Free Cities League
Establishing Nation
Chapter One - What Is and Should Never Be
The cold winter wind hissed between the majestic dark mountain peaks of Goddhaus, breaking the silence of the barren landscape. In those wuthering peaks, one would almost think there could be no life, so barren and inhospitable they looked like. But the Bogans who lived there had always learned to resist the seemingly irresistible force of Mother Nature, or, in the so-called ‘True Faith’ of the Bogan people, Nyor, the God of wind and weather, who controlled the winds and the clouds. According to legend and religious canon, Nyor periodically unleashes his fury upon the Earth when he remembers his great love, Skanda, is eternally imprisoned in the deep sea, and that he was cursed and, consequentially, was unable to touch salt water. It seemed one of those days.
Deep within the mountains, in a valley that had a bit more of life that the other surroundings, was a place called Vodenskove. Vodenskove, meaning cove/cave of Voden (the Bogan God-King), was built before the Svartberg, a gigantic and majestic blackish mountain, 6’000 m high, encircled in clouds. There, the ancient runes and scriptures say, there was the connection to the Liktvolt (Heaven) where the Gods lived. No one has ever dared to go further up than the most prestigious and isolated temple in Boganhem, the Liktvolthëlikhaus (Temple of Heaven), 3,500 m high, where only some selected priests lived. Those who did dare to go further never returned. Was it nature? Was it the divine? No one knows, but the terrain gets really dangerous past 3,500 m. Nevertheless, the legend persists.
Down in Vodenskove everything was normal. Snow-capped as usual, and, since 1951, the residence of Rikhard, or, as it was still known in Vodenskove, His Majesty King Rikhard V, as the city was the ‘capital’ of the portion of Bogan territory where Rikhard resisted his son. And the city fared quite well, having much more movement than it used to have. But that day, that day, there was something unusual going on.
A helicopter came from behind the mountains, hovering over Vodenskove. Landing in a heliport next to the royal residence, the flying machine caught the attention of the commoners. But nothing more than a momentaneous and self-denied attention, for they knew that too many questions should not be asked.
Waiting near the helicopter was a tall man, dressed in the traditional green Bogan Army attire. Tall, thin, with slit and penetrating eyes and very well combed blond hair. Rikhard fon Malachor, or, as he was known in those territories which he ruled – King Rikhard V. He was calm and slient.
Out of the helicopter came another man, a visibly strong personality as well. Though not as tall as the King, he certainly ranked over the average height of the Bogan man. With a hair colour somewhere between auburn and red, and a very square face and an equally penetrating look, dressed in a potenzan suit, there he was. Erik Strakman.
‘What an improbable meeting’ said, calmly, the King, with a light smile
Strakman, visibly annoyed, replied:
‘I don’t even know what I am doing here, facing a sworn enemy…’
Rikhard, smiling once more: ‘do not worry Herr Strakman. Let us proceed to a more private place. You can bring your bodyguards, but you are safe. I am a man of my word’
Reluctantly, Strakman, the leader of the National-Syndicalist Brigades, a nationalist but highly anti-monarchical party, entered the residence. There, in a small, modest and austere room they sat.
‘Why are you so bothered Herr Strakman?’ asked curiously Rikhard
‘Do I need to explain myself? For years, since I’ve gained political consciousness, I have had three enemies: monarchy, capitalism and internationalism. You, you represent one of them.’
‘I note no fear in your voice, no hesitation in your tone. You are the first person never to refer to me as Your Majesty, or My Lord – I value that. The only person that has ever defied me was my son, and despite my hate, I admire him…. I am a very strong-willed person Herr Strakman, and I can do what I want. But to have someone denying me that… that person desires my total admiration.’
‘Cut the crap please – I was practically abducted because you wanted to discuss important issues, whatever you meant…’
Rikhard leaned forward:
‘I do. You see Herr Strakman, seeing these elections happening in the usurped portion of the Kingdom, my spite for all that democracy stands for grows every day. Seeing that traitor fon Aldbaten, who worked with me to implement corporatism in Boganhem fully, now preaches capitalism and free-market, denying his noble roots, noble roots incompatible with commerce. I see Bakker, who I should have killed a long time ago, with his incomprehensible and brainwashing Marxism. I see the liberal and the social-democrat promising autonomy for Norssex and total freedom of religion, so that those Christian crooks from the south can proselytize our Kingdom. And then I see you – determined to elevate Boganhem’s name once more, faithful to the Gods, wanting to implement a strong, commanding State, an all-powerful state. Despite your slight socialist influences and your virulent anti-monarchism, you are the fittest candidate to rule the country in these times…’
Strakman was intrigued with those compliments
‘However Herr Strakman, you are a man like me – strong-willed and irascible. And, most of all, you want power. Absolute power. I see it in your eyes. You have that look great leaders have. And we both know we’re no ideologues or philosophers. We are leaders. We need to lead. And you need to lead just more than a party and I just more than this piece of land.’
‘Wait a minute… I know what you are thinking. We ruling Boganhem together? That would not only be factually impossible but I would also be unwilling to do so.’
‘Calm down young Strakman. The facts are these: the Bogan people hate insecurity. And any party who proposes a strong state is, obviously, attractive to those people. The more insecure they feel, more likely will be their vote in an authoritarian policy than a permissive one. Your party defends a strong state in which public safety is a priority. So, if people felt even more insecure, they would probably choose someone who does not only offer them economic security but also physical security. You are that person, you are the one who can offer both.’
Rikhard made a pause in order to drink a cup of water
‘Now, imagine that a terrorist group started assassinating politicians, with or without success, but people started to feel so insecure they could tolerate soft-hearted democrats and liberals. Well, that terrorist group exists – it’s me. And I could make that happen. Probably the effects would not be felt these elections. But in four years. You win the elections, I surrender. But before, we kill my son. If we do so, there will be no other people to replace him than me. The priests will be forced, by law, to give me the throne. And we would rule together. I will gladly join your socialistic utopias, and abolish class distinctions and some traditional laws – I don’t care about ideology. I care about power.’
Strakman could not believe. In fact it was a good strategy, but he was surprised with the political malleability of the deposed King. But it all made sense inside his head – if he, in 4 years time, could be Chancellor, what was the problem of political compromise. After all, and Rikhard got that right, he did not care about ideology – he cared about power. Period.
‘Is that all you want?’
‘Indeed’
Strakman smiled: ‘I propose you try to kill me then… Later today I will be in Ziost. It’s nearby.’
‘I’ll arrange for that.’
‘Excellent’
‘My friend, the Gods have special plans for us, strong-willed people. Powerful people. The maid will get some beer and we will toast’
The maid was quick to get some northern Bogan wheat beer, rapidly pouring it into the cups
‘Mekt Voden giv unz besondhëd, strakt and absolut Makt!’ (May Voden give us health, strength and absolute power!)