Lore post 1: (Patreon)

I've awaited a time in which arms may be laid down, for over thirty years have I waited.
I rest within a tower of concrete in steel, my body suspended by wires. But I do not fear.

I saw the rise of the Polish republics from the ashes of the old world order, a response to the collapse of everything. They expanded like a fire, sweeping the plains of east and west under their blade. But who leads them? Who rules them? Who guides the flame?

No one knows, there is a hollow seat in Warsaw.

Well meaning, but unguided: Like a missile of kindness, a warhead still strapped to the front.

As for the communists, who knows what they want. The Second Union expanded further east, taking the Afghans and many others under their rule. Moscow is a city of machines and bunkers. From radioactive statues of Lenin to Lysenkoist depleted wastelands, one can often wonder if any soul lives in Russia. 

They fund local groups, but what do they want? Not the Order of Beria, but perhaps merely some kind of misguided freedom. At least they desire something, even if misplaced.

They are unlike the westerners, new arrivals, armed with a blade of decadence and a taste for violence. A youth that achieve immortality by dying young.

But I have been in this tower for so long, I know not how they all behave now. I am but an old soul encased, I can but tell stories of what I once knew.