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Cicera, Spain - September 1960
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Camila sighed as she pushed an inquisitive cat out of the way and drew the full milk pail from beneath a bored look heifer. The three legged stool beneath her creaked warningly, the strong smell of cow shit stung her nostrils, dogs barked, she needed to mend her dress, her boots were falling apart, and it was only seven in the morning.

For a moment she leaned her head against the heifers flank and closed her eyes. She could still feel Francisco's strong grip about her shoulders as they sat on the hillside above the village, staring out over the green landscape, tendrils of morning mist still clinging to the tops of trees. Had it been a dream?

She doubted it. The men of the village were still talking about the visit, filled with pride that someone from their little corner of the world could become ruler of all Spain. It had kindled a secret hope in her that she might also be able to escape what seemed inevitable, life beneath a sweating, grunting, older man as he tried to give her babies in their tiny stone house in the middle of the mountains. A lifetime of raising children, milking cows, shovelling shit, and forever looking back on Francisco's visit with the sincere wish it had never ended.

With one hand on the cows hip she stood, lifting the milk pail and grabbing her small stool before walking toward the family home. Several cats meowed as they hurried after her and a crow gave a cackling laugh from a nearby tree. The village was all a bustle already, the baker on his rounds with a small cart, a fisherman from a nearby village had made the trek with a collection of fresh catch, and children laughed and giggled as they ran through the streets kicking a football ahead of them. It looked all very idyllic but Camila knew better.

There was her sister waving from a nearby window, scarf wrapped about her throat to hide the bruises from her husband who was a vicious drunk. The unconcealed leering gazes of the village men as they saw Camila approaching. She was not ignorant to her attractive features, she was a jewel among rocks in rural Spain. The only reason she had avoided being married off was her father's desire to see a match made that would benefit him, possibly even to a neighbouring town. Suitors presented themselves at the house once a week or more and, only if her father thought they could afford her dowry, was she allowed to meet them. So far the only decent option had been a miller who was eleven years her senior.

Again her mind drifted back to Francisco's visit. He had stayed three days and she had gone to him every night, the two of them stealing away into the darkness. She was certain that the village knew but no one would have dared say a thing to the Viceroy. Francisco has been so different. Clean, well groomed, and with a sense of worldly knowledge that she had envied.

"Camila!" Her father, Paco the Younger, was waving at her from the barn and she sighed, pushing the happy memories away and ploding toward him. She passed the little pond they kept, its surface as still as glass, and caught sight of herself in the reflection. High cheekbones, long black hair, narrow face and slim waist, she was pretty in a country sort of way.

"Yes, father?" She set the pail down by her feet and the cats hurriedly took advantage of the situation.

"Father Alvito asked to see you." Paco raised an eyebrow questioningly at her but all she could was look surprised and shrug. "Run along then and I'll take the pail." He said after a moment, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.

She hesitated, why did the village priest want to see her? But a request from the Priest was tantamount to an order in these parts. Father Alvito was the new priest, having arrived to study under the old priest, Father Marti. Father Alvito was a young man, strong and hardy, unlike anything she had expected. If she was honest, she had been attracted to him but he showed very little interest in her. Even a man of the cloth would be a better choice than the farmers who wanted to between her legs. Maybe that was why he wanted to speak to her, the sin of having lain with Francisco out of wedlock.

The Church was at the edge of town behind its Roman walls and blackberry bushes. The old metal gate that led to the yard hung slightly askew and had been that way as long as she could remember. Father Alvito had at least cleaned out the yard, repaired the shutters, and retiled the roof since he arrived. He had proved to be a very industrious young man.

She knocked carefully on the wooden door that opened into the Church interior. Six pews to either side could hold the entire village and the Virgin Mary smiled down from her place above the altar. Small beams of sunlight shot through floating dust particles from the narrow windows and a lark fluttered into the rafters.

"Ah, Camila!" Father Alvito appeared at her side with a sudden stealth that made her jump. From guilt or surprise? She would have to confess. Maybe Alvito was better at keeping his flocks secrets than Marti who always shared them at Pacos in the evening. Her father would beat her senseless.

"Hello Father. You wanted me to come see you?"

"I did indeed. I have something for you." He began to reach into her robes and for one horrid moment she thought he was going to pull out his cock and force himself on her. Rumours of Father Marti doing the same sort of thing to other village girls were not unheard of. To her relief however, after glancing at the door, he pulled out a letter and handed it to her. It was a heavy but plain envelope with no name on the front.

"I will leave you to read it. Just let me know what your reply is." Alvito smiled and vanished out the door, closing it gently behind him. She was alone in the church.

She stared at the envelope, mystified. Taking a seat on the edge of a rough wooden pew she used one finger to break the seal. Inside was a folded sheet of paper. She pulled it out and flipped it open to read the words that had been scrawled in a hurried but neat hand.

Camila,

I am dashing this letter off before I return to Madrid. I will admit you intrigued me and I would like to see more of you. I will not be returning to Cicera however so you must come to me. If you wish to do so, please inform Alvito.

With affection,
Francisco


Whatever Camila had been expecting when she arrived in Cicera's little Church, a letter from Francisco was not it. Surely a Priest would not condone something like this. She sat up a little straighter as she thought about it. It was possible Alvito was no priest. He had tidied the grounds, worn the robes, and been at mass, but she realized now he had never led mass and on more than one occasion she was certain he was just mouthing the words to songs but not singing. His strong build, square shoulders, short hair, it suddenly made her think of Francisco. Alvito was a soldier? A policeman?

As the thought ran through her head the door opened and a man in uniform stepped into the room. He was tall, well built....

"Father Alvito...?" She asked. The face was familiar but gone was the brown robe and humble expression, replaced instead by a grim smile and grey tailored uniform complete with pistol. The smile grew as he laughed slightly.

"Lieutenant Alvito, of the Cazadores." He said, heels snapping together as he bowed slightly to her. "Have you had time to read the letter? I am afraid my ride will be arriving shortly and I am ordered to take you with me if you would like to go."

All of Camila's doubts and worries flashed through her mind and, in an instant, she made her decision.

"I will come." She said it with more conviction than she had expected but stood so she could face the soldier. "I will come." She said again.

"Excellent." Alvito paused and cocked his head for an instant before grinning. "Not a moment to soon, here is our ride."

As he spoke the Church seemed to shake as something rumbled overhead, a high pitched sound like thunder almost sent her diving for cover. The Cazadore steadied her arm as dust drifted down in increasing clouds and the little lark flapped about in terrified circles.

"No need to worry, it is only a helicopter."

"A what?" She asked. The word meant nothing to her.

"Ah, come, I will show you." Alvito led her into the churchyard and pointed upward to where a large black shape was circling the village. It looked like an automobile but with a long tail and something whirling about its roof. "That, Camila, is a helicopter. Watch."

As she stood spellbound the aircraft became stationary and then, unbelievably, dropped straight down to the earth at the edge of town, sending cows and sheep running in all directions while every dog in the village set up a piteous howling. The engine slowed, quieted, and then fell silent. The whirling shape above the roof slowed and she could make out individual long blades that spun slowly to a stop.

Two men, uniformed like Alvito, climbed from the aircraft even as villagers hurried toward them. Alvito took Camila's hand. "Do you need a anything from home? Do not worry about clothing, I mean personal effects. I can assure you the Viceroy will see you are well looked after."

Camila thought back to the room she shared with brother, the bunkbeds, little desk, her collection of magazines. She was certain Paco Junior had been selling her underwear to the other village boys. There was nothing she wanted that could not be replaced.

"No, nothing."

"Then let us be off." Alvito said, steering her toward the helicopter. The majority of the village was already clustered around it, driven forth by their curiosity but held at a distance by their fear of the two armed men who stood outside the glass cockpit.

"Camila? Father Alvito?" Andoni was the first to see the approaching couple and confusion was stamped on his face as he looked at the two.

"Lieutenant Alvito, of the Cazadores." Alvito corrected him without malice. He didn't bother offering any explanation for his impersonation of a priest but Camila conceded it had been a clever way to take a look at the village without arousing suspicion.

The villagers parted in front of Alvito and no one said a word as they walked past rows of stunned faces. It was only when it became obvious that Camila was bound for the helicopter that her father, standing nearest to the aircraft, seemed to snap out of it.

"Camila! Where are you going?!"

She turned to look at him, at the little gaggle of villagers whose lives would go on as they always had, this visit nothing but a story to tell their grandchildren. She felt more certain in that moment that she never wanted her children to live in such a place.

"I am going to Madrid, to see Francisco."

She turned away and walked toward the helicopter. She felt and heard rather than saw her father try to come after her but one of the Cazadores blocked his way. The metal door of the helicopter was dragged open and she carefully climbed inside, her boots smearing cow shit on the aircraft frame. Four hard canvas seats were fitted to the rear bulkhead and Alvito directed her to a seat nearest the far window. He helped her strap into the aircraft, pulling things tight so that she thought she might not be able to breath, before taking his own seat.

The two Cazadores who had got out returned to the aircraft even as the pilot started the engine. The din was incredible until Alvito handed her a pair of foam ear muffs. He donned his own to show her how it was done and then settled back into his seat. She pulled the strange things on and marvelled at how the sound was cut down. Then the aircraft lurched and she snatched at Alvito's hand as the ground suddenly shot away below them.

The helicopter circled the village once, her window banking toward the ground so that she could see the disbelieving faces of the villagers before it made a sharp turn and raced off down the valley.
Alright @Congee, chatted with @eclecticwitch and got ourselves sorted here he is with the changes.

The war was due to the Euhijan's world domination point of view that time, it got really bad that the three major kingdoms, despite having their own beefs with each other but not as serious as compared to the other problem, declared a joint war to stop the Euhijans. That basically ended the war, which happened 20 years ago since the start of the rp.


In your intro you state:

Several years after the last smokes of war died down...


Can you please clarify "several years"? I would like to create a military based character but if the war ended twenty years ago, as the first quote I have selected suggests, then that person would be a bit old for this RP. If it was several years ago, different story altogether.

Thanks!
Still looking for some characters?
Is playing as a military commander or a soldier within someone elses nation an option?
I like the idea! Always enjoyed Warcraft in its many variations.
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Cicera, Spain - September 1960
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The first thing one tended to notice about Cicera was the cats, hundreds of them easily out numbering the sixty some residents of the village that lay huddled in the bosom of the Cantabrian mountains. Rolling green fields bordered by waist high stone walls rolled gently upward until they gave way to rounded granite peaks that ran from Portugal to France. The ceramic red tiled rooves sheltered cream coloured homes so very different from the white washed peasant villages of Andalusia.

Time seemed to have stood still here. There wasn't a single automobile to be found in the village and the blacksmith still did a brisk trade in horseshoes. A single pub served as the focal point of village life every night, except Sundays when everyone filed into the small church that sat on the edge of town, surrounded by its dense garden of blackberry bushes that hid ancient stone walls built by the Romans a thousand years before.

Young people were few and far between, most moving away as soon as they could to the bustle of the cities, the promise of jobs, and the glamour that came with modern life. Only one young man of eighteen had remained in the village after he finished high school, Paco, son of Paco, son of Paco, and so, a dynasty of Paco's who owned the only pub in town. The building itself was by far the largest in the village and bore the same name as a testament to its history.

Paco the younger, his father was plain Paco Junior, stood behind the simple tile topped bar, dolling out small tapas and beers to the farmers fresh in from the fields. The room smelled pleasantly of woodsmoke, manure, and clean tilled earth. The nights were already getting chilly in the mountains and a fire crackled in a stone fireplace flanked by empty ale casks that served as tables. Pacos sister, Camila, waited behind a curtained off kitchen to prepare one of the six items available on the menu. Women in rural Spain they did not enjoy the same liberated life their city counterparts did and were forbidden to leave home without a chaperone. Had Camila known might have complained, but her knowledge of Spain did not extend past the next village down the road. If tradition held strong she would eventually marry, have children, and stay in the valley. Most women did. Only the boys left, usually to military service, few ever chose to return.

On that evening the door was propped open to allow some fresh air into the place, a heavy haze of blue woodsmoke beginning to fade at last. Paco the Younger had lit the first without first opening the damper, must to his embarrassment, and had almost smoked everyone out. Paco Junior had enjoyed the result immensely and was loudly telling the rest of the assembled male population the story for the third time when a low rumble interrupted him mid story. One of the other farmers, a square faced man who fancied Camila, stuck his head out the door, gave an exclamation of surprise, and then vanished into the night. A rush of feet followed him until the entire group, beers in hand, were standing on the side of the well worn cart track that served as a main street, watching as headlights bounced towards them.

The appearance of a vehicle in Cicera was cause enough for conversation. It happened once or twice a year, though even the local Policeman rode a horse on his rounds of the villages. The last car they had seen belonged to some American tourist who got stuck in the mud and had to be pulled free by a pair of stoic draft horses. This vehicle however was no tourist car. It had a large square body, big tires, boasted large windows and was painted a burnt orange. The engine, an unusual noise to the locals, sounded like the growl of some huge beast as it drew closer to the village. For one horrid moment the assembled watchers thought the driver was going to enter the town, there as no way the large vehicle would be able to navigate the small streets. The thought of its huge shining bumper pushing down walls and crushing neatly sculpted patios, almost sent them running toward the vehicle arms waving. Before they could more the vehicle came to a halt and the engine died, the headlights snapped off and an instant silence descended over the stunned villagers.

The driver side door opened and a man stepped into the fading light. He wore a long black coat, common short cap, and heavy duty riding boots. He stretched his arms out wide and even at a distance they could hear him take a huge deep breath. He paused, taking a moment to look about him and a small played across his face, a genuine look of joy that one sees on a man who had finished a long journey. A cat wove its way around his boot and he crouched to fondle tis ears before turning and heading for the assembled crowd.

The feeble light cast by the lantern above the door couldn't hide the curious and somewhat hostile looks of the villagers as he approached. The farmers were big men, but this stranger was as broad in the shoulders as any of them. He had a ramrod straightness to him and a spring in his step that hinted at military service. Not a word had yet been exchanged but the stranger radiated an authority that served to part the group with a glance. He did nod amicably to them and then moved through them with a pleasant "Excuse me".

There was a stunned silence and then a rush as the villagers crowded the small stone doorway, trying to be the first inside The stranger had already stepped up to the bar and was speaking with Paco the Younger.

"A beer, please. And an egg and bacon tapa if you have it." He had pulled off his jacket and hung it on a peg near the door, the Old King smiling down from his place of honour above it. The hat had followed next and the villagers could see the short cut hair and chiseled jaw that had eluded them in the gathering darkness.

"Right away!" Paco the Younger bustled about, puffed up with self importance that this stranger had chosen his family establishment to visit on such a night. The fact that it was the only option didn't matter.

"I'll say, you look a bit familiar." The bravest of the farmers, also the loudest if, had taken the stool next to the stranger.

"I reckon you're right." Replied the other man. He held out a hand. "Francisco."

"Adoni." The farmer took the offered hand and a brief trial of strength took place as he squeezed the others hand, a grip that was returned with equal pressure until he let go. "I own the sheep yards on the Western edge of town."

"I know." Francisco replied. He nodded his thanks to Paco the Younger as his beer and tapa arrived. The reply stumped Andoni and he was watched in silence as the new arrival consumed his tapa in a single mouthful. Francisco chewed for a moment and then swallowed. "You knew my father."

"Your father?" Adoni's eyes narrowed as he looked the man over. There was something familiar about the facial features, but he couldn't place it. Not a lot of people came and went from town that he didn't know and it irked him he couldn't solve this particular puzzle immediately.

"Yes, Nekane de la cal Delgado."

"You're Nekane's boy!" Andoni fairly exploded with excitement, turning to the rest of the onlookers and repeating it as though they too hadn't lived their whole lives in Cicera. "I'll be damned. I thought he was dead."

"He is." The two words brought the mood in the room crashing back down as Francisco sipped at his beer. He looked around at the gathering and then waved a hand at them. "I'm not here to be sad, or to caused you good fellows an unpleasant evening. Paco, a round of drinks on me please."

A generous amount of good natured hubbub filled the space for a minute as farmers pressed forward to order their drink. No one was going to turn down a brew, no matter who paid for it. Once everyone had settled in their battered mis-matched Francisco turned to face them. Every man in the room could see him clearly now and all of them swore they knew him from somewhere, but none could quite say where.

"My father left when mother died. I came home to visit her. I haven't been back in nearly twenty years." A round of sympathetic nods greeted this statement. "You may recall he moved the family to Toledo?" More nods.

"Well, he didn't last long there. Drank himself to death, filled with guilt and remorse over mothers death. My brother was killed in an automobile accident a few years later and, just like that, I was the last of the Delgados." The mention of an automobile crash brought tut's from the crowd and a few muttered comments about how dangerous the things were.

"You seem to be doing well despite that." One of the farmers piped up. "That's a fancy machine you've got out there and them boots are worth more than my house." He gestured to the finely crafted and tailored leather boots Francisco was wearing. The fine leather was simply designed but expertly made.

"That's because he's the Viceroy." A quiet female voice cut through the babble of males voices and brought an instant silence to the room. Camila had come from behind her curtain, quiet unnoticed until this moment and was now standing just behind her brother. In her right hand she held a yellow National Geographic, the cover showing Delgado's face with the words A New Spain?.

Her words hit the assembled crowd like a freight train and not a man among them failed to turn as white as a ghost. They all saw it in that instant, the face that had graced a thousand newspapers, and even hung in their one room schoolhouse.

"You... Nekane's boy... You're the Viceroy? Of Spain?" Andoni finally managed to find his voice. Delgado had remained silent throughout the revelation, a strange, maybe even sad, smile on his face.

"Yes." It was all Delgado said as he tipped back his beer and drained it. "I am."

"Mary, Mother of God..." Muttered one of the gathered, his dog collar marking him out as the local priest.

"If we had known..." Started a third man.

Delgado held up a hand and it brought instant silence to the room. Again the almost sad smile flitted across his face. "For this evening I would prefer to be Fransisco, if you don't mind. I did come home to visit after all."

It took some time but eventually, as the beer flowed, the conversation became more natural and, at least for a time, Delgado become one of the people.

* * * * *


"Why did you come home?" Camila asked quietly, her head resting on Delgado's shoulder. The two were sitting on a small ledge several hundred feet above the village and she could see her father storming about the streets, no doubt looking for her. Several village cats scattered in front of him and though she could not hear it, she could tell he was shouting. She resisted the urge to giggle. An offended rooster scurried away, clearly baffled why people were awake before it could alert them to the suns arrival.

"It is good to remind yourself where you come from." Delgado's arm was about her shoulders, his heavy jacket protecting her from the early morning air. "I have found that my life in the Army kept me grounded. But now..." He paused and took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air and let it out with a sigh. "Ah... Now I find myself surrounded by people who will tell me whatever I wish to hear, in palaces that would hold this entire valley."

Camila had no concept of something so large. The largest building she had ever seen was Adoni's sheep barn on the edge of the village. The red shingles were visible from where the two sat and, as they watched, Paco the Younger appeared in the upper loft window and shouted down to his father who made a frustrated gesture.

"Isn't it nice?" She asked at length. A small Alpine Swift had fluttered down and was perched on the edge of the wicker picnic basket Delgado had brought up with them. The bird cocked its head and regarded them with one sharp beady eye before snatching a crust of bread and winging away.

"Sometimes." Delgado shifted to ease some of the ache in his back. He was leaning against a tall oak tree, one of the thousands that clung to the edges of the mountains and, at the moment, served to shield the two from the eyes of Paco Junior.

"The problem with some things in life, is that when you get them they are not all you thought they would be." He sounded tired and she squeezed his calloused right hand with her own. She did not know how long this short time would last and found she had enjoyed it far more than expected. Delgado had been gentle with her when she came to him in the night, waking him from his sleep curled up in the front of his truck, seat reclined.

"I have always sought to serve Spain and her people. I did not have any delusions of grandeur or desire for Government, but that was why I was chosen. A British historian, Lord Acton, once said: Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely. I try to be a good man but there are factions at every level who would have me make them rich and fat."

"Is that why you asked father and the others what they wanted from the Government?"

"Yes. I think the Spanish people have been forgotten for to long by their rulers. The people of Portugal as well. Every ruler seems to believe the people exist to provide them with their position. I believe we are in our positions to provide the people with good government."

She felt a hearty chuckle well in his chest as he held up a finger.

"Having said that, let us not pretend that the average Spaniard has any idea what is good for them. Most want a warm bed, a roof, a wife or husband, and a place to call their own. That's about as far as they can think. I reckon I can make that happen but it will not make me popular."

"Well it sounds lovely to me." Camila said with a contented sigh as she snuggled closer to him. She was naked beneath the heavy jacket but it didn't bother her. Virtually everything Delgado had said went clear over her head. It was fortunate that her father had even permitted her to learn to read and write.

Delgado, glancing down at silky black fan of hair that spread across his chest, was thinking the same thing. To much of Spain was like Camila, barely educated without any true idea of how the greater world worked. If Spain were to reclaim her greatness he would have to begin at the base, with people like Camila.

When she had tapped on his window that morning his initial reaction had been to send her away. But, looking at her fine features in the morning sunlight, he had realized he had not been with a woman since before the coup. He had shrugged on his coat, grabbed the picnic dinner he had brought with him, took her hand, and the two had headed up the mountainside.

It was the first time in a long time he had been alone with one person. Though the villagers did not know it, he had truly come to Cicera alone. His bodyguard waited at the foot of the mountains, no doubt very nervous and concerned but he had wanted to make this trip without watching eyes. Coming from humble beginnings had made Delgado a man who appreciated the little things in life. As a soldier he had served with honour, as an officer he had led by example, and as a Dictator he had tried to rule with intelligence.

Now the question of what to do lay open before him. The Army, always a troublesome mess of loyalties, was safely packed off to Algeria with a war to fight. The commanders chosen for the campaign were all committed Royalists or Church stooges, and putting them on the other side of the Mediterranean had worked out nicely, it made them feel useful. Those who had remained inside Spain included his Cazadores, and army units commanded by his conspirators. Most important among them was Admiral-General Navarette and the Navy. Though not large, the Navy was arguably the most technologically advanced of the Spanish armed forces and boasted an elite Marine corps. It was enough to hold Spain in thrall for the moment.

The Police at every level seemed to more or less uninterested in what happened in Government as long as they were paid on time and Delgado had gone to great pains to ensure they received their money, and a small raise, courtesy of his own office of course. It was a small gesture but it had not gone unnoticed by the rank and file.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Camila slid a hand between his legs and gently began to stroke his cock. He could feel himself harden at once beneath her touch. Without saying a word she swung her hips over him so that she was straddling him. In one quick movement she impaled herself with a moan and heat flushed through his body at once as she began to rock her hips back and forth, hands on his shoulders. For a moment the troubles of Spain were quite forgotten.
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