Shestonland

## Historical Info

### Founded

Shestonland was founded on March 16th, 1232 by Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther, when his ship crashed and grounded onto the eastern shores, specifically Follen Beach. Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther survived and got off the ship, still grounded in the sand. He then explored more of the lands of Shestonland, leaving his ship that was grounded on the eastern shores where Follen Beach is located behind.

### Independence From

The Colleanist Republic of Shestonland was simply just discovered, but it was nearly taken by Padentonia in the 1400s, during The Great War of Sir Edward Sandwich of Saladius.

### Collapsed

The Colleanist Republic of Shestonland has never collapsed, as it is still here in the present day as of now at the current moment.

## Nation Info

### Largest City

Kotches is not only the capital of Shestonland, but also the largest city of the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland.

## Government

### Leader

Timtom Weedle Barford VII of Leedhammerhimmleforth currently leads the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland, and has been leading the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland since 1997, when he took forth the position given by his father, Timtom Weedle Barford VI of Leedhammerhimmleforth. It is rumored that Timtom Weedle Barford VII of Leedhammerhimmleforth is going to give up the throne to someone new this year.

### Government

Shestonland uses Colleanism as the governmental ideology officially for the country of Shestonland.

### Capital

Kotches is the capital of Shestonland. In addition, Kotches is also the largest city of Shestonland.

## Authorship

### Made by

The page representing and talking about the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland was made by -ACheesyNameHere-, who is a user on the Utterly Nonsensical Countries Wiki, where this page is, which is on Fandom, which also hosts the wiki that is a smaller branch from this wiki, the Alternate Territories Wiki, made by a member of the Scratch Mapping Community Wiki, also on Fandom, which is for a community that is based on Scratch, not on Fandom, Scratch being a coding website recommended for ages 8-16. Scratch is accessible through most web browsers, such as Google Chrome. Google Chrome is owned by the large company, Google, based in Mountain View, California. California is a state inside of the country of the United States, which is on the continent of North America, which is on planet Earth, which is in the Milky Way, which is in the collective universe/multiverse as a whole.

Shestonland is a country on the continent of Feltonlia, which is in the World of BOX. It is famous for the Highlands of Chiefton, and the Lowliers of Filmoforth II, which contain multiple cities, towns, villages, hamlets, boggers, lydios, sickle-shaped tonnebars, and several other types of settlements, such as the capital and largest city, which is Kotches.

## Beginning Info

The Colleanist Republic of Shestonland is not just a very, very, different and strange country with nonsensical words and overly detailed descriptions, it is a very, very different place systematically.

### Nonsensical Words

One of the large aspects of the Shestonland page is the usage of nonsensical words, mainly as a joke. If you see a word you don't know, that's okay. It likely doesn't exist in the English dictionary, at least for all we know, or it could and was used in a vastly different manner. Just a fair warning, the beginning of the page is filled to the brim with these compared to the later parts, and no, the creator does not apologize.

"*By cober or by coham, the ancient tree would seek the troubled and **wymbled** man in a **syring** time of need.*"

This sentence uses three of the main methods used to get a nonsensical word across. The word in bold, ***wymbled***, is paired with the word *troubled*. This is a direct implication, ***wymbled*** is implied to be a synonym of the word *troubled*, but in some cases, this isn't so clear.

"*in a sad, uncertain, and **dyroben** look*"

In this excerpt, ***dyroben*** is likely implied to be a mix of both *sad* and *uncertain*, though how can anyone truly tell? Look out for these trios of words, it's most likely a mix of the two.

The bold and underlined word, ***syring***, is an indirect implication. It derives from "sorrow", but again, how can anyone truly tell? There are certainly clearer instances than in this sentence.

The underlined words, *cober* and *coham*, are likely where the page gets far too confusing, because they simply don't mean anything. They're likely there for a transitional effect... or just to be confusing. The creator does realize that thinking this much about the subject material can make the reading far too boring at times, but he still refuses to apologize. Though in rare cases, the word is handed to you.

"***Teatiling** soon started to occur within Shestonland. New discoverers would arrive on ships, and the lousy, frightfully distraught men would take them in and hold them captured in the deep depths of the unknown and nothingness.*"

***Teatiling*** is certainly a word you've never heard of, because yet again, it doesn't exist, but this time, this nonsensical word has a sense to it! This really doesn't appear often, unfortunately, but now you know what a completely made-up word means. Use it to confuse or trick people, whatever it is that pleases you.

### Calendar Guide

#### Regular Calendar

The regular calendar adds eight new months, a total of 20 per year, and during leap years, August also gets a new day: August 32nd! How fun! This means there are 607-609 days a year, unless I had somehow calculated wrong. However, these months are not used in other countries in the World of BOX, causing an unexplainable and illogical time warp within the world. You could leave Arsestonia on September 30th, stay in Shestonland for all 31 days of Coloniery, and come back to Arsestonia within one day.

Seasons still begin the when they do on Earth, but just with two extra months and some new terminology. Seasons are comprised of six months (months can overlap, of course), and they have different terminology. For example, December is the start of winter, that would be a **conducting month**. January, Snaulery, February, and Deulery are the full months of winter, being **pure months**. March is the end of winter, even though most of us associate it with spring, being a **trailing month**. March is also the conducting month of spring, and the process repeats.

* January - 31
* Snaulery - 30
* February - 28-29
* Deulery - 30
* March - 31
* Habil - 30
* April - 30
* Annulery - 31
* May - 31
* June - 30
* July - 31
* Ruth - 30
* August - 31-32
* Danier - 30
* September - 30
* Coloniery - 31
* October - 31
* Barneery - 30
* November - 30
* December - 31

#### Scientific Calendar

In the scientific calendar, the months are of the regular calendar, but in between the months of June and July, there lies Arthumelion, which is approximately 27.492010820857058765834768434256085614569160973467893679784093698436831867043671387605215673569236503726057165073659365715697365937658365085601659861359083560895639803659326509215630563958698356089635098365863659835835602961598650896350983650893508605980359836506036008509235098503652085356935860925001253657656506956365265935696850365060215036502589556676952765764576436759437023646948608036842063636367649643769347693496347 days long, or 27.49201 for short estimate. Scientists use it to bring "perfect balance" to the year, which has in turn caused them to be years behind regular calendar users. This was proposed by The Man Who Thought Way Too Much Way Too Often And Way Too Big In Terms Of His Ideas And Beliefs, also known as Sir Wynley Knottsworth. To save the reader's sanity, as it will probably already be broken enough by the first paragraph, this page will be using the regular calendar months, and even that is hard to remember. Snaulery? When is that?

### Enville

**Towns**

* Inglesworth

**Villages, Hamlets, Boggers, Lydios, Tonnebars, and Other**

Village - A village is a group of several houses ranging anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand people, and it is smaller than a town and larger than a hamlet.

Hamlet - A hamlet is almost similar to a village but consisting of a few hundred people or less.

Bogger - A bogger typically has less than 50 people and around 5-10 houses, typically very dense.

Lydio - A lydio is a type of settlement consisting of only hillside dwellings, old or modern.

Tonnebar - A tonnebar, which is typically sickle-shaped, is a type of settlement along a water feature such as a bay, lake, river, inlet, or other. It has no connections to any forms of transport other than walking or running by foot. Historically, a tonnebar was a term to describe a generally isolated village along a water feature.

Kepling - A kepling is a settlement with only one residential building but more than two families or more than fifteen people.

Westie - A westie is a type of eastward settlement that "feels west" to those who live around said village in an unexplainable phoenomena.

Samterrace - A samterrace is a type of settlement typically with "Sam" in the name and connections to an individual with the first name "Sam". The one exception of this rule is Daniel, which is also a flow-roden tonnebar.

* Aardiveil - Hamlet
* Aberode - Lydio
* Aberdeen Second - Hamlet
* Addiston - Hamlet
* Aiken - Bogger
* Aman - Village
* Aman North - Hamlet
* Aman South - Hamlet
* Aman Southeast - Bogger
* Arbuckle - Village
* Arfinger - Hamlet
* Arfingersworth - Bogger
* Asstory - Kepling
* Atticsworth - Hamlet
* Aubrey - Village
* Awbrey - Village
* Banning - Hamlet
* Bardsworth - Bogger
* Battings - Hamlet
* Benford - Hamlet
* Benns - Bogger
* Berryman Point - Village
* Betty's Doom - Bogger
* Bindings - Hamlet
* Bird Point - Lydio
* Blackworth - Village
* Bland - Bogger
* Bonds - Village
* Borderry Point - Hamlet
* Brand - Hamlet
* Brastles - Village
* Burdery - Bogger
* Burns - Village
* Cabbles - Bogger
* Cadbury Point - Village
* Caftery - Hamlet
* Cain - Hamlet
* Calman - Bogger
* Camas - Village
* Cannery - Tonnebar (Salt, sickle-shaped)
* Ced - Hamlet
* Ceersworth - Hamlet
* Cendery - Village
* Cettingspool - Bogger
* Chards - Hamlet
* Chatsworth - Village
* Chendleborough - Village
* Chedsworth - Hamlet
* Chindles - Bogger
* Churnsworth - Hamlet
* Cinders - Village
* Clammings - Hamlet
* Clodworth - Hamlet
* Connings - Hamlet
* Cordleby - Village
* Cups - Bogger
* Czlowiektormovipocesku - Village
* Dalonorthwardeastwardwindwardwesteastsouthwardwinds - Bogger
* Damesworth - Village
* Daniel - Tonnebar (Flow-roden), Samterrace
* Dass - Westie
* Derran - Bogger
* Dessa - Hamlet
* Dingles - Kepling
* Dips - Village
* Donbass - Hamlet
* Dorrysworth - Village
* Dostery - Bogger
* Drab - Village
* Dudleydursley - Hamlet
* Durdleysworth - Hamlet
* Dursley - Village
* Earp - Hamlet
* Eatings - Lydio
* Ecklesworth - Village
* Eddingtonderry - Village
* Eddsworth - Hamlet
* Eefingleharpergogeraberstrywth - Bogger
* Ellar - Tonnebar (Flow-roden, sickle-shaped)
* Emendery - Bogger
* Enningsworth - Hamlet
* Epperestyiobrostwyth - Village
* Errendworth - Hamlet
* Estupido - Bogger
* Ettingstorthyworthtor - Bogger
* Evans - Village
* Fanderry - Hamlet
* Fartingles - Bogger
* Fattings - Village
* Faury - Village
* Fearing - Hamlet
* Fecalneuward - Village
* Feline - Hamlet
* Fernley - Hamlet
* Ferndess - Bogger
* Findingles - Hamlet
* Firres - Hamlet
* Fodorings - Village
* Frodo - Tonnebar (Loch, sickle-shaped)
* Furrings - Village
* Fursworth - Bogger
* Gabbery - Hamlet
* Ganon - Bogger
* Gaylord - Village
* Gaylord - Hamlet
* Geersneer - Village
* Gellings - Bogger
* Gemini - Hamlet
* Southy - Westie
* Tachenheim - Tonnebar (Loch, sickle-shaped)
* Tempton - Village
* Worsthammer - Kepling

## History

### Founding of Shestonland

On March 16th, 1232, Sir Weesus Weedle Johnius Fickleton Carbury Aberton I of Lides, who was ruling the great country of Jalleirear at the time, sent several willing residents in need of help throughout the world that is the great world of Bellosistatia to get some work done and go forth over to new lands and areas. Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther was sent soon then and turbulated the great waves, seas, and oceans of the William Channel, over to wash up on to the mighty, briny, and grainy shores of the great eastern side, on Follen Beach. Leaving his ship grounded behing, he went forth through Shestonland and landed in the very large, somewhat quaint and fickle village of Tempton. Tempton residents quickly greeted him in good nutsy manner, and offered bountiful gifts worthy of filling the insides of a great cypress trapped in a thin London apartment. Howver, Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther was looking for a new discoverous journey. He then took out a long pole, lit it under the great light of the ironstove, and took them over to the huts of the great mud, and they burned in hellish fire, greater than the devil's bidding of Jonasforth in the great, sickle-shaped Bay of Eedsworth. All of the residents of Tempton, in their good nutsy manner, deceased indefinitely due to the real circumstances of the great evil lying inside of the male body he possesses. Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther then took the bountiful gifts capable of putting a cat to lightly deep rest in his own possession and went through, establishing the great and wonderful Shestonland. The great governmental rule of figure was set, and so was Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther himself, thee.

Fiddling and fondling, Aberforth carried forth and went forward over to the little cliffs of towering Chiefton. Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther wondered if he would have been fellen, or perhaps billowed and mandled into tolled wars and waters of many. The spot was very deep and large, much like a fat bull so far. Sporing for help, he needed food in the immediate moment and went over to the long village of Carlinger. Carlinger had one, very astutly font person, who gave Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther tons of food, much to fit into an enlargened and retallied rice grain. But, after the wonderful gestures of the little man, he was killed yet again, by the great, sharp blade of Aberforth's possession, which were those little cliffs over towering Chiefton. Aberforth soon got into the little, meek bodies of other village residents coming over and giving him food and gifts and pushing them through the quaint spot. Aberforth then carried forth and yonder over into his government into the place of the great spot where the patriment of Shestonland was located, and living so quietly, like a blue whale, he was soon establishing the great, old country of Shestonland, bringing in new people and putting forth control over yonder and fro. Aberforth John Weedleton IV of Esther was now Aberforth John Weedleton IV of New Esther, leader of Shestonland.

### The Colleanist Republic of Shestonland

Twas, by the late fall of the 1240s, many instances, incidents, and incidences occurred highly as followed: arson, ballowing, deceptifiance, grogery, histing, indecency, murder, pecking, rape, robbery, stationing, and tumblery were all common throughout the shires. On one of the days of these occurences, a man named Thomas Fickleton Seedus grogled, histed, robbed, and committed tumblery all in the same day. It was clear that Shestonland was already off to a start of misfortune and worry, as well as weeping and wimbling. The tides were rising, the sun was falling, all words of people who thought much was going wrong, who thought everything was going wrong. The wrongdoings were so well-done that a chickpea would wilt if you held a scroll written with bread mold of 10% of these crimes listed instantly. Teatiling soon started to occur within Shestonland. New discoverers would arrive on ships, and the lousy, frightfully distraught men would take them in and hold them captured in the deep depths of the unknown and nothingness. Teatiling was on the rise, and Aberforth John Weedleton IV of New Esther, leader of Shestonland, simply did nothing about it. The time came, and the time went. It was now the 1250s, and people weren't as happy with the barely set government of Shestonland. It was barely a country at all. After that, Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III of Bensal wrote a book titled *Colleanism and Why It Should Be Used In Every Country At The Moment, Especially Shestonland*. *Colleanism and Why It Should Be Used In Every Country At The Moment, Especially Shestonland* became a big hit with residents, but Aberforth John Weedleton IV of New Esther was not happy with it. He denounced Colleanism, which caused the Colleanist revolution. Colleanists everywehre took over Aberforth's throne. Aberforth John Weedleton IV of New Esther ran away, and when he came back to the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland, he was immediately teatiled, never to be seen again. The country was now officially Colleanist, and Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III of Bensal became leader, the great leader of the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland.

"*I cannot believe I have to state this. Such a statement I have to make for such an impeccably unpredictable situation. You, sir, are not a good sir at all. You're nothing but a hister, a ballower, and by god, I bet you regularly commit tumblery, thee. Now please. Now is the proper and formal time to take my life, go on ahead and do it. I said what I needed to say.*" These were the last words of Littleman John I of Cardale, who died in 1257 from the careful slicing of an improperly cut sword, giving him the feeling of several cases of cholera and death. As time went on, so did the leader, Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III, now of Chiefton. Chiefton then was a little town in the northern highlands of Chiefton consisting of a large number of about 5,000 in terms of residents. During the inauguration of Calibrateshire as a county, Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III of Chiefton carefully observed in watch of something possibly wrong yet to occur, but as such, none has happened so. It was remained in way as it was, living as though it was working in worse. *Hod coth the daughter. Hod coth her and shis lazy fabrics*, say many of this move. The move transported by the leader from his mind into his body into doing such and carrying forth with the idea that such was going to happen in that time. People often recile about it aside from that phrase and it is fickled with and modified to largely daft extents. Twas, an unimportant action became something of a rather strange, rather peculiar importance.

### The Big Boom

In the 1260s, the windheimers of the southern depressions saw no mercy, rather ultimate lows. All of the sudden, the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland saw less feed, as there were not enough peasants. Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III of Chiefton then suggested that residents should teatile new travellers to make them new peasants and farm crops and bounties of wheat, maize, kein, and findlecrop. After this, the age of farming mindled its way over into prescense under the light. Food was now supplied at such a rate that it often went to waste! Sir Leederbury Abbotsforth I of Cullman even discovered a new crop and decided to name it "Leederburyabbotsforthplant." Leederburyabbotsforthplants were highly popular in farm usage, as they were known to be plenty filling in the bodies of the residents of the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland. Leederburyabbotsforthplants were now mindling and mondling forth on over to great new lengths over the horizon, as they have been exported to countries as far as Shimmleburycarbonee, thee. Although, after a greatly traunting disease had pollenged through the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland, the residents have decided to put the blame on the Leederburyabbotsforthplants. Once present in popularity, now diminished. Sir Leederbury Abbotsforth I of Cullman was found limp, lifeless, aborted at the bottom of a little, bottom-of-the-world hole, and Leederburyabbotsforthplants were thereafter condled.

Carbury and Codham, timbles of the new branch woes, littled forth in a world of slight mercy. Carbury and Codham, what slight willforth was given in dosten lows? Carbury and Codham, troubled men. How mentlighting in an otherwise mentfult world. The two men set on a journey, a journey no one else would have wished to envere. By teatiling and ship-building, the two men set their lives in a way like no other. Cross the north harbors in the little highland cliffs. An exploration so unworthy for such two men, it's unsure why they carried forth. Carbury and Codham. Crossed the Northern Sea to get here: a towering mountain of the main. Manded and tolded, the men descended into a large hole. The large hole was shallowed of water, and was outlined with cristles. The cristles were of healing, physical healing. Carbury and Codham, missing the direction. Twas not for mental as they had hoped, and it made them worse than ever known. They had crossed over the littler sea to get to a diplomat in the village of Kendergage. "*O, Kendergage diplomat. We come to you in need of great help. We picked a healing cristle and it made us worse.*" The diplomat looked sternly. "*Impossible! Never happens, such cristle failure. Are you sure you have used it correctly, in the mountain hole?*" Carbury and Codham. "*Yes, we have crushed it and smeared it all over our bare bodies.*" The diplomat, confused, then replied "*You must not have used the purple cristle.*" However, Carbury and Codham, they did. They did use the purple cristle, and replied so. "*We had used the purple cristle.*" The diplomat then walked off in confusion. Carbury and Codham, now on the ground. The leader was there, Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III of Chiefton, now older as it was the 1270s, looked down on the men. "*You chose your adventure, why are you so distraught?*" Carbury and Codham, on their knees, they replied, "*Please sivvle us, sovvle us too. We do not deserve life.*" The leader just left them there, on the ground for eternity. Carbury and Codham, now dead, seeped into the ground, their bodies supped inside and buried beneath the grassy willows.

### The Blyceath Era

In seemingly the darkest times of Shestonland, by the 1280s as Tipple Eisenhomer Wimbleton III of Chiefton died and trouble came forth, the fulleries and the fullenbies have been opened. Eugene grass seed pollen filled the lands in essential gimerworth, and kiding were the mestiles eating up the harvest feeding the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland. The Wycenworth Clan bumbled to and fro the open lands of closed clouds and quickly departed towards the government, visible in the distance, obstructed by large, cridling mountains. The Wycenworth Clan left their homelands from the north and went upwards towards the capital, heeded by the southwinds of the lower hills and bottoms. From the East, the Blyceath Clan also left their homelands towards the west, trudging in many directions thus unknown in many ways. The rift was opening on olden Shestonland, and so were the clans. The villagers and residents of mountains low and valleys high were initially scared of the Wycenworths, as bleacening tales and fynil gimmows were kod of their arrival, but they were lyden, bolysen, and nywick. Off the foot, the Blyceaths were brutyn, clocesyn, and coalesny. Later on, the clans of the Wycenworths and the Blyceaths countered in fluid, fighting many nights for their hold on the land. They took their bladed, bluden, swords, bludgin until the end. From their lythe case, sewn with leather and bron, they took through and sword bludgin into the fifth moon’s last night, the last night of many nights persisting for days. As they had been bludgin endlessly, the government was taken by the Blyceaths, putting The Colleanist Republic of Shestonland into another dark age.

It rained, poured, sprinkled, misted, spitted, pongled, drooled, sweated, and showered. The residents of the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland wallowed in the rain. The rain wallowed on the residents of the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland. Shestonland was a land of wet wallowing in winder woes. This was the second dark age. The Blyceaths had taken over. Camman and Cokham were two men convicted of teatiling several ships and cotitting several men. They were foned by the Blyceaths, taken out of the capital for eternity. They walked on a journey to the Northlands. Camman looked at Cokham, Cokham glanced at Camman. Camman and Cokham stared into an endless gaze and said “By heart, e’an trudge flue dan monnen (By heart, we shall trudge through endlessly towards the colden, blycen Northlands by way of the mountain that is in our way, which we will have to access and fullow through a pass to make it to such a location as that)”. The two banished, banfed men, trudged towards the mountain in their way, the only way to the Northlands, which was colden, blycen, and pokked. The mountain in their way was the only way, they were right about, apart from the treacherous, cabbled coast, which was far longer and far worse.

So the mountain turned out to be the correct choice for Camman and Cokham, two men banished from the capital by the notorious Blyceaths, so they fullowed through the pass of the mountain to get to the Northlands. From there, the two chose their own path. They settled in a valley for a number of days, resting and talking to animals, delusionally, because animals can’t talk back. Camman and Cokham weren’t the brightest men, which is evident by them getting lost in the valley and seeing a mountain, which they fullowed through the pass of and trudged out, only to find it was the exact mountain they trudged and fullowed through to get to the valley they trudged and fullowed out of. So they trudged towards the same mountain and fullowed through the same pass, and ending up in the same valley, but talking to different animals, which was also not a very bright idea. They found themselves lost in the woods, where they made the decision to talk to more animals, which was still not a bright choice. One morning when they woke up, Cokham fodded his head after resting on the wood. He got up from the wood and started to walk. Footstep, by footstep, by footstep, by sudden clease, by a full comn, by a stare into one direction, by him running footstep by footstep by spear throw by capture of a squirrel, a wonderful morning eat. They decided to leave the woods, tree by tree and tree by tree. Trudge by trudge, and fullow by fullow, they escaped the woods, scraping by the bark of several trees and pine branches. They had made it out of the woods where they had eaten a squirrel, from trudging through a mountain three times and following through its pass. They found themselves in the Northlands, where they died, seeping into the grass where they had belonged and envisioned for far too long.

In the capital, slightly more chaos, turmoil, and tycothes was occurring. The Blyceaths were slaying several residents, including an innocent man named Andrew, an innocent man named Edward, an innocent woman named Emily, several other innocent folk, and the lives once marveling at the town they once loved that was once free of the bruten, kolken Blyceaths, which were ruthless in their own right. Fiddling and fondling throughout their world which they had established as their own in the now-trosten capital of Kotches, the Blyceaths were not on a path to cease at any coming moment as far as any eye in the village of Cups can see past the roddling cliffs of Chiefton, and not even past the oceans that those on salt tonnebars see from their isolated wilhem they've prodled through. The Blyceaths were nothing seen coming by any naked, undressed eye throughout the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland as far as even the wisest scholars could make out. The ruthless, tough, rough, codded, blynced, strong, mighty, muscular, molster, and bynnen men made their way through Kotches, torch in hand, as if it was a ballet party hosted by the king contaminated by terrible dancers, terrible musical acts, terrible people, terrible food, and terrible seating, much to high crowds. This prolonged state of endless tycothes ended in the capital's near demise and near ultimate doom, just barely on the right edge of the string pulling it out of the tryccen saltwater of the Codswall Seas.

### The Resurgence of the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches

The resurgence of the capital, the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches, major location of the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland, was far from simple, even far past normal or hard.

The Man Who Neglected Quotations was a man from the town of Lodneery who had neglected quotation marks from his works of writing in books and boggles. One day, a very fine day, yet a cold, frumile one, he had planned on departing from his humble home. I plan on departing my humble home and I plan to depart far, far away, with no return in any circumstance. He had trodded the mountains as Camman and Cokham once had. For I am strong, he said. For I am mighty and will push through the wallows and the byngenhofs. Of course, in neglecting quotations, this implies that the narrator has stated the words that the man who neglected quotations had supposedly said and not the man who neglected quotations himself, and it coddles the previous words the narrator has definitely said, making the words that the man who neglected quotations had royled out useless, simply just coddled. He stumbled upon ronyd villagers. "Who are you?" they asked. He stated where he was from, I am Todning. "Come on now, speak up," they continued. "Don't be a bobbler." I have spoken, he said. "Where do you fullow from?" He answered with Lodneery. "Oh, Lodneery. What piggledy nonsense of a place if I do say so myself." The man who neglected quotations, supposedly known as Todning, exclaimed, I am not a bobbler, Lodneery is a town of pleasantry and bardingry, you are all foolish and krubble! "Speak up or we murder," said a villager. I am speaking up, he spoke. He was murdered that very day in that very village. Due to the missing quotations, none are sure whether his name is really Todning or whether the narrator's name is Todning, or whether much of the dialogue in the altercations with the villagers had actually happened. All that anyone knows is that he was the man who neglected quotations who was murdered in that very village.

In the midst of the resurgence of the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches, which was indeed happening, no question, many more fine fellows fullowed forward on fine flydes, a word for adventures. The Man Who Wrote Books About Books was a man known as Charlie Chayle Charleson. Charlie wrote many books, which were books about writing books. Before he died, he had also planned to write boggles, but not just any boggles, boggles about writing boggles about writing boggles. The first book about books that the man who wrote books about books, being Charlie, was named "The Winding Journey". It featured a character known as Leeges that had a book dropped on his doorstep without any writing on the pages by ink or by syll, so Leeges took the writing in his own hands and wrote the book as he went outside, but as he went outside, the writing in the written book Leeges found inside the book Charlie wrote about writing books turned into something realistic and in-person. The man who wrote books about books, or Charlie Chayle Charleson, or just Charlie to many boring and wylsome folk, was indeed very happy with this book, but the other residents in the Botchery Region Capital of Botcherysworth were not. That very night, Charlie Chayle Charleson was working on a book about writing books known as "A Very Sharp River: Weaves and Meanders to the South Once Again", creating an entire world inside the book as well as not just one, but several people writing books, one of them writing a book about writing books. The people of Botcherysworth burned his humble hoverde and he died inside of it. There was no man who wrote books about books to write books about books, there was no Charlie Chayle Charleson to write books about books. Even no, to the boring and wylsome folk, Charlie to write books about books. Books about writing books, known as metafiction, was a dead genre in Shestonland, as dead as the man who wrote books about books in his very burned, very rubbled hoverde.

The ancient tree seeks many troubled and wymbled men in syring times a many, many syring times bring wymbled and troubled men the ancient tree seeks. By cober or by coham, the ancient tree would seek the troubled and wymbled man in a syring time of need. One of the many troubled and wymbled men the ancient tree in a syring time had found was The Man Who Never Spoke. The Man Who Never Spoke was a troubled and wymbled man in a syring time who, in this syring time, found himself to never conjure or even coddle any words. The Man Who Never Spoke approached the ancient tree which seeks many troubled and wymbled men in syring times a many, and in this syring time, the troubled and wymbled man was The Man Who Never Spoke. He, the man who never spoke by form of conjuring original words or coddling any form of speech or wording, walked up and nodded at the foot of the very ancient, wise, and simyll tree. The ancient tree did not reply. The man who never spoke then teared up and nodded again, in a sad, uncertain, and dyroben look, yet the ancient tree again did not reply. In silence, the man who never spoke began to cry, and yet, the ancient tree again refused to make a reply. The man was crying on the ground as though he was a newborn child from the new mother of earth, and yet, the ancient tree had one again refused to conjure up or even coddle words in speech for a reply. A sound had came out of his mouth which had seemed near impossible, but yet, the ancient tree replied not. As the man continued sobbing, bawling, drooling, and spitting, he ever so silently replied to the ancient tree which had said nothing. "Please". The tree whispered back, "Then speak. Talk to me. I cannot fix what is not presented". The man who spoke no words became a man who spoke few words that day, leaving the ancient tree, stepping off of the foot of the ancient tree, and walking away after his very first conversation through conjure or coddle of speech.

The Furries of the Highlands were a troubling and wymbling clan from the highlands of Chiefton, all adorned in the furs of many gresled beasts. The leader wore the head of a wolf and had cat paws in chains reigning down from his bumpy, trimbled neck. After the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches was finished in their tough resurge, the Furries of the Highlands came down from the deep ends of the very mountains many men have failed to fullow through with ease, separating the capital from the highlands and other plentiful regions of Shestonland. When the Furries of the Highlands had arrived at the capital, they stood in a line formation at one of the many plazas in the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches at the time, one of twenty-seven to be exact. Residents were unhappy with their appearances. Their troubling and wymbling stance, the furs of many gresled beasts adorning their bodies, and the wolf's head along with cat paws hanging from heavy, bloody chains from the bumpy and trimbled neck of the very leader. To residents of the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches, this was a sign of witchcraft, which they may have been right. The Furries of the Highlands were possibly found to engage in magic with witches, wizards, dollenbies, crozeneers, and wabbernacks in several instances. It is also certainly very possible that they may have used magic that very night in the capital to terrorize the many residents who lived there. It was certainly very possible that the Furries of the Highlands may have indeed been a collection of troubling and wymbling witches, wizards, dollenbies, crozeneers, and wabbernacks merged by evil and chaos. Unless, of course, all of these very, certainly possible findings were just a bunch of mish-mash, hosh-posh bogus made up by a troubled mind. Due to these immediate suspicions by their intimidating stance, the residents of the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches threw rocks, bricks, and many other objects that had happened to lie there at the Furries of the Highlands. They responded with fire. Some sources say that very night, many of the residents who confronted the Furries ended with a large, fiery flash, a hot and scorching tremble of pure flame, possibly coming from the members themselves by way of magic. Unless, of course, it's just more mish-mash, hosh-posh bogus made up by a troubled mind, but still yet certainly possible. After the residents died on that very plaza in some way, the Furries of the Highlands turned throughout the city and burned several buildings, leading into a second age of darkness.

### The Second Age of Darkness in the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches and The Rise of Witch Hunting

When the residents woke up that very morning, after screaming in their now very rubbled homes and hoverdes, it was now March 25th, 1282, and the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches was now in ruins, and the Furries of the Highlands had disappeared from the area.

Carbury and Codham, somehow alive again after a deep slumber in the seeping ground, were now old. After years of being sivvled and sovvled, they still remain timbles of the new branch woes, seeking nyridom and mercy. Carbury and Codham, awaking from the very ground they were sivvled and sovvled into, saw an old man standing at the very growing stumps of their hands. "Withyn upto?" asked the man. "We've been in this ground for long now, thee. We asked to be sivvled and sovvled and now we have awoken once again," stated Carbury. "Sikyn astis?" asked the man. "Yes, your very assistance would be rather helpful," stated Codham. "Go'er tithyn flyde an shyr an flippa barun to'er the syd an feyll tryugh the montyns (Translation: Go over to the river shore and backtrack to the side and fullow through the mountains)," stated the man in a helpful manner. This confused Carbury. "What is this man saying, Codham?" "It's quite simple, go'er tithyn flyde an shyr an flippa barun to'er the syd an feyll tryugh the montyns is what he said." Carbury still remained confused. "But what does that mean?" "It means go'er tithyn flyde an shyr an flippa barun to'er the syd an feyll tryugh the montyns," stated Codham. Carbury started to become agitated and frunkled. "Are you able to tell me what that means in English?" asked Carbury. "You moppet!" Codham said in frustration, then he continued. "It is English, just the Mannery Baggetsburthle English Dialect of the Highlands of Chiefton, and it means go'er tithyn flyde an shyr an flippa barun to'er the syd an feyll tryugh the montyns!" Carbury became increasingly impatient. "Yes, but tell me what it means in non-witchcraft English, not this Mannery bollocks brothel English," he said in frustration. "Are you stupid? Are you absolutely dimwitted? It means go'er tithyn flyde an shyr an flippa barun to'er the syd an feyll tryugh the montyns!" yelled Codham. Carbury's face became blogerplant red. "Are *you* stupid? Are *you* absolutely dimwitted? Tell me what this horrible, witchcraft sentence means!" "It's not witchcraft!" exclaimed Codham.

Carbury had enough and he tackled Codham to the ground as the old man watched in a position hard as stone. "TELL ME!" yelled Carbury. "Oh fine, stop acting like an aggressive horse on a whiff of tobacco, it simply means to go over to the river, backtrack, and fullow through the mountains," stated Codham. "Oh hold on, but why backtrack?" asked Carbury. The old man started to get frustrated with Carbury and held him by the neck. "Ye fogenbroger, ye dings! Gedal o' myn cerium and neir and nor retyrn! Censym a hobbensteer flasiste prymier, ye mop! Censym yeryn flasiste and perysem, ye broppenamer! (Translation: I can't say in order to avoid an extreme talking to with my advisors.)" "Oh, how rude!" Codham exclaimed. Without notice or background, he bludgeoned the old man to death with a typewriter cladded in hard, trimbled metals sharp enough to instill the pain of 76 witches dying in the River Barnes by flame with one small poke. Codham took Carbury's hand and left the area. Carbury and Codham, now alive, left the old man behind, and proceeded to go'er tithyn flyde and shyr and flippa barun to'er the syd an feyll tryugh the montyns.

The first part they had begun to follow through the old man's word was carrying forth along the river, which was much too far away. They had taken steps away from the grassland next to the now covered hole full of the cristles that had misled them previously into another vast grassland, a meadow of sorts, more specifically a Highland rambel. Carbury and Codham, now walking through the Highland rambel towards the river, were getting quite close. The sun came out from the bleak clouds, critters came about, and flowers bloomed. Carbury and Codham, now at the foot of the river, realized what the old man may have meant by backtracking. "What if we took a boat down the flow of the river until we reach the mountain we need to fullow through? " asked Codham. "But we don't possess a boat, and going down the river would go away from the mountains we need to fullow through!" exclaimed Carbury. "There's a boat right on this shore", stated Codham, pointing to a boat that may not have actually rest there when Carbury stated there was none. "How?" asked Carbury, not explaining what he asked that to. He then continued, "Though the river would still take us downwards, away from the mountains." "We should still attempt to do this," stated Codham, as he dragged Carbury violently into the wooden boat he hoisted onto the river. The boat was indeed going downwards along the river, but then the boat was taken backwards... upstream. "Witchcraft!" exclaimed Carbury. "Shut up, you mind-boggled, rabbit-brained moppet! The two of us had just emerged from the very ground we were sivvled and sovvled into for a prolonged amount of time! The very ground we had seeped into we had seeped out of! How do you explain that, thee?" yelled Codham. "The witches took our calling," stated Carbury, then a wave along the river hit him, more so slapped him in a sense. His face was now red and in pain.

After a while, the boat suddenly smashed violently into the shore they were intending to go to and broke into pieces. "This is certainly a calling. Maybe not a calling by witches or crozeneers, but certainly a calling," said Carbury. "Well maybe it was a wizard! Perhaps a dollenby! Likely a wabbernack!" said Codham sarcastically. Carbury looked at Codham with a stoned look. For a brief two seconds, his face was still red and in pain from the wave that had slapped him along the river before the boat broke into pieces. He was ice cold and preparing his vocal tone which would also come ice cold and hard-hitting. "Shut up." The two men continued on their journey to fullow through the mountains. The mountain was tough and rocky, as their hearts were becoming as well. The mountain was bumped and trimbled, any man who'd fullow through surely had to either fullow through out of importance or insanity, but the landscape was beautiful. Far from uninteresting, wylsome, more prodded and bettled, yet much too rough. The landscape was sweet to the eyes, but abusive to the body. "What are we heading towards?" asked Codham. "Kotches, of course. It has to be quite close," said Carbury. "How could you miss that?" "It was never stated!" yelled Codham. "How was I supposed to know of our destination if it was never stated!? You're clearly likened to a driving pain of many witches today!" Codham was steaming with rage, his face a dark hue of red. "*You moppet! You damn moppet! Your mind is not full! You're a swat to the arse!*" he thought. The snow on the mountains they had been fullowing through blew into their bodies and their faces as they walked down towards the very valley Kotches lied in. Before reaching the very valley however, a man in a black cloak adorned with grapes of green, purple, and orange, some slowly molding and rotting, approached Carbury. His cloak was blowing in the wind, and the grapes on his cloak somehow appeared to become less and less appetizing. He put his pale, wrinkled, sagging hand on Carbury's shoulder, stared at him and said "You're nothing but a cotton ball of disgusting, rotten grape juice". Carbury, in slight confusion, watched as the man very slowly turned around, before disappearing into dust. Codham was the only one of the two who remembered the incident, calling it "particularly unmemorable".

As they approached Kotches, they were met with several accusing comments. "Oh father, son, and Holy Spirit, I must be finding myself blynn and fallen! Those two men are Carbury and Codham, they made their living by teatiling!" "Oh father, son, and Holy Spirit, I must be finding myself blynn and fallen! Those two men are Carbury and Codham, they killed my grandfather who was from the Mannery Baggetsburthle region!" "Oh father, son, and Holy Spirit, I must be finding myself blynn and fallen! Carbury and Codham are supposed to be dead, this is the workings of witchcraft!" Kotches had already faced their tragedy with the Furries of the Highlands three months before, as it was then Annulery 10th, 1282. Seeing these two men in their very streets, the residents found excuses to make themselves think the two men's arrival was a sign of witchcraft and devilry. The residents, in anger, tied them to a wooden stake, a mess of firewood and one large pole in the middle holding the two men back to back in one of the many town squares, one row of buildings still blowing ash in the wind as the rainclouds returned in Kotches. The residents yelled incoherently and spoke of witchcraft between the two men, until one advisor came up that made them all stand silent.

A short old man with clean, smooth skin, even his many wrinkles being clean, tufts of white hair on both sides of his topbalded head, one clean, smooth, groomed and grybled mustache of pure white, a black top hat, a golden monocle outlined with eaten and regurgitated Leederburyabbotsforthplants to ward off witches, and a clean, smooth black suit. His name was Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth, or just Sir Chanbey Tybolt to boring and wylsome folk. Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth approached a footstand facing the two men. He stared at them, brushing his clean, pure white mustache with a very tiny comb, eventually his clean, pure white tufts of hair on both sides of his head, licking his finger and turning the pages of a five page book without actually reading it in any way, staring at the two men for another prolonged amount of time and he shot out one word. "Life."

Carbury and Codham, now confused, so confused that a large cypress of platinum veins disappearing into mist after being trapped inside of a lydio's stone dwelling on an island surrounded by an ocean filled with needles of many, many pines and many, many bodies of men is much more understandable and explainable to these two men. Codham shot back sarcastically with one other word. "Bobbler." Carbury uttered "confusion". Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth was getting somewhat mad. He groomed his smooth, pure white mustache once more with a tiny comb the size of his eye and uttered another word at the men. "Story." "Life story?" said Codham, still much too confused to explain yet again, not because me and my advisors are tired of writing out that metaphor one more time. "Yes," said the advisor. "Really?" asked Codham. "Song," the advisor followed. "Life story song?" asked Carbury. "Yes," confirmed the advisor once more. Codham talked to Carbury with an idea, an idea that they should sing their life story in a loop, since the old advisor never specified they had to do it once. They were stuck singing in the plaza, tiring themselves out, tiring the residents out. Most residents left after three days because they hadn't eaten or needed to see their children, the advisor stuck around. Carbury and Codham continued singing their life story, now tired and malnourished, the advisor still waiting for their burning at the stake. Eventually, everyone had gone home, except for the advisor. He watched them wither away and utter their last words, and in a fitting coincidence, their last words were the very last words of the song they had sung. "And now we are here." Carbury and Codham, now no longer alive, still burned by the stake by the advisor who had waited a total of thirteen days for them to utter their last words. After Carbury and Codham's death of the second time, a drinking song in the language of Sheston Krimble was written about it.

*Invann clyn vyn hiyer, invann shurnes tun.*

*(Set flame by the clan, set flame to the men)*

*Enval nie myn bryer, invann shurnes tun.*

*(Watched it in the square, set flame to the men)*

*Invann clyn vyn hiyer, invann shurnes tun.*

*(Set flame by the clan, set flame to the men)*

*Clyvan man ir nyer, invann shurnes tun.*

*(Waited long and still, set flame to the men)*

A very young and somewhat wymbled man in the ages of a teenager named Henry visited the house of his very young and somewhat wymbled yet rather courteous friend named James. They spoke the Shestonland Wimbleydon Region of Kotches English dialect, a dialect of English only found in the Wimbleydon Region of the capital of Kotches, which encompasses a few homes and hoverdes inside of a few neighborhoods and hovendwells. Henry approached James' door as his house had just suffered a major fire and he was in need. Despite the fact that it was April by now, it was still unusually cold. Henry knocked on the door normally, instead of slapping it with his hand first to ward off witches. James answered. "Hayel, Hainreye! (Hello, Henry!)" said James enthusiastically. "Com iyn tyr myn humble hoverde! (Come in to my humble hoverde!)". "Ell, ye mynden ef mye still fer' wal? (Hey, do you mind if I stay for a while?)", asked Henry. "Wyn syr, camen! (Why sure, come in!)", said James, again enthusiastically. Henry had walked into the home normally, instead of stamping his foot onto the floor and screaming in A♭ to ward off witches. James let him through and Henry was immediately, almost magically, enticed by his kitchen. "Vry entrycit, innt? (Very intricate, isn't it?)" said James proudly. Henry stared, almost too long at the ceiling. Henry entered the kitchen normally, instead of spraying salt all over the floor and screaming "MYS VYL NIE MER NAER MIN STRAF!?!", which means "Must you choose the wrong individual to try and mess with, witch? Must you enter with such pride against me? I have salt, and you are no match," in Sheston Highland Krimble.

Immediately, Henry was drawn towards a vase of weedleflowers, almost magically. Henry's instinct was to eat the weedleflowers, however, weedleflowers are poisonous to eat, as found by Sir Evans Heems II one fateful day in Fogg. Henry didn't know this, however, and his wymbled mind had drawn him to eat the weedleflowers. "Hainreye, wyn mis ye baiern pecken myn weidlflaers? (Henry, why must you be picking my weedleflowers?)" asked James. Without notice, Henry already started to consume the weedleflower petals. "HAINREYE, NYE! (Henry, no!)" James started to scream as Henry was choking and foaming out of his very innocent mouth. "NYE, HAINREYE! TRYHES NYE EDIFEIL! (No, Henry! That's not food!)" screamed James more as Henry was ceasing his very alive existence in front of his own vision. Henry then lay limp and stone cold, James shook. James yelled to the town. "HAINREYE ES DYER! HAINREYE ES DYER! (Henry is dead! Henry is dead!)". The town was stricken with confusing blends of emotions. Immediately, a short old man started to walk through the very crowd that had stunned them all. "Oye! Hae hanson an smydeld! (Oh! How handsome and smiddled!)" "Oye! Hae clyer an grymed! (Oh! How clean and groomed!)". It was Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth! Already legendary in the capital, and he had come to James's house to investigate what had happened.

"Hello," he said to James. "Hayel, adviyser! (Hello, advisor!)" said James. James told him the entire story. How he had come in as a friend, how he had marveled at the kitchen, and how he died to weedleflowers despite several warnings that they were found poisonous and fatal. Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth was tuning in well, but one detail caught his eye. In the kitchen, there was both a baby blue and a red handkerchief hanging from the cabinet doors inside of the kitchen. "WITCH!" he yelled. James was stumbling in intense confusion. "Ah- ah- whay? Ye ensyn? (What? Are you insane?)" "HANDKERCHIEF!" yelled the grand advisor. The advisor took him to the nearby square and tied him to a stake. "Explain," he said. "EXPLAYN WHAY!? EXPLAYN INNOSENS, AH- (Explain what? Explain innocence?)" "Everything," he replied. "Weyl, mye was byern en- (Well, I was born in-)" "Handkerchief," replied the advisor. James somehow lost his dialect. "WHAT HANDKERCHIEF, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ON ABOUT!?!?" "WITCH!" yelled the advisor. "WITCH FOR WHAT, YE MADMAN!? EXPLAIN!" The advisor groomed his smooth, pure white mustache with a tiny comb and stared at him for a little. "Red," he said. "WHAT ABOUT RED!??!" said James as he grew impatient. "Blue," replied the grand advisor. "What?" said James in confusion. "Cabinet," replied the grand advisor. "That reminds me, I need to organize my cabinet. The red and baby blue handkerchiefs hanging out of them are quite an eyesore, now if you free me from this stake..." "WITCH!" yelled the grand advisor, as he lit the firewood below him. To this day, a red or a baby blue handkerchief hanging out of a cabinet door is considered a sign of witchcraft.

My advisors are really convincing me to omit the details of this next section, but I really, really want to talk about it. I feel it's an interesting enough section in Shestonland history worth noting about, but my advisors state that it is much too horrid, too blycen and distraught to ever reach the mind of anyone young, old, or middle-aged. My advisors are concerned with me venting my thoughts about them convincing me to omit the details of this next section in the first place. Maybe I should stop now and do the best I can without getting an extreme talking to. Okay, so the Kerning River is supposed within Shestonland to be the very heart of witchcraft, the very epicenter of all witches, wizards, dollenbies, crozeneers, and wabbernacks, but they had been turning their attention away from something right under their nose. The Blurney River was almost parallel to the Kerning River, but because it was shorter and more quaint, it hadn't been paid much attention to compared to the Kerning. The Blurney may be the true heart of all witchcraft. One night, 4 Coloniery 1281 to be exact, it was said that two people had emerged from the very river, almost magically, flying out like birds and attacking several villages within their presence. The fire lit the sky intensely that night, yet nobody was left with a slight shred of the true witchcraft that had occurred on the Blurney River.

### The First Great War of the Highlands of Chiefton and the Lowliers of Fimoforth II

In the midst of all of the prevalent remaining chaos, by 10 Coloniery 1281, the Furries of the Highlands, now known as the Highland Furries, returned to Kotches to cause chaos in the Blyceath-controlled region. Kotches was still very much in ash and ruin, attempting to rebuild faster and faster, but the Highland Furries, who may or may not be witches, again caused a fiery blaze in the capital reminiscent of the night they landed that same March. The Blyceaths, also a Highland clan that caused trouble in the capital, were unhappy of this, and they launched several men on the Highland Furries. The leader of the Highland Furries, still with his very bloody cat paws on chains, beastly furs adorning him, and the head of a wolf on his own, beat down the Blyceaths with ease. The Blyceaths were losing their very capital. The Wycenworths, another Highland clan, had heard of their vulnerability and came down to beat the Blyceaths when they saw the very face of the leader of the Highland Furries. Two Wycenworths approached him, and they died at that very moment after a mysterious white light had emitted from the leader's body. "WITCHCRAFT! WITCHCRAFT!" the Wycenworth leader yelled, one of the few times in a long while a Shestonland resident was even close to correctly guessing an instance of witchcraft, unless it was just a bunch of mish-mash, hosh-posh bogus made by a troubled man, but it was still very much close to possible. This caused the Wycenworths to attempt an attack on the Highland Furries. This was now a three-way fight between three Highland clans in the Lowliers of Fimoforth II.

Witnessing the chaos in the capital, the residents were unhappy. They blamed the Highlands as a whole for generating such clans made to fight and destroy the very capital that was the Designated Shestonland and Kotches Region Capital of Kotches. One particular man named Hilliam Neery witnessed the chaos and made it his mission to cleanse the Highlands. Any normal person would seek Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth, but not Hilliam. Hilliam instead decided to seek Grand Advisor Sir Grotchy Neriums Findlerton of Liamsworth, and also his terribly mentally troubled, or to be rude, idiotic, partner Sir Eedleneer Wackerny. Grand Advisor Sir Grotchy Neriums Findlerton of Liamsworth was barely anything like Grand Advisor Sir Chanbey Rayving Ravenson Brian Tybolt of Estinegrogeryfinglesworth. He could speak more than one word, he was very straight-on with what he had to say, he was an expert in war and fighting, and he was very controlled and rarely raised his voice. However, he didn't quite have the same attractiveness. His mustache was a mix of dark gray and white and it was extremely bushy and cordled, he had two tufts of hair on the side of his head and they weren't even, and he was still quite short but closer to average height. Of course, why did this matter to Hilliam? He needed the skills and not the looks. His partner, Sir Eedleneer Wackerny, however, wasn't the brightest, more in likeness to a rapidly dimming lightbulb in an old shed.

"Good evening," said Grand Advisor Sir Grotchy Neriums Findlerton of Liamsworth, drinking wine. "It's morning, advisor," Hilliam replied. "Bah, every part of the day feels like evening anyways," said the advisor in a very unbothered and calm manner. "What do you need me here for?" "Fighting." In the middle of this, his partner, Sir Eedleneer Wackerny, was throwing pistachio shells around the room and smashing his head into the typewriter in front of him. "This man seems like a tremendous pain to deal with," said Hilliam. "Bah, I've learned to ignore him," replied the advisor as his partner was giggling in the background. "What do you mean 'fighting'? There's fighting everywhere!" said the advisor. "Have you not heard? In the capital where I came from!" said Hilliam. "The Blyceaths had lost control of the country, which seems amazing, rather tremendously magnificent, but they lost to the Furries of the Highlands, well, now the Highland Furries, and then the Wycenworths came and fought both sides, then the capital burst into flames yet again." "Oh dear," said the advisor. "I feared this would happen." The advisor got up from his desk as he pulled out several old books and maps from his cabinet, as well as a few swords and a case to keep them in. Hilliam picked them up. "Goodbye," said the advisor. "One more thing," said Hilliam. "What might that be?" questioned the advisor. "Thank you." He departed the building, and right as the very loose door slammed, Sir Eedleneer Wackerny went unconscious on his typewriter.

This spread out and varied timeline of events had started the First Great War of the Highlands of Chiefton and the Lowliers of Fimoforth II, also shortened as the First Great War of the Highlands and the Lowliers to boring and wylsome folk, and the First Great War of Shestonland to even more highly boring and wylsome folk. The Grand Advisoral System of the Grand Advisors in several cities in the Colleanist Republic of Shestonland was hitting a new high of grand advising by grand advisors in the grand advisoral system. Needless to say, the Battle of Eldsbruck was fought in... Corbingham, which is only two kilometers out west from Eldsbruck, so in my humble opinion, hoping my advisors don't get mad at me for inserting an opinionated and bollushed take into an official and formal piece of writing, the name is utter codswallop, bollocks, abristery, shimbistry, and wickinum. I do hope that my advisors would remind me that I can only say "wickinum" twice per section, so saying a rude word such as wickinum a third time or more would be extra unfortunate and unforgivable. Anyways, sorry for shoofing the text a little bit, I apologize. Onto the Battle of Eldsbruck, which should really be named the Battle of Corbingham. The Blurney Clan, named after the Blurney River in the Lowlands despite being a Highland clan, met up in Corbingham with the Barnies, named after Barning Head in the Highlands despite being a newly formed Lowland clan. They met in Witch's Lake, a square in Corbingham that was neither near a lake nor filled with witches (as far as we know). The geographical inconsistencies are personally harming my head and I almost wish to sit out, blod up rather, and write about something else other than this infuriating bit of knowledge. The geographically inconsistent clans babbled and blabbered about which one was worse, threatening death, cysus, and dysfunction, and so on and so forth. Then they fought, and basically no one died except for a young man who wasn't involved in the battle that somehow drowned in the town fountain.

The Highland Furries and the Furry Highlanders which did not simply exist so just the Highland Furries trudged on and on and on in this bicklebabble of a war, this droggle of a battle, this trimble and tromble of woes on both sides and clans and sides that don't exist and sides that can exist but don't and places in between sides that aren't quite sides. The leader of the Highland Furries, Dróbynn deg Trimbley Doggis in Dratum Vat Neum inde Primal Panticotis in Dreggum of Hállin Furres, made an announcement to the town of Weckledon, which was somehow very, very, very highly documented down to the exact words it almost seems like a bibble. He stated: "*Dággin in vyn deg paggidy trob neu waston trobble crab stint in styk dadic inner, enn drabble cadriggle tráp caddle in waston himbler neway temble costings. In vyn deg paggidy trob dággin new waston in styk dadic inner trobble crab stint, enn in waston himbler, neway temble costings tráp caddle drabble cadriggle. Tastey crab em otón swellin shet alergée. Kig in trig in dig in timble trag nag bróston tastem kok libble lock in dein trastingwatchiner.*" However, while every single word was documented within the language that the Highland Furries spoke, these idiots, blasephs, nimbobbles, duboofs, crigged-in-hyn folk, decided not to document every word in any form of the English language, leading us writers to simply just guess what this means but I am not up for that today. What we do know is that this announcement spelled trouble, death, cysus, dysfunction, and so forth for the town of Weckledon. Weckledon residents denied this development, and thankfully, they've done so in English although that's quite peculiar since they could understand that language that we don't understand so speaking English instead is almost pointless. Although maybe not in this case. The Highland Furries understood the words "no", "nay", "nie", "ne", "never", "absolutely not", "denno", "dinnay", and "unyes", as well as "degger off", "trobble home", and somehow these nonsensical words in whatever linguistic mess of clusters they spoke. After this altercation, the Highland Furries set fire to the town.

Anyways, this is getting quite repetitive. Nevertheless, let's talk about the charming, attractive, brawnly man, Hilliam Neery. Chaotic, cocophonous, feeble, and ronyld, the sounds aching of the birds and the flies echoed to and fro from the starts and ends and beginnings and middles and switchbacks and goforths and trimbles and trombles and notches and passes and summits and heads of the canyon that Hilliam was in, previously unmentioned, so I must do so at the moment. I apologize for being a hinglebot. The canyon in question is called To-Fro-Start-End-Beginning-Middle-Switchback-Goforth-Trimble-Tromble-Notch-Pass-Summit-Head Canyon. False. That was a joke, a kinder if you will. Well, not kinder as in Datsch or Martsch for children... you know what I mean. However, despite that being a joke, that actually was a proposed name for the canyon at one point. I'm glad it didn't go through. I far prefer the name Summit Canyon. I find it quite nice and tranquil simt. Somewhat natural simt. I apologize, I'm getting sidetracked yet again. Hilliam carried forth through Summit Canyon with the great sword that he was given by Grand Advisor Sir Grotchy Neriums Findlerton of Liamsworth, and was about to approach the tiny lydio of Placertown. With just 13 people, it was the smallest place in Shestonland to ever have a grand advisor, said grand advisor being one that Hilliam was preparing to meet with, Grand Advisor Sir Abington Lamouss Trembery II of Placertown.

Grand Advisor Sir Abington Lamouss Trembery II of Placertown was a short man, probably about three feet, or 91 centimeters, or about 2.31 aches. He also had a very high voice, one that sounds as though it was made on a modern software that the blumming idiots of this place would call "witchcraft". Essentially, this man is what we in Shestonland would call a "midget". Hilliam approached him with tying dígry and asked him what they should do next. "What are we to do?" asked Hilliam. "Key", said Grand Advisor Sir Abington Lamouss Trembery II of Placertown. If only his name was as simple as what he said that day. "What do you imply?" asked Hilliam. Grand Advisor Sir Abington Lamouss Trembery II of Placertown simply dropped a large golden key into his hands and gave him a map before running off into his office like a toddler seeing a cremmish carriage. I apologize if I'm making too many offensive jokes. Hilliam looked at the map and saw a black circle not far from the town, simply labeled "Dreg dim worry, dángen foggle." Thankfully, a scientist has recently determined that the words most likely mean "Place of trouble, tread the dungeon carefully." Phew, my job made easier. Anyways, Hilliam made his way to the sheath of the mountain with his key and map in hand and came upon a small wooden door, more the size of the grand advisor. And that was not a joke this time, it actually was more the size of the grand advisor, which is rather tummit for Hilliam as he's nearly twice his size. He had to crawl, but not for long as the room started to open up, but not for long as there was another door. Luckily, it was about Hilliam's size this time. He inserted the key into the door and descended into a deep system of mysterious dark shafts full of wonder, mystery, and tyngingdorths. The tyngingdorth part is probably really important. I'll get into what that is later.