Alekur Edmundsson looked off the balcony of his northernmost estate. It made his blood boil. 20 miles north was a heavily guarded border, separating Trefjallis from Trefjallis. THe large, overextended, empire of Sonvarim looms over every man or woman, child or senior, citizen or expat of Trefjall. He wished he could do something, but what? The Sonvarish army was too strong, and their people were too suborn. They had to expand just from their small city-state, just to oppress such vulnerable people? At least the Candanadians did something to help. He walked back inside, shivering from the wind and having no other protection than his robe. Walking to the shower, he knew what would happen if he acted like his predecessors, waiting, and waiting, for them to strike. No more Trefjallis close enough to catch a whiff of the sulfur from the springs, yet far away, locked in a house, without a job, or family, bowing to a man living in Voravia. No more would a man or woman, child or senior, citizen or expat of Trefjalli decent will live in foreign lands. The picture on the mirror rang out to him, himself yelling for cause, for purpose. People listening to him, almost as he was a prophet. It was better to not think of it now, though. He had a job to do.