Gracing the Guttuli

Part 1: An Imperial Farewell

The day after Johan Anderion Avon-El Ayreon-Kalirion received his commission and order to go to the Guttuli Protectorate as Francia's ambassador there, Johan woke up early in the morning, shaved, and put on his best suit. Once dressed, he looked at his brand-new Frankish diplomatic passport on the desk. It felt so odd to have it. The only passport he had ever had was an Elwynnese passport, and although he had with him, it was no longer valid, as the Elwynnese prince – that evil man who wasn’t even Elwynnese, the bloody Norseman Frederik Truls – had by the stroke of a pen, removed Johan's citizenship.

This angered Johan immensely. He was an Elwynnese, first and foremost, but here he was, representing the Frankish monarchy and its government. That said, Francia was basically an extension of Elwynn too. Perhaps it would be reasonable to say, he thought, that Francia and Elwynn are two successor states to the old imperial state of Elwynn. Francia had Empress Esther, the only daughter of Kaiseress Noor (an Elwynnese kaiseress) and King Noah (the Storish-born Elwynnese king). And Empress Esther, in her regality and elegance, was now the Regent of Francia. What powers this bestowed on her, Johan was unsure, but he had been told to report to the Emperor nonetheless. This was of course the same Emperor who kindly housed Johan in Schloss Norfae when the Second Amokolian War broke out – Johan had had some terribly bad luck going on a hiking trip in western Amokolia just a few days before the war broke out. Ah yes, the Emperor could have easily jailed him as an enemy prisoner of war, Johan still had his UDF commission back then. But the Emperor didn’t – Johan was truly in his debt.

And as it would happen, the Emperor and the Empress invited Johan for breakfast that morning. Once arrived at the Jess Palace where their Majesties received him, Johan felt unable to look the Imperial Couple in their eyes – despite Johan's imperial blood in his veins, despite being related to the Kaisers and Shahs of old, he felt he was far below their station. Especially when he glanced upon the beauty of the Empress. How could the Shirerithians have forced her and her family out? Someone as beautiful as her can surely bring no evil around her. It was clear why the Emperor had become enamoured with her, and truly and selflessly championed the Froyalanish cause as the only country on Benacia – against all diplomatic pragmatism, the Emperor's choices made him ooze of honour, duty, and ethics.

Johan was in awe.

The Emperor and Empress served Johan some tea, toast and Alalehzamini desert-berry marmalade – it was quite an Elwynnese breakfast. Perhaps the Empress had, after all, despite her exile in Stormark, managed to preserve some Elwynnese traditions.

"But, your Majesty," he could not help but ask, "how did you manage to procure the desert-berry marmalade?"


"A lady never tells!" the Empress chirped back. And Johan dared not the press the issue further.

"But", she interjected, "I can say that the marmalade was made only a few days ago by some of my ladies in waiting. This is the first time we try it. Isn't it just lovely?"

"Oh yes, milady. The only sad thing is that it makes me miss the land of my birth."

“Oh I know, your Imperial Highness, I miss it too, terribly so” – it was odd that the Empress would style him as imperial highness, but after all, he was no longer in republican Elwynn, he was in a monarchy where titles and royal blood mattered, where he should be proud of his excellent stock and blue pure blood. He hadn’t been titled imperial highness since his teenage years when he was a nobleman in Shireroth. Then suddenly, upon Elwynnese independence, he had become Mr Avon-El as he decided to shorten his surname for most purposes from the awfully long Avon-El Ayreon-Kalirion.

"It is time," the Emperor said.


"I understand, your Majesty," replied Johan, and stood up. He made the sign of the oath with his fingers, and spoke in a loud voice directed at his emperor and empress:

"Ich schwöre diesen Eid, daß ich meinem Kaiser und Kaiserin allzeit treu und redlich dienen und als tapferer und gehorsamer Soldat bereit sein will, jederzeit für diesen Eid mein Leben einzusetzen."

"Thank you for your devotion and service," was the Emperor's reply.

Johan then kissed his hosts' hands and was escorted out to a waiting limousine outside. It drove him quickly to Brandenburg's smaller airport, where a small jet took him on, and flew him to Corrigible, where the next part of his journey would begin.

Part 2: In Corrigible

Johan hadn't received as much information as he had wanted on how he would actually get to Guttuli. At the meeting with Their Imperial Majesties, he hadn't dared press the issue. And even if he had dared to ask them, it was really not a question on his mind, as he was so blinded by their beauty, power and authority.

As his flight to Corrigible was underway, Johan thought about the Emperor and Empress. The breakfast earlier today was the first time he had engaged with them privately as a couple, and the first time he had actually spoken with the Empress. Johan did know the Emperor, however. Had they been equal in rank, he might have regarded the Emperor as a friend. Johan smiled at the memories he had of the emperor in Schloss Norfae during the Second Amokolian War. Oh, how lucky Johan was to have such an Emperor's support! And now, too, he had the Empress's and Regent's, too. The oath he swore earlier this morning was an oath he meant every word of. He promised the Emperor and Empress his obedience, bravery, and his willingness to die for them.

It was a soldier's oath – and while it was an oath that was not required in itself, Johan needed to swear it for his own sake. He was a soldier after all. He had joined the Imperial Armed Forces of Shireroth in 1663, immediately upon reaching his majority. Disillusioned with the politics and civil wars of Elwynn, he, a young naïve Elw, believed then that only the Imperial Forces could bring peace and stability.

Johan didn't have many happy memories from his time in the Shirerithian forces, but that time made him the man he was today. He was a man who followed orders. His time in the Shirerithian forces mainly saw him posted across Brookshire dealing with the aftermath of the White Plague, with population control, upholding laws and regulations. Never once was he posted in Elwynn, despite repeated requests to leadership that they send him there. It was his motherland he wanted to fight for, to bring peace to, not to some backwards Praeta-spitting Brookshirerithians. They were the kind of people that ran in complete opposition to everything Elwynnese. They were crude, vulgar, loved showing off their slaves, and had weird religious rituals, sometimes even cannibalistic – Johan remembered once having to break-up such an illegal rite with shooting the entire party down. Although traumatizing memories from this event continued to haunt him, even to this day, the feckers really did deserve it. He was not in command, so really, he had no choice than to do as his superior commanded.

That was the same kind of crudeness and vulgarity that killed off the Froyalaners. Ah, to think he was complicit in that by helping to round up Froyalaners for transportation during the Genocide. If only he had known what would befall those poor people. Now, he would devote the rest of his life to restore justice to them. He had already sat through numerous interviews and interrogations in the Froyalan Tribunal, provided all information he has on Elwynnese military defences, practices and installations. He had assumed he would be brought to trial and found guilty of aiding a genocide, but instead the Frankish government rewarded him with his candour and made him ambassador to Guttuli. Ah yes, honesty is truly a virtue that will never go unrewarded.

Looking out of the airplane window, he thanked the Lady Elwynn for the mercy he had shown, and he was reminded of the Froyalanish marriage ritual he saw on some contraband tapes as a young easily excitable thirteen-year old at a classmate's of his. The video tape showed the holy marriage between King Noah and Lady Elwynn. Although at that time, it terrified him, he now understood the sanctity and revered nature of that holy event. He remembered seeing how beautiful the young naked king was, with his muscles bulging through his smooth cream-white skin, with the Lady Elwynn, as gracious and beautiful as ever, standing as tall as the king himself with skin even whiter, even creamier, and her beautiful white-blond hair gently touching her rounded plump breasts, filled to the very extreme with that holy nectar of milk which the young King later during that very same ritual would consume.

Oh so jealous the young Johan was! Why did such greatness befall the great Noah, why did such beauty come on him, and why was he allowed to take part of the Lady Elwynn's body? Why wasn't he?

As the thoughts lingered in his head for several weeks, he managed to find an answer. He, too, could serve the Lady Elwynn by joining the army to save her, to protect her. And he would be as beautiful and handsome as that young king once was when he devoted his body to that holy service – by working in the army.

As soon as he was legally allowed, he signed up for service in the Imperial Forces. His mother and father cautioned him against it, but what could they do? At sixteen, he was legally an adult, and he did as he pleased. And he pleased to use his body for the service of the State, and to become handsome and beautiful himself.

That was why he became a soldier, and now he was a soldier for his Emperor and Empress. And his empress, indeed, was the daughter of that young king he remembered from the tapes at his friend’s when they were but thirteen years of age.

It was Noah who brought him to the army, and now it was Noah, through his daughter, that sent him off on yet a mission. He felt closer than ever to that holy communion. Serving his Emperor and Empress was a communion in itself. Sure, he was not high-standing enough to reach for the gods, like Noah did, but his service was as holy as Noah's and Elwynn's communion.

The plane landed in Corrigible, and Johan's thoughts of an holiness were brought to an end. Instead, he chuckled for himself. He was in Corrigible. He was incorrigible.

His path had always been straight, it would always had led to this. It was treason what he had done, but the treason would have been greater by not going to Francia.

Huh, the thought for himself, even the pun had depth.

A soldier came up him on the tarmac.

"Sir! Are you Ambassador Lord Avon-El, sir?"

"I am he," replied Johan. The soldier saluted. Johan wondered if the soldier knew that he too was a soldier. He saluted back.

"Sir, I have orders to take you to a briefing regarding your trip to Guttuli, Sir."

"Very good, soldier. I'll walk with you."

And so the two went to the barracks. In Corrigible.

Part 3: An dem schönen blauen Meer

It's been a few weeks since the fishing boat left Corrigible. Although military transport was available, it was deemed better for Johan to travel to Guttuli as clandestinely as possible. The sea was rough, the Batavian-flagged boat small. Right now they were some 5000 km south of Zeeburg. It was quite the detour, Johan thought, while helping the fishermen do some fishing. Obviously, the fishing now was not "real fishing", it was to impose some kind of explanation story in case of boarding from a foreign party, as well as for their own protein sustenance.

It was a lovely day, today. The sea was absolutely calm, like a mirror. You could see the fish swimming below the surface. The sea looked clear, too, as blue as the sky. Even the sandy bottom of the sea floor could be seen. It must be somewhat shallow right here.

"Ah yes, you see here," said one of the sailors, a bearded gentleman who spoke Germanian in a heavy North Amokolian accent (all the sailors spoke North Amokolian among each other, but Johan did not speak that, he only spoke Elw, Istvanistani, Præta, Army Crandish and now a little rudimentary conversational Germanian), "We're above the Franklin Plateau. Not far from here you'll find the Franklin Islands. I've been there a few times, lovely and quaint. These days though, not a very good place for us to go. The world's turned against us West Amok----.... us Franks."

Johan understood perfectly. This was the very reason the trip had to go as it did. The trip included some scheduled detours. A stop in Ura'Bos for him to give his respects to the death place of his relative and kaiseress Noor, and then another stop for refuelling in Haltna, and thereafter in Port Chloe, where his mother, whom he had not seen for over a year, would fly in to see him. Although declared missing in Elwynn, Her Imperial Highness the Lady Ristina Marmai, the mother of Johan Anderion, had achieved the fete of getting Storish asylum due to her persecution from procuring and then exporting Froyalanish goods abroad, mainly to Froyalanish exilees. He was so proud of his mother. He really did look forward to seeing her. They would stay a few days in Port Chloe – hosted by the Storish royal Her Imperial and Royal Highness Ærinndís des Vinandy of Ettlingar Freyu, Imperial Chieftainess of Port Chloe and the Providence Plantations, Storjarla of Stormark, Lady Imperial on All Continents, Queen Dowager of Batavia, Archduchess of 's Koningenwaarde, Countess of Dasburgh, Countess of Vinandy, Baroness of Ammerswoude and by de Loet, Baroness of Bergkirche.

But for now, Johan was on a tiny skimpy Batavian-flagged Frankish boat, enjoying the sunshine on this totally still day. Not a cloud was in site.

"Ahoy, Mr Johan, sir! It looks like you got yourself a little sunburn!" said the old sailor from before and laughed.

"Ja, ja – you look like us working folk now!" replied another.