slower. Alexsandr was put on edge by all of this, you never knew when They Party would be watching these days, but didn’t want to risk saying anything for fear of playing his hand too early.

“And then,” continued Lindblom, “I get an anonymous e-mail from someone calling themselves Anser, telling me that there is a rich underground of dissent and political activism in the canals of Bjarnarey, Hove and Hoyer in particular, and that it might be of interest to me.”

“And the FPINN cleared that?” asked Alexsandr.

“Course not, I never asked them. I made up some story about the local elections that are coming up here at the same time as the referendum next month, and said I wanted to do a piece about some local Party members looking to make a splash at the Norscelt Commonwealth. So, they paid for my ticket and off I went.”

“But, what was your plan exactly,” said Alexsandr, puzzled, “surely you’d never have been able to put out any report on any underground movement, even if you could find one?”

“Well, no. Admittedly, I was planning to actually do the puff-piece on the local elections either way. But, this was just a factfinding mission anyway. I hadn’t even been assigned a camera and sound team yet. I always had ambitions of leading my own network, or, I don’t know. My own media outlet of some sort. I am so sick of the impartiality I’m supposed to have by working at the FPINN, and even more of the Party meddling in that impartiality to make it, well: impartial. Maybe I was going to gather contacts for something like that in the future. I don’t know. I guess I just... wanted to know there was something else out there.” Sighed Lindblom. “It gets depressing you know? Well, of course you know. But, don’t you want to know that there are other people out there who aren’t afraid to be outspoken about the way this country is going?”

“Oh, for sure. But, what can I do?” asked Alexsandr, “I’m just an old ex-footballer. Sure, everyone knows my face, but I don’t know the right people to do anything about anything. It’s nice to know that you never abandoned your beliefs.”

“Did you?” asked Lindblom.

“Abandon? No.” asserted Alexsandr. “Choose to not talk so openly about? Perhaps. It’s true.”

“Is that why you left Jan Mayen after all these years?” asked Lindblom again, ever the journalist.

“Well, I think I harboured romantic ideas that simply by coming out of my cage I’d kickstart a wobble in Lund’s outlook, or his plans, or... I don’t know.” Sighed Alexsandr. “Clearly they no longer fear an old man like me, though.”

“Mm. I wouldn’t be so sure,” reasoned Lindblom, leaning back in her chair, “clearly they’re still afraid of old-ish journalists like me.”

“Ah, yes, so; what happened? Did they find out?”

“I suspect it was a honey-trap,” answered Lindblom, raising her thick eyebrows reflectively, “and I fell for it. No sooner had I dumped by bags at my hotel and set out looking for signs of radical politics than I received an e-mail through from my bosses. Turns out someone had ‘tipped off’ the Party overseer that my trip here wasn’t for the reasons I had said it was, and that they had no choice but to let me go, effective immediately.”

“And, you’re not sorry?”

“Well, a little,” she admitted, “my colleagues were nice, if scared of retribution from those higher-up, but, it is nice to think I can do what I want again. Say what I want. Talk to who I want.”

“Sure, but, to do what with it?” winced Alexsandr, fearing he was pointing out the flaw in Lindblom’s plan.

“Ah, you don’t worry about that. Nice recognisable face like mine, something will turn up,” she winked back, “I just need to find the right people. Somehow. But apparently I’m in the right place for that now anyway.”

“The Ocean Café?” asked Alexsandr hesitantly, looking around at their less than esteemed surroundings.

“Well not here specifically, no,” she laughed, “this was just because a goose bumped into me on the pontoons out there, would you believe, and knocked my flask of coffee into the lagoon. No, I just came here for a top-up of caffeine before I go and find this ‘Bjarninger Underground’. Or should that be ‘Underwater...’?”

“If they even exist.” Added Alexsandr gloomily.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, honey-traps don’t have to use real honey in them, do they?” he continued, “You’ve only got the word of this Anser person that there even is ‘an underground’ here. It doesn’t have to actually exist for them to have tempted you out here. More work for them to find something real, in fact.”

“That’s true. And if they didn’t know about it...”

“...why wouldn’t they have already crushed it? Quite,” finished Alexsandr for her, “we can both see the way this vote next month is going.”

“Mm. Badly.”

“I feel your frustration,” smiled Alexsandr, happy to have just found a kindred spirit.

“It’s worrying, isn’t it?” Said Lindblom, through a grim smile. “The way this country is headed? We were all so happy when the Party said the isolationism was going to end. We heard rumours at the FPINN that Lund was planning his handover of power.”

“Oh?”

“Well that was a long time ago. Now the borders are down, but he seems even more entrenched, and all the right arrows are pointing in the wrong direction.”

“Terns’ performances included...” chuckled Alexsandr facetiously, nodding at the televisions, where the Terns were currently losing all over again to Sarzonia.

“Mm. I know. I just don’t understand why nobody else is making a fuss!” continued Lindblom, getting increasingly exasperated. “You’ve met the electorate, right? I get their motivations, I understand their wants and needs, their fears and anxieties. They’re my people. I get them.”

Alexsandr nodded passionately.

“I can totally understand how easy it can be to manipulate them to get them to vote for what you want, or how to stifle opposition movements and stop them from forming. We’ve seen all that before abroad, and it’s scary enough to see it here. However, I can at least understand how it comes about...” ranted Lindblom, a little louder this time, “...but the higher-ups? What happened to all the business? The commerce? The miners and the movers. This nation is built on their wealth, is it not? And where are their profits, right now? Decades of isolation and then when they finally get to trade abroad, they see things tumble even further? I don’t get it. Why aren’t they making a fuss? Why aren’t they putting pressure on Lund. Surely, surely they can’t be happy with the way things are going?!”

“Oh, we’re not.”

Alexsandr and Lindblom swivelled their heads to see the source of the interruption. A smartly dressed woman with a single red star enamel badge pinned to her lapel, of similar age to Lindblom but with immaculately turned out hair and make-up was sitting besides a briefcase and a laptop bag, and had looked up from her mobile device to lower her glasses and join their conversation.

“In fact,” she continued, “I was just wondering myself if it might be time to do something about it...”

** ** ** ** **
Volume Three
i.Alexsandr - ii.Jasmine - iii.Stina - iiii.Federico - v.Jos - vi.Silas - vii.Marta - viii.Filip – ix.Sebastian - x.Ingeborg - xi.Aino - xii.The Twelfth
Volume One

[Mertagne]

The rural winter scene didn’t look too different from normal, but there were some tell-tale signs that something had gone awry. The few conifers that were present at the edges of hedgerows and as trees in small copses stood naked in the light of the winter sun, their spiny needles littered across the floor and blowing gently in the wind as if the trees themselves had drawn to shivering in the cold weather.

The dark brown earth of the carrot field didn’t seem too different either, but the typically green leaf sprigs that would be present and upright here at this time of year had instead dulled into a dry brown and sank, defeated, their spirit crushed by the Bostopian bombs whose craters pock-marked the bleak landscape around. From an aerial perspective, the small white dots of people dressed in clean room gear scanning for unexploded ordnance could be seen criss-crossing the fields. In the north-west corner, a white tarpaulin tent appeared to act as a hive from which these ants were to-ing and fro-ing.

Two figures stood in the tent, a short one and a tall one, dressed in industrial clean room gear. They were talking to a third figure, a medium sized one, that was dressed in some ill-fitting gear, and plodded around like this second skin was not one they were used to. The whirr and buzz of machines clicked around them - a rudimentary field laboratory, hoisted up in the night.

“... And you’re certain that’s it? No additional nasty surprises?” asked the ill-fitting figure.

“Well, I’m not certain, Major, it’s early days. We’ll have to send these samples to the main lab for further analysis, their equipment will be better than what we have available here.” replied the short one. “But so far the samples we’ve tested here have come up negative for the substances that could be harmful in the long term to humans. Boston’s an arsehole, but an efficient one, it seems - he definitely wanted us to die of starvation, and not from bioaccumulation.”

“I suppose he thinks he’d get more of the credit that way.” replied the Major, who was tugging at a sleeve of the clean room suit, slightly browned at the heels due to the soil build up. “Thinks it’d be our own hubris. I guess also he’s got plans of inheriting the land when he thinks he’s done with us, so he can’t taint it too much. Well, he’s not getting an inch of our soil, even if it is tainted now.”

“Quite inspiring, Major. Reckon you’ll rally some troops by claiming that even if you do die, your body will give back the nutrients the Bostopians have stolen from us? Nitrogen, Carbon, maybe even a bit of Sulphur?” asked the tall one.

“No, I’m not one for speeches. Besides, it’d just be a load of stinky air.” replied the Major.
“And it’s just the one compound you’ve found around here?”

The tall one chimed in. “No, Major, it’s more than one. The first is the more all-purpose herbicide - your weed killer, for example, but imagine if it thought any plant was a weed. That’s gone on all the fields, it seems. Eyewitness reports and field study claim that one was delivered by an explosive payload - a gas that lingered and condensed with last night’s rainfall. Then there was a second compound. This one seems to have been targeted at the trees.”

“The trees? Why would they go for the trees?” asked the Major.

“Well, multiple reasons for that Major, I’m sure you’ve already thought of some from a combat perspective.” replied the short one. “I know most of the trees are bare anyway for the winter, but if they die, we lose a decent chunk of biodiversity. The evergreens, as well, if they lose their needles it’s easier to spot targets from above. Can’t make any gin, either. That’ll sour the morale for sure.”

“Hmm, you’re right - this countryside looks like a postcard from Sorthern Northland at the moment. Maybe a bit less glowy. There’ll be no carrots for Winterval, then.” said the Major as they gestured around the barren plastic ground of the lab.

The scientists, the tall one and the short one, just shrugged.

“No, you’re right. Good work here, you can pack it up. If we get knowledge that the Bostopians have applied a different compound elsewhere, we’ll let you know.”

---

"

Good afternoon Mertagne, Anaia, and the Multiverse. For those of you that don’t know me, I am Mertagne’s head of state, known as the Grand Regent, Malcolm Noirot. My message is one for the Mertagnian people, but I am highly aware that the challenges our nation has faced in the last 24 hours are enough to strike fear in the most civilised of nations, and that they will be listening.

My country members, the international community has demanded much of us in the last few years. The shadow of Bostopian tyranny has lingered in the background, corrupting the influence of Anaian nations, and the responsibility to stop the tyranny of fascism has once again fallen on our shoulders. This is a mantle that I know you all accept willingly, as it is an ideal core to our very being, our nation was forged in the fight for freedom against Calanian tyranny all those years ago. As we fought against the darkness back then, we fight again every day now, against an ever present enemy that seeks to stifle our ability to trade via the sea, strike fear into our hearts with bombing raids from the air, and now seeks to starve us by attacking our very land itself.

Over the last few nights, an intense bombing campaign has been conducted over the province of Wesaxe and the surrounding areas. These heartlands are a major centre for agriculture, and have done their part admirably during this conflict to keep Mertagnians fed and able to continue the fight. However, this bombing campaign has seen herbicidal chemicals leach into the very soil of our nation, ruining this season’s harvest and presenting a direct challenge to food security in the nation.

This attack has shown a blatant disregard for the sanctity of life, as from this, the enemy intends that Mertagnians will be subjected to suffering, to starve in their own nation until we capitulate to the Bostopian cause. I have received communications from the enemy that suggest that should we wish to cease the conflict, we can do so, but it will come at a heavy price - half of the country’s land area.

Let me be abundantly clear: Mertagne will never cede a single inch of this land that it has fought so valiantly for. Not a single Mertagnian will be left behind, their homes will not be given willingly to supremacists, and our ideals of freedom and democracy will endure even in the face of aggression. We helped out the Ochre Islands in their hour of need, and drove back an invading fleet. We are doing the same now that the fight is on our shores, and our allies in the Ochres are reciprocating here too.

I have spoken to members of the international community, and I speak to them now, sharing the evidence of this barbaric act, and seeking their support in bringing justice to the perpetrators of this heinous attack. As a free and open community, we need to stand together in times like these, or else the shadow of corruption threatens to darken all of our days.

The coming days will be tough. The coming weeks, even harder. I will be present to address the nation throughout this time, and together we will endure this. The government is reacting to the situation and help is available for all of us who will be affected by it. Every single Mertagnian has fought so bravely since the outset of this conflict, as a united force. We need to continue doing so - standing up, supporting each other, helping do what we can, and together we can prove to ourselves, to the international community, and most importantly, to the enemy, that Mertagne’s frontier spirit will never be quelled. It is only together that we can emerge through this, one of many dark chapters of our short but storied history, stronger, and more united than ever.

I thank each and every Mertagnian for their service, and I am proud for every day that we continue to live our ideals. Ama, Anaia, Aurrerra!

"

[Indusse]

Hind Tribune
Night Life > An Overview

By Subrato Shahla

Is Indusse, a safe haven for it's citizens to travel and roam around at night? Are the women safe at night in the nation or is it the time when the crime gets to be in its peak? What if i say, Indusse is perfect for fun. Indusse is a lively country with a lot of culture, and when the sun goes down, the cities light up with many ways to have fun. There are different things for different people, so everyone can enjoy the nightlife in their own way. The cityscape is adorned with lively nightclubs, where the pulsating beats of music echo through the night. From trendy lounges to traditional dance floors, Indusse offers a spectrum of nightlife venues, each contributing to the vibrant after-dark scene. Live music performances, DJ sets, and cultural events create an immersive experience for night owls seeking entertainment.

One attraction of Indusse's nightlife is its culinary delights that extend into the late hours. Street food vendors set up shop, offering delectable treats, turning the city streets into a gastronomic haven for those craving a midnight snack [Read more about the Cuisine, in the Last Article]. Indusse cares a lot about keeping people safe during the night. The streets are well-lit, and they have good security measures, making it a safe place. The police and community working together also help create an environment where people can relax without worrying about their safety.

The local culture of respect and hospitality also extends to the nightlife scene. Visitors often find a warm and welcoming environment in bars and clubs, fostering a sense of community among diverse groups of people enjoying the night. It shows that Indusse is dedicated to making a place where everyone feels welcome and safe to enjoy the different aspects of nighttime. When the stars come out, Indusse's nightlife invites you to have a great time, ensuring that diversity and safety go hand in hand for a memorable experience.

---

Group 13 First Half - Indusse Fixtures
MD1 : Indusse 2 - 1 Vilwandia
MD2 : Ethane 0 - 0 Indusse
MD3 : Indusse 2 - 0 Damukuni
MD4 : Sharktail 1 - 1 Indusse
MD5 : Indusse 4 - 3 Banija
MD6 : The Holy Empire 2 - 2 Indusse
MD7 : Indusse 3 - 3 Santa-Barbara

---

Group 13 Second Half - Indusse Fixtures
MD8 : Vilwandia 1 - 0 Indusse
MD9 : Indusse 2 - 0 Ethane
MD10 : Damukuni 1- 4 Indusse
MD11 : Indusse 3 - 1 Sharktail
MD12 : Banija 6 - 1 Indusse
MD13 : Indusse 2 - 3 The Holy Empire
MD14 : Santa-Barbara v Indusse

[Banija]

Banijan manager Pam Scott standing before reporters after Banija's MD12 6-1 victory over Indusse

"... The dream- is still alive!" Pam Scott had declared with confidence. Banija had been a team on the downswing. The back to back World Cup winners, currently double holders of the World Cup and the AOCAF(potentially the final ever champion of the AOCAF?), absolutely had found themselves on the ropes of World Cup Qualifying. There had been a lot of discussion about this team- ever since they won their first three World Cup Qualifiers, quite handily, to put themselves on top of their group, everything had been a disaster. This win over Indusse had been just their third win across their last 9 Qualifiers, with this highly talented team just not looking for long periods of time. And they had been on the brink of disaster- a loss at home, against Indusse, would have seen their faint World Cup Qualifying hopes extinguished, and surely would have had Pam Scott shown the door.

Even a draw would have been bad. Down 4 points to Indusse with three games left, if they did not make any progress today, the chances of making up that kind of ground, with this little amount of games left, would have absolutely been slim to none. So to say that this match, here at the Eagle's Club, in Dodoma, was a must-win, was honestly an understatement. And despite all the controversy surrounding this struggling national team, with heavy media criticism of Pam Scott, her tactics, and the players, the energy in the ground was all positive- fans came early, as the Eagle's Club was full about 15 minutes before kickoff, with songs being sung and one hell of a matchday atmosphere being built here.

In a Qualifying campaign where everybody had been terrible, for once, for once, these 90 minutes seemed to turn back the clock, at least a little bit. "The first time all campaign where we played like we were the #1 team in the KPBs- we've gotta keep this shit up." She told reporters. She had finally gone to bed without crazy stress- could she keep this form going into Banija's final away game, in Vilwandia, as the team, long out of the race for the group's auto spot, chased that final playoff spot?

---

Pam Scott, 58th minute, with Banija trailing 1-0 to Vilwandia at the Siphamandla

To say that Banija's form had not carried over from their match at the beginning of this window, would be a massive understatement, to say the least. Indusse had already lost to The Holy Empire earlier in the day- so a draw or a win would move Banija into second place- a win, obviously, being much more preferable against these debutants. And the game was winnable- unsurprisingly, with both teams getting forward, Banija was having the better of the game everywhere but the scoreboard, where an elite finish just before the half had put the hosts up 1-0.

"C'mon guys- let's actually get a quality chance for once." She had yelled. But sloppy play in the midfield again had failed the Banijans- Hongo losing the ball, with Adriaan Brown. He had played it quickly down the sideline, and suddenly, it was the White Stars who were flying down the pitch, streaming to try and hit on the counter-attack. All the positive things from their shellacking of Indusse- quality, controlled play, dictating the pace to the opposition- all of it had disappeared. The team was entirely devoid of consistency right now, and they were about to pay the price, in mere seconds.

The winger for the White Stars played a quality ball into the box, where the teenage striker, Jerome Sibanda, had a step on Festus Hera. Hera, despite to not allow this kid to get a free header, tried to go around him and launch a miracle diving header to clear the ball- but that kind of move, that quickly, was nearly impossible. Instead, he ended up tackling the kid, with a form that was eerily reminsicent of a different code of football. The decision was easy for Lemoyne Bailey, the controversial referee from Cardenao. The whistle was blown. "Penalty!" He yelled, pointing to the spot.

Festus Hera, of course, was already on a yellow card for a foul earlier in the match. The second yellow was pulled from the ref's pocket- no need for the video assistant referee. The yellow was given without much dispute from Banijan players, the red for the second yellow obviously had to be given- and it was. Pam Scott prayed for her goalkeeper to save this- going down 2-0 here might sink Banija's chances- there were only so many opportunities, especially in a short Qualifying campaign, to make up any gap in the table, even if it was just a 1 point gap.

Naturally, however, André Liebenberg stepped up calmly and buried the penalty, sending the 12,000 gathered here on this hillside into a frenzy. Was a stunning upset over the defending world champions on the cards? Were they about to get sent a fruit basket from the people of Indusse? Pam Scott, the epitome of calm in a storm, was looking nervous herself- yet, trying to bring calm to an absolutely dejected bunch of players. Would this be the final chapter of a piss poor World Cup Qualification campaign? Was the Cup of Harmony in store for this bunch of players?

---

Striker Abel Wesoloski-Okafor, in the 72nd minute, with Banija down 2-0

Wesoloski-Okafor was a former Testiculos Player of the Year winner. Two-time World Cup champion. Two-time AOCAF champion. Banija's all-time leading goalscorer. Has reached the absolute pinnacle- one of the greatest strikers to ever lace 'em up in international football. And yet... He had never seen a challenge like this while playing for team Banija. He wasn't on the World Cup 89 team, that couldn't even make the Qualfiying playoffs that year. And Banija were 18 minutes away, surely, from suffering that fate.

Wesoloski-Okafor was one of those players who was mindful of his legacy. "Everything I've done, everything I've accomplished- diminished if, at the frontline of the #1 team in the multiverse, can't even finish top two in our World Cup Qualifying group." He told himself. He was getting increasingly desperate- frustration was showing among the Banijan players. They were yelling at each other on the pitch, committing some rough fouls. He knew that he had to get shit together for these guys- something to snap back focus, something to help them get their shit together.

And suddenly, the opportunity came. Brown went to clear the ball- but Hongo slid in first, swiping the ball off of Brown's feet. Hongo had kicked the ball to Jônn Wérséô(who had come on as an extra striker in Pam Scott's desperation), who took one touch, and had played a beautiful overhead ball to AWO. Wesoloski-Okafor sprinted after at, seeing defenders come at him in either direction. A dead sprint to the bouncing ball- and AWO was there first. A defender came from his right, and AWO basically took his right arm out, and threw the defender down. A clear foul- for everybody, seemingly, besides the Cardenaoan referee, Lemoyne Bailey.

AWO took one touch, and then blasted it into the top upper corner. He did not even celebrate, expecting the whistle to blow for the foul. He even clapped his hands in frustration. Then, he looked at the referee- who was clearly awarding a goal. He briefly looked bewildered, and then started jogging back as Jônn Wérséô dug the ball out of the back of the net. He sheepishly grinned while high-fiving Banijan players- "what's the ref doing? I've got no idea, mate." He told Lolong Bokate.

Vilwandia players, naturally, were enraged- the fans, taking cues from the players, were hitting the referee with boobirds from all around the stadium, with tons of NSFW language directed at the referee. AWO briefly heard Bailey tell Vilwandia's captain that he could not look at the play- the VAR technology at the stadium had broken down at halftime. All the cursing at Bailey- he kinda felt bad for Bailey.

---

Lavyin Son-Saka, in the 86th minute

Son-Saka, like the rest of the Banijan team, had been brought to life by AWO's goal. A controversial one from a referee that was coming under increasing criticism online, the Banijans were desperately searching for an equalizer. I mean, if they found one early enough, they could even look for a winner- but, down 2-1 away from home, they could not think like that right now. Both teams were ones that got forward, not very comfortable defending, so as the Banijans were piling on the pressure, the Vilwandians were clearly not comfortable being in this position.

And so, when, at the top of the box, Son-Saka got the ball to his weak (read: right) foot, he wanted to try and bend it in. He knew, however, that doing so with his off foot, things were like to go poorly. So, he passed it back to Sergius Atieno, sitting behind him. Atieno took a shot from distance- but a defender got in front of the shot. The ball bounced straight to the feet of Son-Saka, who was able to pull the ball to his much more different left foot. The young starlet, the man who had scored the winning goal for St. John's Arsenal to win their first Q-League title in 30 years, who had the clutch gene in him despite his young age, was ready for this moment.

He ripped it with his left foot, towards the far corner- wicked fast, perfectly placed. The keeper dove, but far too slow to effect this shot. Perfectly into the inside side netting an absolutely brilliant finish- and this time, zero controversy whatsoever. Nobody could complain about that one, as he was sprinting towards the corner. THe 500 or so away fans who were dispersed throughout the stadium were celebrating wildly, although this crowd was becoming a boilerplate.

Son-Saka knew that they had a few minutes left, plus probably at least 5 minutes of stoppage. Could they pull out the stunning comeback?

---

Banijan winger Dembo Savaneh, in the 7th minute of second half stoppage

The referee had only given 5 minutes of stoppage. So the fact that they were in the 7th minute of stoppage, once again, was wild. Vilwandia fans were whistling at Bailey, asking for the whistle to be blown. Savaneh, honestly, did not understand why it hadn't been- but if the match was going to be ongoing, it surely was. On the other side of the pitch, Layvin Son-Saka had lofted in a big cross, that the Vilwandia goalkeeper tried to go up and catch, to claim. He could not claim it however- he fumbled the ball, and it was bouncing around the ball.

Savaneh saw it pop out. "Oh shit!" He thought to himself, taking two steps to the ball, and sliding to get to it first. He got there same time as a defender- a painful tackle, but he was there a mini-second first, popping it over the defender and towards the goal. Goalkeeper nowhere to be found. In came a flying Vilwandia defender, clearing it off the goal line with his foot. or so he thought- it bounced off of the nearest Banijan player, right back towards the goal.

He stuck his left arm out, knocked the ball down, and then another defender came in and hammered the ball all the way out of play, for a throw-in. The Banijan team were immediately up in arms. "COME ON, REF!" Savaneh was yelling, alongside 4 or 5 other Banijan players. "That's gotta be a penalty!" Bailey, after ignoring them for about 5 seconds, suddenly blew the whistle three times- that was the game.

"WHAT??" Now, it was the away team's chance to feel wronged by the referee. Savaneh was letting him have it, knowing how crucial those two points could be going forward. "Come on ref- easy penalty!!! He clearly got a hand up!"

"I didn't see anything, VAR is broken here, get over your damn self." Bailey replied to him. About 5 or 6 Banijans were berating the referee after the match- it was Savaneh, AWO, and Son-Saka who all saw post match red cards for what they said to the referees. A couple of Vilwandians were berating him for an earlier call.

A hell of a 2-2 draw. The officiating was God-awful. And yet, the final scoreline was reflective- 2-2. Despite all the chaos, Banija technically had found a way to second place in this group with one Matchday left- even if this match had left them angry, with a bitter taste in their mouth.

Their chance at automatic qualification was long gone. The Holy Empire were about to go unbeaten over the entire qualification campaign, and the Banijans were 13 points behind the Dreamed Realm. But despite winning just three of their last 10 World Cup Qualifiers, they still controlled their own destiny in their last match- against a last place Ethane, at home, in Hoima, in front of the 75,000 crazy fans in Hoima. Banija had traveled to Ethane and had split the spoils against this last place team, one of many results that led them to their current predicament. The dream would continue, of course- with everything resetting for an emphatic, two-legged playoff.

Draw or lose? Well, the brightest era of Banijan football would come to a crashing, heartbreaking, screeching death. And nobody wanted to think about that possibility. Could they take care of business at Mavuto Field?

[Audioslavia]

Kilometre Zero
Kilometre Five
Kilometre Ten
Kilometre Sixteen
Kilometre Twenty-One
Kilometre Twenty-Six

Walk (or, in Jeremy's case, jog-stumble) for long enough down the cobbled, narrow streets of Coopers Row and you'll find yourself in the disturbingly named Assmarket, a stone's throw from Cathair's southern coast and the vast docks that litter the western quarter of the city's sea border. Assmarket is exactly as you think it is. Or, rather, it was: It's where people used to sell donkeys. Other wares and services came to be sold in the district in the centuries hence, some not at all apt for the name, others all too apt, but the name remained. "As drunk as an Assmarket chandler" entered the lexicon from the old area, as did "Half That in Assmarket", a stand-alone phrase used when the speaker wants you to know that the goods you're selling could be bought for much cheaper elsewhere, neglecting to mention the part about not being too picky about who its former owners were, or whether or not said former owners even knew they no longer owned it. These days the only markets in Assmarket sold bric-a-brac, dog-eared board games, furniture that looked like it'd been left out in the sun on Mercury, cakes that looked like they'd been left out in the sun in the sun and old communist posters that you'd be happy to put on your wall when you turned 15, but as you were currently 50 that wouldn't be any time soon.

Today, none of that was here. Today there were families holding signs either side of the barricaded marathon course. They were all far, far too happy for anyone who was awake before 1pm on a Sunday, and much happier than Jeremy.

He'd felt a second wind come at kilometre 28 and leave at kilometre 28 and four hundred metres. His back hurt. His thighs felt like someone was having a go at cheese-wiring his femur with every step. He jogged tiredly round the first of three mini-roundabouts that separated the Assmarket from the Beira, the long meandering coastal road back towards the Gwai river delta. At the third roundabout, he felt a very strange, sharp sensation in his foot. As if his right little toe had just stepped on a bean, but inside his running shoe.

A ripple of pain rose slowly up through his leg and up his spine. There had been a blister on his right little toe. It wasn't there anymore.

Snap.

He saw the flash of a photographer's camera catch seemingly the exact moment that the pain and realisation of having popped a blister entered his brain. He dreaded to think what his facial expression must have been in the moment, but he figured it wouldn't be the sexiest photo ever taken of him.

-- Some Months Earlier ---

Sapped
Saperetia Disaster puts Bulls on the Brink

A comical own goal, a scrambled equaliser, twenty minutes of increasingly desperate finishing, 81st-minute olympico to go 2-1 down in embarrassing fashion, and a 95th minute penalty to 'rescue' a meaningless point, Audioslavia's national team were abysmal in drawing bottom-placed Saperetia on matchday thirteen. The side are 8-3-2 over thirteen games, but it's those three draws - home and away to Shieldstan in addition to last night's encounter - that prove the difference between Audioslavia and a Brookstation team that, in swatting aside the same Oberour ar Moro team that bested the Bulls last month, are now guaranteed a spot in next year's World Cup.

What follows, in two weeks time, is Audioslavia hosting the unbeaten Brookstation team knowing that only a win will guarantee safe passage into the playoffs. A draw or a defeat and Qasden will leapfrog the side into second place, consigning Audioslavia to a fourth non-qualification in five cycles.

After an unbeaten start across six games, Ager Alaba's managerial seat suddenly looks wobbly. Contracted until after the World Cup, failure to deliver at least a playoff place would likely cost the Astograthian his job.

It's a far cry from last Thursday night. Away in Qasden, a determined Bulls side had defended resolutely against a game Qasden and nicked all three points at the very death, with Helios Roy's 88th minute stooping near-post header sending the away section in raptures. It feels like a life-time ago. Having pulled the iron out of the fire once, the side suddenly have it all to do again, and with even higher stakes.

With Brookstation having an eye on the World Cup already, and the Bulls at home in front of what will be a fierce crowd at the Beltzarga, a win possible, as well as absolutely necessary. The irony of losing out on the playoff place to Qasden, supposedly after finally having overcome the hoodoo they'd had on the Audioslavian team, and two cycles on from the Bulls pipping an unbeaten Qasden on Goal Difference in the Cup of Harmony group, might be too much to bear.

[Yakk]

Could top finish boost the Federation into hosting?
Arrosia Sport Gazette

YAK EMPIRE - The success of the Yak Empire national team has created a buzz around the national football team and now something even greater. The Yak Empire Association of Football has been prodding around with an exploratory commission and is potentially looking at a hosting bid for the upcoming inaugural Arrosia regional tournament. A very interesting proposition given that the Empire has never participated in a regional championship before, due to what has been called "monetary issues." But with the upswing in tourism and industry, the nation feels it is the right time for them to introduce their nation to the rest of the world. So in honor of this news we here at the ASG want to look at our five favorite stadiums in the Yak Empire.

1.) YAK IMPERICAL STADIUM

STADIUM: Imperial Stadium of Yak
PIC: Picture
TENENT: Yak Empire National Team / Alangabat City
LOCATION: Alangabat
CAPACITY: 35,000
ABOUT: The crown jewel of the empire's footballing culture, YIS is a very modern stadium, with a 35k capacity and modern amenities. Built in 2015 as a works project for the burgeon nation, YIS's shiny glass look with it's angles and luxury hotel adjacent to the stands makes it stand out amongst the stadiums of the nation. It would be a fine host for a championship game.

2.) RIVERSIDE STADIUM

STADIUM: Riverside Stadium* (This is an English translation)
PIC: Picture
TENENT: Qasmanbashi Turkic FC
LOCATION: Qasmanbashi
CAPACITY: 25,000
ABOUT: Located in the Turkic regions of the Empire, Riverside is located on the banks of the Yak River near the west end of the Turkic cultural capital of Qasmanbashi, Riverside is one of the biggest historical stadiums in the region. It was built in 1966 and has gone through a series of renovations over the 2010s that have brought it up to modern standards.

3.) ADMIRAL BAR-OYUM STADIUM

STADIUM: Admiral Bar-Oyum Stadium
PIC: Picture
TENENT: Navy
LOCATION: Qasmanbashi
CAPACITY: 12,000
ABOUT: Home of Qasmanbashi Turkic's rival Navy FC (or just Navy), Admiral Bar-Oyum is named after an admiral in the 1950s who helped fight of piracy and also played for Navy FC as a reserve when it was still connected to the military.

4.) NIJAN STADIUM

STADIUM: Nijan Stadium
PIC: Picture
TENENT: Lashkan Dragonsport SC
LOCATION: Lashkan
CAPACITY: 27,500
ABOUT: the Second Largest stadium in the Empire, Nijan is located in the Lhaskan plateau in the north of the nation. The Lhaskan people have a very complicated history with the Yak Empire and within the Yak Empire, but for the most part the current emperor has done a lot for the Lhaskan's. Nijan does have one fault that could be an issue within the tournament. It's at an extreme elevation.

5.)YUUR STADIUM

STADIUM: Yuur Stadium
PIC: Picture
TENENT: YEMSC
LOCATION: Ayguurgaat
CAPACITY: 19,000
ABOUT: Located 30 miles west of the Capital in the town of Ayguurgaat, Yuur Stadium is home to YEMSC. YEMSC was a former Military team (YEMSC is an acronym for the Yak Empire Military Social Club) that has been amongst the most successful clubs in the region. Even after the de-militarization of YEMSC and rival Navy FC, the teams have found sucess, especially with YEMSC being located in a smaller town of 40k. Its location near the capital has helped a bit though.

YAK EMPIRE - 0
NONE

---

SAINT ELENOR - 1
McNamara 58'

YAK EMPIRE - 6
Oryaangabar 19' 24' 55' 62'
Tinpeg 70'
Cirmahk 81'

---

BARUNIA - 3
Robotham 10' 84'
Carter 90+3'

[Cardenao]

The Bostopian Affair (Part II)
(Part I)

A left turn, then a right, then what could only best be described as a somehow simultaneous left-right and Mihaly was deep in the belly of the Bostopian command labyrinth within the Newford Ducal Estate. His hosts had been generous enough to assign him four ‘friends’ that directed his every move, kindly pointing which direction to go with their four assault rifles, two in front of him, two flanking. Mihaly was perhaps fortunate to not be worried about his safety at a time like this, but everything the Bostopians had shown him indicated the last thing they wanted to do was to harm him. No, something else was at play here. After thirty minutes navigating the never-ending bureaucratic maze, they stopped in front of the door. Not a door, mmm-mmm most certainly not. This wasn’t a door, this was the door, and he could tell by the fact that it wasn’t like other doors, because this was the door, not a door. The door slid open and Mihaly crossed the threshold.

*“A pleasure to meet you, my old friend and friend to be!”*

‘Yeah, this was definitely going to be a typical tricky Bostopian encounter.’

...

The conversation progressed with the Emperor showcasing a remarkable ability to say a whole bunch without saying a single meaningful word. There was bits about the Koroa City summit where the two encountered each other for the first time, there was talk about Cardenaoan fisheries with the Emperor proving to be oddly knowledgeable about the fishes coming from Mihaly’s oceans, then they discussed the weather, then how Bostopia came to be, then the Emperor went on an impressive soliloquy regarding the inner machinations of beans, and it was all fine and well.

Eventually, Mihaly began to wonder what exactly he was doing here. You don’t quite dispatch three state of the art fighter jets to intercept the diplomatic plane of a foreign dignitary barely off the coast of your dire enemy, bring them all the way to your homeland, then to the center of your government, much less meeting your Emperor, just to discuss the weather and how that impacts a beans development. No, you’d likely discuss things of more importance. So what was he doing here? What was the point? Why was—

“I know what you did last summer.”

‘Huh? What?’ Mihaly thought as the Emperor peered at him, as if trying to read his very soul.

“Last summer? I’m sorry but I don’t know what you mean,” he responded.

“Oh come now, no need to be coy, you’re ruining the fun! I know what you did last summer!”

“I’m sorry Emperor, but I did nothing last summer, nothing beyond that which I always do!

“Nonsense! You were in the Islands, you were in the Ochres, you killed my troops and that has made me very upset!”

Now Mihaly understood, the Emperor was pissed because Cardenaoan soldiers had unalived some Bostopian soldiers during the whole Ochren thing. This could be tricky but knowing the Emperor, as long as Mihaly kept things light he might come out in the clear.

“Emperor, I was not there in person, I lost any sense of what was happening when the wall of clouds and ash went up. I didn’t kill anybody, I hope I’m never in a position where I have to do such a thing… And beyond that, it was a little longer than just last summer!”

The Emperor paused, a befuddled expression on his face. “Longer than last summer you say? Hmmm…… that is most interesting indeed…” he said as he started pacing the room, muttering to himself.

‘Great, got him off that subject only for him to lose his damn mind!

Mihaly’s inner monologue was interrupted by another familiar figure coming through the sliding door.

“Oh…hello there,” the usually exuberant fellow drooled out. “It’s…it is me, I, said he…about the Duke…for…I am the Duke!”

Any relief Mihaly felt seeing the Duke was immediately offset by both the tired manner he breathed out his usual catchphrase and by the fact the Emperor and the Duke were both in the same room. Mihaly didn’t know how often that happened, but in his limited experience, things rarely went well when they were side by side. And now, here they were, together in a small room with only Mihaly to keep them company as the two discussed this, that, and the other. Fantastic.

The Duke walked over to Mihaly and stretched his hand out.

“West Coast!” the curious fellow breathed out.

Mihaly shook the Duke’s hand and was surprised at how forcefully the latter pressed his palm into the Cardenaoan’s, but as their hands slipped apart and the exchange was made, Mihaly came closer to understanding his role in a plot laid long before he drew his first breath.

“A pleasure as always Duke, I trust you’ve been well,” Mihaly conversed.

“Well but weller to come, perhaps not for me but you shall see!”

Mihaly smiled through his sigh, always riddles with these two, “Well that’s fantastic and I’d hate to ruin the moment, but what exactly is going on here?”

The Emperor laughed.

“He doesn’t know?”

“He doesn’t know,” the Duke chortled back.

Riddles.

Riddles all the way down.

---

‘Well that had all been a whirlwind,’ Mihaly thought to himself as he was escorted out of the heart of the Bostopian hive, with his right hand tightly clutched. As he followed the two armed guards through the labyrinth of corridors, the president of Cardenao processed his current predicament. An unusual situation had become that much more unpredictable now that he had met with The Emperor, with the Duke making one of his characteristic appearances. This, however, felt different. There had been a certain look in The Duke’s eyes, the somber look of one who has seen their destiny. Another twist, another turn and Mihaly was ushered to his destination.

“Enjoy your stay… please,” the guards said in unison as an indicator clicked from red to green, then they ushered Mihaly into a room that contained a bed placed directly in the middle of the room, a single dresser tucked away in the far corner, and a refrigerator on the wall across from the door. Mihaly walked in as the door slid shut behind him and let out a sigh, what he would give to be back in the comfort of the C-117. He loosened his tie as he walked the perimeter of the room, getting a feel for his new surroundings, replaying what had just happened with The Duke in his mind.

After completing a lap, interrupted by his watch buzzing a congratulations for meeting his hourly move goal, he sat on the bed and carefully reached down and slowly untied his left shoelace. As Mihaly did so, he carefully unraveled his hand, letting the small note The Duke had passed to him roll to his fingers. Working with cautious speed, he read its content and memorized it before coughing twice and bringing his hand to his mouth. He smoothly transferred the note to his mouth and ground it up before swallowing the evidence and pivoting to the next steps as laid out in the scribbled note.

“Well it’s late, might as well get some rest, I Know I Am Loved” he said out loud though to nobody in particular but making sure to say the specified phrase nevertheless.

18.21667 minutes later

First, the lights switched off. Then the quiet humming of the refrigerator cut out, then a period of sustained silence before the door’s indicator flashed from red to green.

‘Just like the note said,’ Mihaly thought to himself. He waited seven seconds, of course the note specified it had to be seven seconds, like why seven? Six is too few and eight seconds too many? To be caught up in a game of seconds was to be playing a dangerous game but now, as Mihaly carefully slid the door open and crept into the dark hallway, he was on the frontline and that game was his reality.

He paced out the steps listed in the note, walking forward for so many paces, then a right turn.

Walking forward, carefully now, now it was time for a left…hopefully if the note was accurate…and, Mihaly braced himself……yes, a left turn.

The Cardenaoan continued in this manner for some time, occasionally pausing as he heard noises that seemed close enough to cost him, not just his life, but everything he was working so hard to create. Each time though, the noise turned to be nothing and he crept that much closer to his goal.

Mihaly finally made it to the door, right on time just like the note said. Except…the indicator was still red. It wasn’t supposed to be red, it was supposed to be green. It was supposed to be green and open. To be red, no. No. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Mihaly started to panic, almost hyperventilating as the walls started to close in on him. Staring down the fiercest leaders of the world, fine. Negotiating intricate, grand treaties with far reaching implications, that was second nature to him. Creeping through the shadows, putting his own blood on the line though? That was a fear unlike anything he’d ever known, and for a long second, he found it impossible to move as he fought his impulse to run in any direction.

Click.

Green and Mihaly was out the door in a flash.

Things outside of the Ducal Estate seemed calm enough, but he had been warned to know better. Snipers up top, motion activated lights, heavily armed patrols with dogs, this was the gauntlet but The Note that The Duke had handed him promised safe passage through this dangerous land. All he had to do was go.

He went.

...

He was just about out of breath as he finally put some distance between him and the Estate. Mihaly hadn’t run this long under this amount of pressure in……ever, so he was happy to take the opportunity to catch his breath.

‘What a shitshow, what the hell is going on?’ He thought to himself as he walked down a path darker than most, with the moonlight being swallowed by trees that seemed older than the earth they occupied. He walked further down the path, passing through a pocket of warm air as he pondered how he came to be at this point. Things had been moving so quickly over the last year and a half, the Koroa City summit leading to so much more for Cardenao. So much more that now, Mihaly shivered as he passed through some cold air, he was here walking through some sort of forest. The cold air gave way to colder air and all of a sudden Mihaly found himself crossing a broken down old bridge, a relic of a long forgotten time. It looked a little sketchy but he was already this far down the path that a few more steps wouldn’t hurt anybody, so he passed over the bridge with every step seeming to vibrate up through his foot.

A babbling brook seemingly called to him, so Mihaly finished crossing the bridge and meandered down the hill to the water's edge, mystified as the stream seemed to travel both ways at once.

An incredibly silver trout jumped out of the water, breaking the surface and flaring it’s scales more beautifully than any nature doc he had seen, but as it reached the apex of its jump, the fish froze, its body flickered for a second, then disappeared as another fish, the same fish started to jump out of water at the same location before it too froze, flickered, and disappeared before reappearing both upstream and downstream in a splash of water. What? Mihaly tried breathing but found it both impossible and unnecessary at the same time. He needed air and so his lungs were filled with 78.1% nitrogen, 21.0% oxygen, 0.9% argon, 0.04% carbon dioxide, and a little water vapor sprinkled on top to make it all work.

Mihaly was somewhere that both was and wasn’t existing at once inside and outside out of time, a place where air took on a different quality and gravity didn’t hold quite the same.

“Hell……Hello! HELLO THERE!! Oh hello hey, we were worried you wouldn’t come!”

His initial fear was replaced by a veneer of comfort as a timid sounding voice surprised itself by finding the courage to shout out at night. The Cardenaoan said nothing in response, just to be safe.

“Things have been so predictably unpredictable, we were so sure that you might not make it but here you are! Yes, here you are just as we had hoped!”

‘What?’

“Yes yes, Mihaly it is you! President Mihaly’s here as The Duke asked!”

Mihaly tried to smile through his exhaustion as the final step on the note, maddeningly titled ‘Step One: Hello!’ started to reveal itself.

“Hel, hello yes hi…I’m Mihaly, that’s me, that……” he paused as an unfamiliar feeling rushed through his veins. “That is me! Mihaly!”

A long period of silence followed, only broken by the two aids exchanging silent glances while peering at and beyond the Cardenaoan. They laughed thrice before craning their necks at something behind him and fell silent.

“Oh…Oh dear that won’t do but you’ll get the hang of it soon enough. You see…”

A shiver went up Mihaly’s back as a voice that was both loud and quite yet solid all the way through rang in his ears.

“…It goes like this.”

A tree in front of him groaned as it stretched high to seemingly threaten the moon before it shifted down, shrinking and diminishing, unfurling itself until the tree became nothing, or perhaps everything, but just a man holding some twigs.

“For it is I!” The tree cried.

‘Oh god fucking thank you,’ he thought as a familiar cheery voice cut through the stillness.

“The Duke!'

---

Blues Trying To Find Gold, Must Win Final Match!

After a slow start to the qualifying campaign, it’s perhaps poetic that the final match offers La Furia Azule the chance to directly qualify to the World Cup Finals for the first time ever. We needed to win our last pair of games and have other results go our way to enter the final match against the group leaders, Eshialand. Well it was narrow, but we won our games and we had results go our way, now here we are, with our fate solely in our hands. Here’s how things played out.

The third and second to last games of this campaign pitted us against the City of Myrtle Beach and Rea San Vegas, teams we had already beaten earlier in the qualifying period though not in an entirely convincing fashion. The Cardenao national team was eager to improve on the pair of 1-0 wins against the two nations, and they certainly delivered.

First up was the City of Myrtle Beach, the 206th ranked team in the world, and the Blue and Golds showed up to their stadium ready to do business. From the first whistle it was clear our boys were out for blood as they took the pressure to the Myrtlians. A suffocating defensive effort started with Juanma Saez actually leading the press for once, the 33 year old pressing hard every time the Blue and Golds were out of possession. Indeed, he actually managed to score in this fashion, opening the Cardenaoan’s account in the 24th minute as he nicked the ball off one of their defenders and easily slipped the ball past the keeper, 1-0, hello Finals? Sure they scored to even it 1-1 a piece, but Chímo Ventura, fresh off a move to the #2 club in the world, arrived to make it 2-1 before Arrivo DeCerci came off the bench to curl in a beautiful shot from 21 yards out to seal the result in Cardenao’s favor, 3-1 and it was on to Rea San Vegas.

RSV, the #287 ranked team in the world, a plucky team that made us struggle to a 1-nil victory. They were alright, but we were halfway decent and had to bet on ourselves to win this match. And so we did! Sure, they scored first, way too early in the game, ‘only’ in the 7th minute, but that was fine, the intensity we brought from the opening whistle meant it was only a matter of time before we got ours. Excet……damn it really did take some time, we didn’t even equalize until the 71st minute off a powerful shot from Zorion Zuñiga before Chímo put us ahead, 2-1, in the 80th. What a time to be alive!!! We needed six points and shitfire we got six points. Now though? The match ahead? Everything was in the balance.

The only thing hanging in balance on this final matchday is the small matter of what country will qualify automatically to the World Cup finals and which one will have to slough it out in the playoffs. On this final matchday, it was none other than the group leaders themselves, Eshialand.

What a beautiful opportunity, what a chance to strike from the deep to bring glory to ourselves. Glory, qualifying to the World Cup, the likes of which we’ve never known before. Yes, Eshialand is a tough opponent. Yes, they are the group leaders. Yes, they have two more points than us. But you know what they don’t have? The letters C, r, and o in their name, and if you ask me, that’s enough for us to deserve a victory.

So this is it. Everything we’ve worked so hard to accomplish over the last 12 years, it’s so tantalizingly close. Even if we lose, we still have a chance, but what a feat it would be for a country like ours to make it to the World Cup Finals.

Here…we……go!

[Bostopia]

The Duke leaned down toward the brook and splashed water onto his face. He instantly felt better, rejuvenated by the cool waters of The Old Ford, which was later of course superceded by the New Ford from which the settlement that built up there took its name. The Old Ford still retained that ethereal, mystical feel which once had been prevalent across the entire nation, but was now forgotten and disconnected as the nation moved towards modern times, leaving past beliefs where they were.

'Mind the fish!' Mihaly called out to The Duke, who turned and laughed 'A fish?' 'A fish!' 'A fish?' 'A fishy!' 'Oh.' The Duke finally said. 'Probably not a fish.' 'Not - not a fish?' Mihaly asked. 'But I saw it jump out of the water, disappear, then reappe- oh you're right that doesn't sound like a fish come to think about it.' 'Indeed' the Duke replied. 'Let's cut to the chase, shall we? I'm supposed to be in charge but The Emperor's showed up and rather usurped me. Terrible, horrible business. Then he decides to take those Mertagnian farmlands and spray herbicides and pesticides all over them. There was nothing I could do to stop it' he told Mihaly, whilst pressing the back of his hand against his forehead and turning away dramatically.

It was now that The Duke's aides rushed forward. 'But My Duke' the first said 'you are the Grand Duke of Newford, the leader of Bostopia, there is none that override your authority in this nation!' 'And yet there is another' The Duke said. 'My soldiers answer to another man. They do not follow me. Mihaly, you must understand, the attack on the Ochres were not my doing!' 'But the chemical attack on the Mertagnian farmlands?' Mihaly said bravely. 'What of that?' The Duke sighed. 'The war with Mertagne is self defence, the Ochre conflict could have ended in the Ochres, we were by all accounts truly defeated... Yet the chemical attack the Emperor ordered was indeed an overstep by our forces.' 'My Duke!' The second intejected, noticing the deep sadness in The Duke's eyes. 'You could have prevented it! The armed forces wanted your signoff!' 'And yet, I would have given it. The Emperor - he and I are cut from the same cloth. We are two sides of the same being. When Bostopia was re-created by the Old Gods, it was impossible not to re-create The Emperor as well. They did their best, which was to split the Emperor into two personalities. His true personality, and then... me.'

'You?' Mihaly asked, flabbergasted. 'You're the Emperor?' 'Yes' said The Duke. 'For it is I!' He cried. 'The Emperor's Sort-of Twin!' Mihaly looked again at The Duke. If it wasn't for the clearly fake moustache and glasses then he probably would look exactly like the Emperor himself. He was surprised it had taken anyone this long to notice. But still. 'Am I expected to believe that?' Mihaly asked incredulously. 'That you were created by some God - even the Ochres aren't that balmy and trust me I have heard some right shit even from them.'

The Duke shrugged, walked back down to the brook, got on his knees and prayed. Mihaly stood open mouthed, feeling the prayer was vaguely familiar, sure he had heard similar by the Ochreite soldiers when they had come to visit and then his country's weapon counts had mysteriously gone way down, again. The Duke continued the prayer, then the fish Mihaly had seen reappeared, jumping high out of the brook and flicking its tail, which was made even more silver by the sudden appearance of the moon, shown by the trees above The Old Ford somehow respectfully bowing their branches out of the way. When the fish landed, it landed not belly first on the water, but transformed at that moment into a woman, dressed all in silver, her clothes shimmering from the moonlight and the reflection of the brook, the waters of which were no more where the woman stood, but continued to run around her instead, gently parting to either side rather than cause her to get wet.

Mihaly rubbed his eyes and turned around. Nothing. No video projector, no sketchy bridge off in the distance, nothing. He was seemingly within a sphere of, existing only of the moment he in time he had been in and those he had been with seemed to exist anymore.

He looked back in disbelief at the woman who now stood before him. She pointed straight at Mihaly, which he someone felt hit him in the heart. 'Who are you?' 'It is I!' He called out. 'Mihaly!' He'd found a newfound confidence, having had a bit of practice saying his own name earlier. 'May I ask, erm, madam, who you are?' The woman merely smiled back at him 'all in good time' she said, turning now to The Duke, who was still on his knees. 'And you... What brings you to summon me?' 'He doesn't believe' The Duke replied matter of factly. 'So I brought his eyes to you so that they can see the light.'

'That's not all, is it?' She asked The Duke, knowingly. 'It is not' he sighed. 'The Emperor is a great evil, too great for this nation in this moment, and he needs to be brought away from it.'

Mihaly stood open mouthed and thought 'I cannot believe this'. 'Believe it' the woman spoke to him, having heard Mihaly's thoughts. 'For here I am, not in water, but in flesh, as you are, as he is, as they are' she said, nodding toward The Duke's aides. 'It is you, Mihaly, who must hear the truth. I and my kin-' 'Your kin?!' Mihaly interrupted. 'There's more of you?' 'Of course' she replied. 'We were once everything and everywhere, much like our kin across the seas and straits, but where the people there are aware of us, the people here forgot and lost us some time ago.' 'Across the seas? So you're related to-' 'Your neighbours, Mr. Mihaly, yes. They were created of our old lands by those who revered us as much as we ought to be.' Mihaly tried not to think too much, but noted the Bostopian Gods had an arrogance that was very deeply reflected in its leadership. Mihaly felt a smile from the woman, but didn't see it on her face.

'It seems your destiny has arrived, Mr. Mihaly. You know of me, you know of my kin. You know, I assume, that we created Bostopia and with it the one who calls himself the Emperor and The Duke here with him, albeit only as a counterbalance to each other. Though I understand the harmony has split. It must now be ended entirely.' Before Mihaly had a chance to ask what was going on, she had reached into the branches of the trees which were now hanging over the brook again, and she pulled out a ready-fashioned wooden dagger, with a small metal tip. 'Here' she said, holding it out towards him. 'Yewtree and hemlock. It falls to you, Mihaly, to do what anyone of this nation could not and strike down the misbalance.

Mihaly took the dagger from the hand of the Goddess and looked at it. As he did, time around him began moving again and all returned as it should be. No Goddess, no break in the water's flow, no Duke. Even his aides had gone. Mihaly wiped his brow, almost doing so with the hand holding the poisoned knife, then scrambled back up away from the brook and headed back toward the Ducal estate.

[Squornshelan Remnant States]

Squornshelan blogger/journalist/pundit/loudmouth Salwan Mynhier and social media personality Hederprinz Srivadhanabhakdi aka Prince S. in Damogran ahead of the Black-and-Reds final match against Sajnur . . .

Prince S: So, Salwan, it all comes down to this final match, exciting isn't it?
Salwan: The math might agree with you Prince S but if we're being honest it all came down to the back to back matches against Sajnur and Pasarga. This has been a dead team walking for a long time now.
Prince S: You're such a pessimist, Sally, may I call you Sally?
Salwan: You absolutely may not.
Prince S: I stopped listening after absolutely, Sally.
Salwan: You begged me for this collab Prince S, don't make me walk out of here.

Prince S: OK we'll get back on topic I guess, even though you're cute when you're mad.
Salwan: On the topic at hand the Black-and-Reds are far and away the best team not currently in qualifying or playoff position.
Prince S: They've been scoring goals in bunches and avoiding any letdowns for sure.
Salwan: How much of that has been running up the score on lesser opposition though?
Prince S: I don't much care Salwan, Rasha Sargsa is an incredible striker, and she looks great doing it too, you think that's her real hair?
Salwan: Bet she'd shave it all off if it'd give the Black-and-Reds a chance to qualify.

Prince S: So what's been happening around the other qualifying groups?
Salwan: Well, most of the usual suspects are in good position, there's definitely some surprises though, we're not the only 2 seed on the outside looking in.
Prince S: That's right, there's even some 1 seeds struggling, like our friends over in Quebec. I was just chatting with Gaëlle Brunot about it this morning, she's kinda mad.
Salwan: It was a shame to see our guy Dolnight get the boot when things had been looking pretty good coming into quals, but Quebec aren't the only 1 seed in trouble.
Prince S: That's true, even Banija still aren't safe, and Baker Park have already been eliminated. Not a good first showing for Arrosia is it?
Salwan: Definitely not, especially since the Black-and-Reds need a minor miracle to catch Pasarga.

Prince S: Speaking of Dolnight and the SRS not making the finals, the SCFA has been very quiet lately, don't you think?
Salwan: You mean Penrooke? I think they'd have done it by now if they were going to sack him, as long as he wins that last match.
Prince S: You don't think missing out on qualification is a firing offense?
Salwan: How can you sack a guy right after his team's put up an 11-1-2 record? That'd be good enough to autoqualify in some groups.
Prince S: The team came up short in the matches that mattered though, didn't they.
Salwan: If they do sack him, it's a knee-jerk and a mistake. Who're they going to bring in for the CoH who's going to be better?

Prince S: Ok, so now it's time to get to the juicy stuff.
Salwan: What are you talking about?
Prince S: Anyway, how's your sex life?
Salwan: What the actual . . .
Prince S: Isn't this the part of the segment where we get a little risqué? Gotta pull those views in after all.
Salwan: And we're done here.

SRS: 5
CEN: 2

Scoring:
SRS: Sargsa 3', 22', Ksudach 16', Avachinsky 55', Byqvist 76' 
CEN: Who Knows 35', 58'

SRS Lineup: Blaha; Drenel, Van, Titov (Yarlut 88'), Boesch; Sevet-Ibilx (Hashemi 72'), Saigir; Ksudach, Avachinsky (Byqvist 72'), Aaltonen (Koshelev 80'); Sargsa (Bernat 88')

SRS: 5
ATT: 1

Scoring:
SRS: Bondarov 5', Sargsa 39', Aaltonen 48', Nyberg 59' Shakhnovich 86' 
ATT: Who Cares 64'

SRS Lineup: Shimski; Nyberg (Bakken 70'), Tirel, Titov, Norling; Sevet-Ibilx, Amjol (Tatsinan 80'); Bondarov (Shakhnovich 70'), Avachinsky, Aaltonen (Sauber 90'); Sargsa (Dubynin 80')

Qualifying Schedule and Results

FRND: SRS 0–1 SYL @ Slavnareczpospolitastadion (cap. 61,230), Lublova, Molvania, SRS

MD01: SRS 3–3 PAS @ Vogsphere Arena (cap. 90,000), Vogsphere, Isle of Squornshelous, SRS
MD02: EQS 4–7 SRS @ TBA
MD03: SRS 4–0 SLR @ Zenith Stadium (cap. 58,400), Stavromula, Isle of Squornshelous, SRS
MD04: MAR 2–3 SRS @ TBA
MD05: SRS 1–0 CEN @ Raftel Park (cap. 59,870), Chalesm, Megabrantis, SRS
MD06: SRS 3–0 ATT @ Olympiastad (cap. 47,550), Arkintoofle, Megabrantis, SRS
MD07: SAJ 3–2 SRS @ National Stadium (cap. 102,000), Javoser, SAJ
MD08: PAS 4–3 SRS @ Stade de Torgos (cap. 90,000), Torgos, PAS
MD09: SRS 3–0 EQS @ Pheldagrif Stadium (cap. 45,620), Yassaca, Sivolia, SRS
MD10: SLR 2–3 SRS @ TBA
MD11: SRS 3–1 MAR @ Castle Street (cap. 57,300), Jaglan, Algolia, SRS
MD12: CEN 2–5 SRS @ TBA
MD13: ATT 1–5 SRS @ TBA
MD14: SRS  v  SAJ @ Albrechtsson Park (cap. 65,400), Damogran, Algolia, SRS

[Elmyia]

The Overlap
Would the Cup of Harmony Really Be a Disaster?

If a headline poses a question, the answer is no. But let's start with why it would be a disaster to fail to qualify for the main event:

1. To qualify is the aim from the very start of the campaign. To not do so is evidently a failure, especially for an Elmyia side coming off their first every qualification. With an increasingly strong squad, their sights should be higher.
2. The World Cup has a much stronger impact on rankings. To fail to make it to the main event could see Elmyia fail to climb, dooming them to harder future campaigns against the strongest teams.

The first point does feel more pertinent. The point is of world cup qualifying is to qualify. This Elmyia team are stronger than the one that did qualify, at least in terms of personnel. They by rights should make it to the main event. But once they've made the World Cup, what can we expect? Maybe a first World Cup win? Perhaps a trip to the knockout rounds? That's about it, neither is guaranteed. Plenty of better sides have fallen at the first hurdle once they've made the World Cup. Without the thrill of it being the very first time, could Elmyia be happy with a group stage exit? It would surely feel hollow, and the odds of it happening are quite high.

This brings me to my main argument. This Elmyia team aren't ready for World Cup success. In their group, only Pemecutan are of the quality they'd face in Sylestone or Chromatika. Away they were comfortably dispatched, and a home they choked from a winning position they were lucky to be in. Porras' pivot to building a structure that is less susceptible to a counter has been a wise move, but one yet to produce for him. Speight's brand of aggro has led mostly to cards and her lack of technicality has been exposed ruthlessly. McLoughlin is too reserved for such a role and Marakakis and Marinos provide inadequate cover. It would be unfair to question whether his approach has run out of road, qualifying last time was a fantastic achievement and Elmyia are still performing at par. But, their current par remains well below the level required to impact at a World Cup.

So, the Cup of Harmony then. Let's not forget it was Porras' experience as an assistant for Juvencus at that very tournament that led him to the Elmyia job. With their current quality and rank, Elmyia would likely be highly seeded. They'd be facing sides of a similar calibre or below, giving a mix of good tests and slightly easier wins. They'd have a real shot at silverware, which brings us back to what the point is anyway. The Elmyian national side haven't won any silverware, to do so would surely overcome any reservations Elmyian felt about it. Hosted in Delaclava, a well established host nation, it would likely be an enjoyable trip for the travelling support.

The side would have an opportunity to really come together as well. It's a poorly kept secret that we're yet to know their current best system, and a couple of easier group stage assignments would allow the team some time to come together. Over the course of a short tournament, again teams either ranked below them or clearly also underperforming, a tactical surprise could see Elmyia a long way. Sure the midfield might not be perfect, but with a short window available Elmyia might be able to spring the sort of surprise that backfoots another team. Benedetti dropping deeper down? Yeah he lacks the defensive side, but his excellent ball striking could cause other sides real problems. Speight lacks technicality? Shove Beresford next to her and hope they don't figure out they lack just pump it long down that flank. The long stretch of qualifying has left Elmyia's problems exposed, take away the thinking time and they might have enough about them.

Elmyia's fans will likely be gutted with a failure to qualify. This is, of course, understandable. But, once the dust settles, they might find things worked out for the best.

[Cassadaigua]

Somehow, this team is still alive,
by Caitlyn Dufresne, Concord Heights Times

Very few people around the Matriarchy have been happy with the way qualifying has gone. Following a pair of 3-3 draws to Starblaydia and to Carpathia and Ruthenia, Cassadagan talk shows from coast to coast were full of fans expressing their displeasure with the performance of this teams. Those results, as frustrating as they were, did not eliminate the national soccer team but it did not do anything to excite the team. Prior to those draws, all the talk was that the defense and goalkeeping was stout and that the offense was not doing enough to support them. Then, out of no where, the team allows six goals in two games, flipping the script with the way that the team had played. All in all, this had become a team that could not put it all together except for a few nice results along the way. It was not a squad playing like the 28th best team in the world, that much was certain.

No, those results did not eliminate the Fillies and after matchday 11, the team was closer to second than they deserved to be. Two points behind third place Saint Eleanor, and three behind Yakk, who was putting up a very valiant fight. Fans did not really get all too concerned with that, because they were focused on the Fillies themselves, and certainly not happy with a team that only won four of their first eleven games. What was wrong with Chen Huikang? Was he somehow assisting with Yuezhou and their blistering hot start. “Maybe he should go back” some fans expressed, while nearly every player in the lineup was getting scrutinized in some capacity. Supporters of Chen pointed out that, “we should hire Ashdown after this World Cup because Yuezhou will probably find some fault with her, too.” Regardless, they pointed out the next two games would seal the fate of this team and formally knock the team out of qualifying. Baggieland and Saint Eleanor back to back. Yeah, that would not go well.

Within the locker room, the team was in stronger spirits, and that may have been because they have such a young core. Lexi McGregor and Shannon Cunningham had been playing well, and the Engle’s had been picking up the pace. Three of the six goals scored in the two draws were by an Engle, with Lexi having one, Cunningham one, and even Carly Patterson finding the back of the net. “We’re a much better team then we have showed, and we’re not going to go down without a fight,” Shannon Cunningham emphatically told reporters, a sentiment that we heard in various team interviews. Three cheers then for classic sports cliches. We would hear more, but eventually the team would have to find a way to win.

The prior match against Baggieland saw the team cough up a 3-1 lead in the final twenty minutes for yet another 3-3 draw on their record. Therefore, you got the typical sayings in interviews about needing to finish strong. Cunningham had given the team a 1-0 lead in the ninth minute, but that would be it for awhile, and this time the team was down 2-1 after 70. Key substitutions were made, and Chloe Anderson got the team even in the 77th, which was nice and all but another draw was not going to help. In the 87th, Kaitlin Millikan redirected a expert cross from Lauren Engle for what proved to be the game winner. Well, that was nice and all. Three big points, and a Yakk 1-0 loss to Saint Eleanor was big for us. Yes, you would have thought we would want Yakk to win that at the start of qualifying but that’s not the way it panned out.

Against Saint Eleanor next in Brattleboro, there was some optimism and with a pair of Lexi McGregor goals giving the team the lead by the 18th minute, the fans would cheer instead of feeling uneasy. Saint Eleanor got to within one a couple times, but never actually tied up the game at any point. Goals by Carly Patterson in the 50th and Chrissy Engle in the 79th would be too much for the visitors to overcome. Now, this team that had only won four of their first eleven games had put together big wins, consecutively.

Now, the group table with one game remaining shows Cassadaigua in second by virtue of having the tiebreaker on Yakk. If they win over Barunia on hostile ground, the pink and black will be somewhere we never would have imagined a few matchdays ago: in the playoff.

[Drawkland]

Tim Work

---

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I kinda miss the Elite Eleven rn

You can't say that

It's heresy

Honestly though

This Corps team is absolutely putrid

Something like 1.69 ppg in qualifying?

it's definitely lower than usual, but it's not like the Elite were doing much better

at least towards the end of their tenure

The Elite literally never had a qualifying campaign this bad

You're smoking crack

Okay yeah apparently their debut cycle was 1.58 ppg

But that was literally their first time playing international soccer. There's no excuse for this current Corps team

I can't believe it

You're actually an Elite Eleven apologist

I'm going to tell everybody at work. Your reputation as a ball-knower is toast

I do know ball

I don't care if every soccer pundit strokes off Ellzidan at every opportunity, she's a shit manager

The return of the "real" Kick Corps was supposed to be this epic watershed moment, and it's been nothing but crap

okay okay maybe I was being excessive

still though, it just feels like you're hating just because you're mad

Really though, how are these clowns going to shit on the Elite for underperforming, then come in and do even worse?

Everybody and their mother constantly whined about how the Elite never took the IAC seriously

Even though the Elite had three straight semifinal runs, everybody ignores that

But now that we have the "real" players back in, they've dropped the two most horrendous IAC runs I've ever seen in my life

And everybody just says "teehee they haven't gotten acclimated yet!!"

I'M TIRED OF THE EXCUSES MAN!

Is fielding a team that doesn't suck just too much to ask?

It isn't too much to ask, just watch the Grid Corps instead

So what, I gotta suffer through watching the most boring QB of our generation if I want to see a team that wins games?

Beggars can't be choosers!

Life is pain

All this team needs to is to beat Saterun on the road

With our luck, they'll pull it off, and immediately shit the bed in the playoff

That's Drawkian soccer baby

The ride never ends!

The ride never ends!

[Alasdair I Frosticus]

A WORLD CUP 95 QUALIFICATION ODE

By Isaac, Prince Imperial
(the worst poet in the multiverse)

Oh wow! Qualified with a game to spare!
In a group containing 2-time defending champions Banija!
I wonder if anyone was aware
Before qualification began
That we would so easily avoid despair
And qualify with such ease.

Two more games have been played
Again the opposition were forced to play against themselves
And again Tzimisces left them dismayed
As they fell before his tested tactics
Shivering, lost, and afraid
And were then swept aside.

Incidentally, what do you think of this new format
For my odes; verses of six lines each
Which I think are more pleasant to look at
And then just rhyme alternate lines
That I toss around like an agile acrobat.
Oh sorry; this is supposed to be about football, right?

Anyway, first we crushed the virgin Mr Poopyheads
Who still seem confused about their sexuality
And are still obsessed with camel dung spreads
That's their problem, I suppose
We beat them 5-2 away, running through the sleepyheads
Like the proverbial hot knife through butter.

Then away to Indusse, where we considered losing
Because that would have put Banija in a spot of bother
But in the end we were far too sporting
And came down from 2-0 down
At which point it was all over bar the shouting
We were back in the World Cup!

I'd like to think my poems really helped them
Each poetic line a source of inspiration
That helped the Holy Empire become
A finer team that could soar to ancient heights
And their poor World Cup 94 form condemn.
(Hmmm; 'them'/'become'/'condemn' rhyme poorly).

I hope you too, dear reader, by my verse have been inspired
I also hope my beloved Zoe Carbonopsina
Has been reading, and set these verses to songs by lyre.
That we might sing together
And our children one day to sing require.
Oh, who am I kidding; she hasn't noticed, has she?

I leave qualification with a closing thought
It's a strange idea I wish to share
Indeed, some might think it a bit crackpot
But if cute little virgin mundy poopyheads
All cuddled more at some local beauty spot
Perhaps they would be much happier people.

[Delaclava]

Delaclava 2–3 Cabo Azure
Khautov 9', Temirkanov 52' | Mendonça 38', Cardoso 71', Magalhaes 86
Bullrich; Egan (Baxayev 46'), Champagne, Gouin, Barry; Heilprin, Kraulis (Demirjian 46'), Bartoš, Anagnakis (Temirkanov 52'); Khautov, Gretler.

The Kytler Peninsulae 0–1 Delaclava
Gretler 35'
James; Baxayev, Champagne, Grosskopf, Barry; O'Galvin, Brouillard (Kraulis 46'), Bartoš (Temirkanov 46'), Anagnakis; Khautov (Racette 73'), Gretler.

Delaclava awarded Cup of Harmony at pivotal moment in Delaclav, international soccer

The World Cup Committee announced yesterday that it had selected Delaclava to host the 87th Cup of Harmony, in a narrow decision against competing bids from Astograth/Mytanija and The Kytler Peninsulae.

"Our department is honored to have been selected once again to host this exciting and distinctive event," said Paul Schuttler, Minister of the Department of Sports and Games, at a press conference in Catherina following the announcement. "The Cup of Harmony brings together an assortment of squads, from well-established teams looking to put a positive tag on their season to talented rising squads seeking to gain more match experience. We look forward to putting on another successful edition and welcoming teams from all around the omniverse into our beautiful nation."

Delaclava will host the post-qualifying event for non-qualified teams for the fourth time (previously, 44, 46, and 84). Only Krytenia (7, 15, 32, 64, 80) and Spaam (3, 19, 20, 22) have hosted the tournament as many times. Delaclava will host the event by itself for the first time, marking the second time in three editions that a solo host bid has been selected after a run of 25 Cups of Harmony that had two co-hosts. Schuttler explained, "Given our location in Sonnel and the unique challenges that presents, we believed it would be best to eschew the traditional co-host. It is well-known that we have the venues and infrastructure to handle such an event with ease, and it is our hope that removing some of the logistical difficulties will enhance the player and fan experience."

The selection of the Delaclav bid came in dramatic fashion, as the Astograth/Mytanija bid originally came out with the most votes, but under the required 50% threshold. After the bid of their Rushmori neighbors Kytler Peninsulae was eliminated as the lowest vote-getter, five of the seven federation votes went to Delaclava in Round 2, awarding the Sonnelian nation the tournament by a single vote. Curiously, all three bids were represented in Group 7 of qualifying. The Phoenixes recorded 4-0 and 3-0 wins over Astograth, and a 0-0 draw and a 1-0 win over the Kytlerian team. All three squads have been long eliminated from qualification contention.

This particular Cup of Harmony bid from Delaclava is distinctive in the history of Delaclav soccer. For starters, it will be the first time Delaclava has hosted a portion of a soccer tournament in the Mainframe. Delaclava hosted an international sporting event in the Mainframe for the first time with the knockout stages of the 18th World Junior Hockey Championship. It culminated in a final played at the Diamond Arena in the Delaclava Athletic Network. Thanks to the layout of the venue, 750,000 people watched in person as the Ashlings defeated Lacfroid 2-0 to win the championship. However, when Delaclava co-hosted the Cup of Harmony with Ceni months later, it opted not to host any of the games in the Mainframe. Now, this event will show off the Mainframe to a greater audience. Although observers will note that the Delaclava Athletic Network bears a resemblance to the Delaclava National Athletic Complex, off which the DAN was modeled, the aesthetic and functional aspects of the Mainframe will take some getting accustomed to. However, Schuttler was optimistic: "We think people will be very pleasantly surprised, or simply impressed. Everything is well-built, organized, and concise. Life here is smooth, shiny, and efficient. Things work as they should. Visitors won't even realize that things look and seem a different way, because it'll look and seem as easy and fluid as things all should be."

Another factor being put to test is the new structure of Delaclav football, which in some ways is inextricably linked with the Transmigration and the Mainframe innovation. The Delaclava Olympic Committee, and its subsidiary sporting associations, such as the Delaclava Football Association and the Delaclava Gridiron Association, were brought under the auspices of the federal government, with outgoing DFA President Roman Ivanovic replaced by Schuttler, a longtime colleague and adviser to President Anna Voss. This came after a financial review that determined that it would be more fiscally efficient to incorporate the DOC as an executive department than to continue funding it as an independent body. Moreover, the Phoenixes have had numerous starts-and-stops in form, showing remarkable promise in its return to international football in World Cup 85 but unable to capitalize on that promise until World Cup 91 and on the decline ever since. Voss expressed her hope at the time that the move would facilitate a more consistent approach to talent development at all levels of the game.

Additonally, international soccer as a whole has found itself at somewhat of a crossroads, a time of distrust and uncertainty. On the same day that Delaclava was awarded the Cup of Harmony, the WCC handed down penalties to the Vilitan federation after an investigation revealed misconduct in historical administrative practices. And in past years, the Cup of Harmony itself has waned in support, with detractors finding that it only adds to fixture congestion without any benefits in growing and diversifying the game of soccer. The Græntfjaller federation went so far as to propose not holding a Cup of Harmony in this season, although in the end the proposal was not brought to vote and the bidding process concluded as normal.

Schuttler expressed his hope that the WCC and the soccer community would find a solution that continues to make the sport accessible. "I can't tell you what the right answer is to these things. We are focused on this tournament. We are putting together a field of the most promising teams in the world, and we hope that this is an event that can restore compassion for each other and passion for the sport. And Delaclava is a passionate, stunning land, and I think it's the ideal place to keep building a path forward."

[Tanirinthia]

Critical Incident Report

Facilities
Radiation monitoring post alpha and main reactor
Location
[redacted]


Incident Report
Upon reviewing the facts and testimonies of those involved I believe I have a full picture (or as full as one can have given the sad loss of life and complete loss of the facility) of what occurred and the failures that led to the catastrophic events on 16^th March 1996.

It would seem a normal enough day to begin with with no indications of the events to follow, the staff at the facility were getting ready for the evening's event our match as the second highest ranked team in the whole of the multiverse and given the recent venting in the match against Ochre Islands spirits were high and the mood light, with levels in fact below nominal. This appears to have been the first domino in a series of events, given the seeming lack of need for surveillance and monitoring and the chance to see up close the Græntfjall team, many members of staff were given clearance to attend the match leaving a skeleton crew to run the facility. I suppose those that left are both thankful and full of guilt for being those ones chosen to leave to watch the match.

The kickoff in the Tanirinthia vs Græntfjall match began at 19:30 TCT and we have independent corroboration from both the off-site backups and from the surviving engineers of two spikes at 20:03 TCT and 20:42 TCT. The first of this spikes took us above nominal readings but wasn't a cause for concern and the supervisor [redacted] was not notified, however the second spike caused the engineers to deem it going into the amber range and signalled for [redacted] to be called in to determine the cause of action. The determination was made that this was potentially a cause for concern, further monitoring was needed and this would be flagged up the chain of command.

This appears to be where a confluence of events converged to create the situation that led inexorably to the tragic events. Due to the skeleton crew being in place and a junior supervisor leading them, the junior supervisor was unaware of the recent change in protocol for flagging up with the chain of command, and the delay that this caused meant that by the time they had been able to make contact (20:58 TCT according to the outgoing phone log) levels had in fact returned to normal parameters, and the combined with General [redacted]'s dressing down of the supervisor (This was initially denied by the general, however subsequent interviews with the general's aide confirm the supervisor's version of events), distracted the supervisor causing them to miss the spike detected at 21:05 TCT, and the engineers believing them to be in contact with the chain of command.

At 21:10 TCT levels the final spike that we have offsite records for was measured, soon after this offsite records cease. From interviews conducted with the surviving personnel I have constructed the following events, on site alarms began to sound as level increased on an exponential level, the supervisor rushed to get back in contact with the chain of command but it appears all electronic systems were failing at this point (confirmed by the interruption in the offsite backups), and in the absence of an order from the chain of command gave the order for an emergency vent and powering down of the systems. But given the aforementioned electrical malfunctions the engineers were unable to action these successfully and the order was given to evacuate.

An engineer [redacted] did raise that there was a manually way to vent the system in the main reactor, and volunteered to stay behind to attempt to vent the system, given what we now know from satellite readings, the levels were in fact forming a runaway reaction that could not be fully stopped anymore, but there were at least three separate dips in level detected meaning that [redacted] not only made it to the reactor, but engaged the emergency vent at least three times and appears to have bought his fellow facility members precious minutes in which to evacuate and if not for their brave efforts many would have died that day.

It is my most forthright recommendation that only their family may never know the full truth that in line with the cover story of a nuclear accident, they are awarded with the Star of Tanirinthia and given credit for saving many lives.

At 21:25 TCT despite the heroic efforts the main reactor blew completely destroying the facility. This caused the isolation systems at the Omega facility to go down for a full 47 seconds until the backup systems kicked into place, the entity remains in place at the facility and was seemingly unable to escape during this window.

Archivist
[redacted]

Clearance level
Platinum

Unofficial observation
In reviewing footage of the entity, I could swear that it was aware of the incident the possibility of it's freedom and instead chose to stay. This worries me deeply.

[Valanora]

This was a problem, a good problem to have, but a problem all the same for Eastwood and the rest of the staff of the Marauders as they entered into the last international window. Playing with some rotated sides in the previous window, Eastwood looked to see who was up to the challenge and ready to compete at the highest levels, having the last two remaining difficult fixtures on the schedule in the window and against opposition that would in theory test their ability to play in high pressure situations. However instead of any one player looking ready to move from a rotational option or a reserve, nearly the whole selection in both matches looked on their form ready to be starters for the team, as the Marauders waxed both opponents by four to one scorelines. Instead of trimming down on the possible people to be selecting from moving into the Finals, an felt like he had an even larger selection headache than before, as there was hardly any good reason for leaving out any of the individuals that were up for the discussion.

The break after the upcoming window was going to loom large and he knew that he and his staff were going to have to go over every position in depth to find out who was going to make the final cut. It was not a situation or time that the manager was looking forward to but that was part of the job and what he had signed up for, what he had done successfully for a few times now. It never got any easier though making the phone calls to those who were ultimately decided that they were not going to make the team and were instead going to have to be the spectator and cheerleaders for that tournament. Credit to the players who took that call on the chin and kept accepting the call ups to the national team for the qualifiers or for the regional tournament, it could not be easy knowing how close you might have came to making the final selection. It was part of being a footballer, much like it was his job as a manager to pick the players, they had to accept those decisions and then try to prove their place in the team.

Despite the potential headache of the selection process for the twenty-six man squad on the horizon, Eastwood was enjoying an eerie sort of calm heading into the final matchday of the qualifiers, content in the knowledge that the team was well and secure in their qualification. He had taken a look at some of the other groups and the state of some of the tables really surprised him, in particular that with the fellow Arrosian sides of Banija, Quebec, and the Squornshelan Remnant States, the latter two of which looked all but certain to be missing out on qualification and playoffs entirely. The Squornshelan one was one that really bothered Eastwood, to have only lost twice in a campaign but to likely not even being able to make the playoff, that is the stuff of nightmares for a manager and might even get them sacked despite such a strong performance from the squad. The Marauders had had two nearly similar experiences but had managed to navigate their way into the group title and playoffs successfully, though it seemed unlikely that the fellow Arrosian sides would get that chance. It would make the regional tournament later down the line an even more intriguing prospect, though for the time being he was content to enjoy the calm before the storm.

[Pasarga]

The situation was simple, the Wanderers had to win away to the fourth place side and then hope that the Squorn squad managed to defeat Sajnur in Arrosia and the Wanderers would be able to pip past Sajnur to the top of the table and steal the qualification spot away from them. Sajnur had already secured at least a playoff spot but the Arrosians needed a victory over them as well as a Pasargan defeat to manage their way into the playoff spot, at the expense of the Wanderers. It was weird that the side from the dual islands needed the side from Arrosia to get that victory for their own hopes and dreams to be a reality but at the same time, the Arrosians were hoping for the curse of Pasargan inconsistency to rear its ugly head against an opponent with something of a pulse. A defeat did not necessarily mean that the Wanderers would be eliminated but with the goal difference so tight between them and the Red and Blacks, that in practice it meant that a defeat coupled with a Squorn victory would see the Wanderers eliminated from contention altogether instead.

Maraonia sat in fourth with six victories, including a recent six to three thrashing over Attestaltarragaby, showcasing their ability to rack up goals in bunches. Traveling away from Torgos has been the one major thorn in the side of the Wanderers this cycle, if one would be able to call it that, with both instances of the side dropping points coming away from the security and comfort that comes with playing at home. The opening match against the Remnant States in Arrosia with the three all draw and then a few matches later when the Wanderers traveled to Sajnur and were edged out, if only just, by the hosts. Even against some of the lower sides in the group the team has not showcased their lethality in front of net as much away from home as they have in front of the ninety thousand supporters in the Stade de Torgos, with the recent trip to Equestria seeing the Wanderers only escaping with a two to nil victory despite an expected goals for of nearly four, wasting chances that they have been scoring in droves in the Dual Islands.

There has to be a bit of sympathy going out to the Remnant States though and the situation that both teams find themselves in, where a bad result on the night could and very well will likely end the spell of the team and the manager they have in charge. In either scenario, to have only dropped points in three matches out of an entire qualifying campaign but have failed to place in second is the sort of thing that makes staff, players, as well as fans sick to your stomach. On the whole, it is a respectable record that in most other groups would either see the team qualifying for the Finals as the group winners or at the very least be making their way into the playoff with the chance there to prove their mettle. Yet for one of these two proud teams, after the fixtures of the night, they will be looking at trying to have impressed enough for an invite to the Cup of Harmony in Delaclava and more than likely looking for a new manager in the interim. The fates are cruel to put these teams in this position but it is the roll of the dice that has been made, with each now locked into their respective paths. For the fans of the Wanderers, an ugly win or even draw will do, so long as the team avoid that defeat and the nightmare scenario coming to pass.

[Aleirave]

A Failed Escapade

Not all campaigns go as planned. In the past, that would often mean that Aleirave would have an amazing first half to qualifying followed by a disastrous collapse in the second half. As for this time, they just could not manage to get off the ground.

With a 5-1-7 record headed into their final match against Baker Park, all was lost, and Haulafo and Ivan weren't too sure what went wrong. Both had their ideas, but nothing they could agree upon and point to. One thing was for certain, however; this team would not stay down forever. Cup of Harmony 87 was fast approaching, and regardless of what had happened to the Seagulls during qualifying, they would be back for the Cup of Harmony with winning on their minds.

Nobody can win 'em all, but we can always look to tomorrow. Good luck Seagulls.

[Eura]

WORLD CUP 95 QUALIFYING – GROUP 20 – MATCHDAY 12
Kimi-suomi 1–2 Eura
Scorers:
Sharp 22, 34
Lineup:
30. S Norman
2. A Mason
4. J Menard
19. M Pearce (sub Dennis 85)
23. I Doherty
6. J Gates
8. O Vincent (sub Champion 55)
12. D Barnes (sub Lafferton 90+1)
11. O James (sub Wright 73)
9. A Sharp
10. S Singh (sub Sherwood 90+1)

WORLD CUP 95 QUALIFYING – GROUP 20 – MATCHDAY 13
Eura 2–1 Darkmania
Scorers:
Archer 10, Holden 62
Lineup:
30. S Norman
2. A Mason
4. J Menard
19. M Pearce
3. M Taylor
6. J Gates (sub Vincent 45)
24. F Brown
12. D Barnes (sub West 70)
22. R Ricketts (sub Doherty 84)
26. O Holden (sub Phillips 88)
14. K Archer (sub Sharp 67)

---

EBC Sport at World Cup 95: Is Glen Merson for the chop?
The question on the lips of Eurans as our fate rests in hands of others

Tonight, with one game left to go in World Cup qualifying, everything has changed. Just a year ago Glen Merson was the unexpected saviour-in-progress of Euran football with a Cup of Harmony title and a near miss in the Copa Rushmori to his name. Now his job is hanging by a thread.

If a viewer watched Eura’s matchday eleven game against Okoya without context they might have thought the Euran team was at the height of its powers. A rip roaring performance saw Alex Sharp and Owen Holden double up, Molly Taylor chip in with a screamer, and Owen James celebrate a tap in like he’d just invented time travel. This was achieved with an almost fully rotated defence and without two of Eura’s best attacking players starting the game. That victory roused something deep within a side in need of points, a kind of motivation that would soon be unleashed in their next two matches.

Kimi-suomi have been in the running for at least the playoffs for almost of qualifying. A vital fixture at home against the Eurans was their chance to seize the initiative in search of a playoff spot, but the energised Eurans blew them away in the first half. A performance of great intensity – constant turnovers deep in Kimi-suomi’s half, flying tackles all over the pitch, an attacking tempo too fast to keep up with – saw Sharp practically walk the ball into the net on two occasions, and he could have scored many more.

Eura were less assured after half time as they settled in to defend their lead and conserve energy for their next game. Even so, they did more than enough to see the game out, supported by another commanding performance from Sam Norman between the posts. He was deeply unfortunate to not keep a clean sheet, beaten only by Kimi Airo’s beautiful late curler that gave Kimi-suomi an ultimately vain ray of hope.

Facing Darkmania at home in their next game, Eura would put in a more balanced, consistent performance throughout the game, with Kate Archer opening the scoring with a simple header from a whipped Ana Mason free kick, while Holden doubled the lead after half time with a deflected shot from outside the area. Once again though they were given a nervous bout of squeaky bum time in stoppages after an 85th minute goal back for the visitors, narrowly seeing it out to secure the win.

Three games, three fine performances, three much needed victories – and yet Eura somehow face elimination. Kimi-suomi have fallen away but Koronavia have not. The Koronavians travel to Darkmania on the final matchday and must expect to get something against the underperforming Darkmanians, who have won just once, drawn twice and lost ten in thirteen games of qualifying. With Koronavia’s two point advantage and a goal difference advantage of three, Eura’s fate is now firmly out of their hands – they must beat bottom of the group Senterus away from home, and that will only be enough if Koronavia fail to win, or draw (and Eura win by three goals or more).

How did we get here? Euran manager Glen Merson was a caretaker to start with, a placeholder while the EFA underwent a probing government review. Impressive initial performances and results saw him hired and Eura went on to win the Cup of Harmony which was their first trophy in years. At the time of the last Copa Rushmori final optimism was still high about his reign, even after what was in hindsight a very damaging defeat to Cabo Azure. But the World Cup matters above all else to Eurans, and the anguish of recent years has made villains of anyone who oversees more failure to at least make it to the tournament.

It is no surprise then that the prospect of yet another World Cup failure has turned sour the narrative around “Good ol’ Glen”. This gruelling and disappointing qualifying phase has left Eura needing a miracle to make it to even the playoffs – and if that miracle does not manifest, then the rumble of discontent may become a thunderstorm. We’ve asked four of the country’s most recognised football pundits what they think...

RHYS GRIFFITHS (Former Eura international with 145 caps and 42 goals, last played in World Cup 87 qualifying): “Give Glen another chance no matter what happens”

I was still an active international when Eura crashed out of qualifying for World Cup 87. It was a disaster and a national embarrassment for all of us in the set up at the time. We couldn’t face the country with a straight face afterwards. I called it a day and so did several others. But we thought it would likely be a one off. A lost decade or so of Euran football since has completely smashed that complacency, and several managers in a row have failed to break the spiral.

Glen Merson was not a glamorous appointment, but maybe that’s not what was needed. Lee Sharp, Sterling Rose, Skorji Oslograd; everyone we had since Michael Brandon had failed to get the best out of a team that was talented on paper and at club level. These ex-star players with loads of management experience couldn’t do it. Merson had a modest career as a player and a manager by contrast, but, his low profile and small ego has been critical to rebuilding a positive atmosphere in the Euran camp, of making meritocratic selections and rewarding players for hard work. Those are the basic building blocks of a successful team. Whatever happens tonight, he deserves another chance.

THOMAS WEBSTER (Former chief correspondent for the Euran national team, The Emplor: “Bad results must have consequences”

Many football journalists across the country initially got it wrong with Glen Merson. Quite a few were dismissive. Others assumed he would be gone in a matter of months. The Carsby King has proven more resilient than that. He is rightly a popular figure and deserves a good legacy for finally ending the Euran Cup of Harmony curse. Unfortunately, this is a results business. And can we really say that he has earned a stay in a job where there appears to be unanimous agreement that competing in the World Cup again is paramount? And the more this latest qualifying SNAFU unfolds the more it appears that Mr Merson has perhaps got an easy ride of things up to this point.

Eura had made two previous Cup of Harmony finals in recent times before Merson’s Eura made it three, and few would argue Eura were not somewhat unlucky to have won neither (or both) of the first two. Yes, they reached a Copa final, but failing to go all the way was a colossal, missed opportunity, and it is easy to forget that some of his predecessors came close to making it to the final themselves. So, when the World Cup 95 finals come around – and as appears likely, Eura are not there – what will really separate Merson from those who came before? Sentimentality has never served Eura well. He will have to go unless something unexpected occurs.

KATY MASTERS (Editor of Eura’s most read independent football blog, 4treble2.eur): “A barren decade means it’s time to look abroad”

Judging the case of Glen Merson purely on the same standard that has been applied to recent managers, I think it’s a fair argument that he should go if the chips don’t fall Eura’s way in Darkmania or Senterus tonight. Lee Sharp and Sterling Rose both went in similar circumstances. Skorji Oslograd did not, and Eura paid dearly for it, meandering inconsistently before they eventually called time on “Skorjiball”. At the same time, he can at least point to having won some silverware, broken the “Harmony hoodoo”, come close to ending a long Copa drought, and had some genuine bad luck in a shortish qualifying campaign that has left little room for error. If it wasn’t for the worst refereeing injustices Eura has suffered in years against Koronavia and Kelssek, would we even be having this conversation?

Bigger issues are at play here that continue to undermine the football system, including the government review which seems to have become a punchline rather than a serious reform programme. So, if we’re sticking the course on principles, let’s give him another go, especially if Eura can somehow clamber their way into the playoffs. But let me posit a potentially controversial viewpoint. Merson’s biggest failings have been persisting with a lack of ruthless selection (a perennial and very Euran problem in the last twenty years) and the naïve embrace of a return to “Euran football values”, namely the 4-2-2-2 that every opponent worked out long ago.

If he does go, is it not time that Eura considers going back to a more welcome feature of its footballing past…a foreign manager? The Michael Brandon and Kelly Sporadic eras, either side of Steve Thompson’s multicultural blend of a footballing philosophy, add up to a long golden age for the Euran national team. By contrast, a decade with a team not short of talent (Euraleague is just as international as it was when the national team peaked) has been a car crash by comparison under increased EFA supervision and four Euran managers on the trot. Let’s get real and accept that nostalgic appeals to a Euran way of doing things have run out of road. Bringing back the international influences and get us winning again.

AUBREY FLOVIN (Football columnist, writing the “Flovin’ It” football column in The Capital Herald: “Enough taking the mickey!”

What is the point of this USELESS FRAUDSTER who continues to helm the red and gold machine?! Some might say I am overly kind on previous managers who had more clout and better lawyers than GUILTY GLEN, but those people would be TREASONOUS IDIOTS! Lily livered Glen Merson has taken us for fools, knocking over little old Eshialand in a piece of cake Cup of Harmony final, and has been BLAGGING IT ever since! The INCOMPETENT PILLOCK has been protected by the LIBERAL, TENNIS LOVING ELITE in their ivory towers that control the sporting media, except for the humble Herald of course which doesn’t count because reasons. But it all goes deeper than that. It’s not just the press.

We must reckon with the fact that Euran football is being hollowed out by something ghastly – the government’s football review. This WOKE PURGE has rid the EFA of GOOD HONEST BLOKES who like a pint, a bit of banter and paying off HR-related lawsuits – in other words, they’re getting rid of GOOD OLD COMMON SENSE! Now the Association is run by BLUE HAIRED FEMINISTS and other COMMIE SCUM who are turning our footballing academies into gender neutral prisons of the mind. The result is footballers who can’t take a tackle and coaches like Merson who are all talk, NO BALLS! Its time the Euran people TOOK BACK CONTROL and put proper FLAG FEARING PATRIOTS in charge at every level, so the Euran footballing lads and lasses can get back to doing what they do best – WALLOPING THE BLOODY FOREIGNERS! except for the insanely wealthy proprietor of my employing rag thanks

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If you’ve been made to feel down by this article about the perils facing the Euran football team, why not bring yourself even closer to crying into your pillow by reading these articles about the real news? That’s right, its time to end your news avoidance strategy and tune in to the doom loop. Don’t forget to drink heavily while you do it!

CLIMATE Brega floods again bringing surreal sea life terrors; “fish are friends, not food” response by government causes much confusion

POLITICS Unionist-Capital alliance hail Nukon East by-election victory; winning candidate calls for abolition of international foods aisle, deportation of low earners

SOCIETY Much loved Bastion street urchin Tiny Tim fails to recover from illness; dies horribly, local scrooge points and laughs

WAR Bostopians continue to be wankers; defenceless Mertagnians flee in fear

THAT OTHER WAR Cooper River conflict enters another year; Cooperites fight on exhausted, Dagans declare “here I go killing again”

DIPLOMACY Brenecians and Nepharans clearly eager to take it outside; Eurans take a Xanax pretending all is good in the democratic world

MEDIA Insufferable tech douche Maxwell Danger shows hand; set to imminently announce de-regulated social platform full of disinformation

TECH Harther Corporation says “trust me bro”; dismisses deaths at its secret AI development facility, insists world domination won’t happen this quarter

YOU Should have another drink, its only going to get worse

[Carpathia and Ruthenia]

Squad plays with heart, but has it broken at the end

Federica Antonini unable to be consoled after failing to save penalty in the
dying minutes of the match

Városi Stadion, Veszprém I spoke of dæmons that needed to be shrugged off, of a lack of expierence but what we saw on display tonight was a Carpathia & Ruthenia squad full of confidence and heart playing fearlessly against top the table Baggieland. Although in the end our heart was broken I will take heart from seeing our players not back down and pick themselves up after losing in such a spectacular fashion, and although if you look at the two results superfically it may seem they are the same (a match in which we hold the team at half time only to lose), these results are miles apart. We certainly deservered a point in a hard fought match.

As had been the fashion of this qualifying campaign we came out of the gate thundering and unlike against the weaker opposition we weren't able to take control of the game, we were able to pose problems for the Baggieland midfield and defence and were rewarded when we posed one problem too many as a ball slotted through by Lecce was met with a sublime first touch by Fabbri to take him past John Moore leaving him one-on-one with Ben Osborne and slotting in home past the outstreched hands of Osborne. Baggieland did then close ranks and the defence was tightened up, and by the close of the half it was Baggieland posing more of the questions of the Carpathia & Ruthenia defence but a couple of good saves from Antonini kept our lead intact.

Again the second half was our undoing but this time not through errors of our own but put simply outplayed by a better team, Baggieland show real class and showed why they are the group leaders. Which lead them to equalising with a superb team effort that resulted in Astle scoring a goal that even Antonini couldn't keep out after a 32 pass leadup to the goal starting from the complete other end of the pitch. This was when Carpathia & Ruthenia attempted to batten down the hatches, however they couldn't stop all of the runs of play and again Antonini was the hero keeping the scores level, and it would have remained that way until a (perhaps softly given) penalty in the dying moments of the match was given, and although Antonini was inconsolable afterwards. She did get the tips of her fingers to the ball, but the power of the shot meant it wasn't enough to stop it and we certainly can't begrudge her not saving that, espeically given her multiple saves through the match that kept us in contention and the scoreline more respectable. But it wasn't just her that played with heart, I must again call out that the team in it's entirety substitutes and all played till the very last moment with heart and were simply beaten by a better team.

Our next match will being us against Saint Eleanor who quite frankly wiped the floor with us in our opening match, however I must admit the squad that has played over the following matches is not that same squad and Saint Elenor have themselves struggled in a hit and miss fashion seeing them draw against West Kharakia and lose against Baggieland. I'm hopeful that we will at least give a better showing this time around if not a different number of points taken from the game.

By Margita Ongaro
CBC Ruthenia

.Carpathia and Ruthenia 1 - 2 Baggieland........................
Astle (61', 90+8' pen) .......FT....... Fabbri (12')....................

[Oberour Ar Moro]

CHAPTER SIX: Fiat Sortitus

In Oberour Ar Moro, the word of the Chancellor is law. But even the Chancellor cannot make a lottery exist overnight. Behind the simple act of purchasing a ticket lay an intricate infrastructure, both physical and intellectual, required for its implementation. This multifaceted process involved the creation of a thicket of laws and regulations to govern the opperation of the lottery.

Who can buy a lottery ticket? Any adult over the age of 18.

How would tickets be sold? Special consoles linked through phone lines to a centralized location were devised to track purchases and their origins.

What kind of lottery would it be? The lottery would be a single game where participants could personally select six numbers or opt for a random selection. The odds of hitting the jackpot stood at a eye-watering 1 in 117,405,60.

How would the tickets be sold? Self-service kiosks were considered but ultimately rejected. The decision leaned towards clerk-operated terminals to potentially encourage additional sales at the point of purchase.

Who would build these consoles? In determining which company would be granted a monopoly, the challenge arose as no entity had previously designed such consoles. DJVU, a new venture initiated by a former executive from an arcade game manufacturer, was awarded the role.

Where would tickets be sold? Conveneience stores and gas stations were obvious choices. Including alcooleries was a logical choice as well. However, selling tickets at grocery or department stores was eventually dismissed.

Would the number 13 be available to select on a lottery ticket? This deliberation held significant weight in a country deeply affected by triskaidekaphobia. Given the avoidance of the number 13 in various societal facets, including the absence of a 13th floor in buildings and the exclusion of the number from national football team designations, it was decided to omit the number 13 from the lottery selection.

[Beefsteak City]

Emily said to come back the next day, and come back they did—Mayor Ato, Salisbury, and Leclerc all stuffed into that glorious ICBM launcher. Today, the road was a bit rougher getting out of Beefsteak City, because all the drivers of the idling cars were in bed, so Ato had to jostle some fenders and crush some cars in order to squeeze out of the city. But that sound of crunching metal was enthralling, better than coffee for getting up in the morning.

Their tank felt out of place as they pulled up to the picturesque Pierce household. Birds were chirping, although you could hear them whining and suffocating on the smoke of the tank. A cherry orchard stood off to the side of the house, peacefully. Suddenly, a shaggy dog, an Afghan hound, bolted out of the house, barking and announcing the presence of the intruders.

A trim man in morning slacks, a jacket, glasses, and a toothbrush mustache opened the front door and was taken aback at what he saw, some of his coffee splashing on the ground. He stepped tentatively towards the vehicle. "Excuse me, sir?" he yelled politely over the roar of the machine. "Can you please move that elsewhere?"

"We're invading!" Ato shouted.

"What?"

"We're invading you!" Ato repeated.

"I can't hear you. Hey, why don't you step out for a second and we have a chat?"

Ato grunted, turned off the vehicle, and lumbered out of his cab. On the other side, Jerome Salisbury and Carey Leclerc fell out, the opening of the door keeping them in relieving the pressure.

"Hey, buddy, I'm Dave Pierce, but you can call me Dusty," the man said, extending his hand and smiling cheerfully.

"Oh, uh, Thomas Ato," the Mayor grunted. "Mayor and CEO of Beefsteak City."

"Mr. Ato! Of course! Oh hey, that's a fine city you're running over there. Emily tells me how hippity-hoppin' that froyo shop is. It's a pleasure to meet ya!"

"Yes," the Mayor replied, bemused. "And here are my associates, Jerome Salisbury and Carey Leclerc."

"Hey, you're the coach, right?" Dusty said to Salisbury. "Well gosh, Betsy and I really appreciate you having our Emily on your team! She really has so much fun with all the playing and traveling around, it's just a great experience for her, you know."

"Oh, of course," Jerome said. "She's a hell of a player."

"She sure is! Now, I gotta ask," Dusty chuckled a little. "What's got you on our front yard with that beautiful tank there?"

"Oh, uh," Mayor Ato said a little sheepishly, "we were planning on annexing your land here to Beefsteak City."

"Huh! Now why's that?" Dusty seemed genuinely curious as he asked.

"Because we need Emily to be a Beefsteak Cityzen so our soccer team is eligible to play internationally, and well, since you won't let her stay overnight in Beefsteak City—you wouldn't happen to have changed your mind on that?"

"Oh, no, sir," Dusty shook his head apologetically. "Listen, friendo, I totally understand, but our Emily needs to stay here! She's got school, homework, her job in your city, your team, her own travel team. And I bet that factory floor is really nice! But I know my girl and she needs to stay in her own bed so she can meet all her responsibilities."

"Of course, of course," Mayor Ato met Dusty's pleasantness with a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. "So, we're back at annexation, then..."

"Listen, buddy... look, I wouldn't mind if you militarily occupy us as long as you stay out of hair. We're just a nice, God-loving family here, after all. We won't cause ya no trouble! But if you're doing this because of Emily...well I gotta tell ya, she's leaving the house pretty soon! Going to be studying and playing soccer in Delaclava. She's choosing between UB Manchester and Arana State. Golly, we're so proud of her! So, like I said, you can go ahead with what you're doing! I just don't think it'll do ya a lot of good!" He looked at his watch. "Oh golly, is that the time? I volunteer at the middle school carpool, I've got to get going. Listen, you're welcome to come in for some coffee and danishes, or you can hang out here, but I'll be back in a little bit and we can keep talking. Nice to meet you, bud!" He clapped Ato amicably on the shoulder, winked at Salisbury, and dashed inside, leaving the three Beefsteak Cityzens a little stunned.

"So...Emily's going to college?" Ato asked Salisbury.

"Yup."

"And we'll lose her for the team then?"

"Yup."

"And it won't even matter what we do with this invasion?"

"That's right."

"Fuck." Ato thought for a second. "Alright, well, let's just get this thing out of here, and we'll figure out what to do next."

"Uh, sir... it's not starting."

"What??" Ato snapped.

"Yeah, the battery's dead, I think."

And suddenly, the shaggy Afghan barked again, and out of the cherry orchard, and from the road behind them, Unfree Republics police and militia swarmed around Ato and Salisbury and Leclerc. "Police! Hands up!"

The tank suddenly came to life, bucked and kicked. Everyone ducked down, but nothing had gone off.

Ato muttered, "Well, that backfired."

[Vdara]

What’s Done Is Done

Previously on ‘Vdara’:
“The playoff dream was still on, but with the Vdarans still having to play Quakmybush away and Tumbra at home, they might have to rely on some luck coming elsewhere.”

That luck arrived in the form of Acastanha’s loss at home to Gnejs, which officially confirmed Vdara’s spot in the World Cup playoffs. That’s not to say Vdara didn’t earn that spot, though - nine goals in two games probably did the trick, demolishing Covelandia at the VdarArena before decimating Quakmybush away (making it six wins out of six against them!) to place themselves 5 points clear of Acastanha with one game remaining. How did people react to this, you may be asking? Well…

Dressing Room

”Guys, gals… I’ve gotta say. You’re all incredible, I’ll tell you that now. I ask you to bring ‘em hell, and what do you do? You didn’t just beat them, no - you decimated them! Incredible stuff, it really is. I… I really can’t be bothered talking. We’ve done all the talking on the pitch, and I think it’s time to finally put our feet up for a bit… AND PARTYYYYYYYY!”

Markos pulled a large crate of ‘Chania’s Finest’ beer from inside a cooler that was meant to be filled with water, and immediately started tossing cans at every single player.

”If any of you were considering being sober… you won’t be anymore!”

Fast forward about half an hour, and the party was still ongoing, with everyone significantly tipsier - none moreso than Markos himself, who had tossed his suit jacket over to the side, and was flailing his tie in the air like a cowboy’s lasso. As the modern generation would put it: Scenes. There was a good chance that this would leave them in a less than fit state for their upcoming match against group leaders Tumbra, but none of them cared - at least, not at this moment of time. Tumbra could wait; beer couldn’t. Joy unconfined, the players continued to drink and be merry, forgetting that this was not their home stadium, and that there was a good chance the Quakmybush ground staff wanted them to fuck off. Again, they didn’t care. They’d exceeded their own expectations, and it was time to celebrate with some beer and a singsong. In case you were wondering, ”We’re the famed Vdaran Army, and we’re going to [insert playoff team here]!” was their chant of choice. Catchy, isn’t it? It’ll surely catch on.