A Little Piece of Urth

[Norgsveldet]

Welcome to A Little Piece of Urth!

This will be a general open RP thread for people who are simply seeking to write isolated and short RP posts, stories that one might often feel only need a singular post. Or perhaps simply wanting to write out a singular scene that doesn’t fit a larger picture just yet. The main purpose really is just to create an rp thread in which the community can collectively use to write these stories. Which could also help in encouraging people to read each other’s work more.

Of course it’s an optional thing and if you already have rp threads for short stories or scenes involving your nation there is no need to feel that you have to use this thread. This simply one way to perhaps encourage not just writing stuff for Urth but also importance of reading stuff on Urth. Which I think will be good for all.

So with that out of the way, go at it! Be it a short funny story you could tell a child, a minor myth you wanted to tell but didn’t fit into a wiki format or small melancholic scene that felt out of place in another rp. Here is a thread for those instances. And even if one not planning on using it, it wouldn’t hurt to occasionally take a look.

[Norgsveldet]

Raven Temple, Osfjord, Norgsveldet

Olav dressed in his dark royal uniform with its purple highlights let out a small sigh as the doors opened to reveal the interior of the temple, the largest within the Ulvriktru world. The interior like the exterior being made out of dark decorative wood, with old Ulvrikian runes being carved into them. The carvings are about the writings of the saga, of Nori’s lessons and his wisdom. Alongside the walls were large historical tapestries of the gods.

Of Thor in the middle of a thunderstorm, the clouds around him dark as he held his hammer high. Of Freya in front of a child with her sword and shield at the ready. Of Hel guiding an old man to the afterlife by the hand, with herself being half life and half death. Of Tyr putting on an blind fold before making his judgement to those below him. Of Njord surrounded by the waves of the oceans as he safeguard a ship from the cruelty of the sea. Of Idunn blessing a wedding with a warm smile on her lips, as the wedded pair kissed. The final tapestry that the king would walk past as he walked along the hallway of the massive temple, was that of Freyr. As he forged a sword with the glow of ironwork at hand.

As Olav walked a bit further he would stop up near the altar, which behind it on a wall stood another tapestry. Of the world tree that held up the nine realms, with an angry raven chasing a serpent away from it. It being none other than Odin safe guarding his creation from the lies and chaos of Loki. Though behind the altar itself stood an older gentleman, dressed in dark blue robes with a silver necklace around his neck. The man looked to be in his 70s if not more with a thick white beard, and a balding head. His back facing Olav as he stood on his knees with a hand on the saga, as a small prayer left him. A prayer which the king would respect as he stood there in silence.

After a minute had passed the old man having finished his prayer slowly stood up from his kneeling position, though taking a small moment to do so. Turning around in the same level of speed expected of a man his age. Though his eyes went wide as they landed on the red haired king placing a hand on his chest instinctively as he let out a sigh. “Gods my deepest apologies, my Fylkir. I did not hear you enter.” He gave the taller man an genuinely apologetic look as he began bowing his head deeply before stopping up as the king held up his hand.

“It is quite alright, Esker. I didn’t want to interrupt your prayer.” Olav spoke in a clear respectful tone towards the Grand Gothir, having a smile on his lips though it lacked its typical warmth. “I was hoping you could give me the keys to the chamber below the graveyard.”

The olderman gave a small glance towards the king’s right hand seeing him holding a lit lantern, in which the glass had Nys’tat’en writing on it instead of old Ulvrikian ones. Esker looked then up again towards the king’s face giving a sympathetic nod as he reached out to one of the pockets in his robes before handing the king a keychain.

“Thank you, it will only be a moment.” Olav took hold of the keychain before making his way to the graveyard, his heavy steps echoing along the temple as he walked. Until then he was at the graveyard, or rather the underground of it. Of where his ancestors were buried and where he will be at some point as well. It being a long dark hall designed with decorative dark stone, his steps sounding even louder inside here. Walking past several small rooms which held the coffins of not just royals but also those deemed worthy of not only a state funeral but also the blessing of the Fylkir themself. To make one’s journey to the afterlife easier. Though it was not his father’s grave he would stop at, nor that of his grandmother, or any other family member he had the unfortunate reality of having to bury early.

No, instead when he stopped up at one stone door. Reaching out to turn the handle to pull it open, it revealed a room that had no coffin. Instead of a coffin were several stone statues, ones around the size of the king. If not a bit smaller. One which had several flowers around them, and candlelights that had gone out. Indeed this was no grave, rather it was a memorial. As Olav walked in holding the lanter up to light up the faces of the statues, a heavy sigh left him.

Nine statues.

One for each Bjørn member that was murdered six years ago. Each one the king considered as friends, no. As part of his family. It took a lot for him not to tear up the moment his eyes landed on each of their faces, even in stone it felt so close in resemblance. In the middle stood Jarl Kristoffersen Bjørn and Hjørdis Bjørn both having their hands on the shoulders of their two sons, Øyvind Bjørn and Mathias Bjørn, with their wives standing next to them. As Olav lowered the lantern further down to light up the faces of threw much smaller statues, two children that were clutching themselves to Øyvind while the third was clutching themself to Mathias. For a moment Olav’s hand began shaking, not able to hold the lantern steady before eventually having to put it down. A heavy sigh left him as he reached out into his pocket, taking out a lighter.

Taking a long moment as he lit up each and every candle light in the room, finally bringing more light into the dark room. Taking a moment to step back as he looked over at the statues, all of them being finally visible. And in that moment Olav finally couldn’t hold it back anymore, as tears slowly began to gather in the corner of his eyes. Last strength the tall king seemed to have in his legs buckling as he fell on his knees. Letting his lighter fall to the side as he fingers grabbed into the stone floor below.

“Six years…. Six years, I-” He began speaking to himself though not able to finish his sentence, simply looking down at the ground below. The tears falling down to it as well. Not able to look into the faces of the statues. “I’m… terribly sorry brother, to you all…”

After several minutes of tears running down, eventually the king was able to gather some strength to begin standing up from his position. Yet too ashamed to look at the faces of the statues, as he reached into his other pocket taking out a small miniature ship. With him crouching down and gently putting it in front of the statues of Øyvind’s children. “I’m… sorry I couldn’t protect you.” With that the king took the moment to turn around, too guilty to look back at the beautifully designed statues and the lights that lit up the room. With the sound of the door once more closing, and the king’s heavy footsteps echoing across the dark hall.

Once more the king had paid his respect, once more his consciousness became heavier not lighter.

[Asendavia]

CW: Mild description of an execution

Klagenhaus, Reiktic Empire
0942 Hours, June 30th, 3150 AA (1413 AD)

Audun wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. It was still some hours to noon but the sun was already beating heavily down on them in the garden, with no clouds in sight for a reprieve from the sun. With him was a small gaggle of courtiers, loudly whispering to each other, some of them occasionally glancing his way but not deigning to acknowledge his presence otherwise. The Reiktic Empire’s conversion to Ademarism had only been four years ago, and many still held on to the old traditions, so Audun was often treated with suspicion by members of the Reiktic nobility. As long as Audun remained in the emperor’s good graces however, he had little to worry about, Adolar I Vifuril was beloved by the nobility, despite the Empire’s official conversion some years ago at the end of his father Gaozrich’s reign. For another hour, Audun stood in the treacherous sun, awaiting the emperor’s arrival.

Finally, the sound of boots stomping alerted Audun to the arrival of the emperor and his guard. As was tradition, the emperor was carried into the garden on a sedan chair, which was covered from the sun above with cloth but otherwise open-aired. His many bracelets and necklaces clinked against each other as he was carried, which otherwise would’ve softly announced his presence if it wasn’t for the sound of his guards. The courtiers slowly fell silent as Adolar’s sedan chair was lowered to the ground. Then the prisoner the guards had also been carrying was set down in front of him. Audun and the courtiers around him had paid no mind to the prisoner until now, but he was the entire reason they were gathered here now. For a minute, they all stood silent, waiting for the emperor to speak.

“Gaozrich, my brother. You were named for our beloved father, yet you have betrayed his name. Our brother Arvandus lies on death’s door, soon to rejoin the God-on-Urth, or perhaps not. Arvandus’ life hangs with the breeze, ready to be blown out or reinvigorated and set the world ablaze once again. For the crime of the poisoning of our brother, your life shall be forfeit, as was established by our forefathers,” Adolar stood up from his sedan chair, his brother on his knees before him. As was typical with the execution of high-status individuals in the Reiktic Empire, Gaozrich had been given a copious amount of alcohol, gagged, and then his hands and feet bound before he was brought to the garden.

“Audun, representative of our holy leader across the ocean, pray for my brother, that when he rejoins Ademar and the God-on-Urth, they may grant him clemency for his crimes, and that he may be cleansed before his reincarnation,” the emperor beckoned Audun to join him before his brother.

Reincarnation wasn’t actually part of typical Ademarist belief, but it was decided during the conversion of the Empire that it would be best to incorporate some of the old Reiktic beliefs so that the conversion process would go smoother. Nonetheless, Audun stayed quiet and joined Adolar in front of Gaozrich.

“Ademar, Holy Star of the West, Scion of Old Gliat Shea, may you seek to forgive Gaozrich, our fellow shard of the God-on-Urth’s divinity. May you take him in and see to his cleansing before he is rejoined with our great progenitor. Great Progenitor, our God-on-Urth, may you take back in this little shard after it has been cleansed and may you let him see true. See fit then to release him when he is ready to join us once again, once he has been healed,” Audun rested his hand on Gaozrich’s head as he spoke, saying it first in Reiktic and then in Asendavian. Whether or not Gaozrich was actually aware of what Audun was saying or doing he wasn’t sure, the type of alcohol they gave to people about to be executed was rather potent.

After Audun was done praying for him, a servant handed the emperor and ornate bowl and dagger. Holding the bowl beneath his brother’s neck, he quickly dragged the dagger across it. Somewhat reluctantly, Audun helped hold Gaozrich in place as Adolar collected the blood pouring from his neck. Time passed torturously slow for Audun as he watched the life fade from Gaozrich’s eyes, but after only a couple of minutes, the blood slowed to a trickle, and the pair let his body fall to the ground. Wordlessly, Adolar began walking around the garden, dipping the dagger in the bowl of blood, marking a plant with it, and then pouring a bit of his brother’s blood into the soil under the plant. He repeated this until the bowl of blood was empty. After handing the bowl and dagger off to a servant, the emperor sat back down in his sedan chair and spoke again.

“The traitor is dead, his blood has rejoined the Urth, but some of it still remains. The blood of traitors is treacherous by nature, and so must be dealt with quickly. But let it be known I am a merciful man, and that I still hold love for my brother despite his crimes. His children shall be taken to the Gerandunavar, may the God-on-Urth take them in quickly.”

Audun’s heart sank. Gaozrich’s children, a pair of twins, a boy and a girl, were not yet nine. He didn’t know them well, but he’d spoken to them once or twice. As children often were, they had been curious about the world he’d come from, about his home. He approached Adolar with his head bowed and bent down to his ear.

“Your magnificence, it would be ill-advised to let your niece and nephew die. Twins are holy symbols of blessed Taurinkokuna, the most leal servants of Ademar and the God-on-Urth. Some say that they are even emanations of Taurinkokuna themself, that a small shard of Taurinkokuna resides in every pair of twins.”

“The blood of traitors runs deep. If not dealt with like their father, his blood will eventually corrupt them and bring ruin to us like their father. It is a sad but necessary reality. Those above shall understand.”

“Those emblematic of Taurinkokuna can not be corrupted, from the moment of their birth they were sanctified, they are holy. I make no move to question your zeal, your magnificence, but as one who communes with those above, this course of action would not reflect favorably upon you when it is your time to rejoin our God-on-Urth. I ask you to reconsider,” Audun stood straight again and awaited the emperor’s response.

Adolar fell silent, his face cold and stoic, but in contemplation. For several minutes he sat in silence, and then closed his eyes. His face softened and then his eyes opened. The Emperor stood back up from his sedan chair.

“Upon the advice of wise Audun, let it be known that my brother Gaozrich’s children shall be spared the fate of their father. As they are blessed emanations of Taurinokuna, their blood is incorruptible. They were blessings that were sent to us though we knew it not at the time they were born and it is not yet their time to rejoin the God-on-Urth. So be it.”

[Cappedore]

CW: Mention of bipolar II disorder

Palace of Seikan, Seikan, Shimajiro
11:00, Sunday, 15 September 2019

Emperor Daishin let out a long, draining sigh, staring out from beyond the doorway at the cameras and audience of the palace’s conference room, his speech cards in his trembling hands. He knew that this was the right thing to do, and to do this would strengthen the public’s strength in the tradition-fueled institution that he represented. But before he could dwell on his thoughts any further, there was a light pat on his back. He turned, to be greeted by the bright smile of his daughter, Princess Asuka. She was wearing a bright pink kimono robe adorned in various pink, white, and even light blue flowers, holding a white fan in her hand. She certainly seemed dressed for even more than the occasional odd press conference.

“Hello, papa!” she glimmered with joy, and Daishin let out a brief sigh of relief and a smirk manifested on his faith. “Hello, my starlight,” he trembled, seeing his daughter’s face light up at the mention of his childhood name for her, “is everything alright?”

“Of course!” she smiled, “I just wanted to tell you how brave I think you’re being!”

Daishin smiled back. It was an overwhelmingly empowering feeling for him to be told his own children are proud of him. “Well, it’s what your grandfather would have wanted me to do, and it’s what is right.” Daishin hesitated, turning towards the doorway once, before slowly turning back to his daughter, “Did you want to stand by my side during the speech? I could certainly use the support.”

Asuka grinned. “I’d love to, papa!” she said with excitement. She always loved the thought of being out in front of cameras, in the public’s eye. There was something about her sweetness and sincerity that melted the hearts of Shimanese people from all around, and gave them all a sense of unity. This is why Daishin kept her as close to him as he possibly good; she was just rather good at public appearances. At least, he felt she was better at it than he ever could be.

Before Daishin turned to welcome the audience, Asuka stopped him, fixed his tie, and took his hand. The pair walked through the doorway and into the room together, met with silence, the odd snap of a camera, and the looming sense that the entire nation had their eyes on them. Which, of course, they did.

Daishin steadily made his way over to the podium stood menacingly in the center of the press conference’s stage. Asuka let go of his hand and went to stand beside him, smiling at him with an expression that told him “you can do this, it’s going to be okay.”

The emperor smiled back, before looking at the sea of journalists and other onlookers alike, taking each camera that was pointing his way as if each and every one were piercing straight through him.

He cleared his throat, before going to speak…

“Good morning, to all of you…” he trembled, taking one look at Asuka. She smiled, and winked at him. The emperor smiled back, and turned back towards the audience.

“Today marks… nearly 10 years since I assumed the throne of our great nation. My father, the now late Emperor Ryōta sought it the correct thing to do after 26 years of his rule in order to keep the order and stability in our beautiful commonwealth. I stand before you today, not as Emperor, but in fact as your friend. As all of you may understand, three years ago I was unfortunately diagnosed with bipolar disorder. And while such a terrible disease has indeed shaken me to my very core, it has by no means made me feel as if I can no longer serve this country. It has, in fact, given me great reason to keep fighting on as your Emperor, despite many of the rumours you may have heard from the press and across various instances of social media this past week.” There was a gush across the audience as Daishin’s words formulated into sharp daggers into the press, who had spent years tormenting him with questions of his ability to rule.

“The fact of the matter is, I feel it’s okay to admit that such events such as these do frighten me, as they frighten all of us. But none of it should ever give us a reason to give up. My father abdicated the throne in service and loyal dedication to his country, and I believe it is my service and loyal dedication to not let this condition set me back in my unwavering loyalty to you, the people, as your emperor. I will not let illness break apart my determination to serve you, the people, and this glorious country. It’s what my father would have wanted, and I know its what all of you want too. Never let anything stop you from doing what you were born to do, and it was my destiny, from the moment I was born, to be your representative, your servant, and your courtier. Thank you all for your time, thank you.”

There was a large round of applause as Asuka took Daishin’s arm and smiled at him, before the pair smiled and waved at the sea of journalists before walking off stage.

[LadyIsabel0052]

CW: Violence

Angra, October 5, 1910

It is time.

Two men hold their positions, awaiting the royal coach to pass by the plaza of commerce. The clock tower in the Ajuda Palace ticked 4 o’clock in the afternoon. They tighten the grip on their revolvers.

“You know, Luís, the older I get, the more these carriage rides feel like a lullaby. I could doze off right now.”

“Please don’t, father. I don’t want to have to explain to the court why the king arrived snoring.”

The king smiled. “You’ll understand someday, it’s not the crown that’s heavy, it’s everything else that comes with it.”

“Now that sounds suspiciously like a lesson.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll spare you the lecture today. But do try to look more interested when people wave at the coach.”

Prince Luís smirked. “Fine. But if I hear anyone else saying I look just like you, I’m jumping off this bloody coach.”

King Fernando laughed. “Now that would make the headlines.”

The coach turns the corner into the plaza. The two men take off at a brisk, but unassuming pace. They make their way ever closer to the coach, right past the policemen accompanying it on foot. They draw their weapons.

“Gentlemen, what are you doing? You can’t be here, back away!”

BANG. BANG.

The two shots seem to kill the city itself. The entire plaza descends into a stunned, dead silence. The policemen freeze in horror at the sight. For a fleeting moment, the entire Urth seemed to be holding its breath — Then screams shatter the silence like glass.

The policemen, stunned only for a moment, throw themselves at the gunmen. One of the assassins turns his revolver on the policemen, firing wildly. A shot struck a Constable in the shoulder, sending him reeling back with a cry of pain. Another officer tackled the second shooter, sending both men into the cobblestones.

The horses reared in panic, as the coachman yanked on the reigns. “Go! GO!” he shouted, whipping the horses into a frenzy. The carriage jolted forward, nearly throwing off one of the footmen. Blood stained the velvet seats as two bodies slumped over, motionless.

Someone in the crowd shrieked. More voices quickly followed, as a tidal wave of panic washed over the plaza. Some fled, others stood frozen, hands over their mouths and eyes wide with disbelief.

The assassin pinned under the officer gritted his teeth and slammed the butt of his revolved against the policeman’s face, sending him sprawling. He scrambled to his feet, readying his gun for another shot—

CRACK.

A rifle round punched through his chest. He stumbled backward, eyes flickering in shock before collapsing lifeless onto the street. His partner, now surrounded, snarled in defiance, raising his weapon once more.

“Drop it!” an officer roared.

“The Republicans send their regards!” the assassin cried out defiantly, before meeting his partner on the cobblestones.

The gun smoke drifted skyward. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, frantic whispers swirling through the air. The coach careened down the street, vanishing into the city, but the truth had already spread.

The King was dead. The Crown Prince was dead. And Revolution was coming to Beirais.

[Asendavia]

The Gerandunavar, Reiktic Empire
2009 Hours, April 23rd, 3176 AA (1439 AD)

Arvid stooped to enter the tent, its entrance not having been intended to accommodate a human. As he entered, he uttered a short prayer, “Ademar, iphelkuvik sa vakru, uvaltaren ar.”

In the center of the tent, a portly, older, dwarf sat among a group of younger dwarves, drinking some sort of wine. Upon seeing Arvid, the elder dwarf raised his cup toward him and spoke in a moderately-accented Reiktic. “Come, friend, sit with us and drink. I know that you have come a long way to meet with us, so let us drink and chat together.”

The younger dwarves moved and made a space for Arvid to sit next to the older one. As Arvid sat down, one of them brought out an empty cup and poured wine for Arvid. He bowed his head as he took the cup and took in the aroma of the wine. Arvid’s lips curved into a smile as he recognized the smell. “A pomegranate wine, is it not? I first had the opportunity to have some when I landed in Altenkreis and it’s since become a favorite of mine,” Arvid raised the cup to his mouth and drank deeply.

“Indeed, we purchased it some time back from a Tolorian trader, and I believed that your coming would be the perfect time to open it.” The dwarf took a drink from his own cup. “Now, since we have drunk of the same wine and offered you our hospitality, I shall tell you my name. My father named me Adarkhordad after his uncle who perished when the folkerrgnulan killed him after he defied the expulsion order that forced our people from our southern lands over 160 years ago.”

“Folkerrgnulan… the Danvreas?” Arvid asked, leaning in.

“Yes, them. Their proper name escaped me at the moment. Our people also used to live in the northern reaches of their land for some time until we, along with all other foreigners, were forced out.”

Arvid nodded. “I don’t know much about them, we have very little information on them back home in Asendavia, just that they only let us visit a single river port for trade, but with how far inland that port is… most Asendavian merchants who come to this area of the world completely ignore them, at most they trade with the locals at the mouth of the river.”

“Yes, and it’s not the first time we’ve been forced out of our lands either. Oral tradition says that the lands now inhabited by the Reiktic used to be ours, thousands of years ago, but that we were forced out of the fertile lands and into the south when they arrived, leaving us in the desert, where we were forced to adapt. Of course, oral tradition also says that one day we’ll take back those lands, but we shall see, certainly not in my lifetime,” Adarkhordad drained his cup and poured himself another. “Since I’ve told you a bit of the story of my people, tell me about your people.”

“Well, brother, as you already know, my people come from across the Great Sea, from the realm that we call Asetinuklori, the Great Eastern Land, which we have lived in for thousands of years. Before we came to Asetinuklori though, we came from the far west, from a long-dead empire named Gliat Shea. There, in Gliat Shea, it’s said that we had a thriving empire, and our holy land lies there too. But some of us, in the latter days of Gliat Shea, departed east, searching for a mythical eastern land said to be abounding with resources and beauty, and that it would be as if we were in Iphelaris with the God-on-Urth. We left with our brother peoples, those who would later become the Valokchians, the Cryrians, the Endertopians, and others who would form disparate populations in other lands.

“When we arrived in Asendavia, we encountered peoples we had never dreamed of. Bear men over twice the size of the tallest dwarf; the vahtaralja, a small and crafty people similar in stature to you but kin to the bear men; small numbers of fox men, who are more plentiful in the west; and some of your own kind who ruled ancient and tyrannical kingdoms and enslaved all others. We tore a bloody path eastward, conquering and liberating, destroying kingdoms which had stood for many generations, perhaps not unlike what happened to your people. Though instead of pushing them out, we took them in, for all children of the God-on-Urth deserve to thrive. Once our migrations came to an end and we established our new homes, we joined the continual cycle of creation, destruction, death, and life. Kingdoms rose and fell, some established brief dominance over others, but life went on.

“Then, a few hundred years ago, the Kingdom of Asendavia began to march west. It was slow, and there was much resistance, but one by one, our states began to fall. Majula, my place of birth, was added to the kingdom about 70 years ago now after a swift war that saw our own realm fall. The first kingdom to fall in our migration east, one of the last kingdoms to fall in our march west. Our march west continues now even, for a family should all share one roof. More recently, we began to look east, across the ocean. We knew there were more lands across it, for our Cryrian and Endertopian brothers crossed long ago, choosing not to stay long in Asendavia. So, following in our siblings’ footsteps, we finally crossed as well, and that brings us here.”

Adarkhordad chuckled. “Brevity is not one of your strong suits, my friend. But this is fine. Stay with us for a time, and I will tell you more of my people, and the others who inhabit the outer reaches of what the Reikti claim is theirs. You will learn more than what the Reikti would be able to tell you. And perhaps we shall learn from you as well. Our gods and ancestors have not been kind to us in recent times, or perhaps ever. But people grow tired of being treated unkindly. Perhaps yours may treat us more favorably.”

[Tuva]

(OOC: Joint post between me and Norgs!)

November 2008, Kholivioni Palace, Neriveli, Nilovia…

Xerxes was on vacation when his father was killed. It was the middle of summer. He and his wife Astrid had gone on a summer retreat to the city of Ureli, on the coast of Lake Nilovi. Cool fresh water, the sun beaming against the calm waves, the sky a crystal-clear blue. Astrid and Xerxes had been kayaking for a good few hours. Meanwhile, in those same fateful hours, Xerxes’ father had been suddenly and violently overthrown by military general Zerkesi Verulidze. He had no clue until after the fact. His entourage of security guards called him back to the coast soon after the attack on the King and briefed him on the situation. The news was like a punch to the gut. His father, dead by his own general? As he stood at his own coronation, on the very balcony which his father stood 15 years prior, those past few weeks roiled through his mind. He blamed himself for taking that vacation. If he could have just been with his father at the time of the coup, he might have had a chance at saving him. But no. Here he stood, taking on the weight of a country’s problems, with half of the country having fallen to Verulidze’s forces. His coronation’s security levels could not be higher; only the most trusted and vetted guests could attend. Frustration furrowed his brow and darkened his mind. He looked down through the central aisle that separated the crowd into two halves, fitting for such a fractured nation as his. He then felt the warm comforting squeeze of his hand, pulling him away from his clouded thoughts. Astrid, the light of his life. He turned his eyes to her’s, eyes full of determination and hope for the future. And in that, he knew he and his nation would persevere.

“It will be alright.” Astrid’s voice whispered out, tone being gentle and warm as she looked towards him. Still holding his hand tightly. As if she could see the dark clouds that were gathering around his mind and shooed them away. “You’re not alone, you have me. You have my nation’s support, we can get through this.” She had a smile on her lips as she held her head high in confidence.

The two newly-crowned monarchs of Nilovia turned back to the doorway of the balcony, completing the official ceremony. As they walked into the palace, Xerxes finally mustered up the will to respond, “I trust you, dear. I only wish that this day would have been under a better light, and far in the future. There is so much work to do.”

He slowed his walking as the reason for the ceremony came at him full force. His voice choked as he said, “I miss him so, Astrid. It shouldn’t have ended this way for him.”

She kept her smile as her eyes became more sympathetic, as she gently pulled him to sit down to a nearby couch. Placing a hand on his cheek gently rubbing it as she then pressed her forehead against his. “Life is unfair dear, and it gives us many challenges. Only thing we can control is how we go on to tackle them.” She held him close as she comforted him.

“It hurts so much, Ash,” he said softly, tears rolling down his cheek. Out of the public eye, the King and Queen of Nilovia sat on that couch, mourning the day of their coronation.
_

10th March 2022, Jotüngrad Palace, Helslandr

Astrid let out a small sigh as she looked in front of her bedroom mirror, she was dressed in a full ceremonial military uniform. As advised by her government, it followed the expectations of Hjørdist doctrine at least. Which was something she would have to get used to, only having been raised to Orthodox standards. Strapped to her hip was a ceremonial, though still sharp, saber with a steel hilt. Her long white silver hair is tied into a ponytail. With the uniform being completely black with the exception of some red symbols, including a tiny patch to honor those monarcho-socialist insurgents that had been fighting against the nationalist government. It was, according to her advisers, vital to seem like a figure for all who fought against the nationalists. Though she couldn’t help but being a bit nervous with this new found responsibility, even if she didn’t show it as she kept her head up high and a confident smile.

She was the first queen Helslandr ever had since their independence from the Queendom. Hels she being part of the establishment of a new Queendom on the peninsula, though not the Queendom but still. There was a cultural role that came with being a Queen in this part of Urth, and she had to keep that in mind. To act the way Hjørdists would expect her to act, while of course not angering the political groups in the country. Gods she was getting her nerves worked up again. She let out a heavy sigh, breathing in and slowly as she calmed down. With her turning around to face her husband, who was yet to be fully dressed. “How do I look dear?” She gave a gesture towards her outfit as she smiled warmly towards him.

Struggling to put on his dress shoe, he looked up at his wife. Despite the turmoil of his own life and country, Astrid’s beauty outshone it all. His thoughts had been lingering back to his own country, teetering on a knife’s edge for so long that anxiety had become the new status quo for him and his subjects. Worry melted away when Astrid turned to him, poised to rule with the kind and fair hand he knew she had. He placed the shoe on the floor and one-shoedly walked to Astrid, resting his hands on her waist. “You look stunning, dear,” he said, enamoured in her eyes.

“Thank you.” She placed her own hands on his shoulders giving him a peck on the cheek, smiling warmly as she pulled back. Though giving a curious look to his disheveled hair. “Come on, we need to make you look your finest before the ceremony starts.” She teased gently as she pushed some of his dark hair back. “Even if the ceremony is on a shorter end.”

He looked down at his half-buttoned shirt and his half-shoed feet. He smiled abashedly and replied, “Some help would indeed be appreciated.”

Astrid couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at that as she reached down to button up his shirt, shaking her head in amusement. “You know I think Hjørdist likely expects this to be reversed.” She teased gently before giving him a peck on the other side of his cheek, before picking up the dress tie from the bed. Helping her husband to tie it.
Grinning, Xerxes replied, “Well I’d certainly hope they get used to seeing a woman in charge. Especially one so steady as you’ve been for me.”

“I just hope the Hjørdists don’t expect me to personally stab any woman who looks at you. I rather not dirty this sword.” She said before letting out another small laugh before poking the exiled-king’s nose as she took a step back to let him finally put on his other shoe. Though did grab a comb from a nearby desk to begin combing his hair back.

Tying the knots to his footwear, his thoughts turned back to Nilovia. It had been nearly fifteen years since his coronation, and little progress towards reunification had happened in that time. Lovelia supported his cause as well as a number of other great powers, but such support was token at best. When would it end? The bloodshed had steadily gotten worse and worse as Verulidze grew more belligerent over these years. At least his people had stymied the dictator’s endeavors. Sitting up and letting his wife comb his hair, he returned to the joy of the moment, happy that Astrid’s war was over. There was some peace in this world, and that brought some gladness into his heart. Smirking, Xerxes quipped, “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll do the stabbing for you.”

“I’m sure you will.” She teased back as she gave a peck on his lips before putting down the comb, and gently grabbed one of his hands. “Now you look more presentable for the citizens.” She kept her teasing tone as she pulled him by the hand out of the bedroom, and slowly headed towards the balcony. Stopping right behind the balcony door, looking outside one could see there were thousands that gathered outside waiting for them. Waiting outside their palace, one that was certainly smaller than the one they had in Nilovia or the residence that they were given in Osfjord. Their new palace was more like a smaller mansion. She gave a look towards her husband. “Ready?”

His eyes softened as they met Astrid’s. He responded with a simple and sure, “Always, Ash.”

She smiled warmly at that before looking towards the balcony doors grabbing the handles as she pushed them open, and the cold air hit them as they stepped forward into the balcony. Immediately a cheer came from the large crowds gathered outside their home. People waving the black, white and blue flag of Helslandr. She couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion that was on the faces of the people, yet despite the exhaustion they were still smiling wildly. The civil war was finally over, having ended only two weeks prior. Mainly because of the intervention from the Federation and the UCA, who knows how long it would last without it? Even now there still were troops from the coalition in the country, though they were mainly concentrated in the South.

While she didn’t say it, or even thought about it. With her thoughts more focused on the hope people had towards this new beginning. It is still hard to not notice how different this all was to Nilovia. While one nation was forgotten by the world powers and allowed the continued bloodshed, the other had powers there to act and intervene to end it.

The gods seemed to answer the prayers of the Helslandrer people… May they finally answer Nilovians’ prayers next.

[The_Oan_Isles]

TW: Mental health, divorce

26 March 2025
Weinsburg Majhid, Weinsburg, Ribenstadt Federation

“Wake up. Wake up!”

Sebastien opened his eyes. The room was dark, and his vision was hazy. His body seemed heavy as though stuck to the mattress. Ensconced by warm blankets and the comfort of his bed, his eyes closed again returning him to the peace and rest of sleep.

Karl repeated, “Wake up!” This time, his voice was not a whisper but a yell.

Like a bolt of lightning, Sebastien was struck utterly and miserably awake.

“Was willst du Karl?!” Sebastien asked angrily, “Kannst du nicht sehen dass ich schlafe ein?”

“There’s something more important than sleep”, Karl responded in annoyance, “Bitte, we need your help”.

Sebastien rolled his eyes, but when he saw Karl’s dread on his face, he ordered him to get him his robe and slippers.

“Was passiert?” Sebastien asked as they walked in the darkness of the courtyard of the Weinburg Majhid. Built in the 1800s, it was one of Aurora’s oldest Paxist places of worship. Through the years, it expanded to include living quarters, offices, a hospital and an orphanage. Throughout its existence, it faced persecution from the state and was occasionally shut down. Sometimes the public would protest at its gates threatening the Imam with violence. In the quieter and more accepting days of the Ribenstadt Federation, Sebastien feared the angry crowds less. Nevertheless, this strange intrusion by Karl reignited some of that old fear.

When they arrived at the chamber, it seemed that the battle today was not merely physical but spiritual.

Five women held a teenage boy who was acting wildly. He was toned and tall and so it took all of their strength to keep him from breaking feel.

“Lass mir gehen!” He said in a hissing voice. He sounded hoarse like he had been shouting for a long time. The women were sweating, and patches formed on their clothes.

“Was ist falsch? Warum halten sie ihn?”

Karl replied, “They think he’s possessed by a demon”.

Sebastien’s skin lost what little colour had managed to creep through and all that was left was a dreadful gray.

The one woman, Lydia spoke, “Listen, Imam, we brought this boy here because people said you can help him”

“Warum haben Sie ihn nicht ins Krankenhaus mitgenommen?” Sebastien asked.

“We have taken him to every hospital and no one can help him. Today, he was crawling around the house like an animal”, Lydia explained, “When I tried to speak to him, he lashed out. Please, Imam, I am desperate. Maybe your goddess can help him”.

Sebastien nodded.

“Lass ich mit ihm sprechen. Vielleicht können wir reden”, Sebastien said.

“Wie heißen Sie?”, Sebastien asked the boy.

“Ich heiße Makhnahad, die größten Ungeheuer des Borgs”.

“He thinks he’s a monster of your religion’s evil spirit”, Lydia said.

“Ich höre”, Sebastien said.

Karl asked, “Who is Makhnahad?”

“Makhnahad ist einer der Esma, der mit Borg aus dem Hiva gejagt war”, Sebastien explained.

“That’s what’s possessed this boy! That’s why we need your help”, Rachel, the other lady retorted with the others in agreement.

The boy managed to break one of his arms free and grabbed Rachel by the hair, pulling her to the ground. With Rachel having fallen, he grabbed Lydia by the back of the neck. Sebastien ordered Karl to get a sedative to help him pass out. Sebastien went behind him and held his arm tightly. Lydia broke free from his grip and held him down. Rachel got back up and joined the fray.

Karl came back with a big needle filled with clear fluid. He gave it to Sebastien. Karl cleaned a spot on the boy’s skin with an antibacterial wipe, and Sebastien plunged the needle in, pushing the liquid into his bloodstream. It worked quickly as the boy’s limbs became limp, and his eyes gradually closed. While he was passed out, they moved him to a ward with a single bed and tied him to it.

One of the ladies, Dana, asked, “Ist es nötig?”

Sebastien simply nodded. They had no choice but to restrain him because they could not be sure that he would not attack them again when he woke up. Sebastien and Karl asked the women to exit the room. They were able to watch the xitarishme from outside.

The xitarishme, or exorcism, was a rare and complicated ritual in Paxism, that aimed to expel an evil spirit from the body. The ritual had been considered outdated and problematic due to advancements in technology and psychiatry. But occasionally, there were cases that modern medicine could resolve, and people needed answers that extended beyond what science could provide.

So, Sebastien and Karl lit candles. Karl laid an ampule of anointing oil and a vessel of holy water on the table across from the bed where the boy lay peacefully. Lydia, his mother, told them that his name was Angelo. Sebastien held a handwritten copy of the Bas Magdamar. They sat in silence and waited for the effects of the sedative to wear off.

Lydia paced outside, as her friends and sisters tried to comfort her. Sebastien blocked her out and tried to focus on the task before them.

Angelo opened his eyes slowly, as though waking from a dream. Sebastien stood up and came next to him. “Hallo Angelo, ich bin ein Freund. Ich bin hier um dich zu helfen”.

“Why am I tied up? Who are you?” Angelo said. He was deeply afraid. Before Sebastien could explain, he yelled, “Hilfe! Hilfe!”

Karl asked his mother to come in and explain to him what was happening. Lydia entered and embraced her son, kissing him on the forehead.

“Mama, please let’s go home. Tell these men that I want to go home”, Angelo pleaded.

“I’m sorry, my love, but I can’t”, Lydia said tearfully.

“What? Why? Warum willst du mir nicht helfen? Hexe! Grauenhaft hässliche Hexe! Ich hasse dich!”

Sebastien declared, “Du kannst nicht mit deiner Mutter so sprechen!”

He replied, “I will speak to her however I like!”

Sebastien said, “Wie heißen Sie? Spreche ich mit Makhnahad?”

Angelo looked at him and replied, “Ja! You are indeed speaking to Makhnahad! I command you, lass mir gehen!”

“Nein”, Sebastien declared defiantly, “You have no power here! Du hast keine Macht hier”.

Angelo laughed, cackling like a hyena, “I am the commander of the shadows! You must obey me!”

Sebastien asked Lydia to leave the room. He began to pray in Packilvanian:
“muRaheem, muBenaan. Noi! luKhayas aluyasteriya. muMamluklea muyubav leMamluk lekumeen. Wanazras wedun. Qisrak wan. Qisrak musageereqa” (“Most Merciful, Most Beneficent. Noi! Light of the world. The queen above all kings. We look to you. Help us and help this boy”).

The boy kept yelling and fighting, as Karl and Sebastien sprinkled him with holy water and anointing oil. They prayed in Packilvanian saying: “You alone, our goddess are the source of the truth! You give us strength when we are weak. You comfort the soul and give hope to the hopeless. You are gracious in our weakness, merciful in our infirmity and beneficent in our defiance. Creator of the universe and maker of all things. You command the tempest to go and it follows. You order our steps and orchestrate our lives. We come to bring this boy to you. Enter his heart and defeat the spirit of Borg. I command you Makhnahad, come out! Come out!”

As this continued for hours, eventually the boy stopped struggling and shouting. His voice was practically gone, and he was sweating with exhaustion. Sebastien’s cassock was sopping with sweat and he had removed his kalimavkion from his head because it was getting itchy.

Sebastien, “We thank you, Noi”.

All the boy could do was whisper, “Let me go!”

Before falling asleep. Sebastien went outside to speak to his mom.

“Lydia, was heute passiert ist, ist gefährlich”, Sebastien said to her.

“What do you mean”, she asked him, “Dangerous in what way?”

“Wir haben versucht ihn mit unserer Religion zu helfen. Aber wir weiß nicht, was das echte Problem ist. Wir glauben, dass eine Ungeheuer in ihm ging aber es kann vielfältige Rede sein dass er so ist”, Sebastien explained.

“Imam, Angelo, my sweet, sweet Angelo, was fine before this. He has always been like any other Ethalrian teenager. Recently, my husband and I divorced, and the experience was brutal. Towards the end of our marriage, I was very unhappy. We fought constantly. Angelo seemed to handle things well, but I knew that environment was not good for us. When I left that man, I assumed that all would be well. But ever since, Angelo has been acting strangely. He’s been writing on walls, talking to himself, fighting with people. Lately, he’s started calling himself a monster. Doctors gave him antidepressants, but all they did was make him numb. My son was becoming a zombie, just emotionless and unresponsive. I was tired of seeing him like this. When he started calling himself a demon, we thought that maybe this was what he needed”.

Sebastien said, “Ich höre dich zu, Lydia. Divorce can be a really traumatic experience and wir weißen nicht how it will affect our children. I am not a psychiatrist, but I suspect that the divorce may have had something to do with it”.

“Lydia, diese Junge braucht Hilfe. Er kann hierbleiben aber wir brauchen eine Ärztin. Ich habe Karl gesagt, dass er eine Ärztin anrufen musst. Sie kommt bald”.

When Angelo woke up, he seemed himself. When they were confident, he was fine, they undid his restraints. Lydia hugged him tightly.

“Mama, I’m sorry”, Angelo said crying, clinging to her.

“It’s okay my boy, it’s okay”, she said.

Sebastien entered the room and kneeled. He said, “Ist es okay, falls ich für dich bitten kann?”

“Ja”, Angelo said.

Sebastien began to pray in Ethalrian with his hands on Angelo and Lydia, “Our goddess, I pray for peace. I pray that you may bring peace into the lives of this family. Bless them and help them to heal. Lift their spirits and show them your goodness. So may it be”.

“My boy”, Sebastien said, “How did you know about Makhnahad?”

"The boy blushed and said, “I was on Pigeon and there was a group of people who shared posts about Borg and stuff, and they said I should let my anger out. But I started losing control”.

“My boy, Borg is the evil one, an ancient spirit that leads good people like you astray”, Sebastien said.

“I’m not a good person”, Angelo said, “As he wept. It’s because of me that my mom and dad broke up. If I was a good boy, they would have stayed together”.

Lydia said to him, “My angel, don’t you ever believe that! You are perfect. Your father and I broke up for our reasons. Don’t blame yourself”.

Sebastien said, “Ich denke, there’s a lot to unpack here. Lydia, we can help the soul, but building a family takes time and work. But there are people like doctors and counsellors who can help. How about this, come here on Saturday for the service. See if you like it. But when Dr Amaliadotter arrives, chat to her about getting ongoing support. Ja?”

Lydia replied, “Sure, Dankeschön, Imam”.