Residence of the Chancellor,
Brno
The Chancellor's Manor was little more than the old town hall. One a rather handsome building, it looked little different than some of the buildings in the surrounding area. The rust colored roof tiles offset the white walls of the building. The only thing that differentiated the home was its size and the fact it had an 8 foot fence surrounding the perimeter. Inside sat Chancellor Jan Beran. His office was fairly plain, save for the bookcases that lined the room. His large maple wood desk was pushed at an angle to the door so that visitors would not immediately lock eyes on his desk. The desk itself had little on it; save for a typewriter and a small clock. Chancellor Beran's jacket had long been removed, his sleeves rolled up; but his bow-tie remained. Black with white polka-dots, it had long been out of fashion, even in Karlovia. Chancellor Beran did not really care for trends. He dressed sharply when required but thought it somewhat silly. His background was not of politics. He had been a schoolmaster in a small mountain town before taking a seat in the Sněm. Now he sat for his second term as Chancellor, doing his best to help the country of less than 5 million navigate the waters of the modern world.
For centuries, Karlovia had been able to resist most invaders and would be annexers. Now, Chancellor Beran readjusted his reading glasses and sipped his weak tea, silently reading the words of the letter he had been righting. He was a slow typist but felt dictation weakened the brain. Instead, his index fingers portruded from fists which hovered like hawks above the keys of the typewriter. Chancellor Beran's agenda was simply to keep Karlovia, sandwiched among fish of fair size, from being eaten. With a military that some nations would laugh at, Karlovia had to rely on its few tools- patriotism, hard work, and neutral diplomacy. For the past decade, Karlovia had secured itself with a certain level of being politically promiscuous. Now, she felt subtle pressure to pick sides. Chancellor Beran and others had continually sidestepped the issue. Karlovia's role in the new world of rising militarism was hopefully to be next to nothing. Beran pulled the letter from the typewriter, satisfied with its content. Always the schoolmaster, he proof read for errors twice and clarity once. In the morning, the letter would go via the diplomatic post.
Brno
The Chancellor's Manor was little more than the old town hall. One a rather handsome building, it looked little different than some of the buildings in the surrounding area. The rust colored roof tiles offset the white walls of the building. The only thing that differentiated the home was its size and the fact it had an 8 foot fence surrounding the perimeter. Inside sat Chancellor Jan Beran. His office was fairly plain, save for the bookcases that lined the room. His large maple wood desk was pushed at an angle to the door so that visitors would not immediately lock eyes on his desk. The desk itself had little on it; save for a typewriter and a small clock. Chancellor Beran's jacket had long been removed, his sleeves rolled up; but his bow-tie remained. Black with white polka-dots, it had long been out of fashion, even in Karlovia. Chancellor Beran did not really care for trends. He dressed sharply when required but thought it somewhat silly. His background was not of politics. He had been a schoolmaster in a small mountain town before taking a seat in the Sněm. Now he sat for his second term as Chancellor, doing his best to help the country of less than 5 million navigate the waters of the modern world.
For centuries, Karlovia had been able to resist most invaders and would be annexers. Now, Chancellor Beran readjusted his reading glasses and sipped his weak tea, silently reading the words of the letter he had been righting. He was a slow typist but felt dictation weakened the brain. Instead, his index fingers portruded from fists which hovered like hawks above the keys of the typewriter. Chancellor Beran's agenda was simply to keep Karlovia, sandwiched among fish of fair size, from being eaten. With a military that some nations would laugh at, Karlovia had to rely on its few tools- patriotism, hard work, and neutral diplomacy. For the past decade, Karlovia had secured itself with a certain level of being politically promiscuous. Now, she felt subtle pressure to pick sides. Chancellor Beran and others had continually sidestepped the issue. Karlovia's role in the new world of rising militarism was hopefully to be next to nothing. Beran pulled the letter from the typewriter, satisfied with its content. Always the schoolmaster, he proof read for errors twice and clarity once. In the morning, the letter would go via the diplomatic post.