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Some notes on Syracusian Language groups (to be developed further...) [15 Jul 2003|01:26am]

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Krisz speaks Rural fluently, Middle-Class without a discernible accent, some bits of Belsgradi, and - of course - the traditional language of Sorrow.

Gizi speaks Rural fluently, Middle-Class with a heavy accent, and only enough Aristocratic to get by. She can understand Belsgradi, but cannot speak it.
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...Continued... [14 Jul 2003|07:26pm]

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Forgive the cheesy lead-in at the end...Collapse )
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Fleeing from Syracuse... [14 Jul 2003|01:17pm]

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The most recent popular vote had not turned out well for the incumbent, Barany, but Syracuse's leader had little choice. In his failing health, there was no time to choose another Uralkodó for the people to learn to like. So the ruler abdicated and paved the way for his successor, before retreating to his private hospital and quietly passing away in his sleep.

Barany seized the reigns with morbid glee, apparently intent upon running the country "his" way, and may his opponents be damned. Most of the people disliked Barany's nationalistic bent, especially the newly down-trodden immigrants and refugees.

In Menekült, one of the small refugee towns near the border, the army-police that Barany had installed "to keep the riff-raff in line" was making life increasingly difficult. They blamed everything from stolen food to weapon jams on the semi-legal immigrant population, and seemed disgustingly overjoyed when the final decree from Barany came down: eliminate the "unwanted" population, and quell - by force, if necessary - any resistance.

Not surprisingly, many of the refugees were killed by the enthusiastic army-police, but a few managed to escape the cleansing. Those few became refugees once again, most of them escaping to the neighboring country of Belsgrad.

Kertesz Krisztian, and his younger sister, Gizi, managed to arrive in Rorke, a city not far from the Syracuse border. This was the first time Gizi had gone beyond Menekült's city limits, and the first time Krisztian had left the country since his father had brought him to the little town in Syracuse.

They sat huddled in the town square at dawn, the teenager smoothing the hair of his nine-year-old sister. Silently, he prayed that she could continue to be sheltered from the horrors that Barady wanted to inflict on them. She dozed peacefully in his arms.

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