"Scott will be a good king." The last words of man who rose from a lowly count to the King of Dakota and the Presidency put a great burden on my shoulders. A burden that would crush the bones of a lesser man and scatter to dust all that my father had worked for. I don't intend for that to happen. My courage and my patriotism will be my sword and shield. Long live Scott Nesiot!
My brother Thomas was always a selfish, petty man. No doubt he is already plotting against me. I will be sure to watch him closely.
But my family can wait. Like vultures to the cadaver, heathens assemble to take back what they mistakenly believe is theirs. Jefferson will surely grant me victory against the Blue Sky barbarians and their ilk.
As heretics run roughshod over my Eastern holdings, good news arrives from home. My wife is with child again. Surely this is a sign from the Fathers that I will triumph.
As the war drags on, I am forced to retreat to the West. My patriotism is indomitable, but I must accept that I simply do not have the men to drive back the heathen tide. I hold no qualms about seeking help, for I am a patriotic man, but I am not a fool. I meet with Silvan of the Men in Black. He and my father did not agree on many issues, but now he regards the defense of the Americanist faith over his animosity towards my father. He will be a powerful ally in the years to come.
As we draw nearer to the pivotal battle, more word from home reaches my ears. I have a son, and an heir to my legacy. I know now that I cannot lose, for I would sooner die then surrender my son's legacy to the likes of these infidels.
My patriotism was not misplace. Praise the Founding Fathers!
The heathens who dared to oppose my rightful claim were driven off with their tail between their legs and left with nothing but the stain of defeat. My rule was secured by the blood of heresy. Or so I thought.
I could not believe the news when it reached my ears. My brother, whom my father had loved with all his heart, had been plotting behind my back while I fought tooth and nail against the pagans. The treachery is almost unbearable, but I will not let my bond with him temper my fury. Like the Blue Sky, his insurrection will be put down.
Does everyone doubt my rule? It seems that way as another Pretender attempts to take my throne as my armies plunge deep into my brother's holdings. My confidence wavers at this news. I place my trust in the Fathers, but it doesn't give me as much comfort as it once did.
But I was wrong to waver. My brother is pressured into capitulation after years of brutal combat, and while I am forced to hire mercenaries to deal with the other upstart, he too admits defeat. Traitors, one and all, and my brother is among them. My father must be rolling in his grave at the very thought. Thomas will never again know freedom for this betrayal.
With my enemies driven away or locked in the dungeon, it seems I was wrong to doubt the Fathers. My rule is secure, and as I look upon the four men carved into the mountain, I realize that I must show them thanks for their help in those trying times. What better way then through a pilgrimage? Through stealth and subterfuge, I am able to travel far, but my journey is cut short when I am discovered in Philadelphia. I don't understand. Is it because my faith wavered that my journey was cut short? I cannot give an answer.
No sooner have I returned then the heathens attack yet again. As I call on the Men in Black for their assistance, I am left to wonder if I am being punished in some way. Fear takes hold of me as I wonder if the Fathers have abandoned me. As news of a Christian rebellion reaches my ears, I consider how I can easily ride alone onto the field and die in a blaze of glory, ascending to the heavenly mansion as a martyr for my patriotism. My duty and my son keep me from carrying out this last resort, but I still feel lost.
Questioning my own continued existence, I march South to fight against the Catholic insurgents. The battle seemed to last for years. Again and again, I waded into the sea of enemies, awaiting the cold embrace of death as I pressed on. But then the tide ebbed, and I saw the broken enemy before me. A fire burned in me as I saw what I had done that day. I looked towards Rushmore and loudly proclaimed my loyalty to the Old Fathers. Not only had they returned to my side, but they had given me my direction at last. Dropping to my knees, the glint of steel caught my eye. A sword, caked in the blood of Catholic heathens and clutched in the hand of a lowly foot soldier, pointed towards the South. I sent out the word immediately.
The Kingdom of Platte would be mine.