[centre][u][h2]Kingdom of Aontas[/h2][/u][/centre]
[centre][img]https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ef/Nordic_Battlegroup_vapen.svg/1000px-Nordic_Battlegroup_vapen.svg.png[/img][/centre]

[centre][u][h3][i]Winter of 1814[/i][/h3][/u][/centre]

	A cold wind blew through the snow-covered crushed stone streets of Kienne, leading the northern city's war withered passers-by to stop for warmth next to the pyres dotting the city's roads and courtyards, illuminating the frigid night in their warm glow. All over Kienne, and all over Aontas, the cold and darkness of winter was broken up by flames, their merciless lick fuelled by the propaganda of the revolution. The flags and banners of liberals burned away in great piles, painting the industrial city's smog a shade darker, and casting more than a shade darker the fate of liberalism in the new, old Aontas. The armies of the revolution, once thought invincible, who had cast away Aontas' kings and given liberty to her people, now found themselves cast away in turn. Every so often, the sound of silence that permeated the Aontan capital was broken up by gunshots, the firing squads of the monarchists sparing no ammunition as they enacted their impatient vengeance upon their long-time foes, the blood of senators and of presidents painting the snow beneath their polished shoes a dark crimson. Republicanism was dead, smashed to oblivion, the fires engulfing its symbols—and its writings—as much the bludgeon of its demise as the shot embedded in its faithful's hearts. For the many who had supported the revolution's ideals, the value of the purges was not in defeating their convictions, but in impressing fear unto their believers. Fewer men were willing to die for what they believed than were willing to claim to. And for those loyal allies of the monarchy, who had quieted themselves those long years under the republican yoke, the death of the republic was met with cheers; in conservative circles, songs erupted into the cool midnight air louder than a crack of thunder, the anthem of the kingdom and odes to the nation and her greatness bellowed with the pride and ferocity a man can only possess whilst wringing his rival's neck. From the ashes of the republic, the revellers cried, the kingdom would be born anew: a phoenix, greater and prouder than ever for enduring her trials. The birth of a nation, in fire and in laughter and in blood and in snow, had begun. The white lion of Aontas [i]roared[/i].