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From the southern white cliffs of Dover to the mottled heather on the northern moors, a blanket of peace descended upon England's green and pleasant land. A quiet night, a chance for contemplation, inquiry and repose in anticipation of the struggles to come.
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In London, the new Prime Minister stepped out of the coach in front of 10 Downing Street -- and with shoulders squared and a very deep breath -- proceeded through the front door.
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Somewhere in the forest of memory, a slight-framed boy in a page uniform jogged through a dappled wood, muttering under his breath as he ran. As he weaved through a grove of large oak trees, a beam of focused sunlight caught his eye, reflecting off an object with what looked like a glint of metal. Curious, he stopped running and walked towards the clearing. Situated under the beam of light was a sword embedded deep into a boulder. How odd, the boy thought to himself, but how convenient! He grasped the hilt with both hands and braced his foot against the stone. As he gave a yank, the sword slid so easily out from its resting place that he toppled backwards, his gangly legs tripping over roots and dried leaves, and he fell in a twisted heap. As he stood, he hefted the blade and tried out a swing. The sword was too large for him to easily wield, but felt warm in his grip as he shifted it from one hand to the other. He tested the edge and instantly slit the skin on his thumb. Not even a dulled edge from the weather, he puzzled. No matter-- he was already late in getting back, and there would be hell to pay if he didn't sprint. He took off in the direction from whence he came, the sword tucked awkwardly under his arms as he ran.
and other items have now been activated.
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In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
A count for votes is off by sleight of hand,
The search for mayor blocked by a queen,
We pray she still rules strongly o'er the lands
Alas, monarchy falls when wolves abound
Long slender teeth want not for greens nor tortes
When hunger strikes it's village they surround
And queens cannot rule lands with empty courts
Here documented is an ode to death,
A humble shroud of flesh and blood and ink,
Upon the stage, here each our own MacBeth
Who occupied this skull in hand, you think?
Today as night falls fast the games begin
And now the challenge: who is foe or kin?
_______
ᛈᛚᚪᛁᛖᚱᛋ × ᛚᚩᚳᚪᛏᛡᚾᛋ
Please note any changes in location and adjust any applicable conversations accordingly.
It is now Day One.
Voting will conclude at 9pm on Monday, March 29th
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Recommend opening it in spotify for the full theme experience! 
it's in my top 5 favorite movies
