I've compiled a list of parallels that fans have drawn between Elden Ring and Dark Souls 2, along with brief commentaries and illustrations on the patterns they may have observed.
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"The game is called the Elden Ring and it's a sequel to a video game that came out a few years ago called Dark Souls, My work on it was actually done years ago. These games, they're like movies, they take a long time to develop." - George R.R. Martin
He [George Martin] actually knew about the Dark Souls games. He was aware of them and what they were about, so that made me happy. That sort of gave me a little bit of a boost. I knew immediately from talking to him, it just became apparent his skill and his passion for the fantasy genre, and for games as well. - Hidetaka Miyazaki
“I can't deny the fact that, maybe down the line, I want to go back to the [Dark Souls] series and make one more game before I retire. I don't want to be branded a liar if that happens.” - Hidetaka Miyazaki
Dark Souls 2 probably bears the Souls series’ closest resemblance to Elden Ring. Design wise, both Dark Souls 2 and Elden Ring stressed open-ended gameplay and ditched linear progression.
Miyazaki agrees and in fact goes a step further. “In regards to Dark Souls 2, I actually personally think this was a really great project for us, and I think without it, we wouldn’t have had a lot of the connections and a lot of the ideas that went forward and carried the rest of the series. We were able to have that different impetus and have those different ideas and make those different connections that we otherwise might not have had.” He goes so far as to say that “there’s really no way of telling how or if the series would have continued the way it did without Dark Souls 2.” Hidetaka Miyazaki
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Elden Ring was co-directed by Yui Tanimura who is the director of Dark Souls II: Scholar of the First Sin.
"There are countless vestiges of long-lost gods in the ruins of Drangleic. Or perhaps they are the very same gods as ours, only known by different names."
I’ve seen people make comparison with the deities mentioned on the Name-engraved Ring list. (although the one they made about Ranni didn’t make sense to me and seem to be more relevant to the Gloam-Eyed Queen if anything).
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St. Trina and Miquella from Elden Ring share striking similarities with Quella, the deity of dreams dreams from Dark Souls 2, and Nehma, the goddess of love. Like the latter, Miquella has the power to "compel affection" through the Bewitching Branch. St. Trina and Quella are associated with sleep, trees, and dreams. Miquella shares similarities with Quella, as both are associated with ethereal, dream-like entities like the Nascent Butterfly and White Ring,
Quella’s icon also depicts a boy with wings, which something similar we see Miquella have during Elden Ring’s intro cut scene.
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Hanleth is the goddess of bliss. After the war of the erdtree, Marika's reign ushered in an age of plenty when It is said that drops of blessing once dripped boughs forever which gradually restored HP.
In Marika's own words. Hark, brave warriors. Hark, my lord Godfrey. We commend your deeds. Guidance has delivered ye through ordeal to the place ye stand. Put the giants to the sword and confine the flame atop the mount. Let a new epoch begin. An epoch glistening with life. Brandish the Elden Ring, for the Age of the Erdtree! - Melina
Kremmel, god of Struggle.
Lord Radagon was a great champion... He came to these lands at the head of a great golden host, when he met Lady Rennala in battle. He soon repented his territorial aggressions though, and became husband to the Carian Queen. However, when Godfrey, first Elden Lord, was hounded from the Lands Between, Radagon left Rennala to return to the Erdtree Capital. - Miriel, Pastor of Vows
“Solemn duty weighs upon the one beholden; not unlike a gnawing curse from which there is no deliverance” descriptions from both Marika's & Radagon's Soreseals
Queen Marika has high hopes for us. That we continue to struggle. Unto eternity. - Gideon Ofnir
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Radagon’s thorns
Prevented by the mantle of barbs. The thorns are impenetrable. A husk of the Erdtree's being; that spurns all that exists without. The only way to stand before the Elden Ring...and become the Elden Lord...is to pass the thorns. My purpose serves to aid in that very act. So I'd like you to undertake a new journey, with me. To the flame of ruin, far above the clouds, upon the snow mountaintops of the giants. Then I can set the Erdtree aflame. And guide you. Down the path to becoming Elden Lord. - Melina
“Ring granted protection by Kremmel, god of Struggle. The ring's spikes drive into the wearer's skin, so that each blow fuels spite toward the perpetrator. When damage is taken the ring retaliates and inflicts damage upon enemy.” - Ring of Thorns
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Assuming the theories that Mesmer are true, his association with the snake (which is viewed as a traitor to the Erdtree), consumption of dragon hearts, and seeking ultimate power suggest the pursuit for supremacy for his own gain. This aligns with the Covetous Gold Serpent Ring), which depicts the snake, a manifestation of the god of desire, Zinder. The serpent is an imperfect dragon and symbol of the undead. Mesmer's ambition and willingness to embrace forbidden power mirrors the ring's representation of insatiable desire and the undying nature of the serpent.
Rykard from Elden Ring and Zandroe from Dark Souls share a striking similarity - they are both associated with serpents and the concept of greed. Zandroe is described as the "god of greed" whose manifestation and servant is the snake, while Rykard fed himself into a massive "god-devouring serpent" in his pursuit of immortality through devouring others, an act of ultimate greed.
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Nahr Alma, the god of blood and a god of war, where Mohg is a demigod and the lord of blood.
Both Mohg and Nahr Alma are divinely associated with blood and have followers who use blood-themed weapons like the Scythe of Nahr Alma. Mohg and Nahr Alma's followers have rejected the world and vow to travel a bloody path. Mohg is the Lord of Blood and seeks to inaugurate a new dynasty, similar to Nahr Alma's influence
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Morgott, the "Fell Omen" 忌み鬼 (Imi Oni) meaning "Abominable Demon#cite_ref-14)." , and highly-ranked clerics of Lindelt from Dark Souls 2 share similarities as holy knights who wield "demonic powers" to castigate those who harbor ambitions for power. Both are feared by their enemies for their ruthless tactics in battle, with Morgott slaughtering countless champions during the Shattering and these clerics of Lindelt use the miracle "Unveil" to reveal the location of traitors.
“Wilful traitors, all. Thy kind are all of a piece. Pillagers. Emboldened by the flame of ambition. Have it writ upon thy meagre grave: Felled by King Morgott! Last of all kings.” Morgott, the Grace-Given.
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Godwyn the Golden from Elden Ring and the God of Sun from Dark Souls 2 were revered for their mastery of lightning and their incantations, such as Lightning Spear*,* Dragonbolt Blessing*, and Sacred Oath. Additionally, Godwyn's victory of the ancient dragon Fortissax and his subsequent friendship with the fallen foe gave rise to the* ancient dragon cult in the capital, much like the God of Sun's connection with the Blinding Bolt that was forbidden so to protect the world from hatred, or sorrow, and the ancient clan) whose leader was revered as the deity.
​
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The demigod general Radahn and Faraam like Nahr Alma, is a god of war from Dark Souls 2 are both associated with lions, a symbol of strength and ferocity in battle, representing their prowess as mighty warriors. Known for their skill in combat, with Radahn being captivated by the Lord of the Battlefield from a young age, now wields a greatsword in each hand, and the Faraam Knights being feared for their nimble two-handed swordplay.
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Galib (I’ve seen it spelled “Calib”) from Dark Souls 2 and Malenia (who released her bloom in Caelid) both have a thematic connection to disease and affliction. Malenia and Miquella, both children of a single god, were afflicted with rot and eternal childhood respectively. Leydia apostles manipulated both the onset and curing of disease but were denied peaceful deaths, while Malenia's rot was an incurable sickness (as her army are undergoing their gradual, putrefaction of their flesh) that Miquella tried to ward off with unalloyed gold needles and her great rune provides healing after receiving damage*.*
Coincidentally Malenia can grow wings as well.
​
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Caffrey, deity of Fortune, and Godfrey the first Elden lord. The name “Frey” might be derived from Nordic mythology. Frey is primarily associated with fertility, prosperity, and abundance.
Caffrey's icon mirrors the currency and EXP icon from Dark Souls 2, representing experience points gained by defeating enemies. In a similar vein, Godfrey is portrayed as the lord of the battlefield, who bravely battled Giants, confronted the Storm Lord and had countless victories, ushering in the Age of the Erdtree which was forged through the use of valuables like Smithing Stones [8], becoming the embodiment of Order. This left a long legacy of loyal warriors honored him by wielding axes like himself.
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The hunting Goddess Evlana was no goddess at all, but rather a brave and highly skilled bow huntress. Long after her demise, the passing of lore transformed her into a deity.”
The Hunter's Hat
Spirit of a handsome archer who dressed in the style of a man. Called the Silent Hunter by some, she fires St. Trina's arrows from her shortbow.
Dolores the Sleeping Arrow Puppet
:P

Read this name in a book, and though what could be the possible logo for a company with the name Monarch Lion. At first tried blending M and L with Crown shape, and then tried adding a lion tail in other concept.

This is a long post, please bear with me. I'll get to the most important part first, and then explore what it means. I may not get it all done in one!
For the Paris leg of the eras tour, Taylor has revealed new outfits for 1989 - for both nights so far, she has worn a big cat around her neck. Everyone has been wondering what kind of big cat necklace it is.
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@/taylorswiftstyled included the outfit on instagram, indicating the necklace is a Roberto Cavalli big cat emblem necklace. One quick look at the Roberto Cavalli website and you'll see there is a huge big cat theme at the moment, most specifically: cheetah. Some screenshots.
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There's also tiger jewellery (pictured) and snake jewellery (not pictured as from what I understand, snakes are a big part of roberto cavalli's iconography). However, Roberto Cavalli did create a couture capsule for Taylor and her iconic Eras snake reputation dress - more info here.
Now, Roberto Cavalli loves a big cat necklace - I've found leopard, panther and jaguar. However, cheetah is much harder to come by. This is the only example I have found, and notably it is men's. It's very similar to Taylor's. All the other big cat jewellery, including the tiger as above which I know many people wondered if the cat was a tiger, has black stones wheras the cheetah does not. Just black eyes, the same as Taylor's. So, Taylor's necklace isn't just any big cat: it's a cheetah.
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This is important because of a very well-known lesbian memoir called Untamed, by Glennon Doyle. Glennon Doyle is the wife of the famous lesbian American football (soccer) player, Abby Wambach. Untamed is an amazing book and I encourage everyone to read it, by the way.
Taylor has known Abby since 2015 when she invited Abby and her teammates up onto the 1989 tour stage following their world cup win, and she then invited Abby to an after party where she remarked to Abby and Ina (Garten, gay icon, rumoured bearded relationship with her gay husband"), "Ina and Abby Wambach playing beer bong after one of my concerts, this must be THE best thing I've ever experienced". In 2020, Abby and Taylor exchanged these tweets.
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These words were pointed out by u/No_Act3578 when I originally posted the idea that the necklace is a cheetah on the Paris N2 thread (and thankyou so much mods for inviting me to make a post!). I also want to credit @/underthepink7 on twitter who also posted the theory on tiktok which I and my partner saw when researching if it is a cheetah - both of us have read Untamed and our Gaylor senses were tingling since last night. I also want to credit my partner too who’s not on the sub 🧡
Now, here for the very important part.
Untamed, Glennon's book that Taylor credits as being a "huge help" to her in 2020, calling Glennon a "luminary" (a person who inspires or influences others), is a book about compulsory heterosexuality and coming out of the closet when you're deep in it. Glennon was still married to her now-ex husband when she met Abby. Untamed is about this, and it uses the metaphor of a cheetah in a cage to describe her sexuality and comphet. Glennon talks about being 'put' into a cage, and that she must work to free herself from this cage. Sound familiar?
She describes seeing a cheetah at the zoo as offering an ephiphany of sorts; the cheetah is behaving as they have been conditioned, thrown into a cage, just like Glennon has been conditioned to live and accept being in the cage of a heterosexual life. Glennon is the cheetah: she is in a cage, performing as society has conditioned her to, but her true self is queer. The book themes include self-discovery, liberation, and authenticity, challenging societal norms and expectations, and encourages readers to break free from what holds them back from living authentically. For the theylors, it does explore gender a bit too. It is, in essence, about embracing your most 'wild' heart, your 'untamed' heart, your queerest self. It is explicitly and unquestionably queer and lesbian.
So, what does this mean? How does this relate to TTPD Well, for TTPD, it's in the lyrics. Everywhere. It means Taylor is purposefully using cheetah imagery while having openly admitted to not just having read a book, but it having helped her in a very significant way during a hard time in her life. It was only released in 2020: she has been carving themes from the book into all of her albums since. It means she has very publicly resonated with a very queer story of comphet and queer sexuality, and then she has weaved it through her music, and she is easter egging it with a cheetah necklance for the 1989 era outfit (more on what this means later).
For TTPD, which I'm only going to deep-dive as I'd be here for days otherwise, Taylor in TTPD openly sings about 'the circus made me mean' (waolom) in contrast to mad woman 'you'll poke that bear till her claws come out'.
She sings about a whole circus of animals(!), some included animals are: tiger, horses and wild horses, vipers, wolves, lion, beast, albatross, jackals, dinosaurs, dragonflies (and golden retriever but, maybe a red herring?) and she also sings 'ditch the clowns get the crown' (the alchemy) in contrast to peace, 'there's robbers to the east, clowns to the west'. The Albatross is Taylor as the albatross, literally an animal, who destroys / ruins. Cassandra, 'so they filled my cell with snakes'.
She sings about performance: ICDIWABH, Florida!!!, WAOLOM, Clara Bow. So high school (yes, i'm putting it here lmao!).
She sings about cages, a lot, or alludes to them in the sense of being 'sent away' or asylums: Fortnight, Peter, Guilty as Sin? 'I keep my longings locked, in lowercase inside a vault', imgonnagetyouback 'whether i'm gonna flip you off or, pull you into the closet', fresh out the slammer, the prophecy (which itself is the cage, comphet, cisheteronormativity), Cassandra, and also the escapism of i hate it here with 'secret gardens in my mind' feels like it fits into this theme.
There are also a lot of themes of inauthenticity; Peter, MBOBHFT: 'my plastic smile', even toys in itself being her(?), 'i felt more when we played pretend than with all the kens cause he took me out of my box', 'queen of sand castles', Florida!!!, ICDIWABH, TSMWEL 'hung me on your wall, stabbed me with push pins, in public showed me off', Clara Bow, thanK you aIMee, i look in people's windows, The Black Dog 'my longings stay unspoken, and i may never open up the way I did for you' (you could also read this as being about the closet when compared to Guilty as Sin?
There are also songs about defying and being wild: Fresh out the slammer, BDILH, The Bolter (but something stops her being truly free),
I haven't deep-dived many lyrics nor done albums before TTPD because it just gets so long - I may do a seperate post linking back to this one at some point. A whole post could be dedicated to reading her mentions of cats through this lense. I will point to Robin, specifically, though. It is very, very common for Taylor to easter egg her next album in the last one or two songs of her current album. With that in mind, let's think about Robin, because it imo covers nearly every theme:
"Long may you reign You're an animal, you are bloodthirsty Out window panes talking utter nonsense You have no idea"
An animal in a zoo: 'window panes' are the window panes of the zoo cage which the animal is kept in, the public is kept safe from how they are 'bloodthirsty'; but more metaphorically, Taylor is the animal, hanging out of her cage 'talking utter nonsense' (aka, performing), in her bloodthirst for fame and to 'reign'. Linking this to other Robin theories, this is young, naive Taylor, who is hungry to make it big and doesn't realise as she is being lured into her cage [of window panes] as she hangs outside it. She has no idea what is to come.
"Strings tied to levers Slowed-down clocks tethered All this showmanship To keep it for you in sweetness"
Zoo cages are released via a lever: strings are attached to this lever for Taylor that she has to meet, in order for her to temporarily be released from her cage. Perhaps that the trajectory of her life slowed down when she realised these strings. The showmanship is the performance of the zoo and/or circus; it allows her to 'keep' her fame, money, through being 'sweet': aka tame.
"Way to go, tiger Higher and higher Wilder and lighter For you"
Her closeted wild authentic self, climbing higher and higher out of the cage, becoming wilder and lighter as it becomes more and more difficult for Taylor to meet the strings, to be the showman, to hide her true self, to show her authentic self into a cage. Her wild authentic self is the tiger; but her closeted self is the animal, dehumanised but also dehumanising by forcing herself (and being forced) to perform as a specific version of herself and caging her younger, true self.
"Long may you roar At your dinosaurs You're a just ruler Covered in mud, you look ridiculous And you have no idea"
Roaring at her elders(?). Dinosaurs makes me think of those older. Dinosaur could be her parents, music execs, but also herself. You're just a ruler is her younger self talking to her older self; she is a spectacle 'covered in mud' who looks ridiculous. Younger queer Taylor feels sorry for older closeted Taylor.
"Buried down deep and out of your reach, The secret we all vowed To keep it from you in sweetness"
Burying her queer self; the secret she vowed to keep in pursuit of her fame and success. This one is difficult for me to analyse to be honest, it has some themes that I struggle with - but in my opinion this is a very heavy verse. It screams trauma, to be quite honest. But it has themes of inauthenticity, of closets and cages.
"You got the dragonflies above your bed You have a favorite spot on the swing set You have no room in your dreams for regrets (You have no idea) The time will arrive for the cruel and the mean You'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline But now we'll curtail your curiosity In sweetness"
This is very clear imagery of her younger, more innocent and queer self, who has no idea what her life has become in the pursuit of success. "But now we'll curtail your curiosity, in sweetness" to me, reads, as stifling out her queerness 'for the best'. It is made very clear here that what was 'in sweetness' was not. Dragonflies and swings and dreams gives the idea of freedom, of being wild and free, as opposed to Taylor now - closeted, caged, inauthentic, performing.
I think Robin probably highlights the most the idea Taylor could be drawing themes directly from Untamed by Glennon Doyle. The themes are incredibly prevalent, and following that up with The Manuscript is a deliberate choice: it has themes of lost youth, of knowing things too young and too soon, and again it's a song I can't personally deep dive too much atm unfortunately.
Finally, beyond her lyrics, there are some very overly obvious easter egg zoo themes going on. As u/courtingdisaster pointed out, Taylor randomly went to the zoo in Sydney in February multiple times. On this very sub, people pointed out how 'creepy' the photos were, as an example that stood out to me u/slowburn_23 said "Weird Tay being photographed inside a zoo when she uses so many gilded cage and birdcage images. Tay is basically a zoo animal in the mediasphere and she's in a literal zoo. Hm."
I think this was purposeful. Taylor went back again and took Travis. She went twice, once herself and once twice, two times in a row. This feels like easter egging for a two album drop at 2AM says my most clown self. It could also function as a countdown, 3, 2, 1, the 1 being Travis... and "meet me at midnight".
So in summary, Taylor's 1989 necklace is a cheetah. The fact that she is choosing to display this with her 1989 outfit specifically though, is very telling. If it's a brand new album, why not display it with TTPD outfits?
Because, call me a clown but, her next album is Karma, the lost album meant to come right after 1989. OR, there is another new album, which doesn't feature cheetahs, and Karma is the album we 'meet [her] at midnight' with, where she reveals her true self. The animal for Karma is a cheetah (karma is a cat, purring on my lap cause she loves me), which fits the era in which snakes became Reputation and in my opinion I think she has went back and looked at Karma, after reading Untamed, and started easter egging cheetahs along with other Karma easter eggs. Especially tonight's 1989 outfit with the orange top and purple to pink skirt, gold shoe and silver shoe.
I may lose you here, but please do read my previous post indicating the Karma easter egging that has been going on especially with the Paris leg of the tour. u/jossiesideways points out the "makeunder" going on with 1989 and prior in this post and isn't it interesting that tonight (N2) Paris's show, the t-shirt was "I Bet You Think About ME". Orange and pink, particularly orange, are the rumoured colours of Karma and Taylor has been going crazy with them in Paris.
I think TTPD is about her losing colour: but she is introducing orange "I was just getting colour back into my face" - which u/weirdrobotgirl points out is the colour of acceptance under colour theory in but i'm a cheerleader (posts here and here) - to allude to the idea she's beginning to come round to accepting herself. She is also still using yellow, which signifies closetness and sickness. Cheetahs vary from a light yellow to orange, which I feel signifies Karma very well - she is literally still keeping it closeted, and so it has a degree of sickness tainted by all the years of being 'locked inside a vault'.
I also want to point out that a cheetah, in dreams, signifies choosing to face the changes you want to make in your life which scare you. It also represents independence, persistence, adaptability, vulnerability and grace. Clown moment but cheetahs are thought to be the second most common gay animal, after lions.
So TLDR: Taylor's necklace is a cheetah, which links to the very well-known lesbian memoir called Untamed which Taylor herself said had been a "huge help" to her in 2020. There are themes all the way through TTPD and then back into Midnights and Folklore/Evermore (not explored) which highlight how she has been contending with ideas of circuses, animals, dehumanisation, vs autheniticity, wild and free, liberation, for a while now. The cheetah is an easter egg, as were her trips to Sydney zoo. Her next album could well be Karma, because of it being linked to the 1989 outfit - or it could be the midnight album.
That's it! Taylor's necklance is a cheetah and I think it means big things.
Thankyou for reading and thankyou again mods for inviting me to post!!

May 10th 2024, just found near the cutlery/utensils at the Selinsgrove, PA Target location.

ΜΟΝΤΕΝEGRO
CHAPTER I
THE CITY IN THE SKY
Why I went to the Balkans―The road to Montenegro―Cettinje and its petroleum tins―About the blood-feud―England and Montenegro―Warned not to attempt to go to Albania―My guide a marked man-The story of Tef―A woman's fickleness, and its sequel.
CHAPTER II
AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS
The Palace at Cettinje―A cigarette with the Prince―The policy of Montenegro―A confidential chat―His Royal Highness's admiration for England―His views upon Macedonia―He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania. but I persuade him to help me―His Highness's kindness―Souvenirs.
**
CHAPTER I
THE CITY IN THE SKY
Why I went to the Balkans— The road to Montenegro — Cettinje and its petroleum tins — About the blood-feud — England and Montenegro — Warned not to attempt to go to Albania — My guide a marked man — The story of Tef — A woman's fickleness, and its sequel.
I ENTERED the Balkans by the back door. The luxuries of the Orient Express had no attraction for me. I wanted to see the Balkans as they really are, those great, wild, mountainous countries, so full of race hatreds, of political bickerings, of fierce blood-feuds, of feverish propa- gandas those nations with their interesting monarchs and their many mysteries.
The "Orient" runs direct from Paris to the Balkan capitals, it is true, but if one goes to study a people the capital is not the only place in which to discover the truth. One must go into the country, move among the peasantry, hear their grievances and investigate their wrongs. Therefore I decided to enter the East by Montenegro, and also visit the wild and little-known regions of Northern Albania.
The comfortable voyage by the Austrian-Lloyd mail steamer Graf Wurmbrand from Trieste down the Adriatic, touching at Pola, the Austrian naval station, Lussinpiccolo, Zara- famed for its maraschino-Sebenico, Spalato, and Gravosa to Cattaro, has been already described by many writers. Suffice it to say that it is perhaps one of the most picturesque of pleasure-trips in the world, for every moment one has a fresh panorama of mountain and blue sea, of green, fertile islands with subtropical vegetation, and tiny white villages nestling at the sea's edge, as the steamer threads her way through the narrow and often difficult channels.
At times the wild scenery, especially in the Bocche di Cattaro, reminds the traveller of the Norwegian fiords, and at others the coast is an almost exact reproduction of the French Riviera.
The object of my journey was, however, not in order to write a mere description of men and places. There have been other travellers in the Balkans who have related their story, therefore my mission was to make careful inquiry into the present unsettled state of affairs, try and discover the grievances of both sides, and endeavour to obtain from the rulers and statesmen of the various nations their aspirations for the future. This I succeeded in doing, for the various monarchs of the Balkans graciously gave me audience; and from their Ministers, from the middle classes, and from the peasants, I was enabled at last to form some conclusion as to the real situation-political, economical, social, and financial.
The writer who attempts to place the various Balkan questions impartially and clearly before the public will at once find himself utterly confused, and wallowing wildly in a morass of misstatement and misrepresentation. The Balkans are torn by race hatreds, party strife, and the intrigues of the Powers. The Turk hates the Bulgar, the Serb hates the Austrian, the Roumanian hates the Greek, the Albanian hates the Montenegrin, the Bosnian hates the Turk, while the Macedonian hates everybody all round. What is told to one authoritatively one hour, is flatly contradicted the next; therefore it is not in the least surprising that in the European Press there have been so many misstatements about the various Balkan questions, the real truth being so very difficult to obtain.
I have, however, endeavoured to obtain it, and at risk of being injudicious, to place before the reader the facts as they are, without any political bias, or any seeking to gloss over the many glaring defects of administration of which I have myself been witness.
To describe the beauties of the Bocche di Cattaro, that series of winding channels where the high grey mountains rise sheer from the water, would be only to traverse old ground. Suffice it to say that I landed at Cattaro on a bright, sunny noon, and found upon the quay a tall, lean mountaineer who had been sent to meet me.
To the traveller fresh from the West the Montenegrin costume of both women and men is very attractive, but a few days in the Balkans soon accustoms the eye to a perfect phantasmagoria of colour and of costume. Pero was my driver's name, and I noticed that around his waist was a revolver belt, but minus the weapon. I inquired where it was, and with a grin he informed me that Cattaro, being in Dalmatia, the Austrians would not allow Montenegrins to bring arms into their country; so they were compelled to leave them on the other side of the frontier, ten kilometres distant.
My bags packed upon the three-horse travelling carriage and secured with many strings, and Pero equipped with a plentiful stock of cigarettes, he mounted upon the box, whipped up his long-tailed ponies, and we started on our eight-hour ascent of that great wall of mountain that hides Montenegro from the sea.
As we ascended through the little village of Skaljari we entered upon a magnificent road, said to be one of the greatest engineering feats of modern times, and steadily ascended, until at the striped black-and-yellow Austrian boundary post we crossed the frontier, and were in the "Land of the Black Mountain"-Montenegro. Across the road, at an acute angle, a row of paving-stones marks the frontier, and soon after- wards we found ourselves in the wildest and most desolate mountain region. At a lonely roadside hut Pero obtained his big, serviceable-looking revolver, and I, of course, wore mine in my belt; for in Montenegro or Albania arms make the man. A man unarmed is looked upon as an effeminate coward. Indeed, by order of Prince Nicholas every Monte- negrin must wear the national dress, both men and women, and every man must carry his revolver when out of doors.
Four hours from Cattaro we were in a lonely mountain fastness, a wild, desolate, treeless region of huge limestone rocks of peculiar volcanic formation, which gave them the appearance of a boiling sea. The views over the Adriatic as we turned back were so superb that, despite photographing being strictly forbidden on account of the fortresses in the vicinity, I could not resist the temptation to take one or two surreptitiously. On, through a bleak, uninhabited country, we at last reached the guard-house of Kerstac, and then half an hour later found ourselves upon a plateau where, in the centre, stood the small clean village of Nyegush, the ancestral home of the reigning family, and the scene of most of the Montenegrin wars of independence. Here we halted for half an hour at the post-house, and before we left, the big, lumbering post-diligence, with its armed guard, came up behind us.
Before we moved off again it had grown dark, the moon shone, and for four hours longer we alternately climbed and descended through that wild region of silence and desolation, until at last we saw, deep below, the lights of Cettinje, the little capital, and an hour later brought us to the unpre- tending "Grand" Hotel.
Hardly had I entered my room when there came a loud knock at my door, and a tall, scarlet-coated Montenegrin warrior, armed to the teeth, entered and saluted. For a moment I looked up at him aghast, but the mystery was solved when, next second, he handed me with great ceremony a telegram from a dear friend in England wishing me God- speed. I had taken him to be, at least, one of the Prince's bodyguard, and he was only a plain telegraph messenger!
This was but one of many surprises in store for me in Montenegro. Next morning I went out to look round the clean little capital, when, on passing the Prince's palace, I saw a number of soldiers drawn up, and as I went by, the band suddenly struck up the British National Anthem! I raised my hat, halted, and stood puzzled. Surely they were not honouring me! Another moment, however, and I recognised the reason. In a carriage, accompanied by the Grand Marechal of the Court, there drove up my friend Mr. Charles des Graz, the newly-appointed British Chargé d'Affaires to Montenegro, who was about to present his creden- tials to His Royal Highness the Prince.
Montenegro is perhaps the most interesting country in all the Balkans. Cettinje, a small, clean town of broad streets and one-storeyed, whitewashed houses, is a little city in the sky, lying as it does in a cup-shaped depression at the summit of a high, bare mountain. Its long, straight, main street reminds one very much of a small country town in England, if it were not that everyone is, by law, compelled to wear the national dress, and every man has in his belt his big, long- barrelled revolver, without which he must never go out of doors.
The men, sturdy mountaineers, are of fine physique- handsome fellows, all of them. Their dress consists of dark blue baggy trousers, white woollen gaiters, raw-hide shoes, a scarlet jacket heavily braided with gold, and a small round cap, with black silk around the edge and the crown of the same colour as the jacket, bearing the Prince's initials in Servian letters, "H.I." The women, who are particularly good-looking, wear dark skirts, beautifully hand-embroidered blouses, and a kind of long coat, with open sleeves of soft, dove-grey cloth. Forbidden to wear European hats, they are compelled to adopt an exactly similar cap to the men, except that the crown is embroidered instead of bearing the royal initials.
Nowhere have I seen such glorification of the male as in Montenegro. To the men, born fighters as they are, work is undignified; therefore the women toil while the opposite sex look on. I saw women employed in building operations and performing work which, in other countries, is left to day- labourers.
Cettinje is quaint in the extreme. The only houses of foreigners are the various Legations, and the only foreigners are diplomats with their wives and families. The first thing that strikes the stranger is the number of petroleum tins. Opposite the hotel I saw a great ring of empty tins, numbering some hundreds, ranged around a fountain. A few women were squatting gossiping, and an armed policeman lounged against the water-source. On inquiry, I found that there was a water famine, and the tins had been placed there at dawn to await the moment when the authorities thought fit to allow the people to get their daily supply. The women had gone away to work, and would return later. The Monte- negrins a short time ago constructed a reservoir, but there was a crack in it, so the water ran away. Hence the famine.
The petroleum tin is never out of sight for a single moment in Cettinje. At any hour, and in any street, you see women and children carrying them. They are used for everything, from milk-pails to flower-pots.
In Cettinje one comes for the first time up against the dark-faced, scowling Albanian in his tightly fitting trousers of white wool striped with black, his dirty white fez, and the swagger of superiority in his gait. He is well armed, and for a good reason. The Montenegrin hates the Albanian, because of the constant border feuds over at Podgoritza, where blood is constantly spilt, and where I have seen a Montenegrin in the market squatting over a basket of apples with a loaded rifle.
That morning I was chatting to a man in Montenegrin dress, of whom I had bought some excellent cigarettes, manufactured by the Montenegro Tobacco Monopoly-an Italian syndicate, by the way and happened to mention that I was on my way to Albania. "Ah, gospodin!" he exclaimed, holding up both his hands, and glancing at the revolver in my belt. "Take my advice.
Don't go into Albania or Macedonia. You are not safe there from one moment to the other. For half a word they'll shoot you dead as easily as they drink a glass of wine. No man's life is worth a moment's purchase there. I'm Albanian myself from Kroja-and I know."
This was scarcely reassuring. I looked about me on every hand as I strolled through Cettinje. All was so quiet, so orderly, so very peaceful there, even though the big, burly mountaineers in the gold-laced jackets eyed me with askance as I passed. Not without some trepidation I took a number of photographs, for I had heard that, like the Turk, the Monte- negrin was averse to having his counterfeit presentment put upon paper. Nevertheless, the first feeling of insecurity having passed, I very soon found myself quite at home in Cettinje, and in the midst of very good and kind friends.
A good many foreigners come up from Cattaro to pry about Cettinje for a day or two, buy picture-postcards and antique arms, sneer at the honest Montenegrin, and return into Dalmatia. Towards such, the Montenegrin is not par- ticularly polite. But those who go to Cettinje to seriously and thoroughly study the people and their future will find a great deal of genuine and charming hospitality.
My first day in Cettinje was lonely. Afterwards, until I left, I was always with friends and officials, who took the greatest trouble to answer my questions and explain matters.
Montenegro is entirely unlike any other country in the world. Its air of antiquity is particularly pleasing, while on every hand the beneficent rule of Prince Nicholas is apparent. Every man in Montenegro swears by his Prince, whom he almost worships. They call him their "father," and if His Royal Highness raised the standard of war to- morrow, every man would rise and fight to the death. The Prince is accessible to all his people-more so to them, indeed, than to the diplomats. Sometimes, early in the morning, he will sit in an arm-chair on the steps leading to the entrance of his palace, and there hear the complaints or petitions of his people. In this patriarchal way he often ministers justice. Last year he granted Montenegro a Constitution, and there is now a Skupshtina similar to that of Servia; but the people have not yet quite understood that in future they must go to the Ministers, and not to their Prince. They will see him, and nobody else.
In no country is loyalty and patriotism so strong as in Montenegro. The army is well trained, and the whole country being one huge natural fortress, a foreign enemy would experience enormous difficulty in gaining entrance. In Cettinje, even a constant traveller like myself meets with continual surprises. One day, while walking at the rear of the Bigliardo, or old palace-so called because when built the first billiard table was introduced-I heard the sound of clanking chains behind me. At first I took no notice, but as it continued with regular rhythm I glanced behind, when, to my amaze- ment, I saw a convict in leg-fetters with difficulty taking his afternoon stroll beneath the trees! There were several others on the grass plot before the prison, idling in the shadow or gossiping with their friends, who had come to keep them company!
Inquiriesshowed that most of these prisoners were murderers, not for robbery but for vendetta. In Montenegro the blood- feud is constant, and life is held very cheap. It invariably commences by jealousy, and is of everyday occurrence. Two lovers quarrel, and one is shot. Then the blood-feud commences, and unlike in Italy or other Southern countries, the vendetta is not only upon the murderer, but upon his next-of-kin. Therefore, if the assassin escapes into Servia, Bosnia, or Turkey, as he so often does, the brother of the dead man takes up the feud and kills the assassin's brother without parley when next he meets him. I myself saw a man shot dead one night in Ryeka, at the head of the Lake of Scutari, and the murderer walked coolly away undeterred. It was the blood-feud, and no one took much notice.
"S'bogom!" (God be with you!) It is the expression you hear on every hand in the Balkans. In the streets the peasants touch their round caps in salute and exclaim, "S'bogom!" When you leave for a journey and when you return, when you rise and when you go to rest; even if you go for a short walk-it is the same. Life is so uncertain in those wild regions that the protection of the Almighty is invoked upon you always, and your revolver is ever ready in your belt.
In Cettinje I had a faithful guide and servant, a black-eyed, somewhat sinister-looking Albanian, named Palok. He travelled with me through Montenegro and Albania, and was most faithful and devoted. Besides Albanian and Serb he spoke a little Italian, and possessed a keen sense of humour.
One day, while we were travelling through the wild, bare mountain, a perfect wilderness of huge boulders without a single tree or even blade of grass, we halted for our midday meal, and while eating he told me of a great friend of his who had recently been killed at Spuz for vendetta, and he added, fondling the butt of his revolver, "I too, gospodin, shall die before long."
I looked at him in surprise. His usually humorous face had changed. It was dark and thoughtful, and his black eyes were fixed upon me.
"Is there a blood-feud upon you, then?" I asked, in surprise.
"Yes," he replied briefly; and though I endeavoured to persuade him to tell the story, it was not until the following day that with some reluctance he explained.
"A year ago my brother Tef, away in Scutari, fell in love with a beautiful girl. He had a rival-a young Albanian, a coppersmith in the bazaar. They quarrelled, but the girl-ah! she was very beautiful-preferred Tef. Where- upon the rival one night took his rifle and laid in wait for my brother in the main street of Scutari. Early in the evening he left the house of the girl's father, and as he passed the fellow shot poor Tef dead."
And he paused as his brow knit deeply, and his teeth were set tightly.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, gospodin. What would you have done had your own brother died a dog's death? I took a rifle, and within a week the murderer was in his grave. I shot him through the heart and then I left Scutari."
"And you are safe here, in Montenegro ?"
"Safe! Oh dear, no," he answered. "One day-it may be to-day-the fellow's brother will kill me. He must kill me. It is Fate-why worry about it? It does one no good."
And the marked man, the man doomed to die at a moment when he least expects it, rolled a cigarette and lit it with perfect resignment.
"And are you not afraid to go with me back to Scutari?" I asked, amazed at his fearlessness.
"Afraid, gospodin!" he exclaimed, looking at me in reproach as his hand instinctively wandered to his weapon. "Afraid! No Albanian is afraid of the blood-feud. I have killed the murderer, and his brother must kill me. It is our law." And the doomed man smiled gravely.
"And the girl?" I asked.
"Ah! They are all the same," he answered, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "A month ago she married a tobacco- seller a man old enough to be her father. Poor Tef! If he could but know!"
"And the blood-feud still continues?"
"Of course-until I am dead."
Then Palok smoked on in silence, entirely resigned to the fate that awaits him. He knows that one day, as he walks along the road, the sharp crack of a hidden rifle will sound, and he will fall to earth, another victim of a woman's fickleness.
S'bogom! God be with you!
CHAPTER II
AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS
The Palace at Cettinje-A cigarette with the Prince-The policy of Monte- negro-A confidential chat-His Royal Highness's admiration for England-His views upon Macedonia-He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania, but I persuade him to help me-His Highness's kindness -Souvenirs.
HIS Royal Highness the Prince will be pleased to grant you private audience at four o'clock this after- noon, gospodin."
The tall, burly aide-de-camp in the little round cap, high boots, pale blue overcoat, and pistols in his belt, saluted, and we shook hands.
It was then three o'clock, and I was just about to go out to visit Madame Constantinovitch, the mother of Princess Mirko. So I had to return at once to my room and dress for the audience. The kings and princes of the Balkans have a habit of summoning one at a moment's notice, and paying visits at unearthly hours.
Here, in Cettinje, in the heart of these wild, desolate fast- nesses, one seems so far removed from European influence, yet how great a part has this rocky, impregnable country, with its fierce soldier-inhabitants, played in the politics of Eastern Europe, and how great a part it is still destined to play in the near future!
The fact that everybody is armed gives the stranger an uncanny feeling. The man who brings one's coffee wears a perfect arsenal of weapons in his sash, and one quickly acquires the habit of carrying a revolver one's self. Indeed, if you are wise, you will carry a good serviceable weapon from the moment you enter the Balkans to the moment you quit them. But if you approach the Albanian frontier, you will be at once warned not to fire without just cause. A few shots is sufficient to alarm the whole neighbourhood for many miles, and on hearing the alarm every man seizes his rifle and flies to the rendezvous, fully equipped and eager for the fight with those Albanian border tribes, of whom I afterwards had the good fortune to be the guest.
I had already had a long chat with Prince Danilo, the Crown Prince of Montenegro, whom I found a very smart and highly educated man, fully alive to the political difficulties of the neighbouring states and the necessity of Montenegro preserving her independence. He held very strong views upon the terrible state of affairs in Macedonia, and gave me many interesting details about his own country.
Having met him, and also his younger brother, Prince Mirko, I was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of their father, Prince Nicholas, the ruler of the sturdy, warlike dwellers of the "Land of the Black Mountain "-the principal and most striking figure in this remarkable country, where peace and war walk ever hand-in-hand.
Since 1860, when his uncle, Prince Danilo, was assassinated, he has ruled justly, if somewhat sternly, and has succeeded in raising his nation from a state of semi-civilisation to the high place it now occupies in the Eastern world. In 1888 he gave the country a Civil and Criminal Code, and last year he granted a Constitution. Indeed, he has done all in his power to induce his warriors to follow the arts of peace without forgetting those of war.
At the hour appointed, the royal aide-de-camp called in a carriage and drove me to the Palace, a long, dark brown building of somewhat plain exterior, as befits the home of a fighting race, where I was received in the great hall by half a dozen bowing servants in scarlet and gold. Here I was met by the chamberlain, who conducted me up the grand staircase and into the great audience-chamber, with its many fine paintings and highly polished floor. Then, after a moment, the Prince-a brilliant figure-entered, shook me by the hand, and welcomed me to Montenegro.
These formalities ended, His Royal Highness said in Italian, "Come, let us go into yonder room. We shall be able to talk there more comfortably." And he led me into a smaller chamber, where he gave me a seat at the table where he sat.
The afternoon was gloomy, and dusk was creeping on, therefore upon the table a great antique silver candelabra had been set, and by its light I was enabled to obtain a good view of the ruler of Crnagora, the "Land of the Black Mountain."
Of magnificent physique, tall, muscular, with hair slightly grey, he bore his sixty-five years lightly. Attired in the splendid national costume of scarlet, blue, and gold, with high boots, he wore a single decoration at his throat, the Cross of Danilo, of which Order he is Master. Upon his hand- some, well-cut features the candles shed a soft light, causing the gold upon his dress to glitter, and I noticed, as I asked him questions, how his dark, keen eyes shot quick, inquiring glances of alertness.
After the first few minutes of regal formality His Highness's manner entirely changed. Putting ceremony aside, he pro- duced his cigarette case of crocodile skin, with the royal crown and cipher in gold in the corner-offered me a Montenegrin cigarette, took one himself, lit mine with his own hand, and then we fell to chatting.
In the delightful hour and a half we smoked together I asked the prince-poet many questions, and learnt many things. He explained several difficult points in Balkan politics, which to me, an Englishman, had always been puzzling. We spoke in Italian of Macedonia and of a certain well-known foreign diplomat in London who was our mutual friend, the Prince giving me a very kind message to deliver to him.
Presently I referred to the splendid result of his rule, and related to him a little incident which had occurred to me in Nyegush a few days before, as showing how deeply he was beloved by his nation. A smile crossed his fine open countenance as he replied simply, "I have done my best for my people-my very best; and I shall do so as long as God gives me life. I am happy to believe that my people appreciate my efforts."
"And now, Monseigneur," I asked, "will you tell me what is the present position of Montenegro?"
"The present position is peace," was his prompt answer. "I have granted a Constitution, and the first meeting of the new Skupshtina has been held successfully. Though the Albanian question is always with us, I am thankful to say we are on the most excellent terms with Turkey, while towards Russia we are pursuing our traditional policy. For the Emperor Francis Josef of Austria I have nothing but the most profound admiration, and I owe very much to him."
"And towards England, Monseigneur ?"
"England has been, as you know, Montenegro's very best friend," replied the Prince. "I, personally, have the greatest respect and admiration for your great country. We Montenegrins always remember that it was Mr. Gladstone who gave us the strip of seaboard on the Adriatic with Dulcigno. He was our greatest friend, and his memory is respected by admirer by every man in Montenegro. Of Tennyson, too, I am a great I am very fond of his poems."
"You are a poet yourself, Monseigneur," I remarked, remembering that more than one poetical drama from his pen had been successfully produced on the stage.
His Royal Highness smiled, and puffed slowly at his cigarette.
"I have written one or two little things, it is true; but nothing of late."
"I wonder if I dare ask your Royal Highness to write a few lines for me as a souvenir of my visit?" I asked, not without some trepidation.
"Ah!-well-I won't promise," he laughed. "All depends whether I'm in the mood for it."
"But you will try, won't you?
And the Prince nodded assent.
Then we spoke of Servia and of recent events there; but he was not inclined to discuss the question, and naturally so, when it is remembered that his daughter was the late wife of King Peter.
Returning to the burning question of Macedonia, I saw that he was well informed of all that was transpiring around lakes Presba and Ochrida and down in Serres.
"It is a monstrous state of affairs," he declared. "Something must be done at once, for as soon as spring comes again the massacres will increase."
"But there are outrages, tortures, and massacres every day," I remarked.
"Ah yes," he sighed, "I know. Most terrible details have reached me lately. But you are going to Macedonia yourself, and you will see with your own eyes."
"And what, in your opinion, would be the best settlement of the question?" I inquired.
"There is but one way, namely, for the Powers to call a conference and place Macedonia under a governor - general, who must be a European prince. The reforms would then be carried out, and the Greek bands expelled from the country. How long will Europe tolerate the present frightful state of affairs?"
"The fact is, Monseigneur, that we, in England, are very ignorant of the true state of things, or even of the facts of the Macedonian question," I said.
"Ah, there you are quite correct. If your English public knew what was really happening-how an innocent Christian population is being slaughtered and exterminated because of international rivalry-they would cry shame upon those responsible for this wholesale murder and outrage. But" -he smiled-" I almost forget myself. My position as a ruler forbids me to talk politics, you know!" And we laughed together.
"So you are going to Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, and to Constantinople-eh?" he remarked a little later, when we had lit fresh cigarettes. "In Bulgaria, and also in Roumania, you will see many things that will interest you. The Bul- garians are very strongly armed, and so are the Roumanians."
"Her Majesty the Queen of Roumania has also promised me audience," I said.
"When you see her, will you please present to Her Majesty my most cordial respects. She is so very charming."
"I want, Monseigneur, to visit Northern Albania, leaving Montenegro by Ryeka and Scutari. Would that be the best route, do you think?"
"What!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Do you actually contemplate visiting the tribes up in the Accursed Mountains?"
"Certainly. Why not?"
"Well, my advice is, don't think of going there. If you do, you will never return. You'll be shot at sight, like a dog. You have no idea what those uncivilised tribes are like. The whole country is utterly lawless."
"So I understand. But I've also heard that the Albanian possesses a deep sense of honour. And I thought that I might possibly obtain permission from one or other of the chiefs."
The Prince was silent for a moment. Then, looking at me across the table, said-
"Do not go. It is far too great a risk."
His advice was the same that my, friends in London had given me; the same that I had received there, in the market-place of Cettinje.
But I was determined, and pressed His Royal Highness to assist me, at last receiving his promise of help. By his kind permission, the Albanian named Palok acted as my guide, and what eventually happened to me in that wild region will be seen in the following pages.
"Well," exclaimed the Prince at last, "if you go up there, it must be at your own risk. I've warned you of the danger. No one has been up there for many years. It has been at- tempted, of course, but travellers have either been held to ransom, and the Turks have been compelled to pay for their release, or else they have simply been shot by the first Albanian meeting them. The country beyond Scutari is the most unsafe in the whole Balkan Peninsula."
I replied that I intended to make the attempt.
"Well, then, I wish you buon viaggio," he laughed. "May every good luck attend you, and as we say in Montenegro - S'bogom! (God be with you!) When you return for I suppose you will pass this way down to the sea-come and see me, and tell me all about the Skreli and Kastrati country -for of course I am highly interested. They are always at war with our people on the frontier."
"I will let your Royal Highness know the moment I am back in Cettinje," I promised.
Then rising, he gripped my hand warmly, saying-
"Then I will help you if I can. Be careful of yourself, for I shall be anxious about you. Again, S'bogom!"
And the Prince accompanied me to the head of the grand staircase, where I made my obeisance, turned and descended through the rows of armed and bowing servants ranged in the hall, charmed by His Royal Highness's graciousness towards me and by the pleasant chat I had enjoyed.
When, after my journey through Northern Albania, I one afternoon re-entered that audience-chamber, and he came forward with outstretched hand to greet me, he exclaimed-
"Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face a little travel-worn- eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe," he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder.
"Come along to this room. It is more cosy," and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet.
For nearly two hours I sat relating to him what occurred on my journey, and describing the wild country which had, until then, been practically a sealed book. Even though Cettinje is so near, hardly anything was known of the Skreli, the Hoti, the Klementi, or the Kastrati tribes, save that they were brigandish bands who constantly raided the Montenegrin frontier.
The Prince listened to me with great attention, and put many questions to me as we smoked together.
Then rising, he took from a drawer in his great writing- table a small scarlet box, and as he opened it he bestowed upon me a compliment undeserved, for he said -
"There are few men who would have risked what you have done. Therefore I wish to invest you with our Order of Danilo, as a mark of my appreciation and esteem."
And he displayed to me the beautiful dark blue and white enamelled cross of the Order, the same that he was wearing at his throat, surmounted by the royal crown and suspended upon the white ribbon edged with cerise.
After he had invested me with the Order, saying many kind things to me, which I really don't think I deserved, he added-
"The chef du chancellerie will send you the diploma in due course, and I trust, when you petition your own gracious Sovereign King Edward, that His Majesty will allow you to wear this insignia."
I thanked His Royal Highness, gripped his hand, and a few minutes later passed through the line of bowing servants out of the Palace.
And that same evening I received from His Royal Highness the signed photograph which appears in these pages.
Before I left Cettinje I received the following expressive lines, written especially for me by a Montenegrin poet who is a great personage, but whose name he would not permit me to give. They are in Servian as follows, and I have placed their English translation below :-
S' veledušnog Albiona
Pružiše se dvije ruke
Crnoj Gori da pomogu
U junačke njene muke
S' vrućom rječu na ustima
Gladston diže Crnogorce
A Tenison za najprve
U svijet ih broi borce
Na glas svoih Velikana
Britanski se narod trže
Da pomože da zaštiti
Crnu Goru iz najbrže
Posla svoje bojne ladje
Sto na tečnost gospostvuju
Veledušno da zaštite
Domovinu milu Moju
O fala ti po sto puta
Blagorodni lyudi Soju
Dok je svjeta dok je greda
Nad Ulcinjem koje stoju
Hraniće ti blagodarnost
Ova šaka sokolova
Koima si u pomoci
Stiga putem od valova.
The literal translation in English is as follows:-
From the great-souled Albion,
Two arms were stretched
To help Montenegro
In her heroic sufferings.
With fiery word on his lips
Gladstone lifts up Montenegrins,
Whilst Tennyson declared them
The very first fighters in the world.
On the call of their great men,
British people rose up
In quickest manner, to help
And to protect Montenegro.
They despatched their war-ships,
Which rule over the seas,
Generously to protect
My Fatherland so dear to me.
Oh! thanks to thee, hundredfold thanks,
Noble race of men.
As long as the world lasts,
As long as the mountains above Dulcigno stand,
Will remain grateful to thee,
This handful of falcons,
To whose help thou didst come
By the road of the waves.
- An Observer in the Near East - William Le Queux. Publisher, E. Nash, 1907.
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Blurb: After Piri the nine-tailed fox follows an order from Heaven to destroy a dynasty, she finds herself on trial in Heaven for that very act. Executed by the gods for the “crime,” she is cast into the cycle of reincarnation, starting at the very bottom – as a worm. While she slowly accumulates positive karma and earns reincarnation as higher life forms, she also has to navigate inflexible clerks, bureaucratic corruption, and the whims of the gods themselves. Will Piri ever reincarnate as a fox again? And once she does, will she be content to stay one?
Advance chapters and side content available to Patreon backers!
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Chapter 144: Ungrateful Monarchs

To quote Floridiana, all that was left to do after that was housekeeping. Thoroughly scripted housekeeping, of course.
Still on his stage, Katu gave the prostrate demons his sternest stare and demanded if they repented of their deeds and deserved the forgiveness of the Divine Intercessor. For their part, the demons groveled deeper into the dirt and replied in unison that they did not but hoped he would grant them his divine grace anyway.
I’d wondered if the foxling might balk at this public humiliation, but having committed to my plan, she followed through with passion. She must have viewed it as an act of subservience to me rather than to Heaven, because you rarely saw such a dramatic genuflection.
There was a slightly hairy (haha) moment when she vowed in a high, clear voice, “I shall eat no human flesh ever again, however many more millennia I shall live.”
At that, the wolf chieftain’s head jerked up. But the foxling turned her head just far enough to stare at him, and he gulped, ducked his shaggy head, and repeated the oath.
The sight of such a vast horde of demons swearing off human flesh for the rest of their existences made quite an impression on the residents of Goldhill. To be more precise, they went wild. With joy, this time.
Out came their festival clothing, their drums, their firecrackers. The bears shouldered Katu’s platform, and we marched the foxling and her chieftains into the city, where the crowd engulfed us. People screamed and cheered and belted out our modified hymn, “Praise to the Mighty Kitchen God.” Dragon dancers made their dragon undulate ahead of us, clearing our way. Lion dancers bounded in and out of our procession, nearly tripping Dusty a couple times until he snorted at them, blowing off half of one lion’s mane. After that, they kept a respectful distance.
Instead of taking the shortest path to the Temple, we paraded around Goldhill, passing as many of its residents – even the slum dwellers – as possible. After all, everyone was equal in the eyes of the Kitchen God (or so Katu claimed), which meant that everyone should get an equal chance to grab their offerings and fall in behind us.
The palace was our last stop. As we sang and danced towards the main gate, I felt a twinge of unease. Would Anthea do her part and bring the queen outside to pay her respects to the Kitchen God, as represented by the Voice of the Divine Intercessor? Or would Jullia dig in her embroidered slipper heels and refuse to acknowledge him?
She couldn’t shut us down now, any more than the Earl of Black Crag could retake his mansion. But if she used her power to harass us, she could make our lives – especially Katu’s and the priests’ lives – very unpleasant.
Splitting off from Stripey, I dipped down to ask Bobo, Do you see them? Are they coming out?
Bobo raised her long neck and swiveled it around. “Uh-huh! Yep! I sssee a palanquin coming out!”
Whew. Anthea had followed through with her part.
The dragon dancers were the first to catch sight of the red-and-gold palanquin. They danced their dragon off to a side, knelt, and made it bow its head. The rest of us non-priests followed suit. When the priests forgot their orders and began to bend their knees, I signaled them to stay upright.
Katu, with his flair for the theatrical, needed no such reminder. He simply folded his hands together inside the sleeves of his robes and gazed down at the palanquin.
From behind the heavy folds of silk came the queen’s cool voice. “Well met, High Priest of the Kitchen God.”
Katu inclined his head. “It is thanks to the grace of the Divine Intercessor, Your Majesty. I am but a conduit for his everlasting love.”
“Indeed. His love is most awesome.” This time, the queen’s voice was a tad warmer. I almost see Anthea sitting next to her, hissing at her to sound more welcoming of the heroes who saved the capital.
Katu raised his arms in benediction, accepting the queen’s admission.
Then came a pause that had not been part of my plan.
What’s going on now? I whispered to Bobo, who cocked her head and listened.
“They’re arguing,” she reported. “Anthea’s telling the Queen that ssshe ssshould ssstep out of the palanquin ssso everybody can sssee her. The Queen is sssaying that no monarch ssshows herssself ssso casssually to commoners.”
I suppressed a snort. She was happy enough to put herself on display at Lychee Grove. Without raising my voice, knowing that it would carry to Anthea’s furry ears regardless, I said, Anthea, stick to the plan. Jullia needs to demonstrate the Crown’s subservience to the Temple.
Another exasperating wait. The spectators were starting to whisper among themselves, wondering what was going on. If Anthea didn’t shove Jullia out of the palanquin soon, our audience was going to get bored and leave, taking their offerings with them.
Stripey swooped down next to us. Is it wise to push the Queen like that? I don’t know much about monarchs, but Baron Claymouth wouldn’t like it.
Next, Floridiana squeezed between the priests to murmur, “I think we should drop it. Everyone saw the Queen come out to thank us. If we keep pushing, she may think we’re setting up the Temple as the true power over South Serica.”
That was, of course, my intention. But I supposed that forcing Jullia to admit the political shift publicly was less important than the reality of it.
Anthea, I said. It’s all right. Don’t push it.
“They ssstopped arguing,” Bobo reported. “I think they’re going to go back in now.”
Oh no, they weren’t. Keep the palanquin there until Katu has left. Anthea, you come out and join us as the queen’s representative.
Another maddening wait before the curtain on the side of the palanquin stirred. A slender white hand emerged, making the crowd gasp. Then Anthea stepped out with a fake smile pasted on her lips. She swept a somewhat sarcastic bow at Katu and mounted up on Dusty. I waited for the horse to complain that The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind, Vanquisher of Invaders wasn’t a dray animal, but he just rolled his eyes. Maybe he thought that Anthea was more attractive than a sack of rice or something.
Well, whatever. It was his back. I flew up to tell Katu, Let’s go back to the Temple. The queen isn’t coming out.
As a commoner who rarely laid eyes on his monarch anyway, he was unbothered by this setback. “Friends!” he called to all the people packed into the street. “Let us hie to the Temple to give thanks to the Divine Intercessor! He who has saved the city this day! Let our praises of him resound in Heaven!”
The drummers started pounding out their rhythm again, the dancers leaped to their feet, and our procession marched away from the palace.
I alighted on Anthea’s shoulder. What was that all about?
She smiled and lifted a hand to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers. Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, “Jullie’s worried you’re setting up Len Katullus as a priest-king.”
Hmmmm, now there was a thought: a priest-king, rather than a High Priest behind a figurehead queen.
“Oh no, you don’t. Usurping her throne was not part of our agreement.”
Since when had she expected me to hold to the letter of my agreements?
“Piriiii? I warn you, I’m not going to tolerate you removing Jullie too.”
Is that a challenge? But I was mostly joking, and she must have realized it, because she hung onto her temper. Nope. Wasn’t planning to. I mean, can you see Katu as a king?
“As an effective king, you mean? I thought incompetent rulers who lose their thrones to massive revolts were just your cup of tea.”
I shrugged. Just that once. It would be so…pedestrian to reenact it, don’t you agree? I’ll leave rulers like that to you.
“Hey! What are you implying?”
Bobo’s voice startled us out of our friendly bickering. “The Fox Queen and the wolf demon – I mean, ssspirit – are betting on whether the two of you will end up dueling.”
The “conquered demon leaders” were marching behind Katu’s platform to demonstrate their subjugation to the Kitchen God. Apparently they’d gotten bored and started eavesdropping on our conversation.
Oh yeah?
“Yeah. The wolf sssays you have to duel over the ‘insssult to your missstress.’ The fox sssays it is ‘beneath the dignity of Lady Piri’s ssservant to engage in sssuch,’ um, I forgot the ressst of it.” Bobo cocked her head as if listening to something. “Oh, ssshe says it’s: ‘sssuch petty disssputes.’ And now the wolf sssays his name is Sssteelfang, not ‘the wolf,’ and will you pleassse just challenge the raccoon dog already?”
Demons! Anthea and I looked at each other, in accord for a rare moment.
“What are the stakes?” she asked.
Bobo’s mouth actually turned down at the corners. “Ten pounds of…flesssh.”
Yep, they were demons, all right. But so long as they weren’t wagering human flesh, I didn’t care.
Anthea, who’d never lived in the Wilds, shuddered. “No, we are not going to duel. Here in South Serica, we are civilized.”
Hmmmmmm. About that….
Bobo opened her mouth, probably to ask why the Earls of Black Crag and Yellow Flame had nearly gotten into a duel outside Lychee Grove, but I shook my head at her. If Anthea could convince these demons that violence was not an acceptable mode of conflict resolution, then South Serica would be a lot more peaceful.
The foxling’s tinkling laugh reached even my mortal ears. “You hear that, Steelfang? They’re not going to duel. You owe me!”
“It doesn’t count if they heard us. I’ll bet they changed their minds because they heard us,” growled the wolf.
Hush! I scolded. Don’t scare the nice onlookers.
Without being able to see the demons, I didn’t know how they took it, but if they grumbled, I didn’t hear.
///
In Heaven:
That Earth-inspired dumpling restaurant had long since shut down, after too many gods and goddesses lost their tempers at the surly service. Lady Fate awaited the Kitchen God outside its latest replacement, the Heavenly Perfume Night Market. It was based on the open-air markets on Earth where street vendors sold cheap snacks and people ate while standing up or, even more shockingly, walking.
She wasn’t sure why the Kitchen God preferred such a lowly, gimmicky “eatery” to one of the real restaurants in Heaven, but she supposed it had something to do with all the time he spent on Earth. Maybe he felt more at home in a night market than an elegant dining room. And since she was the one who had requested this meeting, she had felt compelled to let him select the location.
Whatever habits he’d picked up on Earth, punctuality wasn’t one of them. He was even later than the moon blocks had indicated.
“Ah, Lady Fate!” His voice boomed out behind her, startling poor Regia so much that the cat jumped straight up into the air. She hissed and swatted the hem of his robes.
“And Regia too! Hi there, kitty.”
Lady Fate hastily picked her up. “There, there, baby, it’s all right,” she crooned, and forced a smile for her dinner partner. “Good day, Kitchen God. Or do you go by Divine Intercessor these days?”
He waved it off. “Oh, either one’s fine. I don’t put much stock in names. Whatever you prefer to call me – what is that amazing smell?”
As distractible as always. Maintaining her smile, Lady Fate ushered him into the dining space. All the tables had vanished. The walls had been painted with run-down buildings. Packed earth had been spread across the parquet floor (specially treated earth, to avoid dirtying shoes and hems, of course) to simulate a common marketplace. Star sprites and imps stood behind rickety stalls, cooking and serving…braised duck tongues and chicken gizzards and pork blood cakes. Whatever did people eat on Earth?
The Kitchen God ambled from stall to stall. It took a while. Gods and goddesses kept stopping him to congratulate him on the success of his Temple.
“So, what’d you want to talk to me about?” he asked between one jealous well-wisher and the next. An entire skewer of candied hawthorn fruits vanished down his gullet.
“I believe a soul belonging to a certain golden snub-nosed monkey has recently returned to the Bureau of Reincarnation.”
The Kitchen God got a fried chicken steak as big as his face. Through a giant mouthful, he mumbled, “You’ll mumble mumble more specific than that.”
Was he being deliberately obtuse? There was only one golden snub-nosed monkey who mattered. “I am referring to the soul that was once the Star of Scholarly Song.”
“Oh! That one. Yes, he’s back in the archives. Bad luck, poor soul. Got eaten by a vulture demon in the fake battle.”
Lady Fate suppressed a shudder at the image of their former colleague getting torn apart by a vulture. “Well, his luck has turned. His time has come.”
The Kitchen God actually stopped gobbling down the fried chicken steak. “Oh! You mean it’s time for that already?”
“Yes – ”
She would have elaborated, but he started babbling about not knowing where the time had gone, the centuries just flew by faster and faster, and would you look at that pork collarbone soup?
At last, she gave up and talked over him. “Kitchen God. Reincarnate him as a human.”
///
A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, quan, Relai, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!

This is the tales of the infamous magic Knight. Once is regarded as one of the most righteous and pure hearted individual who fight for justice and vanquished forces of evil left and right. A noble knight in shining armor beloved and adored by all, true heroic figure.
But now, Sir Based is nothing but a tainted symbol of cruel and uncaring unchecked capitalism where human life and righteousness is worth less than a few gold coins. Where horrid exploitation of fellow men and women is seen as norm. A staunch sigil of Chivalry industrial complex that send countless soldiers and squires to face their doom in the pointless crusade, to be slaughtered and dehumanised on unforgiving dunes of Levantine and other middle Eastern caliphate. Just for the higher entourage and echelon of Knights, military generals and Chaplains to fatten and enriched themselves on the spoils of war paid by blood and tear of their subordinates covered by a facade of holy war.
Many thinks Sir based is a cruel hearted bastard since the beginning but that's not what happened. He only walks down the darker side because of an incident.
An incident that cause Sir based his heart and mind. A story of a blade, a knight and his journey to the great waste.
Many years ago, there's was a great war when a lunatic King from nation faraway has gone coo coo for coco puffs and for some unfathomable reason. Declared war against the world. That tyrant waging the great senseless war against his neighbouring kingdoms and countries, causing untold loss and suffering.
After the alliance is formed and coalition is dead set to dethrone the mad monarch, 18 years of bloodshed and battles. The coalition gain the ground inches by inches against the strange preter natural strength of the tyrant's army that fight with unmatched ferocity. It's like the whole army is infected with rabies or something.
But with the pure determination of the coalition army and overwhelming amount of soldier consisted of nation and fiefdom that has been ravaged by the unhinged monarch's force. They finally break into the grand city, barged into the throne room and have a final showdown with the mad king.
But what they saw is not what they expected at all, they expected morbidly obese manchild that has been pampered all his life and order with ignorance but what they seen is rabid, enraged and really beefed up howling madman that make werewolf look like a chihuahua. His oversized false body builder muscle and shaking body is nothing when compared to his angry face that look like crude caricature of a supervillain.
After the fight with that crazed tyrant, after that mad king single handedly crushed 15 seasoned warriors with super natural brute force but lost to 50 more that swarmed him, one of them is Sir based who successfully disarmed the cruel king from his trusty sword. After the coalition army beheaded him and cremated his body.
They have a bigger problem in hand, they found the source of the evil and strange might of the vile monarch's force. The sword that mad king use is one of the most accursed artifact of doom that give user untold strength at the cost of corruption in their mind and body. The shiny pale grey blade adorned with golden lion shaped hilt and fiery red ruby, the legendary Pride Edge.
This blade though being lost forever find it's way into the hand of King and corrupted him into rabid despot. The Coalition know that this is serious matters since this thing is one of the artifact sought after by many many evil sorcerer, necromancer and other unsavory mages. If they know Pride Edge is here then Coalition going fight 50 lich Kings and evil witches bun rush at this kingdom to take Pride edge for themselves.
Within that night, the Coalition higher council decided that this thing need to be destroyed as fast as possible to prevent future tragedy and to denied any evil wizard from using it to causing more suffering to the world. And since they have ridiculously low imagination, they decided that this blade need to be cast into the pit of molten magma inside the great waste. Probably because these knight watched too much Halfling adventure when they were kids.
The great waste a vast moorland and barren volcanic landscape full of monsters and many horror that called those accursed place a home. They decided that to safest and fastest route to magma pit is located inside the Indigo valley. Probably the only place where you don't need to wading through 200 rabid dragons, incomprehensible eldritch abomination and Vampire army that like to spam mosquito swarm(no one like mosquito anyway)​.
But the true challenge is deliver the blade, Pride edge is famous for it's corruption ability. It can turned a holy Paladin into raving mad frenzied berserker devoided of reason and attacking anything that breath just by holding it for mere minute.
And there's no time to create a golem to hold the blade, the howling sound from faraway is already a sign that the news already reaches werewolves pack. If werewolf know, the world will know. Those mangy mutt just can't shut the hell up. Any delay of this quest means there's even more chance that the evil sorcerer army will mad dash on their way into this city.
And Sir Based is the most Qualified individual, he has pure heart that can resisted the temptation for long time, he also a magic knight who know how to use protective spell to neutralised the corruption property of this evil sword. The head of coalition order Sir based to journey into Great waste and indigo valley as fast as possible and before the dawn, Sir based is hopped on his trusty steed and breezing to the great Badland.
The Indigo Valley is home of many hostile forces. It's the main den of spider queen Fenza and she lord over several Pigmen clans with iron fist, in the swamp part of the Valley is home of blight Hydra infamous for their acidic glob and also the location of Kobold publishing building where they churning out "Knight bad, Dragon​ good"​ magazine every Saturday morning. Luckily Sir based don't have to hassle with them since those Kobolds probably too occupied with their overtime editorial job to care about his quest.
As fast as the wind(because being a magic knight, Sir based empowered his horse with wind magic), Sir based finally reached the border to great waste and he realised that he need Visa to enter.
While Sir based is busy with paper work and entry permit, unbeknownst to him an Arachne who is one of Spider queen Fenza's daughter is watching and she recognised the Pride Edge. That half spider woman quickly mad dash her way back home and gathering the Porcine-archinid army for the accursed blade.
Due some spider politics, if she bring the blade back to her mom. She'll be the crown princess and inherit the cobweb throne after her mother bite the dust. Well you know how much offspring spider made you know what she means, the competition in great waste is rough.
Immediately after getting entry permit, Sir based is riding his horse at mach speed heading to the Indigo valley.
But as he expected, this adventure is not a real adventure without adversary and obstacles. The pigmen clan is coming, the merciless cloven hooves and half squeal half roar sound echoes through the valley. The beast folks closed in from surrounding sallow half dead tall grass and under the windy gloomy weather. Their dark pink skin and ugly snout popped up everywhere ready for battle.
"We demand the cursed blade, Pride Edge. Give it to us and we'll let you go. We can do this easy way or fun way"
Proclaimed the Swine chieftain as he holding his battle axe and wearing ridiculous horned helmet.
Too bad Sir Based​ is not a coward and fight his way out of the encirclement, he dash out of sticky situation with grace.
But deep down he know he is in big trouble, the Arachne know he's here which means more and more bad piggies will shows up. He cannot afford to get exhausted or else he'll not have enough Mana to sustain his protective charm and the Corruption of the blade will win.
After several hour of charging into the Valley, he see a Volcanic spot that look like small orange puddle. His destination is there.
He also see the hundreds of Pigmen troops awaiting him, with half spider woman barking order at them. She look desperate like someone who didn't study and now in the final test room with emptied head.
Sir based come up with a plan and summon a scarecrow, dress it up like himself and put it on his horse. He use the scarecrow to lure the piggies army away from the Volcanic spot.
It's worked and now tide of Pigmen is now rushing at his horse with scarecrow.
Sir based then crawling through the high grass, using the chaos that unfolded as his distraction and then getting near the magma pit but he stumbled on a trap, a sticky spider web like trap. And a bell ring.
"Ayo, Hey, come back here you stupid pigs. The real tin can clown is here" the spider woman scream and order the confused pigmen under her rule to attack real sir based.
Too bad Sir based is skilled enough to get himself out of the trap and fend off the Arachne while blocking and strinking back at another pigman with sword.
He quickly reach the edge of Volcanic pool, where bright red and orange magma swirling like a lava lamp, where the blade will finally be destroyed. Without wasting any time, The Knight throwing the blasted sword into the volcanic pool as the spider woman scream her heart out, her chance to finally be someone other than total failure in her mother eyes is forever ruined.
The Vile weapon sending a seething smoke out immediately when it's metal touched the magma's extreme heat. The blade rattled violently as it's malevolent magic is being undone. The super natural dark cloud forming above the pit of molten stone and the pale weird moon with a hint of green shining bright on the cursed artifact. Signifies that the evil of the item is being cleanse from the land.
The blade can no longer take a heat and shattered into thousand of metallic pieces before being melted away.
Unfortunately, one of the blade fragment darts out of the magma pool from sheer explosive strength. Nick into Sir based's arm and cause a small wound.
"Mine!!!​" The​ spider woman jumped and dashing to the spot where fragment of evil artifact is landed but sir based quickly grab it and throw it back into the pit of lava. He couldn't risk fragments of this evil item being in the wrong hand.
"Awww, Come on!!! Can't I have anything good happened in my life for freaking once!!!, can't have shit in the great waste apparently." she screamed in pure frustration as she look like she trying to claw her face off. Sir based is ready to fight her and the Swine horde.
"yo boss, can I have an OT payment now? you promised us that if we go to work in Saturday night you'll . . . "
"No​body get extra payments OK? We failed, we didn't get the sword for my mom so I can't afford to pay anyone extras. Just, just go back to your pen or something, my sisters gonna mock me until the day I died and I need a therapy."
"Dang it, we should go joined Charlotte's force instead of stuck here with you"
"that's your problem I guess, the jig is up. Everyone go home, I'm freaking hate knight but I'm too tired and too sad to care now so, go back to wherever you came from I guess. Now how am I going to pay for my college." as spider woman nagging her way out of the volcanic spot with her pig folks army in sheer disappointment. Let's say that she just pulled off the most pathetic rage quit you'll ever heard in villain story ever.
Sir based is confused with the situation but he glad that he don't have to fight 500 pigmen forces to get out of great waste. His mission is completed so no beef with that nervous wreck of a spider girl.
But as he slowly headed back home on his horse, through gloomy yellowish brown grassland and slightly muddy soil. He feels something awakening inside of him, something that give him a thrilled sensation that he never felt before, it come from a slight gash on his arm that the cursed blade's fragment caused.
This adventure changed the noble knight forever, the evil power seeping into his body and soul. His empathy dried up and his malice grows. Sir based letting out his strange cackle as a bad omen. His wicked smile reaching ears to ears as nefarious plots started to taking over his mind.
5 years later
As Sir based walking through the city narrow, seeking new recruits for the next crusade against the Levantine. He saw 3 late teenagers loitering and chatting about their issue.
A blond boy with tanned skin who is desperate for money, he want to make his mother proud and given his family some comforts.
A brunette girl with pale skin in salt miner overall uniform, she want to go on adventure and proven to the world that her life can be more than slow, sluggish miner in dark and cold cavern. Seeking grand adventure.
A brown skinned boy in tattered clothes, poor and starving. He seeking a bright future that this crumbling cityscape cannot provided to him. He refused to die poor here.
A perfect candidate for Chivalry industrial complex.
"Hello kids, how are you do day"
"Whoa, a knight, wait a minute. Is that Sir Based? Sir based the brave from the legend"
"that's corrected my boy, now the crusade is near and I need some assistance. Would you kids want to join?"
"that's rad, do we gonna be a knight in shining armor? We gonna be glorious fighter? When I'm going back to salt mine I'll finally prove to my dad that I can be more than a miner"
"that's absolutely right young lass, who like salt anyway. Come with me and I'll show you what's life is all about. Soldiery is not limited to men afterall."
"and we'll be there in the light, with bright future, I'll finally be somebody. Pulling my family out of that slum and we'll have a good life."
"it's up to your performance afterall, this is free market economy. All of you have a chance to be a great knight like me. Just that you given it all. I give you a chance to joining my crusade."
"Now kids, what's your name may I asked"
"my name is Jeffrey, that's Susan and the last guy in Benjamin. You can called him just Ben"
"what a lovely bunch of folks, I'm assured you that we'll go to the great crusade, fighting for justice everywhere, where all of you became a true heroes. Into the foreign land that you can see what you will never seen before. You have no ideas what's in store for you kids"​
"Jeffrey, you'll have a wholesome life and make your mother proud. With the wealth and comforts for the rest of your life"​
"Susan, you'll have a glorious existence. With your name recognised by everyone and beloved by all. You'll stand proudly and walks home to prove your parents you are more than just another human. Life will be fast, fanciful and fun."
"And Ben, you'll have a long fruitful life with sparkling bright future awaits you. A long road for sure but it's worth it. Just given it all OK?"
The dramatic irony is recruiter always lied and they'll get the exact opposite of what they're promised.
As 3 unsuspecting teenagers accepted the offer of their life. They followed the tainted knight into the main street giddy and gleefully for their unbelievable stroke of luck. As local wizard boy see their shadow in the wall.
He only see a shadow of an amputee who lost everything, a weeping snail that can no longer go home and a shadow of boy with no head. A prophecy that will soon become a harsh reality.
"Hi diddle dee dee,​ a soldier life for me"
The catchy tunes echo through the busy street, like a knight role playing as pied piper leading the street rats to their final fate. To have their dream crushed on the dune of Levantine where war crime and curses awaits them.
The end.