World Cup 99 - RP Thread

[The Kytler Peninsulae]

If any team at this World Cup had reason to be genuinely fearful, it was this Kytlerian one - forged out of tragedy, having to effectively retrace the steps of that nightmare on their journey here, with a reputation based on their ranking but almost all of that record coming from the squad that was, not the squad that is.

It may possibly be a little surprising to see that fear coming out on the field - but PTSD does that to people, probably. And certainly some of this squad could be diagnosed with PTSD - indeed several ruled themselves out of the squad, notably Joke Feltkamp after opting out of the fateful prior trip to Arrosia in order to settle in with her new FC Alaer side following a 2.186m NSD deal.

Of the players who are here, it seems as though none of them bought their shooting boots with them; after an unnervingly quiet 1-0 defeat to Gnejs, this goalless draw with Cardenao was epitomised by uncharacteristic misses in front of goal from the likes of Vicente and Dino Azar. The result leaves the team almost certainly needing to win their final match to advance - and that's against defending champions Flavovespia, so nobody thinks they will. Even manager Thomas Hooker.

"We have to assume that'll be our last match," he admitted. "Nobody's going to give us a chance, and if we keep shooting like that they're absolutely right. But I just want the team to put in a performance to make the country proud - to confirm they can play at this level, which in theory shouldn't be a question with the way qualifying went but obviously a lot of that was our home performances. We had the win in Pale (against StrayaRoos) which was a real statement that meant a lot, and maybe we can do that again against Flavovespia. We all know how small the gaps are at the top of the sport these days - I think that's what has made it actually more surprising we progressed, because the loss of that many players could have made us look a lot worse even if we weren't, we might step back a little on the field and a lot in results - I mean, look at this match, we did do everything but score really. Flavovespia will obviously expect to beat us, but if anyone should know how small the gaps are it is them, because of all the people who were so surprised they won it all two years ago. Ultimately, it's 90 minutes and it starts 0-0 and we'll see how it finishes, and all we can do is what we do - and let's not forget this is still a useful point we got in this one, there's no way we go out on four points and zero or better goal difference unless we're fourth, so it really is a simple win-and-in equation. It's nice to not have to worry about permutations and mathematics - it's a knockout match. First knockout round. Who knows? We might get another one."

Who knows indeed? It may seem the end is nigh, but ultimately, in the circumstances, to face the final curtain with a fighting performance would be a success in itself at this of all World Cups for this of all teams. Two years from now, there will be another chance - for a centennial edition that is widely expected to feature a massive qualification process and is as such likely to produce at least another 18-match run to the Proper that this team can grow together in. There will be a Copa Rushmori between now and then; another chance to develop, another chance to improve on a frankly miserable record in a regional competition that has become ever more attackable with the decline of past regional powers.

Above all, nobody seems to be making noises about the nation going back to isolationism any time soon and making those future opportunities meaningless. On a physical level, the Kytlerian national soccer team died on Flight 134. On a metaphorical level, paradoxically enough, their future life has become more rather than less secure.

[Siovanija and Teusland]

The cutoff for the final day of group stage action in the Banijan third of the Finals is brought to you by...

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Be sure to stay tuned to the post-match festivities as well to see the live goat presented to each of the lucky few 'Players of the Match!'

[Cardenao]

BIGGEST GAME IN OUR HISTORY TONIGHT AGAINST GNEJS!!!

Alright then, here we go fans, friends, and fuckers alike cheering on the Blue and Golds at the all important World Cup Finals MatchDay 3, fresh off the back of an exciting 0-0 draw with the 13th best team in the world; this is potentially the single biggest game in our nation’s history…so let’s get into it! In this article, we’ll review that scoreless draw against the Kytler Peninsulae and preview the must-win clash against #38 Gnejs. We all know the deal, the stakes are high, win and we might potentially advance to the knockouts, very fun, very cool, but let’s get into it already!!

We’ll get things started by taking a look at the current group table for Group J and how that impacts things heading into the final matchday. No surprise to see the world #1 Flavovespia topping the group, but only four points from the first two matchdays means the group winner could be anybody at the conclusion of MD3. Only +1 goal differential too means there’s a lot of wiggle room depending on how the final games play out, and Gnejs will certainly be hoping to make their mark. Tied with Flavovespia with four points and identical goals for and goals against, the Dandelions will be coming up firing hoping to smash their way into the Round of 32; obviously La Furia Azule will be doing everything they can to prevent that. As for our own Boys in Blue, well we’re sitting not so pretty in third place with a single point thanks to that draw against the Kytler Peninsulae, and a goal differential of -1 due to the MD1 1-0 loss to Flavovespia. Finally, we have the aforementioned Peninsulae in fourth place with a point and a -1 GD as well, so the table is well and truly set for an extraordinary final matchday in Group J.

Making the qualification scenarios even spicier is the return of a key feature that delivered Cardenao into the Finals in the first place; the top eight third place teams will also automatically qualify. That means this game was already a must-win to get into the top two, but a win would bring us into third in the group and would present an opportunity to advance as one of those eight teams. That being said, we could also lose in spectacular fashion, getting absolutely smashed and all the talk of ‘what if this and what if that’ ultimately don’t count for jack! Now, obviously I do not want that to happen, nor do I think that will occur, but I’d rather say it now and force myself to imagine it so my little heart isn’t entirely broken if it does come to happen. No, I imagine it’ll be another of the closely fight contests that have defined Group J play so far, and it’ll come down to whoever can pull that last bit of desire and energy out of them to get over the line. So that sets the stage for a fascinating final match day for Team Cardenao, now let’s get talking about the teams!

Out of respect for their higher ranking, #38 in the world, we’ll start with the team representing Gnejs, the…Gnejsians? Not sure if that’s the right term but it’s what we’re running with! The Dandelions, as they are otherwise known, are undergoing a resurgence similar to Cardenao’s own, a few promising cycles gave way to a few disappointing cycles and now here we both are on the cusp of achieving something great. Anyway, let’s talk about the team with what I believe to be a rock on both their FA logo and flag! Timotej Hansen has to be given his flowers, tulips perhaps, for a remarkable job coming into the head coaching position for Gnejs and introducing a bizarre and fascinating form of play to the world; The Tulip With Stinging Bees. Nobody really knows what that means, but it’s provocative, it gets the people going, but it undeniably goes hard as hell. Could it be some sort of national metaphor? Maybe, all I do know is it translates to an unusual 2-3-2-1-2 formation that waltzed to 36 points in the qualification phase. 45 goals scored and only 29 conceded over 18 games shows a finely balanced system that is tuned to smash through defenses. Compare that to a Cardenaoan offense that only found the net 27 times and you see the difference in attacking mentality and, frankly speaking, quality. We’re looking at a lot of figures here but I want to highlight the one that I think, that I hope, will make the difference on gameday: 18 goals conceded.

Lest we forget, the Cardenaoan defense was a top-five unit throughout qualification, only giving up 18 goals in as many matches as the back four operated in beautiful harmony and CDM Jake Casales dropping back to help shore things up. This’ll be a classic battle between offense and defense, striker and centerback, good and evil, it will come down to Gnejs’ high scoring offense against our seawall led by Vitto Dioli and Moustir-Yves Almeny. If they can marshall the troops and hold strong against the Thorny Dandelion Tulip Bee Stingers playstyle, that will go a long way towards us sneaking into the Round of 32. I’ve got two main concerns though, and how they play out will have a big impact on how the game plays out. #1: Kiko Nécib, my man needs to start banging in some goals at the rate we hoped he would as a wonderkid. Now I know, he’s 25 so it’s time to adjust some expectations, but that doesn’t mean I can’t reasonably expect my team’s starting striker to be, I don’t know, somewhat reliable in front of goal? At this level, he’ll be lucky to get more than one or two chances at scoring and we need him to convert those opportunities because if he doesn’t…well what’s the use in having him start up top? Might as well toss me up there! Point #2 I’m concerned about is also a point I’m very excited about, it’s the double-edged sword that is Haritz Larrainzar.

Look, on one hand, it’s Haritz gah dang Larrainzar, most capped player in our history, top four in both goals scored and assists provided, he’s already come in and provided two goals and three assists in his seven (7) games back with the national team. There is no doubt we are heavily relying on the Port Rhovanyon legend to do this thing and we will live, or die, by that. He’s still got immaculate control of the ball, he can ping a ball to a swamp rat from 50 yards out, and he’s got that classic rocket of a right foot ready to rip from any distance, fuck me hes some player. HOWEVER…yes, however, he’s mid-thirties, quite leggy and not bringing that little burst of acceleration that used to make him so dangerous, I just worry he might tire out some. This is the biggest game in any Cardenaoan players career and I worry he might not have the lungs or the legs to get it do over 90 minutes—or potentially more given how crazy these qualification scenarios are looking. Does he have the stamina? Can the old man get it done?

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Old man? OLD MAN?? Haritz Larrainzar ripped off his headphones and threw them to the ground as this…this…this….this bullshit started spewing from the text-to-speech voice. What was supposed to be a nice morning workout on the stationary cycle listening to The Cardenaoan Correspondent’s article about the national team, his national team. And now he had to listen to this shit, like he hadn’t already heard it all before.

The legend of the Blue and Gold hopped off the bike, he was more than warmed up now, he was pissed off. Haritz stomped out of the covered weightlifting area and stepped onto the small training pitch setup at this national training facility, one of many sports-centered athletic facilities spread across the country for members of various national teams representing Cardenao. It was, of course, a Mihaly initiative, and it was perfect! If you were a current, former, or guest of a national team member, you had access to some pretty top-tier training areas all across the country. Which was why Haritz trotted onto the pitch and saw some familiar faces, Juanma Saez, the Parakelion Firebirds leading scorer, and Chímo Ventura, Cardenao’s original wonderkid.

“How’s it going oldie?” laughed Chímo, the youngest of the three.

“Can’t believe they let you out of the retirement home!” Juanma chimed in, Cardenao’s all-time leading goalscorer loved to rib his longtime teammate, “Just talking heads talking, mane. Let it go and just play the game you gotta play.”

Just play the game you gotta play.

Sound advice going into the biggest game in the nation’s history.

[The Martian Independent Republic]

OOC: If you want to send in a potential manager, please TG me. A positive style mod and some experience are recommended but not required. The goal of the Spiders over the next few cycles will be to become a regular at the World Cup proper.

Spiders looking for a new manager

After a 3-2 loss to Aleirave that eliminated the MIR from the tournament with a game left in the group stage, Catalina Arran has announced she will not be seeking a permanent role as manager of the Spiders. The MFF has confirmed that they will be looking outside the country to fill the job, as the Russell bribery scandal reached almost every corner of the Martian football establishment. In other news, a cat got stuck in a tree, which was impressive, because there are no trees on Mars.

[Saint Eleanor]

OOC: A minor change in wording was made to this RP in consort with Queb; with that change made, he fully approves of this RP as of 12:54am EDT (7:54am EEST). We have a mutual understanding that Lara Torridge is becoming increasingly inept and her bad planning skills are becoming glaringly obvious as time and death come closer. Just Mertagne, Saint-Jean-Jacques et Burnham-on-Sea, Cardenao, Koroa City, and the Ochre Islands to go until she meets her sticky end.

Group of Six meeting (LXXX) --- TJUN-ia 2-3 SAINT ELEANOR
Participants: Gentle Breeze, Reniira Clevinger, Stephen Mitcham ~ Bridget Coombe [C], Cathy Winchester [VC], Naclé Öhân [ballot]
Location: a fancy restaurant whose identity also needs to be discussed with Squorn; Santraginus, SRS

I'm Stephen Mitcham - here on time, on schedule, and together having some enjoyable food with five of the best people in Eleanorian football. As a reminder, Bridget will be taking notes after Oberour Ar Moro (as discussed earlier), as we have made the last thirty-two and there is accordingly no need to start mourning yet.

Nevertheless, I agree with Killian Looker... TJUN-ia IS good. Although our lineup was not set up to get them on the counter-attack, I was pleasantly surprised to see Olympia Woodward and Nacle Ohan combine for the first two goals, and in such short order as well; they are quickly confirming themselves as the two main actors of the Eleanorian attack. We were largely reflexive after that point, and Isabella Bright did very well indeed to snatch the winning goal, but there were a couple of times in which we were too timid, perhaps even too afraid of the TJUN-ians and their ability to react. There are concerns that the Jaguars have a wobbly defence and, in hindsight, we could have won by a lot more had we exploited it.

This is not to say that we were facing inept opposition. We could have won had we pushed a bit more - yet they could have won had they pushed more effectively, by contrast. Diana Sharafutdinov proved to be a particular liability for us: even when we sought to hold fast to our lead, she tried and largely succeeded in finding ways around our defence, however packed we made it; she headed in a well-placed corner right before half time, sneaked past the defence to grab the equaliser midway through the second, and blew away at least a couple of good opportunities for the hat-trick. Her vice-captain, Zaine Bowry, was menacing and supportive in equal measure, even without any goals to his name; the supporting playmaker Paek Un-hui repeatedly got in front of our two women. I would definitely credit our final four defenders for the result, given everything else - and Bridget herself, who hardly had her best night, was happy to oblige my point.


Oberour Ar Moro, as the third seeds in the group, will naturally pose us the second-biggest threat - but it is not that close between them and the Jaguars. We are dealing with a centrally-focused debutant side that scored more goals than anyone else in qualification. They will be desperate for a win, not only given the prize of defeating Saint Eleanor in and of itself, but also the fact that any other result will all but confirm their elimination. We are desperate for our own win - we have nearly sealed the group, but we have never had a perfect group stage record in any competition.

It's important to address our own issues before addressing theirs - in summary, we should be more judicious (even if we aren't necessarily more defensive). Saint Eleanor has developed pacing issues on the Isle of Squornshelous, on a scale that we haven't seen in qualifying. We went 3-1 up in 22 minutes against Pyazhnaya, and 2-0 up in 20 minutes against TJUN-ia, only to shy away from our fellow Anaians after an hour and almost throw away the lead against the Jags. Rushing into an early lead is a good strategy, but I think we should do so in a measured way - this means taking our chances pragmatically, shoring up attack and defence as required, rather than flipping between the two modes in a binary fashion. The group agrees.

Bridget, following the news as always, was keen to point out that Lunen Margas is a black box - he was appointed after the previous manager got arrested, which Gentle Breeze said out loud hopefully wouldn't happen to her any time soon. Margas isn't as fixed in his ways as his predecessor Ginguene was, but there's nothing to suggest that he's perfectly relaxed either. We've accordingly decided to assume that the team will roughly be playing as they have been doing throughout this cycle - a dangerous assumption to make, but a necessary one, and one that can be adjusted if we find ourselves in trouble as rapidly as TJUN-ia did last time around.

The Dragoons will likely field their strongest team; a systems approach is necessary. First of all, this means focusing our fullbacks inside and leaving them free to help execute the offside trap (a dangerous game against a tight front three, but one which I feel is worth playing). It also means starting the strongest possible defensive square, each of whom can move backwards or forwards as absolutely necessary. Maria will be left in the de-jure attacking midfield position to provide flexibility either way, since she's really appreciated that opportunity so far; Olympia will remain as the lead striker, supported by her able wingers as ever.

While this may look like a relatively unchanged lineup, it is the one that will help us to fire on the most cylinders and keep us as flexible as possible. I believe that there is no time or opportunity to waste against an opposition of this caliber, and that success here will set us up well for a great day against one of the runners-up in the other groups. Here it is again: Richardson; Winchester, Vickers, Launceston, Curran; Coombe, Matsuda; Lawson, MORGAN, Ohan; Woodward.

The Grand Tour of Anaia - Huayramarca: Wide, wild, remarkably diverse - and almost nothing to dislike about it

by Lara Torridge - April 16th 2006

(OOC note: I will write this long after cutoff, as my conversations with Huay the player have been slow-paced - although he's agreed in principle to a Lara visit - and I have no interest in delivering a half-baked roleplay. For the time being, please just accept Lara's adventures in Quebec, which have actually been written about and for which I've pre-emptively docked her fifty bucks. I'd bundle the Mertagne RP here, too, but as it's bedtime for him and we're also actively working on that as well, I'm afraid it will have to wait until Ro32.)

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The Grand Tour of Anaia - Quebec and Shingoryeo: Such a big country that I only had time to explore the busier half of it

by Lara Torridge - April 21st 2006

You last saw me driving through the border tunnel to Montevicio. This time, however, it is the Quebecois authorities who search my passport, and approve it for clearance; search my person, and find it to contain nothing worth remarking about; and search my luggage, only to find an awful lot of clothing, which poses no concern. The process is as cold as the weather, which really reminds me that I do need to put my gloves on at the next available opportunity, change into something slightly more appropriate for the weather... and get my money changed.

Exchange rate: 300 dollars = 100 Quebecois dollars ($1 = £0.33333...)

As it turns out, this is one of the more notable things you can do in the city. Montevicio is famous for its massive studio films, on a scale that not only rivals but thoroughly thrashes anything that Saint Eleanor could put out; I watch one of the 15-rated action movies on offer at the nearest grandiose theater I can find and am left somewhat impressed, if baffled by the unbelievable production values and several plot holes. I then visit one of the department stores, abuse their changing facilities to change from one of my pre-owned sets of clothing into another pre-owned set of clothing, refuse to apologise, and hit the beach.

I spend much too much time there, frolicking about, realising that throwing snowballs on the beach is an unproductive activity given how much sand is inherent in them, trying to build sandcastles that won't melt, and generally complaining about how cold the water is. The only thing compelling me to return to the department store for yet another change is the fact that their doors will be closing imminently. When they do - just in time, thankfully - I am almost barged into one of the local casinos, where I bet a couple of pounds on black at the roulette, win a similarly small amount of money, win a couple of other small bets, walk away in disgust after losing at the poker, and order myself a steak that is only barely just overpriced at the adjoining restaurant.

I am quickly bored by the debauchery and weather-inappropriate activities that the city promises, even if I am not quite disdained by the principality. Sword and Shield did help give the world Princess Sylvia, after all. Yet I also tell myself that I will not make the same mistake as I did in Bostopia and try to drive something like a day-and-a-half on 120-kilometre-per-hour roads, stopping through almost-barren villages and enjoying whatever food they have to offer, all the way to the capital.

As it so turns out, there's a motorail line that runs between Montevicio, the west-coast resort, and Songak, the eastern metropolis by the river. I would have liked to have visited the heartland, but I suppose I will leave that to Exandra, or perhaps Rachaelle, or maybe even an Eleanorian who only cares about ploughing through as much of Quebec - ideally in better weather than this - as possible. I pull into the station, wait an hour for everything to be sorted, order some reading material for myself (yet another trashy romance novel, of course, which I like to think fits the Eleanorian psyche at this point), enjoy reading it, and immediately go to sleep.

Day 1: Summary

What I wore: the really big coat, long-sleeved shirt, slim-fit jeans, and tall pair of boots
What I spent: 8 pounds
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 92 Quebecois pounds

I am woken up that afternoon at Paddington Station, although my hunt for ursine creatures on the grounds is largely in vain. I do fork out a small sum for a large caramel latte from one of the on-site coffee booths; the largeness and the caramel are not so much luxuries here as they are necessary for my own wellbeing. I should have gotten something to eat, but as I too often do, I decide that can wait until later while I try, for once in my life, to actually circle around the city, complain about the traffic and the streets, and book a hotel in advance.

I am generally not met with success. I do find a reasonably-priced place a kilometer and a half away, but - I imagine - only by Eleanorian standards. Two hours down the drain and a couple of reasonably-expensive transactions later, I cross the road more than a few times, stumble on one of the many theatres in town, find the first musical that looks interesting, laugh a bit, cry slightly less, think to myself a great deal, and find myself thankful that I even have this opportunity, despite all the short notice I've given myself and others.

I walk out, say thank you, get some street food - which I very much appreciate, even though I don't tend to do either of those things in relation to it - and go back to my hotel, only to start complaining about how stiff the bed happens to be. It will take far too much human effort, and a bit too much time, to get it sorted. So far, despite Songak's size, this is not the most remarkable visit I have ever had. I can't help but think that a few more days would not have gone remiss.

Day 2: Summary

What I wore: the same as last time
What I spent: 12 pounds
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 80 Quebecois pounds

By now, if not at some point in my last thirty columns or so, you will have hopefully gathered that "what I spent" does not correlate at all to what I actually spent - much thanks to First Eleanorian - but only to how much cash I availed of. It does not even correlate to how much attention I am paying. I decide to get away from the car when I wake up, try to ask a couple of the people on the sidewalk where I should go to next, and follow the first useful set of directions I get after some thought. As it turns out, there are the parts of Songak that are friendly towards tourists. Then there are the tourist traps. I buy two things, get overcharged for them - to the extent that the steak I had in Montevicio now looks like a veritable bargain - and decide that it is best for my current account to take the hit instead.

At this point, I decide that I need to get out of here, go to the places that actually care about people (which requires me to head to a café, refuse to buy anything, and ask a member of staff), and see what is available. I do enter a museum about science, which I find to be as interesting as I imagined it would be, if a bit light on my beloved psychology; walk all around central Songak, and get confused stares - if not much more irritated reactions - from what I imagine must be a lot of people; stare too much myself at all the buildings, as thought I was just in a bigger Saint Eleanor. I have to keep being reminded, unthinkingly, by other people, that this is something so much bigger; that I have not even scratched the surface of it yet.

I keep fooling myself that the two Palaces are somewhere around the corner. They are not, but I have neither the time nor the energy to go to Joongyeong for those pleasures. I like to think I have a reasonable idea of what I'm doing, despite the limited planning and short timescales inherent in all of this. Maybe I should have actually planned for this particular leg of the trip instead of just going wherever I impulsively fancied.

Day 3: Summary

What I wore: the same as last time
What I spent: 10 pounds
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 70 Quebecois pounds

This time, I decide to go in my car, travel around Songak, and see what else there is to do beyond the most central areas. I like to think I am a good driver; however, I simply cannot handle the roads of Songak, or at least not without great difficulty. My attempts at rectifying the situation - asking yet more people, ordering a travel guide, accidentally visiting a coffee shop and buying some late breakfast for myself as there isn't anywhere else for me to go in the area - fail rapidly.

Within a couple of hours, I find myself floating around the suburbia of Songak. I would use the term "enjoying" very loosely, but I struggle to take much pleasure in this; Songak is a diverse place - I am sure there are at least a couple of Eleanorians here - but by the time you get out to these parts of the city, you start to think that there might just be nothing to do here. Accordingly, I abandon whatever adventures I may have planned, stop almost by accident at a takeaway in what I am reasonably confident are the southern echelons of the city, and keep going down.

It takes some refueling and knocking some sense into myself, but as night approaches, I find myself lurking around Cornwall. Ideally, this is not a place you want to be if you want to go to New Gesem. I know that Cornwall is nowhere near Panmoon. You know that Cornwall is nowhere near Panmoon. So does the man who took my order for dinner at one of the local restaurants, the louts who were fighting each other a couple of streets down, the Cornwall Clippers fan at the bar, and the wide variety of hotel staff. To be sure, it is not a good hotel. I would at least rank it better than the last one I stayed at.

Day 4: Summary

What I wore: the same as last time
What I spent: 5 pounds
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 65 Quebecois pounds

Towards the end of last night, I became increasingly convinced, if not absolutely certain, that I had taken a wrong turn. Today, the receptionist at the hotel - not exactly the friendliest I've ever met - confirmed my suspicions. I had to go right back to Songak in order to actually travel onwards to New Gesem, and so that is what I spent my morning doing. Returning to Songak, getting some more fuel, buying food which is about as good as you would expect food from this sort of place to be, crossing the bridge to Panmoon, and thinking to myself once again that somebody with more time and energy on their hands should have done this. I'm just here to tick countries off my list and inform Eleanorians about them. I do not warrant that this article of mine has much information.

I tend to find a reasonable amount of things to do in many of the places I visit. I can find none to do in Panmoon except wander around, buy a few trinkets (including a chocolate bar), wait for the ferry, board it, start to question my life choices more and more, and hope that the good people on board are actually serving edible food. Here goes a couple of days of relative nothing, I think to myself.

Day 5: Summary

What I wore: what did you expect me to wear?
What I spent: nothing, as everything was transacted by card
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 65 Quebecois pounds

[Banija]

The final cutoff of the group stages is brought to you by The Bank of Crpostran



Get your banking services everywhere! Where else can you find cash for street chapatis?

Does your squad need Superman to take them to the knockout stages?

[Kanzlia]

Sword class

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SWORD class submarine

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Displacement:  630t
Speed:  19kts surfaced, 9kts submerged. 8000nm at 8kts surfaced, 550nm submerged.
Armament:  6-457mm/18in (4 bow, 2 stern), 1-105mm/4.1in (1x1), 1-7.92mm (1x1)

No.	Name	Builder	Laid Down	Launched	Commissioned	Fate
O6	ZWAARD renamed SWORD	Ibsian Heart	8.6.1937	17.5.1938	29.7.1939	Stricken 15.9.1958
O7	BROADSWORD	Ibsian Heart	12.9.1938	21.10.1939	3.10.1940	Stricken 15.9.1958
O8	CUTLASS	Ibsian Heart	16.9.1938	25.10.1939	7.10.1940	Stricken 15.9.1958
O9	SABRE	Ibsian Heart	20.9.1938	29.10.1939	11.10.1940	Stricken 15.9.1958, preserved
O10	RAPIER	Ibsian Heart	24.9.1938	2.11.1939	15.10.1940	Stricken 15.9.1958
O11	SCIMITAR	Ibsian Heart	28.9.1938	6.11.1939	19.10.1940	Stricken 15.9.1958
O12	FALCHION	Ibsian Heart	2.10.1938	10.11.1939	23.10.1940	Lost 4.6.1943
O13	GLADIUS	Ibsian Heart	5.12.1939	14.1.1941	27.1.1942	Stricken 15.9.1958
O14	SHORTSWORD	Ibsian Heart	9.12.1939	18.1.1941	31.1.1942	Stricken 15.9.1958
O15	STILETTO	Ibsian Heart	13.12.1939	22.1.1941	4.2.1942	Stricken 15.9.1958
O16	DAGGER	Ibsian Heart	17.12.1939	26.1.1941	8.2.1942	Stricken 15.9.1958

While the Navy abandoned submarine technology after the B class submarines, Ibsian Heart continued development independently as to not find themselves left behind in submarine tech again. With Ibsian Heart establishing a Katzeburgian firm in 1929, they were able to receive information of technological advancements in Katzeburg rather freely. Ibsian Heart continued to upsize their submarine design from the B class, increasing in length, range, and armament. By 1934 Ibsian Heart were subcontracted by Katzeburg's Stoneturm Shipyards to produce the torpedo tubes for Katzeburgs own submarines. This partnership would continue to flourish well into the future. With mutual development with Stoneturm, in 1936 Ibsian Heart had finalised their in-house submarine design called Ontwerp 35A. When presented to the Navy, they were skeptical as to the performances Ibsian Heart predicted for their design. Eventually the design was sent through bureaucratic red tape which annoyed Ibsian Heart who had been in financial trouble and needs a navy contract to save their bottom line. So, rather stubbornly, Ibsian Heart forced the Navy hands by building the Sword without Naval approval as to show the performance of their design. During sea trials on June 1938, Ibsian Heart were able to prove the capabilities of their submarine and not wanting to let a good quality submarine go to waste (or worse to enemy hands), the Navy reluctantly bought the Sword. After inspection and with a bit of convincing to Jean WIel, the Navy placed an order of another 6 units. Construction started in 1938 and finished by 1940. An additional 4 units was ordered in 1939 and these were finished in 1942.

The first 7 were ordered in the original configuration as Ibsian Heart designed as Ontwerp 35A. The last 4 units were ordered in 1939 with incremental changes in the layout of the conning tower. The 11 Sword class (sometimes also known as Zwaard) would replace both the Velleux Twins and B class submarines as the Swords were state of the art. The operational range of the Swords at 8000nm proved especially valuable as they were suited for merchant raiding, a task the submarine was now associated with. However, Jean Wiel experimented with setting the submarines up as an extra layer of attack in his Battlefleet. The idea was to let the enemy be preoccupied with the surface combatants of the Battlefleet whilst the submarines went underneath the enemy screen undetected and strike at the hostile capital ships. Fleet exercises does prove this was a viable and rather cunning tactic but needed immense preparation. It was also highly dangerous for the submarines, as shown when Falchion was lost during one of these fleet exercises. Her conning tower collided with the Destroyer te'Zuylen. Falchion wasnt able to surface and so she sank into the seafloor 170 meters deep. 7 of her 28 complement survived the sinking. After this, Jean Wiel dropped the tactic and the Swords were assigned to merchant raiding duties once more where they would remain until their decommissioning in 1958. Scimitar and Rapier were used for experiments, taking over the duties once held by Augusta and Augustin, in 1952. By then the Ardent class submarines were taking over. Sabre was preserved in Westhead where you can still visit her today.

New Stamp Acquired!

Commemorative Submarine Stamp for Souzans Warship Journal, issued 2001

[Gnejs]

Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!

Come gather around you children of spring, and let us honor those who survived.

Many, if not everyone, were left surprised when The Dandelions managed to hold the reigning World Champions to a draw, and all of a sudden started to look like a potential group stage progressor, back then during the 99th World Cup. Of course, if we are to believe some voices, the whole thing was inevitable and quite literally written in the stars because I’ve heard it told that one of Roger Ulvheim’s utterances foretold that exact scoreline years prior. But I digress. The point here is that the result mattered little to Timotej Hansen, for he was grappling with how to handle a dark and gruesome secret, having recently been made aware that The Prosaic Union of Gnejs had ceased to be.

Timotej’s first instinct, after having come to on the pitch sideline and witnessing his players’ heroics, was to completely relinquish whatever sanity he still possessed, tear open the fabric of conventional reality and offer up his insides on the altar of Sausages and Yoghurt to become one with their delicious Chaos. However, before he could find a proper knife and the kind of cured meats needed to sanctify it, a gentleman walked up to him and invited him out for a drink. He could smell the need for guidance, the gentleman said, and chastised Timotej for entertaining the notion of escaping and leaving the rest of the survivors in the dark. And while Timotej unconsciously leaned Freudian, the gentleman was a Jungian and he was insistent that there would be no blaming mother today and that the balanced mind Timotej needed in these dark times could only come from honestly confronting your inner darkness. While much of it was lost on Timotej, and he confused the gentleman’s talk of The Shadow and Persona with the latest Warvel movie, it stirred something within him and in a fit of uncharacteristic clarity and bravery he gathered his staff and players and their family members in a hotel meeting room. And then he spoke. The words themselves have been lost to time, but legend states that what he delivered was a thing of somber beauty and quiet dignity.

And so it was that the news of how The Prosaic Union had ceased to be was delivered to the extended Dandelion family. No one spoke for a long time. Even Georg Bardo was reduced to silence. Speech was unnecessary, however, for it was clear what was on everyone's mind: What now? What do you do when home is no more? Where do you go when home is no more? What, or who, are you when home is no more? And, more prosaically, do you continue playing in a World Cup after the home you were there to represent had ceased to be? Seriously, was there any kind of rule against that sort of thing? Silence eventually made way for tears and outbursts of emotion that slowly transitioned into discussion. Some refused to believe it and said they needed to leave Arrosia and head for home as soon as possible, whereas others - with their noses deep in newly returned Devil Devices - pointed out that multiple independent sources seemed to validate Timotej’s account about how there was in fact nothing but stone and misery to return to. Some had no interest in something so pedestrian as a World Cup and wanted to discuss how they should go about finding a «new» home, while others were so traumatized by the shock of it all that they just sat utterly apathetic and stared into the wall with empty eyes.

In the end, it was, fittingly, a quintessentially gnejsian mix of pragmatic stoicism that guided their first steps. It was Georg Bardo who spoke, and he said that they should continue playing, not for themselves, but for The Prosaic Union and any other survivors. «For, we must show them that it is not what happens to you that matters, but how you react to it. And besides, we still have the hotel and amenities for at least a couple of days». The words from The Bardo resonated with the group and they decided to press on with the final group game against Cardenao, and make use of their remaining hotel time to figure out a more long-term solution to their collective homelessness. It should be noted that Georg in fact stole his opening piece of wisdom from the team goalkeeper, Aristocles Svendsen, who was something of a philosopher in his spare time. The gentle call to action about not wasting prepaid hotel time, however, was entirely a «Bardo original».

Copy of an artistic rendering of the Dandelion team that faced Cardenao on the final group stage match day of the 99th World Cup. The somber grief emanating from having recently lost their home is clearly visible on the player’s faces. From historic records we know that the lineup depicted was, from the top left: Hibiskus Andersson, Aristocles Svendsen, Georg Bardo, August Bjørneboe, Amadeus Stålnäve, Nicomachus Hansson, Cornelis Ceder, Edward Drange, Valdemar Unge, Frank Frallis. Curiously, history tells us Mikkel Bukt also played that game, although he is mysteriously absent in the picture. Perhaps he was the artist of the original painting? (OOC: image is AI-generated).

From historical records we can learn that the game itself was all heart and little finesse from an emotionally battered Dandelion side. «The Tulip with Stinging Bees neither bloomed nor buzzed on that day, but the petals shielded the stem and the stingers stung,» as a quote credited to Georg Bardo summarized the proceedings. The 1-1 draw was hardly the most entertaining game of the day, but after the final whistle the ground trembled with a very peculiar energy nonetheless. After Haritz Larrainzar of Cardenao had been presented with his goat - for being voted the Man of The Match - from World Cup sponsor The Molineux Goat Cheese Company, all The Dandelions, sole company survivor Fandango Molinuex III and the scores of traveling fans and fellow survivors gathered on the pitch in a long and fundamentally un-gnejsian embrace. For the first time in history, in the midst of unimaginable tragedy, The Dandelions had secured progression to a World Cup knockout stage.

[Chromatika]

World Cup 99 Proper Matchday 2: Chromatika 0-3 Kelssek
Goals: None.
Starting XI: (3-4-1-2) - Sourtois; Coulibaly - Jackson-Jones - Nodis; Fillar, G. - Mesic-Mizayaki - Fillar, B. - Fillar, E.; Françine-Miklavivec; Xuen-Zhukov (C) - Howard-Dawes.
Substitutes: Paterson -> Coulibaly (62'), Gundsdorf -> Mesic-Mizayaki (62'), Baïe-Verte -> Howard-Dawes (70'), Saburo -> Nodis (70'), Mátyás -> Fillar, E. (82')

World Cup 99 Proper Matchday 3: Doubeia 1–2 Chromatika
Goals: Xuen-Zhukov 19', Fillar, E. 75'
Starting XI: (3-4-1-2) - Sourtois; Coulibaly - Jackson-Jones - Nodis; Fillar, G. - Mesic-Mizayaki - Fillar, B. - Fillar, E.; Françine-Miklavivec; Xuen-Zhukov (C) - Howard-Dawes.
Substitutes: Lethbridge-Antonio, C. -> Jackson-Jones (64'), Lethbridge-Antonio, J. -> Mesic-Mizayaki (64'), Hauptmeijer -> Fillar, G. (73'), Prenn -> Fillar, B. (73'), Bittencourt -> Xuen-Zhukov (82')

---

Projected Lineups for World Cup 99 Round of Thirty-Two
vs. (49) Kanzlia @ Keystone Stadium in Sisonke, Kitara, Banija
Starting XI: Sourtois; Coulibaly - Jackson-Jones - Nodis; Fillar, G. - Mesic-Mizayaki - Fillar, B. - Fillar, E.; Françine-Miklavivec; Xuen-Zhukov (C) - Howard-Dawes.
Substitutes: GK Jessika Aniston, GK Jill Swanson, DCR Paisley Paterson, DC Claudia Lethbridge-Antonio, DCL Uemura Saburo, DC Samantha Han Cunningham, WBR Jacoliene Hauptmeijer, WBL Nemes Mátyás, WBL Róża Panaś, CDM Jayla Lethbridge-Antonio, CDM Eden Gundsdorf, AM Maddie Prenn, AF Kaytlyn Jean-Baptiste, CF Harriet Baïe-Verte, AF Adélaide Bittencourt

HISTORY!

Chromatika Edges Past Doubeia to Claim First World Cup Proper Group Title since World Cup 93

We've already spoken at length about the fact that it had been nine matches without a win before Chromatika took down Saterun in World Cup 99. It goes without saying then, that it's been even longer since Chromatika won a World Cup Proper Group. Looking through the annals of history, it turns out that the last time was World Cup 93 - the second of three World Cups that Chromatika co-hosted, that time with our good friends Tumbra. What gave them the chance this time? The fact that the foremost tiebreaker in this World Cup Proper was Head-to-head Results. That was what was on the forefront of all the Anomalies' players minds as they took to the field to take on Doubeia. Sure, the Doubeians had won their previous two matches, and yes, Chromatika realistically needed one more point to make it to the Round of Thirty-Two, but the team had higher goals in mind. One more win, and it would also secure Alina Khabibullina a two-cycle extension.

All over Doubeia early, Chromatika shined in the first twenty minutes, dominating time of possession and making deep forays into Doubeian territory. Baillaire Fillar's cross was what set up Lavrentiy's goal, the star striker neatly splitting two defenders before burying the ball into the upper left corner of the net in dominating fashion before the keeper could react. All the pressure was on Doubeia now - though they had already secured qualification to the Knockout Rounds.

Their opposition hadn't won their first two games without reason, however; Ambrose Demidov, their striker, equalized right before halftime, beating Eileen Jackson-Jones on a loose ball and burying his chance with Sourtois only being able to watch on.

Just as she'd done many a time during qualifying, Khabibullina substituted the Lethbridge-Antonio twins and Maddie Prenn as the game went on. As they'd done many times before, these three substitutions proved to be the difference as the trio continued to show why they are indeed the future of Chromatik football.

The magical moment happened just two minutes after the substitution of Hauptmeijer and Prenn. Winning a contested ball in midfield, the ever brilliant Prenn made a killer pass to an Edith Fillar that was streaking in, and the resulting header buried itself into the left side of the net to give Chromatika a lead it would not relinquish.

For all the struggles that Hailee Sourtois had early in the game, she settled down after halftime, safely controlling all five shots coming her way and not letting the situation get to her. Having secured qualification to the knockout rounds already, the Doubeians appeared okay with the lot that had fallen to them, and Chromatika had managed to secure their first World Cup Proper Group Title since World Cup 93.

Their reward is being placed in the same octile with Valanora, Kwrpania, and Kanzlia - while remaining in Banija. Their first opponent will be Kanzlia, a newcomer to the World Cup stage that has done rather well with even making it to the Round of Thirty-Two. It presents the best opportunity that Chromatika has had in a while to make it to the Round of Sixteen - though a potential date with Valanora is rather terrifying.

"We aren't going to overlook them at all," promised Xuen-Zhukov regarding the Kanzlians, "They made it to the knockout rounds for a reason - they're playing fearless football and taking the opponents that are being thrown at them. We know what it's like to be in their shoes - you feel like the world is against you and you can take it on. We are on the receiving end for that now - and we'll be careful."

The Chromatik Football Federation, true to their word, offered Khabibullina a two-cycle extension - which she accepted. Not since the days of Lev Repin has Chromatika had a Manager that had this team believe in itself the way that the Pyazhnayan has. It's taken three cycles to get to this point, but there is no doubt in saying that this is the best that Chromatika has looked in recent memory.

It is expected that the crowd in Banija will be pro-Chromatik - they are allies after all, while Kanzlia is a bit of an unknown.

There are some who say that Jayla and Claudia should start ahead of their counterparts, but that would be a massive mistake. The reason why the twins and Prenn are making as much of an impact in the games they substitute into is because they are fresh off of the bench; there is no saying how much of that would be downplayed if they were fatigued from playing the first half.

Chromatika. Kanzlia. Keystone Stadium. Will it be another moment of heartbreak for the Anomalies, or will it be the first win in the World Cup Knockout Rounds since World Cup 93?

[HOT-DAMN]

The HOT-DAMN team hotel, Borograd, Siovanija
The night before World Cup 99 Round of 32: HOT-DAMN v. Vdara

The less spoken about the HOT-DAMN/Farfadillis match, the better. It just didn’t work out for the beer leaguers. But there was a lifeline – the fact that HOT-DAMN had been the last of the third place teams to make it to the Round of 32. Maybe they didn’t deserve to be there, maybe they didn’t belong, but at the end of the day, HOT-DAMN had made it back to the knockout rounds of a World Cup. And they would be playing a very intriguing opponent in Vdara.

When Ernie Stevenson learned his beer leaguers would play Vdara, a little bit of nostalgia entered his mind. He thought back 15 years to the first time a Hapiloppian squad played Vdara – the first international match for Vdara in its history. It was a wild night in Capital Stadium, a night punctuated by a violent cheap shot. Not long after the HOT-DAMN squad checked into the team hotel in Borograd, Ernie found the hotel bar, got himself a beer and started thinking back to that wild night in Hapilopper City.

Capital Stadium, Hapilopper City, Hapilopper
15 years ago – Match 1 of World Cup 84 Qualifying: Hapilopper v. Vdara

Ernie Stevenson looked up at the clock in the old concrete donut and saw it read “28:05.” He was a little away from the ball, as this first-time team from a nation named Vdara had gotten a hold of the ball and were running with it. Ernie jogged over to get a closer look and realized that Nathan Ellis was sizing up this fellow who had the ball. This Vdaran fellow, who was later identified as Alexis Fotellis, didn’t know what was coming his way. Ernie knew what was going to happen, as did the rest of the Hapiloppian squad. As did most of the fans at Capital Stadium.

What was going to happen was a classic Nathan Ellis tactic: Let the other team come in with the ball and lull them into a false sense of security. It didn’t matter who it was, and it was nothing personal. Nathan didn’t know Alexis Fotellis nor did he know anyone from Vdara. But Nathan wanted to teach them a lesson – a lesson that Hapilopper was going to reign supreme on this day, and they were going to reign supreme by force. It was a tactic that Hapiloppian fans loved and looked forward to. You could almost hear the noise in the stadium rumbling and rising as Fotellis neared goal.

Ernie shook his head as he jogged calmly towards the scene of the crime. He was not too far away when Nathan struck, lunging out and aiming his left arm at Fotellis’s face. As Fotellis writhed on the turf and as other Vdaran players let out loud (and justified) protests, Nathan walked over to his fans behind goal, put his right hand in the gesture of the horns and gave a whoop. Ernie couldn’t help but chuckle as most of the Vdaran team protested to the referee. He looked over at Fotellis, who was a little bit glassy-eyed as he recovered from the violent hit.

The Haps won that match, probably because of Nathan’s show of force on Fotellis.

The HOT-DAMN team hotel, Borograd, Siovanija
The present day

Ernie chuckled as he thought about Nathan laying down that deliciously dirty hit on poor Alexis Fotellis. He wondered what Nathan would think about the current state of Hapiloppian football – where the main team, from the mainland, had just fired its head coach and likely wasn’t going to continue with its national football team. On the other hand, the so-called “puppet state”, the team from the Anaian territory, had just found its way in the Round of 32 with a decent shot at going even further.

Just as Ernie sipped down his drink, thinking of his friend Nathan, he heard someone call his name. He turned around to find Tim Radomia walking his way.

“Coach?” Tim asked. “Wanted to talk to you.”

“Keep your voice down, you’re not officially part of this team yet,” Ernie replied. “What’s up?”

“Wanted to talk to you about finalizing it,” Tim replied. “Dom’s probably shutting the team down and a lot of us wanted to go your way.”

“Well, that sounds good, but y’all got to keep in mind I got a lot of good kids playing on this team right now,” Ernie said. “I can’t just take the whole Hapiloppian team. That wouldn’t be fair to the boys I got now.”

“I got ya, but do you have, at least, room for me and Rod?”

“I think so,” Ernie said. “But please keep your noise down until we’re eliminated. Actually, come to think of it, wait until I give the all-clear. You want a beer, by the way?”

“Nah, I don’t drink,” Tim said. “Not really my thing.”

The mood among the beer leaguers had been somewhat negative after the Farfadillis match. They were beat up, exhausted and they got their ass kicked by a superior team. But that didn’t quite mean they were down and out – far from it. Their mood had been lightened when they found out they’d get to keep playing, and lightened even more when they got Vdara as opponents. It was a chance for the beer leaguers to do something spectacular and go places.

[HUElavia]

The Martian Independent Republic 3–4 HUElavia
(Katzenburg 19', 81', Caballi 62' | Go 8', Serra 37', 69', Milano 90+3')
Megabrantid Financial Field, Brantisvogan, Squornshelan Remnant States

CARDIAC CATS SWEEP GROUP I!

HUElavia defeats The Martian Independent Republic in a 7-goal thriller to sweep Group I and set up a classic rematch against Kelssek!

Entering Matchday 3, HUElavia was on the high of producing a dramatic victory over No. 3 and Co-Hosts Squornshelan Remnant States to clinch 1st Place in Group I after holding head-to-head over SRS and Aleirave, who were in 2nd and 3rd respectively and they were facing off against each other. With the knockouts secured, Coach Casillas opted for a rotated squad in order to give some playing time for the bench players and give rest to the starters for the Round-of-32. It was another sold-out crowd once more, but with HUElavians taking up more of an endzone once more and having a majority of fans in the stands.

HUElavia began playing meticulously, making precise passes and moves to the Martian goal while the MIR would go more on the offense, looking to get something out of this World Cup. The opening goal came in the 8th minute, when a foul by Cheng over Agüero gave way to a 37 meter free kick. Go stepped up and sent a blistering strike past Pritchard into the top corner of the goal to make it 0-1. The HUElavian crowd erupted with joy and passion while Go kneeled to the corner flag before her teammates joined her to hug and pat her for the fantastic show. MIR would begin to attack more and more, needing to respond to the goal. In the 19th minute, Astor was on the ball being covered by Manco, sending a low pass into the box, where Katzenburg took a one-time shot with the weak foot to roll past Belluci into the goal, making it 1-1. Katzenburg got the ball and ran to center circle while the Martians celebrated with joy for the equalizer. It was a match of ebb and flow from there with constant attacks going back and forth between the two. In the 37th minute, a pass from Kim would get to Serra, who began to run against Vesperi, before giving a fake shot to get Vesperi out of the way, before giving a chip shot over Pritchard to dip over and hit the post to go into the goal, making it 1-2. The HUElavians once more erupted with joy and passion, while Serra did The Cross and went to the corner flag to dance and hug with her teammates for the goal. At the half, it was a 1-2 lead for Los Amarillos/Os Amarelos, who seemed confident with how the game was going.

The second half saw MIR go more on the offense, wanting to get goals and points out of this match as time ticked away. In the 62nd minute, a free kick was given by Cocha (in for Lobo), where Barre sent a cross into the box, which Caballi would tower over Girard to head the ball past a diving Belluci into the goal, making it 2-2. The Martians present would celebrate with joy and passion for the goal while Caballi was hugged by their teammates for the goal. Coach Casillas would make adjustments and give orders in order to give the players a chance to get it together during the last half hour. In the 69th minute, Gavicaechebarria (in for Kim) would dispossess Hall (in for Cheng) and send a long pass to Serra, who began to run unopposed towards Pritchard, giving a curving shot into the low corner of the goal, making it 2-3. The HUElavians once more celebrated with joy and passion in the stands while Serra did the Cross and hugged her teammates, having joy in her expression for the brace. MIR continued to attack more and more, now with HUElavia trying to defend the lead, trying to prevent conceding a 3rd goal. Such persistence paid off for MIR, as in the 81st minute, a corner taken by Barre would go into the box and Katzenburg would win the header over Pazarella to head the ball past the fingertips of Belluci into the goal, making it 3-3. The Martians erupted in joy and passion at the equalizer once more while Katzenburg was mobbed by their teammates for the goal in celebration. HUElavia pressured more and more, wanting to go for the victory and group sweep, sending in Milano and Arruda for Mongrain and Agüero. In the 90+3rd minute, a shot by Arruda was punched out by Pritchard for a corner kick. Go would step up to send the cross into the box, where Milano would tower over Howell to head the ball down and past the diving fingertips of Pitchard into the goal, making it 3-4. The HUElavians erupted once more, this time with so much joy and passion that the stadium rumbled, while Milano was mobbed by his teammates and the bench for the late goal. MIR would push for an attack, but at this point Los Amarillos/Os Amarelos would play very defensively sending the ball out aimlessly out for throw-ins or deep to the other side to waste time. Once the referee blew his whistle, the bench came out with joy, hugging the exhausted HUElavians, as they had the joy that they won the match and swept Group I with a perfect record.

In the other Group I game, it was another thriller, as SRS and Aleirave played out to a 3-3 draw, of which they had to go all the way to a tiebreaker of a coin toss by RBSA Exec Chairman Robel Ezera post match at center field to determine the final spots, of which SRS won the coin toss with Heads. Thus, HUElavia win Group I with 9 Points, followed by SRS with 4 Points, Aleirave in 3rd with 4 Points and The Martian Independent Republic bottoms out with 0 Points. In the post match conference, Coach Casillas was quoted saying It was a stressful match, more than it really should've been, but this just continues to prove how resilient this team can be. No matter who is on the pitch, this team is hungry for goals and the victory and we proved that no matter who we take on, we can take it up against them. Defense struggles with our backups as well, but the offense is fantastic all around. We're grateful to have a spot in the Round-of-32 and we got plenty of training to do and film to study. We hope to count on our fans to make it loud and amazing for our players and we hope to make history for the team to make it to the Round-of-16 again." Days later, it was revealed in the draw for the knockouts that HUElavia will play a classic IAC Rival: No. 7 Kelssek. They finished 3rd in Group G and ended up being one of the best 3rd placed teams to advance. Coach Casillas was quoted once the draw was done saying "It's a difficult but doable matchup for us. We've had many historic matchups against Kelssek over the years and they are a strong and fantastic opponent and they're rightfully one of the favorites to win it all. But, much like the game against SRS, I stress at my team to remain calm and to not play with fear, but with respect. The staff and I feel we have the caliber of players that can go toe-to-toe and we want to put up another great performance. We've enjoyed our time at the World Cup and we hope to continue making a great run." Here's to what can be another historic day in this fantastic revival of this rivalry.

FORCA HUELAVIA! VAMOS HUELAVIA! GO HUELAVIA!

[Saint Eleanor]

OOC roadmap (updated as of 8:20pm BST on Sunday or so):

• Mertagne was busy on Saturday. However, he told me on Sunday lunchtime that he had no corrections to make to my reporting.
• SJJeBoS (Nova Calania) was pre-sent the roleplay about his nations, and had no issues other than my occasional misspelling of "Burnham-on-Sea" and my overestimate of how long it takes to drive between the two places. Remember that it was WC94 and Breteuil Abbey was still open.
• Cardenao, Koroa City and the Ochre Islands will be written about on Monday, even if I am knocked out by Gnejs, as I will otherwise be super-busy with IRL until Wednesday lunchtime (UK time, thank goodness, as I will imminently leave Greece).
• Lara will die either on Monday or after the quarterfinals, depending on when I am eliminated.

I may also post another RP today. I know I told you that I am so busy IRL that I do not have time to do anything on Sunday, but on further review, I will be free from 8pm BST (10pm EEST; 3pm EDT) or so, at which point any factual errors that Mert or NC spot will be corrected. This is still a long time before cutoff and I will alert Ban promptly if changes must be made. If Card and I have enough time, the Cardenao roleplay will hopefully be made in a separate post around or after 1am BST, but there are no guarantees and the final three RPs may have to be bundled together in my Ro16/Monday package.

IC sidenote on tipping: this is not a thing that is customarily done or expected within Saint Eleanor (although Eleanorians abroad will almost invariably follow the local custom). Esther Launceston tips 10% to her church, her server, her nail technician, and her hair stylist (she'd tip her makeup artist if she had one), but - as always - she is the neat, cosmopolitan exception. Kichiro Matsuda/Wunderbar Quatro will tip for a job well done, even at Premium Coffee. Coombe, Winchester, the Mitchams, and so on will just say "thank you" in Saint Eleanor. God bless our unions.

---

Group of Six meeting (LXXXI) --- SAINT ELEANOR 3-2 Oberour Ar Moro
Participants: Gentle Breeze, Reniira Clevinger, Stephen Mitcham ~ Bridget Coombe [C], Cathy Winchester [VC], Esther Launceston [ballot]
Location: a completely different hospitality venue yet again to be discussed; Jaglan, SRS

This was a necessary win, a historic win - and a win that we needed in order to rubber-stamp our intentions, in case the first two times weren't clear enough. There are certainly some people who think they weren't! My highlighters are on hand, as ever: yellow for retrospectives, blue for points about us, green for points about the opposition, pink for pre-match unknowns.

Oberour Ar Moro put us to the sword at times, but not all the time. In hindsight, we should be thankful that Aloire des Cartes was not firing on all cylinders today; Demisserriche is a born leader, even in such challenging times as these, and Leboeuf was more than useful with both of the goals, but Des Cartes regularly seemed to lose his way when faced with pressure - not always, but enough to break up the opposition attack to the extent that their front-line was left squashed and isolated.

Their narrower attack, combined with our full-spectrum defence, enabled us to craft attacks from a wider variety of positions. It is testament that Winchester, Morgan, and yours truly all came up with goals from different positions. I had my free-kick in the first few minutes, De Paillaird at fault for tripping Ohan; Morgan restored our advantage with the last kick of the first half, dribbling after receiving the ball almost from the touchline; my good friend Cathy found the winner with twenty minutes to go after she drifted inside and curved it across the face of goal in her own right.

The Dragoons tend to be ruthless, and they were very much that today. As Stephen thought about TJUN-ia, though, Esther in particular could not help but imagine that just a bit more pressure on us would have carved out several genuine openings for them to get back into the game, or lock us out of it. I don't agree with her - she's not normally this cynical and I feel as though we did everything possible to block out their attacks - but I agree that the pressure is only going to get worse from here, from everyone. We cannot count on this sort of fortune in the final thirty-two and beyond.

----------

This tournament has very much been befallen by tragedy. The Cup of Harmony is struggling for numbers. The Kamijiroan social order has collapsed. The Kytlerians have been compelled to field an entirely new squad, the old lost in air and at sea. Our last opposition, as well as the Martian Independent Republic, are both facing corruption scandals. But, most of import to us now, the eleven men we will face tomorrow are among the very last of their compatriots. If you ask all 140,000 Gnejsian expatriates, you will get 140,000 different explanations. The reason why there is no Gnejs does not matter. The reason why Gnejs is still fighting in sunlit Arrosia does. We all have our theories about this; mine is national pride, more than a desire to pick off the best.

Purely speaking in terms of tactics, the Tulip with Stinging Bees is an idiosyncracy - I cannot say I understand it myself. Reniira's theory is that the traditional "back five" of sorts will stay back, while the front five attack in varying measure. Stephen thinks it is just the strikers, the "Stinging Bees," who are of concern. Gentle Breeze has mentally defaulted to setting one to eleven until proven otherwise. It has certainly proven enough to hold Flavovespia to a draw and secure a first-ever knockout game.

In principle, a 4-2-3-1 would be best, in a similar mould to our earlier lineup. I suggested that Felaraneta should start again, in case we need the support in attack and counter-attack; Matsuda should be moved to the bench, while Morgan works with Coombe to provide a softer layer of first-line defence. Winchester and Coombe will move inside while Lawson and Ohan drop back if necessary. Nacle isn't an outstanding defensive player, even relative to his fellow SEL wingers, so Emerson may be our best-case wide substitute. These matters all reached a consensus. The other starters will operate as normal, leaving us with a relatively-unchanged lineup and a hopefully-solid strategy that should prepare us for Gnejs' multi-front attacks.

We've arranged an order for who's taking the notes when, if we make it past the Dandelions. Should we make it to the last sixteen, Cathy will be taking over. Reniira will be in charge of notes prior to our quarterfinal (and how delicious they could be, indeed). Stephen, as the odd note-taker out, will do the pre-semifinal summary. Gentle Breeze will be taking notes before the final or third-place playoff, as appropriate - but, if we lose at any point before the semifinals, all bets are off and she will be running the regular Group of Twenty-Nine meeting.

The Grand Tour of Anaia - Mertagne: A green, innovative nation with nothing to lose, at least metaphorically

by Lara Torridge - April 28th 2006

Mertagne - in terms of people, customs, landscape, and almost aspirations - is a breath of fresh air compared to New Gesem. It is one even in comparison to Quebec, a place in which I had an overly-stretched-out and unenjoyable time. One major area in which it differs is the rules of the road. I am certain that someone in Huayramarca is annoyed that I have not only crossed the border with their car to Mertagne, but done so the hard way as well. They might not take that much more kindly to the fact that I spent a small fortune - the equivalent of 150 ducats - on installing a pair of multiboards on the vehicle. Only the equivalent, however, as I still needed to get my money changed.

Exchange rate: 80 Quebecois pounds = 1,500 Mertagnian ducats (£1 = $3 = 15 ducats)

I keep my multiboard at position number five, assuming that it is the neutral position, and carry on to Ist accordingly. The ATM is not working, so I have to go inside the nearest bank, try to deal with an agent who bears a suspicious resemblance to Esther Launceston, and explain to her that I am here because I have just crossed the border from New Gesem and fear the repercussions for taking a car into the Karodin Tetrarchy. She almost instinctively refuses to do anything, including but not limited to handle my bank card. By the time I go back out, the ATM starts functioning again.

My additional pleas for help and breakfast are left unanswered across the town, compelling me to put my headlights on full beam, wind the mountain roads (sometimes of reasonable quality, sometimes only comparable to a single-track farm road) down, and - after slightly more than a full afternoon of driving - wind up in Claviers without so much as touching motorway number 7. Almost immediately upon parking, I am reliably informed by a passer-by that I am in fact signalling that other people can overtake my car without any issues. I tell him, almost out of confusion - I am, after all, thankful to be talking to someone here - that I am not in a rush either way and that the notoriously speed-unlimited Eleanorian countryside roads make more than an allowance for this.

I toil, for about five minutes, under the delusion that most of the good folk of Claviers has this man's time-tested wisdom; it still is, after all, a mill town. This delusion is shattered as soon as I try and get a coffee. There are hipsters everywhere, and very few of them are wearing shaggy beards or toiling at sticker-swarmed laptops. I wait in the queue, am served by a purple-haired woman, and bills me some eighty ducats for the privilege of a medium cappucino and a chocolate muffin. She's called Lydia, which I appreciate, as this is at least the third time I've met one almost by accident so far; she looks nothing like Miss Gomboult, either, which spares me from making fun of her.

On my way out, I try to interact a bit more with Lydia. She swears to within a couple of inches of her life that there are a couple of nightclubs she could recommend to me, if not recommend me for. I tell her, in no uncertain terms, that this does not interest me; I personally doubt that any barista has such clout, although this being modern Claviers, you never know. It is increasingly hard to tell which is the new, fancy side and which is the old, hardened side - people from both sides of the divide tell me this when I complain - but, in the end, I am barely admitted for the world's latest pub lunch by a hard man who can vouch for my journalism and tells me that I should always be keeping my multiboard in position five anyway.

One good burger, some fries, maybe three onion rings, and an ice-cold soda later, I decide that I need to go to sleep somewhere. There is, as it turns out, a hotel around three streets away from here. It is a good one, which is saying something, given the quality of most of the hotels I've dealt with.

Day 1: Summary

What I wore: the really big coat, long-sleeved shirt, slim-fit jeans, and sturdy boots
What I spent: 100 ducats
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 1,400 Mertagnian ducats

All I need to do at 8am is find my car. It is - somehow - literally a mile away, or a kilometer-and-a-half in the Mertagnian accounting, which makes me thankful that I've brought out a slightly thinner coat today. Motorway 7 awaits; I appreciate its relative normality and the quality of the service station I stopped at to get breakfast in (which, this time, was actually breakfast). Unfortunately, it then merges into Motorway 21, which is slightly more polished yet oodles more congested. It is just about lunchtime by the time I find somewhere in Dannin to park, which is sufficiently far removed from Parliament to be worth complaining about. It is, at least, near a hotel.

The record shows few things of note to do in Dannin. The Tumbran restaurant exists, but not even Lydia would be foolhardy enough to try and suggest it to me. We are a decade removed from the Transport and Innovation Expo, the last high-profile international event to take place at the Convention Centre; I instead have to put up with a couple of small exhibitions dotted over the place about various things that somewhat interest me, which is at least a curious alternative to actually visiting a museum.

There is, however, politics. I hide inside yet another café, somehow cheaper than the previous one, and talk to a couple of wags - if nobody important - about whatever they've been reading in one of the seemingly dozens of newspapers that exist across the country. I keep asking myself where Poppy Jones is; perhaps she's been nominated to her Regional Forum, become the headteacher of her school in Horsehead Island, claimed Mertagnian citizenship for whatever reason, or just dipped from public life in the five years since I last read about here. No relief here; only a much-unneeded break from everything.

Day 2: Summary

What I wore: the tiny little coat, long-sleeved shirt, slim-fit jeans, and sturdy boots
What I spent: 80 ducats
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 1,320 Mertagnian ducats

The road to New Fligsive is slightly less busy, which I find to almost be surprising given the sheer size of the place. We are about as far removed from the days of Zheska Curt as we are from the TIE in Dannin, but crime lingers somewhat in the place, as you would expect. I count one bust-up, a crashed car, and a couple of angry business owners in the space of an hour, before I give up and focus my energies on getting a fulfilling lunch. It is much bigger than anything I've had in a while, and leaves me with enough energy to complain a bit about how unprepared Saint Eleanor are for the World Cup.

New Fligsive is, more or less, whatever you make it. One of the students at the University College who I came across on the street agrees with me on that point: "it's a great place, somewhere I'm really enthusiastic about." An electrician who's busy sorting out the cables at a local hair salon would beg to differ: "What's the difference? We've gotten a new government here, but what are they doing for our lot? Same old crap it's ever been." I float from corner shop to corner shop, place to place, and hear murmurs of content and discontent alike. There is not much to sense out in them, one way or another.

Dinner is, for obvious reasons, not quite as substantiative as you think it is. I have settled down in a reasonably fancy hotel and have checked into their dinner service - almost an oddity in the world of hotels - to see what's available. I grab a couple of sausages, some chips, and a copy of the morning's Brandistock Bugle. I cannot help but be transfixed, almost in disbelief, at some of the headlines. The Flynn Ar3na - a place I would not dignify with its new title had the original Flynn Arena not been destroyed many wars ago, many borders away - almost looms over it all. I fear that the victims of the Corvidae War would not be happy at what they would be seeing today.

Day 3: Summary

What I wore: the same as last time
What I spent: another 100 ducats
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 1,220 Mertagnian ducats

New Fligsive is big. It is also distant, in relative terms. This compels me to wake up a whole two-and-a-half hours early to this time endure Motorway 1 all the way down to Neorudo, headquarters of Touchpoint province and national sport; it takes me around four hours, which I find to be surprisingly average, but I imagine to myself that there are surely faster ways of going from place to place.

It feels like everyone is a Lehen fan nowadays with all of their recent successes. The Cop Limy - a name that, this time, I genuinely cannot fathom - is home to them, even though it has been given some renovations almost in this column's memory. Kristie Ettrick managed them. The league is almost dominated by them. Even far beyond the mountainous Old Quarter, which I find to be nice, rustic, relatively more welcoming - everyone sings their praises and hers. (Unfortunately, Ettrick is still busy helping out the national team; I would have liked to land the restaurant scoop that Inkblot could not.)

Neorudo is far, far removed from the days when it was both open to business and welcome to take municipal control of much of it. Nevertheless, I still sense a left-wing current running through some places. At one of the more crowded pizza restaurants I have ever been in, almost by design, that appears to be the impression I get from the few conversations I have. There is some lingering satisfaction over Aurrera!'s push to half the number of provinces from a few years ago, but this is almost not as big an issue as it used to be; minds are now much more focused on centralisation writ large and pushing for economic rights a bit more, although I have nowhere near the political acumen to tell whether these are priorities or simply campaigns.

My conversations have been much-needed filler in lieu of destination tourism; the AquAirport, subject of more than a bit of lingering discontent, awaits for several reasons. A car with a Huayramarcan license plate and a multiboard in position five will lie, straddling two parking spaces in the short-stay area out of desperation, for far longer than anyone would deem necessary. I have my doubts as to it all.

Day 4: Summary

What I wore: a long-sleeved shirt, regular jeans, and a pair of trainers
What I spent: 65 ducats
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 1,155 Mertagnian ducats

---

The Grand Tour of Anaia - Saint-Jean-Jacques et Burnham-on-Stove: Two radically different countries for the price of one

by Lara Torridge - April 30th 2006

Saint-Jean-Jacques and Burnham-on-Stove, despite being relatively distinct entities, may as well be the same place. For starters, you have to fly into l'Aéroport national Prince Pierre-Alexandre 1er de Saint-Jean-Jacques-sur-Mer either way. It is not only a mouthful, but also a bit of a hassle to navigate, although I do manage to get my currency exchanged in due course.

Exchange rate: 1,155 Mertagnian ducats = 210 Jean-Jacquois francs (5 ducats = $1 = 0.90909... francs)

Saint-Jean-Jacques is known for three things: its football, which did not quite make the World Cup; its tapir meat; and its beaches, which are expensive. I try to jump the metaphorical turnstiles on one, only to be spotted and removed (thankfully without charge). I find another, which is somehow free of charge, but find it to be disappointingly crumbly. The last time I was on the beach, I was almost entirely covered up - although that would have been in Quebec, making it not only a matter of time. On the flip side, I feel compelled to buy myself a tank top: it's my first new investment in clothing since I finished my studies and it will serve me well for at least a few summers.

I have to keep it on hold for now, as I decide to visit the hockey and football monks at Breteuil Abbey after cleaning myself off a bit. They know fully well who Laborious Hawk is, but have their doubts about Lavrentiy Xuen-Zhukov, and might be hyping Gentle Breeze up too much for her own good. A wheel of blue cheese is in order; some convincing is required at the courier service, but I am told that this particular artefact will be in Saint Eleanor in a couple of months, in time for the World Cup.

There are two items of food you cannot escape in Saint-Jean-Jacques. Cheese is one of them. Tapir meat, a delicacy almost everywhere else, is the other. Tapir burgers; tapir bolognese; tapir blanquette (even though I still don't know what that is, either) - all are common domestic fare in what is otherwise a haven of free trade. I find the tapir meat to be appreciable, but will take beef and chicken any day. I was already getting misogynistic abuse before dinner began, so I don't even leave them the courtesy of a thank you, never mind a bit of extra money. I then pass by Notre-Dame-du-Sacré-Coeur and, being a nominal evangelical Christian, just about nod at it.

Day 1: Summary

What I wore: a short-sleeved shirt, hotpants, and a pair of trainers
What I spent: 20 francs
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 190 francs

Tapir is a religion in Saint-Jean-Jacques; I quickly learn, the wrong way, that it is also totemic in neighbouring Burnham-on-Stove. After just over half an hour of driving, and a further exchange of money (for which I feel understandable short-changed, given the rounding inherent in it all), I ask the patrons at the first pub I get into whether or not any tapir-based meals are available. I get into a bust-up, which is how I learn that it is banned. One man, who - like me - much prefers cow meat, comes to my defence by pulling me away from the action and offering me a bit more aid and comfort.

Exchange rate: 190 francs = 275 Burnhamese dollars (1 franc = 1.1 Eleanorian dollars = 1.46666... Burnhamese dollars)

The good news is that the Burnhamese speak English, and rather better than their neighbours too. The bad news is that the Burnhamese are Communists; much as I appreciate the National Liberation Front, and much as I am more on the liberal side of things (if I had to be pushed one way or another), I would never align with the Communists. The one exception I will make to this rule is when it gets me free access to Palm Beach, when he insists that I'm just "a family friend" who's visiting from Fort Buccaneer. I appreciate the three-dollar saving.

I escape right before the weather gets much, much worse, and - to avoid any suspicions - swing by Fort Buccaneer itself. I find the history lessons about Jean-Jacques Le Boucanier inherent in the whole endeavour, but question the wisdom of placing such a memorial on land which fought to escape the country he founded, and which his ancestor Pierre-Alexandre still leads. The Tinhamptonians do not get memorials in Saint Eleanor, after all.

My conclusion is that, while Saint-Jean-Jacques et Burnham-on-Stove have their own attractions, I find myself to be ever so slightly more at home in SJJ. It is not only too dreary, but almost too vegan, too. Dinner is bought and paid for by my friend at a completely different restaurant; it is vegetarian, I do not like it, and I vow to buy something more nourishing once I leave for Cardenao in four hours, more or less.

Day 2: Summary

What I wore: the same as last time, with some later adjustments for dryness
What I spent: nothing, somehow
What I've got left over: 95 Eleanorian dollars for emergencies; 275 Burnhamese dollars

[Zenic]

"What is with this cycle and matches between Baptism of Fire champions?"

Killian could not help but speak that thought out loud, though he was fortunate that the elevator to the Emperor's main floor was empty. It started off with Zenic getting placed into Group 5, alongside fellow champions Xanneria and The Osnari Federation. Thankfully, the Survivors won three out of four of those games, only falling to the newest members of the club, The Osnari Federation, on the road. Then, they were placed into Group H alongside Edsmontik, another Baptism of Fire winner, for the third straight world cup. Now, in their first trips to the knockouts since World Cup 97, Zenic have been paired with ANOTHER Baptism of Fire winner: Kamijiro.

The Lightning walked out of Baker Park as the 81st champions of the prestigious newcomer tournament. Interestingly, they ran a 3-5-2 formation with a similar level of focus on offense that Zenic currently runs. That familiarity may or may not cause problems in the upcoming Round of 32 match. In modern times, they employ a 4-4-2 Diamond that evolves suspiciously into something that looks like a 3-5-2 whenever Kamijiro wins possession of the ball. As usual, it will be vital to win control of the midfield and get the flanks flowing in the right direction, specifically to help stop, or at least slow down, full throttle counterattacks like the kind that Kamijiro like to go on.

And technically, there were three other Baptism winners in the knockout rounds so theoretically (and it was a very large THEORETICALLY) there could be a second faceoff in the future. Of course, that's assuming Zys could engineer the furthest run ever in the World Cup for Zenic. And gods did Killian hope he could pull it off. Did a tiny part of him wish he would be the one to get Zenic to the promised land? Sure, but he would be happy as long as Zenic won a World cup at all before Killian crossed to the other side. But he would probably do well to avoid mentioning that in the briefing. As the elevator finally reached the correct floor, Luke Killian stepped out onto the floor......and was immediately almost run over by workers power walking through the hallway.

The workers quickly apologized while never breaking pace and hurrying to their destination. "What in the world?" Killian looked around and noticed it was a hectic mess. Obviously, everyone rushing around with some bumping into each other and spilling whatever they were carrying onto the floor. Some were juggling three phone calls at the same time. Still, others were typing so hard and fast that Killian was worried the bones in their fingers might break through the flesh. He knew for a fact that this wasn't in relation to the World Cup or any other sport for that matter so he was left juggling between figuring out what could have happened and making sure he dodged out of everyone's way as he carried on to his destination.

As he approached the usual double doors, he noticed two new guards standing on either side of them with looks that would scare a lion. "Only authorized personnel allowed.," one of them growled. Killian patted himself and pulled out his security badge from his inner jacket pocket. "Sorry, but not high enough." Not high enough? As far as he was aware, there were only two levels higher than his: the one that Ministers, Generals, and Admirals get and the one that only Emperors and Consuls get. Meaning whatever the hell is happening is HUGE. "Apologies. I'll come back around at a later time," Killian replied. The two guards did an uncharacteristically cheery head nod before Killian turned around and began to walk away.

A few seconds later, one of the double door swung open and a voice ran out. "Luke! Luke! Get your ass in here, my guy." Killian turned around to see Consul Felipe beckoning him into the room he was just denied access to. He knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth and scurried his way into the Emperor's office. He waved to Minister Dimi and bowed to the Emperor: both returned the respective gesture. "So, what all the buzz about? Something good I hope?" Felipe scoffed. "Check this guy out. 'Something good'. Haha, no buddy. Something GREAT!" The Consul wrapped an arm around Killian's shoulders and shook him in joy. "We found him." Killian looked on in confusion. "Found who exactly?," is all he could muster.

"Dragutin Tomčić."

"What? How? When?" This time, the Emperor interjected. "He was found in a safe house out near Hutiburg. He hid himself well by ordering groceries and meals to one location before picking it up and slinking away back to the safe house. Used a rotating list of 20 locations and never used one more than twice in a row and never for the same thing. Luckily, some forest rangers noticed a small house that wasn't on the maps and made a note of it in their reports about 3 years ago. Someone found that report and a stakeout confirmed he was there. A joint taskforce of Hutiburg PD and Zenic Rangers performed a successful raid and arrested Mr. Tomčić with minimal harm and property damage."

"Holy hell. That's amazing! However, why are you telling me about this? I didn't have enough clearance to get through the doors, let alone here about some super secret mission." The Emperor pointed at Killian. "You are correct. The only reason you know about this earlier than anyone else is because you started all of this. Somehow, his group would have snuck in right under our noses if you hadn't spotted that reporter disguising himself as a waiter that one night a few months back. It felt only right that you should know what you've done for your nation, my friend." The Emperor's words both cut deep like a knife but soothed like a warm bath. "Thank you, Emperor."

"No, thank you, Luke." Killian let the moment soak in for a bit before asking a follow up question. "If I may, is all this commotion simply because they caught Tomčić?" The Emperor, Consul, and Sports Minister all exchanged glances, trying to see how much they should reveal. "Partially. About a quarter of them are frantically working out transportation arraignments to get our special guest back to the capital. The rest? They're reaching out to the mayors and governors with vital information we uncovered at the safe house in Hutiburg."

Killian's heart sunk. "Please don't tell me he's a part of you-know-who?" The Emperor shook his head. "Unfortunately, we always knew small contingents might survive and attempt to continue the fight. Alas, we always assumed it would be physical confrontations, not espionage and misinformation. Thanks to the info we recovered, we can be prepared and mitigate the damage, if not outright thwart any plans they have. There's only one minor issue: it'll take some time, maybe a week or so. That's where the Ministry of Sports and FZF come in." Killian and Dimi looked at each other before looking at the Emperor. "I need you two to go as big and bold as you can on the World Cup, the NSTT, the domestic league, basically anything to prove a buffer while we get protections in place. The Empire NEEDS you two and your organizations. Will you heed its call?" The two looked at each other again before responding.

"Steady and Focused, we shall thrive," the pair said in unison. "The Empire will be in safe hands, I guarantee it," Minister Dimi told the Emperor.

The Emperor surely hoped so.

[Audioslavia]

After a brief sojourn, we carry on the Ides of March arc from here

The Endless Sunset
Written: January 2023

Of the eight souls aboard the seaplane, five survive. Lost are the captain, the first officer, and a Polarian businessman who’d bought his way onto this chartered flight. The five to survive the crash do so by swimming, with whatever limbs are still working, towards the outline of a coast just about visible through the haze in the dim northern dawn.

The survivors are the two Astograthians footballers, Erlis and Morriyas, the two Polarian footballers, Henriksen and Aer, and president of Polaria’s Football Association Magnus Ragnarok. They are almost intact. Henriksen has suffered a broken arm in the crash, and was the last to make land.

There are four things that they will need to survive.

One: Air. You can survive maybe two minutes without it. This, they’ve got. Arguably more of it than you actually want

There was plenty of that here. In fact, now the weather front was moving over, there was lots of it moving around at higher speeds than they had been used to”

:- Polar Islandstates, 2011-07-29

Two: Water. Two days without it. Seeing as they’d crashed into an area of the north where nine hundred thousand cubic miles of it sploshed around happily in the breeze you might expect that to be a surplus too, but not quite. You can’t drink seawater. You’ll maybe need more than the meltwater you can find over the hill. But how to transport it? And how to filter it?

Three: Food. Two weeks without it. This is a problem, but perhaps not one for right now. Two weeks is a long time, but with five survivors and two cans of baked beans, your problem is likely number four.

Four: Sanity. You can survive without it, sure, god knows how many have done for their whole lives, but while you will go to whatever lengths, or depths, to get numbers one, two or three, this is one that may slip from your grasp without you even knowing. Here most of all. Here at the top of the world, in early summer, the thing that saved these men may take their sanity in return. The sun does not set. Day does not turn into night. And while the light may have shown them where to swim after the crash, how can one even count the days until rescue if the first day never, ever ends?

….okay so does anyone remember when the idiot project was a silly documentary about football? Let’s break the tension right here. All these guys survive. Most will thrive, made stronger from their experiences. But their experiences are… *torrid* to say the least.

They find a shack. One just about big enough so that, if you throw all the junk out, you can huddle four men on the floor, with one, the injured Henriksen, occupying the one chair. There is a window, albeit with no glass, and a roof. This is their home for today.

Aer and Erlis will only add to their injuries via a fight over beans: Not over *who gets to eat them* but *whether they should eat them now or later, when they are starving*. Either way, there appear to be no animals and no vegetation on this rock, and from what they can make out, no fish in the sea. Most of the beans go to Henriksen, whose injured arm is only festering with time.

Later that day, or perhaps the next day, it’s impossible to tell, they eat the beans. Invigorated by what may be their only meal on the island, one of the emptied cans is crushed, and a game of football is played on the beach. We don’t know the score. We do know this, however.

Half the world away, the qualifiers for World Cup 56 are in full swing. And it’s time for the first meeting of Astograth and Polar Islandstates.

Astograth vs Polar Islandstates. A football game rudely interrupts Society of the Snow

Before the game, Astograthian captain Estebe Bularte, of Iturributa United, shakes hands with Polarian captain Petter Bielsen, also of Iturributa United. No words are exchanged. There are none to say. The news of the missing footballers has long been the dominant story on front and back page in the two nations. Players from both teams are emotionally affected, naturally, but so far they haven’t let that get to them. Polar Islandstates are in the mix at the top of the qualifying group, Astograth not far behind.

Behind by an early Peter Bielsen goal to nil, Astograth apply the pressure, eventually forcing an equaliser after Ormache and Sarlange rekindle their old Ituraitz FC partnership on the way to 1-1. Astograth now set themselves up to go for the kill, but have overlooked the movile threat of midfielder Alexsandr van Sorensen. The Polarian plays a purple through-ball for Ackermann-Finn to finish and, at the death, hits a sparkling vermillion volley to take the game, three-one.

Polarian energy has overcome Astograthian method. It won’t be for the last time this week.

Thousands of miles north, another Astograthian goes in for the kill. It’s Erlis. Etlis the calm. Thoughtful. A man who, in the crash, had lost a book entitled “Worldly Philosophers: A History of Economic Theory”. He lies, motionless. Waiting. In his right hand, a knife.

A few metres beyond his position, a seal. A fat, blubbery, protein-rich seal. Sitting there looking like the kebab shop at the end of a night out.

Erlis waited. Motionless. The rough, sharp rocks bit into his skin, but he couldn't afford a single movement.

No, not until a seal got close to his hiding place. Then he'd jump out and stab it with his knife, so carefully carved out of stone. Then probably wrestle it to the ground until it died or something. To be honest, he didn't know a thing about seals, so he was just hoping it was that easy.

Spying through a crevice in the rocks he hid behind, the sea creatures were flopping around about twenty metres away. Closer than they'd been an hour ago, but not close enough. Well, maybe it was close enough, but he wasn't taking any chances. They'd done without proper food for long enough, and they couldn't even find ants to eat like he'd seen in a nature program. Too weak to even think straight, Erlis was, and so he'd sat there for hours upon hours waiting for the stupid seals to waddle into stabbing range.“

:- Astograth, 2011-07-29

From the corner of his eye, to his horror, Tomas Aer charges in, wielding a bit of wood. The seal has seen him before Erlis, and duly escapes into the ocean.

Both men are disconsolate. Had this happened a few days ago there may have been a fight. Things by now are too desperate.

A few days later, however, there is another chance at a meal.

Finn knew Magnus was going slightly round the bend, but he didn't expect to see him knee deep in the bitingly cold Kuril Sea, facing out towards the horizon, staring wide-eyed and not blinking. Erlis and Morriyas were already there, slumped on a boulder, observing the scene with tired and depressed eyes. Finn limped towards the scene with caution.

"Magnus," approaching slowly, though rather more by bodily limitations than tact, put his hand on Magnus' shoulder, "Ragnorak? It's me, Finn, are you okay?"

No answer.

"What are you looking at, Magnus? Eh? What are you looking at?" Following Ragnorak's gaze, Finn took his eyes and cast them over the distant ocean. Nothing.

Suddenly, Ragnorak stirred into life, and grabbed Finn’s arm suddenly whilst turning to stare him in the eye. Wild, mad eyes peeked out from behind the mass of matted hair that now covered most of his face. Fiercely, Magnus grabbed Finn's cheeks, and viciously moved his head to point in the direction he wanted.

Squinting, Finn searched hard, willing Ragnorak to be right. He couldn't see anything.

"What is it?" cried Aer from behind, "is it a boat? Are we being saved?"

Deciphering what little English they knew, Erlis and Morriyas picked out the vital words and stood up in anticipation.

“I see something. In the waves. It's not a boat, it's way, way too small, and far nearer than we thought."

Catching on, Aer leaned in close, "Is, is that a seal?"

Suddenly, the grizzly truth hit home and slammed into the pit of Finn's stomach like a thunderbolt.

"Guys, it's, it's the pilot." stammered Finn.

:- Polar Islandstates, 2011-07-29

"I've been thinking about the pilot," he said as Morriyas sat down on the ground beside him.

"Poor guy, yeah. We should give him some kind of burial before it's, you know, too late,"

"I...I didn't mean that," Erlis was finding it increasingly hard to speak.

"Tell me you're not thinking about eating the pilot. Laurgain, look me in the eyes and tell me that,"

Erlis looked at the floor. He refused to believe his sanity was slipping.

"Like the saying goes...desperate times call for desperate measures,"

Morriyas jumped up, outraged.

"Laurgain! Think about it for a second! That is - was - a man like you and me. Clearly it's not your case, but I'd rather starve than live knowing I ate a man. I'm going to bury him,"

"You're not thinking about this rationally," said Erlis at last, exasperated.

"Rationality doesn't come into this!"

"Let's vote on it,"

Morriyas shook his head slowly before turning to walk down to the shore.

"You're insane," he muttered.”

:- Astograth, 2011-07-30

---

The Logical Progression
That Idiot Project episode 'A 43 minute pre-match pep talk' :- Mersiades

So in recent weeks, Audioslavian sports documentary series The Idiot Project has emerged out of deep left field with a three-part series on Drawkian baseball. It's not the first time the series has randomly decided to concentrate on one of the multiverse's less successful sporting outfits. A few years ago, Eastfield Lodge were poked by the spear of the TIP, dedicating the majority of its series on Losers to Eastfield Lodge in the three-part section entitled Logic.

The series finishes with the line "Anyone balking at the idea that Eastfield Lodge have a ‘golden generation’ is wrong to do so", and points to the cycle 77 team that qualified for the World Cup and won the Copa Rushmori, but does so after noting the sharp decline in the team's fortunes up to cycle 86. It's implied that the team have already had their heyday.

And then, after hosting World Cup 97, making it out of their group and making a good showing of themselves in the knockouts, they've gone on to qualify for their fourth and fifth World Cup. Two of Eastfield Lodge's best qualifying performances have come in the last two cycles.

2.29 PPG is the average for a qualifier. Eastfield Lodge have only hit this figure three times.

The side are now entrenched in the world's top twenty, with ambitions of becoming one of the multiverse's foremost footballing powers into the three-digit era. To get there, they'll need another appearance in the quarters. To do that, they need to beat Audioslavia.

Looking at the stats, this remains one of the worst Audioslavian football teams in history. In the last decade, the Bulls have failed to qualify for five cycles, missing out in World Cups 91, 92, 93, 95 and 97. When they have made the World Cup, they've been eliminated in the first round. In cycles 94, 96 and 98, they amassed a pathetic three goals in nine games, putting together a 1-4-4 record that has impressed nobody. Even in cycle 99, the side managed 2 goals, lost twice, and have only reached the second round out of a mixture of pure luck and advantageous tiebreakers.

Eastfield Lodge are on the cusp of the main event. Audioslavia have barely featured on the undercard in living memory.

This will either be a cathartic one for our opponents or, somehow, a final, fatal display of logical losing.

[Aphrilia]

Continue As It Is
There were no regrets in the loss against Valanora.

The multiverse's 43rd ranked nation in football versus the second strongest. A 1-0 loss was nothing to be ashamed of, especially considering some of the losses that this team had to endure. The Anchors, for the second time ever in history, had secured a spot in the Round of 32, but their opposition will never become any easier by this point.

Whilst Valanora would end up facing a weaker and newly upcoming side in Kwrpania, Aphrilia would have the misfortune of playing a top seed in the form of Tanirinthia, currently ranked 5th. The Mighty Oaks and The Anchors have faced off against each other only once before, all the way back in the 21s edition of the Independent Associations Championship. The result of that match was an intense 5-3 defeat for The Anchors, but that was way back when the team was still somewhat lacking experience in the footballing scene. Despite the still massive rank difference between the two, Aphrilia would be entering this match believing themselves as equals. There would be no regrets here either.

Well, that's what Leonardo Bianchi told himself.

The starting goalkeeper dilemma? Well, talking it out with the two goalkeepers on the team, it was decided that Phillip Karnwell would remain the starting goalkeeper, with Kyra Von Kachel being a sort of "super substitute" keeper if things get dire. Of course, Kachel was understanding even if disappointed. Bianchi doesn't make these type of decisions lightly. It took him a good amount of time to consider everything and discuss the terms with the two keepers. And of course, the rest of the team was given notice of this.

Though now, he wonders about it. Would this team be able to get past the Round of 32? Of course, Bianchi trusts this team. The players trust him back, and the fans trust both. But the opposition that The Anchors will face off against are next level. He's done about everything that he can to make sure this team has as much of a fighting chance in the knockouts as possible. As he sat, focusing on the thought... Bianchi kind of laughed at himself slightly. Why was he worrying about the team's results at all?

This team, and him, have done everything they can to give themselves a fighting chance. He literally just told himself that. Coming back from the disaster of last cycle, The Anchors have proved that their previous success was no fluke. Bianchi proved that his success with Crpostran was no fluke. All he must do is to go out and be the best manager he can be.

He wants no regrets from here on out. Whether Aphrilia wins or loses.

---

Meanwhile...
"So you're a Teñvana? I thought they weren't real."

"I'm as real as I can be."

Aguri Hosokawa had zero idea what to say. It's not like she was repulsed at the revelation of the fact that Teñvana actually existed, or the fact that one of her teammates is one. It's just that... Hosokawa genuinely has no idea what to say. Theresa Villa of all people was a Teñvana. Gosh, what kind of headline would that make back in Eluwa? And not just that, there were a lot of things swirling within her mind. How do they exist? Why do they keep themselves hidden? Why in the world did Villa tell her first of all people?

"You don't judge others for anything, at least from what I've observed." Villa responded to the third question within the chevalune's mind. Hosokawa was dumbstruck even more, they can read minds? "You can read minds?" Hosokawa suddenly asked, more out of being baffled than anything. "No. I guessed." Villa responded blandly. Well that was fortunate, if Villa could read minds, perhaps Hosokawa would jokingly turn up missing the next day for the match against Tanirinthia. Though there were other things that Hosokawa wanted to ask.

"Why hide?" Hosokawa blurted out, not out of judgement or anything else, but rather a slight tint of curiosity.

"Religious implications aside... If I show myself to the world, it would confirm that angels and demons exist. The repercussions of something as big as that being confirmed true, well, I think you can imagine what would happen." Villa answered, deciding not to say what could happen. Hosokawa was already imagining it in her head, "The Great Insurgence. Something of such scale would happen again, wouldn't it?" Villa doesn't answer the question verbally, deciding to just give a nod. It was a, to Hosokawa at least, more of a pessimistic view of what can happen. Surely the world is not that judgmental? Ohia rights are as abundant as it has been, surely it could be the same for... Okiri, or whatever.

Though perhaps that was just the youthful side of hers speaking. Hosokawa really can't be the judge of whatever Villa has gone through. Plus, it was only through the narrow lense of Eluwa itself. What about the multiverse as a whole? The existence of Teñvana and Kariaha would terrify anyone who was religiously devout, anyone who came from a world that seemed... Standard? Hosokawa can't say. Though voicing her opinion right now was probably a bad idea, what Villa revealed to her must have been heavy.

"Does anybody else know?" Hosokawa asked again. Villa shook her head, "I plan to tell the manager sooner or later. But Jessica and Alex are kind of on to me." Hosokawa kind of giggled a bit. Those two are probably even less judgmental or critical than she was. It probably was a better idea to reveal it to them. Though considering that they were sneaking around, trying to figure it out themselves... Perhaps that's why Villa went to her. "Promise me you won't tell anyone else until I can do it myself?" Villa spoke and asked.

Hosokawa shrugged. "You're the same to me no matter what. As long as you still play the way you do, then sure."

[Edsmontik]

Edsmontik 4-2 Nova Calania
M. Stuero (3', 49', 85'), B. Norseden (32') | F. Goudreau-Luneau (15'), M. Qi Xiong (66')

---

World Cup Group H Matchday 3
Full Time - 11:56AM, Monday, 12/8/2031, Istria Olympic Stadium, Istria, Moravica, Banija

Another 4-2 win for Edsmontik.
With the final goal by Stuero to claim his re-debut hattrick, it was a perfect return for the "Golden Eagle".
Maartin Stuero, after being out for a bunch of qualifying and the first two matches of Group H, was expected to not perform too well.
After all, he had been through a lot of pain and would need all of the rest.
However, Maartin proved everyone wrong with three goals.

"All of those doctors? WRONG!"

"I'm surprised you were able to run like it never happened."

"Yeah. I guess that is unusual. I myself expected to not do much the entire match other than command."

"What matters now is that you're back. We need a strong commander and striker."

"How'd Seu do in my spot?"

"He did great. Lots of goals, and was glad to fill in while you were gone. But he had no substitutions, so he's very worn down."

"That makes sense."

"Hey, have you heard? The Edsmon National Team is now ranked fourth in the world."

"It is? Weren't we 8th during qualifying?"

"Yeah, but I'm assuming a lot of positions shifted. Unfortunate that the runner up for last World Cup, our Karmic brother Crpostran, had failed to qualify."

"Oh right, that happened."

"Anyways, Let me show you this cool trading card I pulled from one of those Kuser Trading Card exclusive World Cup packs."

With the entire Edsmon team finally reunited, it was time to make a push for the finals.
Edsmontik had seen a lot.
Last World Cup, they were almost there.
Under Dav der-Ghavyr, who hopes to send the team soaring to the finals, maybe it will happen.
Only a few more rounds to go.

It will begin with West Barack and East Obama in the Round of 32.
If they win, they will either face Banija, a host, or Tikariot in the Round of 16.
If they win that, they will either face Valanora, Kwrpania, Chromatika, or Kanzlia in the Quarterfinals.
It will then be the Semis, and depending on a win or loss, the Eagles will either have a shot at the finals or third place.

But it's still a long, long way to the final.
For now, their sights are set on the WBEO: opponents that the Eagles once played.

***

Next Lineup (GK -- LB, CB, CB, RB -- LM, CM, RM -- LCF, RCF, ST)

E. der-Stoiuben -- R. Dalsen, I. Javarqa, J. Travdt, V. Jervanois -- L. Fruedenne, D. Verto, O. Reuhans -- M. Rehcikt, M. Stuero [C], V. Reiovus

[Flavovespia]

Lane Wins Group For Flavovespia

In a group that was as finely poised as Group J, it was one goal that made the difference in the final Matchday. 3 goals across the two games, the one team not to concede was Flavovespia, and that ensured a group win. Crucially, a Top 8 finish in the rankings of the group winners keeps Flavovespia here in Damogran for the Round of 32. Incidentally it’s a lovely city, so I’m not complaining about an extended stay here.

Like THE Previous two group games, it’s was a good solid start for Flavovespia. The Hytler Peninsulae came into this game on 1 point, but with a ranking and qualifying performance suggesting they pose a threat. Early pressure was key, and what could be better than a goal in the 12th minute? It was pace that did it, Peter Langdon and Anthony Lane both broke clear and ended up 2 vs 1 with the goalkeeper. Langdon had the first effort, which was parried away but only as far as Lane. Lane made no mistake on the rebound, taking it first time on instinct and firing into the net. As quick as you like, it was 1-0 to Flavovespia.

Good enough to qualify, but not yet guaranteed to win the group with a 1-0 score, Flavovespia pushed on in the first half. Jonathan Bagshaw, the Flavovespia captain again denied despite his chances in this tournament so far. Flavovespia were on top in the first half, and it took great defensive work by The Kytler Peninsulae to keep it at 1-0. They had a handful of chances of their own, but Peter Marriott was in good form, commanding the defence well. That was helped by a solid performance in front of him, the back four finally coming good after a so-so qualifying campaign.

The second half was a shift from attack to defence for Flavovespia. They sensed there could be opportunities to play counter attacking football, and that’s what Victor Adeyemo sent Flavovespia to do. A few would’ve been annoyed at a lack of ambition, especially as goal difference could well still be a factor. However, on the surface of things it seemed a good strategy. With Charles Adams and Christopher Hill, and later John Fletcher sitting deep, the room for The Kytler Peninsulae to attack jst wasn’t there. In some ways it was reminiscent of the Rinaldi era, a one goal lead and a deep counter attacking strategy. If that was the intent, Flavovespia looked very comfortable.

Other than a few counter attacks and one corner that nearly went directly in, Flavovespia didn’t have a huge amount of attacking play in the second half. But in the end they didn’t need to, a 1-1 draw between Cardenao and Gnejs meant Flavovespia won Group J with 7 points. Gnejs went through with 5 points, but Cardenao on 2 points and The Kytler Peninsulae on 1 point go home. In thr Round of 32, Huayramarca will be the opponents of Flavovespia, a formidable opponent with a ranking of #29, qualifying from 3rd behind StrayaRoos and Tanirinthia. Both those sides were defeated by Flavovespia last time out. Only in one World Cup have Flavovespia won a knockout game, that of course being the time all 5 were won to lift the trophy in World Cup 98. How many knockout games can Flavovespia win this time?
Patricia Evans

[Tikariot]

Chapter 1: Welcome to Sugar Creek
Chapter 2: Cupcake Awakening
Chapter 3: Death by Dessert
Chapter 4: Sugar-Crazed Carnage
Chapter 5: The Sweet Survivors
Chapter 6: The Anti-Cupcake Plan
Chapter 7: Into the Cupcake Nest
Chapter 8: Bake or Die
Chapter 9: Frostbite Frenzy
Chapter 10: The Queen Rises
Chapter 11: Final Recipe
Chapter 12: Bakepocalypse Now

Chapter 13: Sugarfall

BOOM.

The explosion shattered the air like a hammer on hard candy.

A sunburst of fire and frosting exploded outward from the heart of the Supreme Cupcake. The Anti-Cupcake Cake, launched like a holy pastry grenade, had detonated deep in its molten caramel core—igniting an eruption of magical sugar fury the likes of which Saburnia had never seen, thankfully.

The Supreme Cupcake, once towering and tyrannical, staggered. Its thick fondant shell blistered and split. Caramel dripped like blood from fractures in its crown. Licorice whips thrashed madly as it screamed in a high, inhuman wail—a sound like a microwave chewing tinfoil wrapped in pain.

Then, its core cracked. A seismic snap split it from within, and a violent bloom of radiant frosting shot out from every orifice. In one final, catastrophic convulsion, the Supreme Cupcake imploded and exploded at the same time, sending out a blast wave laced with sugar glass, molten sponge, vaporized jam, and raw baking magic.

The sky turned frosting-white.

---

The Sugarquake Hits Sugar Creek

The blast wave tore through Sugar Creek with the power of a divine confectioner.

On Buttercup Avenue, an entire row of gingerbread-like houses—already half-frosted from earlier cupcake attacks—crumbled in slow motion under the sticky shockwave. Gumball gutters popped loose. Candy cane fences snapped like twigs.

The town square was frosted in an instant. Park benches were sheared clean by ricocheting éclairs. Mailboxes folded inward as if hit by sweet sledgehammers. A shocked goose, mid-flight, was caught in the blast and gently reappeared, sugared and unconscious, atop a lamppost now shaped like a cinnamon stick.

Rogue cupcakes in the streets, once fearsome and feral, were torn apart mid-snarl. Some vaporized in pink fireballs. Others burst like jelly-filled grenades, spraying raspberry gore across the pavement before dissolving into puddles of steaming icing.

At Muffin & Sons Deli, a blast-tossed éclair crashed through the front window, lodging perfectly in the display case labeled “Today’s Specials.”

Even the church bells rang—unmanned—as vibrations shook their tower, tolling like a divine dessert bell announcing the end.

Sugar fell like ash. Sticky. Sweet. Silent.

---

The Silence After the Storm

Nothing moved.

Not even the wind dared stir for a moment. The air hung heavy with scorched cinnamon, burnt fondant, and caramelized fear.

The crater that had been Sweet Delights was unrecognizable. Its foundation had folded in like an overmixed soufflé. What remained of the building was a sticky blackened pit, wreathed in wisps of vanilla smoke and surrounded by twisted piping nozzles and shattered display trays.

Then, from the debris… a cough.

Doug’s hand burst through a blanket of browned butter ash. He pulled himself free, hair matted with marshmallow fluff, apron charred, face stunned. “I smell like... nightmares and snickerdoodles.”

Lucy emerged seconds later, sliding out of a vat of cooling fondant like a marshmallow reborn. “My shoes are frosting. My socks are frosting. My soul is probably frosting.”

Bob came stumbling out, dragging Crumble, who had been half-buried under what was once the cupcake of doom. “I think I broke my everything,” Crumble muttered.

Gwyneth limped up behind them, brushing graham cracker dust from her tunic, eyes scanning for movement. There was none. Just smouldering silence and candy-coated carnage.

They stood together, staring at the ruined heart of Sugar Creek.

---

Sticky Salvation

The town was, in a word, glazed.

Buildings were caked with sugar and cream. Trees dripped chocolate sap. Cars sat like sprinkled cupcakes on the street. The fountain in the square now spewed whipped cream instead of water, its statues glued in place with hardened icing.

The rogue cupcakes had been annihilated—obliterated in one fell blast of forbidden bakery brilliance.

Doug dropped to his knees, emotionally and physically spent. “Sweet Delights is gone.”

Lucy put a sticky hand on his shoulder. “But so are the cupcakes.”

Bob looked around, wiping frosting from his mustache. “If this is what the end of the world tastes like, I give it four stars.”

Gwyneth smirked. “The frosting fallout may be fatal for your blood sugar, though.”

Even Crumble laughed—a short, bitter snort that turned into a wheeze. “At least I won’t need to spray anything ever again.”

They looked at each other—tired, battered, caramelized—and finally allowed a laugh to break the silence. The laughter spread slowly, then all at once, sweet and sharp like citrus tarts after bitterness.

It was over.

They had survived the Bakepocalypse.

---

A Whisper Beneath the Sweet

As the others laughed, Lucy wandered back toward the ruined bakery crater, her eyes scanning the debris. She kicked a twisted baking sheet aside, then bent to pick up a broken frosting nozzle.

That’s when she heard it.

A sound. Soft. Wet.

A twitch.

She turned slowly.

Beneath a slab of charred fondant and shattered candy shell, something moved. Small. Round.

A cupcake.

Or what was left of one.

It was half-melted, its frosting sagging like melted wax, its candy eyes dim. But one blinked.

Then it smiled.

Its mouth opened in a trembling crack. And in a whisper no louder than syrup sliding off a spoon, it spoke:

“Cupcake… revenge…”

Lucy froze. The laughter behind her died.

She turned back toward the others, her face pale beneath the frosting. “Um… guys?”

[Pasarga]

The Wanderers knew the stakes, anything but a win against former World Champions Zwangzug and they were at risk of being sent home from the Finals at the first point of asking in the group stage. It would have been quite the different tale from the last World Cup where the team from the dual islands shocked everyone, even themselves, and went a perfect three from three in the group stage only to be turned over in the first knockout round. While they had been eliminated in the group stage in World Cup 97 at home, it would have made it a bit of a rhyming cycle, the team having looked like they were prime for an ascent into the upper echelon of the footballing world, only to be sent hurtling back down towards the mid levels of the competition. A group stage exit here would have been painful but it would have at least been a bit understandable, the team had been drawn into the most difficult group that they could have likely gotten with getting the top team from both the third and fourth seeds but it still would have been a regression away from the heights they were chasing.

While Thor acknowledged that this version of the Wanderers still far away from the pinnacle of Pasargan football, the three straight World Cup Final appearances that they had during the early and mid 70 editions of the World Cup, back when Thor himself was still a young child, they had been making steady gains under his management. Returning the team to being one of the regional powers over the last five years had been a big point of pride for the manager, only a bit saddened that in his first cycle in charge at the Copa Rushmori he had not been able to reverse the team's slide in the regional championship. Three straight cycles of missing the knockouts coupled with the struggles in merely qualifying for the World Cup with any sort of consistency had brought the national team program low and was one of the many reasons why he had been approached to take over the position. The Wanderers had been so used to being among the favorites for the tournament, even if for a short while it seemed like Nephara, Eura, Savojarna, and Sargossa seemed to have their number in the latter rounds. That sort of rivalry ending would have been far more preferable than consistently going out in the groups and not even holding up the standard of being one of the top four or five teams in the region.

However three of those nations no longer have a team that represent them in the World Cup and the Wanderers keep plodding along and have qualified on their own merit for back to back World Cups after a cycle where the team truly had its bounce back in hosting the World Cup and then the Copa Rushmori. A surprise run to the semifinals and then followed up with a third placed finish in the latter helped rejuvinate hope in the national team despite the bit of a shamble the Wanderers had during the hosting of the World Cup, even if the tournament itself had been quite the success. Likewise it had helped springboard their cohosts in that tournament, Eastfield Lodge, from a team of lovable losers to a team who was now jostling to among the group of teams who were expected to be in the World Cup after a dive into the knockouts in 97, having also gotten back to back qualifications of their own merit off the back of the hosting. For both national team programs, the hosting of the ninety-seventh World Cup could definitely had been said to turn the fortunes of their program around and give them new lease on life and a vision for moving forward.

That vision for Thor was reverting back to a more classic Pasargan tactic, one that worked well with the sort of players that were consistently being churned out at the academy level even if they decided to seek their fortunes abroad rather than stay at their home club. Now those strengths needed to be in force against Zwangzug, they needed to control possession and probe their defense to find the right pass to get their two lethal scorers in behind. The first half was a stalemate despite both teams hitting the woodwork twice, coming oh so close to opening the scores but not quite good enough. In the second half the Wanderers did start to control more of the ball as they had predicted they wood and Bogdan Laszlo would put in a shot from right by the penalty spot with a tremendous amount of force behind it, Blanche Coogan-Bucknell however would easily parry it away. She would have hoped to catch it but the force behind it forced a parry and that ball fell to Pista Benedek, the Galatic winger quickly depositing into the exposed net. It was a late earned lead and one the team would hold on to despite the best efforts of the Zwangzug team to find an equalizer in the remaining eleven minutes. Three points to the Wanderers, sending the team from the dual islands into the knockout rounds and Zwangzug would finish last in the group of death despite their championship pedigree and having had the best form of any team from the qualifiers, such are the fine margins in this competition.

Having survived the Group of Death, Thor was fairly confident that his team would be able to take on whatever challenge was going to await the team in the Round of Thirty-Two, as they had been battle tested both in qualifiers and now here in the group stage. While at times it had not gone the way that he would have hoped, the team had shown a great deal of resiliency to get through the obstacles they had faced. Yet getting Group A winners and cohosts Siovanija & Teusland in the first knockout round seemed just a bit cruel for the manager, knowing full well just how much getting to play in front of your home fans mattered in tournaments like this and acknowledging that the Goldhorns were probably the slightly better and maybe even the deeper team. Yet Baker Park had shown that the Goldhorns could be beaten if you played a perfect game and managed to keep their talented attackers in check. A clean sheet against Zwangzug had been a nice change of pace but a large part of that had been the ability to control the possession game and dictate the way the match was played. Borsala Takácz was going to have her work cut out for her and he would stick with Mór Buday playing on the left, the young player had shown the pace and endurance to get back when called upon unlike Asztrik Biró, though the latter could be a great option off the bench if they needed creativity late in the game. It had been a gamble that worked against Zwangzug, Thor hoped it would work against one of the best teams in the land playing in front of their home fans.

[Siovanija and Teusland]

Trouble in Paradise

Part III

Ruslan Karamov was not a happy man these days.

The one-time Chancellor, and now… how would you even describe what he is now? Karamov didn’t know himself. The press in Teusland labelled him ‘the embattled former Chancellor, now under a corruption investigation,’ while his supporters in Siovanija chanted his nickname and flew his party’s flag.

So much had happened in the last few years. He knew isolationism was dead as a political movement, but the events of the Sankt Konrad War gave him a lifeline. His voice was once again credible amongst those in Siovanija who did not appreciate Teusland’s attachment to its former colonial empire, and the third or fourth rebrand of his political career was going well.

And then, that day in Borograd. Foreign Minister Josef Wimmer assassinated. Karamov would never forget that day. One of the darkest moments of his political career, when everything seemed to be crashing down all around him. Karamov was fully aware of the fact that he was, at minimum, a morally corrupt person. He was an atheist, like most in Siovanija - but if there was a God, he was certainly with him on that day.

A god named Serdar Buranov, Karamov thought. His relationship with organized crime had dated back to the beginning of his political career. Borograd gangsters were his muscle in both the early days of his career, and during isolation too they remained some of his biggest supporters. But Borograd was small potatoes, at least in the criminal world - Vrnovo was where the money was. And when it came to money, the Buranovs had it. Karamov got patronage from old Vojislav Buranov early in his career - a bit of back-scratching gave Buranov political influence and Karamov money and muscle. When his Republican Party first started winning seats, it was no surprise Vrnovo was one of their strongholds.

Karamov first met Serdar Buranov in his younger days - but he didn’t think much of him then, frankly. It was only after Serdar became the boss himself that he underwent a transformation, and Karamov respected him a lot. Buranov was a powerhouse, and did plenty of dirty work for Karamov over the years. As a thank-you, Karamov granted him plenty of influence in government projects, and during isolation, Karamov’s government basically left organized crime in Vrnovo completely alone. Karamov had gotten to know Serdar over the years, and he wasn’t just a business partner - he was a friend. Frankly, Karamov was also a little bit afraid of him, even if he’d never admit it.

And that was why Karamov struggled so much giving the order to have him killed.

Even now, standing in his home in suburban Borograd, he had to reassure himself: It’s the right call, he said. Buranov had always been loyal to him - too loyal. When Josef Wimmer was assassinated, the killer remained on the loose. A long, protracted trial would only be bad for Karamov - it was his words that had likely lit the match for that particular incident. So he made a call to good old Serdar - within the hour, the assassin was dead and his ‘manifesto’ glorifying Karamov burned, replaced by a ID card from the Communist Party. The man was efficient, that was for sure.

But the calculus had changed since then. Josef Wimmer was the current Chancellor Lara Hauser’s best friend. He was a national hero in Teusland. And while Karamov initially had some success portraying himself as totally innocent, and pivoting - again - to a platform of Siovanijan independence, he was really being put under the squeeze. There were 3 chancellery subcommittees investigating him, one for fraud, one for incitement to violence, and one looking into his financial deals. Lara Hauser had played a brilliant game temporarily moving the capital to Stelburg - all the investigations would be done in Teus courts, not the Siovanijan ones where Karamov still had some control. One by one, former and current associates were turning on him - testifying about his business deals and more.

They hadn’t reached his true inner circle just yet - but things were getting closer and closer. There was one man who tied it all together - one man who had his hands in nearly every money laundering deal Karamov had ever made, who’d received more fraudulent government contracts than could be counted, and had been there to ‘take out’ Karamov’s enemies when required. If the authorities ever got to Serdar Buranov, Karamov would be, simply, fucked. But if Buranov was silenced permanently…

Karamov picked up the phone to call his new friend - Vladimir Orlov. Orlov had a chip on his shoulder when it came to the Buranovs, So when Karamov gave him a call offering patronage in exchange for help taking down Buranov, Orlov jumped at the chance. He had just one term: he could provide ‘soft’ support, such as information, but he couldn’t actually use his people to do the deed itself. After the failed first attempt, by Karamov’s own people, Karamov wanted that to change.

“This is Orlov.”

“This is Karamov. You met with our old friend this morning. How is he doing?”

“He’s doing good. A few scratches, but overall our friend is in good health.”

“Perhaps it’s time for you to put some direct pressure on our friend. Really test his health - you have surgeons who can do that, I know, and you also have connections to doctors as far away as the Busoga Islands.”

“It’s impossible for me to do so. The circus is coming to town this week. All of my surgeons will be busy working on that, and our friend and I have agreed to put any differences to the side as long as the circus is in town for mutual benefit. Your mutual benefit as well, of course.”

“Then how about after the circus? Bring those Busogan surgeons over at once.”

“My friend who likes the computers is currently laying low, I don’t think that’s an option. You should have our friend visit the doctor on your territory this time, where you can control things. Besides, you’re working with his top surgeon anyways.”

Karamov thought for a moment. Despite the entire conversation being in code - just in case there was any recordings - he was following things perfectly: Orlov didn’t want to hit directly during the World Cup, his allies the Oyo family of Busoga weren’t going to be able to do the hit at this time, and that Karamov himself should try again. He thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t ideal, but it was possible.

Orlov spoke to break the silence: “And if our friend still has a clean bill of health after his trip to Borograd, then my surgeons will start to work.”

There was the message - if Karamov’s second try didn’t work, Orlov would start the gang war he’d promised Karamov at their original meeting. Satisfied, the leader of the Siovanijan Republicans spoke: “That will do.” With that, he hung up the phone.

Now, how could he make this happen? Buranov rarely left Vrnovo. How could he draw him out? It didn’t help that Karamov’s schedule was packed - in between appearances in Stelburg for his investigations, he was giving stump speeches in favour of Siovanijan independence across rural Siovanija, hoping that he could get a referendum called sooner than the lawyers could put him behind bars. Suddenly, his burner phone rang again. The number wasn’t saved to his contacts, but he knew the area code right away.

“Ruslan, my friend.” The voice was unmistakable.

“Serdar. It’s good to hear from you! How are you doing?”

“I’m doing great. But Ruslan, I understand that they’re giving you a bit of trouble there in Stelburg.”

Karamov laughed. “Just a little bit, yeah.”

“My condolences. I want to chat with you further about this. Perhaps we could meet tomorrow in Borograd?”

Karamov’s eyes lit up as his stomach sunk. On one hand - this was the perfect opportunity. On the other, he would be face to face with one of few men that he truly feared. “Tomorrow I’m giving a speech in Siovanska Gora. Perhaps you could join me there. I’m staying at the Hotel Siovanija.”

“Then I will see you there.”

Through all of his trials and tribulations in the last few years, Ruslan Karamov typically slept soundly. He knew who he was and he’d learned to be comfortable with it. But on this night, he didn’t sleep a wink.

World Cup 99 - Matchday 3

Siovanija & Teusland 2-1 Audioslavia
Draistadion, St. Jakob

XI: Kranz; Schwefel, Sanner (Steinhausl 80’), Apel, Mesko; Porsche (Kramer 65’), Winter, Le Meji; Korlikov, A. Kosch-Kovarik, Hackl (Wind 65’)
Goals: Xorge Le Meji 14’, Wolf Wind 81’

XI vs Pasarga: Kranz; Schwefel, Sanner, Apel, Reichenbach; Porsche, Winter, Le Meji; Korlikov, A. Kosch-Kovrik, Hackl

Preview: And so, here we are again: for the 3rd straight World Cup, the Goldhorns have reached the knockout rounds. It wasn’t easy - there was a lot of fear around the national team camp after the opening-day loss to Baker Park, and Dominik Weismann made some changes to the lineup going forward from there. But a more comfortable win over Drawkland gave the Goldhorns a big positive going into the final-day match with Audioslavia, a team the Goldhorns had never beaten before - and while the draw would’ve been enough, Wolf Wind’s late winner grabbed all 3 points and the group win. Another successful group stage campaign, and the team head to the knockouts with a great deal of confidence. Just like at World Cup 98, however, when the Goldhorns won their group only to draw Kelssek in the knockouts, Siovanija & Teusland will once again face a very formidable opponent. At Mollin Park in Felsenkirchen, it will be world #18 against #17 as Pasarga face the Goldhorns. The teams are basically completely even, the advantage probably slightly going to the Goldhorns due to the fact this match will be on home soil. Everything is quite clear, to be honest. A loss? Nobody will blame the young Goldhorns: ‘really tough opponent, gave it a go, young team still growing.’ A win? Then, it might be time to dream.

[Valanora]

18 months ago
Raynor Family Mansion, Raynor City

The meeting had gone about as well as Empress Lathwen had hoped for even if she was disappointed with the way that some of the events had played out, she had expected a bit of resistance on the initiative, particularly when it came to forming an independent military body. The latter was not necessarily required for the rest to move forward but she felt like an united force made up of the various peoples of Arrosia with the sole mission of defending those people would show a bond of strength and fellowship among the region and deter any would be meddlers in her affairs. If the freedom of movement and lesser regulations stymieing business ties would be all she could get from the first of these meetings regarding the ACES initiative, then she would have the accept that and table it for further discussion later down the line. She hoped with time those who were standing firm in their stance that it was not the best course of action or that it needed to be altered in some way could be persuaded to see the merits of the original proposal, though she was not about to let the entire initiative be scuppered over one point of disagreement.

"The hour grows late my friends and respected colleagues, I hope that you have both enjoyed the meal and will take all that we have discussed here and give it significant thought. The matter of the security force for the region I know will take some hammering out and as such is a matter that should likely be tabled for the time being if we are all at least on some level agreed to the other two objectives of this proposal. While some of the finer details on those might need be discussed at length, it appears that most here are in agreement in principal at least to what has been outlined. As you retire for the evening, I wish you well and will look forward to seeing you again soon to discuss these matters more in depth and hopefully sign these proposal into existence for a brighter future full of success and opportunity for all." Lathwen stood up and did a small curtsy before she made her exit from the room, servants moving to escort the guests back to their respective rooms. Arrosia had a bright future ahead of her, Lathwen was sure of that as sure as she was that the ACES initiative was a key to securing that future. Hopefully those who disagreed would see the benefits that they all looked to gain from if they brought it into a reality and not just a proposal to be bandied about.

---

Present Day

Banija continued to be a place where Vanorians felt at home and despite playing a fairly rotated team that only had four of its usual eleven starters, the Marauders made it three victories from three games in the group stage. Aphrilia gave a good account of themselves and made the team have to work for it during match, but eventually the team did find the winner to separate the two teams and allowing the Marauders to win the group while their group mates would have to settle with second place and have a more difficult path through the knockout rounds. Fine margins often felt like a punch to the gut but Aphrilia had shown that they had belonged on this stage and that they had the quality to contend with even the best in the sport, so despite a more difficult path to have to navigate they had as good a chance as any to do so. The Marauders though, they would be concentrating on their own path and trying to make sure that they would not fall victim to the complacency that had cost them their place in the knockouts last tournament, something that had been quite the trend among the game's elite last edition.

Getting there did mean the team had to contend with Aphrilia and in the final game of the group stage they were going full tilt to try and secure the top spot in the group unlike the Marauders who were choosing to rest some of the weary legs and players carrying small knocks. Ellzidan had weighed up the risks of playing a full strength lineup in this dead rubber of a game and decided that the risk of picking up more serious injuries or that her best players not having the stamina in the latter rounds of the tournament to play at their best was not worth it. If the reserve players failed to get a result, then they would simply make do with the path that they were given but if they did manage to get a result, then it would have made the decision to rest the best players look like a genius move. For most of the first half, it had looked though like it was not the best move as the side was struggling to establish possession or string together more than two passes. The team was clearly out of sync which might have been expected with the number of changes that she had made but they had been holding their own and Tobias Propst had saved all three shots on target Aphrilia had managed.

The second half was more even as the team must have gotten quite the treatment from the Drawkian elf during the half time talk as their performance levels definitely increased. Aphrilia was still creating chances but the team was doing a much better job of closing the opponents down than they did in the first half and when Florian Beike intercepted a pass in the sixty-first and cleared it up to Aya Haukås, the break was on. The winger advanced quickly up the right sideline with the opposition fullbacks having been caught too far forward pressing for the goal. As she approached the end line she cut in and sent in a drilled cross towards the area, where Klara Holmberg chested it down and fired on the half volley, sending it past Phillip Karnwell in net and giving the Marauders the lead. The goal seemed to take a lot of wind out of the sails of the Aphrilia team and the Marauders possessed the ball for much of the last half hour, preventing any real opportunities for the opposition to equalize, though Propst did have to make a save in the eighty-third on the last real chance Aphrilia had. The keeper though caught the effort by Ines Forrestal and clutched it to his chest, smothering the chance and for all intents and purposes the match as well.

The group won, the best players rest, the team now shifted the focus to the task ahead of them and the first knockout round where they would be going up against a debut nation not just in the Finals but in the World Cup itself. Kwrpania had taken to the competition like a fish to water and managed to qualify out of a difficult group finishing ahead of the likes of Busoga, Jeruselem, and Valentine Z to finish third in their first campaign and make the Finals. They then beat Vdara on the last match day of the group stage in a seven goal thriller to get four points and punched their ticket into the knockout rounds after also getting a draw against Eshialand, whom drew all three of their opponents and somehow finished in fourth despite no defeats in the group. Eight goals in Finals showcased their scoring capabilities and it stands to reason that they are going to play expansive much like the Marauders tend to do, it will be almost like playing Farfadillis. However with better players and a starting line up that has seen a lot of the best players get a few days rest, the side has to believe that if they simply play their game they will win, even if it might be in a shootout or trackmeet. The word on all the team's lips is simply to win, as that driving force has permeated throughout the team and is driving them forward.

[Doubeia]

love scenario — ikon

Were trips supposed to feel so… tiring? Ambrose didn’t know how to describe how he was feeling, but it definitely didn’t feel like the bliss and excitement he thought would be settling in his heart.

Yes, Ambrose felt adventurous. He felt adventurous when he climbed the peak of an active volcano on Saint Kristobelle Island. He felt luxurious when he walked through the streets of Pruxxé lined with casinos and designer stores. He felt a sense of thrill when he trekked through West Doubeia’s longest and most arduous hiking trails in the midst of the dense forest in the mountains. However, as he sat on his plane to Port Pomeranian, he realised he had never felt calm. He had never felt at peace. It was odd, because he was sure he had included many calming and quiet activities: watching the sunset, tea appreciation, museum visits. Why did he feel so uneasy, then?

Ambrose’s question would not be answered even as he stepped out of the arrival gate at Port Pomeranian, even as he made his way to his hotel, even as he took the time to rest on his bed and just kind of digest the trip he had taken so far. It had almost been two weeks. Even if he had only spent a day or two at each location, the activities he had done made him feel accomplished. Accomplished. Now, that was something he wouldn’t have used to describe himself in a million years. When was the last time he felt like he had done anything noteworthy? When he’d won the Golden Boot two seasons back? It was a great change of pace from his months spent moping around doing nothing, but just because he felt accomplished didn’t mean he felt pleased with himself.

Ambrose’s day at Port Pomeranian was on the chiller side of things. It, for one, didn’t include any strenuous or physical activity. It was just going to be him taking a nice stroll through West Doubeia’s most historic city, visiting some sites, museums, the Old Port maybe. It would end with a nice, quiet dinner by the sea at one of Port Pomeranian’s finest. By all means that should have been a “calm” day, but why was his heart jumping around so much?

---

“Be serious Ambrose. Did you actually break up?”

“Yes, Logan. I’m not going to repeat it for the fourth time.”

It was great meeting a friend. Ambrose had just managed to squeeze a session at the bar with his great friend and fellow footballer Logan Borichevskiy, and all the two had done was update each other on their lives. Logan, for one, looked absolutely shocked that Ambrose and Skye weren’t a thing anymore. Did he bet that they’d marry or something? Logan’s surprised expression took some time to wear off his face, and Ambrose managed to down half his cup of cocktail before Logan spoke up again.

“I don’t mean to offend or be nosy, but…” Logan hesitated, “I guess, well, I’m just hoping you guys left on amicable terms?”

Ambrose froze when Logan asked that. How was he supposed to tell him that they broke up because he was being a bit of a dick? Besides, Logan was nosy by asking; who’d ask a friend they hadn’t seen in a while that?

“Well…” Ambrose tilted his head to the side, “Not really, but it wasn’t too bad.”

“Ah.”

The rest of Ambrose’s day didn’t go too badly. He, for one, had enjoyed reading up a bit of history at the museum. It was, after all, one of his favourite subjects before he dropped out of school. He was lucky that even though he was very well known amongst football fans, football fans were pretty much the minority in the throngs of people walking the streets of Port Pomeranian. He appreciated not getting mobbed. Watching the yachts — there were many yachts — pass and go at the Old Port was nice, and the seaside dinner was a pleasant way to end the day off. Still, something was bugging Ambrose’s mind: Skye.

Why did Logan have to bring her up, God be damned? Ambrose’s entire purpose for planning the trip was to occupy his mind with things other than Skye, and now his friend had to bring her up. He couldn’t fault Logan. After all, how could he know? In retrospect, Ambrose was better off spending the time at the bar shopping for souvenirs or some cool snacks instead. Alas, all he was thinking about was the manner he broke off with her. He didn’t even want to say her name anymore. That was how sick he was of thinking about her.

Ambrose read through the last few texts he’d sent Skye before they cut ties, and he cringed. It was so, so obvious how desperate he’d been, trying to save their relationship by spamming meaningless I’m-sorries. He wanted to go back in time and whack his past self in the head really hard. Then again, he probably wasn’t thinking very straight then.

Ambrose read Skye’s reply.

“...Still, I hope and trust you change for the better so that your next lover won’t feel the hurt I did.”

What a poetic way to end the chat. For months, Ambrose’s chat with Skye had been left to ferment in his messaging app, and when he reopened Pandora’s box, he was hit with that text first thing, and it was only then that he actually took in what she had written.

“Change”. What had changed ever since that message was sent? Time changed. The season did. Skye recouped her losses and found a new lover. Ambrose broke his foot, and… well, he hadn’t really changed, had he? You could take him now and compare him to the Ambrose of a few months ago, and you’d find few differences, the biggest probably being the state of their foot. The final, very final, text Skye had sent him was a wish. It was a wish for him to change himself, change his attitude, change his heart for the better, but all this while what had he been doing? Remaining in stasis, mourning and mourning Skye’s absence for months upon end when she had already moved on to someone else.

Hell, Ambrose and Skye hadn’t been a thing for months and he was still finding new ways to disregard her words.

“Sir, your steak,” the waiter awoke Ambrose from his deep thoughts. Shaken conscious through the waiter’s words, Ambrose stared at the steak, and then at the waves crashing against the shore. The night made the sea a bleak darkness, and the only light he could see were those of the ships in the horizon. Ambrose thought it seemed like some sort of metaphor for how his life was, but he couldn’t put a finger as to how. He looked at his steak. All that thinking made him hungry, but Ambrose still wanted to think even more. Think about the fact that he had never changed ever since the breakup. It was a scary thought. Could you imagine staying the same when everyone around you was going through character development?

Whatever. Food for thought, Ambrose thought as he dug into his steak.

Ambrose continued to ruminate on his change of heart (or lack thereof) as he retreated back to his hotel room for the night.

Was he going to remain like this for the rest of her life? He could imagine himself just suddenly recovering from his slump of months-old because of his trip or whatever, and then he’d be the same ol’ Ambrose: yelling at people for the smallest things, being stubborn as shit, always wanting to be right and couldn’t tolerate otherwise. All of which were things Skye left him for, and he was going to continue that behaviour? When it was clear it was a people-repellant? And then he was going to expect nothing to happen. Absolutely nothing. His recalcitrant behaviour definitely wouldn’t be punished when his future-girlfriend would leave him for the same reason. Oh wait, what?

Ambrose lied down and stared at the ceiling. Was he going to be like this at his new team? It would be bad optics enough if he moved to another Doubeinese team, but imagine pulling this shit off in a foreign country, a foreign country towards people who don’t know and probably don’t really care for him. Just how screwed would he be? He’d probably be outcasted immediately, and if his form wasn’t on par with expectations, then there went basically everything. He would be lonely in a foreign country, and he’d have to brave whatever weather conditions they had on his own. How fun.

Ambrose found it scary just how scared he could make himself with all these hypotheticals he made up in his mind. Ambrose didn’t want to be lonely again. He didn’t want to shun people away; in fact, he wanted people to come to him! He read through Skye’s text again.

I hope and trust you change for the better…

If Ambrose really regretted his actions and the breakup, then wouldn’t it make sense for him to do his best to fulfil Skye’s final wish for him? That moment, something in him clicked, and the uneasiness he had been feeling the entire trip was somewhat lifted off his shoulders. That night, he slept well.

---

Ambrose checked the postcards out.

He was at his final stop of the trip. It had gone very well, actually. The East Doubeia leg was a blast. Imagine being able to ride on a donkey, and then run along the longest beach in Doubeia, and then walk through the very streets the founders of Doubeia set foot on? Now, he was in Solvecere, looking at some postcards. He was contemplating sending some to his loved ones. He could send some to his parents, Isaac, maybe Maddox… who else? Ambrose continued to think of names. Then his mind thought of Skye.

Skye wasn’t exactly a “loved” one anymore, but… but perhaps Ambrose had something he wanted to say to her? Maybe an apology after all these months for all the things he’d done, just to get her off his chest once and for all. He thought of what would be her reaction when she received it. Would she be vengeful and ignore it? Answer it in a sarcastic manner? Or would she actually take the time to answer him earnestly. Maybe her feelings had subsided?

Or, what if her boyfriend had managed to grab hold of the letter? Would the boyfriend be jealous? Ask Skye what the matter was? Suddenly, Ambrose didn’t really want to open that can of worms. Still, he really wanted to say something to Skye to make up for his misdeeds. If he could finally take the issue, his guilt off his mind, that would be great. At that moment, he thought of her final text to him.

“To change, huh…” Ambrose muttered to himself. Maybe changing his heart would be the best form of apology. That was what she wanted from him, was it not? To fulfil her final wish to him… it felt poetic. Ambrose still loved Skye – he didn’t know as what, but definitely not as lovers anymore – and so he wanted to make sure he didn’t break his word.

Ambrose didn’t know whether he’d ever see or speak to Skye ever again, but he hoped she received this message he was sending from his heart: because of you, I’ll change.

[Eastfield Lodge]

The Lodger

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Sport >>> Football >>> World Cup 99 Finals

Eastfield Lodge win group despite late comeback

Eastfield Lodge line-up

GK: Amin Horak (<> Yuvin O'Sullivan 45’)
CB: Jazzmine Guillou
CB: Ronaldo Kaber (64’)(<> Travis Boyd 67’)
RB: Keyshawn Strong
LB: Zakaria Webber
DMF: Florian Mordecai (42’)
CMF: Vonn Cope (<> Izzy Mirzadeh 67’)
RMF: Sundus Gebo-McCraw
LMF: Daisi Hackett
AMF: Lalo Allred (<> Rafeeda Scripps 78’)
ST: Chappell Holdsworth (<> Evander Ahmed 78’)

Captina Island line-up

GK: Donatella Jaconelli
CB: Marco Santangelo
CB: Severance Romero (81’)
RB: Davide Zaccardo
LB: Enrico De Rosa (<> Tonia Sue Ellington 69’)
DMF: Barnabas Morningstar
CMF: Charleston DiCanio (<> Clarence Bonneville 55’)
CMF: Wilmington Blackwood
RWF: Giorgina Donati (<> Chastity Dell'Oro 69’)
LWF: Tobias Coleman (<> Claire Longfellow 78’)
ST: Guiseppi Overstreet (<> Patience Wedgewood 55’)

World Cup 99 Qualifying Group B Matchday 2

Location: Stadion am Alten Dom, Marlesee, Siovanija and Teusland
Attendance: 39,912

38% - Possession - 62%
7 - Shots - 18
4 - Shots on Target - 13
3 - Corners - 7
5 - Fouls - 6

Eastfield Lodge 4 – 3 Captina Island

Santangelo (o.g. 12’) ––– Coleman (47')
Holdsworth (23’) ––– Wedgewood (64', 86')
Hackett (40’, 80') ––– [[]][[]][[]][[]]

The Imperial Commonwealth book their place in the knockout rounds as group winners as a somewhat experimental side saw off a late comeback from fourth seeds Captina Island to emerge victorious in a seven goal thriller, with Audioslavia looming large on the Round of 32 horizon.

Needing a win to secure top spot in the group and a guaranteed match against one of best third place teams, Mersiades came into the Captina Island match announcing a few changes to Eastfield Lodge’s line-up; notably, at the back, Zakaria Webber was moved out in his less utilised full back place at left back, with Ronaldo Kaber coming in to fill the remaining centre-back spot. Harun Farrow wasn’t deemed fit to start, having come off against HOT-DAMN for today’s starter Florian Mordecai. Boet Caceres and Fidelina Noble both get rests today, with Chappell Holdsworth and Sundus Gebo-McCraw making their first World Cup starts this summer. Paisley Lysander and Monique Fredrich both remain injured, with Daisi Hackett and Allred deputising in their place. Meanwhile, Jonas Yarborough names a relatively strong side as the Rosso e Oro aim to grab their first win of the group stage and a shot at qualifying for the knockout stage themselves.

Eastfield Lodge very much started on the front foot right from the opening minute, as Captina Island appeared happy enough to sit back and absorb the pressure, trying to hit on the counter-attack. They almost went behind in the first five minutes of the game however, as Stags striker Chappell Holdsworth found himself completely unmarked in the 6 yard box from the game’s opening corner, only to head his shot clear over the Captina bar. The Lodgers would camp within the Captina half for much of the opening half hour, and it paid off early, albeit through a defensive error as opposed to any good Eastfielder movement. A rare foray forward for Captina was rebuffed, and seemingly in an attempt to keep possession and recycle, Captina worked the ball back to their keeper, only for Marco Santangelo to completely misjudge the keeper’s position, Donatella Jaconelli on the edge of her box as opposed to on the goal-line which is what Santangelo aimed. Jaconelli was stranded, and unable to recover quickly enough to prevent that fiercely hit backpass from entering the Captina net. The Imperial Commonwealth dominance continued, and Eastifield Lodge quickly extended their lead halfway through the first half with Holdsworth getting on the scoresheet, the Stags striker playing an exquisite 1-2 with Daisi Hackett to break the Captina back-line open, slotting beneath Jaconelli to make it 2-0.

Captina’s best chance, and only shot, of the first half came shortly before the half-hour mark, with Guiseppi Overstreet very much guilty of squandering what should have been an easy 1-on-1 as he latched onto the end of a Santangelo clearance from the edge of the Captina box, beating Kaber in the air before running onto the loose ball and bearing down on the Eastfielder goal. Overstreet then proceeded to chip the onrushing Horak, the pair colliding in the process as his shot sailed harmlessly wide of the mark. That mistake was nearly punished within two minutes, as Vonn Cope fired a sharp low effort from 25 yards off Jaconelli’s right hand post with the Captina keeper rooted to the spot. Nonetheless, the Imperial Commonwealth would find themselves three goals up before too long, as Daisi Hackett grabbed her spot on the scoresheet from a cross that was spilled by Jaconelli, the ball falling right at the feet of the former Strawberries player. 3-0 at half time, but it transpired that Horak came off worse from that collision with Overstreet than first seen, a wrist injury ruling him out of the rest of the tournament and needing Yuvin O’Sullivan to take his spot between the sticks.

It was a defensive shake-up that paid immediate dividends for the Rosso e Oro as Tobias Coleman, who had been relatively quiet up until then, capitalised on some indecision to pick Jazzmine Guillou’s pass off, his second touch finding the top corner. That sparked a flurry of changes for Captina Island, who felt they could take this momentum and run with it - and that they did. The ineffective Overstreet was taken off shortly after, replaced by Patience Wedgewood, who almost promptly cut the deficit further when she looped a near post header over the bar, before coming up trumps with a brilliant free kick from 25 yards after she was fouled by Ronaldo Kaber, firing a shot through a gap in the wall that left O’Sullivan completely unsighted. Captina were now smelling blood, and began pushing for what had seemed like an unlikely equaliser given the state of play at half time, but it wasn’t completely one-way traffic, with the Lodgers almost restoring their two goal lead through substitute Izzy Mirzadeh, the Blades midfielder popping up on the edge of the box to shoot straight down Jaconelli’s throat. Gebo-McCraw also came close, with a pulled shot across the face of goal, before the two goal lead was finally restored by Daisi Hackett, the Felswyr winger taking on three players as she cut in from the wing before beating Jaconelli at the near post.

4-2 with ten minutes to play, but Captina Island continued to threaten to complete their comeback, and when Wedgewood popped up again at a set piece, this time a long throw directly into the heart of the box, a neat little header narrowed the gap up again to 4-3. Eastfield Lodge tightened up after that, opting to play keep-ball and run the clock down instead of gifting Captina possession and risking a counter-attacking equaliser, especially with news elsewhere that Farfadillis had all but won their match against HOT-DAMN. In the end, Captina failed to fashion another good chance, and Mersiades’ side had done enough to secure three points in Marlesee, ending their group stage unbeaten on 7 points, and advancing as group winners. A third place opponent would be their reward for winning the group, and a few hours after the whistle, once all the matches were done, it transpired that two-time World Cup champions Audioslavia would be the next opponents for the Imperial Commonwealth.

---

Likely line-up to play Audioslavia (4-2-3-1):
O’Sullivan - Webber, Guillou, Strong, Karson - Mordecai, Farrow - Caceres, Hackett, Allred - Noble
Suspended: N/A
Injured: Paisley Lysander [out until Ro16 - hamstring], Amin Horak [out for tournament - wrist injury]

[Tanirinthia]

---

THE DIARY OF ONE VIOLA WHEELER
Monday - 7th July 318
Yassaca, Squornshelan Remnant States

---

The whistle blew for the penalty kick, Bridget brought down in the box, having to be stretchered off holding her ankle, I looked over and saw Violet and Lark, they both looked hesitant, the goals having not flowed as much in this campaign as they used to, and the pressure of the occasion. A win here guarantees us a spot in the knockouts, a draw leaves us at the mercy of other results and a hard tie in the next stage, a loss and we're on that plane home. I knew what I had to do in that moment, after making sure Bridget was sorted with the medical staff, I jogged over to the penalty spot if I needed any proof I'd done the right thing in that moment I saw it in Violet and Lark's eye the relief palpable when they realised what had happened.

When I'd gone over adjusted the ball on the spot and stepped back to take my run-up was, well I don't know have exactly to describe it best, but it was like everything melted away expect for me, the ball, the Vixette goalkeeper (Félicien Mercier) and the net. The crushing noise of the stadium vanished away and all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

I looked up at the goalkeeper, and I could see them shouting out at me trying to intimidate me, put me off my shot, but I couldn't hear them. I could only hear the sound of my heart staying rock steady.

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

I took one final breath before taking my run up, each step in line with the sound in my head. I make contact with the ball, watch it sail past the outstretched glove of Mercier and as it made contact with the back of the net, like a champagne cork erupting, everything suddenly popped back the roar of the crowd, the lights of the stadium, the team running towards and piling on top of me. The waves of teal, gold and white from the crowd and the joy on my fellow teammates' faces. Being picked up and carried around like we'd just won the whole entire thing rather than simply scoring a penalty against a team we should be realistically rolling over. But just like the champagne cork this was a pressure relief, a nervous campaign full of questioning and an assumption that we would fail here as well, maybe in the back of the team's mind. Somehow this penalty going in seemed to ignite some old fires and get some belief back in the team.

With Bridget unable to join us back on the pitch, we moved to a more defensive posture to defend our lead for the next ten minutes with Vixette not really able to trouble us at all and with that we were through to the knockouts. The mood in the dressing room afterwards was incredible, I was seeing smiling, joking around, dancing and even singing (albeit poorly, very poorly). Something had changed, somehow that penalty had banished whatever ghosts were haunting the team.

I can't tell you what came over me, I just somehow knew what I had to do like the universe or omniverse or whatever you call it, was piloting me. I'm not a particularly religious person, but maybe the great tree spirit guided me, it was certainly transcendental and if they ever want to help guide the hand or foot of Tanirinth football then I pray they do.

16th June 318 | 23rd June 318 | 30th June 318 | 7th July 318

[Ko-oren]

Matchday. Tomoviko Mivune paced through his hotel room. So far it's all been above replacement level, he thought to himself. He couldn't inspire the troops much better than he did. He kept thinking to himself that he did a fine job, a random coach wouldn't have done much better and only the cream of the crop could take this team beyond its realistic capacity. But there were critics and detractors. Obviously. Whoever had to fill 24 hours of programming per day on tv naturally had things to say - it can always be better - and they weren't kind after the Banija game, but then again, they had won two of the last ten World Cups, and only conceding one isn't the end of the world. That said, the Kanzlia game now was pivotal. A win and you're in, a loss and you're out, a draw and you're surrendered to deities and demons ruling the realm of third place.

To combat those demons, he did ask around in his staff. The scouts were still world-class, they must have seen something in Kanzlia to exploit. The assistants were the same ones making brilliant observations under Manguele, they must have seen something in the Dragonfly squad to bet everything on. And the players aren't idiots either - that's what they're selected for, to an extent - and these model professionals know what they expect from their team and their structure.

That all didn't feel enough.

He would still have the squad trot out in the most basic of 5-4-1s, with the most standard - no matter how talented - of central midfielders, and the most mediocre of strikers. The defence, of course, in good form, but the midfield was just getting by.

His phone rang. It was a number starting with a + and a country code he couldn't place. Not a number he saved to his contacts.

"Hello?"

"Tomoviko?"

He recognised the voice from a long time ago.

"Katanmak?"

"The one and only."

"I'd love to catch up, but I'm working on something. I can probably clear my schedule for after this game, though."

"It'll only be a minute, Tomoviko."

Katanmak needed to choose his words wisely to convince Tomoviko to stay on the line. So far he's played his friendly self. He chose a harsher tone for this next line.

"I've been watching the World Cup. What are your plans for Kanzlia?"

"I'm not saying that over the phone."

"It's me, Katanmak, not a Kanzlian spy, for god's sake. And let's be real, if we're better, and we are, they can know exactly what we do and not be able to stop it. So either you have a plan that's good enough to share, or, and this is what I'm assuming, there's little plan beyond..."

Katanmak gambled with his pause.

"Beyond?" Tomoviko instinctively answered.

"Beyond a 5-4-1 with Senothon and Sehore trying to free themselves up to help a midfield with too many guys and too little presence, with Nakasaru and Ogalthu perfectly capable yet unable to distribute the ball, and with too little help on the wings. Sawyer up front with too little work coming his way and not enough stamina or skill to help out in midfield and counterpress the shit out of an opponent that's level with us on paper."

Katanmak had Tomoviko dead to rights.

"Not true, actually, and I-" The Ko-orenite interim coach knew exactly how much information he surrendered with that tone.

"Look, you're going to need help for this game. Help I can give. And after that I'll see how much use I will choose to be for the knockouts. Either way, your only chance of keeping this job is a win right here, right now, and even then it's not a certainty. I'm this close to calling the KFA and getting that job back myself."

Tomoviko thought to himself that that wouldn't even be that bad an outcome. Carry the Dragonflies into the knockouts and then get 'fired' with the most plausible of reasons - he'd rather keep the job but was he really ready for that amount of stress? There was a reason he opted for the national team assistant position rather than coaching, say, Schemerdrecht or Kanatsu or Miradela to a borderline IFCF ticket, and any lack of success will directly be attributed to him, and any presence of success will be due to the budget. There was no winning in the Top League other than taking the Cinderella route and promoting a Second Division team - there was no shame in failure there, but there was glory in victory. The Top League has expectations, the Second Division merely has hopes and dreams... and Tomoviko just figured out that the national team carries a bit more than either.

"Sure, listening." He tried to play it somewhat cool...

"Seriously?" ... he failed. "I think we need to zig where others zag. They're expecting a slow 5-4-1 possession game? Give them a dynamic 3-6-1. Defensive security, yes, but so many ways to keep the ball with us and keep pressure everywhere. Retain the ball, and when you lose it, pressure it right back within a few seconds. And here's who should do it. Loper, Todaka, Mellowby behind. Aelea and Ogalthu defensive mid. Sehoren and Senothon as wingers. Nakasaru and Entatin true midfield. Laza as the striker. Make everybody drop back and cover half spaces - Laza can do that too. Don't pressure their centrebacks or goalie, entice them to play out from the back and fail."

"Not half bad." And when a legend like Katanmak calls, you listen. The two spent another half hour working out contingencies and plans. "Thanks, I feel like we have a better chance now." Katanmak hung up on him before he got through the entire line.

---

"Come on, Tomoviko, really? Attacking and giving up so much defence against Kanzlia? Imagine actually running into that buzzsaw willingly? Suicide. Actual suicide." Katanmak said, still overlooking that Koroa City skyline. "That job's mine."