There was once a tiny nation, at the green and pleasant crossroads between history’s great powers, constantly buffeted this way and that, kicked around, conquered and swamped again and again by this side or that throughout its history, and now firmly in the iron jaws of the greatest of them all. This power was used to dealing with and crushing all rebellion against its might. Every proud voice was silenced, every upraised head was beaten down into the dust. Everyone left standing was cowed and compliant. This was a conquered, beaten people.
And yet a spark of hope remained. Continue reading
The Zwyckyverse 