Jotunn Draugr — Roleplayer Guild

Gottesland

Lajord Hutterite Colony, Central Saskatchewan

	The sky was a bright, vibrant blue, interrupted by only the occasional cloud. A gentle breeze russled through the endless golden wheat-fields. Pat MacFearghus-Koln walked calmly down a well maintained dirt road, dressed in a sharp black suit, King James Bible tucked under his right arm. Just ahead, he could see the crowds of people, all dressed in identical black coats and hats, assembling for the morning service. To his left walked the abnormally tall Johan Huber, his personal bodyguard. To his right, Victoria Albertasdottir, the manacles around her wrists softly rattling and clanging as she stepped onward.

	"What is the point of this ridiculous pomp and pretense?", Victoria spat. "If you're going to kill me, and attempt to crush my rebellion, do it already."

	"And make you a martyr?", Pat inquired. "My lady, that's the last thing this country needs. No, today is the Lord's day, and a special one at that."

	"Special?", she sneered. "This is a daily ritual for you German primitives. The process couldn't be more meaningless."

	"German? Hah!", Pat exclaimed. "I'm pure Scottish. I took 'Koln' from my wife. I wouldn't have had a hope of getting elected, were it not for her."

	"How very progressive, for someone living in the Dark Ages.", Victoria mocked.

	"Indeed it is.", Pat agreed. "But regardless, today is special. Today we pray for our troops."

	"You mean the ones that just massacred my entire town?" she hissed in response.

	"Not exactly.", Pat dismissed, gesturing to the crowd ahead of them.

	As the church doors swung open, the congregation didn't enter. Instead, they stood to either side, leaving an opening through the middle of the crowd. Out of a neighbouring building, six men emerged, carrying a large coffin, followed by another six, and third group, each hoisting their own casket.

	"These men were shot down by your sharpshooters, before the battle even began.", Pat explained. "One of them wasn't even a soldier. He was a pastor, from this village. It was decided that the funeral would be held just before the regular service."
	
	Victoria stood silent, the sneer stalwartly clinging to her face. As the procession carried the three coffins into the tabernacle, the large crowd began singing an English hymn.

 "My latest sun is sinking fast,
My race is nearly run,
My strongest trials now are past,
My triumph has begun.

Oh come, angel band,
Come and, around me stand,
Oh bare me away on your snow white wings,
To my immortal home.
Oh bare me away on your snow white wings,
To my immortal home." 

	As the last coffin entered the church, the congregation began shuffling inside, followed by MacFearghus and his two companions.

	"What do you expect to achieve, with this emotional garbage?" Victoria inquired. "Are you expecting some tearful confession? Some repentance, for opposing fascists?"

	"No", Pat answered calmly. "It is simply the way of these people. At the end of the day, I'm still a servant to the Gottesleut. And while I'd rather fight fire with fire, it's their way to meet hatred with love. They won the World War, after all. The meek inherited the Earth. The rest of us are just their servants, whether we know it or not."

	"Nonsense", Victoria concluded, under her breath.

	As they made their way inside the dimly lit building, the chorus continued.

"Oh come! Angel band!
Come and, around me stand!
Oh bare me away on your snow white wings,
To my immortal home.

Oh bare me away on your snow white wings,
To my immortal home."

	As the song died down, the preacher made his way to the podium.

	"Meinen Freunden, heute ist einen frohen Tag."

	"Oh for crying out loud.", Victoria mumbled to herself. The sermon was going to be entirely in German. Thankfully, for her, it was a brief sermon, followed by more songs in English. The congregation, that had packed the church from wall to wall, exploded in melodic unity. Their voices rang all around her, in two-part harmony, with the beauty and structure of a professional choir.

"I will meet you in the morning (meet you in the morning),
Meet you in the morning,
With the smiles that I wear (that I wear),
Smiles that I wear,
And we'll sit down by the river (sit down by the river),
Sit down by the river,
In a city (in a city),
In a city build for squares."

	Victoria rolled her eyes, and yet, the music was soothing. They didn't have choirs like this in the English colonies. In fact, they hardly had music at all.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

East Koniginsberg, Northern Manitoba

	Days had passed, and James Painter was recovering at an alarming pace. As the sun set, and the city's curfew came into effect, the streets outside emptied, leaving only the occasional patrolling soldier. Now was the time to escape.

	"Alright boys", Painter whispered. "This is it. Got everything? If you leave it behind, it's lost for good."

	"Sir", the two men responded.

	Glancing out the front window, James saw a flicker of light from a shop across the street. That was the signal that the coast was clear. The three of them shuffled out the front door, onto the main street, and gave a frantic look around. Not an enemy in sight. Up ahead, they saw the silhouettes of their comrades dashing along the rooftops. This was it. They'd made contact with two dozen survivors throughout the city, and were prepared to begin their rescue operation.

	"This way", Painter muttered, dashing down a side street. 

	His men quickly followed behind him. Their shoes softly pattered on the stone-laden ground, as they made their way outside the city limits. Moments later, they were out, skulking through the surrounding farmland. Behind them, one after another, assembled the other rebels, dashing through the wheat, corn, and overgrown grass. They continued at this pace until they over the hill, no longer visible from town. Once all twenty-four men had made it, James began his address.

	"Well done, men. You've done your people proud. With your bravery, we will see the rise of the British Empire yet again. But first, we must save our queen. She is the face of our restoration. So now we head south, to the heart of this wicked dictatorship. I have no doubt they've got her locked up at the capital, and I dread to think of the squalor they may be keeping her in."

	The men murmured and grunted with anger and distaste.
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