/Location: Right outside the doors of the Main-Entrance, of the Venezulason Eatery/
/PovMC/
I walked through the empty restaurant, that's been closed since my parents never returned, when the last war happened involving the Kingdom of Kerait and the personal Knight-Armored Mecha-Legion of the previous Baron Exeter, who succumbed to his wounds from battle during the war that also claimed the lives of my birth-parents, leaving the unmarried and recently of age Baroness Exeter to succeed the title of nobility, bestowed upon the house Exeter when they terraformed and established their family on the planet Exeter's Folley.
A small planet, without many mineral resources, but an abundance of fertile land with crystal-clear waters and a wonderful climate for the cultivation of any plants. Making the planet a perfect agricultural-based planet, for growing crops and raising different animals for livestock.
The planet would never be rich, without the precious metals or resources required to build the metal-creations, the most-common warriors of this universe wield and moniker as Knight-Armors.
The lighter and cheaper based knight-armors, light-mechas usually are around twenty-feet in height. Whilst, the heavier and more expensive heavy-mechas, can be as tall as fifty-feet…
Mechas are not the most powerful weapons of course, but they are truly the most common. Bandits or space-pirates, lurk and prey on the shipping routes, within deep-space seperating the different interstellar-civilizations, using the mechas to steal and destroy trade whilst lining their own pockets.
All nobles, possess or control at the least a single squadron of Knight-Armors or mechas, as their honor-guard or they are not truly nobility.
I cut-out walking down the smooth cement-like building-material the town's roads and paths were built with, whilst making my way to the town-hall.
When citizens come of age, in this barony, they are required to sign-up and enroll in the local-militia. For a two-year term, this being mandatory by law.
A town, like the town of Forest where I am currently walking through it's streets, has less than a hundred-thousand total population. Where as, a city would be required to have more than a total population of a hundred-thousand or more, to be considered a city.
According, to the laws of the Kingdom of Kerait, a feudal-monarchy ran mostly by the noble-houses who make up the majority of the kingdom's armed-forces, with their honor-guards and fyrd's, honor-guards being their best personal-warriors whilst their fyrd's being their local-militia's of their fief-planets
Every noble-house, major and minor-alike have their own agendas, whilst giving the Royal-family or the monarchs of the kingdom enough face or respect at the least in public…
I waved to certain citizens as I made my trudge, towards the town-hall, the center of administration for the local-government, of the town of Forest…
I enjoyed the purity and freshness of every breath, I took into my lungs as I breathed and tasted the clean air whilst walking down the town's paths…
Eventually I arrived inside the main-hall of a modest whilst still futuristic-looking administrative-building, known and referred to as the town-hall…
I noticed a beautiful, tall, long-legged brunette, standing at a front-desk looking table or piece of furniture, clearly some sort of receptionist.
"Hello beautiful miss, my name is Ezekiel Venezulason, I recently came of age and would like to register for my militia-duty…" I asked the receptionist, as I neared the front-desk…
"Hello, I am Claire, let me find your file, and I will get you signed-up. You will receive all the information you will need, in a couple of business-days directly to your personal-communication arm-bracelet device. If you do not receive an e-mail, with your recruitment-information in it, please return here and let us know a week from today… Here it is, please sign here, and then you will be good to go, unless you needed something else…" Claire told me, as she found my file and printed out a document for me to sign, a contract registering and enrolling me for my two-year mandatory milita-duty…
"Signed and finished, thank you again Claire. I believe, that will do for me. You have yourself a wonderful day, don't let them work you too hard…" I said, as I signed the next two-years of my life over, signing my militia-duty contract as I then handed it back to Claire, then I said my farewell to the beautiful woman, who's bumhole more than likely tastes like cinnamon sugar, as I make my way to leave the town-hall.
I would need to visit the nearest grocery store, to get the ingredients and hopefully find a supplier for everything I will need to stock the restaurant with.
After that, I will get on the Interstellar-Web and place some job recruitment-notices with my personal-communication armband-device.. I will need a Head-Chef, a sous-chef, a dish-washer and a couple food-runners, and a head-waitress to work the front of the house, with a couple waitresses or waiters taking orders from the customers…
The restaurant will be my first daily-income, I will have to hit the streets and enter the underworld side of business, if I want to have the wealth I will need to find the fabrication or creation of my personal-custom Knight-Armor unit…
Usually the drug and sex-trades are the most lucrative and easiest to dip your fingers into, followed by the casino or gambling-business…
Once I amass my first pot of gold so to say, I will start buying neighboring-properties, and establishing my business-empire step by step, day by day, working from the moment I open my eyes in the morning, to when I close my eyes as I lay in my bed in the evening to enter my slumber…
That is my creed or motto for my life, work everyday, preparing your fields and crops for the rains, the gods will provide after seeing your preparations made waiting for the deliverance of their blessings.
Raining down life and vitality, to nourish and vitalize crops or animals, growing or grazing on mother-earth, or in this case on mother Exeter's-Folley…
I will have to visit the family's private lands, I must report to the clan Patriarch, my paternal great-grandfather Paul Venezulason, I have registered for the mandatory militia-duty.
Paul Venezulason, the current Patriarch of the Venezulason Clan, is still militarily-active even at the age of a hundred and thirty-two years of age… My father, Wrexler Venezulason being his fifth-eldest grandson, making him my direct-ancestor…