NationStates Jolt Archive

The mighty Dreadfire stood in the candle lit banquet hall, watching the servants ready the feast. With Halloween drawing closer, many celebrations were planned, with each feast having a different theme. This feast would be the Feast of Blood, celebration of the red fluid that brings life to all.

Many bottles of wine were brought from the oldest of wine cellars. Wine is an ancient symbol for blood, hence why it is widely consumed in AMF. The long tables were draping in long crimson tablecloths, and the many rows of candels were still being lit.

Several butlers moved about, going from one side of the room to the next. Damien decided to retire to his chambers, and ready himself for the celebration of Blood. As he ascended the great staircase towards his chambers, he thought of the other feasts to come: The Feast of the Body, and The Feast of the Soul, with the Soul feast being held exactly on Halloween, the most sacred of hollidays in AMF.

Damien opened the large oak door to his darkened chambers, while the sound of activity still echoed from downstairs. Damein moved to his closet, and walked down the rows of wardrobe, trying to find the right garb for the feast. Stopping, he turned his head towards the large bay window. From the blackened road, he saw many small lights, moving closer towards the Great Hall.

M'Lord, our guests are arriving. A voice said over the intercom. Damien turned again and looked over the long racks of ancient clothes, and then found the perfect one.

Very good, see to it that they recieve a warm welcome.


OOC: If you wish to participate, you can RP your arrival. Any poor RPers will be asked to refrain from posting.

The mighty Warlord stood in the fickering candlelight, making himself ready for his guests, who had almost arrived. He made his way over towards his desk, on which the Relic's Sword sat. Through many centuries the Sword hs seen combat, tasting the blood of many hundreds. The Sword had even been used by Damien once already, when the heathen renegade Templar invaded the mainland of Pantera. Takign the Sword up, still in it's sheath, he placed in around his waist, and tightened the belt. Adjusting it properly, he looked in the mirror. He stared into his dark reflection, a backlit fire in his eyes.

Meanwhile, the kitchen was in much commotion, as the great feast was prepared. The maids and butlers scurried about, making sure everything was done to the Warlord's specifications. The floors had been swept, the table set, and the food was cooking, everything was going as planned. For once, the Great Hall had a warm energy emitting from it, which was a welcome change.

The attendants outsie readied themselves as the honored guests came closer to the Great Hall. The parking lots were cleaned and readied, and the Warlord grew anxious.

A TSD Limo pulls up withthe Triforce flags on it's Hood, Then Grand Admerial Mosc Steps out

A uh - 60 blackhawk lands nearby, and a man in military attire steps out, with many body guars. It is the one and only General Badger !!

A uh - 60 blackhawk lands nearby, and a man in military attire steps out, with many body guars. It is the one and only General Badger !!

OOC: Please leave this thread.

Mosc Looks around Then he speaks to hos Driver in old Trasian

Mosc:Misa ja u faar jias heroas Jimn, Ia skaw Darktrooper Kisoala jas Fivear huas

Driver:Isia Nas auaw aroagon as og eia Los Darktrooper Juas wouas du
Translation


Mosc:Stay Guard out here, i have to check on my Darktrooper Project within 5 hours


Driver:i shall stay close by sir, don't worry, the Darktroopers can last alittle while without you

A few noble vampires exited their limo, and approached the large mansion. They enjoyed these festivals immensely, and had gone despite the high council's wishes. They were looking forward to an excellent night, a celebration of what they held dear. What could be immoral about that?

*In order to better his relations he too heads for this party, three FFSN government UAZ's pull up, one with the gold and crimson banner of the Federation of Former Soviet Nations, Premier and Cheif Marshal of the Army Boris Chlevenkov steps out into the night...*

rudeness im outta here

*the Premier glances around, taking in the sight... He nods to his driver and security detail, they proceed to park the vehicles in the parking lots... Chlevenkov pulls on his uniform some and smoothes it out as he heads for the main hall...*


OOC: Dammit, I may not be able to post again for a little while...

OOC: I'm waiting to post until a few nations I invited show up.

<tag, but wonders how bloodlust is supposed to equal peaceful..... :P >

Mosc Knocks on the Front Door

<tag, but wonders how bloodlust is supposed to equal peaceful..... :P >

OOC: Bloodlust=The Feast of Blood=Ancient celebration leading up to Halloween.

<tag, but wonders how bloodlust is supposed to equal peaceful..... :P >

OOC: Bloodlust=The Feast of Blood=Ancient celebration leading up to Halloween.

Gotcha

As a small burgundy hulled jet drops out of the clouds above AMF, Dayne the Evenstar stretches and begins to ready himself. This wasn't exactly his choice of places to spend Halloween, but Bastien had been insistent. Dayne would have much rather been at home, fathering the son that he and Richenda were trying so hard for.

A bit of turbulence shook the jet and Dayne grunted softly as the rattling subsided and the descent continued unhindered. As the jet's wheels touched, Dayne came to his feet and made his way to the door. No sooner had the plane ceased moving than the Evenstar had thrown open the hatch and emerged into the crisp evening air of Automagfreek.

Splendid in glittering chainmail, the metal tinted slightly blue, Dayne is an imposing figure. Only approaching twenty, he is a towering figure, sporting a full beard that has been pulled together into one long braid, bouncing lightly against his breastplate as he moves. His flowing golden hair has been pulled into two more braids, bound with a tiny thread of silver wire.

Resting atop his strong brow is a slim iron crown, bare of decoration or adornment. Below this, his indigo-colored eyes flash brilliantly as he looks about, scrutinizing everyting cooly.

Turning to the dozen or so Reavers of his Honor Guard, Dayne flicks a wrist dismissively and says,"Strange fuckin' trip this looks t' be, Lads. Donna kill anyone. Donna father too many bastards. Donna piss off anyone important. Now get outta here."

The guards gave a mightily approving roar as they started off. Dayne himself smiled and cleared his throat, adjusting the scimitar hanging at his waist, it's hilt capped with a glittering saphire, and reaching beneath his flowing crimson cloak to shift his sidearm to a more comfortable position. Now, the fun begins...

His eyes resting on the seductive sway of a passing womans hips, Dayne moves off, ocasionally stopping to chat and make an introduction, but never halting for too long.

Approching on his personal transport Edmund Dantes, made a motion to move his hand through his dark hair, only to remember that it was still in a cast from his visit to Pantera.

As it stood, he really had nothing to do anymore ever since his surrender to Pantera, The Regents of AMF and Pantera were running his country now, not he. Though he still ruled as a figurehead, and had control of the Templar Legions to an extent. The rest of the Military was under there control.

When he heard the AMFian regent talking about a "bloodlust" something or other, he assumed he was just talking about general matter in AMF. Turns out this was some celebration in AMF, and needing a change of scenery Edmund decided to check it out, much to the Regents chagrin.

As he prepared to embark from the plane, one of his aides put on his trenchcoat around his shoulders, he was dressed in pure black dress clothes which he felt was appropriate for the occasion. And ever since Acumen, the Tersanctan Intelligence agency, had tried to kill him, he didnt go anywhere without his Executorial Templar Guard.

He stepped into a limo, which would take him directly to the Feast of Blood . Five armored Templar joined him, Clothed in there new Silver Dragon Armor, a variant of the PCS-TDMC-400A the AMD's standard armor. Only a lot less bulkier, and equppied with some state-of-the art weaponry, plus the old-fashioned sword that all Templar carried.

As they drove throug the city towards there location, Edmund looked at the stars, he was anxious to say the least, he was unsure how Damien would recieve him, he wished to speak with him again, and Damien had only scowled at him during there first meeting. This time was under different circumstances........ he hoped.

M'Lord, Dayne the Evanstar has arrived.

A smile came across Damien's face. Dayne's arrival was probably to be the highlight of the night.

Damien continued to stand in his quarters, peering out of the window as the guests arrived. He exhaled deeply, and had another vision. He shook this one off easily, but the recent visions were starting to become....overwhelming.

-----------------------

Lining the walkway to the Great Hall, legions of Sentinels stood motionless, almost like stone. As the guests made their way down the walkway, a slight wind picked up, making the torches flicker in the night air. A half dozen butlers stood at the door, ready to recieve them.

Opening the creaky main door, the butlers escorted the guests inside. The candles on the long tables flickerd as the rush of air filed the room. The crimson curtains fluttered slighty as well as the servants just finished their preperations.

Mosc carries a breifcase that holds his Medication with him


Mosc:Soon it will be time for me to take another dose of Bloodrage

Executor Dantes looked at the sign posted on the door. "Free drinks, and bumps." He waited to be allowed in, as the driver announced that the Tersanctans had arrived. The Templar shifted uneasily, always awaiting an attack on there beloved Executor's Life. Though that was highly unlikely in AMF where lawbreakers suffered a horrible wrath, at the hands of the setinels.

Edmund moved his left hand, the only arm not in a cast, through his hair, and breathed out. He closed his eyes, imagining Damien glaring at him in that tower in Pantera. He so wished to make amends with both Bastien and the one called Dreadfire. Damien was the one who inspired him, and Bastien was the one who helped him. He helped to create a fighting force unseen in Tersanctus before.

Probably to good, as a division who was so sick of peace that they would fight the very people who made them, betraying there Executor and country. But the Templar that were loyal, considered the Reavers to be there bretheren, at least on there side. And Damien was spoken of with respect, especially after he ran alone into the battle betweeen the rogue Templar and Reavers, and killed scores of them singlehandedly.

Damien breathed in as the car lurched forward,as it parked he got out and walked to the front door.

Prime Minister's Office -- #2 Jameston Place
Ianapalis, Iansisle, the Commonwealth

"Bloodlust?" asked Hiresh Dhawan, looking up at the ragged-looking man Lord MacIntyre had sent over to deliver the message. "Edwards, that hardly seems the sort of thing I'd care to attend..."

"Well, Minister," fretted Edwards, rubbing his hands together, "It's being held in Automagfreek, and they were among our largest supporters during the, ah, Macabeen Crisis."

"The Macabeen Crisis?" asked Dhawan, sitting back in his chair and twirling a Walmingtonian fountain pen. "Edwards, that was ages ago - before I was elected; before that Dreadfire chap of theirs rose to power. Besides, I lay the blame for that entire incident on Royal Mining and Manufacturing. If you're so eager to show our thanks for their aid, send the Lord Clancy." The Prime Minister hunched back over the papers on his desk. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have quite a bit of work to do. Good day, Edwards."

However, the assistant Minister of Foreign Affairs was insistent. "Minister Dhawan, I'm afraid I really must insist. The M.o.F.A. has declared friendly relations with the Empire to be among our top priorities. We need to send someone that shows that, not a two-bit Ambassador or some minor noble."

Dhawan looked up in exasperation. "So send the High King. That's what we keep the monarchy around for, isn't it?"

Edwards shrugged helplessly. "I'm afraid not. We contacted His Majesty earlier; he told the Lord John in no unclear terms that he has no intention of leaving the Commonwealth until, and I quote, 'certain domestic affairs are settled.'"

"You've already been in touch with James?" asked Dhawan, only just managing to conceal his irritation that they hadn't come to him first on what the M.o.F.A. considered an very important mission. "And he refused to address the needs of his own realm?" The Prime Minister thought for a moment. "Very well, I will go. However, Edwards, remind the Lord John that, should I see the need to remove him from the Foreign Affairs Ministry, I will do so."

Edwards nodded at the thinly concealed threat, leaving to draft an acceptance on behalf of the Right Honorable Prime Minister Hiresh Dhawan of the Commonwealth Combined Parliament.

-----

Shadoran International Aeroflyer Dock
Outside Ianapalis, Iansisle, the Commonwealth

Dhawan struggled to keep his top hat from blowing away as he boarded. His browned Gallagan skin stood out in stark contrast to the pale features of the Bankfield aerotransport's Royal Iansislean Flying Corps crew. He was now forty seven, and on the down side of the physical slope. Granted, his body was nowhere near the state of complete obesity that former C.C.P. Prime Minister - and now the Minister for Commonwealth Relations - Edward Tarriff's had been, but he was also no longer the fit youth of twenty years ago. The Prime Minister started to catch up with the paperwork he had been working on as the aeroflyer climbed into the sky, banking away from the Shield towards Automagfreek.

Hiresh Dhawan had been born the seventh son to a wealthy Gallagan prince under the protection of Iansisle's East Gallaga Company. Jealous of the attention heaped upon his older brothers, he had fled his father's palace outside Dattapukur, running across the Mouths to the bright lights and busy streets of Nusheld at the tender age of sixteen. There, he found employment as a longshoreman for three years, before signing on a Company spice freighter running the route back to the Commonwealth. Once Ianapalis, he filed for full Iansislean citizenship, finding himself fascinated by the political process.

After working and putting himself through school at Royal Standard University for six years, Dhawan ran for a seat on the Iansislean Imperial Parliament. There, he joined the Commonwealth Party, and started to lobby for the East Gallaga Company's royal charter to be revoked and their domains in Iansislean Gallaga-Burma to be granted full Dominion status within the Commonwealth. Dhawan proved to be a natural and eloquent speaker, and was elected to the Commonwealth Combined Parliament six years later, where he often ran sessions in favor of the incompetent Edward Tarriff. After Tarriff's government fell in the last general elections, Dhawan narrowly beat out fellow Commonwealth Party member Sir Hubert L. Pith-Mycroft, becoming Iansisle's first non-Shieldian Prime Minister.

As Dhawan continued to work and allow his mind to wander backwards in time, the Bankfield's pilot announced that they were going to be docking in Automagfreek soon. The Prime Minister closed his folder and set to straining his eyes out the window as the aeroflyer came in for a landing.

In his younger days the emperor might have been excited, or frightened to recieve an invitation from Damien Dreadfire. Everyone, throughout the cosmos had been frightened of Damien at some point. Maybe it was his gigantic body, or his quick, whiplike tongue that would render all arguement worthless. Perhaps it was his overall demeanor, the demeanor of a "Sentinal." Whatever it was, it scared most people shitless.

Icarus Traiden had been wanting to meet with Damien, as well as Bastien for quite some time. During the old days of the Eastern Bloc, AMF was their closest ally. Now, however, things were strained, partly because of Damiens rise to power, and partly because of EB's own problems. All of that was, thankfully, in the past, and now Icarus was hell bent on making the future better.

He sat, staring at the invitation on his desk. It was a simple note, not necessarily crude... but lacking in the elegance that embodied Eurydian culture. It had obviously been hand written, in some sort of ink pen, with a small, gold leaf border. On the front was emblazoned, "The Feast of Blood" and "You are Invited."

Traiden opened the note, which had been stamped shut with red wax, and read the letter. He turned it back over and looked at the front, smirking,

"The Feast of Blood? Not something you hear every day, but it does sound like an exciting event. Blood certainly runs through my vains, and I shall honor it by attending this great feast."


The emperor stood up and called out to his attendent. The man quickly rushed in and knelt before the benevolent dictator.

"What are your orders, my leige?"

Traiden motioned the man to stand with a flick of his wrist. He rounded his large, crimson colored desk and went to a small door. He pulled out a cape.

"Come... fit this to me... I have business to attend to."

As the servant did such, the emperor continued.

"Once you are finished, ready my ship... and inform the Directorate I'll be gone for a few days."

The attendent, now finished attaching the cloak, nodded and walked out of the room.

Along the road to Damien's Mansion
The Ambassador's convoy rolls along the beautiful road, coming now upon the gates to the estate.

A security force car leads the way, followed by Ambassador Richards' modified BMW. The drivers follow the winding path up to the mansion's grand entrance.

Before the steps, Dr. Byron Richards steps out of his car and walks up the steps, followed only by the Embassy's military liaison, Maj. Gam Davor.

Looking over the mansion, Dr. Richards notes the heavy guard of Sentinels and turns to nod to his bodyguards. They’re not needed here.

Richards and Davor present themselves to a guard at the door, Richards in a dark tuxedo with a dark dress shirt and Davor arrayed in his battle dress suit--ceremonial dagger and all--and they are led within.

No Post

double post

triple post

Icarus Traiden approached the large hall that would be the gathering place for this great feast. He had purchased a large, earth designed limousine, as to make himself look less conspicuous.

The large, white car pulled up to the hall, and Icarus Traiden stepped out. He walked up to man that appeared to be taking note of who had arrived.

“Inform Damien that Icarus Traiden of the Eurydian Republic is here. Also where shall I put my cape?”

OOC- There, I'm back...

*Chlevenkov enters the hall and glances to the many people gathered there... he hands his coat to an attendant/butler and proceeds a bit farther into the hall, where the other people mingle and what not...*

Jiang Wei swung the large doors open which led into the main halls. A rather small smirk came over his lips, as he stood and gazed at diplomats that had already arrived.

I just hope Lu Bu can handle the diplomatic problems for the time being.

Lord Jiang had donned his favorite uniform for this get together. A venerable, finely craft piece of clothing handed down the Jiang family for generations, it had only been worn perhaps a couple times before this party.

One of the first things Jiang realized was that nearly all the decorations were of crimson color. This seemed a bit surprising to Lord Jiang- all of Neo-Wu's banquets are extravagant and vibrant. But it was not strange for this time of the year, though.

Jiang Wei had never met Lord Damien in person, but from what he had seen, he didn't think he was ready yet. One of the first things Jiang wanted to do was talk to Damien, though. Walking more into the room, he began to search down Damien...

----------------------
http://suikune.free-host.com/sosz/zhugeliang_custom.jpg
Lord-Strategist Jiang Wei, Minister of the Foreign Foray
Innocence Proves Nothing

A voice came over the intercom again.

M'Lord, our guests are here. We will begin the feast.

Damien still stood, silently looking out of the window. He sighed, and moved agian to the large mirror, making sure he everything was in order. Inhaling deeply, he exited the room.

-------------------------------------------

A butler made his way towards the head of the table. A short fellow, he raised his hand to his mouth to clear his throat. Making a few muffled coughs, he spoke loudly.

Greetings foreign dignitaries, honored guests, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we partake in Bloodlust, the Feast of Blood. It is to honor the life that has been bestowed to us by the Gods, and to remember the blood of those we have lost as we draw nearer to Halloween, most sacred of AMF hollidays. So now, we shall begin the Feast of Blood, and your host, Damien Dreadfire, will join you shortly.

The butler scurried off, as other butlers and maids began pouring the many bottles of fine wine, many of which were as old as AMF itself. Chatting casually with the guests, the servants pointed out that Dreadfire would be present shortly to begin the ceremony, and to officially start the great feast.

((I want to send someone, namely the resurrected Rachel Black, but sadly I have more trust for Steel Butterfly then Mr. Dreadfire. Pity, because the New Spartha question still needs to be settled, i.e. how much do I have to pay you for the southern section of the country. Still, needs must have.))

OOC: Keep it, just don't let NS come back.

Now, no more hijacking! 8)

OOC: Actually, she's already been dead once. She's still in the 'Oh my god... I live again!' phase.

IC:


Rachel looked at her brother questioningly. "You want me to go where?" She leaned forward. "Alex, just because you are now in charge of the country doesn't mean you can tell me what to do."

"Um... actually, I think it does." Alexander coughed. "Rachel, I'm sorry, but we need someone in AutoMagFreek. It's a very unstable nation." He looked at his fiance, Kelly Maxwell, for support. "Kelly, help me out here."

Kelly sighed. "Rachel, the Council seems to think that since you've already died and come back, death should hold no fears for you."

"Last time I died, I ended up inside Sara Resi's head, thank you very much. Are you nominating yourself as a host?" Rachel asked, bitingly.

"Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can bring your armor clip."

"I will, thank you." Rachel turned around and stormed out of the room. Alex buried his face in his hands.

"With God as my witness, I'm not going to last a week as Prince." Kelly patted him on the back.

--------------------------------------------

Rachel muttered to herself. "Oh, we have hundreds of diplomats, but because I'm the princess I'm the one who gets sent. Is this a compliment, or does he hate me?" She asked the air as she picked out some clothes.

"M'lady, your plane is waiting." Her maid said as she opened the door.

"They'll wait, or my brother will have their heads removed." Rachel grabbed the suitcase and walked out.

"M'lady, it won't be that bad, I've heard that AutoMagFreek is a very nice place."

In the Banquet Hall

Dr. Richards savors the fine wine, its sweet and robust flavors mixing in his mouth as the light vapor fills his nose as he watches the room--an odd mix of representatives arrayed before the blood-red curtains that seem to drape all of the walls. The grim lighting throws everything into an odd quality...uneasiness fills the air as some ambassadors look nervously about, reacting to every movement by a servant with shock.

The Major has less sense for the wine and drinks it down quickly...he has little care for such fine matters. He looks quizzically at the draperies, odd rubbish for a leader, but it certainly seems to be impressive to some of the other guests...

The Major turns whispers to the Ambassador, who just nods, allowing a small grin to crack on his face for a moment as he nots in assent. He replies openly, "Now we just wait for our grand host."

While he was now too experianced in the world to be surprised by marvels of modern technology, Prime Minister Dhawan was slightly shocked by the size and scale of both the security systems and the guards themselves. Walking through the halls, he couldn't help but feel a little naked, wishing the M.o.F.A. had seen fit to send a couple K.I.G. men with him. Still, this was a diplomatic function, and he intended to treat it as one.

Dhawan glanced about the hall as the purpose of the festival and Dreadfire's imminent arrival was announced. He reached for a glass of wine, but the desire keep a clean head and the slight repulsion moved his hand quickly back to his side. While he waited for the host's arrival, he glanced about the room, not seeing any familiar faces, or even unknown faces from familiar nations.

Icarus Traiden sat at a large table. Before him was a full stein of AMF's finest brew. He cautiously grasped the handle of the large glass, and put it to his lips. As the cool liquid flowed into his mouth, he noticed it had a very distinct flavor.

"Tastes almost like... Feldin Wine... from my home." He looked at the crimson wine with satasfaction and approval, then took another dignified swig.

Traiden peered over the glass as he sipped, eyeing the rest of the crowd. It had been nearly 2 centuries since the exodus from earth... and it seemed few things had changed.

"I see AMF has made some new friends since the days of old... a shame the Directorate hasn't embraced Damiens... charming demeanor." Again he said this under his breath, finishing the large flagon with a final, labored chug. He motioned to a servant, who quickly approached.

"Tell me... which one among this crowd is from Pantera? Damien speaks highly of this country... and I wish to know what all the fuss is about."

The small man nodded, "Aye sir... the man you speak of is right over there." he extended a finger in the direction of Dayne the Evenstar.

Traiden stood and decided it best to introduce himself.

OOC: I'll post Damien entering the feast later, once Pantera and a few others get to post again.

Rachel sighs as the staffcar from the embassy pulls up to the... best to think of it as a palace. She smiled as she read the reports. "So, he exiled the former president?"

"As far as we know, your highness."

"And ended democracy?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Hmm... sounds like a nice fellow. Wonder if he's married." Rachel said, half joking. "Anyone who can get rid of that ponderous institution is a man I have to get to know."

Edumund sat casually at the table, sipping on the vintage wine, he casually chatted with the various Dignitaries and Diplomats. As he puffed on his ciggarette, he heard the Butler announce Damiens impending arrival. His ego more bruised than his body, he had learned humility at the feet of Bastien, and now he would enjoy himself, from his stressful few weeks.

Dayne's rich laugh echoes as he chats with a slight, dark haired girl. The young girl leans forward seductively, her breasts stunning in a tight silken gown. Though courteous, he wished the girl would mind her business. He had no interest in this slut, whatever country had sent her. Finally though, he spots the Eastern Bloc Emporer, Icarus Traiden moving closer.

Smiling graciously, Dayne takes the girls hand and places a small kiss on her palm,"A thousand pardons, My Lady. Though it pains me to say it, I am here to converse with all of the delegates, not only those as beautiful as yourself. If you'll allow me to take my leave?"

Turning from the girl, Dayne takes a few steps to meet Icarus and make a respectful bow, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his jewelled scimitar, the other pressed to his heart.

His smile revealing rows of strong, white teeth amid the thick plait of his beard, his tone is formal as he begins, but eases the longer he speaks,"Emporer, it is a true pleasure. Long has my brother, the Lord Reaver, longed for a meeting with you, and he sends his apologies that he is not able to attend himself. Sadly threats upon our homeland require him there, and he has sent me in his stead.

I am Dayne the Evenstar, Lord Regent of ThirdEye and a hundred other foolish titles they put on me. It is a pleasure, your Grace."

The Captain of the Guard had completed his rounds in ensuring Edmunds security. The place rivaled even there own tech, though the two nations had traded openly in there space-faring days. Now he sat next to Edmund, putting his sword on his back next to his C-16. Edmund was on perhaps his third Glass of wine.

"Umm, Your Executorship, should you even be drinking with your pain killers?"

"Call me Edmund, Rishhhard. You are my guard, and fformalities are not needed here."

"Oh, great. Damien hasnt even arrived and hes drunk already." thought Richard DeBerganac.

"Well, Edmund, I can see you have had enough. You dont want to make an ass of yourself. Especially not too one whom holds power over your country."

"I shee you point."

The Emperor was almost startled by the mans courteous attitude. A people so brutish as the Panterans couldn't possibly know of words such as Chivalry? As Dayne continued to speak, a slight smile crept across the noble Emperors face. He was truly honored to be addressed in such a... respectful manner.

"The pleasure, truly, is all mine. I have heard many tales about your land. While I'm sure some of them are nothing more than... tall tales, The fact still remains that Pantera is a land of great people."

A servant passed by the two noblemen, and Traiden took hold of a small glass of wine with his usual, delicate touch. If a passerby had seen the two men standing together... they would have probably laughed. On one side was a man of incredible size, and obvious strength. On the other was a seemingly frail middle aged man with lavish, ornamental armor that served no real purpose. These two men were polar opposites in their demeanor and appearence.

Icarus took a sip of the small glass, and dabbed the dark liquid from his lips with a piece of cloth he had retrieved from his vest pocket. As he replaced the kerchief, he looked at the Dayne with his dark yellow eyes. He craned his neck slightly, as to see Dayne's face better.

"Tell me... how is Bastien? I have heard about your conflict with the... Templar is it? I hope the Reavers are... staining the lands crimson with the blood of your enemies... so to speak." As Icarus finished, he chuckled a bit, and continued to nurse his drink.

A gong sounded, and the room instantly went silent. In two single file lines, dozens of Sentinels decended from the main staircase, hooded in long brown cloaks. They said nothing, and carried torches in both hands. Stopping, they stood motionless for a second or two, then turned in unison. An errie silence filled the room, and the only noise was the crackling of the torches, as the heat dissipated from the buring tips.

Again, in unision, the cloaked men raised their torches in an arc like pattern, and then suddenly, a clang echoed down the stairs.

Clang......clang......

Damien then came into view, standing atop the grand oak staircase. He was dressed in ceremonial garb, a steel breastplate refecting the glow of the burning torches. A black cloth covered his bald head, and his red cape rustled a bit in the occasional gusts that blew in from the open windows. An emotionless lok written across his face, Damien took a step down. Clang, his metal shin guards banged against his steel boot covers. Step after step, he decended into the arc of flame, and then slowly made his way to the table. Stopping at the head, Damien removed the cloth from his head, the sweat shimmering in the torch light. He raised two fingers into the air, and the druid like torch bearers shuffled aside.

Damien drew the Relic's Sword, and placed it on the table. He then looked across the room, glancing to see who all had arrived. Inhaling deeply, his bellowing voice broke the silence.

Brothers, sisters, the season is upon us. Halloween, sacred and honored holliday in Automagfreek is fast approching. It is during this holliday that the dead shall be remembered, and their spirits emerge from their lifeless bodies, and move about once more. The Shadow Realm will soon open, and the spirits of the loved and lost shll take their place on Halloween night, their place in the hearts and minds of all. Tonight, we participate in Bloodlust, the Feast of Blood. This is the first of several great feasts to honor the dead, and the Gods that have bestowed us with life. Their power runs througn our veins in the color red. All too often, that power is spilled, tainting the Earth, and it is tonight that that blood be remembered.

Damien took up a chalice, filled with potent wine. He raised it high, and spoke again.

Join me now, in a prayer to honor and thank the Gods.

Damien closed his eyes, and silently prayed in his head. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Damien then began to mutter. Oh great Gods above, watch over us in our times of need. Give us your strength, O Creators, when all of our strength has left us. Give us life eternally when our on this Earth has ended. We thank you, O wise ancients, and guide us down the path of Truth and Justice.

Damien opened his eyes, and then moved the golden chalice to his lips, slowly taking in the cool red fluid. The comforting fire of the wine spread across his chest, and Damien exhaled deeply.

Now my friends, let us celebrate all that the Gods have given us, let us commence, the Feast of Blood!

Damien put the chalice down on the table, and raised his hands above his head. He then clapped loudly, and the dorrs burst open, with servants bringing trays of boar, cow, wild turkey, and the seeds of the Earth, fruits and vegetables.

Damien smiled, and took his place at the head of the table, eager to start the Feast.

Rachel moved towards him purposefully. "Most Honored Emperor," She started, "If I may beg a moment of your time?"

Rachel moved towards him purposefully. "Most Honored Emperor," She started, "If I may beg a moment of your time?"

Damien raised his right hand, and flicked his wrist casually.

Not now M'Lady, later. Now, we must forget our troubles and feast!

"Of course." She curtsied and returned to her seat. "Will one of you please pass me some of the turkey?"

She thought silently. So, he's a heathen. Still, just because of that doesn't mean he's a bad person. I have to fulfill this mission.

Daynes purple eyes glisten in the torchlight as he listens to the great Warlord Damien speak. A wierd fucker, He thinks, tossing his head and flicking one of his wrist-thick braids back over his shoulder.

As the ceremony came to a halt and the feasting to a start, Damien took his place, and Dayne turned back to Icarus and smiles,"Back to what we were sayiing, Your Grace? Bastien is quite well, and rest assured that the Templarate will surely not trouble Pantera again.

It would quite honor me if you would deign to sit with me, your Grace. Long has Bastien wished for our nations to embrace one another, and I see no better time than the moment, no?"

His smile is amiable as he reaches up to tug at the plait of his beard, bowing to Emporer Icarus and extending a hand to the tables, already heaped with food.

Dayne notes a few people who glance at him in distaste, but he cares not. Barbarians is what the world called Pantera, but only the most foolish believed it. Thier codes of Chivalry date back a thousand years, and thier culture was one of fantastic detail and evolution. Savage fighters and implacable enemies they were, to call them barbarians was a farce, and a poorly presented one at that.

Smiling all the while, Dayne shows marked respect by allowing the Emporer to seat himself before taking his own seat anc calling for a bottle of brandy. Turning back to the elder man, the Evenstar raises a hand to brush his cloak back over his shoulder.

"In truth, the Tersanctans may not trouble anyone, ever again. My Hound took care of the rogue elements within thier Templars, and won a bloody victory. They've been repelled and Tersanctus is now officially under the regency of Pantera and Automagfreek. Executor Dantes has shown his wisdom in surrendering. Bastien was quite wroth and intended to sear Tersanctus from the earth, if he had refused. As it stands Pantera, Automagfreek, and Tersantus all stand to benefit from the situation..."

Pausing a moment he scrutinizes with his strange purple eyes, the whites around them glinting orange in the torch and firelight as he eyes the slight Emporer before continuing,"And your own people, your Grace? How fares the Eastern Bloc?"

"Our nation... well... we have entered a technological rennaisance of sorts. As of now we are constructing a large planetary defense system called Asgard. Also... a giant supercomputer which can process and hold the combined knowledge of everyone on Eurydice. There is also an Instant Transmission sytem being built using Chaotic Particles and Gamma Rays... but... enough of that."

The Emperor smiled and poured himself a small glass of Brandy when quite suddenly a man approached. He wore the same type of clothing as Traiden, but was red instead of blue. The Man whispered into his ear, and a grim look overcame Traiden's face.

"Thank you... that will be all."

The servant bowed, "Yes, my leige."

Traiden bit his lip and thought for a moment, "It appears that... the EOTED have just placed some... sort of document before AMF that would in effect... destroy the country and make it a part of EOTED. I hope this does not... disturb the festivities. I say we worry about it after the feast. I dont want to think about it now."

Icarus Traiden finished his glass with a quick flick of his wrist, and poured himself another. The look of content reclaimed its lost territory over the Emperors face.

"I too have wished for our countries to... grow closer. Our nation is a bit of an isolationist state... and we rarely leave our planet. Needless to say, we dont make many friends because of that. I sincerely hope our nations cross paths in the future."

Dayne listened politely to the techno-speak of the Emporer, bored stiff but determined to act interested. Most technology he considered to be weapons and crutches for cowards, but he knew of thier possible strategic advantages.

When the subject of EOTED was raised, Dayne flicked his wrist dismissively and reached a hand to his studded leather belt to pull free a pair of burnished steel gauntlets that he tugs absently onto his hands,"Indeed, I had heard of it. Bastien wasna happy about these fools, and they should have a care lest he turn thier Empire of Momentary Dawn to Dusk. Fear not, your Grace. Together, Reavers and Sentinels are unstoppable...

Pausing a moment, Dayne takes a swallow from his brandy glass, swishing the spirits about in his mouth before swallowing and sighing appreciatively as the alcoholic warmth crept through his chest, soothing him. Finally, he continues, his strange-purple eyes judging Icarus shrewdly,"Unstoppable indeed, Emporer. With the right allies behind us, we could decimate any who would stand against us..." Though his gaze is piercing, it seem an unspoken offer has been made.

But, the Evenstar raises his thick arms above his head to stretch languidly and reach for another bottle of brandy,"No, Emporer, I would not worry about those fools. Bastien will deal with them as he sees fit, and I assure you, he has no love for such fools.

Icarus Traiden nodded. He shifted his weight and looked quizzically into the mans burning eyes. He sensed he was hinting at something, something grand. He nibbled on a piece of bread in a thoughtful manner. He gathered his thoughts further, and finally put the bread down, so as to address Dayne in a more courteous manner.

"Aye... It seems almost as though the two of you are one in the same. Two arms on a single body. Always flexed, tight with sinew and raw muscle."

The Emperor squinted as he thought of what to say. After a moment, and a sip of brandy, he continued.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is... this man is not complete. I do not mean to insult your intelligence... but it lacks a brain of sorts. While he has strength and resourcefulness in vast quantities... he lacks the knowledge to make him a truly powerful man. A man that would echo through the ages as one of... unsurpassed strength... and wisdom. I hope you understand what I am saying."

Barking a genuine laugh, Dayne slaps a hand on the table and roars. A few people glance back at him but he is oblivious, nodding to Icarus and saying,"Aye, well said. While I wouldna let Bastien hear it put quite that way, it is quite accurate, your Grace."

Pushing back from the table, the Evenstar smiles brightly and makes a sweeping bow, pressing a fist to his heart once more,"A thousand Pardons, your Grace but I must take my leave of you. While I wouild much rather remain here and speak on the future..."

His smile widens into a grin and he inclines his head meaningfully,"I trust it will be a bright future indeed. Bastien will be pleased to har we have spoken, so. Wind in your sails, Emporer."

Turning and making his way up the table, Dayne leans over to whisper a soft jest in the ear of a female diplomat and smiles as her laughter rings out. Continuing, he smiles and shakes hands with a few men before becoming lost in the swirling of the crowd.

Traiden nodded in agreement and stood as Dayne took leave of the Emperor. He smiled and chuckled to himself. Icarus glanced around at a few other ambassadors... looking for someone he hadn't met before. He glanced over to a stuffed boar... and an eyebrow rose.

"At least the foods good."

Edmund was quite impressed with the entrance Damien had presented, as well as the ceremony. He took in food and feast alike, as he watched carefully the guests and honorees sat around the table.

He saw Dayne in deep conversation with...someone, a middleaged Man dressed in armor. He already knew the Panteran, and Pantera's position, perhaps they would speak.

As the feast continued, Edmund finally looked at Damien. Someone already was seeking to speak with him, which he had dismissed. Though he was right, the feast was to be enjoyed. He went up anyway.

"Lord Dreadfire, I apologize for presenting myself, but afterwards, I would speak with you for a few moments."

((OOC: *peeks in* is it too late to join? I got a character that might bring a nice "unknown" (to most) element to the party. She doesn't remember her past so I'd say she had a strange urge to show up on this night, not realizing there was a party going on. At least not consciencly(sp?)))

((OOC: *peeks in* is it too late to join? I got a character that might bring a nice "unknown" (to most) element to the party. She doesn't remember her past so I'd say she had a strange urge to show up on this night, not realizing there was a party going on. At least not consciencly(sp?)))

OOC: The feast has just started, you only missed the opening ceremony.

((OOC: I'll take that as an "ok" *smiles*))

http://cybersluagh.com/lynn/anavrinmain.jpg
*Anavrin appeared out of the night, seemingly from nowhere, and stepped up to the doors of the building. Something was telling her she had to be here, but she didn't know what, or why. There was something special about this night. The place looked familiar, but her mind wouldn't let her know the reason. Slowly her pale hand came out and knocked on the door. Every movement she made was done with a certin grace and dignity. It was obvious she was -much- older then she looked. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and seemed almost marble-like. It was like her face might crack if she changed expressions. Right now her expression was a mask of calm, but her eyes shimmered with something more... curitosity? Confusion? Maybe a ting of paranoia, and defensiveness. She didn't know who or what was behind the door, or who might recognize her...*

Hiresh stayed quiet, aware that he was in a quite different setting from the quiet, traditional Parliamentary parties that were thrown at Jameston Place or in opulent Shadoran manors. He was, however, very impressed by the ritualistic displays. They recalled distant memories of far-off Gallaga, memories of his father's palace that he had thought long ago locked away.

Hiresh, not being familiar either with the apparently pagan rituals displayed here or with the Catholic rituals usual back in the Commonwealth, and so wondered if he was supposed to say 'Amen' at the end of Damien's speech. As no one else apparently did, Hiresh settled back into his seat, looking hungrily at the platters of food being delivered.

After he was comfortably fixed up with food, the slightly overweight Prime Minister looked to both sides, to see if anyone cared to start a conversation.

(any volunteers?)

Rachel smiled at him. "You're an Ianislian, aren't you?"

Damien grew a bit frustrated with the guests comig to him with troubles. Each time, he simply waved his wrist, and replied, Not now. Now is a time for feasting, not for troubles. We will discuss it later.

Damien tore into the food, his empty stomach growling in delight. Occasionally stopping to lick his lips, the warlord continued to devour the delicious food that the cooks had prepared.

Damien glanced up to see the lovely dignitary from Eris Kallisti enter the Hall. Damien stood, and gestured to an empty seat waiting for her. Instantly, servants surrounded the woman, and Damien spoke.

Welcome, M'Lady. The Feast has just begun! You may order anything you'd like, and it shall be brought to you.

Damien also noted the silence at the table. Attempting to break the ice, Damien spoke yet again.

I hope you all are enjoying this great feast. I also hope that you'll be able to join us for the next feast, which is coming up soon.

Glancing around the table, Damien casually said, So, what's new?

He then laughed, realizing what a pathetic way to start a conversation that was, but he did not care, his spirits were too high.

Rachel smiled at him. "You're an Ianislian, aren't you?"

Dhawan stopped, the food halfway to his mouth. He glanced over at Rachel, smiled, and lowered it back to his plate, wiping his mouth despite the fact he hadn't actually eaten anything. "Gallagan, actually, though I claim Iansislean citizenship. Hiresh Dhawan, Prime Minister of the C.C.P." He extended his free hand to shake.

"Pleased to meet you." Rachel looked at his hand distastefully. Instead, she bowed her head deeply. "My apologies, but you Gallagans are seafolk, and suffering an allergic reaction is on the bottom of my to-do list. I am Princess Rachel Amyn Black of the Most Holy Principality of Roania."

OOC: As most worldleaders know, Roanians can't stand the touch of seawater. Makes them develop blisters and burns them like acid.

*Anavrin blinked (something she seemed to do rarely) as the doors were opened and she was wellcomed by Damien. A party?... now this was odd. Had she been here before. Very slowly she smiled and nodded to him as he motioned her to the empty seat. Waving off the servants with a flick of her wrist, she moved to the offered seat, carefully sitting. Her motions were smooth and calculated, as if she thought everything out at length before doing anything. Had she been expected? She had no idea. Her trip from her island in Eris Kallisti had been a long one, but she'd felt the need to be here. Sometimes she just had strange urges to do things, like an internal schedual that she had to follow. Glancing around briefly with just her eyes, her gaze settled back on Damien as he spoke again. Did she know him from somewhere?*

I have no need for food. Thank you anyway though.

*Anavrin had no need for human food, and needed nothing they could serve her that was already dead. Her deathly pale hands rested on her lap. She wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure what. Not wanting to look like a fool if any of the others knew her, she stayed quiet and didn't introduce herself. If someone asked maybe she'd say something*

Dhawan withdrew his hand in displeasure, determined not to return what he perceived as her being rude affect him or his composure. In his dealings with the notoriously racist Iansislean upper class, he had suffered enough slights to make any man immune, but hadn't been expecting one here. "I wouldn't say sea-faring, ma'am," he said, just a touch of irritation breaking through his defenses. "Not compared to the all-high-and-mighty Shieldians," he snorted.

I need to work on my anger management skills, he thought, if I let one annoying little gnat like this shatter my concentration... He shook his head, determined not to let any more attacks affect him.

OOC:

Me= sleep

I'll post later.

"Well, if you're sure you don't have salt water on your hands..." Rachel stuck her hand out, grabbed his, and shook it vigourously. "My apologies, Prime Minister. But you can't be too careful. A world ruler once dunked his hand in salt water before he shook our ambassador's hand." She shook her head. "Almost killed the poor man."

Dhawan, who hadn't had any briefing on Roania before he attended this ceremony, at last managed to make the connection as he was shaking her hand. "That's terrible, terrible," he agreed, only partially managing to make it sound as if he were sincere.

Dhawan reached out, hand pausing next to the wine glass before he passed it by in favor of the water cup. Taking a sip, he returned his eyes to Rachel. "So, Princess, what brings one of your high birth to a ceremony such as this?"

"My brother, Prince Alexander, decided he needed someone watching Damien. He has us all concerned in Roania."

"Mmm," nodded Dhawan, his eyes darting up to the physically impressive warlord at the head of the table. So Roania was an enemy of Automagfreek's....interesting knowledge. He stored it away for later. "Concerned about what?" he asked innocently, noting Anavrin settling in next to Damien, "losing all your women to him?"

"Mr. Prime Minister, you go to far." Rachel blushed. "Instability is always something to be concerned about. Even if he did the world a good turn by eliminating democracy in one more nation."

Dhawan knew in the back of his mind that comment was another carefully placed barb to raise him to ire, but couldn't resist it. "My apologies, princess. Living in the Commonwealth, I'm afraid I've come to expect all nations to concentrate on the welfare of their citizens, rather than charging about as the world's policemen."

*Anavrin's alert senses kept track of the conversations around her. Even the ones spoken at whispers where not unheard by her. Her piercing blue eyes were the only thing that moved on her currently, as she watched everyone. All five senses took hold of her, and she absorbed the room, making note of everything she could. There were a lot of familiar feelings here. She'd deffinately been here before*

Dhawan knew in the back of his mind that comment was another carefully placed barb to raise him to ire, but couldn't resist it. "My apologies, princess. Living in the Commonwealth, I'm afraid I've come to expect all nations to concentrate on the welfare of their citizens, rather than charging about as the world's policemen."

Rachel shook her head. "The world needs to leave other nations to their own business. Considering the amount of contact between Automagfreek and Roania, instability here could carry over to Roania." Rachel shook her head. "If the world needs something, it needs more police in every nation, keeping the common people quiet. A return to the great game."

Dhawan was somewhat confused by her first, seemingly contradictory statement, but quickly shook it off, knowing he really shouldn't let himself be drawn into debate this easily. "I find that instability tends to result not so much from too few policemen, but rather too many. After all, if the 'common man' - as you so quaintly put it - knew his voice would be heard, would he scream at the top of his voice?"

Dhawan shook his head. "As a former 'commoner', I can safely answer that question with a 'no'."

(*quietly throws self a 5,000 post party*)

"But you see, you can muffle the dissenters. Keep the majority downtrodden, but happy. The masses eventually become used to everything. Eventually, we've found, they kill the people who come to them offering a better life." Rachel smiles winningly.

*Anavrin Raised a brow, listening silently. She knewpart of what the princess was saying was far too true, but she wasn't about to get involved in human politics again. She'd had enough of that a while back*

Eventually, Dayne returns to the table, and seats himself in time to hear the Roanian wench's seawater remarks. Snorting in derison, he leans over and makes a quiet jest to a wizened, wrinkled old man in a black, knee length tunic and a high collar. The man eyes the Evenstar skeptically for a few moments but eventually relaxes and begins to regale the young Reaver Prince with a tale of his youth, of a battle fought and a maiden loved.

The Evenstar was very careful to offer no disrespect to the elderly gentleman, listening politely and laughing at a few humorous anecdotes, but his eyes continually stray. Once to the swaying hips of a paasing woman, and quickly after to her escort's eyes, which flash angrily at the young Reaver.

But Dayne only curls a bearded lip into a sneer, leaning back from the table and resting a hand casually on the jewell capped hilt of the scimitar hung from his waist. Though the Evenstar was sure Bastien would not approve if he killed some coward nations diplomat, he didn't care at the moment. The fool's eyes had betrayed his fear, and even the elderly man had quieted his storytelling at the almost arrogant challenge to the man.

Soon though, the fool's eyes dropped and he took his escorts arm and hurried her off, but not before she flashed a shy smile at Dayne. Grunting softly and thinking of his wife in far Pantera, Dayne pulls his cloak forward and over the hilt of his blade. Reaching for a bottle and an empty glass, he fills it quickly and takes a long drink, gritting his teeth softly and commenting to a nearby guest, who had been watching"I like red-heads better anyway."

Barking a laugh, Dayne sets to drinking his brandy. His purple gaze sweeping the length of the hall, occasionally stopping to rest upon one diplomat or another Noble.

*Anavrin's curiousity traveled to Dayne now. Her ancient eyes taking him in. Young and arrogent. Somewhere in her mind she smiled a little. He reminded her of someone, but once again, she couldn't place who. He was younger... perhaps she knew his father or another close relitive. In a situation like this she was left more vulnerable then she was used to. When one doesn't know ones own past, it tends to keep them on edge.*

*A memory flashed in her head, and she caught brief glances of it. Men in armor... she was watching from a window as a battle raged on across a field.... looking down at her hands and dress.... covered in blood.... fresh from a kill.... a body.. she couldn't see the face or make out if it was male or female though.*

*Her brow furrowed slightly and she raised a hand to push an unruly tuff of hair behind her ear. Recovering herself she pushed the memory aside, but she kept seeing blood on her hands. no no no... stop it... not here... The memory was distracting her from the task at hand of watching herown back*

Eventually, Dayne returns to the table, and seats himself in time to hear the Roanian wench's seawater remarks. Snorting in derison, he leans over and makes a quiet jest to a wizened, wrinkled old man in a black, knee length tunic and a high collar. The man eyes the Evenstar skeptically for a few moments but eventually relaxes and begins to regale the young Reaver Prince with a tale of his youth, of a battle fought and a maiden loved.

The Evenstar was very careful to offer no disrespect to the elderly gentleman, listening politely and laughing at a few humorous anecdotes, but his eyes continually stray. Once to the swaying hips of a paasing woman, and quickly after to her escort's eyes, which flash angrily at the young Reaver.

But Dayne only curls a bearded lip into a sneer, leaning back from the table and resting a hand casually on the jewell capped hilt of the scimitar hung from his waist. Though the Evenstar was sure Bastien would not approve if he killed some coward nations diplomat, he didn't care at the moment. The fool's eyes had betrayed his fear, and even the elderly man had quieted his storytelling at the almost arrogant challenge to the man.

Soon though, the fool's eyes dropped and he took his escorts arm and hurried her off, but not before she flashed a shy smile at Dayne. Grunting softly and thinking of his wife in far Pantera, Dayne pulls his cloak forward and over the hilt of his blade. Reaching for a bottle and an empty glass, he fills it quickly and takes a long drink, gritting his teeth softly and commenting to a nearby guest, who had been watching"I like red-heads better anyway."

Barking a laugh, Dayne sets to drinking his brandy. His purple gaze sweeping the length of the hall, occasionally stopping to rest upon one diplomat or another Noble.

Rachel smiled at him. "Prince Dayne of Pantera, if I'm not mistaken."

((She's a redhead... though she can kill him with one hand behind her back if necessary. Roanians know exactly how to deal with nuisances))

Feeling her gaze, Dayne's eyes are pulled to Anavrin. Sipping occasionally at his brandy, he carefully looks her over. Stunning... He thought, but he did not like the look of her. A srange wench, that one...

The look on the woman's face seemed almost serene, but her eyes were troubled. Dayne knew well the haunted look there. He had seen it a thousand times on the faces of men who had seen too many horrors, and heard too many screams.

Sighing, the Evenstar gives a slight shake of his head, causing his wrist-thick twin braids to swing gently. Bah, Dayne. Letting a saucy wench's eyes get to you, and baring your teeth at a cowards insecurities. Let the coward have his slut and the woman have her tortures...

But he could not shake the growing feeling of unease.

Never mind.

OOC: That remains to be seen. I'm sure she would enjoy a nice long stay in Dreadfire's Halls, if so. :)

IC:

Arching a slim brow, Dayne clicks his tongue softly before nodding and saying,"Indeed I am, Miss. I would offer a hand but a thousand years of Raiding have put the Wind and Water of the Seas in my blood. I would not want to... hurt you..."

Snickering softly, Dayne takes a slow swallow from his glass before continuing,"You seem to have me at a disadvantage. It seems my reputation precedes me. Yours however, does not.

Rachel smiled and curtseyed. "I am Princess Rachel Amyn Black, of the Most Holy Principality of Roania." She looks him up and down. "And I get the distinct feeling you are mocking me."

*It took everything Anavrin had to try and pull her eyes away from Dayne... he was looking right back at her toug, and she held her gaze for a little longer. What did he sense about her? Did he know her, or of her? Focusing slightly she scanned his aura.... he was uneasy... slowly her eyes moved away, glancing around the room again.*

*Part of her wished desperately for something to drink... but nothing that was being served would sedate her. A servant passed by and she reluctantly took a glass of wine. She couldn't drink it, but she carefully placed the rim of the glass to her full deep red lips.... pretending. Normaly she was extreamly good at pretending, but her heart just wasn't in it... The more observant person -might- notice she was mearly wetting her lips slightly, and not actualy drinking*

Chuckling softly and tugging at one of his gauntlets, Dayne traces a finger across the burnished steel, and the gliphs emblazoned in silver. His shrug is helpless as he eyes Rachel speculatively,"My apologies if I seem so. I speak for the Great Game, as well. Daes Dae'Mar? The Game of Houses? So long have I bandied words with fools of the silver tongue, it seems my own shows a sterling glint, no?"

Hair of flame... The Evenstar's stretch was almost lazy as he continued to eye the woman thoughtfully, the muscles of his forearms bulging against the silk-covered chainmail sleeves covering his arms,Not so stunning as Richenda, but pleasant to the eyes all the same.

"Princess is it? I wonder, my Lady, is that title as hollow to your own ears as it is to mine? I myself am 'Prince' and 'Lord' of more things than I can count, but I place no value upon any title but my soul-name of 'Evenstar'."

"It's not a hollow title in Roania. The Prince, my brother, is the ruler of the country." She shrugged. "Of course, to me it is since it's without power and I only exist to be sent to other nations to create alliances or such." She smiled wanly at him.

"Daes Dae'mar seems to be a curse in this world." Rachel said ruefully. "You are either on one side or the other, no room for maneuvering unless you are incredibly fast."

Dhawan clucked his teeth, sensing that he had been dismissed for other prey. Just as well. His black eyes raked up and down the table, searching out other - hopefully more enlightened - conversation material. Seeing none readily available, he turned his attention instead to the plate of food in front of him.

The food was certainly good, if not quite spicy enough for his tastes. Of course, the saying in the Commonwealth was that a Gallagan could never find any food quite spicy enough, or else the world would end. He snorted; back at home, and even in Nusheld, there had been spices aplenty, most of them hot enough to cultivate his tastes. As the Prime Minister chewed, he thought of home. Maybe someday, he would travel back to the Mouths. For now, however, the Commonwealth needed him, certainly more than his father's indentured state ever would.

That thought brought him back down to the dinner table. Hiresh looked up and down the table again, his eyes lingering on the more noticeable personalities - of course, in a hall filled with what seemed to be the most physically fit and toughest specimens their home country could produce, he wondered if he was the only unnoticeable one in the crowd.

Dayne's laugh is rich as he waves a steel-clad hand disdainfully,"Only if you play thier game, Princess. Why choose one side, or the other when there are always a hundred more to explore? That is the beauty of the Game. It is much like a woman, if you'll permit me an obscenity. You must be slick of tongue and sure of hand to conquer a woman, much like the Game. To conquer you must make the Game, and the woman, your own."

The dancing torchlight glinting about the whites of his purple eyes, the Evenstar arches a brow and raises his eyes to meet those of Anavrin. The woman's gaze was piercing, and it irritated him slightly. She could fancy a roll in one of Damien's chambers, but he doubts that, for some reason. Two bloody wenches, and each stares at me like I'm death walking. One with a honeyed tongue and another one with an icy gaze. Not the wenches I would have chosen, surely...

Rachel laughed with him. "I'll take your word on that, Dayne. But in my experience, men are simpler to catch and please than you seem to think we are." She looked him up and down. "Of course, thats in the south. A northerner probably is much more... complicated."

Laughing amiably, though he was still troubled by the strange one's gaze, Dayne nods to Rachel, saying suckly,"Aye, you say it is simpler than I think, but is it you who is caught and pleased, or him?

Pausing dramatically, he raises a hand to caress the thick plait of his golden beard deliberately,"That, my dear is the difference between Northern, or at least Panteran ideas of Courtly Love, and the farce you Southron people's make of the Dance. "

"Why don't you try it?" Rachel said slyly. "I'm sure you'll fine that I'm not as simple as your northern lasses. Of course, our nations are united in common cause in Automagfreek, are we not?" Rachel grinned. He's going to lie. Of course he's going to lie. AMF and Pantera are too close for him to admit why he's here.

*Anavrin listened quietly still and tilted her head just slightly, barely noticeable. Slowly she set her drink down, and ran her fingers over the lip of the glass. It made a small sound under her fingertips. She was doing her best on to stare at people, but she also wasn't used to being around humans much these days.... sometimes what she thought was just a glance, was an extended look over of someone. She didn't mean it to happen. Her work normaly kept her on her island, away from these types. making an effort to look at her glass, she kept her ears sharp instead. Her free hand moved ever so slowly to push back that unruly piece of hair behind her ear again.*

Clicking his tongue once more, Dayne shakes his head appreciatively,"No no no, Princess, we were doing so well at the Game. Dueling with our words and placing meanings within meanings... Tsk..."

Taking his slow and deliberate time, Dayne refills his glass and takes a long pull from the bottle before recorking it and sighing,"A Fine selection Dreadfire has offered us tonight, no?"

Tilting his head and eyeing the curve of her neck, Dayne nods his appreciation,"A lesson in the Game then, Princess? Though a beautiful, and... quite stunning woman, you hold yourself aloof. Any but the most dense man could sense you only play out this farce so long as it suits you..."

Leaning closer, Dayne lowers his voice slightly and continues,"As to your question, I'm sure you know well of the ties between Reaver and Sentinel. There is no need to bandy about what we both know to be common knowledge. Even now, others watch you and I, drawing conclusions. Likely wrong, and ridiculous..." Dayne sighs regretfully, but offers a wink to show he jests,"Be that as it may, they watch. Soon many will return and tell all of the flame of lust burning between the Princess of Roania and the Reaver Prince."

Raising his glass, his eyes shoot momentarily to a group of whispering diplomats who quickly avert their vieled gazes. "Now you see the game we play clearer, my dear Princess? All watch, but none are what they appear, so watching will do you little good. You must see."

"Hold myself aloof?" Rachel's eyes sparkled. "Sir, I am afraid you read me too deeply! I just asked your business here, and you think I play a game?"

She looks at the diplomats. "Let them talk. Such are the fools of this world. Half of them would claim Morgoth and Sirithril were pillow-friends if they thought it would suit them." She looked around to see who had overheard. "As it is, should word reach my brother he will probably laugh and arrest the diplomat responsible for that."

"A game, you call it? A farce? How do you not know that that is the farce? That I am not pretending to be entranced with you to hide the fact I am truly entranced with you? And how would you know that is not an act?" Rachel looked at him deeply. "That is the game. A game of hearts and souls, of bodies and minds."

*Anavrin was doing a decent job of not responding to the words she heard by anyone. Carefully,looking as if she might break it if she wasn't careful, she lifted her glass to her lips again. Strange conversations.... Her eyes finaly flickered up again and she glanced from the Roanian Princess to Dayne, then away again. She knew Dayne had be noticing her watching him. Best not start a scene if possible.*

"A game, you call it? A farce? How do you not know that that is the farce? That I am not pretending to be entranced with you to hide the fact I am truly entranced with you? And how would you know that is not an act?" Rachel looked at him deeply. "That is the game. A game of hearts and souls, of bodies and minds."

"Well said, my dear Princess. Well said. But I hold myself to be a somewhat good judge of character, and I do not think I have judged you too far off the mark. Whatever my judgements may be...."

Raising his voice to carry over the table,"Aye, and I'll lay odds that the old Lord Of Darkness leaves big Handprints of doom on her high-an' mighty little elven ass, eh?

A few alarmed glances reward the Evenstar, as well as a few roaring laughs. The mood about them seems to relax somewhat, and Dayne nods to Rachel once more,"And now I haev changed the nature of the game. I have shown myself to be the drunken, barbarous idiot most of them believe me to be. I cultivate this image, you see. While some deserve better, others would not believe the truth if it was shown them.

Now these dogs will run back to thier masters, spreading tales of the Barbarian, drunken and uncouth. Yelling insults to the Dark Lord and the Lady Siri alike.... But, what will they say of your own involvement here? Our secretive whispering here seems to make us cohorts, does it not?"

Dayne inclines his head slightly to another section of the table. Here another group sits, trying to avoid obviously staring, but most failing miserably. "Always, they watch my Lady. Always..."

"Indeed. But I'm afraid that I know that you Panterans are more civilised than you like to admit." She raised her voice. "Sirithril is too good for Morgoth! You must admit, he seems to be more akin to Nathanica then to her." She lowered her voice again. The nearest diplomats stared at her, as if trying to work out her meaning.

"Watch them, trying to figure out who I insulted and why we are discussing this. Waterlivers, the lot of them." She stopped and looked at Dayne. "Of course, no offense to you meant, Lord Dayne."

His smile was admiring as he whispered,"Well played, my dear..."

Pushing one of his thick braids back over his shoulder, he waves a hand contemtuously,"Nonsense.... Waterlivers. Heh, not a fitting name for the Reavers, though. Wind-Riders, would be more apt. War Hounds and Warrior Poets. There is no shame to come from the Sea. Truly, you have not lived without the spray of salt upon your lips as the prow of your ships slices through the crimson waters of the Blood Bay. For a thousand years and more my ancestors did Drag the Waters, and I still take pleasure from it today. It is my being, and my very essence.

"On the other hand, I would hold in contempt those who sit high above, away from the reach of my hands and throw balls of flame down to the earth, too craven to come to land and fight the fight. Cowards wage war as such, not men. There are no storms to test the resolve of these 'spacemen'. Without my days upon the Sea to have strengthened me, I would not be the man I am today. Those who lurk in the artificial safety of space cannot claim the same."

OOC: I'm going to have to follow Freek and head to my blankets. As much fun as I've had bantering with you Roania, and EK, I've smoke way too much pot, and I'm about to fall over into my computer. We can continue this tomorrow, or feel free to take your leave of Dayne and mingle. :) G'night all...

((OOC: damn! at least i'm not the only high one tonight hehe. g'night Pantera))

Icarus Traiden eyed Dayne shrewdly.

"Quite the charmer... reminds me of myself when I was young rip."

The Emperor scanned the rest of the room as he poured himself a glass of water. All the spirits were getting to the Eurydian... who was used to more delicate tastes.

He made himself a second plate, this one covered in meats of all varities: mostly goat and water fowl (white meat.) Icarus sat down in a chair... and began to eat. He bit into the tender, life giving meats on his plate, and nodded in approval.

"They sure know how to cook their meat. This is... very very good."

He continued to eat at an incredible pace, almost forgetting his manners altogether.

*Anavrin moved in her seat slightly, shifting her wieght. There were so many people here... so many mortals too. She wondered what exactly was going on. Maybe she should leave. Her cold fingers played with the stem of her wine glass and she thought about things in silence. She'd missed the opening announcements, so really she didn't even know why the party was even happening. Something had called her here subconciously though, and it nagged at the back of her mind like an annoying phrase stuck on the tip of her tounge. Normaly she didn't frequent parties like this, but at least she was dressed for the occasion. why why why... so many questions, and not a single answer yet*

mosc hears his masters call

Reborn Master:Mosc, it is time, we must leave earth now, i feel it in the ground, the air, and inside my soul, the Forces of Darkness are riseing once again


Mosc:I will return immeadiatly and board the shuttle

the Telepatic call ceases


Mosc:Excuse me but it's time for me to leave, goodbye


mosc leaves the building and get's into the limo and leaves for Trasa's spaceport

His smile was admiring as he whispered,"Well played, my dear..."

Pushing one of his thick braids back over his shoulder, he waves a hand contemtuously,"Nonsense.... Waterlivers. Heh, not a fitting name for the Reavers, though. Wind-Riders, would be more apt. War Hounds and Warrior Poets. There is no shame to come from the Sea. Truly, you have not lived without the spray of salt upon your lips as the prow of your ships slices through the crimson waters of the Blood Bay. For a thousand years and more my ancestors did Drag the Waters, and I still take pleasure from it today. It is my being, and my very essence.

"On the other hand, I would hold in contempt those who sit high above, away from the reach of my hands and throw balls of flame down to the earth, too craven to come to land and fight the fight. Cowards wage war as such, not men. There are no storms to test the resolve of these 'spacemen'. Without my days upon the Sea to have strengthened me, I would not be the man I am today. Those who lurk in the artificial safety of space cannot claim the same."

"A doubter?" Rachel raised an eyebrow. "I assure you, Dayne, the deserts and mountains of my homeland offer more oppurtunities for painful death then the worst sea. Where else are there monsters that require a machine gun to kill?"

Snickering and waving a hand,"Bah, then you have never seen a great kraken reach from the depths and swallow a modern battlecruiser like it was a morsel, or a gale scream out of the north and rip the masts from your deck and watch as they are swept into the sky as if they weighed nothing. You've never see the Reavers sweep across the rail of an enemy ship and plunder, nor the Great Maelstrom who's raging depths as of this moment, even the most advanced ships have not been able to penetrate. In a desert or perched on a mountaintop you may wait and pray for rescue. Three days aboardship, there is noone to depend on but yourself. The Waves offer no solace, my dear. No mercy."

Enjoying himself immensely, Dayne eyes his compainon thoughtfully, reaching to his brandy but thinking better of it. Careful, Evenstar. Soused is no way to play the game, especially with one such as this...

Richard DeBerganac was interested in the Reaver, Dayne the Evenstar's conversation. He was getting quite riled up which only piqued his interest more, but as a Templar, especially as Captain of the Guard, he could not leave Edmund's side. Though he longed to finally speak with a Brother Reaver.


"Richard, I think your shift is over, tell Daniel to cover for you." smiled Edmund at his friend knowingly.

"Thank you, Edmund." whispered Richard. And he took off grabbing a bottle of wine, and he walked toward one of Dayne's Reaver companions.

"HO! Brother Reaver! I would speak with you, Good Sir!" said Richard both firmly and friendly.

*Anavrin's eyes flickered to Richard as he spoke up and walked over to Dayne. Honestly she could care less about the conversation, but really it was the only one around here currently worth paying any attention to. Her seemingly delicate hands lifted her glass slowly and put it to her lips for a moment. Once again she didn't drink, only let the liquid wet her lips that seemed almost porcelain-like. Setting the glass down again she made a soft sound that almost seemed like a sigh*

Snickering and waving a hand,"Bah, then you have never seen a great kraken reach from the depths and swallow a modern battlecruiser like it was a morsel, or a gale scream out of the north and rip the masts from your deck and watch as they are swept into the sky as if they weighed nothing. You've never see the Reavers sweep across the rail of an enemy ship and plunder, nor the Great Maelstrom who's raging depths as of this moment, even the most advanced ships have not been able to penetrate. In a desert or perched on a mountaintop you may wait and pray for rescue. Three days aboardship, there is noone to depend on but yourself. The Waves offer no solace, my dear. No mercy."

Enjoying himself immensely, Dayne eyes his compainon thoughtfully, reaching to his brandy but thinking better of it. Careful, Evenstar. Soused is no way to play the game, especially with one such as this...

"Then you've never seen a Dire Wolf devour a tank while shotguns and plazma blasts ricochet off it. Or a thunderbird lay waste to an entire squadron." Rachel bowed. "I would like to speak to you further, but I have urgent business with our host."