THE EVENTS IN THIS POST FEATURE NATIONS THAT NO LONGER EXIST, AND THUS, THIS POST IS NO LONGER CONSIDERED PART OF THE GLOBAL CANON. HOWEVER, DESCRIPTIONS OF LOCATIONS, CHARACTERS, CULTURE, AND HISTORY IN NATIONS THAT STILL EXIST ARE STILL CANON. USE THIS POST ONLY AS A REFERENCE FOR THE AFOREMENTIONED MATTERS.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. The King will be with you shortly." The Great Hall of Magnarplatz Palace was transformed into a sea of reporters with cameras and microphones. Two royal standards hung on the wall, and a lectern with the King's seal stood between them. The afternoon sun spilled through the painted glass windows, decorated with scenes of the Kanadiaans settlers' bravery and heroism, triumphing over demonic depictions of what seemed to be Caskaans, Oseanians, and Trefjalli. The shimmering surface of Maple Bay were partially obscured by a row of trees, and the Robert C. McKenzie Stadium could be seen in the distance, across the bay.
Paintings of the late kings of Candanadium adorned the opposing wall, with the newest addition being King William IV von Magnar, who perished in a brutal helicopter accident in 1998, when his private helicopter crashed into the Bekal Bay after taking off from Belkberg-by-Mirskai. Some had blamed it on the Belkhomir Liberation Army, others on the Edofasians, but the official explanation was an engine problem that went undetected. There wasn't much left of the King to be buried, not that there was much of the King to begin with. King William had always been a small man, but the King William on the wall stood as tall as any of his fathers before him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the King. Meine Damen und Herren, der König."
The doors to the Great Hall swung open as the two palace guards snapped to attention, presenting their ceremonial sabres at the presence of the King. The crowd of reporters fell back to create a path between the king and the lectern, bowing their heads in respect. The King was accompanied by the Chancellor and a group suited men from what could only be the Royal Protection Squadron, glancing into the crowd nervously. He wore the ceremonial sash with the royal seal embroidered on it over his dark blue suit jacket. The King approached the lectern, and the Chancellor stood behind him as he cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Good afternoon. I come to you today to inform you that I have just met with the Privy Council of Candanadium, and have been officially recommended by the Privy Council to reaffirm our condemnation of the occupation of the territory of Karelograd by the Empire of Sonvarim, as we have in years prior. Karelograd has traditionally been home to many Kanadiaans, Oseanians, and Trefjalli of the Westlands and Cape, who have coexisted with the native Karelos for many years. Under the rule of Sonvarim, however, the rights of these distinctly Candanadian ethnic groups are not guaranteed, and their is evidence of systematic discrimination and abuse of these groups within Sonvarian Karelograd. We will officially call upon the Sonvarian government to cease this abuse of ethnic minorities in Karelograd and push for the creation of a Karelo Free State, free from Sonvarian influence and oppression, by force if necessary. This does not mean, however, that Candanadium is not open to negotiation. Every effort will be made in order to reach an understanding with the Sonvarian administration, but Candanadium is prepared to go to war if necessary, to protect the rights and interests of the Kanadiaans, Oseanian, and Trefjalli minorities of Karelograd." The announcement had began normally enough. Almost every year, the Candanadian government would condemn Sonvarim's occupation of Karelograd. The Sonvarian exclave straddling the borders of both Candanadium and Trefjall had always been a thorn in Candanadium's side. This year, however, it seemed that Chancellor von Juppertal had more drastic measures in mind. A murmur began in the room. This was breaking news, and everybody present knew it.
"The Candanadian-Karelo border along the Westland and Fischerstaat shall be sealed to Sonvarians of non-Kanadiaans, Oseanian, or Trefjalli descent until an understanding can be reached with the government of Sonvarim. Border checkpoints operated by the Candanadian Forces in Trefjall shall remain open as long as the Trefjalli administration maintains an open border with Karelograd. That is all." The murmur became louder and louder as the palace guards attempted to restore order. The King held up his hand, and the room was still.
"Chancellor von Juppertal will be taking questions on my behalf. Thank you."
Voravia-13:00
“It’s been a year, and you decide now, at the worst time, to go talk with the Candanadians!” The advisor yelled at Alexei.
“Yes, and what about it? I’m the leader and I do as I please. Now, get my bags ready or you’ll be stripped of your role faster than you can say New Konigstadt!”. Alexei seemed to be in a bad mood. The advisor, knowing his place, obeyed, calling for the maids to ready his bags and clothing. “Oh, and send a message to those Candanadians we’re coming after all. Make sure to tell them we’re bringing a platoon of Royal Guards.”.
“And when will we be leaving?” The advisor asked.
“Tomorrow.”.
It’s said that out of everyone in Akarea, even out of the government and the Royal Family itself, that the only one person who knows the Imperial Palace through, for all its thousands of rooms, hundreds of corridors and countless halls, shrines, gardens and halls, is the Emperor of Akarea himself, Quan Ah.
Quan Ah was very much liked by the Akarean people. In a world of bitterness and hostility, his charming demeanour, calm temperament and gentle attitude to those around him and the world they live in was seen by many Akareans as a strong example that, just yet, kindness in leadership wasn’t dead. He had a round face, with small kind eyes and a narrow nose reaching down to thin lips that almost always curved upwards into a warm smile. Unlike his more political peers in brown suits, black ties and square glasses, he liked to wear the traditional robes of his heritage, normally embracing deep oranges, bold reds and pale beiges with pins and links of gold and silver. When he wasn’t playing Head of State, he could often be found roaming his family’s palace in the ex-capital of Lao Shaodu tending to his more spiritualistic endeavours.
The palace itself was a marvellous specimen of classic architecture, perching atop a hill in the centre of the Didu Plateau as it had since the year 513. With over ten thousand rooms and corridors and countless hundreds of thousands of gardens, shrines, prayer rooms and treasures, it was as much of a religious monument as it was a fortress for the rulers of a once-great empire. Its architect, Tsu Yung Tong, was once considered the richest man in Akarea outside of royalty, after the palace’s design had proven so popular with the then-Emperor and his consort.
At the climax of a tumultuous civil uprising in 1864, with the working classes enraged at their treatment at the hands of an emperor trying to impress new political and economic allies in the north, the palace was stormed by the people’s army, with countless members of the Akarean royalty brutally murdered by hordes of rioters and militants alike. At the throne room, however, they spared the emperor and empress, and forced them to hand over rule of the country. At the same time, they decided not to destroy the palace, instead keeping it as a trophy, but simultaneously choosing to distance their new government from it. The palace has remained the homestead of the now practically-powerless royal family ever since.
In one of the palace’s many rooftop courtyard-style gardens Ah sat cross-legged upon a rock beneath a canopy of trees, their branches intertwining with vines and filled with singing cicadas. The dense and warm morning mist poured through the gaps in great shimmering rays, bringing with them all the energies of the morning. Water ran down small canals by his perch, while great mosses and bamboos grew on and around the stones about him, some stacked decoratively, others embedded into the ground as foundations for various wooden plinths for small statues and seating areas. It was hot and humid. The air seeped through his garments and cloths into his skin. It made him feel alive.
He enjoyed his garden as he so often liked to: by raising a cup of tea to the day and taking the time to mediate. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the ambience of trickling water and rustling flora, the flavour of the tea, and the mood of the dawn.
Ding…
Behind him, he heard a bell sound. The sliding door that separated the courtyard from the indoors had a bell hanging on the end so as to alert any occupants to its being opened. The emperor opened one eye. Without turning, he spoke softly.
“And who might join me this morning?” He spoke in the traditional Mandarin of his ancestry.
Through the door stepped a short, poky looking servant in a white shirt and black pinstripe trousers. He replied in the more modern Shaodu dialect, “But a messenger, your highness.” Moving further into the light, his oval face and wide jaw were lit about the edges, but most of the details of his face remained in shadow, obfuscated by the mist. He pushed up his glasses, which glimmered in the morning light as they moved. “The Prime Minister has formally requested an audience with the Imperial House.”
The emperor opened his eyes and placed his cup back onto the wooden board afore him. “I trust this has to do with the growing tensions in the North.” He internally sighed, ashamed that he might have to spend the day dealing with petty politics, but quickly pushed the thoughts aside.
“I’m afraid I know not, your highness. For which I do earnestly apologise.”
Ah laughed for a short moment. “You shan’t apologise. What you are and are not told is none of your doing and I will not let it be your undoing. You are performing your service to the family and the house, as you are instructed, and that is honour and respect plenty manifest.” He rose from his sitting spot and turned to face the messenger, his permanent smile growing wider. “Will it be here or there?”
The messenger cleared his throat and straightened his tie, careful to maintain appearances under the watchful gaze of the Emperor. “I understand the subject matter to be urgent. The Prime Minister will arrive in Lao Shaodu soon and wishes to have spoken to the Imperial House by the end of the day.”
“So it shall be.” The emperor stood down from his rock, picking up his tea board with two hands. He moved carefully, with every motion deliberate yet refined. “Instruct the Lord of the Palace to have the Great Hall of the Victory of the Sun Yan prepared for a meeting with the Prime Minister and his immediate accompaniment.” He paused for a moment. “Will they have eaten, do you know?”
“I know not, your highness.”
“Then have them prepare a great meal too. We cannot afford to take such risks under any circumstances.” The emperor deeply bowed at the hip, keeping his tea board upright as he did so. "Go now."
“Your highness.” The servant disappeared back into the palace, taking an immediate turn down a staircase and out of sight. The emperor soon returned indoors also, closing the door behind him.
In the city below, the clocks struck seven.