04-25-2024, 05:32 PM
Havkantsborg, Zongongia
On this day in the year 1257, a very similar scene was playing out in Havkantsborg to that which was now taking place in 2024. A group of people were moving through the town gathering items, then stacking them at the base of the city walls for others to lift them up on top in preparation for a siege. The residents of the town hid indoors, wanting nothing to do with the events going on outside yet fearing they would be dragged into it nonetheless.
The situations were somewhat different, of course: nobody in 2024 on either side actually planned to kill anyone, unlike the feudal war of 1257 between a pair of twin princes. Boiling oil had been replaced by what smelled like (and, indeed, was) sewage water; bows and arrows had been replaced by slingshots and rotten eggs; and instead of swords or spears the town’s “defenders” were armed with anti-government placards.
Still, there were similarities. The potential for something to go horribly wrong was still there, of course: a protester in Sneedville had already died. The town was surrounded by fellow countrymen; there was a tension in the air that could be cut with a knife; and nobody exactly knew what the sunrise was going to bring. The central government was watching the town with a beady eye. Also, both situations were caused primarily because of the follies of royalty.
In 1257, Havkantsborg had been an important port city, seeing trade from all kinds of far-flung areas. Zongongia had neither been a coloniser nor colonised, but they had traded with anyone willing. The town had long since lost its city status as the requisite population to be classed as such grew and it remained stagnant or decreased. Indeed, the 2024 permanent population of the town was around half of what it had been in 1257; if the ancient records were to be relied on.
The residents of the town in 2024 were divided equally into four camps of opinion on the current situation. One quarter supported the protests and had joined; it was not solely an “occupation” by outsider students, as many claimed. A second quarter thought the whole thing stupid, and elected to ignore it as much as possible. The third set found the whole thing hilarious, and were the main source of information on what was happening in the town thanks to their social media posts. The last set, though, were those who were very thoroughly annoyed at the protesters.
They were led by the President of the Havkantsborg Tourist Board, the closest thing the town had to a political leader, all things considered. Anita Andersdatter had confronted the protesters when they first arrived. They had laughed in her face. She’d departed, gathered her employees at the Tourist Board, and found volunteers to sneak past the protesters and open a side gate to let police in. They had been caught by protesters, who promptly locked them up in the Havkantsborg Dungeon next to some fake skeletons and a plastic radio that made screaming noises at regular intervals.
The Tourist Board had continued to try and sabotage the protests, so eventually a group of protesters came to Anita’s house and dragged her to the cheesy tourist attraction dungeon too. The protesters got their hands on a list of Tourist Board employees and began trying to round them up. The group of residents who had previously ignored the situation began to drift towards the wary faction.
Meanwhile, those who found the situation amusing were continuing to broadcast the whole thing on social media, sometimes in inaccurate “medieval” costumes. They, too, would move towards the wary group when protesters stomped over to some teenagers recording and ordered them to stop or they’d take their phones. This too was broadcast; and it was after that footage that the situation began to be taken seriously.
At first, the majority considered the protesters to be engaging in an overly complex live action role play of a medieval siege. Now people, especially the authorities, were beginning to wonder just how far they would take matters. It was not like feudalism was an entirely dead ideology in the IDU in 2024 – Samara Island somehow gained independence because its feudal lord was a cat just last year! Did anyone really trust things to not actually devolve into some kind of medieval conflict?
The Zongongian government did not wish to find out. They cancelled the order for police to attempt to enter the city, and reassigned the majority of police to other areas and other protests. If they were to handle Havkantsborg, they would need a better plan. And they’d need to decide if this was indeed a police matter… or a military one.
On this day in the year 1257, a very similar scene was playing out in Havkantsborg to that which was now taking place in 2024. A group of people were moving through the town gathering items, then stacking them at the base of the city walls for others to lift them up on top in preparation for a siege. The residents of the town hid indoors, wanting nothing to do with the events going on outside yet fearing they would be dragged into it nonetheless.
The situations were somewhat different, of course: nobody in 2024 on either side actually planned to kill anyone, unlike the feudal war of 1257 between a pair of twin princes. Boiling oil had been replaced by what smelled like (and, indeed, was) sewage water; bows and arrows had been replaced by slingshots and rotten eggs; and instead of swords or spears the town’s “defenders” were armed with anti-government placards.
Still, there were similarities. The potential for something to go horribly wrong was still there, of course: a protester in Sneedville had already died. The town was surrounded by fellow countrymen; there was a tension in the air that could be cut with a knife; and nobody exactly knew what the sunrise was going to bring. The central government was watching the town with a beady eye. Also, both situations were caused primarily because of the follies of royalty.
In 1257, Havkantsborg had been an important port city, seeing trade from all kinds of far-flung areas. Zongongia had neither been a coloniser nor colonised, but they had traded with anyone willing. The town had long since lost its city status as the requisite population to be classed as such grew and it remained stagnant or decreased. Indeed, the 2024 permanent population of the town was around half of what it had been in 1257; if the ancient records were to be relied on.
The residents of the town in 2024 were divided equally into four camps of opinion on the current situation. One quarter supported the protests and had joined; it was not solely an “occupation” by outsider students, as many claimed. A second quarter thought the whole thing stupid, and elected to ignore it as much as possible. The third set found the whole thing hilarious, and were the main source of information on what was happening in the town thanks to their social media posts. The last set, though, were those who were very thoroughly annoyed at the protesters.
They were led by the President of the Havkantsborg Tourist Board, the closest thing the town had to a political leader, all things considered. Anita Andersdatter had confronted the protesters when they first arrived. They had laughed in her face. She’d departed, gathered her employees at the Tourist Board, and found volunteers to sneak past the protesters and open a side gate to let police in. They had been caught by protesters, who promptly locked them up in the Havkantsborg Dungeon next to some fake skeletons and a plastic radio that made screaming noises at regular intervals.
The Tourist Board had continued to try and sabotage the protests, so eventually a group of protesters came to Anita’s house and dragged her to the cheesy tourist attraction dungeon too. The protesters got their hands on a list of Tourist Board employees and began trying to round them up. The group of residents who had previously ignored the situation began to drift towards the wary faction.
Meanwhile, those who found the situation amusing were continuing to broadcast the whole thing on social media, sometimes in inaccurate “medieval” costumes. They, too, would move towards the wary group when protesters stomped over to some teenagers recording and ordered them to stop or they’d take their phones. This too was broadcast; and it was after that footage that the situation began to be taken seriously.
At first, the majority considered the protesters to be engaging in an overly complex live action role play of a medieval siege. Now people, especially the authorities, were beginning to wonder just how far they would take matters. It was not like feudalism was an entirely dead ideology in the IDU in 2024 – Samara Island somehow gained independence because its feudal lord was a cat just last year! Did anyone really trust things to not actually devolve into some kind of medieval conflict?
The Zongongian government did not wish to find out. They cancelled the order for police to attempt to enter the city, and reassigned the majority of police to other areas and other protests. If they were to handle Havkantsborg, they would need a better plan. And they’d need to decide if this was indeed a police matter… or a military one.
LIDUN President 2024 | she/her | Puppets: Kerlile, Glanainn, Yesteria, Zongongia, Zargothrax