Morning saw the rain replaced by a thick white haze, courtesy of the lingering humidity. Harald had woken early enough to witness the sunrise, and, with a rather halted knot of paranoia in his chest, owing to the lingering thought of his family having discovered his actions, he rode out slowly to the closest clearing the map indicated; in this case, it was a rather circular clearing situated on a small hill overlooking the now rapidly flowing river down below, which he had earlier only caught a glimpse of from the highway.

An hour passed; and still no signs of anything, or anyone.  The knot in his stomach welled up again; They know. They know.  An unfamiliar feeling for years; he'd kept his extra-familial involvements so far removed from the actualities in his life, that, for almost a decade, he had no clue who they were, and they had no clue who he was. Now he knew, and the fact unsettled him, more than it should have, ideally. He'd gotten some of the best moments of his life out of the revelation, but also some of the greatest anxiety. The fate of his quest for the cradle would determine that particular final outcome, and for that reason, he began to feel a more personal pull towards finishing it. He could exit nicely if it came to it.

He finally heard it, as he was sure that a considerable portion of the valley had; the familiar and ubiquitous whine of the Klimov engines mounted atop the typical Mi-8. A Rodinan design, and one that around  half of world nations used. Surely, the dump yard in Weremark wouldn't have noticed one absent scrap piece? They hadn't, and as the whine approached closer, he reached into his bag and pulled out a red smoke signal. Setting it off in the middle of the clearing, he saw the helicopter list in his direction. He recognized that livery anywhere. Painted over the typical Werman aircraft gray; roundels gone. Now, painted in a dull brown, and Re-registered in Wahland, and disarmed. Sometimes, the utter lack of regulation in that place worked in their favor.

A plume of dust hit his face as the helicopter hovered above the clearing and slowly began it's descent, the round and well-used wheels touching down just in front of him. He waved it down some of the way, waiting for the dust to settle and the whine to stop. When it did, he clambered over, waiting for the back ramp to open and the pilot to exit. Out she came, a notably short woman dressed in fairly casual clothes, but with a large HGU-56 pilot helmet, and a utility vest loaded with six twenty-round magazines. Violet Waldeburg grinned readily at Harald, and not a moment later the two found themselves embroiled in a rather passionate kiss. When they broke it they both smirked wordlessly. Harald looked past his short lover's head to see the full stock of the helicopter; two Quadbikes, six assault rifles, and a whole box of canned food, should they need it, as well as full change of clothes. Harald turned the GPS tracker on his plane off; if anyone looking for them at the airport had garnered a signal, they'd lost it now.

The tarp over the helicopter was thrown and camp established - yet they both couldn't help but think that their rendezvous may have been less than discreet.

"Unfortunate, but not an unheard-of tale in Weremark either, before the revolt and all those speedy reforms. In many ways, it's incredible how far we've come on such a...well, limited budget. But that's not for me to know, that's more of the forte of my father and all of his friends in high places. Indeed, for all of the world's progress, I find it curious how exceptionally stunted some of our progress may be in some areas. There are places in Weremark with internet, but no clean water, and so on. Things of that nature." he paused, looking around the room briefly and thinking about his own arrival at the banquet. Perhaps he could make it the whole night, for just one night. "Ah, King David himself? Certainly an interesting individual, I know that my own king has taken a rather vested interest in making the acquaintance of all of the world's great monarchs; how ironic it would be if it was I, the simple son of the Supreme Commander, to make his acquaintance first instead. I suppose in that regard, I'm just as eager to meet the man as any of those seventeen-year-old girls," he laughed at his own words heartily.

"No worries, Anna, I'll make it on time. But first, I definitely must get dressed to go there, so...this is where I must be off," he nodded his final goodbye, his hand resting lightly on the doorframe as he waited to close the thing and hopefully get on with a shower before the Banquet started; he supposed he'd be wearing his dress uniform tonight.

Weremark will send its national team

A voice in the hall, which echoed slightly, was enough to bring the Werman's attention away from the door he had rather nonchalantly given a few good bangs. "Indeed I am," he nodded at the comparatively short woman, watching her retrieve a key. "I'm afraid the military taught me to prefer my way." he shrugged, smiling slightly at her biting sarcasm. He peered at her briefly, watching her talk as she introduced herself. "Aha, yes indeed. Representing the plebs? Are you a noble?" he asked, the tone of his voice friendly. "Not to be, er, classist or anything of the sort, I've just heard of the rather...esteemed population of this here isle, of which I am sure you know better than I.," he said with a shrug, shaking the hand in front of him. "A pleasure to meet you, Anna. Indeed I am Mr. Wulfaric, though you may call me by whichever title or shortening of my name you please. Or, General, since I suppose that's the equivalent of my military rank."

He stepped into the room, dragging his suitcase in after him before making room for Anna to join him if she saw fit. The place had a musky smell about it, not unlike that of some of the lower recesses of his home castle, or perhaps most similar to the broom closets at the Royal Palace in Hailia. Either way, it was old, and in a homely sense. "Two years isn't so long, in terms of history. Just as long as no-one's died in this room in that timeframe," he chuckled darkly, remembering an anecdote he had been told about a woman who'd died in her Jylhaven apartment and not been discovered for two years.

It was around the first inkling of the sun's downward trajectory that a new boat arrived at the Island of the Goddess. Among the others which disembarked was a large man of Nordic appearance, carrying a sleek sable suitcase; he wore a black suit with green tie, though they were barely through the grey double-breasted trench-coat he wore, which appeared to be from a uniform.

Not that Berengar Wulfaric was particularly in a hurry, but nevertheless did he head up to the palace briskly. In keeping up with appearances he had earlier developed for putting on a show for his troops, he reached the entrance with a lit cigar in his mouth, which he promptly stomped out half-burnt. He carried with him a crumpled white post-it note, upon which was scribbled the floor and room number at which he would be staying.

The balance was what his father had told him about almost eighteen years prior, the balance of confidence. He couldn't act as he owned the place in a foreign ambassadorial situation, because he didn't; this wasn't the Sutmarkhast. He also couldn't act so meek as to slip through inconsequentially, especially at such a critical time of political expansion for Weremark.

It was his perceived mastery of this balance as earlier ambassador to Wahland that landed him this rather brisk reassignment to Lodja, and it would hopefully ring true. He did have a current problem however, and that was that the door to the room number he'd so hastily scribbled on the back of a post-it note seemed to be locked. Thinking he may have perhaps gotten the wrong room, he delivered a couple of swift knocks on the door, which echoed through the halls of the palace, but out came no response. He elected to wait, if for only a moment, and listen for the sounds of the place. Someone could easily turn up and let him in.

OOC: I do sure hope that this isn't closed until the 11th or something similar, terribly sorry for the post if it is!

---

Official Response from The Great House of Altberg

To: H.R.H Emperor Peter Azurewind of Achkaerin

            My immediate ancestors, and indeed, I as well, have a long history of barring ourselves from attending such events. This silence we owe to our shameful defeat in the Great War, brought by no small margin in part by some of the allied powers which will be attending this remembrance festival. Weremark, indeed, has never recovered, and one could argue that much of our subsequent internal conflict in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries directly arises from our near-total ruin in the years following the Great War.

            Your mind, perhaps, may wonder as to why I reply back this year, of all years, when, in some respects, tensions may seem unusually elevated in our corner of Mundus, between my esteemed nation's own domestic problems and our southerly neighbor's warmongering. And the answer is simple, but true. I, by no means, wish to assign to myself a metonymy of my Kingdom, but Weremark has a long memory. Perhaps too long, for we have learned little from the lessons of the Great War. The events of fifteen years ago, of twenty years ago, prove as much in terms of my nation. Yours has undoubtedly had better luck. Now, however, is a different time. The Werman people will not forget the strife of the past if I do not make them forget the strife of the past, and that is my exact objective at the moment.

            Thus will I be coming myself; with me will be my son, Magnus, his beautiful wife, Mallorie of Heimar, and my good friend, Grand Duke Johannes Jensen of Jylmark, as well as two of my subjugant lords, and men I would trust with my life: Jarl Janus Wulfaric of Falholm and Konrad Hjalmaric, Baron of Árheimar. Not too early shall our arrival be, and bring with us we will not any of the following: weapons, obviously; additional bodyguards or men-at-arms; gifts. Some may call me heathen for not bringing with myself some sort of sacrifice to the gods, but that is a term I have begun to take endearingly, regardless of its connotations. Gifts are for the living, and the living have their gift.

            Forgive me if it appears that I have tried to make a show of myself in this letter, but what's to be a monarch, and one inexperienced at internationalism at that, if not to leave a little room on the letter for some embellishment?

            I hope to finally make your acquaintance in person, Emperor.

Bles'd are those who die in rain
 For from the ground a flower gains,



King of Weremark

O Great Weremark, by the name of Dagmund the First, of the House of Altberg, Grand Duke of the Crown Dependency of Altberg and Hailia, Revolt-Crusher, Valiant Warrior of Odin, and King of all Weremark and her Ascendant Territories, thus ratifies this amendment on the 2nd of November in the year 2017.

OOC: Going to move my story-line past the breakfast, too.

---

With a dissatisfied look on her face, Evelyn stood up, and as she pushed her chair in it became apparent to whomever happened to be watching that a rather blocky smartphone was buzzing away systematically in her back pocket. Her off hand quickly scooped whatever tray of food she hadn't eaten, and with an almost artificial looking motion she turned on her heels and headed over to the trash can, dumping any remaining food before finally digging what appeared to be her dominant right hand into her pocket and answering the phone.

Her brows furrowed, and she walked back in the direction of the dormitory.

---

"We'll see." the Werman words echoed through the hallway, hopefully not revealing their meaning to any eavesdropper. Back to the room was where she was headed, eager to unpack her things. "But I don't think so." she continued after a silent pause in the call. Her stray eyes caught a glimpse of the Cascadian man's bags. What had his name been? Brett? Brad? No. Cliff. That's right. She supposed he'd be back, following her like a duckling follows its mother, and undoubtedly with a barrage of questions intended to get some sort of spark going between the two. But that was the least of her concern now, no matter how much the thought irked her. She hung up and went to her polka-dotted rucksack, frowning, and immediately kicked off her shoes and removed a sleek black laptop from her bag, tossing it on the bed.

She waited for it to boot, the blue hue illuminating her face, and upon seeing the meager signal strength, out came an antenna as well, which she promptly placed by the window. A slight smirk went over her visage. "Good, good.." she muttered, seeing her signal strength shoot up. She typed something into the command line, launching a program she'd rather sloppily hidden and pulling up a GPS tracker for a certain aircraft by the name of Wayfar, her brother's plane. In Tokulel. Her father was right. She sighed, throwing her head back onto the pillow and inadvertently falling to sleep.

When I brought Weremark's idea over to TIO, I did also import my cultural links to other players and my general 'major player' status in medieval times, largely to make up for my stagnant and relatively weak modern nation. Thus, Weremark's former state (colloquially called Greater Weremark) encompassed modern Weremark, Aurora, and parts of Heimar. On the same note, I have a confirmed former colony in Wahland. ES spoke with me yesterday about Balticum being a former Werman colony, which speaks Werman, and I believe I spoke earlier with Syph. about Herrenbrucht needing a colonial originator as well.

I've also imagined Weremark as taking /heavy/ losses during the War, reducing them from a prominent player to a nation with the wealth of a former 2nd-world nation today; that could perhaps stem from being one of the Ardian Empire's northern menaces, now that the option seems to be open. That being said, they are a bit of a rogue nation in that they never fully progressed to being a modern nation state - indeed, some of the RP I have planned coming up will deal with their avenues of transition back into what they assume is prominence.

Weremark /does/ speak Werman, a language I've designed to be halfway between Gothic and Old English, and therefore could have strong relations with any Germanic nation, whether by former colony status or through co-development (which is the path I've inferred to be the case with more Norse-themed nations such as NA, Frystjord, etc.). If anyone wants to work on these ideas, please chime in.

/Update: Balticum may not have been a direct colony, per ES's correction.

"Uh, well, not exactly, no, I went to school for a while. Just not high school, that was all private. So, aye, I had frie-" she paused as the native dude proceeded to sit down next to them and address her. "I look confused?" she asked him, "Uhm, I'm from Weremark." she replied. She wondered how long it would be before someone joined the dots and figured out who exactly she was. At this point she had her own wiki entries on the internet, which, however short they may have been, still irked her to no end. It was a breach of privacy, but it wasn't a new-age breach, not something relating to mass surveillance or something along those lines, no. Her privacy had been compromised by her father's talent for gaining power.

This was far from Weremark, and she hadn't seen a soul from their corner of the world here except for maybe the man sat next to her, and that gave her hope that she could continue to enjoy the comforts of relative anonymity.

Ref: Cailee Spaeny	Roselind Huderic
Titles	N/A
Education	Sturmende High School
Positions Held	N/A
Family	Arndalf Huderic (grandfather)
Links to Important events?	N/A
Biography	A normal high school student in Sturmende, in far southern Foxtrove. Since her parents' death in a car crash she's lived with her grandfather Arndalf, a man who she knows very little about. Since her teenage years began, she's found herself feeling increasingly isolated from the world at large owing to her place of residence, and her grandfather's rather conservative attitudes on travelling. Still, she has remained notably good-hearted and agreeable.

Ref: Pilou Asbaek	Berengar Wulfaric
Titles	Heir to the Jarldom of Falholm
Education	Military Complex - Blackhorn Academy
Positions Held	Royal Ambassador of Weremark (5-year Writ) Richthereleoder of the Kyneshast, 2te. Sutmarkhast
Family	Janus Wulfaric (father)
Links to Important events?	N/A
Biography	Berengar Wulfaric is the oldest son of the famed Janus Wulfaric, Jarl of Falholm and the highest-ranking officer in the Werman military complex since Erik Matterhorn's defection in 2004. Brought up at the court of Falholm during a time of considerable strife, his childhood nestled between foreign invasions in the 1990s and the disastrous Werman Revolt in 2003, during which he distinguished himself as an 18-year old aircraft door gunner in the First Blackhorn Incursion. Now 32, his career has been largely split between his upward climb in the military rank structure following the creation of the Kyneshast, and his duties to court life, which he spends trying to court women after his first wife's conviction of treason in 2010. In 2015, having reached the advanced  rank of Richthereleoder, he arranged to be assigned as a diplomat, wishing to bolster his political experience, as the future Jarl of Falholm. Wulfaric, though knowledgeable in weaponry, prefers to eschew that aspect of his military life for flying, which he has done recreationally for years. His other hobbies include rock drumming and folk music, and though he has been known to read, even forced to by the situation as court, he prefers to think about problems practically, a personality trait which first landed him on the candidate list for ambassadors to nations considered more 'difficult' in cultural difference or governmental structure.

The word Crusade comes from the word crucesignatus, one who was signed with the cross, so it refers to Christianity specifically. Pagans can have their own religious conflicts, but the original crusades on Mundus would be over Vanora, analogous to Palestine as a culturally and religiously significant place for the Abrahamic faiths. Vanora presumably wouldn't be so significant to pagans.

I meant it moreso as Crusades by Christians targeting Pagans, like the Wendish crusade.

(Adapted from an older RP on Audaxia)

The trawler came to a stop just near the Wahlsh coast as one of the men on board dropped the anchor. After a few minutes, another two dragged out a bloodied man in an older Werman uniform to the edge of the ship, followed by another man holding a large handgun. "Well, if I must say so myself, you have done quite the good job infiltrating our little operation, Wil. How long were you with them?" The words of Jory Hellhorn echoed through the ship. "I wasn't with them. I was with you, damn it!" Wil replied.

"And yet, you were the one that tipped off Karivik, and the only reason that fucker still walks is because of your treason, your inaction. And then, as soon as I announce my intention to go to Wahland due to the crisis, Weremark triples its patrols these parts? You're a traitor, Wil, and a liability. I’d lock you up for life, but, I’m afraid you’re about to serve a much crueller auxiliary function." Hellhorn said coldly, slipping a waterproof case holding forged documents in Wil's pocket, before clasping it shut.

"This isn't you, Hellhorn!" Wil asked, his voice getting a little desperate.

"It’s always been, and I know I don’t agree with it either. But, concessions have to be made for the greater good, such as now. Thanks to you, Wil, you'll get to be the spark that starts the fire. I will take down this Wahlsh government, and I'll do it without our stupid king's help." Hellhorn sighed as the tall bald man next to him pulled the hammer back on the handgun.

"What...what are you talking about?" Wil asked, frantic now.

"That capsule I just put in your pocket? Documents detailing a potentially planned Werman intervention in Wahland. It's very real, of course, isn’t it, Sergeant Alveric? You would know, with your high-level security clearance. It turns out you did get a rank, and even a promotion, when you rejoined our Werman friends. And you sent men to kill me, too? Shame." He muttered, as his henchman promptly fired a shot into Will’s abdomen, thus generating a scream of pain. "Someone will eventually fish you up. Maybe you'll wash up on that Wahlsh shore right down there. Maybe that Auroran fleet that's about to sail by this way will find you instead. But someone will, and they’ll see what our King really wants." Hellhorn kicked him off of the yacht, and he fell into the water with a splash. It would a matter of minutes at most before the man gave up.

"Happy swimming!" The boat began moving slowly away from the traitor's writhing, bloody body, and Hellhorn holstered his handgun as he knew that he had to get back to safety or risk swimming with the fishes himself.

---

“I want that hooligan’s head!” the King in a rage slammed his fist upon the round table. “To think he can declare his international revolution and promptly waltz around the Strait as if-”

“It’s us who have mucked up this time, Dagmund.” Jensen made his opinion clear. They sat in a smaller group this time, with only General Wulfar of Blackhorn Command joining them. General Wulfar, a balding, gruff fellow in his mid-fifties, looked mildly out of it, yet both the King and Jensen knew this was only a side effect of the revelation.

And so Wulfar began. “Twas a contingency plan, the document was, and nothing more, gentlemen. We have, of course, a scenario laid out with all of the potential avenues of attack in case of a Werman intervention in Wahland, but…”

“...but?” the King raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “But I’d never thought that someone could so easily take the files from my office! And those incompetents at the Intelligence Service, they don’t even know who-” Wulfar spat, clearly annoyed.

“But they know to whom it went. Alveric’s recorder functioned admirably, even if the man himself didn’t. What do we do here?” asked Jensen, interlocking his hands in the way he typically did when he wanted to suppress unwanted fidgeting. “Hellhorn’s a step ahead, and out of our direct reach, whatever ship he’s on. Well protected, too; our assassins died in transit. He must move ‘round often, for the Free Mundus recording’s backdrop looked to me more like a forest far away from here. “

“Tell Admiral Karivik, we’ll need to tread carefully here. The Wahlsh and Aurorans must both be independently notified of this situation, but details of our doctored invasion plan obviously cannot get out. We’ll need to find that body, if it’s not too late. But he was...a couple of miles at most away from the coastline. We really can have no clue, and if we play our cards wrong, it could lead us to war.” the King explained.

“And bring us on the side of Aurora,” noted Wulfar dutifully. “And you’d have them over our own kinsmen?” the King asked. “I’ll have none of it. Notify the Admiral at once and keep a look out for Hellhorn. And do tell them to search for the body, if they can. He’s one of ours, and that we could prove.“

King Dagmund doubles down on death warrant for Jory Hellhorn

By: Karl Varheliming, Crown Correspondent

---

---

Hailia, Weremark - An eerie silence echoed through the royal complex today as Jory Hellhorn issued his first spoken statement in more than a decade, in which he formally declared the existence of the International Freedom Assembly and took on an anti-theistic, anti-monarchist stance which has offended everyone from the Pope to Weremark's own king. Amid a plethora of statements denouncing the alleged terrorist Hellhorn's statement, one notably stood out, that of King Dagmund himself. The King called for Hellhorn's head in broad terms, urging the international community not to offer Hellhorn any further media attention nor to believe his refuted claim that he is guilty of false crimes. He also stated that the Crown was willing to offer a reward upwards of $3,000,000 to anyone who returned Hellhorn to Werman custody, and claimed that without citizen input, it would be likely that more would die.

Hellhorn, a successful insurgent leader during the Werman Civil War, last made headlines in Weremark in September, when his forces allegedly bombed a mine cleanup site in Wusterns and embarked on a car-chase down the A5. Until today, Hellhorn had not been heard from for years.

---

Ostrofrachthandal to move half of operations to Eccelastical State

Theodric Hori, International Affairs Correspondent

---

---

Hailia, Weremark - The Werman government ridiculed Ostrofrachthandal CEO Jarik Narheim after he announced last week that the shipping giant would be moving thirty-five percent of its operations to the Ecclesiastical State by the end of the year, with the percentage expected to go up to half of their resources by 2020. Narheim fully blamed the Wahlsh Straits tariff on the move, and stated plainly that if it hadn't existed, the move wouldn't have been made, as he believes Weremark needs the revenue.

Narheim, twin brother to the infamous Jorik Narheim, former Duke of Jylmark, went on to request an audience with the King himself regarding his corporation's moving, though the Crown has yet to comment in any official capacity.

---

Magnus opened his mouth in modest realization. "Aha, I see," he said regarding the alcohol, giving the area a glance around after the Archbishop asked him what he thought. "I have no point of reference, I must concede that," he sighed. "But it is quite nice, indeed." he said with a nod. With the arrival of Theofilus, he had ordered himself a drink, nodding back to the Archbishop at the mention of his own name. His ears perked up partially from the drink when mention of the Sionists was made; since his own experience a decade ago he'd garnered rather substantial scholarly interest in the misfits, rebels and terrorists in the universe, yet the infamous Sionists were not a group he had yet delved into the history of.

"Ah, but I am not that forgotten, am I?" he stood up heartily and walked over to stand closer to the two gentlemen. "For I, too have considerable interest in this subject, despite my total removal from it. You speak of the Sionists, no? I'm afraid Weremark already has deeply engrained within it's legal code the concept of chivalry, so these men may view that as a victory, that being said, however, I am curious. How much of a threat are these people, er, hypothetically, to the status quo in Weremark, or some other, similarly non-Christian state. Nya Aland, or East Moreland, perhaps?"