The last Matriarch

[Dylan]

This is a closed story.
22 October 2017

The walls were shaking. Dust was coming off of the ceiling of her underground bunker. Her war cabinet was huddled around a table, space hard to come by. The sounds of whizzing and explosions outside. Amalda has retreated so far into the Rivendale Emergency Underground that she was encroaching on the war rooms used in the mid 70s and even earlier. The shouting was so intense it completely engulfed her in her surroundings. The distinct sound of gunfire from outside bellowing down the empty hallways made everyone inside feel extremely vulnerable. The war had never been this close. Whilst there was a 40ft concrete slab disconnecting the outside from the underground, they knew that in the end; it was no use.

Amalda was lost in her mind. Whilst everyone around her was frantically trying to keep issuing orders to soldiers on the verge of defeat, the Matriarch was sat at an office table, with her head in her hands, thinking about the final solution.
A few moments passed. She closed her eyes as if nothing in the room was entering her thoughts. Her head deepened into her palms, allowing her to protrude a very loud sigh. Her head eventually came out of its hiding place, and she looked around the room. Again, the sight of her fellow female comrades all over the place. Paperwork, important documents and other things of importance being hauled around, occasionally dropping some in the process.
She stood up and stopped her Vice, who was about to go past her.
“We need to launch Big Duster.” she said. The comment received a very varied mix of emotions on the other woman’s face. The woman looked down for a moment, actually taking in the idea. She met the Matriarchs eyes, almost sorrowfully.
“We can’t. We lost Kelpade Outpost, and without your office room on the other side of the city it is literally impossible to launch anything.” the other woman said. She pushed past Amalda. Back when everything was fine, the Matriarch wouldn’t have accepted her foul nature. She sucked it up, admitting to herself that any sort of intolerance to the other woman would lead to unnecessary divide.
“Don’t we have the Harimann bomb at our disposal?”
“No Amalda.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said. Her vice stared at her and walked off. “Come back and talk to me you fucking…” she sighed. “Fuck sakes!” she raged, and slumped back down into her chair. What use was it now. she thought.
It’s over.
She span slowly around on her chair, producing a picture of the Staynish royal family from her draw. She took out a lighter from her trench coat, ignited it, and put the flame behind the fragile film. Almost immediately a black hole birthed on the face of Lambertus. What was once a man became a monster. At least that was how she saw it.
Amalda moved the flame to Thadeus, who was standing on the left. Instead of burning out his face, she burnt out his heart.
She smiled malevolently. Whilst it was only burning paper, it felt like she was actually killing him.
Then she remembered.
She began laughing like a lunatic before coming to her senses. A violent explosion rippled through the underground, knocking large quantities of dust from the ceiling onto the floor and what coloured areas of the picture still existed. The paper was no longer worth holding. Amalda put it on the floor and spat on it before squishing it into the ground with her foot. She stood up and walked towards some important documents before someone started shouting.
“We’ve lost Nimjva Outpost! We need to retreat!” a massive explosion pushed forward a crack in the ancient ceiling.
“Bull shit.” Amalda said, out loud. Everyone looked at her for directions, but she gave none. The Vice gave her a long glare before making up her mind. She began dishing out orders before even consulting her leader. Amalda was hurt from her disloyalty, and went to speak but another explosion made her stutter. Staynish voices echoed down the hallways. The woman got her most important belongings and walked into the south corridor, never to be seen again.

[Dylan]

18 January 2018

Amalda had been travelling alone for many months. After her departure from Rivendale, she exiled to Gondwana. A continent so large and so vast, that she was sure to get away from the path of destruction that haunted her. She left Aurora with lots of money, but it was robbed from her in the streets of Brestan soon thereafter. For months, she had travelled on foot, pondering on her emotions in all her glory; which was an abysmal defeat. She had the chance to inflict a new era on the world. An era for prosperity, governments that could be run efficiently, unlike those of today.
But her failure led her to this. A life of a nobody. All alone, in the cold, in the dark, living from the bins in disease ridden poverty. How can such a noble and prestigious figure succumb to being the lowest of the low.
Months of living rough had a serious impact. Her once determined, confident and fierce self was reduced to a peg. The effects of isolationism gnawed at her mental and physical states. Her clothes were filthy. Her once shiny hair was now dry and untamed. God knows what lived inside.

All of this was caused by that demon who sat on his gold tower. His slime was never allowed into Ethalria; and for good reason. Once it was, it destroyed her beautiful country. A place of divinity. A place of purity. A place where she rightfully belonged.
She had grown so fond of wanting to rip the eyes out of Lambertus and his precious little girls. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to feel the lust from ripping his heart out, beat by beat. Her mouth drooled over it. She occasionally envisioned it. It felt nice.

She stood at the end of her sanity; at the end of a tunnel, embracing the light.
“In the depths of winter will you find sanative.” she snarled, her eyes rolling open and spilling its molten fury that has been hidden for so long.
“I will kill you.”

[Dylan]

9 February 2018

This summer was particularly and unusually dry. Magazines, bottles and carrier bags swept across the street of Laebe. Bottle caps, excrement and rotten food waste littered on the pavement and up the sides of curbs.
Amalda was dehydrated. Her method of collecting water had stopped working. After a two week period of no rain, and drinking even the smallest amount of water collected to preserve the precious quantities left, her bucket was empty. The last day she had gone without water. With nothing left and the harsh cloudless sky looming overhead, she had entered a panic. Her military training in her early years had given her one useful thing; how to get water despite there being none.
She dug holes, checked leaves and inside trees, but there was none. In the last hour, she had checked drains, fissures and any holes for the stuff. But there was none. What she did find was enough money for the most basic bottled water. She had killed someone for it.
Hiding the body in a pile of food waste, Amalda strode down the street to the only convenience store. She sheathed her blade and hid it under her clothing. She knew she stank. The two weeks of no rain had prevented her from having a wash. Amalda cared not. She picked up a litre bottle and moved to the counter. A brown skinned man looked her up and down and quickly scanned the item. It was evident he wanted her out of his store. She had created a trail of dirt from her boots and a pungent smell of muck. As the man took her money, she couldn’t help but notice a picture of herself behind the counter. Without giving anything away she studied the room. Shit. she thought. There was a tiny camera at the corner of the room pointing directly at her. She looked back at the man who was putting the money back into the cashier. The cashier that the photo was right next to. He glanced at the photo, and then at her, but he failed to make the correlation. Amalda did not look like herself five months ago. Her hair a mess, her skin blotchy and unrecognisable, her face covered by a fine layer of dirt as well as wearing rags of a tramp she had acquired from. The man opened the cashier and paused. At this point, Amalda’s breathing had intensified. She knew that he was staring at the photo. He put the money in the cashier but didn’t take any out. He grabbed his phone and started blurting out in Strataric. Of the obscure noises exiting his mouth, Amalda understood one word that she remembered Starikov mentioning all those months ago.
полиция. Police.
She ran. She hit the door wide open as her body moved around it. She was running incredibly fast. Several minutes later, sirens were heard in the distance. Fortunately for her, she had made it to her hideout.
But it was too late. If she was a wanted criminal around the world and people knew the town she was hiding in, it wouldn’t take long to find her. Laebe was not safe. She had to leave.

[Tuva]

(OOC: This is a joint post with Dylan)

15th June 2018

Harimann had zigzagged from city to city across the Gondwanan continent. It had been tough, but Harimann had managed to source the resources to fund her survival. She knew not where she was going, but knew that, whatever place that should be, it would be a better life than the one she was in now.

Every few weeks she heard something on the news about either the hunt for her or the hunt for junt. Thank god for her sake Junt was never found, because whilst the Morstaybishlian’s knew that she was in Gondwana, they had no real lead. That almost changed in Laebe, but it didn’t, and without the additional knowledge from Junt it would be a very difficult undertaking. As the months swept past, stories on Harimann faded. Just over a year on from the end of the war and she would be lucky to even hear her name mentioned.

It was late at night. Harimann was at the right place if she wanted food; the local fish markets merged into the prosperous ports. She had got her hands on a castaway fish carcass that she tore open to suck the juices from inside. It was fresh and delicious, but a wrist sized fish wasn’t enough to satisfy her hunger. She walked off in one direction in the search for food, her eyes glowing at a potential feast in front of her. An abandoned infant lutryne- it was a fair distance away but she made chase. Under the thick hide would be lots of tasty meat. Amalda closed in and the lutryne sensed its doom. She was inches from the youngs’ back, and in her intense haste she didn’t realise the moving shipping container that knocked her out unconscious - hard enough that she was knocked off the platform she was on into the dark depths.

Amalda had been in the dark and dank container for days, or was it weeks? Maybe months? She had lost all sense of time when she woke up. The container swayed, making her constantly nauseous, nearly hurling at times; a clear and obvious indication that she was at sea.

One thing was for sure, Harimann was starving. The swaying stopped, which had before made her stomach feel very empty. For what felt like hours the thing did not move. She was resting, and when the bulky doors finally opened, she wailed in pain as if the light tortured her.

“Holy shit, there’s a fucking woman in here!” a voice called from the light. “GREG! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!”

Some time later

Hariman had been given a cheap something to eat. Nice food was a luxury and the workers weren’t prepared to part with the lunchboxes their wives had prepared; of which consisted something like a mourang or a chocolate bar. She had to put up with some whole grain bread. It was fairly civilised considering her current predicament- she had eaten worse.

The man who Amalda assumed was Greg looked over at her, then back at the other man, and asked, “So what should we do, boss? I mean this ain’t never happened before while I was on shift.”

The man known as “boss” looked at Amalda, and said, “We’ll need to bring this up to my boss.”

A short time later…

Amalda, being escorted by two bodyguards, is brought to an office. The wall opposite the entrance was made completely of glass, and overlooked the city below. The silhouette of a woman looking out the window stood in the middle.

As the three stepped into the office, the silhouette spoke, “What a state you’re in, darling. I hardly recognized you when my boys found you!” The woman turned around. It was the esteemed Lady Posol, absolute leader the nation of Baykalia.

Harimann began to freak. A year alone to her thoughts about hating the Morstaybishlians and the entire continent of Aurora only to find herself back there beyond her will. She had not spoken to anyone in over five months, and that really chewed on her mental wellbeing. Despite the lack of voice, she managed to formulate something.

“Must go now, I hate Morstaybishlian’s!”

Half-dismissing the comment, Lady Posol said, “Of course darling. Would you be interested in some tea I’ve been brewing? It’s a special brew of hobstiberry leaves and-”

Amalda creased.

“Hobsti, hobsti hobsti hobsti hobsti hobsti hobsti hobsti hobsti! No!” She shook her head in flat out denial. “Hobsti tea is a Morstaybishlian drink! I want meat.” she mumbled.

Lady Posol looked at Amalda for a moment. The idea that Amalda had fallen so low from the heights of matriarchy hadn’t struck the dictator. Her eyes widened quickly at the realization that the former Matriarch of Ethalria had been living in the shadows for months on end, living among the common rabble, then to suddenly resurface like this, and for Posol to expect her to still maintain her beauty routine was absolutely absurd.

She took a couple steps forward, and said, “Oh! Of course, dear! You must be absolutely famished! We’ll get you set up with a nice room, a good cleaning, and some food and drink will be brought up to you once you’ve gotten yourself comfortable.” Lady Posol gave a warm smile.

“You’ll be safe with us.”

(OOC: Amalda snorted some Coek and went back in time to kill Lamburrito once and for all. The end jk lol)

[Dylan]

(OOC: This is a joint post with Jesse)

15th June 2018

Harimann was given a little room that felt entirely underground. It made her uncomfortable, but it conflicted what she was given; a shower, which was luxury. She hadn’t had a hot shower in over a year, and clothes that fit and weren’t filthy; another thing that was something she was no longer accustomed to. She was a conflicted woman, she was kept starving, and so longed for her food whilst she showered- but she hadn’t showered in ages and therefore longed for the heat of the water on her skin. She took about ten minutes to wash, and then put on some clothes. She dried her hair and went down to a room that Lady Posol had told her to meet in.

The room was marbled with very resplendent white-painted decor and mahogany hardwood floors. Light spilled in from all directions. In front of her was a white leather couch that Harimann sat on. Lady Posol entered, making her presence well known. Behind her, a woman rolled a trolley with a plate of food on for Amalda to tuck into.

Gesturing towards the trolley, Posol said, “Here, darling. I had the help whip up some food that I’m sure you’ve been away from for quite a time now. Please eat to your heart’s content.”

She wanted her to be well fed before she spilt out any sort of news. Harimann tucked into a plate of rotisserie chicken, aware Posol was waiting for her patiently as she devoured the meat.

As the lady pushing the trolley exited the room, Posol closed the door behind her. She meandered her way over to the couch where Amalda was sitting, and situated herself to Amalda’s left.

Placing her hand onto Amalda’s leg, Posol turned to look at the exiled leader with an earnest expression, saying “Darling, I’m afraid your being here in my country threatens my own national security. I have no other choice; either you may join my efforts and work under me, or I’ll sadly be forced to hand you in.” Giving a sad smile, she said, “I can’t have you lingering in the depths of my country without some payback, dear.”

Amalda was furious, how dare someone tell her what to do. She stood up and began walking to the exit, not even thanking her for her hospitality.

“Ah, dear. I know you wish to return home, but I need you here!” As she said this, two large bodyguards blocked the exit.

“Please, Amalda. Consider the position you’re in. You’re in no state to be making such bold moves.”

Amalda hadn’t spoken a word since after she washed.

“Tell me what you want.” she wondered.

“The same thing that you want, darling!” Posol paused for a moment. “Power, of course.”

Harimann broke out in a state of mild sarcasm.

“Power? You sit in this nation with wealth of a dragon, yet no more am I the Matriarch and rightful ruler of Ethalria,” she pondered on that for a moment, moving in on a more serious tone. “I would have moved differently if I was Matriarch again. I would have done it in such a way that I guaranteed myself power. The balance of power has tipped to the Morstaybishlian’s. It is over.”

“Ah, but that’s where you are wrong, my dear!’ Posol pulled out a tablet, and pulled up an image of a woman. “This is your successor, and eventually, there is nothing that will stop her. She had been appointed as lead public speaker of the Vothetrian Worker’s Party a few months ago, already gaining intense political momentum in the two months of being in that position.” she paused, letting Harimann take on that new swathe of information. “I met with her last month to discuss some… Potential plans for our collective futures. In doing so, I had agreed to fund some of her projects to ensure that she didn’t falter when she took on the party’s’ leadership.”

“What’s her name?”

“Clauzia Sarohart.”