Around six pm Lord Vele left his manor, at his side two of his personal guards, adorned in dark robes to protect agaisnt the merciless rains brought in by the northern seas. "I have been summoned to the Hill of Iron, you guys should leave my side shortly before we get there and get to your homes. Upon reaching fifty meters of it I bid you release from service." They nodded silently.
The sad little convoy marched on, till finally the hill was in sight. It stood in the middle of Konigsberg, about 400 meters tall, it was crowned with ancient standing stones, the old location where the first kings of the Teutons recieved crowns of iron. He saw that it was well lit despite the rain, and that crowd awaited him. "Farewell now my old friends, I hope this war sees you left alone from now on." Quietly the men slipped away, holding back their feelings for their previous master.
Iron Hill had a path of stepping stones leading up in a lazy, sweeping pattern. Vele took his time heading up, enjoying what he worked out to be some of his final moments of freedom. He breathed in the damp but fresh air deeply, and began the last of his ascent.
At the top several soldiers awaited, alongside a man that was about to sweep the nation off of its feet. Beside the troopers stood a tall and grim man, pale with long black hair and sharp features, his eyes were those of a hawks, and they burned right through Lord Vele as he crowned the hill. "Well well, I am glad to see you decided not to fight this. You know know of a hiding spot this time, do you rat? You will be taken to the lines of the foreign host, with yu removed, eventually we may have them removed, to be a nation of our own again. Where is this Tweed fellow?"
Vele looked at him with scorn, knowing full well he knew where that fucked up little man hid. "Will you not answer my question, Vele? It may be the last time you address a man of your own land." Vele just stared at him, and finally decided to respond. "He hides in his rat hole, with his stinking cheese to busy him. At least he hasn't to deal with men questioning him for answers they already hold knowledge of.
With that the crowd turned and descended the hill, Vele in the middle. He wasn't at risk of escape, he knew this, but he didn't quite know why. Something told him that taking his own leave would result in a pain worse than any the ECOJ could hope to afflict on him. Below a few trucks waited in idle, the drivers sipping hot coffee to deal with the chill in the air. They piled in, four to each truck. Vele and the grim man got in the same truck, sitting side by side. Vele looked like a tired old man, but deception is a dangerous thing, and only when corned does a deadly snake bite. The chill in the air grew, and the driver hoped coffee could warm a soul, because the long cold ride south had just begun. In six hours they would reach a base of Davishire to meet an joint UK- Davi task force to recieve the once proud lord.