Sognheim

Sognheim stood strong as the capital of Gonthar. It wasn't a pretty city, nor an elegant city, but it was a proud one that had endured through all manner of war and natural disaster that had found its way to the shores of Gonthar over the generations. Its drabness held an ancient strength.

It was here that the displaced refugees from the eruption of Mount Roros had fled. Refugee camps had sprung up all around the city with rudimentary shelters and soup kitchens. Tents are packed in so close that one had to watch ones step as they tried to navigate through the temporary shelters, and many of the refugees had little more than the clothes on their backs by way of possessions.

The place smelled of unwashed masses and bodily excrement as the dejected people milled about. There wasn't room enough for them in the city though.

Most of the refugees were comprised of the Shattered that made their homes within the Highlands of Gonthar. For most of them, their homes had been destroyed and they had nowhere else to turn, but they were the lucky ones. There were many who hadn't warning enough to evacuate their homes in time, and those who had simply refused to leave. There was little left of them but the memories carried by the survivors.

In the outskirts of the city a makeshift camp was set up and various medical professionals bustled around. In the camp were a few hundred of the Shattered and various people who were now homeless due to the volcanic eruption. A group of about 20 people arrived in the camp and looked around before entering many carried water and food. Among them was a man in a full suit carrying a case of water.

Victor walked into the camp and set the case down and grabbed a few waters. Most would have made a press conference but that wasn't what Victor felt was right this was where he needed to be. He walked over to two men and handed out waters. Going person to person quietly. "Were going to get you all help." Victor said. He looked around at the conditions here and frowned.

"Mr. Vidal do you have anything to say about the up coming election in relation to this event?" A young reporter asked him as he found himself suddenly sprung upon with a microphone and a camera.

" With this recent tragedy I think the elections are going to be taking a backseat. I'm trying to assist here. I will make a comment about the elections in a press conference in a few days. If your looking for a story cover this show the public the conditions here." Victor said calmly before turning away and going back to handing out waters.

Also driving down to the camp was a large, green SUV that stopped by. Out of it stepped three people- one, a face now recognizable on television, the politician Giles Fabron. The salt-and-pepper-haired man walked around the vehicle and searched for anyone who was running the camp's organization.

As he did that, Giles' lesser known body guards, two women he was never seen without, stepped out of the car and walked around to the back, opening it up. One could never have enough food and water in a situation such as this, and there was a fair bit of that in the car, but there were other things, as well. Small generators covered the bulk of it, things that would help give light during the nights, that doubled as miniature stoves to warm food and boil water. There were plastic filters, there were blankets. The women began to unload these.

Eventually Giles found Victor Vidal, a face he recognized, and approached him. "I might be mistaken. Mister Vidal? I'm Giles Fabron, from Central Aslund."

Victor was just finishing up helping another woman when he saw Giles approaching him. He walked to meet the man as he noticed the essential goods that he was delivering as well.

"Mr. Fabron, I'm glad to see you here. An unfortunate event that brings us together but my thanks for your presence in this time of need is beyond words." Victor said with nod to the man.

Victor was a bit taken aback to see another candidate at this place but this was more than he could have hoped for. The event here while it was all that was talked about in Gonthar was seeming to start to draw the attention of those from around Terra.

A saving blessing of Sognheim's cold climate was that the mud that had been turned up in the pathways between the tents of the makeshift camps of the refugees had largely frozen solid, forming manageable terrain as opposed to the muddy cesspools that were the norm within Pilgrim's Rest, the shanty town outside the city of Maraesa in Anvaera's homeland. The graceful woman had spent the last few days with seemingly tireless persistence making her way through the camps, distributing healing, aiding construction and overseeing supplying. She had no authority here, but where she spoke, people listened. Perhaps it was something in her face - her features at once bearing the smooth beauty of youth and the wisdom of age - or perhaps it was simply her manner that left men twice her age feeling like they were being lectured by their mothers.

She certainly stood out from the crowd, clad in elegant blue robes and a dress that looked like it belonged several centuries in the past, and sporting an array of jewellery and ornaments that wouldn't have been out of place on a queen, jewelled circlet and all. At present, she was stood upon the bank of the fjord, directing the unloading of crates of aid sent from other Terran nations. The workmen had been dubious about listening to her at first, but in the lack of other officials making their presence known, they had allowed her to take charge. Having many of the refugees know her and support her hadn't hindered that discussion either.

"Senna, take these medical supplies back to my infirmary, then send Eila to tell the Einarssons to bring their son there, as I have what I need to treat her now." she said, waving one of the women under her charge towards one of the boxes. Emelia, I need you to gather people to load these crates onto a cart or a truck, whatever's available, to be taken across to Gloria in the Northern camp."

Where she spoke, the women followed, hurrying about their set tasks. It was notable that the majority of Anvaera's helpers were female, but whether this was coincidence or design was less obvious.

A soft, echoing chorus mysteriously answers,

"Sognheim, our grand capital of Gonthar, of Terra. You, traveler, are welcome here."