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Operation Crimson Cub

Thaumantica

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Caitekurke, Nieveland (Oxwhyte Castle, Fortress of the Alms)

Aelis Pherson pumped her arm down towards the hard stone floor a few times with a clutched fist and whispered a series of "C'mon then, get'on, now or never's" before pushing into a hot and bright room of Nieveland's top government officials. A glare hit her eye and she could not help but make a right handed cup over her eyes that looked like a salute to block the sun before scurrying to a seat at the head of a table in the shade.

When she sat the table down the line was whimpering and whinging on whether or not the Almskeeper should be saluted back and at this point half were and half were protesting.

"Has no one tea'd ye?" Aelis beckoned, "Sit down now before noon, I won't tea you twice!"

"Aye," the Alderman and Lairds sighed, some now understanding that they had misinterpreted the hand Pherson had cast when entering the room.

"The rules for this session are simple," Almskeeper Pherson said, "you should have already separated with your smart blocks, pens, or anything that your dear ma'n'pa did not girt you with in the twentieth."

On one side of this grand table sat the Council of Lairds, true conservatives, who were unbothered by such a rule or sentiment. On the other side sat prominent prominent Aldermen and women who were visibly squirming.

"Alderman Woolery, please take your side to be stripped before re-entering." Pherson ordered hardly. The elected side groaned, stood, and filed out leaving Aelis with the Lairds and Ladies who achieved their seat through nobility.

"I know ye have as many bugs on me as me on you, so I won't cast ye out." Aelis confessed to the Lairds Council, "The door is locked now and they Alderman will not return until I give the order."

"Is this a cry for help, Lady Almskeeper?" Laird Balcarra cracked as a firestarter to a table side snicker.

Pherson began sorting papers for a time before settling on one with dramatic intention, it had nothing to do with Balcarra, but she pointed her finger down intentionally and shook her head. "The Neighbors and I know about you and him, Laird Balcarra, I pray ye make right with your own wedded one and sit before I prosecute!" Aelis bluffed.

"Lairds and Ladies . . I . . I must say that I am very . ." Balcarra offered before Almskeeper Pherson cut him off.

"Fucked," Pherson said, "Laird Balcarra has been buggering and I did not want to believe it so, yet here we are, so please see yourself out Balcarra."

With the same door Balcarra exited the elected Alderman reentered beside two of Pherson's own children, Chloe and Padraig, with which both sides fawned over intensely. 15 and 16, they were no so young as to be treated as idiots, but the two instinctively sat in the vacant seats available to them.

"Lady Almskeeper, Alder woman Thomson has been arrested for holding a device of listening . . may she rot and be damned for this" Alderman Woolery declared.

"May we stop now and pray for Laird Balcarra and Madame Thomson, here and above, that justice is served." Almskeeper Pherson asked before bringing clutched hands to her forehead.
 

Thaumantica

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"Our prayers be done," Pherson whispered, gazing out at a table of some twenty men and women who were eyeing her as prey. It was not sexism per se, though it was surely a qualifier atop the primary issue of her being a sophomore Almskeeper. Two years was nothing in comparison with her predecessors, and so many at this table were seeking an early end before her way or era caught on.

The nation's first Almskeeper had reigned for just over 50 years, and the second (her Uncle) just under 50. MacKinnon was the revolutionary and founder who made this state, set the foundations for Lairds and Socialists that they may stand up against a liberal world. The second Almskeeper, MacPherson, organized the chaos MacKinnon had left him by bringing up the Neighbors (Niomonnach Intelligence) to spy upon and break resistance.

MacKinnon's journals, privy only to an Almskeeper, were cryptic and specific to the man. Aelis figured the man always assumed they would be discovered and disseminated, so he wrote riddles that rhymed for his mind alone. MacPherson, her own kin, on the other hand was instructive and calculated in his logs. In fact, he once wrote in 1981: "I do not dwell on MacKinnon more than posterity demands, nor should you dwell on me for the same. Our journals recollect a way to survive and to imprint ourselves on the Nievish tapestry."

Aelis had her own thoughts on their mess. MacKinnon was overly involved in every cousin feud and county skirmish, whereas MacPherson was a single banner brutalist. She was not a perfect niece to MacPherson in this way and found herself truly enamored and involved with the chaos of Nieveland faraway from the capital in Caitekurke.

Almskeeper Pherson stood from her chair and drew down blinds on the old castle walls to block out the sun that had put this meeting off on such a bad start. "Better now?" Aelis asked sweetly.

"Aye" most replied, admitting their disposition of sunburn and eye glare for the last few minutes.

"If ye haven't caught on yet, I will not be dispatched or goned" Aelis said in his her thickest and unposh voice.

"I intend to define a new Nievish Spiritual Vision onward to the 2050's" she continued, pumping her fist again defensively.

The Lairds and Ladies nodded with respect while the elected Alderfolk squirmed again. This dynamic of democracy and nobility swirled and blended Niomonnach in such a way that few were comfortable with. MacKinnon set the foundations, and MacPherson built the castle of Nievish despotism. Here was Aelis Pherson stepping into the great hall and asking to rule.

"May we expect the perennials?" an Alderwoman asked, referring to yearly elections.

"As sure as the rain, young lass!" Pherson replied, sure that this would be construed properly by all. Her first election was semi-genuine, the second slightly manipulated, but now there was a tacit expectation that the road to fifty would be pressed like leather.

Alderwoman, most certainly from Gunnsvale, glared at Pherson with crossed arms. Pherson caught he ball and replayed, "I would have ye on my council, Alderwoman Aitken, do ye accept?". She was a grown accomplished one after all, and negging the Almsfolk often created ugly enemies for the Neighbors and Garda to cut down.

"I would sit with ye, madame, but I need know first this vision?" Alderwoman Aitken inquired.

Aelis nodded and pointed to her children, Chloe and Padraig, to stand up and begin their craic. Both donned in Catholic school uniforms and unkempt, hair too long and insulting to the table's sensibility, the duo sauntered over to the Almskeeper's seat and leaned over the table devilishly towards the noble and democratic sides of Nieveland.

"What's this then?" a Laird from Warremara cried out, "I will not be shat on by your wee ones, m'lady Alms, enough is enough!"

"Relax Laird Hutch," Padraig barked, "don'make a scene that a Neighbor needs to clean up for us . ."

"Travesty!" Hutch huffed, slamming the table yet pitching no protest beyond that.

"In Niomh we call them smart-blocks," Chloe offered the council. "I do know the bowel movements of a little Tianemen riding the ports, or gain a follower from darkest Himyar by posting a selfie!"

"Where might they follow ye lass, to Black Phillip?" Laird Hutch inquired with great concern. The elected Almsfolk began laughing while the Lairds and Ladies on the other side began signing he cross and repeating "save me".

Aelis enjoyed this all, and so did her children. There was a reflexive discomfort to the outside world that Nieve's experience, and to witness it was always precious. Even the Almsfolk were feeling uncomfortable now for appearing wordly to the Lairds.

"Paper and radio were the vehicle of Almskeeper MacKinnon, and the tellie to MacPherson . . " Aelis said, beckoning attention back away from her children, "but this era will be defined by Nievish control and command of the internet; we are already losing."

Both sides groaned now with nods, trading tales of smut and protestant and post-delegationist "filth" they had encountered or felt others infected by from being online.

"We cannot make our own smart blocks in country that perform as the liberals do," Aelis admitted, "but we may snare one or two producers who let us into that process."

More "save me's" and crossed chests erupted. Aelis returned to her seat and her children crept back to the vacant two.

"Another one of Pherson's follies!" an Alderman jested from across the room.

"I'll grind ye to dust!" Aelis fired back, "in two years time I expect a smart block in every child's hand that reads out the King Padraig Version Bible. These smarts can track every step, record every gab, and give us full spectrum control of the nation."

"A block in the pocket is not ones's heart or soul, but I feel the youth see it as so . ." Aelis pondered aloud. "My Nievish Spiritual Vision is that I seize the means of infection now, as MacPherson did with radio and my late uncle with Televison,"
 
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Thaumantica

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Nieveland very well may have already been the most censored and shut off country in the entire world, yet this was not enough for the Almskeeper, the Lairds, nor several of the Aldermen to nod and pound table over. These smartblocks terrified them, especially the foreign ones made to connect with liberal, protestant, atheist, and Post-Delegationist countries. TV was already in full spectrum control, and the mediums of radio and print no less tied down and restricted to ensure Nievish Socialism and only Nievish viewers were aired.

"It's hardly enough, Lady Alms', we must seize the spider's webs!" Laird Hutch demanded.

"Mean ye' the internet, Laird?" Pherson's son Padraig offered.

"This bedeviling net, this web, however the liberals of the mainland call it: is a catcher of souls for the devil!" Laird Hutch declared, turning as red as the Nieve's own flag, "Mark it!" he finished.

"I mark this with you, good Laird from Mathanar." Almskeeper Pherson concurred with a smile, hoping this would settle the old man down from another inevitable heart attack. "As my own bairns have told ye: they have full access to liberal Europe through these smartblocks: a connection to every pornography, post-delegationist lie, and Catholic revisionism that would turn MacKinnon's Revolutionaries in their graves. I will shut it down! Every computer and smartblock licensed, every foreign connection checked by Nàbaidhean!"

This last sentiment stirred the freedom leaning Aldermen and women into standing, looking to their leader Aldermen Woolery, still sitting, for their organized walkout. Woolery was sweating however and seemed locked in place, eyes fixed on portrait of King Padraig beheading a rebel Laird. Nàbaidhean, the Neighbors, were Nieveland's external and internal intelligence agency that the previous Almskeeper, the late MacPherson, had created to stalk any dissident within and threaten the family of anyone who chose to leave Nieveland.

Simple Niomonnach, the folk who elected and had the ears of Aldermen, were terrified of Nàbaidhean. These Aldermen were not so threatened by the idea of a closed off internet, after all everything in Nieveland was closed off, but at the fact that Neighbors would be terrorizing another vector without democratic oversight.

"I do believe tha' . . " Aldermen Woolery whispered without offering another syllable.

"STAND UP WOOLERY, YE'COWARD!" Alderwoman Aitken cried, starting off to pull him up by his ears before Pherson was at her first with a fist to her thin Gunnish nose.

"Fuck all . . " the Aldermen were saying, while the Laird's harrumphed and asked "save us" with crosses over their heart. Pherson's children were laughing, but caught in rage she pointed at them and tossed them off too with words: "Laugh ye not at one who stands up for themself and a cause! She has more courage than both of ye!"

Alderwoman Gunn was on the floor now and stirring to get back up, but Pherson was on her with a boot to the shoulder that laid her out and crying, unable to form words beyond garbles as blood poured out of her nose.

"Please, Aldermen and women, let's return to our seats" Aldermen Woolery asked, to which all did except the deeply embarrassed Gunnishwoman who was afraid to move, "I do excuse the Gunnish Alderwoman to powder up in the Lady's, and I . . " Woolery continued before Pherson cut him off with a slap to the back of his head.

"I do not excuse her!" Pherson shot before returning to her own seat but everyone was staring at Alderwoman AitkenAA who crawled and refound her seat, choking back her tears finally.

"Padraig, why don' you offer a lady your handkerchief, of have all the men in Nieveland lost their class?" Pherson queried with the judgemental tearing down that only Nievishwomen seemed so capable of. Most of the men at the table were fumbling for handkerchiefs, but Padraig was closest and had been beckoned first.

"I beg forgiveness for laughing, M'am, and for not offering ye this sooner." Padraig Pherson said with the warmth of a Niomonnach duty bound. The Almswomen accepted with a nod, still unwilling to make eye contact with anyone as she covered her nose with the handkerchief. "It was Almskeeper MacKinnon," Aitken offered from her bloodied rag, "who did say that: 'to be banished from liberty is a blessing from God'."

Pherson nodded excitedly, "He did say this, it is marked. It was also marked by King Padraig, as the Lairds' do know, that 'to strike down one's kindred and neighbor to save them from sin is a blessed act.', is that not right Aldermen Woolery?" the Almskeeper asked, trying to break him from his intense stare at the portrait but he remained silent and shaken.

"If ye had a title, wouldn't you be a prince, little Laird Padraig?" Laird Hutch chuckled at Pherson's son, "but you're as much a Laird as your dear mother is a Lady, aren't ye?"

There would be no punching or arguing with Laird Hutch or his side of the table. They held the deepest roots and deepest funds that no Aldermen or even Almskeeper could truly touch. The earlier dispatch of Laird Balcarra has been an easy flex that his side already knew of, they were simply waiting for the right time to dispatch him as well. Pherson had simply seized the initiative with Nàbaidhean intelligence, but the spies of noble Niomonnach collected rumors from clergy, duty bound tenants, and their own cesspool in such a way that Neighbors rarely could from fear alone.
 
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Thaumantica

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There was something further though, and Almskeeper Pherson was afraid to breach it after so much derision. There was this issue with the Church, the high one, and it's radical Jesuit Pope John Joseph.

"The Niomonnach way of life, our code of honor and faith, is complicated . ." Pherson began, aware that Laird Hutch was champing at the bit to interrupt again with something along the lines of 'and so it should be, lass!' but she shook her bruising fist at him so he sat back without a second test.

"Frankly, it needs revision in . ." Pherson was on before Hutch was back with a fury.

"And what revision be that, lass?" he barked, unable to help himself. A noble Lady Gunn piped up for the first time after gripping Hutch's shoulder, "There will be no more outbursts, interruptions, or assaults in this castle today!"

"Do not think me a'feared of a touch of crimson," Lady Gunn of Gunnvale continued, "but do not think I'll sit idle while ye Alms' bunch turn Oxwhyte Castle, King Padraig's own in stone, into a brawlers pit. An'dun any of ye Lairds think I will sit round with ye as you turn this into a bickering card table. I am here for Nieveland, as I do the Lady Alms' is, so I will only tolerate further discussion of Nieveland . . ."

This sobered everyone, Hutch and Pherson included. "What revisions does this Almskeeper have in mind then?" Lady Gunn finished, pulling her hands together and leaning forward to listen.

"We do hold dear a Church and Pope that does not know Nieveland or its Spiritual Vision," Pherson said, "this is not so fucking special since the time of the revolution, yet I do beg whether are both counter-revolutionary and counter-Catholic?"

More faces were white as a lamb now than red with anger, they knew she meant it and it terrified them.

"We may hear this one out, serve the institution, but when push does come to shove I will not stand by for the abortion of bairns or buggery in the pews from a Pope who does love better liberals in Tianlong than a nation of Niomonnach." Pherson finished.

Silence permeated the room until Alderwoman Aitken placed down her blooded handkerchief and spoke: "Almskeeper MacKinnon described this is the 'inward spiral', the death spiral as when two eagles clutch on to one another unwilling to give up until both hit the ground and die."

MacKinnon often spoke in riddles or allegory, and this one dealt with a state of affairs where Aldermen and Lairds ignored the outside world so much so that only their own internal disputes caused a demise. Both sides were obsessed with the fight within, but afraid of crashing down and losing it all, but here was Pherson tiptoeing around the idea of a true, total, and deadly spiral.

"You ken' right, Alderwoman Aitken" Pherson said, "MacKinnon did fear that when we only looked inward that the two sides of this table would fight and destroy themselves. I woul'nah let that happen. The Nàbaidhean won't, and what I will lead ye with is a purely Nievish Spiritual Vision."

A new NSV was an empty phrase, and the silenced bunch leaned in with Lady Gunn to hear what Pherson actually meant.

"Before the Church there were Niomonnach, and we did hold already a folk philosophy, code of morals, and warrior's way to defend ourselves from the mainlanders. They were Nievelanders, Niomonnach, the same as you and I, but rooted in those ideals deeper than even the eldest Laird or Lady at this table." Pherson continued.

There would be continued fights between, the inward spiral would happen, but Pherson hoped to pad the landing that the two did not kill themselves after she purged the Catholic Church. But could she? Could the Neighbors and Guard dispatch that many? Most of the room was staring at the table or out into space worrying now but her children, Chloe and Padraig, were staring at her intently.

"It was our promise to serve that high Church, and we have sent our boys, but we must gird ourselves for the fallout from a third Vatican Council." Pherson did finish.
 
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Thaumantica

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The Aldermen and women shot out the door when given leave, and the Lairds and Ladies walked with hard haste towards a helicopter field where the nobility begged to hitch a ride as far away from Caitekurke as they could get on charm, promise, or bribes from the Lairds with helicopters. Back inside Oxwhyte Woolery begged refuge within the castle which Almskeeper Pherson granted. If allowed to go he might suicide or be murdered by his compatriots who were running back to their lesser almshouses to share what had transpired.

They were all concerned about strikes that would inevitably turn to riots and the violence Pherson would turn to in response. This was on the horizon, and the Nàbaidhean were assuring that the uprisings would be cut off when the next threat revealed itself.

Soon after Nàbaidhean Commandant Gillepsie entered warning of a bomb threat to the primary legislative Almshouse in Caitekurke. His recommendations were severe yet necessary, Pherson thought, because she could hardly afford a direct attack on democracy as she plotted so devilishly to undermine it. The attack never came, however, and the Nàbaidhean admitted that they had been had by a false threat after combing the state buildings of Caitekurke and so many other minor legislative buildings across the nation.

Then the news of Saint Brigid's Cathedral rolled in the next day. The heart of a culture and a nation was up in flames, its holiest and most precious artifacts lost aside over a hundred of their own. The bomb threats had been taken in turn, just to be expected in the terror bombing climate of the world today, but when news of the consuming inferno hit Pherson was hit with sorrow. Saint Brigid meant something, the building itself had been so triumphantly Nievish, and its contents within precious fancies from centuries of artistic contribution.

Nàbaidhean were crying, her children were crying, and every report that rolled in from around the islands showcased a stunned people absolutely wrecked by the sight of the spire of Saint Brigid Cathedral collapsing into a orange blaze of flame. Almskeeper Pherson understood this was an opportunity to seize but it felt wrong. There would be no end to this touchstone moment, the sight and the memory of it would be a scar that renewed so many tears and anguish for at least a generation.

"Commandant Gillepsie," Pherson beckoned, "release the boot that we hold so hard at the necks of the Aldermen. They did not do this."

"Well marked, ma'am," Gillepsie replied, "the entire Nàbaidhean must focus its eyes, its ears, and intuition on finding the arsonists."
 

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After addressing the nation on television Alsmkeeper was drawn back to to the true office, not the one as seen on TV, a center standing table surrounded by standing room cubicles (cubbies) with (mostly) soundproof glass. When something mattered, and all hands were needed on deck, the Silent Room brought agencies and interests in sight of each other as they clacked away at keyboards or went into shouting matches with whoever was on the other side of the telephone line.

Pherson fixed her eyes on General MacKie of the Gardaí pulling out was left of his white hair before throwing his smartbock against the wee cubbie's glass. The pitifully made Nievish phone shattered and left no scratch or dent on the glass. MacKie locked eyes with Pherson for a moment, shook his head, and then game tearing out in a dash to Commandant Gillepsie's cubbie. MacKie ripped the nàbaidhean's door open, grabbing him by his back neck collar and tripping him out to the center floor.

Some of the other agent heads had noticed and began ending their calls and research to take a peek outside. Gillepsie looked for Pherson's aid but she was shaking her head no.

"Explain yourself man!" Gillepsie demanded.

"The 1/9th Bloodhouds had bloody control and duty for guarding Saint Brigg's yesterday mornin' and your boys, your snakes, ordered them off to guard the feckin' Field Museum?" General MacKie cried. Murmurs were starting now, as the Silent Room had turned into a chamber of whispered rumors. "So were they then, our dear neighbors, when the fire started and the doors were being barred?"

"Chasing . ." Gillepsie began, realizing now how deeply fucked he was, "they elected to chase the culprits outside . . unaware of the flames building inside."

General MacKie scoffed aloud, reaching for his hair at an old plucking ground only to find it bare. Pherson asserted herself then as Almskeeper and stood between them.

"The Gardaí never know what or why they're doing anything, and the Nàbaidhean are too single minded to share their what's or whyfor's. None of you trust each other and now we have a hundred dead Niomonnach and a scorched cathedral." Pherson said, reminding that there were multiple breakdowns in security that needed to happen for this tragedy to occur.

This Silent Room concept was her late uncle's idea, Almskeeper MacPherson, and only now Aelis was seeing how wrongheaded it was to isolate power mad Nieve's in this way. In this the sophomore year of Pherson's reign she had observed from the center that the agencies only spoke when it was to threaten or accuse another for spectacle.

Gillepsie, by all Nievish State standards, should either offer his suicide or expect to be dispatched by his own Nàbaidhean for this blunder. This was the clear answer, but Pherson was wondering now what could be achieved with the Commandant fully in her pocket. Adversely, an Aldermen's Investigatory Commission or history itself would undoubtedly discover a cover-up of this proportion. There had been a Gillepsie before Gillepsie, only a year ago, some other Commandant who Gillepsie had seen dispatched for a much lesser failure.

"You will take full responsibility for this, Mister Gillepsie, and I ask you strip yourself of rank immediately!" Pherson decided aloud.

"Yes, ma'am!" Gillepsie yelped, "I will proceed to the cliffs immediately, and . ." he continued, describing the cliff's near Pente's Pass where the last two Commandants of the Neighbors had jumped or been pushed from.

"Such is your right, Mister Gillepsie, yet Nieveland needs your living services for at least a fortnight before I can abide it." Pherson interrupted decisively. Honorable suicide was a norm for the Nàbaidhean as a way and custom from entirely ancient Nieveland, but to modern Nieve's it was considered cowardly and evasive especially when a criminal performed suicide rather than serving a sentence. Such were the liberal high-minded beliefs of prisons that Engellex had rewrote in Nieves, Pherson reflected, but she and most conservative ones deemed prisons to be either a cash grab by jailers or a failure of community to not sufficiently shame a criminal into reform, exile, or indeed suicide.

"McKie and the Gardaí now have command of this investigation and response," Pherson ordered, "and I will be appealing the Aldermen to approve a special military tribunal for Mister Gillepsie. So let's not waste anymore, General McKie, fetch someone for an arrest!"

The Nàbaidhean were a many headed snake, Pherson knew, and whichever commandant they chose next would present with similar toxic evasiveness and domestic spycraft as their predecessor. Putting one on trial rather than allowing him to disappear on the cliffs offered a united moment for the public and the state who distrusted Neighbors. Still, survival as an Almskeeper with the Gardaí was hardly sufficient. Be they Terriers, Hares, or Tigers the companies and regiments always had enough heart and intuition but never enough cunning and ruthlessness to fully protect a despot.
 
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The nation of Nieveland had been in a state of shock and fear, so much so, that on Sunday the churches and almshouses around the nation reported low to zero occupancy. In a normal nation this would be seen as a natural response to a fresh threat: who, among regular folk, could know if there would be secondary attacks? In Nieveland, however, it was a (minor) crime to not show up to either Church or an Almshouse to do worship or volunteer on Sunday.

This criminal conflagration had spurred about two million minor crimes, and the Nàbaidhean were champing at the bit to fund their year's budget and then some with the fine revenue. Pherson was sickened when she found out and immediately fired the newest commandant after asking him "how feckin' daft can you be?"

Elsewhere in Caitekurke the Gardaí had been performing as expected. Rolling motorcars down streets with loudspeakers demanding that "cowards face justice", kicking doors down that would need to be recompensed later, and performing the face to face investigation that Nàbaidhean were unsuited for. By Sunday evening it had produced a living conspirator who's own neighbor noticed came running home to his flat sweating profusely and panting "as if he were possessed". That door was kicked down and two soldiers had to rush in and hoist his kicking body from a hanging asphyxiation.

With one living, and one interrogated, the other ten were quickly revealed both alive and dead and the whole cell was seized. This chain of events may have happened with Nàbaidhean taking the lead, but have certainly taken longer. Nieves didn't trust the Nàbaidhean, no one did, not even Nàbaidhean among themselves. Normal patriotic folk trusted the Gardaí because they spoke and acted like their actual neighbors and often times were so.

Nearly thirty-percent of Nieveland self identifies as Engellexian for censuses, though state media nor the predominant Niomonach ethnic culture cared to recognize this reality. The culprits of this attack were Engell, Engello-Nievish, or Nievo-Engell; all Nievish born citizens. By all of their own confessions, investigations in to their online history and phone records, only one of them had even actually contacted anyone in Engellex for the past six months and it was a "blessed birthday" message to an Aunt.

Their motivation and ideology may have been inspired by what Niomonnach or "liberal" or "anarcho-protestant" ideologies, but at its surface they were presenting a tattooed issue within Nieveland. By completely smothering all other races, religions, and cultures the state so often created its own worst enemies by cornering them into desperation. These Engello-Nieves, or Nievo-Engells had struck back in such a perfect and meaningful way that there would be no swift and easy response.

The modern world would not sit idly by if Pherson chose to do a full Engell-purge, and it had crossed her mind as well as the previous Almskeepers in their journals. She wrote this in her own journal for the day: "It is so that we be so entwined with our enemy, gripped by these cursed liberal vines, that they do hold me sword and stop me from standing and slicing them off."

Obedience to a code and a cause that would lead one to die, to charge when it was known that it would be certain death was something Pherson respected as well as all deeply conservative Nieves. That this Engello-Nieve had literally set himself on fire to burn down the cathedral was by their own moral standards honorable. To sacrifice one's self, even if it was self-suicide, was still held as virtuous if it meant advancing a national spiritual cause. Death in battle or death for a cause, even if obvious suicide, granted one to heaven under the Nievish Spiritual Vision.

So what to do with these ones, the perpetrators? Had the young man who set himself ablaze to burn down the Nievish seat of faith died honorably? Pherson thought so, many did, but not all. How should she respond to this? By precedent the answer was clear: publicly executed, but were did the public still actually have a stomach for that? What about the other nearly thirty-percent Engells and protestants? Even some Nieve's believed in a counter-revolution called "revival" meant at liberalizing Nieveland for the Nievish.

Almskeeper Pherson was as paralyzed as the nation as they reeled from the inferno at Saint Brigg's.
 
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Cameras were rolling as ten Engello-Nieves were packed into a tight cage in Caitekurke's high court room. As was custom the bailiff offered them a key once they were locked within to remove their chains, but rather than handing the bailiff dropped it just outside and spat on the boy who reached out to take it. Another bailiff pulled the man back and ordered him outside and not to return.

The conspirators of St. Brigg's unchained themselves in different dispositions, some sat and sobbed deeply while others stood proud and unflinching. Outside there was a protest and it was already turning a touch violent.

"One-hundred and thirteen Niomonnach are dead, tens maimed forever, and you lot are accused of the deed . ." Judge MacGrawson began, "your right to speak is granted, this is your Nieve given right, but I will not abide shouting or interruptions. Do ye agree?"

"Aye . . " the standing ones agreed.

"So it is," MacGrawson said with a nod, "do any among ye deny these charges, these which are, as it sits so ugly on the docket, conspiracy against the Nievish Spiritual Vision, aiding and abetting a murder, and absconding from the scene of your crimes?"

One among the stepped forward to the edge of the cage and Judge MacGrawson nodded him on to speak. "We would not deny our aiding, our abetting, nor absconding. But we do challenge this conspiracy against the Nievish Spiritual Vison as a charge." the man said.

"And you're Mister Marcus Tait, hailing from Gunnvale, is that right?" MacGrawson asked.

"Aye, tis I." Tait replied confidently.

"On precedent I would classify your group legally as a Fianna, young men on the wild, and led into this crime by a warband leader. Your Fianna raided, burned, and murdered. Would you agree with this characterization Mister Tait?" MacGrawson asked.

"Aye, that is a fair look." Tait replied.

"Do you know the process for punishing a Fianna, Mister Tait?" MacGrawson inquired.

"It is so that the warband leader may exchange his or her life for the others, and this contract must be guaranteed by a Laird." Tait described.

"Just so, and the Tait's of Gunnvale do patron Lady Gunn. Would ye duly accept contract from this noble one?" the Judge asked respectfully.

"I would." Tait replied.

"You've been marked. This leaves your Fianna, your band, and do any of you contest for leadership or responsibility of the concurred charges of raiding, burning, and murder?" the Judge asked.

Some of the sobbing whelps tried to rise but Tait kicked or punched them down, reminding them that this was their easiest way and that they would survive under this arrangement.

"Just so, it has been marked that the Fianna who did attack Saint Brigid's Cathedral accepts its charge and should proceed to an oath of execution. Lady Gunn?"

Lady Gunn entered and curtsied for the judge, and then towards Mister Tait who bowed in response. The Gunnish had a sense for manners and deference that other Nievish counties and peoples did not.

"Mister Tait?" Lady Gunn said.

"Aye, ma'am?" Tait replied.

"As a rogue Fianna from mine own hearth I offer ye the following: that these boys face imprisonment in Gunnvale, our home, for twenty years without exception to the day. This is offered to you, the leader of this band, if you agree to end your lively stead in my realm or agree to execution. Though your crimes are heinous, though they chill my spine, you have confessed and the execution would be swift and without torture." Lady Gunn said.

"I do accept these terms if we would mark them in blood, Lady Gunn?" Tait offered.

"My thumb is ready, Mister Tait, I ask that you press and bleed first for this record?" Gunn asked.

"No, may we bleed so at the same time and press the same?" Tait countered.

Lady Gunn considered this for a spell, she very well could be stabbed if the pressings were at the same time, but she decided to trust her countyman at his word. She nodded then walked and waited at the judge's table where the agreement was written as obscured by a knife. Released from the cage Taite approached Lady Gunn and bowed, to which she curtsied. He grabbed the knife, looked at her and the judge, and then pressed it in to his thumb until it bled. Lady Gunn then did the same before they both pressed their thumbs down on the agreement.

Lady Gunn passed the knife to the judge who sheathed it on his belt, unused for decades hitherto and unlikely ever to be used again. "Lady Gunn, Mister Tait, you have agreed to this dispensation: the Fianna will be disbanded and its men imprisoned for twenty years in Gunnvale. Marcus Tait, as leader of this warband, you have agreed to atone through suicide or execution. What is your choice?"

"Suicide, but may I first have my say?" Tait asked, receiving a nod from the judge. "To my Nievish brothers, sisters, cousins and kin I ask ye this: what has the Father in Tibur ever done for us that we did not do ourselves in his absence? Why do we cower under the MacKinnon's and MacPherson's violence? I did do violence, and with my suicide I will never do again, but this Pherson shall kill and burn more in her reign thrice over! They were traitors to the revolution, traitors to the revival . ."

Judge MacGrawson pounded his gavel and shouted "ENOUGH!"

Taite smirked and shook his head, "this is being recorded and a generation not so far beyond my own will curse and hate you all. I choose to die by my own hand and honorably, but I ask ye turn your these cameras so my wee ones dinna'h watch daddy . . "

"Overruled, Mister Tait, you killed a hundred in the public eye and will die under the same gaze!" the judged rebuked.

"Cover thy eyes while I pray and shoot me then." Tait replied.

"Granted, may God and the Holy Spirit have mercy on your soul, this court and the nobility of Gunnvale guarantee the regular sentence of your warband." the judge said.

Through corridors, chained up again, Tait was blindfolded and led up against an old wall at the edge of Oxwhyte Castle. Ten guard riflemen, all with loaded arms, gleefully shot the terrorist and arsonist of Saint Brigg's down without hesitation.
 
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Thaumantica

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"Have you seen it then, mum?" Padraig Pherson said, entering a space where Almskeeper Pherson was in a state of crisis, wonderiing which hair to pull next until she was as bald as General MacKie.

Aelis sighed and shook her head no, "did your smartblock carry a word on its waves?"

"Aye," Padraig replied. "The judge offered a Fiannna plea to their leader and he accepted, I'm watching his bloody collapse now!"

"Your world moves too fast, Padraig, yesterday we hardly knew who broke us and now he's dead!" Aelis replied.

"Broken?" Padraig replied, "do not give in to this despair mother: I'm unbroken, Chloe is intact, an if dear da' were here he'd swat you for giving in to despair!"

"He would, would he? Or are you just looking to take a swipe at me boy?" Aelis cracked, sharing a smile with her son.

Padraig's smile dropped and now he was serious, "I would never, mum, but I think the Lairds have a plan for me."

"Just don't kill me yourself, lad, that's too Pelasgian for our taste!" Aelis cracked, and both laughed before becoming serious again.

"The Lairds think you too violent, too wild, and such as it is you're a woman, mum." Padraig said.

Aelis winced and shrugged, trying to keep the game on but she was worried now. They stared at each other for a time and she saw his eyes were watering. "Oi Padraig, sweet boy, what did they say ye to do?"

"Nothing brash, mum, there be no knives in my pocket, but the Lairds say I need to girdle myself for the changeover collapse." Padraig confessed.

"Aye, me brother Brandon did have this talk with the Lairds in 1990 something when our kinsmen MacPherson could not produce an heir, but they never did consult with me when Brandon died, and anyways Almskeeper MacPherson led another thirty years. But please talk with Chloe won't you? If I die you need to stick together." Pherson said.

"What did happen to Uncle Brandon, mum, did ye kill him?" Padraig asked knowing and afraid of he answer.

"Aye, I did, but it does not need to be that way with you and Chloe, does it?" Aelis Pherson asked with a heart pounding now over what her son was on about with the lairds.

"Chloe is only concerned with her fashions and her smartblock, mum, but they think you've reached too far." Padraig confessed with a red nose.

"That's fine son, you have a future, tell me who your benefactors are?" Almskeeper asked, leaning in to hear the names of these snakes.

"This is my cause mum, I would'nah betray a patron, same as you?" Padraig said. Aelis nodded falsely, bewildered by her son's enchantment from the nobility. "Padraig boy, please start reading these books from the Almsfolk and keep near until they have me off?"

Padraig nodded and took some books from behind his mother and started off.

"Mark it that you won't kill your sister, Padraig?" Aelis demanded. "I do mark it, Chloe is my own charge." Padraig replied with a handful of Almkskeeper journals.
 
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But Padraig did not keep near and indeed on the next morning he he did not roust for breakfast, Chloe entered the kitchen in tears holding out a letter from him.
Dearest sis and ma,

Laird Hutch of Mathanar has offered to be my benefactor and to duly sponsor me special through the Nievish Gentleman's College there. I beg your forgiveness that I could not say it in your ears as I looked you in your eyes but I knew you two would have said or done anything to stop me. We would have shouted, cried, broken things, and made enemies of ourselves when we should be remain loyal kin.

If dad were still here he would have the right words, the right answers, but he's not and by law and by creed I am a man now (young as I may be). Laird Hutch only made daughters and I would engage with she who turns sixteen soon while I study among the noble ones. Though I walk into his hands I know him honor bound so long as I keep my ends. If I walk with him he will not walk against you, mum, and we both know what sway he holds with the others.

When settled I do promise to send post, that I will pray for you every night as I trust that you will pray for me.

Forever your Wee Paddy Pherson,
Padraig Pherson

"He thinks himself some feckin' lil Laird now, Mum?" Chloe cried.

"Wee Paddy was always a very serious boy, this hurts, but it does'na surprise me." Aelis replied.

"Can't you bloody stop him, your the Lady Alms?" Chloe demanded.

Aelis shook her head, that was not how this arrangement with the nobility worked. They were the richest, the most powerful, and they hardly ever asked for anything from an Almskeeper; but when they did it was to be given without question. MacKinnon's Revolution wrested aspects of society and the economy away from industrialists, bankers, and private interests from abroad (Engellex primarily) that the last king, 'Mad Trevor' had given away to cover his debts.

The nobility went along with many of the socialist aspects of Nieveland because, by their approximation, it was hardly different than their historical duties to take care of their serfs or to sponsor new churches and noble works. Now only they owned most of anything and this socialist state raised its own money through the taxes of a somewhat modernized work force that they took care of themselves. An Almskeeper did all of the things they were supposed to be doing, but without a clear landed claim to the role. Pherson was a queen without a crown, and at any time these noble ones could dispatch her without issue by their own moral standards and it would be up to the people if they cared revolt. They would not revolt for Aelis, not now, she had sent the Neighbors after them these last two years and the dogs of war beyond that.

"I canna', Chloe, he is a man and if and when he weds with a Hutch he will be a feckin' Little Laird." Aelis said.

To Aelis's shock Chloe closed the distance between them and hugged her tight. This may have been the first time in three years as either Aelis was too busy keeping the alms or Chloe too distracted by her smartblock. "What if I do marry one too, a noble one?" Chloe asked with some reluctance.

MacKinnon and MacPherson never had children that survived that long, so this was not something Aelis had ever considered: marrying the bairns off and into nobility. For the last two years she had been hellbent on holding on to power day to day that such a machination never occurred to her. That Hutch was scheming in this way was longsighted, but if he did it and the other ones knew of it, maybe they would try to grab at Chloe as well.

"I would not use my children as pawns, Chloe." Aelis replied.

"But they do it and they survive, Padraig always said this would happen if you kept the alms, I just thought he was talkin' shite and fantasizing. I have to do it to survive too" Chloe said. "Padraig said I should curtsy and bat eyes to Lady Gunn's bairns but they are such stuck-up thin nosed cunts, save me, but I do hate the Gunns."

Aelis nodded with amazement that Padraig had gamed all of this out under her nose, but he was right. The Gunn's were the Hutch's rivals and them the two most powerful among them all. Lady Gunn's heir was already grown and married, but she had other sons raising to be ready soon.

"The Gunnish one should still be here this morning after that shootout of a trial, I might ask she take you with her home to visit that oh so feckin' perfect Robshire. But promise me that's what ye want?" Aelis said.

"Aye mum. What happens if some feckhead protestant shoots you down in the streets, an Aldermen sends a riot down on you, or one of these petty lairds decides they don't like your face and wants you dead.? I'll do it to survive, so that we may survive us three, because though I do scorn him, though I will slap his face should I see him again, he was right!" Chloe replied, releasing her tight hug so she might dry away her tears.

Aelis let her go, sitting alone to a table covered with eggs, milk, and fresh baked muffins for mouths that would never sit and eat with her here again.
 

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Aelis sat for a spell sipping on a glass of milk, most certain that she could not stomach solid food right now. That this splendor should go to waste deeply offended her Nievish-Socialist sensibilities so rather than letting that happen she peeked out the door where Gardaí were posted. "Oi . . " Aelis whispered, "have they fed ye yet?"

Picking themselves up from a deep and lazy lean against the wall two soldiers snapped to attention, pivoted towards the door, and saluted what was just Pherson's eye from around the door. Aelis cast her hand out in responds but kept her robed and pajama wearing self behind the door.

"The protestants have poisoned Wee Dorcas," one soldier offered concerning the company's corgi lass, "we're afeared to eat anything from anyone right now unless it's tinned. That packer's strike due west means there's no tins, so we're boiling teas and getting on ma'am."

"Wait you there!" Aelis ordered as if they had a choice in leaving for the last and next few hours anyways.

She returned soon with a basket of tins: beans, soups, vegetables, sprags, and anything her children had never wanted to eat themselves anyways. Nudging it out the door with a slipper.

"You're an angel, Lady Almskeeper." one soldier declared, while the other nodded and added: "She does hide behind that door to conceal her wings."

She then brought a plate piled with eggs and muffins, but on this they were uneasy. "I did crack these eggs and bake those ones myself, but do take it to an almshall if you're so afeared." she said.

"I trust it so, and we promise to divide it with our kind, but M'am?" a soldier asked, "We've vomited and put charcoal down Wee Dorcas but she's still writhing. I would return these tins to you in barter that you send this lass a vet? We all know how to skip a meal, but this bonny one is too precious and kindly that she's been winked by a traitor."

"Keep the tins, I'll see it done!" Aelis whispered quickly, slamming the door shut and locking it rapidly so she could go find a phone. She called first her problem solvers, the Neighbors, who knew the name of the best veterinarian in Caitekurke without hesitation. They used him to patch up ones they did not want to be seen at hospitals, and he was indebted to them for an assortment of dalliances. He would call on Dorcas directly within an hour.

Next she dialed up the offices of Lady Gunn of Gunnvale, because most assuredly Aelis nor anyone not named Gunn had her direct line. The secretary was unimpressed that she was speaking to an Almskeeper and began trying to explain that "Lady Gunn has planned her every day most deliberately, there are no hours, minutes, or moments that do not . . '

"Enough already, I'll find her out myself!" Aelis snapped, slamming the wired phone in its receiver, "BLOODY GUNN'S!" she shouted. Chloe was down again now, fully dressed and ready for escort to school.

"Too feckin' perfect, aye, I know!" Chloe agreed.

"Ken your nuns that I will pluck you out by noon, that Gunnishwoman will not escape without you like a wart on her side!" Aelis declared.

"Charming mum, thanks!" Chloe cracked, jogging out the door so quickly that the guardsmen outside nearly dropped their rifles in surprise.

Aelis dressed and readied herself with haste, then made the same jolt out the door that sent the two bracing again. "Fuck all!" the one yelped, "are you all in some kind of race?"

"A car to the airfields, run!" Aelis ordered. The soldier threw his rifle to his partner and ran like the devil, snapping the engine on and peeling so that he came within inches of her feet. "Run it like a Sylvie stock car, lad!" Aelis ordered so that he began accelerating, running lights, and weaving around trolleys and buses that snailed about Caitekurke's commute.

"You have had me delayed, so I hope this is worth a Lady of Gunnvale's time?" Lady Gunn asked with a curtsy and a smile.

Aelis slammed her cardoor shut so the two soldiers inside could not listen in any more than that. "I beg my lady that she consider holding company with my dear daughter . ." Pherson began before being interrupted.

"I know about your son," Lady Gunn said with a smug small cornered smirk, "and I know you must want we, the Gunn's, to take in your second? Why should a Gunn marry a Pherson lass when we know her mother is cross, so violent, so hungry to maim and maul? The Alderwoman under my benefact you struck down, I weep for her every night."

Aelis was fuming then, surely showing it, but would not give full satisfaction by shouting back or offering hysterics. "I believe Chloe, so wild and reckless as her mum, would be so blessed to have a benefactor so full of culture and class as . . " Aelis said, cracking off at the end as if she were about to shut down and reboot.

"As whom?" Lady Gunn asked, her smirk raised to a toothless thin lipped smile.

Aelis sighed, "as ye, Lady Gunn, who sits so regally in blessed Robshire."

Lady Gunn clapped her hands softly a few times and nodded, "Chloe is all spirit and no class, whereas my boy Robert is all class and no spirit. We are not all born so, how do you Caite's say it, 'so bloody perfect'? Not even the Gunns of Gunnvale." the noblelady admitted, "Chloe Pherson is welcome at my side so long as she walks with me, and you, you will walk with me as well - not Laird Hutch, that nincompoop. Your boy will be running circles around him within a year, mark it, oath to walk with me."

Aelis pursed her lips tight shut and her eyes tighter until all she could see was that thin Gunnish nose, as pale as a mare. "She'll walk, I'll walk, and yes: Padraig will be running Mathanar in two!"

The Lady from Gunnvale nodded slyly, "Yes he will, and that is why I want his sister!"
 
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