Vormund
“No more will we leave each other’s backs to the wolves!
We rise together!
No more will the bureaucracy scheme and plot at the expense of the young men and women it pushes as pawns for war!
We rise together!
No more will these lands be ruptured!
We rise together!”
- William Tavor Satiche, hero of the Veld, future king of Vormund
Just forty years ago at the end of the Veld War, the Kingdom known as ‘Vormund’? It didn’t exist. Before the war, before slavery, many states of a rainbow of nations and collectives held the region. As varied and diverse as they were, the region was often known as the ruptured lands. It was known for its diversity just as much as it was its constant bickering and in-fighting amongst brother and sister nations. Yet the slavery--the war. There was much lost to it. Borders faded--the small, insignificant nations of the area weren’t recognized with sovereignty by the occupying Xitians anyways. The identity, the pride of nations were lost to time and hardship. It was only after the war that rebuild could take place.
However, once slavery had ended--once war, for once in a very long time, had faded from the region, there were bitter survivors left over. It took a hard lesson from life to teach men and women, with old rivalries and stereotypes of one another, that sometimes people truly were stronger together than apart.
The ruptured lands and their many nation states were no more. Cartographers argued where the borders were, but returning warriors from the war were of one mind, after fighting alongside and amongst the rest of the Middle Realm. They would not go back to the old ways of the past.
Within a year they drew up framework for the region--a founding of something greater: the Kingdom-Conglomerate of Vormund. Vormund was a newborn, yet it was strong in ideology and belief. It was a beacon for the people to follow, and it made many promises. Promises that the days of in-fighting for the region were over. Promises that it saw aristocracy was crime, and that the life of each and every one of its people was precious. Promises that it would unify the region in peace, but strong, protected peace. That nothing like the Dusk Realm invasion would be allowed to happen again. That they believed the invasion only worked for their Xitian foes because of weakness caused by Mesalians fighting fellow Mesalians.
And so Vormund was formed. Its government--a curious form of monarchy and republic
combined. Six states were founded, each to govern over its people with a closer eye and a more protective hand, all under the same banner. To the sea, there was Westbank. To the North, Snowhaven. The swamplands of the South, Mireren. The Eastern borders, strong and true to be their shield, while the sea was their backs, Towercrest. The inner state to the West was home to the capital--Heartland. And then behind the Western borders of Towercrest, just beside it, was Kleth.
These six states would convene, equal, yet separate for the good of all of its people. Or at least that’s how it was supposed to be.
Child of the Kingdom
“What happens when there is no one to rear our young? What happens when their mother and father die in service to their kingdom?”
“Then the kingdom has to repay the favor.”
-William Tavor Satiche during third draft of the constitution of Vormund
The loving, guiding hand of the Crown. The orphanages of the state. Despite the names, despite the insistence that they were ‘children of the kingdom’, a child knew what it meant when they grew up in an orphanage. How could they not, when other children would let them know?
This was where Cynnabue Sycamore came to live his early life. His mother, and his father, representatives of Towercrest. Both veterans of the Veld War, both having lived a full life, passed together. His father Rei, due to a failing body plagued by old injuries making themselves known, a painful and slow death that continued to haunt his mother. And his mother, Persephone from her own hand. First, he had to step down from representation, leaving her alone in her duties and travel and stress, and when she was home, she came home to his pain and suffering. It was too much for her. And too much to look upon their only son in her grief. He was too young to remember, and she was too scarred to raise him.
It wasn’t an easy existence growing up in an orphanage. Despite the efforts of the orphanages themselves, and their caretakers, there wasn’t anything to lessen the alienation. In his particular orphanage, an aging couple fostered all of the kids as if they were their own: Mr. and Mrs. Sycamore.
Cyn took their name around the time he started to write. They were a nice couple, and good people. Even though they had difficulty splitting their attentions between all of the sixteen children that lived in the orphanage with them, they did their best to meet the needs of the budding young, however stressful. He couldn’t seem to put his own last name when pen came to paper to write his name. He was envious of the other children, of children whose last names invoked a loving family. Mr. and Mrs. Sycamore were quite surprised… and a little worried. It was a large decision for a kid, and they knew that most children that came here were sons and daughters of formerly influential families... yet he couldn’t be dissuaded, although he couldn’t explain why he did it either. They knew he was special around that time. It wasn’t long after the other children noticed that he started doing it that they started as well. The Sycamore house was a little closer to being a family suddenly, and his ‘parents’ were prideful and touched.
He didn’t get special attention however, even still. There were too many kids for the couple to be close to every child, and they didn’t feel right choosing. They were affectionate from slightly afar with all of them, but since then they had a slightly guilty preference that they tried not to make known.
It was probably that that kept him in the orphanage until the time where Cyn was a budding teen and just the age to both think a bit deeper about his life, and the time where he might start taking his angst out on others. He was a trouble-child, and hardly ever in the orphanage since then other than to eat his meals and sleep...some nights. The surrounding town that held this orphanage looked a bit sourly at the situation, considering sometimes their boys would come home with bruises and bloodied lips, but the orphanage was well protected by the state--it was there to stay and there wasn’t anything to prove that Cyn was the one perpetrating, but the Sycamores knew. But they didn’t say. They just tried to dissuade him from going down that path.
The Guard
“Where’s the brat?”
“Dunno, haven’t seen him since midday lunch.”
“Phuh, probably went down to the orphanage. We’ll see him tomorrow.”
-Captain Stewart to Corporal Greene
Eventually, they gave up trying to guide him on his rebellious ways. He needed discipline. Structure. Reform to guide him into being responsible. They couldn’t give it to him, not with all of the other children occupying time too. Instead, when he was fourteen, when other orphans were starting to learn what they wanted to do in life, Cyn was shipped out to the town barracks to live with the guard. Naturally, it was harder to cause trouble with the guard literally sleeping on bunks all around you, and there was a strict curfew, and even stricter training for him. He resented it. he hated it--suddenly all the freedom he had before was gone. He tried to run away back to the orphanage a few times, but after they sent him back the third time he stayed, although intensely unhappy with the situation.
Eventually, as time passed he slowly became more favourable towards his life, as he calmed down and as he started to see things differently. He never ‘liked’ or ‘loved’ becoming a guard, but he became apathetic to it as time passed, and just did his work and his training. And though apathetic, he was a hard worker. He was less interested in actually learning the legal side of things however, and instead just put his energy into the combative arts of his craft. As he matured into a young adult, under the watchful eye of Captain Stewart, he became a fine swordsman. Many of the guards, however, were only ‘conversationally’ combative however, trained in the rudiments of their craft. And they didn’t need guidance or possess the potential to advance in skill. Captain Stewart, however, was a veteran of Veld, and he saw something in Cynnabue. Saw fire there. He tutored him as best he could, but age and an easier life softened his sword arm. Eventually there wasn’t anywhere for him to go but up. Again, he’d be shipped off, this time when he was nineteen, to join the standing army of Vormund. This time, he went willingly. There wasn’t anything for him in that town anymore. Save for a last visit with Mrs. Sycamore. Mr. Sycamore had passed two years prior.
1st line, Towercrest Infantry
“[...] Life here isn’t easy, but it isn’t challenging me either. It seems the way things work is that you keep your head down and you shut up when officers are around, and you do your exercises, you do your training and your schooling. You do all of that, and so long as no one higher up decides to shit on your day, you’ll have a fairly good one. [...]”
-Cynnabue in a letter to Mrs. Sycamore
Cyn was practically made for military life. He was young, strong, and able. An independent spirit kept him diligent and sensible when dealing with the stress of his work. He didn’t go looking for help--it was too sparingly offered through his life for that. Instead if he had a problem, he’d suffer it stoutly. A rebellious spirit lived with this sense of independence--officers had little to offer him. They gave orders but they were not to be feared. All the same, there was the intelligence there to know to pick his battles with them if he didn’t want his life being quite hard.
It was a cynical balance, even as ironic as the use of that word is for him. All the same, that fiery spirit tempered with a jaded understanding of his situation is what made him work well in his new environment. Vormund, after the Veld War was in a peaceful period of prosperity. The way the people had seen it, they had won. There was celebration to be had, and the promise of their new kingdom and its beacon of hope was there to follow. For the standing armies of Vormund however, at the highest tiers and trickling on down was a message of skepticism and a sour outlook on the future. If you were in the standing army, you were not there for the parades in the streets. They had the knights for that--the heroes that had arisen during the Veld Wars. No, you were there to prepare, because the doctrine the Vormund military taught was that there is never a lasting peace. There is always the war next that you will prepare for, or you will die in. Through drill after drill and harsh training, this was a message not spoken, but taught through the harsh severity that they were ran with. It was as if disaster was always on the horizon.
Perhaps this was a product of the Veld War and the fear of its return. Perhaps it was a consequence of the bitter wars that used to tear across the lands, still fresh in the minds of those that could remember that Mesalians were the enemy more often than not. But really, it was the combination of the two that made the ruling outlook on its military forces one of might being right.
This was the environment most of Cyn’s adult life would be shaped in. This was where he’d learn--or perhaps be taught, that what he was good for in life, what he was good at, was being another drop in a sea of blood, ready to kill. Ready to be killed. All for the blue and gold flag that he would fight under, at the merest scent of war. He landed himself by chance in the First line of his home province, Towercrest. He’d be among the first to march should the horns blow and the gates lock, and the bells ring.
The Urylean Gap War
“Killing someone is like pinching out a candle. You only feel pain if you don’t do it quick enough.“
-Cynnabue Sycamore, two years into the Urylean Gap War
It was seen as wise--the attitude that Vormund held towards war when their worst fears and their most earnest preparations came to light. At least within Vormund. Bordering Vormund to the South is a country known as Urylea. Long standing, Urylea was a notable country present even before the slavery. Back then, Urylea was just large enough to be a formidable opponent to most other nations, and just clear of the small nation patchwork quilt that was the ruptured lands. And back then, Urylea was relatively prosperous because of it. It ensured its own peace with the security its size and wealth of natural resources provided, and profited from the wars to its North, selling vast quantities of iron, ready made arms and materiel to its neighbors to prosper. And no one to the North could complain, because Urylea was unassailable. All they could do was try to buy more than their opponents, which kept the ruptured lands poor, and Urylea quite wealthy.
Of course, things changed after the Veld War and after the formation of Vormund. Urylea had to pick up the pieces and begin reforming again, its wealth very much gone--depleted by years of hard slavery and theft by their Xitian masters... and now to the North there was a -very- foreign sight to behold. Without warning, their small, sibling countries that speckled the landscape North--their long term customers--suddenly became quite scary. Where the borders used to be torn and fractured there was one, long line in the sand to a new neighbor--a new face named Vormund.
The attitude of Uryleans towards their neighbors in years prior to the slavery were nothing that could be ignored in this situation either. They were a contributing factor, as when the ruptured lands were still fractured, the popular belief of Uryleans was that the nations to the North and their peoples were quite savage. The stories of endless petty wars and squabbles to a relatively peaceful nation were much a curiosity and a foreign idea. That idea became less curious and cute when the ‘savages’ unified, pooling all of their resources and becoming a threat that was truly frightening.
The talks between Urylea and Vormund were very much in private, between the King of Vormund and his court of province representatives, and the ambassadors from Urylea. The immediate sentiment from Vormund’s neighbor was that this army they were building--the feverish militarization just after formation and after the Veld War--was threatening to its neighbors and spoke of ill intentions. What they wanted was clear--Vormund needed to slow down, and they needed to establish some kind of foreign relation before they militarized as a state if they wanted to make friends. Vormund, being Vormund, respectfully acknowledged their worry, but made it clear they bent for no one on this topic. Might making right, they would not be laying down their arms any time soon, and they would continue on their current trend of raising and sustaining as large of a standing army as they could comfortably support.
Urylea of course, did not like this. When the ambassadors returned talk immediately began that Vormund was not cooperative, that the barbarians were at their gates. Urylea was at the weakest it had ever been, and if Vormund kept militarizing at the rate they were, their military would overshadow Urylean forces in under a decade by a terrifying margin. So Urylea was left with a choice. They could watch with wide, fearful eyes as the former neighbors they had abused through war profiteering became giants--perhaps vengeful giants--or they could metaphorically kill them in the cradle, in hopes of bringing the region back to the way it was before slavery--with an Urylean-dominated economy.
They did not give up the limelight so easily.
It was only a year after the failed negotiations between Urylea and Vormund that war broke out. Urylea struck the first blow, which came as a very poor decision. Urylea, being to the South of Vormund, struck North in an offensive, where they immediately won a few battles to claim settlements in Mireren, defeating the local regiments of guard and sparse standing army stationed there. What they failed to calculate for was terrain. Mireren, as the name suggests is home to swampland and bog, where boots are never dry, and footwrapping soggy, blisters form and pain is never far. Marching in this environment was impossible--mounting an effective offensive to penetrate this veil of nature’s adversity proved to be as well. And as their offensive slowed to a halt because of these conditions, the main standing armies of Vormund had time to mobilize.
Cyn was twenty-one when the march started. As part of Towercrest’s first line, he’d be part of the first standing army units to step into war that were not Mireren lines--so he’d come to reinforce the battered lines already clashing with Urylean forces. This momentum of war proved to be fateful--at first the invasion was strong, it pushed fast, but as it hit the swamps it slowed--the defenders gained the advantages of terrain and homeland... then the Towercrest lines hit, and it was utterly reversed.
He was lucky in this way. He and others in his line were coming in fresh, unfatigued against foreign soldiers far from home, and in miserable, unfamiliar conditions. The combat however was still brutal, but brutality was not a stranger to a man or woman trained in Vormund’s forces. There were some victories then, quickly won. They pushed the Uryleans out of the swamps by force. Yet when they were clear of their own borders, they were met with the Urylea’s counter attack. This time, it was the Uryleans who had the advantage. Provided by battle fatigue, and wisening, they realized this war could only be one of attrition. They could not penetrate Vormund from the South unless Vormund was suitably weakened. So it became a war about numbers, and who would lose troops faster than the other.
Any tactician, any general can tell you that the war with the highest death toll for young men and women at war is a war of attrition. The fighting was hard on both sides, and the front lines would erode steadily by constant losses from battle after battle until they would break, and either have to reinforce, or the losses were too steep to recover, and the sparse survivors would join a new line. The latter case is what Cyn was exposed to. Out of the five-hundred-and-odd men that made up the Towercrest First Infantry Line, in a year, only sixty-two men had survived. Battered and broken, the remnants were scattered to reinforce other lines. Cyn, in his first year of combat was held to a trial by fire that wouldn’t be equalled again in his entire life. The strain it placed on him--the fatigue and injury, both mental and physical, shaped him. One of the lowest rankings available to infantrymen, he was placed in a curious situation where he was reassigned to a fresh line coming just out of training to join the war, The Towercrest Fifteenth Integrated Line--Integrated Line. He found that particularly cute in a bitter way. It was a fancy way of saying the line was a complete mix of hodgepog recruits from all spectrums--cavalry, infantry, ranged.
What was even more curious about this situation was that the line, being a newly formed one, meant that he, as an already battle-scarred veteran at the tender age of twenty-two, was more experienced than most of the under-officers placed in charge of this line. This was a situation being mimicked all throughout the Vormund forces, and it brought to light another duality of this issue to the commanding generals. Most of their actual experienced knighthood that were alive from the Veld War were aging, and withdrawn from the fighting. They needed new blood in command for this war--while the Veld War veterans in the rear were experienced and knowledgeable about the combat they were fighting, the men in the front were without supporting command. The under officers from the veteran families, despite their pedigree, were green, scared, and ill-prepared--and they were being placed in charge of veterans who had already paid their price in blood, and that had gathered the skills needed to be effective warriors through pure survival.
It was this unique situation that lead for a rapid adaptation in the way Vormund was handling this war, in a desire to improve their effectiveness, cut their losses and make their fighting forces into the leanest and meanest they could be. Veterans who survived multiple battles were fast-tracked to move up in the ranks as quickly as they could be, and taught the finer points of commanding men. After all, they already proved they could fight.
Cyn was one of these veterans. As the Fifteenth Integrated hit the battles again, after his brief reprieve from fighting to join the line, his responsibility suddenly became less about fighting because he had to fight, or fighting because this was his life, but rather mother-henning those around him so that they could stay alive long enough to learn to keep themselves that way. That was the way he saw it at least, and this connection to the men and women under him--a desire to fill this new responsibility of keeping them alive--is what gave Cyn the second wind to keep fighting, despite all the fatigue and blood already spilled. It’s also what made others around him, especially those fighting under his command, gain respect for him as a leader.
The Interwar Period
“...I can’t be a father... Don’t look at me like that. If you honestly think otherwise... Maybe you don’t know me.”
-Cynnabue Sycamore to Eren Giadonne-Sycamore
The war lasted four long years. Coming out of it, Cynnabue was now changed for better or worse. The fiery rebelliousness and discontent with authority had waned when he was forced to take on authority of his own. The passions of a younger man had left him as well, with a very disillusioned outlook on life. At that point, Cyn believed that this was what he was. A soldier--a trained killer that was celebrated just because he killed ‘for’ people. The idea that he was some sort of leader or hero didn’t factor into it. After all, he lead people just like him, to do the same things he did. More or less.
The war had simmered to a standstill between Vormund and Urylea. Urylea could not offer another offensive campaign, and when talks for Vormund came for pushing the fight across the border, surprisingly, the representatives from four out of the six provinces had to speak for a war-weary populace that couldn’t continue sending its young generation out to the killing fields. Instead, they opted to send diplomats to re-engage into talks with Urylea while both nations took a break from the fighting--a truce held in the land in everything but name. This meant, that after tour and tour of fighting, Cynnabue was withdrawn from combat to relieve him of battle fatigue. He, and the line that he was with, instead went with many other of the proven, weathered veteran lines on a ‘morale’ tour of the Heartland. Parading through their city streets, as the Crown had new knights to commemorate, and new heroes to recognize to finally supplement the aging Veld warriors of the warrior caste.
Cyn was one of those to be commemorated as knights, and along with a strange introduction to a prestige that he had no way to expect, he was anointed with a sort of public office. This public office came with influence, recognition, and surprisingly to him, a small estate in a large trading town in Kleth... and he soon found, as holding this odd sort of office, he was expected to preside over legal proceedings and ceremonies… and of course someone to guide him through being utterly lost in this new world of politics was a aide named Eren. Eren was beautiful, blunt, and most importantly omnipresent, because of Cyn’s dependance on her to deal with quite literally everything that came with the new life he was expected to lead.
In fact, that constant presence and tension that Cyn felt towards her is probably what drove their relationship. In a depressed, empty state as he was, Cyn was often callous, and extremely difficult to work with, especially regarding something as frustrating as the world of politics he’d found himself in. And Eren, as blunt and straight to the point as she was, would let him know about this in uncertain terms. This was perhaps what attracted Cyn to her eventually. She shot him down when no one else would. And, eventually… when Cyn stopped being such a pain, Eren found a gradual attraction for him as well. It wasn’t too surprising then, when they married three years after Cyn’s commemoration ceremony. They worked well together, and their duties placing them together didn’t chafe either of them.
The arrangement might have worked well, except for Eren becoming pregnant. The idea of being a father scared Cyn. He’d only just started to slowly come out of his depression in being with Eren, and though he’d previously been feeling optimistic that he was wrong about himself he was in no way confident that he could raise a child. Nonetheless, what was started couldn’t be prevented, and the stress on the new marriage only increased when they had to make the decision for Eren to retire from her position as his aid, as the constant travel was made more difficult as her pregnancy progressed.
The initial shock of the news faded somewhat when the baby was finally born, and Cyn was present for it. They named her Miranda. He finally found some joy in the idea of being a parent even though being scared and worried for the future. Eren was not so hopeful. Postpartum depression, combined with the sinking feeling that she was alone, while Cyn kept to his job and travel, was what came between them.
Vormund had a very straight-forward divorce procedure. A couple married to each other under ten years would leave with what they came into the relationship with, while couples married in surplus of ten years would see a court mandated 50/50 split. Children complicated matters, however, leaving things to judicial decision on who was more fit to receive custody.
Normally, with Cyn’s travel and work, the courts would have easily ruled in Eren receiving custody… however, with status came power. Desperate not to lose everything, and to get a final dig at Eren, who he perceived to be picking apart the future he saw, Cyn leveraged that power.
The court ruled that Eren was unfit for parenthood due to sickness of the mind, exaggerating her depressed state and playing upon Cyn’s reputation earned in the previous war at his backroom demand, so that he could keep their child.
It tasted bitter, and it made him feel no better, but he’d won that battle. Of course, he was still away to tour the border with Urylea and prepare for the possibility of a new offensive, so he couldn’t look after the child himself... that’s why he found a live-in nanny to take care of Miranda. Annabelle was her name. Ginger hair, freckles, and a meticulously creaseless appearance. Things would stay this way for awhile. Annabelle was an entire nine years younger than Cyn, but as Miranda grew, memories of Eren faded. Cyn’s heart felt stagnant. He was only home for a few months out of the year, and the biting apathy that had plagued him through periods of idle depression in his life was starting to take hold again.
Hills and Valleys
“If you ask someone the difference between a soldier and a murderer, they’ll tell you a soldier fights for their people. That is wrong. A soldier follows orders. The order to fight--to kill is universal to all men and women of arms. The borders they live within make no difference. A man killed on your doorstep is the same as a woman killed on the other side of the continent.”
-Cynnabue Sycamore
It was only his luck that Annabelle, despite their age difference, and his glaring problems, grew fond of him when he was home. He was quiet, with respect, but an odd sense of wisdom just making itself known in small comments, always seeming to know something, yet understate it to the point of a hint. He fascinated her, and though this alarmed Cyn, internally it was something that broke the monotony of the cycle. The cycle of small hills, and then plateaus in the hearts of valleys.
By the time that Miranda was five, their relationship was less than professional. By six, undeniably romantic, and Annabelle had begun pushing for marriage. Cyn was reluctant. He still wasn’t home enough, and he wasn’t really a father or a lover. He was still less than that. Yet still, to him, being a knight--work--was the constant through his life. The thing that if he didn’t know what would be beyond the next sunrise, he would still know a purpose. When Miranda was eight, he finally decided that he could let it go, that Miranda was sweet, but spoiled, and desperate for him to come home. That he really did want to marry Annabelle, and that if he waited much longer, she’d lose interest. She’d find someone better.
That was when Cyn decided to ask to be restationed to the guard in his hometown, where he could retire quietly, and actually live out a life with family. That he could make the leap.
Vormund however, was still technically in war time. Even with the so very long lull in fighting, the Crown could not grant his request with expediency--they needed all of the veteran command at the border. They were rearing to go again, yet couldn’t. By this time, there was still no popular support for continuing the war with Urylea. Vormund was founded on the premise that Mesalians fighting Mesalians was wrong, and only served to weaken them in the face of universal danger. Yet, the Crown would not be happy with this line of events.
What the Crown wanted was to finish things. A campaign into Urylea to ensure that Urylea would never again be in the position to launch another war against them--a definitive victory condition, rather than a stalemate. They couldn’t risk a loss in popularity, however, with the regime being so fresh. Adding to that, the Crown was very aware of what kind of person Cynnabue Sycamore was. They were aware that a career in arms was all he knew, and that the stability that life offered him was great, and that he put himself first. He was what they needed. He wouldn’t be allowed to retire.
Unless.
Unless he could perform one last service to his kingdom. The Crown wanted an excuse to go back to war, but Urylea wouldn’t give them one.
So they made their own. A position as a military advisor to The Crown that would only see him away from home during times of need and that would see his family in good standings for years yet to be seen was what he was offered. For that reward, Sycamore would deliver their excuse.
One village in the Mireren. They would have to stake out the courier paths to make sure no messengers escaped the town to report the treasonous attack. With no evidence to the contrary, it would be quick to blame on their Southern neighbors to resume a hard and fast offensive. They knew the routes--it was their own, after all. So with a small regiment of men, Cyn brought the town to the torch. No survivors, as it was planned. It would all burn.
Unbeknownst to him however, Xitian hands were in the mix. The quickest way to bring instability to Vormund, to crumble the relationship the Crown had to its people, would be for this one act of bloodshed to go wrong. When the villages’ Eastern courier rode for the nearest town to cry for help against its own military, it rode through an open road. The men who had been stationed to catch the courier running lay dead in their own trap.
Ruin
“[...] If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche [[Real Quote]]
All hell broke loose when word spread that a village lay slaughtered at the hands of its own protectors. The Crown had to come up with something to tell people, something to -fix this-, and quickly. The word was put out within days that this was the work of a mastermind--a grab for power by one of the officers of the Standing Army in the nation’s time of weakness after the war. A mastermind, an outlaw, and a traitor named Cynnabue Sycamore.
He was quickly blamed for everything as the Crown scrambled to put down tensions as quickly as possible. The war with Urylea was forgotten, Cyn’s future was forfeit. In their eyes, he had fucked up. This was his mess, and it would be his head.
The men and women with Cynnabue were in no less of a hard situation. Those who didn’t want to die a traitor’s death quickly broke away, deserting the regiment in hopes of hiding away in the countryside and living quietly. However, Cyn was not without his reputation still. The veterans that listened to his teachings, that trusted his word, and knew that they had been betrayed from the highest order of things stuck with him to wait and see what he would do. Whether or not they would try and fight this, or try to leave the nation as refugees.
One thing was on Cyn’s mind, however: home. He knew that the guard would likely be waiting at his home in arms for him to return for his child. He couldn’t leave, he couldn’t do anything without knowing that Miranda was safe, and without the chance to explain things to Annabelle. The knot in his stomach knew things were bad, and he was single minded. They would be waiting for him, but they probably expected him to come alone as well.
The men and women that banded around him were tools at that desperate moment, and they served their purpose. Through skill and careful planning, he lead an uncontested march through the countryside to hit his hometown directly. He knew he could not fight the standing armies himself,but the battle-hardened veterans he lead into the attack locked the town’s guard into a battle. A fitting distraction for him to go back home. He knew once the couriers left the town, reinforcements would come swiftly. The men and women he led here, they would all die. At least they would die in battle and not on a chopping block.
However... he came home to an empty house. Annabelle had already fled with Miranda. What he’d prevented earlier in life simply repeated itself. He’d only delayed through selfishness what seemed to be the inevitable.
Wander
“If your bag is too heavy then you need to pick some of your toys and give them to the children here. I can’t carry your toys--they’re yours, so you need to take responsibility for them.”
-Cyn to Jane
He slid down another valley. To the familiar plateau of not being able to care about anything in life. He picked a road, and he started walking. The last directive he could force himself to follow was survival. If he started moving now he could get some distance between the town and himself. It was over however. There was nothing left to fight over. He didn’t want vengeance. All he wanted was his life back.
He couldn’t have it... But eventually, he had something else. Later that year, he ran into a carriage on the side of the road. A dusk attack on a broken wheeled carraige it seemed. Albeit with a single survivor.
He took the small girl with him, in reluctant attempt to find who she belonged to. He didn’t leave her there because that hardly seemed an option to him, as leaving her out there would only give time for nature, or the dusk to make it no survivors rather than one. He quickly found however, that this was easier said than done, and after a few months passed he knew in the back of his mind that he wasn’t going to find her parents. He kept the facade however, until she was old enough to start calling him ‘papa’.
He was in real trouble then. While they were travelling, he’d been visiting houses, doing odd jobs for farmers in exchange for a night’s stay and food, out in remote parts away from guard presence. Up until then, he’d been telling everyone they stayed with that he was just looking for the girl’s parents. Now he couldn’t say that anymore, could he? The next time he was asked, though reluctantly, he just identified himself as her parent.
That was at the point though that he realized he wasn’t getting rid of her. That, as tired as he was, that as much as he just wanted to lay down and sleep, there was more to be done still. At first it was finding her parents, now well, he couldn’t simply leave her somewhere. He’d have to take care of her. He’d have to make sure she grows up okay.
And he couldn’t do that while travelling. Instead, by her sixth birthday he had made it to the ports of Westbank, where he’d take a ship north, to the Forbidden Lands. Maybe after escaping the continent and Vormund he could settle somewhere. Stop evading the law, and allow himself to live somehow. Yet walking - evading had been his way of life until this point. He knew better from the past to fret about moving forwards--about changing.
Timeline
1AV: Vormund is formed
2AV: Born to biological parents.
4AV: Two years old, Sent to The Sycamore’s Children Home
16AV: Fourteen years old, Moves out of orphanage to become a guard
21AV: Nineteen years old, Joins the standing armies as infantry
24AV: Twenty one years old, War with Urylea begins
25AV: Twenty two years old, Reassigned to the 15th Integrated; promoted to Underofficer
26AV: Twenty three years old, Promoted to Lieutenant
28AV: Twenty five years old, Promoted to Captain
28AV: War with Urylea comes to a stand-still; Commemorated as a knight and hero of Vormund
28AV: Received estates, a position in the legal system; Met Eren, his political aid
31AV: Twenty eight years old, Marriage to Eren; Conception of Miranda
32AV: Twenty nine years old, Miranda born.
34AV: Thirty one years old, Divorce hearing; Annabelle hired as Nanny
37AV: Thirty four years old, First kiss with Annabelle
38AV: Thirty five years old, Annabelle asks for marriage
38AV: Botches the false flag; Loses Annabelle and Miranda
38-41AV: Wanders the country
38AV: Finds Jane
40AV: Thirty seven years old, Jane starts to claim him as her father.
41AV: Thirty eight years old, Leaves for the Forbidden Lands.
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Backstory