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3 mos ago
Current How i managed time?
10 mos ago
My apologies to any RPers im in games with; I've caught pneumonia, so expect delays in posting
10 mos ago
Your Olmec gods can't save you.
10 mos ago
Fēlīx Pascha
10 mos ago
tfw anime turns your ancestor's god into a big tiddy anime girl
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You can call me Nere for short. Im a part time, very casual RPer with a lot of ideas

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They boy rested on his knees in the snow, dirt and blood adulterating the pure whiteness of the precipitation as it collected on the ground. The young man's chest grew and sunk with each breath that he struggled to suck into his lungs, head down, his face obscured by the long, blonde hair that hung down, caked and clumped together with dried blood. To the left of the boy stood a hooded woman, her dark black cloak trimmed with golden embroidery, loosely hanging over her body, her face clearly visible under her hood, with long, almost white blonde hair and icy blue eyes, as she held the end of a rope strung over a tree, leading back to a noose tied around the boy's neck. In front of both was another man in the same black and gold hood, an elderly bearded man. He spoke loudly to the gathered crowd.

"This man has been found guilty of desecrating the Shrine of Laima in this village. He has incurred the wrath of the Mother of Heaven upon us all."

The crowd roared angrily, their clothes glittering, the colors gone pale from the collection of the snow upon them. They were dressed in simple garments, long shirts over pants, the women wearing long, thick skirts over their pants, and all with hooded, woolen cloaks over their clothing.

The older man spoke once again, "Laima demands a sacrifice to restore the sanctity of her sacred space." As he spoke he instructed the woman with a simple point in her direction. The young woman responded by feeding the rope into some kind of turning machine and began to turn the handle, as the rope rose up over the tree, dragging the young man by the neck off the ground and suspending him. He tried to resist, twisting and writhing as he rose up, though it was clear there was no escape for him. The sounds of his choking could be heard as the older man and the young woman began to sing chants in praise of the goddess Laima, before the young man went limp, hanging by his neck from the maple tree.

With that the crowd cheered, as the young woman fetched a cow, and slaughtered it as well, sprinkling its blood over the site, over herself and the older man, and then turning to splatter the blood over the crowd.

What started as an execution quickly turned into a feast, as the participants of the sacrifice were invited to eat of the slaughtered cow, as parts of it were burned in a fire as tribute to the gods Laima and Perkunas.

The young woman called out during the merriment, "All praise Perkunas, the most merciful God, who gave us all of this!" And so the crowd roared in excitement of the figure. To the unknown, they may just be praising a god, but it was far more than that.

In the new capital, the King Mindaugas I, looked out over the dark, gloomy landscape of the Baltic. Most of the year, the Baltic was in freezing cold, with snow falling all but 3 months of the year. Only the hardiest of plant life could grow here. Much like only the hardiest of men could thrive here. Mindaugas remembered how his father had unified the tribes of the Baltic under the Lithuanian banner, and set them out to conquer and take new land for Lithuanians to live in. It was only befiting of a god king to do so, and now Perkunas had chosen to reside in him after his father's death. Mindaugas would be sure not to disappoint.


@Nerevarine

FYI. I think most of Estonia was sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Also love the underdog Empire.


Estonia in this sense means more "where the descendants of Estonians live" in the New Baltic.

And thanks! My plan was basically to make like, Mordor in Europe. The Baltic in this timeline is basically a barren tundra with darkened skies right now, even with the amount of time thats passed it's still not fully recovered from the Nuclear Winter. If I thought I could get away with it, I may have had them have some kind of regiments of semi-mutated soldiers crossed with unmutated humans to create horrifying monsters for psychological warfare to further the Mordor idea.

If I may ask, would it be possible for you to work as the Map guy with claims so we don't have to put obnoxious circles on the map?


absolutely


Just lemme know if I added or took away territories or if you want different colors
Nation Name:
Empire of Lithuania

Flag/Banner:


Political Environment and Government Type:
Lithuania is a theocratic empire ruled by a high priest called the Krivis (fem: Krivė). The Krivis is believed by the local people to be the manifestation of the god Perkunas on earth and as such, his rule is absolute and his word is final. Alongside the Krivis are high priests called the Council of the Vaidilos. Each member is a priest referred to as a vaidila (fem. vaidilutė) who is believed to be a vessel through which their patron god speaks verbatim. Beneath the Vaidilos are a series of lesser clerical rulers who answer to their local vaidila, and enlist the help of military orders to maintain rule in their jurisdiction.

Location On Map:


Demographics:
Lithuania is comprised of about 70% ethnic Balts, who can be found throughout the empire, but cluster most densely in the central area of the country, radiating outward from Dievomiestas. They are divided into various sub-ethnicities, the Lithuanians being the most important. In the farthest northern areas of the empire are the Finns and Estonians, who mostly inhabit the regions of Estonia and the Finnish Isles and rank about 5%. To the east are people collectively termed Russians (descendants of Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians) who make up about 20% of the population. To the West are the Poles, who make up the remaining population at about 5%.



Religion is a tricky matter, as the religion of Dievugarbinimas incorporates various religious cults that could be found in the Post-War Baltic. It is known that a small minority of "old believers" who worship only Dievas and his two avatars, Kristus and Dvasia, exist in areas, and this cult is especially popular among the Poles and some Russians. That said, they are not viewed as entirely distinct from Dievugarbinimas, as the mainstream religion also accepts that Dievas came to earth through the avatar of Kristus, and spoke through the avatar of Dvasia, and will return as Kristus to fight the darkness on Earth after the tribulations (which Lithuanians believe they are currently living in) and establish Lithuania as his heavenly kingdom on earth.

Some major religious cults in the Post War Baltic that were incorporated into Dievugarbinimas were:
  • The Cult of Dievas: Seems to be a mixture of Christian folk-beliefs from the various people of the Baltic, as well as Poland and Russia. These were synthesized into a new cult focusing on a supreme creator named Dievas.
  • The Cult of Perkunas: Perkunas was the Lithuanian pre-Christian god of Thunder, and his memory lived on after the war, with a religious cults appearing centered around powerful leaders and warlords, who claimed to get their legitimacy first from the Christian god, but gradually over time taking on the title of Perkunas, to invoke nostalgic and mythological ties to their claims. Eventually, this came to its logical extreme when the new King of Lithuania proclaimed himself to be a reincarnation of Perkunas. As a result, the worship of Perkunas is the main orthodox state religion of Lithuania.
  • The Cult of Dawn (Aušra): The Cult of Dawn was a cult that worshiped the destructive power of the Atomic Bombs that decimated the world. They came to worship a goddess named Aušrinė, who had the title of "Dawn-Bringer" and was associated with the Morning Star and the Wind. Aušrinė was believed to be the goddess who created the Sun, and who stands at the gates of paradise and lights the way for those going there. Aušrinė was tasked by Dievas to destroy the world when it became too wicked, and thus it is believe that she gave the power of nuclear bombs to humanity to destroy them.
  • The Cult of Saulė: Saulė was the sun goddess, and her cult was the worship of the sun.
  • The Cult of Bangpūtys: The Sea God who is extremely popular among Latvians and Livonians.
  • The Cult of Kristus and Dvasia: Believed to be the avatars of Dievas, one used to walk on earth, and the other to communicate spiritually with his followers.
  • The Cult of Giltinė: The worship of Death, the Death Cult was a common religion in the Post-War Baltic. Followers of Giltinė operate as bands of nomadic assassins, who kill as an act of worship of their goddess.
  • The Cult of Gabija: Gabija was one of the daughters of Dievas and the goddess of Fire. She was also seen as the patron of machinery, and thus her followers became collectors and venerators of the machinery of old.


Demographics:
There are slightly more women in Lithuanian than men, with about 55% of the population being composed of women.

Culture:
The people of the Baltic began to regress socially and culturally after the war, with Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Prussia, and Belarus being the main recipients of the nuclear fallout that was emanating out of Russia. The Baltic was plagued with nuclear winter and rising sea levels that were beyond apocalyptic.

The result was a very clannish and tribal society, where the extended family transitioned from irrelevant to central to society almost overnight. Lithuanians are extremely religious, though their religions have changed over time, with mainstream Christianity largely falling out of favor as "pagan" ideas started to become the norm.

Many Lithuanians are agricultural, with the soil of Lithuania only just starting to recover, and the necessity for farming to surviving. There is also a tradition of semi-nomadic warrior bands, mostly comprised of young men who wander the countryside taking what they need to survive, with their violent existence accepted by their rulers on the condition that they will rally to their master's call when he needs them.

Important States and Cities:
Dievomiestas - The New Capital city, founded by the first warlord in the heart of Lithuania
Vilnius - A major city in Lithuania
Riga - The most important city in the North
Knigsberg - The most important city in the West

History:









Other
They were far from Tarukha, far enough away that the seas finally had ceased to gnaw on the keel of the ship like a starving animal, trying to pull the vessel into the depths greedily, as if it was hoarding some preciously rare food, that rare prey that still went out into the seas, praying to the gods to not be swallowed whole into an undulating grave of wine-dark abyss. Grand Duke Bozhda stood on the deck of the ship, calling back to the crew if they had spotted land yet. With each call, the Duke's voice became more strained, more loud, as the crew, in turn, increased the intensity of their replies. Traveling from Necroleste and crossing the ocean to Kingsport was hardly the ideal journey for a Duke to be making. This was more the domain of a salt merchant, but this was far from an ordinary excursion.

Tarukha was far unlike Kingsport, unlike any city in the Brokenlands. The Language of the city was unlike that in the rest of the lands, the language known as Zimij. A tongue that invoked the sounds of liquids, of fluidity in its sounds. A perfect language for the people of the Islands, where the sea and the river controlled all in their lives, where it held supreme. On the ship, one would not hear the normal tongue of the Brokenlanders, but hear the sailors cursing and chatting in Zimij. It always made Bozhda feel like an outsider in these lands. Necroleste was as much a part of the Brokenlands as any other, yet it was no secret it was a black sheep, both in its people and in its very land. How Bozhda wished he need not leave the Valley, that the lands between the Avokha and the Tsikesite would be the only world he needed. Alas, Bozhda Olegasyn did not have the luxury of that ignorance. The Sawtooths needed him, as their strongest member, their leader, they needed any leverage necessary.

The Duke was snapped out of his thoughts at the beckoning of a shiphand, whose high pitched cry signified that Kingsport had come into view. Bozhda sighed as the sailors began to prepare for the arrival to the city. Bozhda resolved to return to his quarters and await the docking.The duke retreated away, pouring some mead into a bone cup inscribed with exotic designs. A soldier had gifted it to him, claiming it to have belonged to a captured Maldpa warrior, taken after local guards speared the would-be raider when he showed up on a local farm.

Bozhda felt a degree of power being surrounded by his guard. Nearly all of the duke's personal guard were local men of Zimij extraction, though their distinctive armor and dress were indicative of their origin in Brokenlander culture. The Duke had changed into something more befitting of their meeting, donning a pure white tunic, decorated on its hems and edges with a distinctive red Zimij pattern embroidered into it. The duke had combed his long blond hair back, secured in place with a headband, assured that his appearance was sufficient for the meeting. The Duke and his guard entered into the King's Hall, making their way to the other assembled vassals.

Bozhda spoke for the first time in what seemed like years in his native language, to announce his presence to the moot. "The Duke of Necroleste has arrived, the Sawtooth Clan has answered the call for a moot."
Scene Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11mejVpT6Yg
Somewhere near Vlore, Albania

Darkness seemed to eat away at the trees as the escort made its way down the dirt roads, moving fast enough that looking out of the windows would only enhance the illusion that the sky was some kind of black acid burning away the tops of the forest. Behind the leading truck, were several small vehicles. Niko Sr. had called them the Icarus, for they were fast, but fairly fragile for military vehicles, emphasizing speed over durability. Easy for Alexandros to produce en mass. In the main vehicle, a song was playing on the in-vehicle radio. The captain commented on it to his passenger.
"Valentina Calabresi, the hot new thing out of Italy. The Albanians really love this song, heard it in a bar in my off time."
The passenger, one Enver Hoxha, made no comment on the music choice. Just hoping that the escort from Argyrokastro to Vlore would be over quickly.

Meanwhile in Giannitsa, Pella Department, Greece
Niko's face rested in his empty left hand, propped up only by his arm resting on the table. The foreman of this local factory just outside of Giannitsa, was boring him immensely. Her voice felt empty and monotonous, contrasted by the song playing faintly on the radio in the lobby of the factory. Some song by a new Italian singer, whose name he forgot. Niko's eyes rolled in his head towards the window. Night already. He groaned, he had hopped internally, but the expression of the foreman made it clear that some noise had escaped his lips. Not that he cared.

Albania
Hoxha had almost drifted off to sleep when he was awoken by a sudden jolt. The jerk had knocked the escort up quite a bit, with the soldier cursing as he noticed that his passenger had been pulled out of his sleep.

"We hit something big, comrade. I'll have to go out and look if there's any damage." the soldier began to unbuckle himself as the smaller escorts behind began to pull off to the sides of the road as well. "Just relax here, it shouldn't take very long."

Hoxha waited a bit, as the driver seemed to be eaten up by the darkness as he ran towards the back of the vehicle. However, only a seconds later, he began to hear something over the music, as a line of men, armed with rifles began to march towards the front of the vehicle.

Giannitsa
Niko slammed his hands onto the glass table of the meeting room, once again attracting the attention of the foreman, who quickly grabbed her glass of water.

"Is something wrong, Niko?" she asked

Niko began furiously nodding, "Yeah, there is Zeynep, there is a problem, the problem that I have to sit here in the fucking middle of the night, listening to your prattle on about the most mundane of nonsense, when we all know the factory is doing fine, when at the same time, I have to sit her and listen to you talk to me in Turkish, when I'm here in Greece. We aren't in the Ottoman Empire, we should be speaking Greek!" Niko said, swatting papers off of the table as he stood up. "I'm tired of this, dealing with fucking Turks and Slavs parasitizing off of my father's work. This is Greece, the power should be for Greeks!" Niko stormed out of the room, pushing his way out of the room and descending the stairs towards the lobby so that he could exit.

"Even the music is foreign!" He shouted about the Italian song that played on the radio, as he made his way to the exit, only to open the door and fall back as he collided with a man on the outside.

"What the fuck!" he shouted before he looked up, to see a familiar face. "Boris?"

"Hello, Niko." Boris said, as he revealed the gun he had under his jacket, pointing it straight at Niko. "You thought you could just throw me away, Niko, when I've been running factories before you were even a thought. You think you can send me back to basic labor because your dad gave you a position of power?"

Albania
The soldiers began to line up one by one in front of the vehicle, side by side as they stood at attention, as a final soldier walked up to the vehicle and addressed Hoxha directly.

"Enver Hoxha, I would like to inform you that the Hellenic Socialist Republic is no longer in need of your services. However, as you are a liability to the cause, we have no choice but the dispose of you so you will not stand in our way any further."
With that the Soldiers pointed their guns at the vehicle, as Hoxha began frantically trying to free himself from the safety restraints, the soldiers began their gunfire upon him.

Giannitsa
Niko began crawling himself backward on the floor, unable to bring himself to say anything before Boris began to fire his gun at him, hitting him multiple times in the chest.
From above in the office, a scream could be heard as Zeynep rushed back into her office to call police, as Boris darted out of the building. Niko just laid on the ground in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out as the only other soul in the building hid in a makeshift shelter in her office.

Albania
Hoxha fell out of the door of the vehicle as the bled out in the mud. The Soldiers, satisfied with their work, began to walk back to their transports, as they drove off, the final few notes of the song drifted off in the air as the life began to leak out of Hoxha, and the surroundings turned to black.



Mystras, Greece, 1943

(Collab with @Letter Bee)
It had been two years since the soldiers of Vafeiadis had the honor of hanging their greatest enemy from the gallows of Athens. Dionysios Hatzi had had the pleasure of being there first hand when he watched the old man die. The feeling of watching the nationalistic pig twitch and flail so pitifully in his final moments was indescribably satisfying and pleasurable to him, almost erotic in a way. He felt no shame, no guilt in his reactions. Metaxas was a chauvinistic monster, an enemy of basic decency. What kind of person...no, not a person. As far as Dionysios was concerned, men like Metaxas had lost any right to be called human. For 22 years, Dionysios had lived in squalor, huddling with his family for shelter in the gutters of Corinth. It wasn't like this was unusual, many lived like this, more than should ever have been acceptable. Yes, one family in poverty is a crime, so what of the blood of hundreds that the Kingdom had on its hands? Metaxas' stances could only mean that he supported the death and starvation of thousands. He had deserved to die like an animal on the gallows. Now, Dionysios was determined to enact justice on those who stood against the communists, against a better Greece. They were just as guilty as Metaxas in his eyes, and they too would pay the price. All of them.

The Democratic Army had entrenched themselves around Mystras, hoping to force the defenders to attack out of desperation once the siege had taken its full toll on them.

Within Mystras

The commander of the motley coalition of conservative militias holding Mystras, one George Batazes, gave his final orders:

“Alexandros, Markos, and Basileos, you three stage the breakout attempts to the south of the city. Escort the women and children in three groups; escape to Gytheo. I and the remaining militias will stage a final diversionary charge to wound the foe as much as possible. Like Leonidas, we will hold back the enemy as much as possible before dying a final, glorious death. Any questions?”

There were none. And so the defenders of Mystras made their final defense of the city, the last roar of Old Greece...

Meanwhile, outside of the city, the commander of the communist forces, Orestes Panagos, began the advance into the small town. He was certain that there was only one final outcome for Mystras. Like Sparta before it, the city would fall, and with it, there was little doubt that Laconia, the final enclave of the anti-communist resistance, would fall.

"Alright, comrades," Orestes shouted as they began the advance towards the city. "Let's end this once and for all. Do not hold back, this battle was already over before it we even got here.

And with that, the communists began their assault. Dionysios was in the initial infantry divisions, entering into the city. The initial advance from the north, however, was met with brutal resistance. Dionysios would remark in just how brutal the incursion was, the resistance fighters attacking like wild animals, running into battle as if in a berserk frenzy, nothing left to lose. It was something intense and mystifying to the young soldier, the sheer ferocity of it all, the passion and the suffering in the fight. The North would be a bloodbath, though Orestes had already called the majority of the encircling force to begin advancing on the east and west. The order called for the soldiers stationed to the south of the city to leave and move either east or west to join the advancing parties, leaving the roads leading out of the city to the south virtually undefended.

George’s men were in close combat with the enemy, shooting until their guns overheated, then pulling out their daggers and hacking at the closely-packed ranks of the enemy. When the daggers broke on the bones and armor of the foe; they bit with teeth and clawed with lengthenef nails. They would make history.

Markos, meanwhile, was only slightly more lucky. He and his breakout group had overwhelmed the remaining besiegers to the south, but had attracted a patrol of foes that were going to head for the east. His men were now being cut to pieces, but most of the women and children had gone on under him, leaving behind their remaining menfolk. He looked back to see if his people were safe; they were.

Except for his wife and nineteen-year old daughter. They had been left behind.

With a heavy heart, the church painter turned militia commander gave the order to move on to Gytheo...

The battle raged on for a while more, but in the end, it came to the expected end. The Eastern and Western divisions made quick advances into the city. What few defenders remained in its walls were killed. When the northern division made its way into the city, Orestes made an example of the town, and ordered it to be burned to the ground. In a few short hours, where once stood a city was only a smoldering pile of ashes and rubble. From the ruins of Mystras rose a pillar of smoke, rising like a dark tower to loom over Laconia, like an omen telling all that the battle was over, and Laconia, the final fortress of resistance, had fallen.

Ioannina, South Epirus Department, 1960


Dionysios twisted neck to the side a couple times, lifting his arms up in a stretch before walking over to the burnt out pile of rubble that remained on the streets.

"I haven't seen something this badly demolished since I was in Laconia." he quipped to his partner, who simply rolled her eyes at the joke.

Souroupo was barely recognizable, little more than a skeletal structure of a building. The nightclub had become the final sight of 22 people, with another 50 injured in the bombing. Little was known about the assailant, other than that he had allegedly pledged allegiance to the House of Zogu before he detonated his explosive. It was suggestive that he was involved with Skanderbeg's Own, and thus the case moved from the jurisdiction of the Ioannina Police to the Prefecture Level Authorities. Epirus was a busy prefecture for crime.

"You can't take a piss without getting called out to go check out another terrorist attack in Argyrokastro or Ioannina." Dionysios had said this once, and there was some truth to it. He often compared it to his time in the Civil War, when the was fighting guerillas in Laconia. He drew parallels often.

"Back in Corinthia, you had guys hiding in the mountains with guns, blowing up buildings every night. I didn't think I'd have to deal with it again when I was 39!"

Eleni was getting tired of hearing war stories with her coffee and casual racism every investigation. Dionysios had a habit of sneaking in a joke about her Albanian heritage every chance he got.

"Hey, Dervishi; they say this guy was a Muslim. What're the chances he had a Catholic name?"

Eleni rolled her eyes and stood up once again.

"As Hilarious as that'd be, turns out the guy's name is Muhammat Burim, from a little hick town called Cassiopeia. Authorities over there gave us his address, and witnesses say he met up with a family member, one Aleksander Burim, before he came to Ioannina, so we're gonna pay them a little visit."

The drive to Cassiopeia was long and arduous, navigating through the twists of mountains. Somehow Epirus never benefited from those infrastructure programs Vafeiadis was always bragging about in his speeches. The only way to access most of these little hamlets was through mountain passes half of the time, and Cassiopeia happened to be one of those. The village was certainly nothing to look at. Dionysios estimated about 500 people probably lived there, likely all Albanians. Chams to be exactly.

"Lucky they put us on this case, huh?"

Eleni shook her head, "They won't like me. If anything they'll probably like me less than you."

Dionysios laughed heavily, "Eleni, I really couldn't give a shit if they like us, but I do give a damn that we can understand them." Eleni made a face of disgust, knowing that the aging cyclops couldn't see her from the right. If anything the eyepatch he wore probably hid her better from his one good eye. "I don't know how to say much in that language. Sounds a lot like the sounds their goats make."
He then hit her lightly on the shoulders a couple times. "Thankfully that's what I've got you for. Hell, you even speak the right dialect for this place."

Cassiopeia was far from inviting. As the agents entered into the city, what little faces they passed stared at them in judgment, in disgust at the presence of the outsiders, watching, tracking their every movement as they made their way through the quickly darkening village. Night had fallen by the time that Dionysios and Eleni reached the residence of their mark. A little house out in the boondocks of the backwoods. The sounds of sheep echoed through the night, the little white shapes of the creatures faintly visible in the misty darkness. The rotting steps creaked under the two detective's weight, as Dionysios gave a couple heavy knocks at the door.

It took a few minutes before a response was made. The door slowly prying open as a single dark eye peered out from behind the crack, a golden brass chain holding terse between the door and the frame.

"Good evening," Eleni said firmly, clearing her throat a bit. "I am Detective Eleni Dervishi, and this is my partner, Detective Dionysios Hatzi, with the Epirus Prefecture Department of Investigations. We're investigating a suicide bombing in that took place a few days ago in Ioannina. It's become apparent that the attack was carried out by Muhammat Burim, and we know that he came here shortly before the attack." Eleni continued, speaking in Cham Albanian the entire time, "We have questions that we would like answered."

Aleksander said nothing, only making a gesture for the agents to wait as he closed his door and opened it up once more, motioning for them to enter.

The dwelling of Aleksander was quite empty, almost barren. The man motioned for the agents to sit as he joined them, sitting from across. Dionysios was the first to speak.

"Let's get straight to the point. Your cousin has known connections to Skanderbeg's Own. A search of his house found copies of texts by one Gjergj Kastrioti. Atdha, The Case for the Nation State, Against Communism, The Kosovo Question, you name it, he had it. And it doesn't take a genius to read through one of his books and know he's planning something against Greece."

Aleksander's expression remained blank

"I'm fairly certain that Skanderbeg didn't just rise out of the grave and start writing books in Argyrokastro in a couple years ago, so the question I have is, what do you know about Ahmet Pashaj?"

Aleksander finally spoke up, the man's raspy voice tinged in a very thick Albanian accent. "Ahmet Pashaj is the oracle of our times, the one who will make Albania a great nation, and prove to the world the greatness of Albania and her people."

Aleksander continued, "Ahmet Pashaj is a friend of the Burim Clan, and we are loyal to him. He is what the Albanians need. And we will do anything to aid his cause."

"So Muhammat wasn't just a lone wolf, the whole clan here is affiliated."

Then, a creak came from behind the agents, as the door opened, moonlight pouring in as several figures came into the small house, armed with various makeshift arms. A Shovel, A Cudgel with nails hammered into it, a baseball bat, knives, and one armed with a shotgun. Aleksander himself picking up a knife as he lunged at the agents. In that moment, Dionysios reverted back to the civil war days, grabbing the would-be assailant by the arm and throwing him across the room into a wall. Eleni grabbed her gun and fired a couple shots at the approaching group, hitting one in the chest while another fired the shotgun, obliterating one of the chairs. Dionysios quickly ducked under a swing by one of the clansmen, grabbing the arm of another and breaking it, causing him to drop his cudgel, which he quickly grabbed and swung at the leg of another attacker, causing the nails to stab into his knee. As the attacker fell to the ground, Dionysios delivered a blow to his head, only to be tacked by another one of the Burim clansmen. As they wrestled onto the ground, Dionysios managed to reach up, digging his hands into the attacker's face, digging his fingers into his eyes, twisting them into the sockets before taking hold and slamming his forehead into the attackers' nose, freeing himself as the assailant went unconscious. Aleksander had returned to consciousness and ran at Eleni, who grabbed the lamp next to her and swung it, hitting the man in the ribs and knocking him down. Eleni then fired her gun once more, hitting the shotgun carrier, causing him to pull his trigger inadvertently, killing the knife-wielding clansman to his left.

Aleksander was the last surviving attacker in the house, with Eleni quickly jumping on top of him, holding him down as she restrained him, cuffing the man, as Dionysios grabbed him by the back and forced him to his feet.

"We've got a lot of questions that you're going to have to start explaining once we get to Ioannina."

As Eleni escorted the restrained man to the car, Dionysios took a look around at the carnage that had gone down here.

He shuttered, feeling that same intensity, that same stimulation he felt in the war.

Yeah, it was just like old times.
@Flagg Updated my app
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