Spirit of the West

Duncan I

Lord Commander Duncan stepped outside of the White Sword Tower to the cool morning twilight. The soft blue glow of the morning reflected off his white enamelled plate. As was his habit most days, he began his duties before dawn, like Myrish clockwork. As Duncan started his days' work, his brothers turned in from their night's work. The young Ser Gerold Hightower having returned from his night watch over the King, is passed by Ser Arren on his way to guard over the King for the morrow. The younger tired lord passed by Duncan's fellow former hedge knight.

It had been this way for so long, almost 22 years long. He had been with Egg for far longer than that. Duncan had been with Egg when he was just another young rebellious prince. Just as his moniker of Aegon the Unlikely suggested, back then he was just the fourth son of a fourth son. Given more freedom than any of his uncles or brothers, the most anyone expected from him was for him to join the Citadel or a knightly order, perhaps even the Night's Watch. Anyone who claimed to have always known Egg was of kingly make could be signed off and noted as a lickspittle. Egg is known as the Unlikely because that was what he was, the most unlikely member of his family to have inherited the Iron Throne.

As Duncan walked along towards the fortress of Maegors Holdfast for his morning inspection, it seemed work was quickly walking towards him. The Captain of the Dragon Cloaks, Ser Chaseman, was making his way at a brisk pace to seemingly Duncan. Compared to Duncan's long patient strides, Ser Chasemans quicker feet seemed in a bit more of a hurry.

"Lord Commander! I have a report for you! Strange happenings if they are correct." The younger man had a heavier Kings Landing accent than he had. Duncan had not talked to as many Flea Bottom smallfolk as he had in the past. His duties have kept him busy and he was an old man, all his old friends are long dead now.

"Well good morrow to you, I guess. This must surely be strange happenings indeed if you can't greet your Lord Commander rightly."

"Of course, forgive me. Good morrow. But Lord Commander, an agent of the Master of Whispers, has given me a report to pass onto you."

"Go on, if he's given it to you to give to me, it must not be that sensitive. Speak your part."

"The Americans party, it mostly surrounds them if not originating from them. A good many lords and ladies have sent riders to their homes after being dismissed last night and others have sent ravens, many of which portend to the foreigners."

It never ceased to simultaneously amaze and exhaust Duncan how much the highborn spy on one another. It was impressive both how the minor nobles could somehow learn enough from what little they saw last night and how the Master of Whispers could know that they know in turn. Duncan shook his head, he hadn't the patience for this, he had been born a simple street urchin, not a scheming lord.

"What difference does it make then? They will learn all they would want to know after several moons time anyway. Continue." Seven Hells, some highborn could do with a drop of patience.

"From what the Master of Whispers tells, the foreigners seemingly have no intentions of sending or even writing a letter home. It could be that they intend to report in person, or that they don't even have knowledge of ravenry at all."

"Mm. Leave them be then. If they don't want to communicate with their home, that shows they give us some trust. Wouldn't it be obvious that even if they have ravens, none of our ravens is trained to fly to America?"

Duncan can give Chaseman the respects he's due, he's an excellent swordsman and a level-headed officer, but god's he isn't of highborn make. In certain ways that aren't so bad, but not in this case. He can't keep to constant whispering and talking in double meanings, but it's not as if Duncan is any much better.

"Well, all I have left for you is that the Americans crew are being kept a watch on and that several of their warriors have arrived in the training yard to spar."

"I can actually do something with that knowledge now, I'll have a see what their skill of arms is like." Duncan and Chaseman made their way to Maegors Holdfast in silence, leaving Dunk to his thoughts. Foreign sailors have always kept an eye on anyway, ever since years ago when there was a continued string of abductions from Flea Bottom. Other kings may have turned a blind eye to such a minor loss, but Egg has the most compassion for the smallfolk that Dunk has ever seen in any highborn. Egg wouldn't let any slavers get away with any Westerosi lives.

Duncan looked at the shorter man who was keeping pace with his strides. He wonders why in the Seven Hells did that weasel Pyle send Chaseman of all people to report to him. Chaseman was a good man and soldier, but a piss poor man of intrigue let alone a simple messenger. He never liked the new Master of Whispers at all, the Alchemist was as slimy as his precious Pigshit. He also didn't like the ideas he was whispering into Eggs ear, he spoke of dragons and spells, of fire and blood, of death and madness. The realm didn't need another Aerion Brightflame, they needed a Jaehaerys the Wise and Duncan knew Aegon had the makings of such a King. Egg could have achieved just as much if not even more than Jaehaerys if only the lords and ladies would listen to him that is. Now that pile of shit, Pyle has taken advantage of Eggs desperation with mad promises of dragons come again. Never mind about what happens after. Would the dragon even listen to anyone? Would it let anyone ride it? Where would it live? The Dragonpit has been abandoned over a century ago, having collapsed during the Storming of the Dragonpit.

The closer he and Captain Chaseman got to Maegors Holdfast, the more clearly, he could hear the whoops and cheers of men watching a fight. As he crossed the threshold into the training yard, he approached the sound of the bout and he spotted the source. It was a group of Targaryen men at arms, knights and the two of the four foreign 'agents'. The wall of Red Keep soldiers parted for the Lord Commander. His towering, white helmeted head peeked into the inner circle of the spar. He spotted a few of Chaseman's men standing in surprise at the sight of him and attempting to discretely pass one another handfuls of silver stags. He was from Flea Bottom; gambling wasn't the worst sin he's seen of men, but he expected more discipline from soldiers of the king. They had an image to maintain, especially with these kinds of foreigners.

He looked closer at the duelling pair and saw it was a knight and one of the Americans. They seemed to be locked, circling one another, within a chalk marked circle. This was a familiar form of sparring, you just had to get your partner outside the circle before you did. The knight was none other than the esteemed tourney knight, Ser Barristan Selmy, fighting in full plate armour with a sword in hand. The young Stormlander was a rising star among the knights of Kings Landing. Two years ago, at the Winter Tourney, Barristan managed what few could achieve in so many years, he had unhorsed Duncan. This was a surprising turnaround from when Ser Barristan himself was defeated by Duncan the Small years ago. The prince had been named after Dunk himself years ago by Egg, it seems he also inherited Duncan's fighting skill. But from that point on, Ser Barristan came to dominate every subsequent tourney he participated in, so much so that Dunk had put Barristan on the shortlist to be inducted into the Kingsguard. Time would tell if the young knight could hold himself in a pitched battle, a summer knight dies in the cold of winter.

He couldn't make out which one of the Agents was fighting Ser Barristan. The American fighter himself wielded a castle forged sword, which by its appearance was one that belongs to the Red Keep. He was dressed almost fully in his black enamelled plate armour; in place of a proper helmet, the man wore a mask of all things. It was more a half helm with noticeably more craftsmanship done on its face than normal. The mask took the visage of a demon, with an exaggerated open fanged grin. Duncan could have possibly seen something similar in a mummer play, the masks depiction of a monster was almost of Essosi influence.

Many moments passed as they continued circling one another. The American made a move, a downward strike of the sword. Barristan parried and swung to his side. The agent, not wanting to his side to get pummelled, caught the sword with his gauntlet. His left hand looked to be more armoured than normal. He attempted to tug the sword out of Barristan's grip, but instead, he lost grip of the blade. The agent made for another sword strike which again was parried by the knight's sword. Their swords stayed locked in place for a moment before the agent moved his leg. He kicked Barristan off for a second and disengaged their weapons. He gave no room for rest and sprinted to the prone knight; the knight just narrowly rolled away from the agent. Getting to his feet, Barristan was catching his breath, making for his own attack. The lunging sword was once again caught by the American's hand. He slid his fist closer to the pommel, making for a punch with his sword-wielding hand. Barristan was slowly being pushed to the edge of the circle, he noticed this and was trying to turn the agent around instead. The agent in turn, at the same time, pushed Barristan with his hands and caught the knight's leg with one of his own. Instantly, the knights head landed outside the chalk. The moment laid pregnant, and the cheers echoed all around. The victorious half of the betting crowd were given what they were owed by the other grumbling half.

Duncan then saw the knight accepting the agent's hand and both gave one another much respect, walking off to the side to chat. His eyes drifted along the circle and he noticed one of the new faces from a foreign party. It was the eldest of the Colonels guard, William he assumed. He was standing to the side, the knights and men at arms appeared to be giving him a wide berth. His greying blonde hair contrasting against his dark tanned face. Having a closer look at the stranger's skin in the light of day, gave the man the appearance of the Salty Dornish. It appears Duncan was in worse need of sight aids than he initially thought. He would privately confide in Grand Maester Timos for advice later, he may recommend Duncan to wear Myrish lens. He would also do well to keep his discretion on this matter, it wouldn't do at all for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to be feeble. He made his way to the American, plenty of space was given to him too and that gave the two a minimum amount of privacy. Some, but not many men could hear them, Duncan wouldn't have expected any less from living in the Red Keep of all places.

"Good morrow to you. You are William, are you? You were one of the warriors with the American noble? I am Duncan, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Your man gave the young knight a good show. Fights more like an Essosi than a Westerosi. What brings you to the yard at such an hour?", Duncan asked out of genuine curiosity. He had been curious about the nature of an 'Agent' and its difference from a knight. Were they just as disciplined and trained as a knight? Was that a reason as to why they are here this early?

"Hm? Oh, good morning Lord Commander Duncan. Yes, I am William. Noble? Is that what you Westerosi gathered from Adam's explanations? No, he may act with the grace of nobility, but he is of no noble blood. And my friend Fergus? Fergus fights like the best of our ancestors did, he had used Mixed Martial Arts. Ancient America both conquered and attracted many different people, whose fighting styles came to clash and mingle among each other, leaving only the best of techniques." Agent Williams had a thicker accent than the Colonel. The Colonel's way of speaking was more straightforward than a Westerosi's speech, pronouncing his R's harder for example. Agent William's accent though sounded less stressed or formal and his vowels were a lot more drawn out with him pronouncing single-syllable words with two syllables. It was going to take some time to get used to, but if his travelling when he was younger taught him something, it was to be patient with someone who sounded different.

"Well your man Fergus did well in pushing Barristan, the constant pressure made him slip. I wonder how effective it could be on battle though. Fergus appeared to tire much more quickly." Even now he spotted Fergus still recovering, with Barristan next to him seeming in much better shape.

"Which is why he had ended the spar swiftly.", William quickly said. There was no offence or anger to his voice, just a matter of fact tone.

"What difference could there be then with Colonel Adam and a noble? He owns the land, rules over others and inherited his father's name. What else could be if not a noble? Here in the Seven Kingdoms, a Landed Knight is just as part of the nobility as their Highlords are. His father was landed Rhode Island, wouldn't that give him noble blood?"

"Ah. It is semantics we are arguing over then. The lands the Colonel rules over is leased to him and his family by the State of New England. The practical purpose of the Constitutional Military was to weed out the weak and incompetent out of the nobles in a justified manner. Very few houses could maintain their positions in the new system, leaving most of their old holdings to 'lowborn' citizens of merit, which is what the Colonel is. Adams father may have been landed the district, but Adam only inherited Rhode Island with a combination of his father's patronage and by merit of passing the State Examination."

"This sounds a bit too radical; I may not have the best opinion of the highborn, but I recognise their role in society. There may be some bad and incompetent ones ruling now, but having power passed on through family has kept Westeros somewhat stable." Duncan could only imagine the chaos if the highborn cared to conquer the land as they did during the Age of Heroes, during the time of hundreds of petty kingdoms.

"Well, at this point there's no real point in distinguishing between 'highborn' and 'lowborn', in America, there is only the citizen. Nobles were a social construct Americans sought to get themselves rid of, over a thousand years ago. Our ancestors hated oppressors, the Redcoats, practised such traditions. Only when America turned to anarchy during and shortly after the Event, did the nobles and feudal kingdoms flourish once again. Only after stability was achieved were nobles asked to peacefully acquiesce to their powers. So, they did, but for the ones who didn't, they were put down and their lands were redistributed sooner than the people first offered."

Duncan shook his head, he knows many wouldn't have liked such a deal, so many smallfolk would have needed to have died in their wars. Their system of government, a republic, was only seen in Essos and that was land of strife and human misery. The only positive example of a morally righteous republic is Braavos. "I'm assuming such wars and reforms were done with and implemented in decades. Your people truly have no use for nobles?"

"No, what truly matters is not a man's 'noble blood' but their practice of 'nobilitas'. To act noble, truly noble, honourable with poise and grace to your people, such is valued far more than who your ancestors ruled over."

Duncan felt very conflicted at the idea, logically wouldn't the children raised by a noble ruler inherit their nobilitas anyway? Why risk changing the ruling family after every death of a ruler? Then he remembered what Colonel Adam had mentioned the previous night, about their President.

"If you Americans cared little for nobles what difference is there with House Maxon?"

"Ah. The Maxons are a strange case altogether. Maxon is a common enough name at this point, that is if you were to travel to any place in America, you would not be far from finding a Maxon. A good deal of them would be unambitious, ambiguous and ambivalent to politics, truly living in peace as civilians. Almost all are descendants of Abbadon and a large sum of which are descendants of Valentine. The difference between them and those in power with the name Maxon is that the heads of Clann Valentine embody nobilitas. We don't so much care for the Maxons for their noble blood, but more so for their importance to our faith."

"Pardon? Your faith?", The Americans did not talk much about their religion. He would have assumed that they may have practised the Faith of the Seven or worshipped the Old God's or even the Drowned God, seeing as they were closest to and contacted first the Ironborn. But the more he learned of the Americans, the more differences he noticed rather than familiarities.

"Yes, our faith, Americanism. The Maxons have roots in Old America. One of their earliest ancestors, Rei, is themself a known descendant of General Douglas MacArthur, that connection alone makes them revered to Americanists. MacArthur had conquered a vast empire in the far west of the Pacific Ocean, and he had only relinquished rule of those lands after being personally called upon home by President Roosevelt. During the Event, in the State of Socal, one of Rei's descendants, Roger Maxon had founded the Brotherhood of Steel. In years to come, Rogers descendants, in turn, moved to Texas, then to Chicago, then to Detroit and then to Washington D.C. The second son of one of the Washington D.C Maxons married a daughter of House Mahonic. House Mahonic was the only Yankee Clann who united New England in the past. Their kingdom was at that point long divided.

Abbadon Maxon was raised in the religion of his ancestors, Americanism. He remained faithful even when he came to live with and work under the Occult Tribe of Nogad. So, when he managed to inherit his elderly chief's tribe of Nogad, he conquered all New England just as the Mahonics once did. He then converted the land from Old Occultism to his own syncretic branch of Americanism, effectively founding the Federalists and Constitutionalists. Abbadon was a conqueror who wrestled control of the North Atlantic Coast from his neighbours. His rising power won him a landslide victory to the Presidency and so he ruled as President for the last 15 years of his life. He died relatively young in comparison to his successors, mysteriously disappearing with his body never been recovered.

Abbadons younger brother, Svenno succeeded him, overseeing the collapse of the Holy Columbian Confederacy and the conquest of the lands of the Dixies, Sothrons and Tuskegans. He ruled for 8 years, doubling the size of his empire.

After Svenno died of a heart attack during the Siege of Saint Louis, Abbadon and Svennos nephew Garrett, the son of their eldest brother Jecentius, succeeded him. He ruled for 25 years, conquering up to the Mississippi River, down in Cuba and north to Hudson Bay.

Garrett died in the most peaceful and quiet death out of all his contemporaries. He was succeeded by the last of the Great Maxon Presidents, Valentine Maxon. He was the last and youngest legitimate son of Abbadon Maxon. He managed to conquer all the lands of Old America, pushing all the way to California and the Pacific Coast. He also conquered the northern third of the lands of Old Mexico. In the year 2776 on the one-thousandth anniversary of Old America, he reformed the United States of America. He incorporated most of the other religions within our borders into Americanism and expelled the rest. He raised many children and died at the legendary age of 137, you could understand why he earned the moniker of 'Immortal'.

Many of Valentine's children inherited his strange physical nature. His children and any of his descendants for that matter were tall and lived similarly long lives, most are almost your height Lord Commander. They also could have children for twice the amount of time normally, his daughters would sooner die of iron loss than become infertile. Most strange of all, they all would have two colours of hair and two colours of eyes. In fact, President Cesar Valentine Maxon possesses ahead of mixed blonde and red hair, and has both half purple and half green eyes, split down the middle. Although with these combinations of features, it would be easier to spot bastard children, some Presidents after Valentine who were not part of House Maxon shared these features for one reason or another.

These Four Founding Fathers of New America were given the monikers of the Eastern Star, the Southern Star, the Northern Star and the Western Star respectively. The Maxons you see are not only descendants of New World Presidents but also of Old World Legends. Americanism is a faith of the millions of gods of America, some of the highest of these gods are the Presidents. The Maxons are living descendants of some of the most legendary of these Presidents."

Duncan nodded his head in numb comprehension at what he has been told. Some of what he was told may have been somewhat believable, but too much of it seemed a bit too farfetched. It also didn't help that he had no comprehension or reference to what the Continent of America was like. These stories seemed more akin to tales of the Age of Heroes or the history of the Valyrian Freehold. At the very least they didn't have dragons at any point, they would likely have boasted of such if they did.

Duncan then noticed the circle forming up once more. One of the lording knights, Ser Botley and Agent Fergus took to the circle once more. It seems he finally recovered to a suitable fighting condition.

"It looks like your second is facing off one of our knights. I must also ask, why is it that you wear masks when a helmet would suit anyone better?"

"Why do we wear masks? For many reasons, reasons ancient and spiritual or reasons personal and private. Some wear masks to ward away pestilence. There is also that at the end of every autumn, all Americans, not just Yankees, wear masks to ward away the spirits which walk among us during that time. It is a festival we call Samhain. But I suppose we as Yankee warriors wear masks because of our culture."

"Because of your culture? Do elaborate, I'm curious on this subject now. How does it connect to your culture?" The only time Duncan had seen masks have significance in culture is with the Braavosi. But then again, Duncan has never travelled much beyond the Narrow Sea. The two continued their discussion while Fergus and Botley faced each other. Ser Botley was competent, but middling compared to Ser Barristan. Duncan expected Fergus to overpower Botley and several more knights before the morning's end. William continued.

"It is a folk legend you see. It was during an old battle between my ancestors, the Yankees and their enemies. The crowned mask was said to bestow the Yankee Warrior who donned its great powers, but for a terrible price. It was said, when faced against an enumerable enemy army, they had slaughtered the Yankees to quarter the men. Some accounts say it was the Hudsonians or Quebecquois or even the dreaded Redcoats, regardless this army outnumbered the Yankee tribes greatly."

"These were neighbouring peoples to the Yankees I presume?"

"Yes, neighbours to our west, south and north. By the time the Yankee Warrior's war band met the enemy in combat, the blood had collected up to their ankles. With their own host being reduced to a route, the Yankee Warrior's companions died before him. When their lives expired and their blood had hit his face, he was said to shine like a second sun."

"There are many sources as to what happened next. Half remembered delirious ramblings from fleeing Yankees, many contradictories, but there must be a truth to the legend among the many half-truths. Supposedly, he individually opposed the enemy. Coming to them like a rabid animal. Lunging at them like a lion, tearing their jugulars like a wolf and throwing their dead comrades back at them with such force, their bodies tore in half as a result. Others say the rain stood still that night, with the Yankee Warrior gliding, almost dancing among his opponents like a squid in water."

"Regardless, by morning light all that was left of the battlefield were hundreds of injured and escaped Yankees, a field of blood and no trace of enemy bodies. The bodies of the Yankees were left on their own, but there was nothing left of the enemy. Their corpses, viscera, weapons and armour, all gone, even their banners. The Yankee Warrior himself had disappeared by dawn, seemingly taking all traces of the enemy with him but also respecting the remains of his friends and people."

"There are many claims as to why or how he disappeared, but none of the survivors could claim to have actually witnessed the event. There leaves only speculation and hypotheses."

"You know some of these different stories then?" Ghost stories did tend to have too many tellings and retellings. He doubted what he was told so far was anywhere close to the original story.

"Of course. One was that in his monstrous state, he fed on the remains of his hated foes, leaving nothing to waste. That he left the battlefield to seek revenge against all enemies of the Yankee people. And that he to this day, continues stealing the lives of enemy warriors on and off the battlefield."

"Some claim that he made a deal with one of the Old Occultist Patrons, that he gave a desperate prayer to the Elder Ones and they answered. That by the end of the battle he and his blood toll were forfeits, and the Father of Lies himself plucked him from the Earth. Of course, many conflicting 'sources' argue who his Patron was, claiming it was the Black Prince while others say it was the Dreamer. As if it would matter in the end." Duncan frowned at such a theory, sounding akin to the strange Drowned God or one of the Essossi gods.

"Christian and Jews claim that Yahweh favoured him over his enemies and that an Angel descended from Heaven to smite his foes like in the Ancient Abrahamic texts. The Children of Abraham like to insert themselves into so many stories, that at this point I wouldn't be convinced any miracle that they claim can be theirs." Duncan noted that William didn't much care for this group of people. Smiting from the heavens sounds a bit too familiar to Dunk. He'd ask about it later from someone else, or at least note it at the next Small Council meeting.

"There are even completely absurd theories out there. Such as that lightning had struck every single one of the enemies and obliterated them. That a mudslide had simply swallowed up and hidden the aftermath of the battlefield. Or that a Mexican god-king was ultimately responsible for the man's blessings and wrath."

"We all wear these masks as a homage to the Yankee Warrior. Everyone with a mask is expected to craft it of their own hands, a poor quality of work reflects badly on a person's merit and faith."

William reached to his side and picked up his mask. He held it out in front of him. Inspecting the piece with a careful hand, gliding over its metal carvings. William's mask was near identical to Fergus' mask, with a crying demon instead of a wroth demon. His eyes seem to glaze over in thought, and without turning to Duncan, he continued talking.

"We all put a part of our soul into all we do. I personally believe in a metaphorical interpretation of the story, that the man endured great grief and sacrifice, all for the fulfilment of his goal. That it matters little what the nature of the mask was, that the focus should be upon what his mask enables him to do. Not necessarily in a magical sense but in a mental one, when we put on the mask, we are warriors. When we wear these masks, we wear as it both wards against demons and to become like demons in battle."

Duncan could only grunt in affirmation, the old American seemed lost in thought at this point. Duncan was no longer young at all either, but he also has his morning duties, if William was in no state to answer questions Duncan will leave. He made his way to the rest of Maegors Holdfast, to continue the rest of his morning inspection. He had much to think about, especially what he can trust from the Americans words. It would do well to finish soon or else he wouldn't have time to break his fast. The morning sun shone across the yard behind him as he entered the barracks. He had a long day ahead of him.

A/N:

Guest1/Jon Snow: Are you the same Jon Snow who left the same question on my other story? This Aegon is Aegon V, the Unlikely and Daenerys' Great Grandfather.

Guest2: Thank you for saying so. I appreciate your review. Looking forward to writing more!

Guest3: neat.

I also created a bit of continuity error, Steffon is Lyonels grandson, not his son. So, he would be King Aegon's grandnephew. I would have corrected that minor error by the time I posted this chapter. One of my friends who is an ASoIaF reader didn't even notice. Then again, he confused Aegon the V for Aerys the II. Regardless I don't think he or many others noticed, but I corrected it anyway.

Before anyone asks, and people will ask since I keep getting asked for clarification on who Aegon is. Aegon the Fifth is the Aegon in this story. His nickname is also Egg.

Duncan is the Lord Commander or Dunc, from Dunc and Egg.

Lyonel Baratheon is Roberts great grandfather. Steffon Baratheon is Roberts father.

Ser Barristan Selmy is a knight and not yet in the Kingsguard. He is a young man now, and he does not have the nickname of the 'Bold' yet.

Quellon Greyjoy is Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands. He is Balon's father and Theon's grandfather.

Rodrik Harlaw is Lord of Ten Towers. He is Asha's and Theon's grand-uncle or nuncle.

Those are some of the canon characters so far, all clarified so I don't get asked which Aegon it is again. The rest are original characters, some added because there are gaps in the records. Such as who was the lords of such a place was currently. Or who the Master of Whispers or the Master of Ships was at the time.

Was there a name for the Targaryen men at arms? Have they been named something better than what I came up with? 'Dragon Cloaks'? Because if they are also called 'Red Cloaks' that's a bit too confusing for me.

The terms Old World and New World in this instance mean before and after the end, or after the Event. The Event is the ambiguous and mysterious apocalypse that separates the Contemporary Era (2000's - 2100's) and Second Dark Ages. Another way to describe it would be Antediluvian and Postdiluvian. Diluvian being a word for the Biblical Flood.

Americanism is an Old World Cult, worshipping the Founding Fathers, Presidents, Patriots and other Americana. The various sects of the religion at this point take the role of the political parties. Examples of some but not all the Parties; the Green Party, the Labor Party, the Texan Party, the Californian Party and the Floridian Party. During one of its past civil wars, America adopted a Multiparty System and abandons the Electoral College.

The four agents are all culturally Yankee. If you could guess, William was speaking with a general New England accent, but as you read William wasn't of typical English/Irish descent. This is Post Event America. It's not that people don't see skin colour, racism isn't gone. Prejudice just exists in different forms. 'If your neighbours had a different ethnicity to yours, what does it matter? At least they're better than those other people who speak a different English descended language.'

Other types of prejudice exist in different iterations as well. Men and women are still stereotyped into different roles. If a woman wanted to rise in politics, they would run with a party that holds women equal or higher, e.g. the Libertarian Party, the Green Party, the Californian Party etc.

Homosexuality in New America is viewed very differently. If you are a member of an Abrahamic religion, they would be more conservative. With everyone else, they take an almost Greco-Roman approach to relationships. Bisexuality being the default and what matters is whether you are a Top or a Bottom. America now espouses individuality but seemingly make your sexuality everyone's business. I made it so that it's socially weird to be too much interested in someone else's business.

Pederasty though is staying in Ancient Greece. No.

I wanted to make America in this world a reflection of all that is good and bad about America. With some doses of narrative irony. The fusion of church and state. A literal military police state. A more 'direct democracy' with Approval Voting and no Electoral College. A representative multi-party system. Christianity being the fringe religion. The implementation of 'socialist' and 'communist' policies. 'Seizing the means of production for the proletariat.' i.e. phasing out the nobles. Etc.

In this era, New England State encompasses Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Rhode Island. Maine and Vermont are separate states. Connecticut is part of the Gotham State.

Since there was a Jonathan Joestar and Dio Brando in this reality that closely mirrored the originals, that means vampires and the Stone Mask exist in this world. That means that the Pillar Men exist in this world because someone would have been needed to create the Stone Masks. What happened in the legend of the Yankee Warrior? Who knows? It's a legend for a reason.

If you are familiar with Jojolion and Gappy, the way I described Valentine and his descendants, gives certain clues to what Valentine was.

If anyone who knows me and how busy I should be right now, I am an idiot I know.