Selestei

The boisterous Republic of Selestei is the worst place to wake up with a hangover. It is a matter of national orthodoxy that while the world is a dangerous and uncertain place, there is nothing that cannot be overcome by the fire burning within the human spirit. Therefore, every day at sunrise, every Selesteine citizen wakes up and yells at the sun. There is often forceful pointing, and if the country is having a holiday, occasionally breaking things. Then everyone has a drink. The national beverage of Selestei is heavybeer, which inexplicably weighs several times more than a normal beer per liquid volume. All Selesteines grow up drinking heavybeer, which accounts why virtually all of them are extraordinarily strong.

Despite their aggressive extroversion, or perhaps because of it, Selestei is a very easygoing country when it comes to international politics. In centuries past, the Selestei military was feared, and rightly so. The dreaded Grim Weepers once carved a bloody swath across the Fractured Cities, fueled in their relentless conquest by the maddening pain of eating only spicy food. Today, however, Selestei tends to play the gentle giant, with its sovereign, King Vincent Daggert, playing the life of the party at Disputatious Assembly afterparties. This gregariousness can sometimes transgress the boundaries of good taste, such as when King Daggert told President Niir that he was jealous of Incendia ("MAY MY HEART BURN AS BRIGHT AS YOUR COUNTRY ONE DAY!" were his exact words, if I recall). You could tell Niir was trying his best to maintain his composure for the sake of Incendia's official position on the literal dumpster fire the homeland had become, but you could also see him desperately eyeing the open bar.

Selesteine mythology attributes the nation's hot-blooded fervor to its founding hero, Sels. According to the legends, there were once two suns and two moons, which made it impossible for anybody to get any sleep. Sels, outraged at this, challenged the suns to send down the stronger of the two to fight him. The suns conferred, and the older of the two descended to do battle. The two of them fought for a full lunar month until Sels finally grappled the older sun and ate it. The other sun, afraid of Sels' fearsome power, began running around the world, creating the diurnal cycle. Sels, not one to let an opponent run from a fight, leapt into the heavens to pursue it, where he became the third and largest moon. Selesteines often suggest that the nation should destroy Zor Olo, the smallest of the three moons, for being unworthy to share the sky with Sels. So far, nobody is sure whether they're being serious or deadpan, and Daggert changes the topic whenever someone asks about it.

Yelling at the sun is an ancient and venerable tradition in Selestei, but it acquired a tint of patriotism when the country entered the Disputatious Assembly and was asked to register an official national anthem. Thus, at occasions when the national anthem of a sovereign's country is played, when the King of Selestei's turn comes, a band of Selesteines come out and scream into the heavens. This is very popular with crowds, whom the King encourages to join in.

The Selesteines' indomitable spirit and inability to back down from a challenge has gotten them burned before, particularly by some of the craftier nations (I won't name names). For example, the Roerbach Incident left the entire Selesteine military abroad on a dragon-hunting quest. I asked King Daggert off the record how he would deal with a modern attempt to trick his military out of position while an invasion tried to take his country. He just laughed. "Pity the invaders," he said. "They would have to face our women."

I confess I'm not familiar with enough military lore to evaluate his strategy, but you certainly can't fault his confidence.

Citations: The Roerbach Incident

Despite its militarily aggressive history, modern Selestei is actually quite a charming place to visit. The weather at the major vacation destinations is temperate, which the locals attribute to intimidating the climate into submission. When I visited many years back, I had one of the best curries I've had in my life in the city market. I was a little embarrassed to order the minimum spice level, but the lady running the stall could tell I was a foreigner and insisted. I tried to convince her that it was no use and that sociophysical principles would make it more or less spicy according to expectation, but in the end I'm glad I took her advice, because damn was that a hot curry. According to my wife, I was mumbling in my sleep all night about contracting jalapeñosis.

Of course, Selesteine cuisine isn't all spicy food, whatever legends of their elite troops might suggest. There's a city in the north of the country famous for its pastries, which food critics attribute partially to the recipe and partially to how well the dough is kneaded. The bakeries are all located near a military base, and the soldiers there knead the dough by practicing hand-to-hand combat on it. They have a festival every year where they bake swords and shields out of bread, which the children of the town use to stage mock battles.

Citations: Grim Weepers / Jalapeñosis