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Made a (pretty cryptic) lil' intro. I'll OOCly be back in three days!
-Family Jeszevic; a traditional Noravean household -- city of Ilwell


It is dinner time in household Jeszevic. The food presented before the impoverished Novarean nationals is nothing unusual: expired brown beans and gruel with some watered-down vodka. Yum yum. Such is life of the hardworking Noravean! Mihajlo stares down sombrely at the pot of gruel presented before him, illuminated by a shallow light of their little lamp. The young man is anxious to swallow that stuff down his throat again. He dares not speak up, of course, as he hears his senior’s ominous footsteps already dawning unto the living room.

Indeed; Sir Jeszevic’s formidable presence alone keeps his otherwise quarrelling sons in line, who instantly fall silent at the mere sight of the man. …Too afraid to speak up.
‘’Hrh. More outbreaks in the countryside.’’ Sir Jeszevic snorts. Not even making eye contact as he sits down on the largest chair, readied for him at the head of the table.
‘’Back in my day I’d have clobbered those rats with my left hand, while disabling the head instigator with my right. That I would.’’ A smirk appears beneath his sizeably bushy stache… before taking a gulp of vodka. And it was quiet for the longest time.

Quiet. Until mother spoke up and turned to Mihajlo.
‘’I heard from your brother that you’ve been seeing those people again.’’
‘’People?’’
Mother’s eyes are sternly fixed on Mihajlo, and without another word her stare alone is enough to paralyze him.
‘’Oh! People! Those people! They’re just.. some associates. Not actual friends, mother. Honest.’’
‘’Associates…’’ A concerned frown appears on the elder woman’s face, while Mihajlo’s mischievous brother grins deviously. He would surely spit about one obscene mockery or another, had the sir Jeszevic not interrupted with his thundering hoarse voice.
‘’Hmpf. Those street losers. They’re no concern to be taken serious. No true officers. No true soldiers. No true Noraveans. If Mihajlo wants to present himself with the rodents – by all means. Don’t identify yourself as a Jeszevic when you do. ‘’
After taking another solemn gulp of vodka, the bitter man continues:
‘’…Not that it matters. The Losnians are petty. The real enemy is gathering outside these borders. The puny Westerlings and their planned invasion of Noravean union lands. PEACEFOR? Something ludicrous like that. If they’re looking for an easy victory; they’ve challenged the wrong faction. They could never understand us and our ways. Even if they manage to claim these lands by force, the Noravean common man is not simply swayed by foreign powers or pretty talk. Mark my words ; a strong leader always finds its way to govern this land. It is the only way to keep the masses under one authority. An authority like Gray.’’
The man proceeds to nod at a state portrait hanging on the wall, just across the living room and right above the fireplace. It is a portrait of Gray, glorious leader of Noravea. Sir Jeszevic makes sure the frame is properly wiped clean of dust every day. Because who knows when there is an unexpected police inspection?

-------------------Streets of Ilwell: Black Vulture territory--------------------------


‘’Annihilate the pestilence of Noravea! Join the Black Vulture Fighters of the NDA!
Losnians are in league with the enemy, using the chaos to defile our lands, mock our traditions and abduct young Noraveans to pluck out and sell their intestines to Laurentians. And sodomizing our women! They think we are weak and won’t retaliate. They are wrong.’’


Speeches and demagoguery of anything amongst these lines are now frequent occurrences in this part of Noravea. The NDA leadership are organizing rallies in and around the city to prepare everyone for the impending invasion.
The streets and Ilwell’s alleyways are tainted with the smear of vile posters, mostly depicting crude drawings of ape-like Losnians and goat-humping Awliyans wiping their derrieres with the Noravean flag.
Armed Black Vulture thugs with their signature black berets walk these streets freely. Busying themselves with drawing in more recruits, while chasing away ‘false Noraveans’.

The man responsible? Dragoclaw. An ex-government military officer turned rogue, and who is technically still on a government hit-list. Hell, the regime know of his whereabouts, but let him go on his merry way unmolested… so long it means suppressing would-be-hostiles. And he does. Oh that he does.

‘’We’ve scored 21 new recruits in these last 3 days. With many more still flowing in before the attack.’’
Ratko, a sleazy little man, does his report.
‘’Our young comrades also got rid of the remaining locals from Ilwell’s Losnian neighbourhood. Some, we were compelled’ to flash a metallic demonstration too. They shall trouble us no longer.’’
He rubs his hands gleefully.
‘’They show promise already, those wild young ‘uns! We’ve pretty much completely cleaned Ilwell up of Losnians by now. Though our friends in the south report encounters with those Awliyan cultist bimbos.’’
Still here and eager to remove the kebab!
By all means: don't wait for me to make a new post. Still working on it. You guys go right ahead.
My faction exists basically of commie-nazis ...and Team Rocket grunts.
(Still haven't managed to speak with Wernher. I need his approvals & ideas and the like. Where is he?!)
Can I be the Serbian remove-kebab army?
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