NationStates Jolt Archive

...
On behalf of the government, we would like to assure Iansisle that we have no warlike intensions towards the CACE. If a conflict starts it will be wholly their doing. Given our pacifistic outlook we simply want to assure our security. To this end, we are willing to ally ourselves with anyone if it brings our people closer to peace. We unilaterally proclaim that we will respect Iansisle neutrality at all time. However on a more positive note, our government feels our nations have much in common, and we would like to hold bilateral talks in the spirit of friendship if this is acceptable.

- End of statement -

It was raining on the Southern Shield - hardly a infrequent occurance - as Hiresh Dhawan assembled his chief cabinet ministers for a meeting. The Gallagan Prime Minister folded his glasses as the meeting started, and quickly broke down into various arguments. Dhawan had a commanding personality and a quiet air of confidence, though perhaps it was not as impressive in front of a small group as on the floor of parliament’s massive single house.

“Enough,” he said at last, holding up his hands. “This is a government, not some jabbering hen house. I’ll thank each of you to hold your peace until such time as I wish to hear your opinion.” As silence crept into the room at last, Dhawan smiled. “Thank you; that’s much better. Now, Lord MacIntyre, if we may have the latest report?”

“Of course, sir,” said the vastly subdued and physically tiny Minister of Foreign Affairs. He continued to read the entire transcript of the Knootossian speech. “Frankly, sir, I’m worried. If we accept their offer, we may be seen as trying to play both sides of the field, and find ourselves alienated from everyone.”

“Frankly, sir,” cut in Dr. Blayer, Minister of Finance, “We have more in common with the anti-CACE coalition that we do with CACE itself. Besides, even if this does turn out to be a trick, we have the New Highlands to fall back upon.”

“I’m sure our stalwart friends in Celeborne and Agrigento would be most unpleased to hear themselves referred to as a ‘backup plan,’” replied Dhawan to Blayer in a cold voice. “Indeed, after all the New Highlands has done for Iansisle, I am insulted to hear you speak of them so.”

“Er, of course Prime Minister,” replied Dr. Blayer, lowering his eyes slightly.

“However, you are right: it would appear that we are between a rock and a hard place. Knootoss is our ideological ally, even if diplomacy has forced us into an opposite camp. Likewise, I do not wish to offend our friends in the anti-capitalist block.” He paused for a moment to think, then nodded to MacIntyre as a slow smile crept across his face. “Minister, have your department prepare a return message at once. Be polite, and invite a delegation to Ianapalis for negotiations at once. Be sure you tell him, however, that they will be heading an international delegation, as we’re inviting both sides to a conference; one that will hopefully reduce tensions in this ‘cold war’ they seem to be having. Send that out to key CACE and CACE allied states as well, won’t you?”

“Perhaps, sir, you aren’t quite sure what sort of forces you’re dealing with,” said Minister of Space Ernie Bankfield. The entire hall fell silent - it wasn’t too often they heard an opinion from the stocky, thick-glasses wearing former engineer and current head of the Royal Space Exploration Corps. He stood cautiously, a little uncomfortable now that all eyes were on him. “Sir, you’re expecting both sides to be willing to sit down for a reasonable, even-handed debate. From experience, I know that’s the absolute last thing we’ll get. Mr. Dhawan, this whole thing is spiraling out of control towards one, and only one, possible destination. Frankly, sir, we’d do well to wash our hands of the whole mess.”

Dhawan wasn’t used to having his opinions challenged thusly by his own cabinet, and certainly not by the quietest member of it, who seemed to spend more time at the launching pad in Copplestone than at Jameston Place. It took him just a few seconds to organize his thoughts, while the other ministers continued to glance from Dhawan to Bankfield and back again. At last, Dhawan stood to face the rotund little man. “Minister Bankfield, I understand what you mean. However, I remember, not so very long ago, when Irving Graye -” Bankfield’s mouth twitched slightly at the corner “-was trying to pervert wonderful invention; to turn it into a weapon of war, you were the only person bold enough to challenge him. Look where your principles have gotten you now.” He waved slightly about the room. “From an unknown professor at U.G.L.R.W. to the halls of parliament; from an obscure tinkerer to the inventor of the Gurney-III rocket booster and unmanned orbiter. All I ask is that you now stick to those principles: help me help the world, Ernie. If we don’t, perhaps no one will.” It was naïve, certainly, but no person had ever accused the Commonwealth of being a cynical orginization, and Bankfield smiled faintly.

“Well...I suppose it certainly can’t hurt anything, but if you’re expecting to be hailed as a hero, sir, you may wish to lower your expectations.”

“I’ll keep them rock low, Ernie. Now, John, I want you to send out those messages at once. And, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I have a meeting Sir Penton Dubois. Good day.”

OOC: @Iansisle. I saw your nation description and I am surprised by the amazing similarities between both our nations, Ian, I feel we may have much common ground here. Also by way of neutrality and a habit to write extraordinarily long posts. ;) We are also wary of conflict but the CACE and Knootoss just have a lot of… history. They are the only reason why we aren’t members of the whole fair trade thing for example.)

(ooc: I wouldn't be surprised if we do, actually. Iansisle siding with communists is actually somewhat of an unholy alliance, considering we may have the single worst workers' rights record among any democracy in NationStates. Of course, once information with liberal ideals becomes available in the Commonwealth - namely as we advance into the industrial age- I intend to have a revolution of sorts. I haven't quite decided if it will be a democratic style takeover of parliament, with the old organs remaining at the heart of a new body, or a French revolution type affair. I love my mess of a political system, so to kill it off would be a shame, but I really want to behead noblemen :))

Preceded by events in this thread:
CACE containment alliance signed (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=101062&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0)

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Het Binnenhof, The Hague, Knootoss
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http://www.amb-pays-bas.fr/images/bz/binnenhof.gif

It froze lightly in the Dutch Democratic Republic. Not enough to be genuinely annoying but enough to cause a tingling sensation in the ears and fingers of the men and women scurrying around the Binnenhof, centre of Knootian democracy. It was afternoon, and the autumn sun was descending upon the land, setting the sky ablaze and dipping the entire nation in a golden haze.

There weren't a lot of people. The debates on agricultural policy and tarriff alignment were mostly a long drag. Nothing in particular seemed to disturb the Knootians at that moment in time. The NS world was at peace, and peace was good for business. Though fleets moved in lands far away, and millions were up in arms over the Empire of the Eternal Dawn the Knootians rested, assured that no harm would come to them.

A small group of Shadow War veterans was outside in the cold, protesting against a possible reconciliation with Thelas. The old enemy from that war turned friend. For that generation it was not understandable. And though they got many looks of sympathy history trampled on, discarding their human achievement and suffering.

Inside parliament the meeting had already been going on for hours. The decision to give development aid to n00bia had already been taken before the debate had even begun, rendering all protests about alleged human rights violations and nuclear weapons programs moot. Some things in the debate had gone unspoken. Rumours had it that there were mythrill deposits in the mountains of n00bia, whispers that had triggered the interest of the Elvish state-secretary of Foreign Affairs.

Galadriël Táralóm nos Cirdan took a sip from the glass of water standing on her catheter and absent-mindedly listened to the chairman of parliament who read aloud the next point on the agenda. Issue 14582-FA ‘A question for the state-secretary by KGP MoP F. Halsema regarding the invitation to negotiations by The Grand Empire and Dominions of Iansisle.’

“Will that environmentalist ever stop haunting me”, she pondered.

“Chairman, colleagues,” she began, “It has come to my attention that we have been invited to Ianapalis for negotiations, hosted by Iansisle. These talks are meant to decrease tensions with the CACE. Now, I would think that this government would take any opportunity for peace, but it appears that the state-secretary has declined this offer.” The indignation was very clear at this point. “Frankly this is an outrage. Does this government want to provoke even more?” She stretched her arm into the air in a wide gesture… “My question to the state-secretary is if she is willing to attend this potential conference herself or at least send a high-ranking delegation. In the interest of peace.”

“The state secretary”, the chairman said as Galadriël was quickly taking a last sip of her water.

“Mr. Chairman, esteemed members of this house. I have politely declined the request from the Iansisle government because there is not going to be any conference. The Coalition of Anticapitalist Economies has a strict policy of not engaging in contact with us. This means that they have cut contact strictly to insulting us publicly, sending me long letters with complaints, and condemning us before the United Nations General Assembly.”

Some laughter came from the conservative corner of parliament.

“Frankly, It is the governments view that the CACE will never attend this proposed conference and it is a waste of time. However we are willing to engage in bilateral…”

“Mr chairman”, Halsema interrupted, “this is the kind of attitude we don’t need. I had expected more of this government. At least we should try to make things better. Perhaps make a few concessions…”

A liberal MP from the SLP (OOC: biggest party) charged with Foreign Affairs dashed over to the microphone and commented shortly: they will never attend. We support the government and the state-secretaries decision.”

It appeared as if the debate was finished, with the major coalition partner supporting the government. But then Frits Bolkestein stepped forward, the former ambassador to the Ur Trade Pact turned leader of the conservative party gave a quick look to the leftist corner of parliament.

“Actually, I support Mrs. Halsema’s notion. It appears that we have many shared values with Iansisle. This basic understanding should be capitalised into as good relations. I don’t believe for a second that any kind of understanding with the commies could come from this. They are far too stubborn and self-righteous for that. But what we do have here is an opportunity to make new friends, perhaps even engage in trade relations. I’m sure that the SeOCC government and the CACE will bombard them with propaganda telegrams about us, but it is an attempt worth making. Whatever they may say, we are still an honourable people.”

Faced with a clear majority, the state-secretary conceded. And so, by the strange combination of leftist and rightist groups the decision was made. Motivated by naïve green hope and conservative acquisitiveness, the DDR would go to Iansisle.

*sends appropriate messages*

(OOC: whee… beheading noblemen. I did both actually, I beheaded my noblemen a long time ago and declared the democratic republic… well actually there was the Knootian Federation first. I also had this period with people shouting “Heil Knootoss!”. Mighty fun. You could still be a democracy really… make it a revolution that shakes things up but ultimately restores the old system. The Netherlands had an utterly failed revolution attempt around 1918, shook things up and made the government take measures. If you need help getting into the next age there are always foreign investors ;) I can adapt tech for the RP if needed. As for the whole allying with conservatives: it’s also a bit of an unholy alliance from my perspective.)

(ooc: Oh, dear. I just noticed I wrote 'Industrial Age' rather than the 'Information Age' I meant in that ooc bit at the end...oops.

In other (perhaps more relevant) news, this is really a glorified tag, as I have to run off for class right now :). Ah well, maybe I can turn it into an actual post when I get back.)

OOC: I was just about to TG you but you already found it :)
*awaits post*

(egads! The dread double post!)

#1 Jameston Place
Ianapalis, Iansisle, the Commonwealth

The floor of the Commonwealth Combined Parliament was an arena where few men dared venture. Hiresh Dhawan, braver than most, and his cabinet sat at the front, the seven ministers flying in the face of the remaining 1,993 MPs. Or at least there should have been 1,993 others: as usual, attendance was poor, especially among the moderate Ruling Coalition. Dhawan glanced sharply up at Sir Hupert L. Pith-Mycroft, the Commonwealth Party’s whip, who was forced to return a sad shrug.

Last year’s general elections had been a major blow to His Majesty’s Government in most ways. On one hand, it had gotten that incompetent Edward Tarriff and his Free Trade Party - now the second largest power in the Ruling Coalition, to Dhawan and his Commonwealth Party - out of power. On the other, the coalition had lost 314 seats and the majority, one of the biggest single-election slides in Iansisle’s history. Free Trade had lost 151 seats; Unity 37; and Prosperity had lost 70 of its 107 seats - a full 65%!

Towards the upper row of MPs, his failing eyes hardly able to make out Dhawan’s form at the front, sat Edward Tarriff, leader of the Free Trade Party. Behind his comically bushy mustache, the thing to which Tarriff attributed his political success because of the recognizability it gave him, was a mind of astonishing contrasts. It wasn’t quite sure what to do with power once it was under his command, but as the six lurching years while he was Prime Minister proved, it certainly knew how to get what it wanted. And what it wanted right now was to again hold the reigns of power in Jameston Place.

After the last general election, members of the Free Trade leadership had begged him to retire gently; to go back to his estate and work on the memoirs. They hadn’t, however, the heart to demand it from the man who had for six years guided their party through turbulent waters, always one step ahead of the competition. Dhawan, upon Commonwealth’s victory, had appointed Tarriff for his Minister of Commonwealth Relations, but that didn’t last long. The invasion of Gallaga meant a strong arm was needed to reign in the Dominions and commit them to the Empire’s war.

Gallaga. Hmph, thought Tarriff to himself, his eyes still boring into the fuzzy outline of the Prime Minister. When Dhawan had taken over the Commonwealth Party, many had predicted doom: after all, how could a mere Gallagan be expected to handle the complexities and subtle back-room politics of the Iansislean Parliament? But Dhawan had out-sneaked the sneakiest Iansisle had to offer, and now sat in a privileged seat not deserved by any of his race, at least in Tarriff’s opinion. It was one that was quickly spreading, much to Parliament's more conservitive members’ pleasure. In a recent IanCorp poll, twenty-six per cent of the respondents said they “didn’t trust Dhawan’s leadership.” Another twenty per cent believed he was “unfit for the office,” and only thirty two per cent said they were happy with the job he was doing.

After Tarriff was removed as MoCR, he had been approached by the Earl of Dirwisham, the de jure leader of the Conservation* Party and the de facto leader of the Conservative Coalition. The C.C. had been the best out of the last General Elections, more than doubling their vote total. They were still well short of a plurality, but Dirwisham had an interesting idea: he wanted Free Trade to break with Dhawan and join him. That would give the C.C. 811 votes to the R.C.’s 570 and the Liberal Coalition’s 618 -- and Free Trade would make up the ruling coalition’s plurality, giving the Prime Ministership back to Tarriff. Of course, Dirwisham warned him, he’d still be answerable to the Conservationists and the other parties of the C. C.’s concerns, or else Free Trade may find itself alone and friendless in the vast parliament.

Tarriff had of course agreed at once, but before he could put the issue before the party’s membership the issue of Knootoss had come up, and both he and Lord Dirwisham had seen an opening. If Parliament overruled the council’s decision to host a conference, an automatic vote of no confidence in Dhawan’s cabinet would be forced. A 50% +1 majority would be needed to push the whole affair over to a General Election, but Tarriff had already taken a quick census of his party’s key members: Free Trade would support both a motion to reject the conference and to call general elections. Combined with the C.C.’s 396 votes, they would only need about 200 extra votes oust Dhawan. When the Liberal Coalition’s likely decision to support general elections was taken into consideration - after all, they were on the wax while the Ruling Coalition waned - the whole affair seemed dreadfully easy. In one easy stroke, they would stab Commonwealth in the back, allow Tarriff would return as Prime Minister, and present Iansisle a completely new government for the first time in almost eight years.

Now Dhawan stood at the front of the room to present the Council’s reasons for wanting the conference. Tarriff allowed a small smile to creep across his face. A few more hours of debate would follow, but he hadn’t built his career around being impatient.

(* nothing at all to do with conservation in the environmental sense (though Iansisle does have a moderately powerful Green Party), but rather in the conservation of tradition sense. In fact, the Conservation Party of Iansisle is one of the least ecologically friendly parties in the world :))

OOC:
Sweet. Thou truly areth master of backstabbyness. :wink:
But, I presume there is going to be another post soon(ish)? Having no conference or meetng because of Iansisle domestic politics would be a bit of a mute for the RP. Or we could just get together for some diplomacy, trading etc.

Anyways, I can't do much but wait.

(heh, sorry. I noticed just as soon as I posted that that it didn't really go anywhere. However, though the Conference is getting shot down, the C.C. is quite in favor of opening relations with Knootoss and other such likeminded states. I've actually been planning this coup for a while; sorry to spring it in our first RP.

I'm actually going to be running around a lot today, so I'll have to beg your forgiveness if I don't manage to get another post up soon. However, you can believe that the new government (which isn't quite a new government yet) will put pressure on the High King to invite your representitives while the elections are going on.

Right: I'm off for a bit. Again, sorry about all the complications!)

It wasn’t that Dhawan didn’t know how they had done it; he just wasn’t sure why they had done it. The Conservative Coalition was one of the best known supporters of the Knootoss treaty, and yet they had voted almost to a man to cancel the conference! Most disturbing of all was the fact that, while Commonwealth, Unity, and Prosperity had stood firm behind their leader, only about half of Free Trade had stood by the Party line. And really, those two-hundred odd votes had cost the bill its life, as the Liberals certainly didn’t want to forge closer relations with the declared enemy of the CACE. Nearly all of them voted against the resolution.

His first thought was that Tarriff may be attempting to lead Free Trade away from Commonwealth, but Tarriff’s vote hadn’t been among the dissenters, and he had personally come up to Dhawan to promise to get his party in line. Nothing made any sense: Free Trade was the most conservative of the moderates; certainly they wanted to meet with Knootoss?

Whatever the cause, now the Commonwealth Party’s leader had to suffer through a vote of no confidence. And if it went through, Iansisle would have its third general election in a little over two years, after having only one in the previous five.

----

Meanwhile, across the stormy waters of Troobodia Bay, at the mouth of Ianapalis’ harbor, His Imperial Majesty High King James III glanced from a sheet of paper to the two men standing across from him.

“You want me to sign this?” the young monarch asked at last, still quite unable to believe what was happening.

“Yes, your majesty. I’m sure the entire country would be much obliged,” said the first, his father’s old friend Grand Admiral Sir Richard Tri. The First Sea Lord was in full dress uniform, looking positively resplendent next to the less ostentatiously dressed civilian next to him

“Didn’t parliament just vote not to meet the Knootoss delegation, Richard?”

“Well, yes, your majesty, they did; however, Mr. Tarriff here assures me that opening negotiations with like-minded nations will convince certain MPs that the government is right in this circumstance. As High King, of course, you have every right to host a foreign party in your own personal ...”

“Thank you, Richard, I’m well aware of my own right,” replied James icily. “And I wish to remind you - both of you - that the crown has no intention of being caught up in some sort of parliamentary piss fight.”

“I’m sure I hardly have to remind you how much Dhawan has cut into the traditional rights of the High Kingship?” asked Tarriff quietly. He wasn’t fond of James; in fact, he was downright jealous of the attention and affection that the public showered upon their monarch. However, certain ... consideration now required him to solicit the High King’s help. “Besides, piss-fight or not, Knootoss is just the sort of ally we want to be making. Please, your majesty.”

“Well...making external friendships has been the basis of my reign,” said James, fingering the paper gently. At last, he picked up a nearby Walmingtonish fountain pen and scribbled his name at the bottom.

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-9/390074/dunadien.jpg

Galadriël Táralóm nos Cirdan,

I trust that this letter finds you in better spirits than I. A group of short-sighted, inward looking reactionaries within my government has chosen to cancel the proposed conference to be held in Ianapalis. I cannot express on this paltry medium how much pain that gives me, as I have long recognized the need for Iansisle to look beyond its own boundaries to the wider world; an opinion hardly shared by those who rule in my name, apparently.

Now, I find my own power to step in the way of those regressives eroded by time and negligence; I can only hope that the results of the next general election bring a more reasonable group of politicians to the forefront at Jameston. In the meantime, however, I do have the authority to host a delegation from Knootoss at my own residence, Dûn Ádien. I pray that you and your government will not be so insulted by the foolish actions of certain individuals who only claim to represent me that you chose not to accept.

In faith,

His Imperial Majesty James III of the House of Callahan
Protector of the Grand Empire and Its Dominions

(ooc: hope you don't mind me intruding with an extended tag)

A statement issued by the Tanah Burung collective presidency:

Prime Minister Dhawan's initiative for a conference to reduce tensions between squabbling ideological blocs is an excellent notion. We do hope that such a conference would remove the need for "containment pacts" and the like, and lead to a world without military alliances. As always, the Prime Minister shows his statesmanship.

Violeta Bi Bere
People's representative for foreign affairs & human rights

(ooc: hope you don't mind me intruding with an extended tag)

(Hmm...I dunno: Tanah Burung? I may just have to mind a little ;). Seriously though, if any nations wish to intrude, it's fine with me! (and yes, this has been a poorly disguised bump!))

----------------------------------------------------
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, The Hague
----------------------------------------------------

From her office window, Galadriël oversaw the highway from The Hague leading into the endless city of Knootcap. The ministry had actually been built on top of the highway to save space, and it seemed as if an endless stream of traffic flowed from beneath the ministry like a great, grey river.

The elf did not have much time to ponder, though; there was much work to do. She was anxiously awaiting the position of the secretary-general of SATO in an upcoming debate, and civil servants were again engaged in the continuing battle for her attention. Unrest was brewing in the world, and under the veil of Christmas peace she knew a bomb that was about to burst. For too long had the world been deceptively peaceful.

One of Galadriëls most trusted colleagues in the Ministry, she always called him ‘Ybe’, came in after a symbolical knock on the door.

“Ma’am?”
“Yes? What is it Ybe?” she turned around and faced her companion.
“I bear news from Iansisle. A letter.”
”Iansisle?” she looked puzzled, “But I thought they had cancelled our meeting? At least that is how I was briefed. CACE intimidation perhaps?”

The civil servant shook his head; Galadriël was becoming a bit obsessed; seeing red ghosts everywhere. “Well, ma’am, unlikely in this case. Domestic reasons are more likely, with elections going on there…” his voiced trailed. He was going off-topic and before he knew it they would be discussing history again. Elves, being eternal, always took the time for things, and he loved to swap stories. A dangerous combination for a ministry that is supposed to run like an efficient machine.

He continued: “I thought that would be the end of it, too. But then we received this letter just this morning.”

He handed the piece of paper to the state-secretary. Galadriël rubbed her fingers over it. Quality paper, she thought, any reply should be in kind. No encrypted e-mails here.

Galadriël Táralóm nos Cirdan,

I trust that this letter finds you in better spirits than I. A group of short-sighted, inward looking reactionaries within my government has chosen to cancel the proposed conference to be held in Ianapalis. I cannot express on this paltry medium how much pain that gives me, as I have long recognized the need for Iansisle to look beyond its own boundaries to the wider world; an opinion hardly shared by those who rule in my name, apparently.

Now, I find my own power to step in the way of those regressives eroded by time and negligence; I can only hope that the results of the next general election bring a more reasonable group of politicians to the forefront at Jameston. In the meantime, however, I do have the authority to host a delegation from Knootoss at my own residence, Dûn Ádien. I pray that you and your government will not be so insulted by the foolish actions of certain individuals who only claim to represent me that you chose not to accept.

In faith,

His Imperial Majesty James III of the House of Callahan
Protector of the Grand Empire and Its Dominions

“Well?”, asked Ybe expectantly.

“We go, of course. We have much to win here, and little to lose. Besides, it would be rude to refuse an Imperial Majesty”, she smiled as Ybe looked relieved. “That’s what you wanted right?”
“Oh, yes ma’am. I’ve prepared…”
“Great, then you’re coming with me to Dûn Ádien.”

Ybe began to rant about preparations… according to the regional World Factbook Entry, Iansisle lay in a string of islands off North America's west coast, the North Pacific Island Group. Special clothes would be needed to fit in, etc etc…


To His Imperial Majesty James III of the House of Callahan,

We most sincerely accept your most gracious invitation to send a delegation to your residence, Dûn Ádien. The Knootian government and people hold Your Imperial Majesty in the highest regard, and nothing would please us more then progress for both our nations.

While the cancelling the conference is regrettable, we hope that we will at least be able to proceed to make progress bilaterally. Domnestic political setbacks should not be allowed to interfere with the inevitable natural state of friendship that we believe can exist between our nations.

I personally hope that the upcoming elections will go in Your Imperial Majesty’s favour and according to Iansisle’s high standards.

Yours in friendship,

State-Secretary Galadriël Táralóm nos Cirdan
Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Dutch Democratic Republic of Knootoss
"Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis"

OOC: I suppose I can come now... but do you have airfields already? (plane) and are they small ones or can I land the Concorde?

OOC: I suppose I can come now... but do you have airfields already? (plane) and are they small ones or can I land the Concorde?

(We do indeed have airfields, most of which are large enough to take our Dasher and Bankfield aeroflyers. Because Iansisle recieves so many foreign callers from, er, more advanced nations, the primary runway at Shadoran International Aerodock (north of Ianapalis) has been extended to take most any matter of aircraft, up to 747s. I'm not sure if the Concord would require more space, however.)

------------------------------------
New York int. Airport, NYNJ
------------------------------------

Ybe and Galadriël walked over the giant international airport. Behind them stood the giant Concorde, resting from the long trip over the Atlantic. Both had changed clothes to fit the local style. Ybe was wearing a long hat and Galadriël had changed into an elegant dress. The state-secretary looked around a bit hesitant in this busy and confusing environment, but Ybe was in his element.

Contrary to what was customary, he walked in front. Straight at a bright red biplane that had been reserved for the pair of Knootians. When Galadriël saw it she couldn’t help but laugh: “You’re going to transport us in … this…

“It’s perfectly safe ma’am,” Ybe replied, “I have a pilots certificate and this plane has been mine since, well, a long time.” Galadriël checked the plane with her eyes. “So that’s what he does in weekends,” she pondered.

The civil servant handed Galadriël her pilot’s glasses. “For the wind”, he said, “As the Concorde cannot land on any runway in Iansisle we don’t really have an alternative”, he continued, making a gesture inviting her to hop in.

Minutes later they were soaring through the skies, heading for Iansisle…

http://greatlakesbiplane.freeservers.com/MelLakes100th.JPG


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Iansisle
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“Coming on for a landing!” Ybe explained as he pulled down his flight stick. The red plane skittered over the runway, and taxied for the arrival point…

(OOC: *presumes some form of arrival delegation*)

(I would just like to offer my most humble apologies...somehow, I managed to miss the official response to my letter (don't know how...) I didn't even realize that post was there.

At any rate, I'm afraid the last couple of days have included me relocating temporarily from Tucson to San Diego, and I haven't been able to get online nearly as much as I'd like. Hopefully, things will calm down soon (say later tonight) and I'll be able to give you a proper response.)

“I’m sure our stalwart friends in Celeborne and Agrigento would be most unpleased to hear themselves referred to as a ‘backup plan’..”

OOC: :lol: Yeah, even I can feel the love from here... ;) Iansisle, if you need another diplomat to tag along your merry adventure, give me a shout out. (This has been a thinly veiled *tag*)

(If that particular diplomat's name starts with 'J' and ends with 'eff Williams,' Lark, you can put money on the fact that James demanded he be included in the roster for the negotiations ;))

Radranger Station G17, Alpha Receiver
North of Port Drumdall, Gadsan, the Commonwealth

Doughnuts sure taste good, thought Senior Aerocraftman (RdT) Warren Jacks, chewing through his current one while he watched the dispassionate beam sweep out a patch of airspace. G17 was, before the current technological revolution, one of the largest and most important air search radranger outposts, serving as early warning notice for any Effitian strikes from the north east. Now, with increasing unrest in the west and the Effitian threat effectively removed, G17 was a nearly forgotten punishment post for incompetents and trouble makers in the Royal Iansislean Flying Corps.

Jacks had once dreamed of becoming a pilot in his own right, of dancing amongst the clouds in the early days of Iansislean aviation. However, serial overweightness and a seeming inability to do his own job right caused him, after eleven years in the service, to have only advanced two lousy ranks. He didn’t expect to ever become even a noncommissioned officer, and had frankly become able to live with the knowledge. After all, there were worse fates than being stuck out in G17 - the list of Steed riders lost over Gallaga were certain proof of that!

His train of thoughts were interrupted suddenly as a faint blip appeared on his screen. Jacks sighed heavily, shifting his weight to allow his feet down from the desk. He tapped on the screen, and frowned as it didn’t go away. This was so damned inconvenient!

Meanwhile, at the central node for G17, Pilot Officer Howard Humberman had set down his book to mull over the utter unfairness of his current set-up. He had entered the Troobodia Martial Academy a little over three years ago to make a difference, not sit on his rear end at some hell hole on the North Gadsanian coast! And yet, for the simple reason that his commission had been paid for by dirty industrialist money, not the clean old-wealth money that was typical of the King’s officers, he had been shuffled off to the sidelines, even though he had graduated eighty second in his class of two hundred and sixty one, with an impressive thirteenth ranking among RIFC officers.

They Flying Corps was supposed to be the pillar of enterprise and ingenuity; it was only supposed to be the reactionary Navy and Army that discriminated against new wealth officers! After all, hadn’t Timothy Bates, the son of a fisherman from Lakeriverwood, pulled himself all the way up to the rank of Air Grand Marshall, equivalent to the First Sea Lord or the Supreme General, earning himself a knighthood on the way? Why was it so much harder for Howard Humberman, the second son of a Shieldian lawyer, to survive as a King’s officer?

Humberman knew it had to be prejudiced action because one Cadet the Honorable Philip Edgiton, whose father happened to be the Baron Ridgesport, had finished two hundred and thirty second in the class and still managed to swing a position out in Port Laughlin. Humberman knew that Edgiton would only be one of dozens of junior officers at Laughlin’s massive aerobase, whereas he was the second-senior officer at G17, but at least he got action, adventure, and intrigue! All Humberman got was a nasty case of diphtheria that had almost killed him from Port Drumdall’s single, squalid pub.

He hadn’t quite finished being bitter when the interbase telephone rang. He picked it up with a barely-controlled growl. After all, it may be Flight Lieutenant Crawford, and growling at an officer two ranks and nine years his senior (Humberman attributed Crawford’s slow promotion rate to the fact that his family was also new-wealth, whereas actually Crawford was just mind-numbingly stupid) didn’t seem like the brightest of ideas. “Officer Humberman.”

It was clearly apparent to Humberman that he should have growled, as the voice that ensued was quite definitely not the lieutenant’s slight Weshieldian drawl. “This is Aerocraftman Jacks down at Receiver Alpha, sir, and I just registered a contact, bearing east-nor-east.”

“Have you checked the flight log?” asked Humberman irritably. He didn’t like Jacks; the man struck him as a lazy, fat fool.

“Yessir. First thing I did. It’s some sort of diplomatic craft, heading for Shadoran International.”

If that’s all, then why did you even call me!? thought Humberman violently. “That’s good to hear, Aerocraftman,” he said somewhat condescendingly instead. “Continue to track it, and alert the southern stations to its presence. Call me if anything important happens.” Humberman slammed down the phone violently and screamed for a couple minutes about how much he hated enlisted men in general, and Senior Aerocraftman Jacks in particular.

----

Shadoran International Aerodock
North of Ianapalis, Iansisle, the Commonwealth

The honorary guard waiting for Galadriël’s biplane to come to a complete halt weren’t the usual men from the King’s VII Rifles. For one thing, the VII had been called out to Gallaga in connection with Operation Honor Bound; for another, the army had announced it wouldn’t support the King’s obvious attempt to undermine parliament’s decision (as the King’s I Grenadiers were an army unit, but under the direct command of the High King, certain famous Dûn Ádien guards found themselves caught between service and state). Instead, ten Royal Iansislean Marines, half the company of His Iansislean Majesty’s Destroyer Chateau, snapped to attention in their dark green mess dress uniforms.

A single, extremely elderly appearing man in an expensively tailored suit stepped forward, removing his top hat and bowing just enough that it looked as if he would loose his balance and fall forward. However, he did move with extraordinary grace for one of his apparently advanced age.

“Good day, m’lady, and welcome to the Grand Iansislean Empire of the Shield. I am Ambassador First Class Quincy Johnson, acting Minister of Foreign Affairs during these elections. I have secured the King’s permission to use the Royal Carriage for the duration of your visit.” Johnson nodded briefly at an elaborate horse-drawn carriage to one side of the tarmac, built in the days before the motor-car had made its first appearance in Iansisle. Each door bore a stained-glass scene: the left one was High King James I handing down his Tablet, a loving, paternalistic expression upon his face; the right one featured High King Ian I, his great broadsword drawn and bloody, standing on the field of battle after the final Foothills War and the unification of the Empire of the Shield. Inside was the finest leather Iansisle could produce, and the entire thing was made of elaborately carved Gallagan wood.

“I hate to rush you,” continued Johnson, “but it would be best to make Dûn Ádien before it gets much colder, and the journey to Ian’s Isle will take at least good hour.”

Already, temperatures had dropped to around thirty degrees fahrenheit; not unusually cold afternoon December temperatures in the more northern parts of the world, but slightly below average for Ianapalis.

Quick question for you: is this before, during, after, or in a parallel universe to the Yule celebrations?

Quick question for you: is this before, during, after, or in a parallel universe to the Yule celebrations?

(My original plan was for the Knootoss delegation to arrive sometime soon after the Gala, but I've decided that it may perhaps be better if this is slightly before the celebrations. As a result, I'm thinking that their ambassador arrives sometime in the neighborhood of the 20th, with information that the celebrations are soon in order. As the election results are not finalized until the 23rd, that means that Dhawan is still technically Prime Minister, but...

*cuts self off mid-ramble*

Anyway, I'm working on the much belated Gala post, which should be up in a few hours. I hope.)

Galadriël straightened her back, trying her best to look as dignified as possible for the occasion. She chilled, nevertheless, because of the winter cold, and her skin turned white with her cheeks flushing up red. She got into the carriage with Ybe trailing behind, his pilot’s shawl still around his neck.

The Knootians sat down and made themselves comfortable in the leather seats.
“Comfy”, Ybe couldn’t help but comment as he patted the seat. Both Knootians were jolted backwards slightly as the carriage began to move.

Galadriël supposed that it was her cue to talk, so she smiled at Ambassador Johnson: “It’s awfully nice to meet you, minister. And it’s most gracious of you to bring us in this carriage.”

The elf admired the stained-glass scene’s in the window. “These scenes remind me a bit of a sculpture I have seen once in Lavenrunz. In fact, I see many similarities with Lavenrunzian culture in terms of… keeping with tradition. Unfortunately a lot of cultural heritage appears to be disappearing from the NS world in recent years. … And I mean not just values, things like architecture seem to become more singular too. What is your opinion, minister?

>OOC: insert answer here if you want to, I’m moving along with the next question for the purpose of speed and to make my post not too small compared to yours :P, feel free to quote :P<

“Interesting”, said Galadriël. Ybe nodded.

A short silence ensued, and Ybe jumped into the gap: “Mr. Johnson, Knootian diplomats are moving all over the world this Christmas, to many different countries. Lietuveska will soon get a diplomatic visit, and our Prime Minister has gone to the Winter Ball in Lavenrunz and to the coronation in Tarasovka, we will, if all goes according to plan, soon bring a visit Menelmacar,” he looked at Galadriël who had arranged this, “and of course our visit to your country, which is most important to us. Now, this brings with it many opportunities for peace and prosperity, but also some interesting challenges. Some of these lie, inevitably, in the cultural sphere.”

He paused to take a breath and check if the acting minister was still following him: “I must say, I have done some reading on your monarchy and it appears that the nature of their rule has been determined at least partly by their character. What puzzles me, as a diplomat, is the present. What kind of King is His Imperial Majesty James III?”

(If that particular diplomat's name starts with 'J' and ends with 'eff Williams,' Lark, you can put money on the fact that James demanded he be included in the roster for the negotiations ;))

(Then I'll fire up Superman for ya ;))

IC: Williams Estate, early morning
Outskirts of Ianapalis

Jeff was reading the letter from James again.

Hmmmm, James wants me to be there as part of the negotiation team? What am I? Some kind of diploma...

His eyes fell across the title on his door, Ambassador Jeffrey Williams....

Oh yeah... I guess I am he grinned as he stood up and walked down the hallway into his bedroom to check on his wife, Katherine, before leaving.

"You OK?" he asked her as she stirred.

"Yeah," she murmured, "What's up with you?"

"James is having a group from Knootoss at Dun Adien, he needs me to be there as part of the diplomatic team," Jeff said as he slipped into his charcoal grey suit. "And being an ambassador and all that.."

"...It is the best that you go." Katherine said as she stood up and adjusted his tie a little. "We'll be fine here, dad is here to take care of us if we need anything."

Jeff kissed her and the two of them walked over to the twins room. Jeff looked down at Marcus and Julie and kissed their heads as they slept.

He walked down to the entryway while Katherine went back to rest. Picking up his briefcase he walked out to the garage and slipped into a red Ferrari, a present from Robert Fortier, former First Husband of Imitora, and god knows where he was now.

I wonder how he's doing, it's been quite a while... Jeff thought before opening the garage doors.

The engine purred and then roared to life as he pulled the car out of the garage and past then entrance gate before peeling out and heading towards Ianapalis.

(this Post: aka... BUMP)

The carriage clopped its way slowly down the broad avenue of Empire Street. Shadoran International, in absolute terms, wasn’t all that far from Jameston Place, but the marines marching along with them, as well as the icy road conditions, limited their progress. Every now and then, a Westerton or Stockley horseless buggy would whip by outside, its driver impatiently beeping their horn even at what must be assumed to be the High King himself.

Out the small transparent sections of window, the city of Ianapalis could be observed rolling past. The rich and elite of the Commonwealth scurried to their expensive town homes, and the occasional high-capped police officer could be seen standing on a corner. The neighborhood around Empire Street usually reached its zenith in early fall, when the deciduous trees lining the way were in full color.

Galadriël supposed that it was her cue to talk, so she smiled at Ambassador Johnson: “It’s awfully nice to meet you, minister. And it’s most gracious of you to bring us in this carriage.”

The elf admired the stained-glass scene’s in the window. “These scenes remind me a bit of a sculpture I have seen once in Lavenrunz. In fact, I see many similarities with Lavenrunzian culture in terms of… keeping with tradition. Unfortunately a lot of cultural heritage appears to be disappearing from the NS world in recent years. … And I mean not just values, things like architecture seem to become more singular too. What is your opinion, minister?

“I assure you, m’lady, that it was my absolute pleasure to meet with you, and this carriage is the least we could offer to welcome a friend of the Commonwealth,” smiled Ambassador Johnson after the opening statement. He then finished lighting an old-fashioned kerosene heater while he listened to and considered Galadriël’s words. At last, the wizened old man (who must be in actuality downright young compared to the elves) sat back, clasping his hands in front of him and keeping his expression carefully neutral.

“I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure of traveling to Lavenrunz,” he admitted, “though I do hear it spoken of quite fondly by my colleagues in that part of the world. In fact, were things not quite so hectic about the Commonwealth right now, we may have even sent a representative to their ball.”

Johnson shrugged slightly, his eyes quickly darting towards the enormous Christmas tree being positioned in Unity Square, roughly halfway between the airport and Jameston Place. “There are times,” he continued in a somewhat lower tone of voice, “that I feel as if Iansisle has too much cultural heritage.” He smiled sadly at the looks on their faces. “Though it pains me to admit it, we’re hardly in our glory age anymore; those days have long since passed. While our industry and commerce remains competitive, our days as a military superpower are long since over, eroded by the wash of technology in this modern day.”

With another small shrug, Johnson continued: “I feel that this sense of inferiority has, rather than filled us with the drive to bring about the brightest possible future, simply driven us back into a past that will never become future.” Suddenly, the acting MoFA realized that he was rambling, and chuckled softly. “Excuse me, please. There are a few topics that strike a particular chord with me, and I have the tendency to rant on until an aide gives me a good slap. Now, m’lady, to answer your question, yes I feel that large parts of cultural history are being ignored in this increasingly more complicated world. However, I sometimes wonder if they don’t have the right idea..” Johnson shook his head to keep from raving for the rest of the journey.

He paused to take a breath and check if the acting minister was still following him.

To tell the truth, Johnson’s increasingly senile mind had been wandering while Ybe listed Knootian diplomatic deployments. Many of them were to nations completely outside of Iansisle’s limited sphere of global knowledge, and he smiled politely as Ybe drew to a close.

“I must say, I have done some reading on your monarchy and it appears that the nature of their rule has been determined at least partly by their character. What puzzles me, as a diplomat, is the present. What kind of King is His Imperial Majesty James III?”

However, his mind wasn’t quite far enough gone not to recognize the dangers inherent in that next question. Johnson, like everyone else in the Commonwealth, had sharp opinions about the young High King, but he would be damned if he let them pollute the mind of newcomers to the court. “Well, sir,” he started cautiously, picking his words carefully. “James III is both much like his father and the two men who have borne his name. I’m sure you know that the heads of the House of Callahan, who are also Kings of Shadoran, have ruled the Empire in an unbroken line for three hundred years, from the mighty Ian I to our own James III. As such, most monarchs have tended to fade into the background, but a few have stood out - High Kings Ian I, Ian III, Ian V, James I, James II, and High Queen Jessica I. The Ians were all famous conquerors, the builders of the Empire, and Jessica is the architect of the Commonwealth; the destroyer of the old Empire.

“The Jameses, however, were something different all together. They were the great liberators, who took the reigns of power young in life and instantly released them. James I gave his tablet, called the first cruinniú, and liberated what serfs remained in the Imperial domains. He became a model for liberal monarchy the globe over. James II, his grandson, took the next step and granted universal suffrage for all men, granting them their own parliament to be equal to the cruinniú.”

Johnson realized he was probably explaining what the man already knew, and hoped that he hadn’t been too patronizing. “Our own James III has grown up in the liberal fashion of his namesakes, but he has one key element of his father, Toto IV: he is stubborn to a fault. Many within the country think they can manipulate James, and perhaps they can, but once he has his mind set on something, there’s no stopping him.

“For instance, James decided a year ago that Iansisle needed a space program if it were to become the modern state of his dream. Most thought it stupid and worthless, but now, a scarce fourteen months later, we have a launching pad at Copplestone in Troobodia and have put two unmanned craft into orbit!” Johnson shook his head, obviously amazed at the impossibility of the task.

With a shudder, the carriage came to a halt at last. Quincy checked out the window quickly, and smiled back at his companions. “Well, I should say that time passes quickly in good company! We’re already at the docks!” A second later, the marine’s captain opened his door for him. With an agility that belied his age, Johnson stepped down, pausing to offer a hand of support to Galadriël, should she need it. He then waved an arm around the complex in which they stood. “M’lord and lady, welcome to Jameston Place, the home of the Combined Parliament.”

Jameston wasn’t so much a single building as it was an entire complex. The central building, which featured the meeting hall for the two thousand strong governing body, was well over four stories tall, done over completely in white marble with Corinthian columns and elaborately decorated pediments. The seven buildings were arranged around a painstakingly well maintained lawn, complete with fountain, so that each had an unobstructed view of the bay.*

And what a view it was! Jameston Place stood on a slight rise, and one could see almost all the way across Adien Bay. Outside of the secluded inlet which the capitol stood on, in the main part of the bay, scores of ships plied their way in the busy port: from the domestic merchant marine, the commerce fleets of a dozen other nations, and flying the red ensign of the Royal Iansislean Navy.

More immediately visible was a black ship at a dock leading off of Jameston itself. She was about three hundred feet long, and twin smokestacks protruded from between her three masts. S.S. Regal, the King’s personal ship, was a throwback to the early days of steam power in the Commonwealth, though she had been refitted several times to keep up with the change from coal to petrol as the major source of fuel in Iansisle. Currently, crewmen scurried about of her deck as steam was built up, and Johnson consulted his watch.

“The High King will be expecting us at Dun Adien soon.” He closed the timepiece and stuck it back in his pocket as he led the Knootians down the path to the Regal. “I’ve had the captain make up the King’s study for the voyage with the most modern heating facility,” Johnson said, noting the cold evident in Galadriël’s face.

(*The Enlightenment may have hit Iansisle late, but it hit with unexpected fury. Jameston Place is but one leftover monument to the Classical revival suffered by Iansisle’s architects in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Now, in the dawning age of the skyscraper, they are turning more towards Art Deco and Gothic styling, though the Internationalists are starting to command a sizable following - just no one who will give them a contract.)

>OOC: insert answer here if you want to, I’m moving along with the next question for the purpose of speed and to make my post not too small compared to yours :P, feel free to quote :P<

(Heh. Please don't feel as if you have to imitate my rambling posts. All too often, I find myself obsessed with some trivial bit of my country (like that radar station) and ramble off for much too long before remembering what the actual point of the post was.

In fact, I think I'm doing that right now ;)

Hey, Lark- I didn't address Jeff in that last post simply because I imagine he can find his way to Dun Adien well enough now. ;) I meant to type something up about him meeting up with James and so forth, but I'm pretty zapped right now. Sorry, man. :()

Hey, Lark- I didn't address Jeff in that last post simply because I imagine he can find his way to Dun Adien well enough now. ;) I meant to type something up about him meeting up with James and so forth, but I'm pretty zapped right now. Sorry, man. :()

(LOL, it's all good man. You're right, he can find his way there, to the infirmary at least...)

((OOC: dang, another day passed and I didn't reply. Actually, I must say I'm a but confused on how to proceed. You know, apart from a "the Knootians admire the environment and wonder where they will be led next" thing... unless you can go with that of course. (EDIT) It's a bit of a writers block :P ))

((OOC: dang, another day passed and I didn't reply. Actually, I must say I'm a but confused on how to proceed. You know, apart from a "the Knootians admire the environment and wonder where they will be led next" thing... unless you can go with that of course. (EDIT) It's a bit of a writers block :P ))

(OOC: The Knootians love the environment... *visualizes Iansisle's smokestacks*... this'll be interesting ;) )

IC: Jeff saw the carriage up ahead, he slowed down long enough to wait for the traffic to pass before he shot by, beeping and waving at the driver with a smile.

"I remember that carriage," he said to himself, remembering the ride in it to Dun Adien the first time he and the former VP had visited Iansisle. "Those must be the dignitaries from Knootoss."

((OOC: dang, another day passed and I didn't reply. Actually, I must say I'm a but confused on how to proceed. You know, apart from a "the Knootians admire the environment and wonder where they will be led next" thing... unless you can go with that of course. (EDIT) It's a bit of a writers block :P ))

(Anything's fine with me for right now...I'm just introducing Iansisle a bit, and the actual RP will probably come a tad bit later. Like I said, I don't mind a slow-burn RolePlay at all (though you can always light a fire under me if it's taking too long :)).

Anyhow, I'll write up an RP tomorrow about everyone sailing to Ian's Isle and meeting James...maybe something about Jeff. Feel free to ask any questions or volunteer any history of your own country.

Alas, I think now it is time for the 'and to all a good night' part of that poem. Merry Christmas, if that's what you celebrate, and a Happy _______ if not ;))

ooc: Dammit, times like this make me wish I had more time to RP.

OOC: This is a wonderful thread. Merry Christmas to you guys, and write on!

OOC:
*burns slowly and volunteers own history, while stealing info from Iansisle factbook*

IC:

Galadriël and her human companion from the ministry stepped out of carriage, and were led into the Regal

To the elf, who had celebrated her 753rd birthday a few months ago, things looked familiar. She had left her ancient home for Knootoss during the industrial revolution, and she had witnessed the world of men change. The government buildings were, of course, familiar. Many governments still held on to tradition and, while impressing, it wasn’t anything new for Galadriël.

Something else was different though… the smell was different. Ianapalis somehow brought back memories of centuries ago. She looked west into the sky, her eyes peering together.. and saw the factory smokestacks. Black plumes were belching into the atmosphere endlessly. She opened her nostrils That was the smell… coal, iron ore, steel mills, shipbuilding

Her memory jolted her back to earlier times in a sudden flashback triggered by the sights and sounds… A younger Galadriël, arriving in the industrial port of Rotterdam on an elegant Elvish sailing ship: the sail was furled and whiter then anything in a city that appeared to be entirely grey. The ship was surrounded by big cargoships, hauling goods from all over the world. Right next to the sailing ship, a steamer had docked that was unloading goods from Tanah Burung. Knootians were still plundering the world empty, hauling all that had worth. Even the brown autumn leaves in the scarce trees had a certain element of greyness in them. She remembered her own arrival, the scene in the Immigration office.

Galadriël was dressed back then like the aristocracy that she was. When she had come to this new land she was convinced of her superiority. She was Lady nos Cirdan, mmember of the proud house, relative to the ancient figures that had determined the history of Middle Earth. She wasn’t a ruler of Empires, but heck she had dignity. Her clothing has reflected that: the finest silk, a small diadem.

Her dignity had seemed out of place in a city that had lost all of it in a quest for money. Her pretty shoes had been stained immediately as she stepped into the black, wet mud that covered the sidewalk. She had left the lands of myth and entered the time of industrialisation. Before expanding most of their production and putting it abroad.

She remembered the Immigration Office, as it was back then. One big chaos. It appeared as if the huddled masses of the world were all gathering there, in the gateway to Europe. Smelly, dirty and poorly clad humans. She had arrived along with a boatload of war-refugees from Noobistan, who’s Arabic features and rapid tongues seemed both alien and frightening. Their eyes, as black as coal, had eagerly peered at the fragile Elvish Lady the whole time. As if they had lost all humanity… or perhaps this was humanity in this part of the world. Thrown back upon such an existence…have I done well by coming here? Things have changed… ”

“Ma’am”, asked Ybe, “please walk along”. Her mind came back to the present and she silently entered the ship bound for the Kings residence, pondering what it all meant…

Young naval ratings ran about Regal’s deck casting off lines and readying the ship for its short journey as Johnson noticed Galadriël pause. He followed her gaze quietly, across the bay towards the industrial sector of Ianapalis. Silently, he filed away what he presumed to be interest in the industry of the Shield in the back of his mind, and waited politely at the top of Regal’s gangplank for her. At last, the ship of kings was ready for its latest endeavor, her (currently) oil fired boiler turning massive turbines which in turn spun her twin screws.

The Regal was one of the first ships in the Commonwealth to be mounted with below-water screws, Johnson informed Galadriël cheerfully as he indicated the paddle wheeled former King’s Ship Behemoth, now decommissioned and tied up near Jameston Place as a museum. Behemoth, he said, was the very ship which had carried Prime Minister Tarriff, himself, Baron von Numerhammer, Grand Admiral Tri, and the Duke of Chateau to the first Third World Conference in Golden Agate.

“M’lady, the weather is turning cold,” Johnson commented after a few minutes, noting the chill wind that blew from the south-west across Regal’s starboard beam. “And I must admit its effect upon me. More and more, I find these aging bones failing me, and it may be a good half hour before we drop anchor in the cove at Ian’s Isle.” That was perhaps not hard to believe, for though Dun Adien was now visible out of the mists at the bay’s entrance, Regal was tracing elegantly (but slowly) forward at seven knots. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if we retired to the drawing room?” The acting Minister of Foreign Affairs indicated a lit room behind him, complete with oversized leather sitting chairs, stone fireplace, emblem of House Callahan, and portrait of James I.

Assuming that they were amiable to the idea, Johnson settled himself down in the large chair third closest to the fire, waving his companions towards the other two. “Cigar?” he asked, holding out two large Gallagan wraps to the Knootian delegation. If one of them accepted them, he aided them in lighting it and then pulled a third out of his jacket for himself. If not, he deftly replaced them in his jacket pocket and moved immediately on to the topic of conversation.

“So, m’lady,” he said, perhaps taking a draw on his cigar, “I hope you won’t think it terribly nosy and intrusive of me, but I couldn’t help noticing the way you looked at the industrial sector. That’s what they tell me is the sight of progress; Iansislean industry conquering all that opposes it.” He laughed slightly, maybe even puffing on the cigar again. “Being from Troobodia myself, I’m not so sure.”

[insert remainder of conversation here*]

At long last, Regal steamed around the lee of Ian’s Isle. The Knootians, were they on deck, would be treated to a grand sight at the foot of Dun Adien Castle. The cliffs themselves rose for what seemed the entire height of the Regal’s mast before giving way to the cut stone of the castle walls. About twenty feet from the water on the north east side of the cliff was a large steel wall that looked quite out of place on the natural stone wall.

As the ship cleared around to the southern end of the island, the newcomers would notice that the land sloped off sharply, actually forming small beaches on the wider southern shore. There was a small cove, which had clearly been excavated and molded to make room for the Regal and other deep draft ships. A single stone jetty nearly doubled the size, and on the cove’s lone pier, also made of stone, was waiting a small delegation.

Even from the ship, it was instantly clear which one was James III. He stood at the center of his four men, wearing a military cut but surprisingly simple tunic of white. The only decorations were a hunter green sash, about eight inches across, which was apparently draped (but actually pinned) from his left shoulder to his right hip and the large, two handed broadsword whose simple design and single emerald enlaid in the hilt may identify it as the same blade depicted in the coach’s picture of Ian I. Iansislean bladed combat had long ago moved away from the powerful but inelegant broadsword towards the intricate dance of the foil and saber, but the weapon still carried a powerful significance in the Commonwealth’s cultural psyche. As the ship moved closer and tied up, one may be able to pick out his medium brown hair and piercing brown eyes, as well as his relative youth.

His four guards - the one standing behind James and to his left appeared exceptionally pale in comparison to the other three - were all clad in the extravagant dress uniforms of the King’s I Grenadiers, the personal bodyguard of the crown. They bowed down on one knee as Galadriël descended from Regal, and James bent a the waste.

“Welcome to Ian’s Isle, Lady Galadriël. I am High King James III, Lord of the House of Callahan and Protector of the Grand Iansislean Empire of the Shield.” That out of the way, the King and his bodyguard rose to full height - which though it topped out at James’ six foot even was much taller than the average of five foot eight for males in the Empire - and seemed a little more relaxed now that formal introductions were out of the way. James took a few steps back, and waved to a short line of people. “These are my personal friends and advisors,” James informed them with a slightly crooked smile that indicated he may not be telling the whole truth. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Chaffin,” was the first in line, and the way James smiled at her was positive proof that ‘friend’ was a definite understatement. Duchess Chaffin was clearly not of Iansislean origin, standing nearly as tall as James himself, and with the air of someone raised in a foreign land. She still curtsied politely and smiled at the two new arrivals.

“Please, just call me Christin. I’m still getting used to this ‘Duchess Chaffin’ business.” James smiled at her again, then moved to the second person in line, a man approaching sixty, with a bit of fat where there had clearly been none previously, who was clad in an elaborate mess dress uniform and saluted Galadriël smartly.

“The First Sea Lord of the Royal Iansislean Navy, Grand Admiral Sir Richard Tri the Loyal,” said James. The Admiral didn’t seem about to say anything to his monarch or the Knootians, so James moved to the last figure. “Last but certainly not least, Ambassador Rear Admiral Sir Jeffery Williams the Honorable, of Larkinia.”

(* Feel free to follow up on this conversation if it’s of any interest to you. I figure this is a good way to continue the plot without abandoning my longing to prattle on about my country ;))

EDIT:
OOC: This is a wonderful thread. Merry Christmas to you guys, and write on!

Thank you very much! A (very ;)) belated Merry Christmas to you as well!

James moved to the last figure. “Last but certainly not least, Ambassador Rear Admiral Sir Jeffery Williams the Honorable, of Larkinia.”

The group approached a tallish (6'2") powerfully built man wearing a dress black naval uniform with a sword with a bluish glow in a runic scabbard attached to his belt (had to break it out for a meeting of this magnitude ;)), who was smiling at them with soft, steel-blue eyes. Jeff nodded quickly at the group as they approached, his auburn hair falling short of his eyes.

He winced very slightly at the mention of his title, then quickly winked and grinned at James.

Jeff knelt before the Knootian delegation, "Lady Galadriel, it is indeed an honor and priviledge to meet you and the members of your delegation. I hope your trip to Iansisle is indeed safe, harmonious and peaceful." he said before standing again fluidly.

OOC: *watches, wondering who's going to be assassinated this time*

OOC: *watches, wondering who's going to be assassinated this time*

OOC: Damn, that doesn't sound too good... ;) Damnit I've already got Jeff with his leg blown off four weeks from now :P

“So, m’lady,” he said, perhaps taking a draw on his cigar, “I hope you won’t think it terribly nosy and intrusive of me, but I couldn’t help noticing the way you looked at the industrial sector. That’s what they tell me is the sight of progress; Iansislean industry conquering all that opposes it.” He laughed slightly, maybe even puffing on the cigar again. “Being from Troobodia myself, I’m not so sure.”

[insert remainder of conversation here*]

“Progress… what is progress?”, Galadriel asked rhetorically. "I must admit that at one time I was a part of this great machine that is a nations industry. You see, I was myself the owner of my own corporation about a century ago during Knootoss’ industrial revolution. Back then I sold an Elvish root beer; primarily to human markets. (OOC: see her bio ;) ) I know the temptations that lie in gathering capital and expanding your business, having experienced all of that myself. Having mastered this art, I changed to something completely different. It is a habit of my race that allows us to become better individuals. And we have an eternity to reach perfection.”

She looks for a moment in the crackling fireplace before she continues her oration.

“Ever-expanding production and technological progress are the driving forces behind the economy. The Empire of the Shield has lasted remarkably long in relative isolation, but I am convinced that the forces of globalisation will also visit your nation as they have visited the DDR. Eventually, one will become part of this drive. A quest – if you will - for perfect and equal global competition. The world is becoming smaller as our individual world expands.”

She pauses, and hopes this wasn’t a tad bit too much of abstract vision, and she focuses on the original question.

“But to go back to what you said – I was intrigued by your industry. The looks of it, and the smells. I was reminded of the past. My own past. In some areas, our nations are remarkably alike in development.” She thought quietly “ and for their sakes I hope their Monarchy fares better. ”

---

--------------------
Ian’s Isle
--------------------

No shaking hands I suppose , Ybe thought. He looked to his side and followed Galadriëls lead. When she bowed, he bowed standing beside her.. The Elf bowed first to the King and then went down through the ranks. “Your Majesty, I am Lady Galadriël Táralóm from the House of Cirdan. State-Secretary of Foreign Affairs of the Dutch Democratic Republic of Knootoss and empowered representative for the Knootian federation. And this is my colleague Ybe, uhm, a personal advisor.”* , she said before turning to the Duchess, or Christin as she evidently wanted to be called

“Your Grace”. She smiled, and both Knootians instantly took a liking to her. The extensive formalities were not exactly bred into their egalitarian culture. This was especially true for Ybe, who had not gone abroad and who was a native Knootian. But even for Galadriël the centuries amongst Knootians had made a difference.

Galadriël made a short, but still polite bow to Sir Richard Tri the Loyal. “Admiral”, she stated, and finally she turned to the Larkinan (?) “Ambassador, it is indeed an honour. And our trip has been most pleasant, thank you.”

Both were glad that formal introductions were over, and Ybe was first to make a step in the direction of the castle. After all, the civil servant thought, It’s freezing cold out here and that must bother even a King He assumed that Galadriël, being the highest-ranking Knootian, would accompany the King but he was a bit confused next to whom he would walk. After his first step forward he clumsily stopped again, and looked around a bit helpless, eying his colleague.

I’m no diplomat, and I completely lack some fancy title too. At least Gala didn’t introduce me as a civil servant. Advisor can still mean a lot of things. That doesn’t take away that I am outranked by everyone here but these soldiers… do I linger behind like some pet dog?

((*OOC: Knootoss + puppets, really. Notably the protectorate of Ale-Yarok which I got from another player.

The Lavenrunz civil war interfered a bit in my replying, but a very happy New Year to all who are reading this!))

Jeff smiled, the official kneeling and bowing still rubbed against the grain for him, despite all of his years in Iansisle. He reached out to shake Ybe's hand, "It's a pleasure, sir." he said with a smile.

Jeff saw him take a step towards the castle, he agreed, it was too damned cold out there.

"Ladies, gentlemen and J..." He started, catching himself just in time, since first meetings were rarely the times to be a smartass, "and gentlemen," he winked to James and winced apologetically, "Shall we retire to the warmer confines of Dun Adien?"

Jeff walked next to Ybe as the two started to move towards the castle, Jeff reached over and held the great doors open as they entered Dun Adien's halls.

“I have to admit, m’lady,” said Johnson, reclining in his leather easy chair as Regal steamed onwards, “that although my work as a roving emissary for His Majesty’s Government takes me far and wide in this world, I have never before had the pleasure of meeting one of your race.” Although one of his fine diplomatic training would never be so impolite as to stare, one could sense that, for a few seconds at least, Johnson’s eyes focused in a little harder than previously on Galadriël. After less than a second, they unfocused and he smiled. “I suppose only an Iansislean ambassador would really be able to say that,” he laughed after a moment’s pause.

“You’re really quite right, m’lady,” the acting Minister mused a few seconds later, “when you say the Empire has been isolated for long. Indeed, within my own lifetime, you could have gone up to any Iansislean and asked them: ‘what’s the most foreign thing you can dream of?’, and they would have replied ‘the spices and silk of Gallaga.’ If you asked them for a particularly exotic animal, they would have replied ‘the elephant!’ without hesitation, or perhaps even ‘the tiger!’

“Now, we’re starting to realize just where we exist in this vast universe, and how truly close to us Gallaga is.” He shook his head with a distant smile, his eyes straying towards the starboard porthole as the lighthouse on Feinwick’s Point appeared. As if on cue, the lighthouse was suddenly replaced by the passing bulk of an Ianapalis-bound iron ore freighter painted in the black and navy blue of the Royal Mining and Manufacturing Consortium. “I won’t deny that there are those among our number who try and oppose the reforms; the same who feel that too much is happening too quickly. On occasion, I even count myself among them.”

He paused. “On other occasions, such as the treachery of Sentry Island, I do not. All too many times, my countrymen see things in black and white, never in true shades of gray. To listen to both sides rhetoric, either we are to progress to a modern industrialized wasteland, or we are to regress into a feudalistic agrarian state.

“When I look over the industrial plants of Ianapalis, or the coal mines of southern Noropia, or the steady progress of the cities into the tender commons of the Shield: that’s when I long for days gone by. I realize now that there are people who don’t remember what it was like before Mr. Westerton’s horseless buggy, or Mr. Bankfield’s aero-flyer, or Mr. Arnold’s moving-picture screen. When I was young,” he chuckled, waving an arm to indicate the stateroom, “something as revolutionary as Regal herself was fantastic, beyond the realm of possibility. An iron-plated vessel powered by a vapor like steam? That was impossible, surely! And now, here we sit in an now-obsolete ship that was only ten years ago the height of Iansislean engineering. Perhaps we are moving just a bit too quickly.

“Of course, I have also been abroad. I have seen the great urban centers of Larkinia, Agrigento, and the other New Highlands states. I know that the old can be replaced by the new without losing the essence of civilization. I know that each new evil modern technology visits upon the land is just a prerequisite for a new good that it will bless us with. On one hand, soot darkens the green hills of the Shield; on the other, now there’s a shot you can give your children that will prevent small pox.” He chuckled sadly. “Would that it had arrived in time for my brother, may he rest in peace.”

As his eyes floated back over the other two people in Regal’s cabin, they suddenly snapped back into focus. “Oh, excuse, me, m’lady, my good sir! I’m afraid that it is somewhat in my nature to ramble on if left unchecked; I do apologize for that.” He sat up. “M’lady, I believe you were saying something about how you thought Iansisle and Knootoss were alike in their development? I’ve never had the good fortune to visit your country, I’m afraid, which causes me to wonder in what way you mean?”

----

The cove on Ian’s Isle was on the eastern shore, roughly a third of the way from the southern shore, and was thus fairly well protected by the bulk of the island from a violently cold wind that blew from the south west. The majority of the small island seemed to be relatively new on a geological time scale: the only plants were in carefully cultivated dugouts with soil shipped from the mainland. However, the rocks were primarily granite and limestone, with no traces of obsidian or basalt to indicate volcanic activity.

The stairway they stood in front of was carved from the bare stone, winding its way up to roughly forty yards above the cove along a path some three hundred yards long. It was wide enough for three to walk comfortably abreast and not particularly steep. James led the way up, careful to make sure Lady Galadriël was at his right arm as they climbed. Duchess Chaffin, perhaps surprisingly, came up alongside his left, and the Knootian may have seen a brief apologetic smile flicker over the young High King’s lips. Grand Admiral Tri allowed Sir Jeffrey and Ybe to precede him, falling back with the King’s bodyguards, who were taking up the rear.

“I trust that your passage here was pleasant Lady Galadriël?” asked James to make conversation after a moment. “There are times I wish that I had one of those, er, belly-thwopter things that our guests always flit about in. It would make the passage from Jameston to Ian’s Isle much more convenient.”

The chat continued as the party attained the summit of Ian’s Isle, and the walls of Dun Adien, perhaps thin and flimsy compared to its contemporary fortresses in Fort Jackson, Thorntree, Topton, Upper Mansford, Wyclyfe, or Vesshampton, towered above them, impressive and imposing when compared to modern architecture. The gates were not enormous, but they were ornate. The left one featured Ian I, his broadsword held before him, point at the ground, and his eyes down turned. The right one, on the other hand, featured a figure they hadn’t yet come across. In stark contrast to Ian’s gloomy, submitting posture, his eyes store directly off level, and his bearded face was contorted into a look of defiance and rage.

Jeff held open the right hand gate, which was fairly small in relativistic terms (being ‘only’ about twice his height), and James smiled at him. “After you, m’lady,” he nodded to Galadriël. Duchess Chaffin smiled over at him, and he waved her through as well. “And, of course, after you m’love.”

The interior courtyard of Dûn Ádien had none of the defense oriented feel of the outside walls. The group stood upon a great cobblestone walkway which led to the main two halls on the northern end of the compound. To their right was a grassy hill which was always frighteningly familiar to Jeff; to their left was a building which James loved a little too much. Lining the path, but only about two thirds of the way, were statues standing about six feet high elevated on broad, three foot high platforms. “My ancestors,” James nodded, pointing at the first one on the left, the now familiar form of Ian I. “One day, I’ll have my own at the very end there, next to my father’s. I only wonder what will happen when we run out of space.”

He turned to address the entire group. “Well now, Lady Galadriël; Mr. Ybe. I’m sure you must be ready for a rest after your long trip, so I put it to you: would you rather have dinner now, in preparation for an early sleep, or would you like to make conversation in the Honeycomb?”

(ooc: Don't worry about it: I realize that with the events shaking your part of the world, this is probably a fairly low priority diplomatic excursion. ;)

And a happy New Year to yourself!)

“There are times I wish that I had one of those, er, belly-thwopter things that our guests always flit about in. It would make the passage from Jameston to Ian’s Isle much more convenient.”

"A helicopter, your majesty?" Jeff asked. "I can get one... fleet for you if you would like," he added.

And, of course, after you m’love.”

Jeff winked, grinned and whispered just loud enough for James to hear as he walked by, "Of course, but I thought Christin should go first."

To their right was a grassy hill which was always frighteningly familiar to Jeff; to their left was a building which James loved a little too much.

Jeff felt the chill run up and down his spine as his gaze lingered at the hill, the shot still ringing in his ears and his right shoulder suddenly aching. Not realizing he'd slowed down his pace he quickly caught up with Ybe again.

Edit: Yeah, Happy New Year to you guys!

OOC: Room for another? This is some extremely good RP and reading material so far. Besides, I need to build relations more on Earth anyway.

OOC: Room for another? This is some extremely good RP and reading material so far. Besides, I need to build relations more on Earth anyway.

(ooc: Thanks very much for the compliment! As far as I'm concerned, there's always room for one more; we just need a way to fit you into things. This first part, at least, is a personal invitation from the High King to Knootoss specifically.

If you're a right wing country, at least in the economic sense of the word, we could always have Lord Dirwisham or one of his cronies get in contact with you. If you're left wing, well, we could have the Liberal Foreign Affairs Ministry contact you after it gets settled roughly an IC day or two after the events so far in this thread.

I don't suppose you'd be willing to write me just a brief, five-minute description of your country? That would really help me a lot in finding a place for you in here. Thanks again for the compliment and the interest!)

OOC: The United Star Empire of Valinon is the premier power of the Alpha Centauri solar system. Supported by the Proxima Centauri Defense Initiative it controls the Five Worlds; Proxima Centauri, Pholus, Proxima Centauri III, Nessus Prime (major moon of Proxima III), and Prometheus Centauri (jovian planet). The Second Empire period of Valinon has been watched over by the Emperors of House Alderman, with the current Emperor being relatively newly crowned Emperor Rowald Alderman I.
Valinon maintains a relatively large amount of armed forces including the Sardaukar, the Star Armada, and the hold overs of the Great Blue Fleet on Earth.
The government is officially a parliamentary monarchy with two Congress: the Congress of Lords and the Congress of the Commons. Most political power outside of the Emperor rest with the Lords, which controls the Empire's purse strings. Currently the Lords is controlled by the conservative Crown Loyalists and Centrists factions. The Commons is dominated by the Dominion Party
As for economics, Valinon is a free market system. Large conglomerates, guilds, and federations dominate most of the Empire's economics, ranging from the vast United Syberian Industrial Conglomerate to the United Prometheys Mining Corporation. The line between government and corporation sometimes blurs, with more than several members of the Lords being vast shareholders or CEOs of corporations. Many of these corporate interests are united under the banner of the United Guilds of Valinon, which is a party within the Lords led by Baron Andrei Mironenko, CEO and President of the Syberian Conglomerate.

Enough for you?

(I'd like to apologize for my lack of posting today. It has been a very, very long day, and I need a spot of sleep - I can't even think straight right now. Rest assured, I will respond to this and all other threads tomorrow, but I need sleep. Apologies to all involved!

This has been an automated message from IanCorp, Int. ;))

More than enough, thanks. Sorry about the long respond time; I've been fairly busy, and had to push this thread down to a low priority.

I think a brief description of the Commonwealth would good at this point in time, for all involved parties.

The Grand Iansislean Empire of the Shield and Its Dominions, as is the proper name (though the Iansislean Commonwealth, the Commonwealth, and Iansisle are all appropriate shortened forms) is a massive, poorly organized confederation of nominally independent states. Its geographical boundaries approximate those of the old Grand Iansislean Empire of the Bay, before Queen Jessica granted self-government to the region known as Gadsan in 1908.

In government, there are three basic levels: Commonwealth-wide, Imperial and Dominion, and Local. Commonwealth has jurisdiction only over foreign policy matters and civil rights enforcement; Dominion and Local governments share responsibility for domestic affairs. The amount of power held by local states varies from local to local: in the Empire of the Shield itself, the seven independent kingdoms hold as much if not more power over local affairs than does the Imperial government. By contrast, in the Dominion of Troobodia, there is no local governments: all power is held by the Senate and the public.

Unlike the British Commonwealth, constituent nations are not free to break bonds with the government in Ianapalis (the Commonwealth's capital city), nor are they allowed to refuse Commonwealth-wide policy decisions. As was proven after the defeat of Dianatran in the Second Iansislean Civil War, resistance to Commonwealth law resulted in the stripping of Dianatran of its Dominion status.

In Commonwealth wide politics, power is split between the High King (Protector of the Empire and Its Dominions), the Cruinniú (a gathering of nobility called either by the High King or four of the six other Kings of the Shield and dissolved after the immediate issue has been laid to rest), the Commonwealth Combined Parliament (C.C.P.; a 2,000 member single house currently controlled by the Liberal Coalition), and the Prime Minister's Council (His cabinet, as it's called in more modern states). Iansislean politics functions on a system of review, whereby an issue decided upon the High King must be approved by the Cruinniú (if one is called), then the Council (on an CW-wide decision; by the local cabinet for a Empire/Dominion specific decision) then the C.C.P. (see Council). This has the effect of keeping the High King seemingly powerful, even if his decisions can be (and often are) overruled. It also has the effect of annoying other powers when a promise to them by the High King is overturned by Parliament.

The Empire of the Shield is composed of the Seven Kingdoms of the Shield, which were unified by King Ian (Callahan) IV of Shadoran between 1680 and 1697. Ian IV then became High King Ian I of the Grand Empire of the Shield. Shadoran triumphed because of the strength of its navy and the fact that Ian IV had moved his base of power from Dûn Shadoran to Dûn Ádien on Ádien Island. As he continued to consolidate his power, Ádien Island became known as "Ian's Island" and then "Ian's Isle" By the time of High King Ian III in the mid 18th century, the term 'Iansisle' had come into wide usage.

There is a vague fourth level of Iansislean government: the loosely termed ‘Greater Iansislean Community.’ This consists of the Commonwealth itself, the East Gallaga Company, the Big Three Corporations of Iansisle, and the Minor Corporations of Iansisle. The latter two exercise no actual political power, but have the capital resources to interfere with Iansislean politics to a large extent. The East Gallaga Company, by a Royal Charter from Shadoran predating the Empire of the Shield, owns large stretches of north-eastern Gallaga and Burma. In 1750, its charter was revoked and Ian III became the King-Emperor of Iansislean Gallaga. Roughly thirty years later, after Alexander I’s brief, ineffective reign and that of his unscrupulous brother, Toto I, James I came to power. He restored the Company’s charter, adding to it (as means of compensation for the years of direct rule) the Andaman Islands and Fort Manly on the island of Batam. The crown retained control of colonies in Sarawak, Galla-China, Palau, Mindanao, and Eastern Borneo.



Er, so, right. I’d better cut myself off before I start really rambling. Valinon, I think the Conservative Coalition would be the best to contact: though the Liberals hold a de jure plurality, the Conservatives have secretly allied with the Free Trade Party for a de facto one. Any communications can be addressed to the Earl of Dirwisham, leader of the Conservation Party of Iansisle.

((OOC:
Sorry for not replying for a while... I would have but now school stuff is coming up etc. I will do so soon...ish. I really like this thread and I want to finish it. Also, the whole civil war thing seems to be settled now. :)

I just need a lot of time in one period to write a long reply.

~Knoot))

”As his eyes floated back over the other two people in Regal’s cabin, they suddenly snapped back into focus. “Oh, excuse, me, m’lady, my good sir! I’m afraid that it is somewhat in my nature to ramble on if left unchecked; I do apologize for that.” He sat up. “M’lady, I believe you were saying something about how you thought Iansisle and Knootoss were alike in their development? I’ve never had the good fortune to visit your country, I’m afraid, which causes me to wonder in what way you mean?”

“Well”, she says thoughtfully, “The smokestacks may be long gone in the DDR but still I feel that both nations are still a lot alike. Please forgive me if I generalise – I am still somewhat of an outsider to human societies. – both are socially progressive, and as the King does, our government truly means well for it’s people, and both have governments of the people. Sadly, it is something that is little known in the NS world of today.* Of the five major alliance chains, three are outright evil and one cares only for itself and seeks to spell destruction upon others. And even amongst our allies I must count dictatorships, human rights violators and warmongers. I have found reasonable nations in this world to be like small lights that easily fade in a sea of different kinds of darkness. Beacons of hope. But these nations often retract themselves to their home continents, like Haven. I doubt that the name the natives have given it is a coincidence. It is a place worth visiting for sure.”

The elf rambles on, drawing some broad conclusions:
“Those that favour freedom keep it to themselves, scattered across the globe in small alliances, collectives, federations, associates. It is a thing my nation may have contributed to, I grant this. After all, who does not wish for himself to be the centre of an alliance? Meanwhile evil gathers together, dark purposes connect more then high-minded ideologies professed by leaders who squabble amongst themselves.”

Her mouth curls down for a moment, displeased. Then she turns back to the original point of the question:
“Your government, like mine, is classified as liberal and pro-business. It reminds me of the industriousness and the capabilities that humans are capable off when they pull together. Both nations possess this capability, and both nations seem to be able to expand beyond the mere realm of military prowess. Many nations are forced to be nothing more then the spawning pits for the war machines of their imperialist rulers.”

Galadriël sighs, the situation obviously bothered her long ago but this is more of a sigh of acceptance. She looks outside though the window that first showed the ship passing by and wonders if the upcoming island is their final destination

---

The stairway they stood in front of was carved from the bare stone, winding its way up to roughly forty yards above the cove along a path some three hundred yards long. It was wide enough for three to walk comfortably abreast and not particularly steep. James led the way up, careful to make sure Lady Galadriël was at his right arm as they climbed. Duchess Chaffin, perhaps surprisingly, came up alongside his left, and the Knootian may have seen a brief apologetic smile flicker over the young High King’s lips. Grand Admiral Tri allowed Sir Jeffrey and Ybe to precede him, falling back with the King’s bodyguards, who were taking up the rear.

“I trust that your passage here was pleasant Lady Galadriël?” asked James to make conversation after a moment. “There are times I wish that I had one of those, er, belly-thwopter things that our guests always flit about in. It would make the passage from Jameston to Ian’s Isle much more convenient.”
---
"A helicopter, your majesty?" Jeff asked. "I can get one... fleet for you if you would like," he added.

“I found the passage to be very pleasant, your Majesty. Regarding the helicopter, well, so could we if it would please his Majesty. Though I would not part with the pleasure of travelling by boat easily, I can imagine that speed can be a definite advantage. Refuelling would perhaps be a problem, but I’m sure that something can be arranged. Transporting things around the globe is one of my nations’ specialties after all.”

[snip]

He turned to address the entire group. “Well now, Lady Galadriël; Mr. Ybe. I’m sure you must be ready for a rest after your long trip, so I put it to you: would you rather have dinner now, in preparation for an early sleep, or would you like to make conversation in the Honeycomb?”

Ybe and Galadriël exchanged a look. Dinner or conversation… the two Knootians switched to a rapid Dutch* to settle the question. Wil jij misschien nog iets eten? Ik ben niet zo moe maar heb eigenlijk best wel honger., Galadriël asked her companion. ”Nee, ik ben ook niet echt moe, maar ik neem aan dat hij ook niet bedoelt dat we om zes uur naar bed worden gestuurd. He smiled, obviously it was some sort of small joke. Galadriël did not openly laugh, but her eyes did light up somewhat. Ybe then continued: Heb nog wat geslapen op de Concorde maar wat eten zou prima zijn. Als het maar niet te zwaar op de maag valt. The elf nodded and addressed the King, once more in English: “If it is convenient we would like to have dinner now.”
…


((*1 Referring to Rping nations
*2 Translation on dinner considerations available on request ;) I doubt that any of these people speaks Dutch though, but with some knowledge of German they may get the gist of it.))

OOC: My German is a little to rusty, and I have not the time to find my English to German dictionary. Care to TG a translation. Oh, an Iansisle, do you want me to contact the Conservatives, or are you doing that? Sorry, just a little bit confused.

Johnson smiled softly. “You do generalize slightly, m’lady, but that is quite all right. Sometimes, it is all too easy to become bogged down in details and miss the grander details.” He tapped his fingers gently against the fine wood of his arm chair. “I must confess I’m not terribly familiar with organizations such as Ar...such as those which you mentioned.” Johnson just stopped himself from mentioning the alliances Galadriël had alluded to. “Our politics have been very insular; limited to the Empire and a select group of nearby nations.”

“On behalf of Iansislean people everywhere, I thank you for your kind words on our freedoms. The traditional rights of Iansisleans are something the Commonwealth is very proud of, and protects vigorously. I think that, considering your country’s own attachment to these principles, our states may indeed become the closest of friends.”

He too spotted Ian’s Isle out the window. “Ah, we’re getting close. Shouldn’t be much more than ten minutes or so now.”

Sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs, Johnson let the conversation lull for a couple seconds while he collected his thoughts. At last: “Lady Galadriël, I hope you’ll not think it too intrusive, but I did a good amount of research on your country before our meeting. I do have a few questions about your foreign policy, simply from a curious old man.”

Assuming that the questions were all right to ask, he smiled and continued. “Now, then, Iansisle has something of a reputation for staying in its own little corner of the world, whereas your own country is much more, shall I say, proactive.” He paused, perhaps leaving the Knootians wondering if there was a question somewhere in there. “Before I was twenty, and I signed on to fight the Effitians, I wasn’t even aware there was a real world beyond the island of Troobodia. I suppose what I’m asking is, from one who’s traveled widely, what’s the rest of the world like?”

"A helicopter, your majesty?" Jeff asked. "I can get one... fleet for you if you would like," he added.
------
“I found the passage to be very pleasant, your Majesty. Regarding the helicopter, well, so could we if it would please his Majesty. Though I would not part with the pleasure of traveling by boat easily, I can imagine that speed can be a definite advantage. Refuelling would perhaps be a problem, but I’m sure that something can be arranged. Transporting things around the globe is one of my nations’ specialties after all.”

James smiled at both of them. “Thanks for the offer, but I may have to turn them both down for now. Parliament insists that, until an Iansislean researcher comes up with the basic principle for those - what did you all call them? Helicopters? - we’re going to have to make do without them.” He shrugged. “On one hand, I can understand their logic: we want to catch up to modern technology, not be bankrupt by it. On the other, the next time it takes me half an hour to make the mainland to shop for milk, I may have to scream.” James smiled.

Ybe and Galadriël exchanged a look. Dinner or conversation… the two Knootians switched to a rapid Dutch* to settle the question. Wil jij misschien nog iets eten? Ik ben niet zo moe maar heb eigenlijk best wel honger., Galadriël asked her companion. ”Nee, ik ben ook niet echt moe, maar ik neem aan dat hij ook niet bedoelt dat we om zes uur naar bed worden gestuurd. He smiled, obviously it was some sort of small joke. Galadriël did not openly laugh, but her eyes did light up somewhat. Ybe then continued: Heb nog wat geslapen op de Concorde maar wat eten zou prima zijn. Als het maar niet te zwaar op de maag valt. The elf nodded and addressed the King, once more in English: “If it is convenient we would like to have dinner now.”

Every Iansislean back in the courtyard arched slightly at the first sound of the spoken Dutch, with the exception of Johnson’s. The High King managed to control his shock a little bit better that most of the guards, who had only the most rudimentary of diplomatic training. Instead he listened with a smile, keeping a dignified pace, looking over his shoulder with a questioning look in his eyes. Johnson shook his head slightly and mouthed the words ‘not German; Dutch’ silently, making sure first that the Knootian heads in the vicinity were turned. Frankly, Johnson was a little upset with His Majesty: he had briefed everyone who would encounter the ambassadors on Knootian culture beforehand so as to avoid this precise situation! Perhaps he should have given a spoken demonstration of Dutch?

James was sure to make sure he was facing Galadriël and smiling when she turned to address him again. “Certainly, Lady Galadriël; that would be wonderful!” He waved his arm in front of them, indicating the way to the Great Hall

Behind them, the two guards on the door looked at each other as they closed it. Careful to make sure no one else was in ear shot, the first one whispered “Well, that’s just great. First, he goes and gets engaged to a damn Imitoran; now, he’s looking to ally us with the bloody Hun!”

“They’re not German,” retorted the second guard. “Didn’t you even listen to Johnson?”

“Well, that sure sounded like German,” snapped the first guard as they assumed their position. “Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

(ooc: Ambassador Johnson speaks fluent German and a few basic phrases in Dutch...though my grandfather would probably be upset with me, I know no more Dutch than my mother’s maiden name ;)...no, I had to go and flunk Spanish, then pass a language guaranteed never to be used when I’m not showing off.

Valinon:it would probably be better if you contacted Dirwisham, just because the C.C. isn't seeking any active foreign contacts yet.)

"A helicopter, your majesty?" Jeff asked. "I can get one... fleet for you if you would like," he added.
------
“I found the passage to be very pleasant, your Majesty. Regarding the helicopter, well, so could we if it would please his Majesty. Though I would not part with the pleasure of traveling by boat easily, I can imagine that speed can be a definite advantage. Refuelling would perhaps be a problem, but I’m sure that something can be arranged. Transporting things around the globe is one of my nations’ specialties after all.”

James smiled at both of them. “Thanks for the offer, but I may have to turn them both down for now. Parliament insists that, until an Iansislean researcher comes up with the basic principle for those - what did you all call them? Helicopters? - we’re going to have to make do without them.” He shrugged. “On one hand, I can understand their logic: we want to catch up to modern technology, not be bankrupt by it. On the other, the next time it takes me half an hour to make the mainland to shop for milk, I may have to scream.” James smiled.

Jeff looked at Lady Galadriël, smiled and shrugged, "I've been trying to nudge them toward help for a while now. Without much success," he added with a wink to James.

Behind them, the two guards on the door looked at each other as they closed it. Careful to make sure no one else was in ear shot, the first one whispered “Well, that’s just great. First, he goes and gets engaged to a damn Imitoran; now, he’s looking to ally us with the bloody Hun!”

“They’re not German,” retorted the second guard. “Didn’t you even listen to Johnson?”

“Well, that sure sounded like German,” snapped the first guard as they assumed their position. “Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

Jeff's massive amount of cybernetic enhancements picked up on some mumbling through the castle after the Knootians spoke, but he still couldn't make it out. Although all someone had to do was look at the guards to see they were not quite happy.

Why are they so upse... of course... the war. Duh, Jeff, current events, you might want to read up on them.

Jeff looked at Lady Galadriël, smiled and shrugged, "I've been trying to nudge them toward help for a while now. Without much success," he added with a wink to James.

Christin laughed lightly, and even James broke a broad smile. Meanwhile, Admiral Tri was imagining what he could do with a fleet of helicopters.

"One of these days," grinned James, "Iansisle will decided to climb, blinking and rubbing its eyes, out of the darkness. Until then, however, we like it with our eyes closed."

Jeff bites back his smart-ass remark and nods, "As you wish your majesty."

To: The Most Honorable Earl of Dirwisham
From: The United Star Empire of Valinon and His Majesty's Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Concerning: Possible Alliance & Common Interests
Encryption: Diplomatic Standard 333-0213CCC, Trans: Proxima, Mars, New Bergia (Earth)

Dear Earl of Dirwisham,

His Majesty, Emperor Rowald Alderman I, wishes to extend his hand in friendship to His Majesty King James of Iansisle and to your own Conservative Coalition. We feel that we have numerous common interests that could be better achieved through an alliance. Although we realize the CC has not stated its intentions to seek an alliance with a foreign nation, we feel that such an alliance would be mutually beneficial.
We are also aware of the current conferences being held in Iansisle by King James, and would like very much to send a representative of His Majesty.
I hope that you will respond as soon as you can to this message.

Sincerely,
Count Viktor Leopold
First Minister for His Majesty's Foreign Affairs

http://ccwf.cc.utexas.edu/~kmwilcox/B5/Images/rege.jpg
OOC: The Good Count, a rather doddering old man, but still a good diplomat! :wink:

Dirwisham itself is a small burg about an hour and forty five minutes north-east of Ianapalis. The sleepy town, despite its close proximity to the nexus of an intercontinental empire, went about its daily business all but completely isolated from the world. Except for the Earl himself, no one owned a wireless set, ever read a newspapers, owned a telephone, or had been much further from home than the local wheat field. Every couple of weeks, a truck came through along the single, unpaved road with supplies for the general store. At one hundred and sixty seven souls, the town wasn’t the smallest in the Commonwealth, nor the most at danger for genetic slip.

The Earl’s manor home stood on a hill overlooking the main ‘road.’ There were no major issues coming up for vote in Parliament for a few days because of the change of government and the Christmas Gala, and Lord Dirwisham had decided to take a well-deserved break from business as usual. The bright lights and crowds of Ianapalis certainly appealed to him, but there was also something to be said for the quiet of his hometown. Someday, after his political career ended, he could really be happy here. It was with a happy sigh that he reclined in an overstuffed leather chair in front of a crackling fire.

Outside, the snow started falling lightly, but the Earl didn’t notice. Snow was a fairly rare occurrence anywhere on the Shield, excepting the high foothills near the Great Northern Range, despite the low winter temperatures. Only a half mile away and yet unknown to the Earl, the grocer’s truck was chugging up the road. A few minutes later, the Earl’s butler was waking his lord and presenting him with a fine letter.

Curious, Dirwisham retired to his study, still taking no notice of the increasingly heavy snowfall outside. He cut the envelope open and examined its contents. At once, his face lit up. Had this been a social occasion, or even one likely to be seen by an IanCorp informant, he would have restrained his joy into a more dignified smile, but in this case he actually leapt up from his chair - no mean feat for one of the Earl’s advanced age - and cheered. After calming down somewhat, he walked briskly to his garage flung the door open and stood inhaling the smell of oil and rubber.

“Clayton! Is the automobile ready to make the trip to Jameston?!” His driver, who was sitting across the room playing solitaire, slowly and unwillingly looked up from his game.

“Isn’t it snowing, m’lord?”

“I think so,” said Dirwisham impatiently, waving his hand. “Come, does the engine need to be warmed up?”

Clayton shook his head slowly again. “No, no, m’lord, but if there’s even a couple inches of snow out there, we’d be lucky to make Eagleshaven. The Jackrabbit just wasn’t made to run in these conditions.” Fifteen minutes ago, the Earl wouldn’t have traded being in Dirwisham for anything; now all he wanted was to get out of the tiny town and back to the bustle of Ianapalis! He almost peaked into a fit of rage, but reminded himself that the weather was hardly Clayton’s fault. He’d just have to be content with one of his semi-competent underlings handling what may be the most important and potentially dangerous thing to come onto the Conservative’s plate.

---

To the Most Honorable Count Viktor Leopold,

My Lord, I apologize for the somewhat hasty manner of this letter, but I find myself very rushed. It caught me at home in Dirwisham, and the need to send a return letter as quickly as possible has forced me to condense its contents somewhat.

Though I am not a representative of His Iansislean Majesty’s Government, I can assure that the Opposition welcomes your offer to attend the conference on Dûn Ádien. Currently, only Ambassadors from Knootoss and Larkinia are in attendance, but a representative from the Star Empire would be more than welcome.

I’m afraid that I won’t be able to join you in person myself, as I have to arrange for you to be received by the High King, but if you wish, we can put you up in an apartment in Ianapalis until the crown is convinced that talks between our nations is in everyone’s best interests.

Until such time as we may be able to meet in person, I remain your servant.

Lord Dirwisham

This signature looks just like the lord’s, smiled John Sworder, sitting back and admiring his handiwork. He then sealed the envelope with a bit of wax and his copy of the Earl’s ring and mailed it off the way the original letter had come.

Count Leopold had been at New Bergia, the largest of the Valinor treaty ports on Earth, when the message from Iansisle had come. He had almost been ready to return to Proxima, having completed several highly confidential meetings with several Earth nations.
Leopold studies the ornate seal before opening it. His eyes read the ornate letters text, and see the signature. Leopold lays the letter down. Then he summons Victoria Dumarage, his long-time aide.
"Did you need something, Count?"
"Yes, Victoria. Inform Lieutenant Brunsword that I will not be leaving as planned. He is to prepare a Windjammer at once, I have to travel to Iansisle as soon as possible."
"Yes, My Lord."
Leopold falls back into the chair of the Foreign Ministry office at New Bergia. He reaches for the cup of tea on its saucer and turns to look out the window. Ever so often, his own age has a habit of ambushing him, leaving him with a sense of fatigue. He makes a mental note to contact his physician and schedule another round of prolong when he returns to Proxima.
Fifteen minutes later, he leaves the office, joining Victoria as they walk to ground car to take them to the aerospace port. Less than a half hour later, a Windjammer sonic jet with an escort of two Needle fighters streaks away, headed for Iansisle.

*******************

Later that night, the Windjammer approachs Iansisle aerospace. A channel is opened and a broadcast begins.
"Iansisle Aerospace Control, this is Valinor diplomatic aerospace Windjammer flight K-337A, carrying Count Leopold to the conference. We request permission to land at the soonest available facility."

Johnson smiled softly. “You do generalize slightly, m’lady, but that is quite all right. Sometimes, it is all too easy to become bogged down in details and miss the grander details.” He tapped his fingers gently against the fine wood of his arm chair. “I must confess I’m not terribly familiar with organizations such as Ar...such as those which you mentioned.” Johnson just stopped himself from mentioning the alliances Galadriël had alluded to. “Our politics have been very insular; limited to the Empire and a select group of nearby nations.”

“On behalf of Iansislean people everywhere, I thank you for your kind words on our freedoms. The traditional rights of Iansisleans are something the Commonwealth is very proud of, and protects vigorously. I think that, considering your country’s own attachment to these principles, our states may indeed become the closest of friends.”

He too spotted Ian’s Isle out the window. “Ah, we’re getting close. Shouldn’t be much more than ten minutes or so now.”

Sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs, Johnson let the conversation lull for a couple seconds while he collected his thoughts. At last: “Lady Galadriël, I hope you’ll not think it too intrusive, but I did a good amount of research on your country before our meeting. I do have a few questions about your foreign policy, simply from a curious old man.”

Assuming that the questions were all right to ask, he smiled and continued. “Now, then, Iansisle has something of a reputation for staying in its own little corner of the world, whereas your own country is much more, shall I say, proactive.” He paused, perhaps leaving the Knootians wondering if there was a question somewhere in there. “Before I was twenty, and I signed on to fight the Effitians, I wasn’t even aware there was a real world beyond the island of Troobodia. I suppose what I’m asking is, from one who’s traveled widely, what’s the rest of the world like?”

----
The elf smiled: “Yes, it is true, we do get around. We have many ties, but perhaps they looser then we might sometimes wish for. It is just a part of history I guess, an open economy, and colonial days when we roamed the world left us well-known. Of course, we aren’t an economic world-power anymore with all these bigger nations…

She then turns to the question about the world: “Well, that’s a rather broad question. There are many aspects to this world. We already discussed political alliances, but I can imagine that you are referring to cultures here, or environments, or perhaps something else. Which are you referring to?”

((OOC: 6149 posts without getting to see the outside world in NS? *blinks* How do you manage?))

---

Every Iansislean back in the courtyard arched slightly at the first sound of the spoken Dutch, with the exception of Johnson’s. The High King managed to control his shock a little bit better that most of the guards, who had only the most rudimentary of diplomatic training. Instead he listened with a smile, keeping a dignified pace, looking over his shoulder with a questioning look in his eyes. Johnson shook his head slightly and mouthed the words ‘not German; Dutch’ silently, making sure first that the Knootian heads in the vicinity were turned. Frankly, Johnson was a little upset with His Majesty: he had briefed everyone who would encounter the ambassadors on Knootian culture beforehand so as to avoid this precise situation! Perhaps he should have given a spoken demonstration of Dutch?

James was sure to make sure he was facing Galadriël and smiling when she turned to address him again. “Certainly, Lady Galadriël; that would be wonderful!” He waved his arm in front of them, indicating the way to the Great Hall

Behind them, the two guards on the door looked at each other as they closed it. Careful to make sure no one else was in ear shot, the first one whispered “Well, that’s just great. First, he goes and gets engaged to a damn Imitoran; now, he’s looking to ally us with the bloody Hun!”

“They’re not German,” retorted the second guard. “Didn’t you even listen to Johnson?”

“Well, that sure sounded like German,” snapped the first guard as they assumed their position. “Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

-----


Why are they so upse... of course... the war. Duh, Jeff, current events, you might want to read up on them.

The Knootians were blissfully unaware of the entire diplomatic incident and walked along to the Great Hall. Ybe looked around at the ceilings and wall decorations while making small talk with Jeff. In particular, he was interested in local sports. At the same time he told some stories about the general incompetence of Knootian sports teams. “Probably because we refuse to support it as a government.

While walking along Galadriël also continued to make conversation: “This is a really nice place. I was wondering, why was the castle built on this rather remote location? Does it have historical significance or a special strategic importance?

OOC: what war would this be?

((OOC: 6149 posts without getting to see the outside world in NS? *blinks* How do you manage?))

((Heh, I spam a lot :P In seriousness, I just spend a lot of time in the same circles - not saying anything good or bad about that strategy, mind you - and have missed out on large parts of the world. Let’s see, Iansisle major diplomatic contacts: Larkinia*§, Agrigento* / Ercolana†#, Celeborne*, Walmington on Sea*#, Calarca#, Der Kreigsmarine† / DarknessUponUs†, Tanah Burung§, Hell Bovines§, Imitora, Beth Gellert, Yarrum* and perhaps two or three others.

* - Alliance of the New Highlands member (Yarrum is under consideration)
# - member of the Gallaga saga
† - at war with
§ - major Third World Conference contact

So, er, yeah. I’ve never really interacted with any of the major alliance groups (well, other than CACE, primarily through the TWC), though I do follow their exploits. I’m just assuming that that group makes up a relatively small portion of the total NS world. As for the 6,000+ posts...well, I’ve no idea where those came from ;))

----

Johnson laughed slightly as the Regal came about slightly to port. “I suppose it was rather unfair of me to drop such an enormous question on you without clarifying.” He paused to think. “I suppose what I mean, m’lady, is that we know of the major alliance groups - Arda, SATO, the Reich, all of them - but we don’t really know about them. We know their broad aims, but we don’t know their constituent members...” Johnson stopped again, the crinkled his aging face into a soft smile.

“My, I don’t suppose I’m narrowing it down for you any, am I? I’m sorry; I’ll try and ask a specific question.” He thought for a moment. “Well, perhaps I’ll try a dangerous one: what do you know of the rest of the world’s opinion of Iansisle?”

Before Galadriël could become worried over what was certainly a question every person in every foreign service was taught to avoid, Johnson held up a hand, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I realize what I’ve just asked you to answer. Please, don’t feel like you need to step too cautiously around me. I realize any negative comments aren’t those of either yourself of Knootoss; I just wonder how we’re regarded, if at all, by the wider world.”

---

“I thank you, m’lady,” smiled James as two men - Weathers and Princeton, by their nametags - held the door to the Great Hall open. In grand terms, the Hall wasn’t particularly impressive. It served both as the primary location for the Balls Iansislean High Society was in love with and as the main dining room for state occasions. The hall made up the entire first floor of the building which held it, and was positioned so that the windows on the northern wall looked over the ramparts to where the semi-distant lights of Ianapalis were sparkling. Galadriël might notice that the lights on the western third of the city were much, much brighter and more defined than those on the eastern two thirds.

For the Great Hall itself, few expenses had been spared in its construction. The walls and floor were made of fine polished wood - one could notice several distinct species, most of them native not to the Shield, but rather Gallaga or the Southern Dominions - and a fine wooden table, running roughly a quarter the length of the room was set up in the center, on what was in normal conditions the dance floor. On the small stage situated roughly center of the room on the southern wall sat a string quartet, who had been deep in discussion when the guest walked in. They started playing softly and unobtrusively as the guests were directed towards the proper seats. James was of course at the head of the table, and the Duchess Chaffin took up a place on the far end. Galadriël and Ybe were seated near the center of the table, leaning towards James’ side, while Jeff and Ambassador Johnson were seated near the center towards Christin’s side.

James laughed quietly at Galadriël’s question, though not so as to be considered impolite. He sat back while Quinton directed a storm of waiters buzzing around asking everyone’s drink choice - Dûn Ádien’s cellars were well stocked - and then leaned forward. “M’lady, the story of this castle, and the man who built it is one of the oldest and most legendary tales in the Empire*. It started a thousand years before this fortress was even conceived, on another island. Though the ancients had their own name for it - and themselves - we simply call it ‘Sentry Island’ today, for it guards the way into and out of mare nostrum - that is, Troobodia Bay.

“That simple rock, no larger than Troobodia in absolute terms, spawned one of the great conquering and civilizing races of all time, those who we now know as the ‘Sentrians.’ Over the course of eight hundred years, they spread their civilization outward from the island, south along the Tharian coast and north east along the Great Shield. But no empire, not even mine, will ultimately stand forever.” He paused as the drinks were brought out and raised his own, a fine Gadsani Valley vintage of wine.

“My lady Galadriël; my good sir Ybe, I propose a toast: to new friendships!”

(* it takes some time to recount, so I’m going to tell it in bits over the process of the dinner, letting you get in words edgewise every now and then ;))

OOC: what war would this be?

(This one I'm having over in International Incidents..it's been going on over 20 threads since early August. Basically, I try and keep it isolated from my main stream NS relations because the war is with 1940 tech countries only, but I love to participate with all tech levels. The basic premise is World War II with modifications, taking place over a map of the real world with our countries added. Iansisle, Calarca, and Walmington on Sea (with Britain and her Commonwealth as a NPC) face Der Kriegsmarine (playing as Germany), Ercolana, Chiang Maï (a Siam modernized in the way of Japan) (and Italy as a NPC). It's quite fun, but I don't like it to dominate my 'normal' diplomatic relations: in the NS forum, the war is background to diplomacy, in I.I. diplomacy is background to the war.)

(Valinon: Sorry I've been so long responding to your post. I figure your ambassador will be arriving a day or two after the Knootoss delegation does, and my head's spinning trying to keep up with the timelines right now. I think I'll let one or two more posts come to pass before I give you a proper response; sorry about the wait.)

Johnson laughed slightly as the Regal came about slightly to port. “I suppose it was rather unfair of me to drop such an enormous question on you without clarifying.” He paused to think. “I suppose what I mean, m’lady, is that we know of the major alliance groups - Arda, SATO, the Reich, all of them - but we don’t really know about them. We know their broad aims, but we don’t know their constituent members...” Johnson stopped again, the crinkled his aging face into a soft smile.

“My, I don’t suppose I’m narrowing it down for you any, am I? I’m sorry; I’ll try and ask a specific question.” He thought for a moment. “Well, perhaps I’ll try a dangerous one: what do you know of the rest of the world’s opinion of Iansisle?”

Before Galadriël could become worried over what was certainly a question every person in every foreign service was taught to avoid, Johnson held up a hand, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I realize what I’ve just asked you to answer. Please, don’t feel like you need to step too cautiously around me. I realize any negative comments aren’t those of either yourself of Knootoss; I just wonder how we’re regarded, if at all, by the wider world.”

“Oh, well, Minister, I don’t think I will be spoiling any major intelligence secrets by talking about that.

I asked around at a conference of leaders when a visit was still being planned: just as an informal topic of conversation. “Before looking into the AIVD intelligence files of course.”, she added mentally but this was probably a rude thing to say. “.. and I must sat that your nations was well regarded, even amongst those that do not maintain such extensive contacts. Strangely enough, it was regarded mostly for it’s participation in sports rather then politics.” She thought for a second: “this puzzled me, not being much of a sportswoman myself, but I can understand the appeal that lies in sports and having a reputation in that field. The prototype of a subject of the Crown is seen as a ‘good guy’. At least this is what my sources, -ai, bad phrasing-, told me.

Galadriël remembered a related matter that was only to come to the table later: “In fact,” she paused, “I have had a brief conversation with the leader of Menelmacar and arguably the mightiest woman on the planet on this very subject before I left. She told me that you were welcome to contact her anytime if you wish more deep relations with the Eternal Noldorin Empire. The Menelmacari don’t have any disputes with your nation, but it appears that you haven’t talked much either. I think Menelmacari support could be a serious asset in international politics.” The elf smiled compassionately to Johnson hoping that he would be interested.


“I thank you, m’lady,” smiled James as two men - Weathers and Princeton, by their nametags - held the door to the Great Hall open. In grand terms, the Hall wasn’t particularly impressive. It served both as the primary location for the Balls Iansislean High Society was in love with and as the main dining room for state occasions. The hall made up the entire first floor of the building which held it, and was positioned so that the windows on the northern wall looked over the ramparts to where the semi-distant lights of Ianapalis were sparkling. Galadriël might notice that the lights on the western third of the city were much, much brighter and more defined than those on the eastern two thirds.

For the Great Hall itself, few expenses had been spared in its construction. The walls and floor were made of fine polished wood - one could notice several distinct species, most of them native not to the Shield, but rather Gallaga or the Southern Dominions - and a fine wooden table, running roughly a quarter the length of the room was set up in the center, on what was in normal conditions the dance floor. On the small stage situated roughly center of the room on the southern wall sat a string quartet, who had been deep in discussion when the guest walked in. They started playing softly and unobtrusively as the guests were directed towards the proper seats. James was of course at the head of the table, and the Duchess Chaffin took up a place on the far end. Galadriël and Ybe were seated near the center of the table, leaning towards James’ side, while Jeff and Ambassador Johnson were seated near the center towards Christin’s side.

James laughed quietly at Galadriël’s question, though not so as to be considered impolite. He sat back while Quinton directed a storm of waiters buzzing around asking everyone’s drink choice - Dûn Ádien’s cellars were well stocked - and then leaned forward. “M’lady, the story of this castle, and the man who built it is one of the oldest and most legendary tales in the Empire*. It started a thousand years before this fortress was even conceived, on another island. Though the ancients had their own name for it - and themselves - we simply call it ‘Sentry Island’ today, for it guards the way into and out of mare nostrum - that is, Troobodia Bay.

“That simple rock, no larger than Troobodia in absolute terms, spawned one of the great conquering and civilizing races of all time, those who we now know as the ‘Sentrians.’ Over the course of eight hundred years, they spread their civilization outward from the island, south along the Tharian coast and north east along the Great Shield. But no empire, not even mine, will ultimately stand forever.” He paused as the drinks were brought out and raised his own, a fine Gadsani Valley vintage of wine.

“My lady Galadriël; my good sir Ybe, I propose a toast: to new friendships!”

(* it takes some time to recount, so I’m going to tell it in bits over the process of the dinner, letting you get in words edgewise every now and then ;))

Both Ybe and Galadriël raised their glasses enthusiastically, eying the King first and then the other guests. “To new friendships!”, the Lady toasted, followed by chants of agreement from the others at the table. “… new friendships”, echoed Ybe with a somewhat softer voice.

Both Knootians drank the fine Gadsani Valley vintage of wine, carefully exploring the taste in their mouths. It was unfamiliar, and Ybe couldn’t help but judge it subconsciously for marketing potential. Galadriël, who had also acquired a taste for wine, let it roll through her mouth for a moment before swallowing and letting the liquid glide down her throat.

“It is a good wine”, she commented, “a very good wine.” However the story of the Sentrians had still piqued her interest: “I am curious, these Sentrians, are your people a descendant of them?”

(Valinon: Sorry I've been so long responding to your post. I figure your ambassador will be arriving a day or two after the Knootoss delegation does, and my head's spinning trying to keep up with the timelines right now. I think I'll let one or two more posts come to pass before I give you a proper response; sorry about the wait.)


OOC: I understand, Iansisle. I'm keeping an eye on this thread, so don't think I have run off and left. :wink:

The Knootians were blissfully unaware of the entire diplomatic incident and walked along to the Great Hall. Ybe looked around at the ceilings and wall decorations while making small talk with Jeff. In particular, he was interested in local sports. At the same time he told some stories about the general incompetence of Knootian sports teams. “Probably because we refuse to support it as a government.

While walking along Galadriël also continued to make conversation: “This is a really nice place. I was wondering, why was the castle built on this rather remote location? Does it have historical significance or a special strategic importance?

OOC: what war would this be?

Jeff nodded to Ybe as he caught up with him, "They like their baseball in Iansisle, that's for sure. Baseball and ice hockey seen to be two of their main sporting loves.

"We've got pretty incompetent teams in Larkinia as well, because we as well don't have the time to fund them. We tried to put together a World Cup soccer run, but I believe the team got lost on the way to the bus."

-----

Jeff smiled and sipped his wine as James talked warmly with Lady Galadriël at dinner. James seemd comfortable with his role in diplomacy and leading Iansisle finally, he wasn't the same as the shy man Jeff has met those many years ago.

My lord, I think he's finally getting it.

Jeff nodded to Ybe as he caught up with him, "They like their baseball in Iansisle, that's for sure. Baseball and ice hockey seen to be two of their main sporting loves.

"We've got pretty incompetent teams in Larkinia as well, because we as well don't have the time to fund them. We tried to put together a World Cup soccer run, but I believe the team got lost on the way to the bus."

-----

Jeff smiled and sipped his wine as James talked warmly with Lady Galadriël at dinner. James seemd comfortable with his role in diplomacy and leading Iansisle finally, he wasn't the same as the shy man Jeff has met those many years ago.

My lord, I think he's finally getting it.

Ybe talking with Jeff oneposter reply
"Heh, you think that's bad", said Ybe grinningly. The civil servant tried to outdo the story, but couldn’t help but tell a tale of bureaucrats. "We actually have two sports Directorates. One in the ministry of Economic Affairs. Coordinates sports sponsorships, sports as propaganda and such. Huge, as all Directorates. Corps spent hundreds of millions subsidising football through that directorate. The other one is attached to “Internal Affairs”, which also has health and such. It’s tiny, and the only employee who knew anything about football was sick during the run up to the World Cup so we missed it.

BUMP?

(It's coming, I promise ;). Sorry, I've had my on-line time cut down drastically lately, and I'm still scrambling to try and keep up with all the threads I'm involved with. I'll try and have the response up tonight..ish)

Quincy Johnson wasn't one to let his emotions get the better of him under most circumstances; after all, he hadn't become the Empire's top ambassador through letting others know what he was thinking! However, Galadriël's last few words caused him to draw in a sharp breath while his mind raced. He had known the question could not have been asked without fear of consequence, but the Knootian's answer sent even his mind racing.

Menelmacar was known even on a place as isolated as the Shield, even if it was mostly just by reputation. If Galadriël was correct about their potential as a friend of the Empire, it certainly constituted the single greatest diplomatic option ever to present itself to Ianapalis. But it was also a dangerous option: Dhawan’s government had received various warnings that aligning itself, even informally, with the World Business Organization would lead to the breaking of old alliances.

He hoped that the brief moment of reflection wasn’t too indicative of the fact that Galadriël had just thrown him for a major loop. Instead, Johnson smiled softly and forced a mild expression onto his face. "Well, I'm not much of a sporting man myself, but it does give..." He stopped himself short of saying 'the commoners,' and instead opted for "us something to cheer about, I suppose."

Fully aware that any response to the Menelmacari issue could well provoke accusations that he was abusing his position as acting Minister of Foreign Affairs without a popular mandate, Johnson did his best to skirt the issue. However, Johnson knew nowhere near enough about sports, domestic or foreign to run with that ball (ust enough to pun horridly), and any topic involving foreign affairs would invariably lead right back to Menelmacar.

"I don't suppose you'll be staying long after the conference, m'lady?" he asked after another brief second of hesitiation. "I would love to take you to my family's plantation on Troobodia; it's quite a difference from the hustle and bustle of the Shield. I think the island is a lovely blend of modern and traditional values. Granted, I am slightly biased." He shrugged. "Of course, if you must leave at once, I understand fully."

----

“It is a good wine”, she commented, “a very good wine.” However the story of the Sentrians had still piqued her interest: “I am curious, these Sentrians, are your people a descendant of them?”

James swirled his own glass slightly as his eyes met Jeff's. Turning back to his guests, he said, "I'm glad you enjoy the wine, Lady Galadriël. Prime Minister D'Carlonia would kill me if he knew I was serving it at a state function; we're only supposed to use wine from the vineyards of the Foothills." The High King winked. "But let's just say that it, er, upsets my pallet."

The first round of appetizers was brought in as James then considered the elf's next question. "To be honest, m'Lady, I'm not sure the answer to that one. Some claim those of the Shield were always there and merely were lorded over by the Sentrians; others think that what we know as a modern Shieldian is a direct decedent of Sentrian settlers, or else a mix of the conquerors and the indigenous people. In fact, there's even a new group of linguists who point to the similarity in the tongues of the Shield and Dianatran as evidence that our roots may lie far away." Grand Admiral Tri snorted briefly, but managed to contain himself from an actual outburst. James glanced briefly at him with a warning inherent in his expression, then continued.

"At any rate, the population of the Great Shield and most all of the western Bay continued to live peacefully under the administration of Sentry Island. Sentrian settlers went out in all directions, some say all the way to Effit. Contact was made with the river traders of the Jaizar, though expeditions to settle there met with failure. The same was true of the duchies in the vast forests of the Noropian Shield; the Gap was simply too harsh for the Sentrian warriors.

"By records kept at the time, their Empire began to crumble around fifteen hundred years ago. Troobodia lead the way in the revolt; a massive force sent to re-pacify the land met with a storm and was sunk. Slowly, back on the mainland, the feudal lords installed by the Sentrians in Tharia and on the Shield began to assert greater and greater local control. Then, one day, Emperor Zefiro called for an expedition against the barbarians of the eastern desert, who had killed Sentrian merchants there, and no one answered. Declaring that he would go exact his revenge upon the barbarians and then return to bring the estates back into line, Zefiro marched into the desert and was never seen again. His eldest son and heir, Archduke Quintilio, attempted to claim the Imperial throne, but the nobles refused to accept him as their overlord.

"And like that," James said, snapping his fingers, "nine hundred years of central authority, or at least the pretense of it, vanished without a trace, leaving the dozens of petty states wondering about their role in this new world."

boatspeak
((OOC: Damn CACE propaganda… anyways, I left SATO (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=116807) just today. Still friends with Siri though, probably… hopefully.))

Galadriël noticed Johnsons’ …odd… behaviour as she mentioned Menelmacar. It seemed pretty obvious though, the mere mentioning of the name ‘Menelmacar’ usually provoked heavy emotions in the world. “and these people did stand by by the IFTA treaty… who knows that telegrams their government receives, and from who…” She cursed, but the curse did not roll off her lips which, instead, only showed a smile that disappeared but for moment before reappearing again.

She listened with surprise as Johnson skidded over the issue… surely he recognises the importance of this… he is no fool. She nodded at the sports comment, not really listening. Her first instinct was to confront the ambassador passionately, but her diplomatic training stopped her. I’ll bring it up with the king directly, she decided.

“While I’d love to visit your plantation I don’t think…”, she looked at Ybe who shook his head lightly “… I don’t think I have the time. My agenda back home is very tight and loaded with appointments. Sorry, minister. Perhaps another time?”

winespeak

Both Knootians listened with genuine interest to the King. As he paused for a snack, Ybe commented: “Quite a tale, Your Majesty, quite a tale.” He nods thoughtfully and empties his glass. Putting down the glass, he looks around wondering if there would be any servants to refill it.

Galadriël looked at the King: “Actually, in Knootoss it was the other way around It started out as a divided nation, many Dutch provinces ruled by many small rulers like counts and bishops. As the country become one of the early renaissance Republics, ruled by a parliament of some sort, the divisions remained. It was only very late that centralisation set in, and even now many services are still implemented on regional and provincial levels. It does lead to our government being a sprawling bureaucracy, I must admit.”

Ant with that said, she takes a sip from her wine.

Ybe listens somewhat distracted to Galadriëls story. For him, it contains nothing new. History of the government system is, after all, rather basic to any higher-up civil servant. He looks around, hoping that the others aren’t bored. As there is a small pause in the conversation, he inserts: “I am rather intrigued by your story. How did the central authority regain control? Or did the nobles form separate states first?”

“That’s too bad, m’lady,” Johnson heard himself say while his mind worked in a very different direction. Did she notice that moment of hesitation? If so, did she correctly interpret it? Drat it all; I’m getting too old for this sort of business! “As you say, perhaps some other time.”

A slight rap was heard on the study’s door, and it opened a moment later. The man who entered was in the uniform of the Royal Merchant Marine captain, and he snapped a brief salute to Johnson. “Just thought you may want to know that we’re coming up on the cove. Give us five minutes for final maneuvers and to tie up, and you’ll be all set.” The man ducked out again before anyone could offer praise or condemnation. Johnson could never figure out if the man’s curt brevity was the result of his upbringing among Iansisle’s lower classes, his service in the R.M.M. rather than the navy, or a simple distaste for Johnson personally. There had been those both inside and outside of the foreign service who, for one reason or another, had hated him - Jason Whittimere was a prime example. Just why the ambitious young Gadsani had come to hate him so was a permanent mystery; perhaps it stemmed from his father’s actions all those years ago, or it might have just been simple jealousy because of Johnson’s preeminent place in the ministry.

Quincy realized that he was allowing his mind to wander, and focused it back to the task at hand. “I hate to force you away from the fireplace, m’lady, but I should like to be at Dun Adien, with it’s proper heaters, as soon as possible. I’m afraid these old bones of mine don’t handle the cold quite as well as they used to.” As he stood, Johnson hoped that he hadn’t already used that line. He reached down to offer Galadriël a hand off her chair.

---

A solemn-faced Shadoranite waiter who had been standing off to the side of the table is at Ybe’s side almost as soon as the last drop vanished from his glass. “Would you care for some more, sir?”

“It would appear that our nations have much in common,” James said as an appetizer of smoked salmon was being served. “Regionalism is perhaps the most potent force we have to deal with here; ask a man on the street what country he’s from, and more often you’ll hear ‘Vesshampton,’ ‘Upper Noropia,’ or ‘the Delta’ far before you’d hear ‘Iansisle’ or ‘the Commonwealth.’ It’s always nice to hear from a country that experiences similar problems. I do wonder, though, how you manage with that sprawling bureaucracy you mentioned, m’lady? We often experience a similar problem, but...” James smiled and shrugged. “Our own methods of handling it have proven somewhat sub-par.”

Turning to Ybe, he continued, “It’s wonderful to have someone so interested in history. Pre-Imperial Shieldian history has always been something of a favorite study of mine, but it’s not often I find such willing ears.

“You’re quite right, about the nobles founding their separate states,” James continued, cutting into his fish gently. “In fact, though most prefer not to talk about it now, the Kingdom of Shadoran started out life as a mere duchy in the Sentrian Empire. Granted, our rise to royal status over other local lords was not quite as impressive as the Earl of Upper Mansford or the Marquess of Eastern Wyclyfe.

“As local power struggles died down, it became clear that seven great houses - Callahan of Shadoran, MacIntyre of Vesshampton, Donnely of Eastern Wyclyfe, Laughlin of Weshield, Fischer of Upper Mansford, Whitman of Thortraia, and Javial of the Foothills - had emerged as dominant over the others and monopolized the territory of the Shield. Those still loyal to the administration in Analia, the old capital of the Sentrian Empire, or those whom the self-styled kings thought would prove disloyal to their new realms were executed without mercy, and new peerages were set up in their stead.” James shrugged. “It was a barbaric time, full of slaughter and inhumanity. The new seven powers fought wars amongst themselves, once in a while even combining against the occasional Sentrian threat. Most alliances proved shifting, tenuous things.

“It was the coming of Gallagan commerce that set the scene for the final showdown in the later half of the seventeenth century. Weshield and Shadoran explorers sought wealth beyond the old coastal Sentrian routes, and the wealth of Gallagan spices, silks, and drugs were their rewards. Soon, there was a definite gap between the commercial states of the rich south and the agrarian states of the rural north. Slowly, the sides dissolved into two main powerblocks, with the Foothills, Upper Mansford, and on occasion Thortraia aligning themselves against Shadoran and Vesshampton. Eastern Wyclyfe, which had always been the weakest of the seven, became a Shadoranite protectorate in 1659, under King Michael of Callahan. Weshield, forced to pick between its commercial rivalry with Shadoran and the northern threat turned over its Gallanesian holdings to Shadoran and joined the Southern Alliance.

“The first battles of the apocalyptic war which had been brewing for decades were fought in 1664, and the opening battles went all the north’s way. Shadoran was invaded by a massive host of Foothillsmen which it could not hope to defeat in pitched battle, Upper Mansford took the mouth of the River Mans from Weshield, and Eastern Wyclyfe was occupied by Thortraian troops. All hope seemed lost when King Edward of the Foothills stood in the woods outside the walls of Dûn Shadoran. However, he wasted his advantage in siege artillery trying to storm the walled city. The horde of Foothills men was convinced to retire for remainder of the campaigning season, though both the Queen and King of Shadoran lay dead in the battle’s wake. The only hope for the kingdom lay in its infant monarch, Ian of Callahan.”

James realized suddenly that he was caught up in the moment, and glanced about the table. “Oh...I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to ramble on like that. I hope I’m not boring anyone?”

(Valinon: I’ll have a response for your ambassador in my next post. Honest ;))

OOC: sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry… uhm… slow burning. Writers block, big project… anyways. We now return to our regularly scheduled role-play.

“That’s too bad, m’lady,” Johnson heard himself say while his mind worked in a very different direction. Did she notice that moment of hesitation? If so, did she correctly interpret it? Drat it all; I’m getting too old for this sort of business! “As you say, perhaps some other time.”

A slight rap was heard on the study’s door, and it opened a moment later. The man who entered was in the uniform of the Royal Merchant Marine captain, and he snapped a brief salute to Johnson. “Just thought you may want to know that we’re coming up on the cove. Give us five minutes for final maneuvers and to tie up, and you’ll be all set.” The man ducked out again before anyone could offer praise or condemnation. Johnson could never figure out if the man’s curt brevity was the result of his upbringing among Iansisle’s lower classes, his service in the R.M.M. rather than the navy, or a simple distaste for Johnson personally. There had been those both inside and outside of the foreign service who, for one reason or another, had hated him - Jason Whittimere was a prime example. Just why the ambitious young Gadsani had come to hate him so was a permanent mystery; perhaps it stemmed from his father’s actions all those years ago, or it might have just been simple jealousy because of Johnson’s preeminent place in the ministry.

Quincy realized that he was allowing his mind to wander, and focused it back to the task at hand. “I hate to force you away from the fireplace, m’lady, but I should like to be at Dun Adien, with it’s proper heaters, as soon as possible. I’m afraid these old bones of mine don’t handle the cold quite as well as they used to.” As he stood, Johnson hoped that he hadn’t already used that line. He reached down to offer Galadriël a hand off her chair.

“I understand Minister”, said Galadriël as she gently stood up and rearranged herself. “I’m delighted to finally meet the King but it has been a pleasure to have this fireside chat.” She stood next to Johnson, making sure that they would walk out together. Ybe also stood up and walked along with the pair, nodding a bit in appreciation but saying little. This was Galadriëls moment.

((OOC: and here the storylines interconnect again, I presume? It was a nice detour. :D))
---

A solemn-faced Shadoranite waiter who had been standing off to the side of the table is at Ybe’s side almost as soon as the last drop vanished from his glass. “Would you care for some more, sir?”

“It would appear that our nations have much in common,” James said as an appetizer of smoked salmon was being served. “Regionalism is perhaps the most potent force we have to deal with here; ask a man on the street what country he’s from, and more often you’ll hear ‘Vesshampton,’ ‘Upper Noropia,’ or ‘the Delta’ far before you’d hear ‘Iansisle’ or ‘the Commonwealth.’ It’s always nice to hear from a country that experiences similar problems. I do wonder, though, how you manage with that sprawling bureaucracy you mentioned, m’lady? We often experience a similar problem, but...” James smiled and shrugged. “Our own methods of handling it have proven somewhat sub-par.”

Turning to Ybe, he continued, “It’s wonderful to have someone so interested in history. Pre-Imperial Shieldian history has always been something of a favorite study of mine, but it’s not often I find such willing ears.

“You’re quite right, about the nobles founding their separate states,” James continued, cutting into his fish gently. “In fact, though most prefer not to talk about it now, the Kingdom of Shadoran started out life as a mere duchy in the Sentrian Empire. Granted, our rise to royal status over other local lords was not quite as impressive as the Earl of Upper Mansford or the Marquess of Eastern Wyclyfe.

“As local power struggles died down, it became clear that seven great houses - Callahan of Shadoran, MacIntyre of Vesshampton, Donnely of Eastern Wyclyfe, Laughlin of Weshield, Fischer of Upper Mansford, Whitman of Thortraia, and Javial of the Foothills - had emerged as dominant over the others and monopolized the territory of the Shield. Those still loyal to the administration in Analia, the old capital of the Sentrian Empire, or those whom the self-styled kings thought would prove disloyal to their new realms were executed without mercy, and new peerages were set up in their stead.” James shrugged. “It was a barbaric time, full of slaughter and inhumanity. The new seven powers fought wars amongst themselves, once in a while even combining against the occasional Sentrian threat. Most alliances proved shifting, tenuous things.

“It was the coming of Gallagan commerce that set the scene for the final showdown in the later half of the seventeenth century. Weshield and Shadoran explorers sought wealth beyond the old coastal Sentrian routes, and the wealth of Gallagan spices, silks, and drugs were their rewards. Soon, there was a definite gap between the commercial states of the rich south and the agrarian states of the rural north. Slowly, the sides dissolved into two main powerblocks, with the Foothills, Upper Mansford, and on occasion Thortraia aligning themselves against Shadoran and Vesshampton. Eastern Wyclyfe, which had always been the weakest of the seven, became a Shadoranite protectorate in 1659, under King Michael of Callahan. Weshield, forced to pick between its commercial rivalry with Shadoran and the northern threat turned over its Gallanesian holdings to Shadoran and joined the Southern Alliance.

“The first battles of the apocalyptic war which had been brewing for decades were fought in 1664, and the opening battles went all the north’s way. Shadoran was invaded by a massive host of Foothillsmen which it could not hope to defeat in pitched battle, Upper Mansford took the mouth of the River Mans from Weshield, and Eastern Wyclyfe was occupied by Thortraian troops. All hope seemed lost when King Edward of the Foothills stood in the woods outside the walls of Dûn Shadoran. However, he wasted his advantage in siege artillery trying to storm the walled city. The horde of Foothills men was convinced to retire for remainder of the campaigning season, though both the Queen and King of Shadoran lay dead in the battle’s wake. The only hope for the kingdom lay in its infant monarch, Ian of Callahan.”

James realized suddenly that he was caught up in the moment, and glanced about the table. “Oh...I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to ramble on like that. I hope I’m not boring anyone?”

“Not at all your majesty!”, exclaimed Ybe. “I’d love to hear more. Its fascinating. That must have been a very imposing, marking, battle. Military/economic history would dictate a final factory of the south, if I am not mistaken? Those who industrialise first always have the advantage, or so I was taught at least. But of course, history is determined by chance as much as by ‘laws’. Is this Ian of Callahan perhaps the person whom Iansisle was named after?”

Galadriel inserted: ((OOC: prolly somewhere in the middle – we’re getting a split again. ))
“Well, yes, we manage as much as we can. Competing ministries have always been a big problem for instance. Economic Affairs and Foreign Affairs are always competing and questioning their authority abroad. You see, if this would have been designated a trade envoy they would have sent someone. Fortunately, personal invitations fall outside their reach.” She smiled mystifyingly. “And I would not have had the pleasure of Your Majesties company.” Turning to the solutions she replied: “Well, it used to be much worse, as we had dozens of ministries. But recently we cut the number of organisations down severely to just the core ministries: Economic-, Foreign-, Domestic- affairs and such. We do have more ministers though, apart from me and the minister of Foreign Affairs I have to share the department with Defence and Development Affairs. Abroad these people can call themselves ministers too. It is somewhat complicated but it works.” She hoped that the King had understood: “Another solution we implement is so-called e-bureaucracy. Most forms are processed via computers, saving a lot of time and money.”

She waited for the King to reply, hoping that this might be an opportunity to steer the conversation towards current politics. Ybe, however, was still at the Kings lips.

Ybe, however, was still at the Kings lips.

OOC: James had better make sure that Christin's not looking ;)

OOC: Isn't that an English saying too? *blinks* Anyways, uhm... he listens and is really interested. :wink:

OOC: sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry… uhm… slow burning. Writers block, big project… anyways. We now return to our regularly scheduled role-play.

(hey, don't worry about it! Really, real life should always take presidence over nations states. I'd also be a darned hypocrite if I accused you of delaying this RP ;).

Anyhoo, I should have a reply up tonight-ish.)

OOC: Isn't that an English saying too? *blinks* Anyways, uhm... he listens and is really interested. ;)

(I haven't heard it myself, but hey, it makes enough sense. ;))

OOC: Just a careful nudge, and to say I'm still observing this thread.

((*comes in panting* Don't worry, I'm still here. And I'm working on a reply right now! ;) Sorry, I just had a lot more reading than I thought I would for today, and I'm pretty bushed. I'll get some replies up in this (including to you, at long last, Valinon..sorry it took so long), the Powers that Be, and On a Dead Man's Chest, but that may be it for me tonight.))

James smiled at Ybe. “Very good, sir! And as long as you’re sure I’m not boring you, I’ll carry on. I tend to get carried away in tales of the past.” He shrugged. “Of course, many of these are just tales. Records weren’t kept too well back then, and history has a nasty way of mingling with legend. For instance, they say that Ian hit six foot three at age sixteen, and went all the way to six seven and a half by maturity.” The idea that anyone would be that tall was obviously laughable for James.

“At any rate, Shadoran and the Foothills both retired to lick their wounds. The main theater of war shifted to the drainage basin of the River Daldon, in northern Vesshampton. However, the majority of Shadoran’s army had to be held back near the capital, in case another army marched south. The Foothillsmen sat back, rebuilding their forces - though most of their artillery had to be left behind, and their industry was scarcely able to make up the difference - and waiting for another chance.

“As the legend goes, Ian and his regent were out for a ride one day when the boy was just fourteen, and he spotted this island. It was named Adien Island, for the small fishing village on the mainland, and had never been inhabited. Ian got the idea of using it for an elaborate ruse. The Home Army started to shift towards the Daldon, and Ian moved from Dun Shadoran to Adien island. The city was then left unprotected. When the news reached the Foothills, Edward set off with his army again, hoping to catch the young king unprepared and force a peace advantageous to himself.

“However, he found only the burned out hollow of a city. Edward followed clues left behind to the bay, and could see Shadoranite soldiers waving at him from the island. He ordered an invasion barge fleet assembled at once. That night, however, sixteen frigates of the Shadoran navy made their way into the harbor with the help of the southern prevailing winds, formed a line in the bay’s deep water, and pounded the Foothills-men’s position with grape and ball shot. After several hours of pounding, the first men started to break and flee north. Soon, the entire army was in retreat.”

James took a break to wipe his mouth, and then shook his head. “They were met eighty miles north by the fresh Shadoran Home Army and massacred, almost down to the last man. Edward’s body was never found, and his death triggered a dynastic crisis in the Foothills. The boy-king rode into Topton two months later without firing a shot.

“It would take nearly another score of years to subdue Thortraia and Mansford, but Shadoran emerged triumphant from the conflicts. On the third of July, 1696 anno domini, the other crowned heads of the Shield swore fidelity to the King of Shadoran, and the Empire was born.”

James took another sip of breath. “I suppose I could have skipped all that back-story and gone straight onto this last part, but I so love to hear myself speak. Ian’s first order after being crowned a High King was to move his court permanently from Dun Shadoran to Adien Island and build this palace as a monument to his new power. By the time he died and his son - Ian II; he did have a way for naming every bloody thing in the country after himself - rose to the throne, people had come to call Adien ‘Ian’s Isle’ and the town around the bay ‘Ianapalis.’ As communication spread across the Shield, so did the name. With the propagation of a ‘Shieldian race’ -” James’ expression made it clear that he thought the race thing was a bunch of hooey “- in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, anyone from the Shield came to be known as ‘Iansislean.’ “ He smiled. “I suppose there was probably a much less roundabout way I could have shared that story, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun!”

Well, yes, we manage as much as we can. Competing ministries have always been a big problem for instance. Economic Affairs and Foreign Affairs are always competing and questioning their authority abroad. You see, if this would have been designated a trade envoy they would have sent someone. Fortunately, personal invitations fall outside their reach.” She smiled mystifyingly. “And I would not have had the pleasure of Your Majesties company.”

James blushed slightly. “Ah, well, for what it’s worth, right m’lady?”

Turning to the solutions she replied: “Well, it used to be much worse, as we had dozens of ministries. But recently we cut the number of organisations down severely to just the core ministries: Economic-, Foreign-, Domestic- affairs and such. We do have more ministers though, apart from me and the minister of Foreign Affairs I have to share the department with Defence and Development Affairs. Abroad these people can call themselves ministers too. It is somewhat complicated but it works.” She hoped that the King had understood: “Another solution we implement is so-called e-bureaucracy. Most forms are processed via computers, saving a lot of time and money.”

She waited for the King to reply, hoping that this might be an opportunity to steer the conversation towards current politics. Ybe, however, was still at the Kings lips.

As it turned out, James had understood the minister-thing just fine, but was somewhat thrown by the entire concept of computers and e-bureaucracy. Like most good Iansisleans, however, he wasn’t going to let mere technology get him down!

“Ah, I see,” he said, feeling quite blind at the moment. There was a brief pause while he tried to process what was going on, failed, and decided he had to say something. “Do you feel that this, um, ‘e-bureaucracy’, leads to a more centralized approach?” he asked, mostly grasping to know just what she was talking about.

---------

Later that night, the Windjammer approachs Iansisle aerospace. A channel is opened and a broadcast begins.
"Iansisle Aerospace Control, this is Valinor diplomatic aerospace Windjammer flight K-337A, carrying Count Leopold to the conference. We request permission to land at the soonest available facility."

I’ve called in way too many favors from that man thought Dirwisham with a grimace as he hung up the phone with Sir Richard Tri. The First Sea Lord had been reluctant to ask the High King to do another favor on the behalf of his government’s opposition, but he had caved in at last.

The Earl settled back into his seat. The snow was still falling about his manor house, and it provided a fitting backdrop to his disappointment. On one hand, he wouldn’t be able to get back to Ianapalis until tomorrow, but on the other it would take Sir Richard at least that long to convince James to see Count Leopold.

The Windjammer, after a couple minutes in which the unprocessed flight was considered and approved, was directed towards Shadoran International Aerodock. Unlike the Knootian flyer, there hadn’t been time to organize a proper diplomatic reception. Grand Admiral Tri was there himself, with a pair of marine guards, waiting as a ladder was extended to the proper portal on the Windjammer.

I’ve called in way too many favors from that man thought Dirwisham with a grimace as he hung up the phone with Sir Richard Tri. The First Sea Lord had been reluctant to ask the High King to do another favor on the behalf of his government’s opposition, but he had caved in at last.

The Earl settled back into his seat. The snow was still falling about his manor house, and it provided a fitting backdrop to his disappointment. On one hand, he wouldn’t be able to get back to Ianapalis until tomorrow, but on the other it would take Sir Richard at least that long to convince James to see Count Leopold.

The Windjammer, after a couple minutes in which the unprocessed flight was considered and approved, was directed towards Shadoran International Aerodock. Unlike the Knootian flyer, there hadn’t been time to organize a proper diplomatic reception. Grand Admiral Tri was there himself, with a pair of marine guards, waiting as a ladder was extended to the proper portal on the Windjammer.

Count Leopold exits the Windjammer, a handful of Imperial Sovereign Protectors gather loosely around him as he approaches Tri. The old Valinor diplomat moves toward Tri.
"Ah," he says looking over Tri's uniform, "Grand Admiral.....Tri, is it? A pleasure to meet you."
The man acts and looks old, by Valinor standards, that mean he is very, very old.

B*U*M*P

(Don't make me use the cheesy jokes :P )

OOC: OOPS.... :oops: *reads replies*

I'll have something up tomorrow...

((OOC: nice history, I enjoyed it. :) ))

Galadriel answered:
“Well, yes, it can lead to a more centralised approach but that depends on how it is implemented.”

The King didn’t seem to understand and she tried to bring it on a different level:

“You see, your Majesty, E-government means different things to different people. Some define e-government as specific actions: using a government kiosk to receive job information, applying for benefits through a ‘Web site’, or creating shared, uh… digital filing cabinets… but others say it is more generally automating the delivery of government services. Having advanced machines do the work of the government instead of man.

E-government involves using information technology, and especially the Internet, to deliver government information, and in some cases, services, to citizens, businesses, and other government agencies. E-government could enable citizens to interact and receive services from the government 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Service delivery has become more convenient, dependable, and less costly.

E-government is itself a process, or a means to an end, rather than an end in and of itself. We are actually rather advanced in the field, after we had very good experience with a machine called a computer running our militaries logistics. We weren’t the first to use it but we have developed the technology a lot. “

Political leadership is, in the end, always behind such forces. Without political leadership, few e-government initiatives would have been be funded and implemented. The prospect of increased efficiency may focus attention on government information technology, but someone or some group of political leaders has to make the decisions and have the will to carry them out.

One of the benefits is improved efficiency. In e-government projects, this efficiency can take many forms. Some projects seek to reduce errors and improve consistency of outcomes by automating standardized tasks. Like is happening here in your industrial revolution where machines take over manpower. We just let machines do other jobs as well. Some jobs like filling in tax forms.” She smiled.

A third benefit is increased citizen participation in government. It connects people living in remote areas of the country better then a postal carriage can, so that they can send and receive information more easily. The government system also becomes more transparent… more easy so access and understand.”

She paused, hoping that the comparison with machines had helped.

“Count Leopold, I presume?” asked the aged military man, bowing slightly at the waist. “I am indeed. Welcome to the Shield, m’lord.” Tri’s blue eyes flicked quickly over to the bodyguards, and then back to Leopold. “If it would please you to follow me, m’lord, I have arranged a horseless buggy to transport us to Jameston Place.”

Tri indicated behind him where a Westerton limousine sat idling. A doorman saluted and held the back door open as the two men approached. “I’m terribly sorry about the situation,” Tri said as he settled back into a fine leather seat, “but there simply wasn’t time to arrange for a transport more befitting a man of your importance.”

((thanks..I hope it wasn't too long. I didn't mean to have him dominate the conversation like that, but couldn't help myself once I started ;)))

James was quite sure that Galadriel didn't mean to be condescending, or if she did, that it was only because she needed to be to penetrate his thick skull. He tried to keep himself from getting embarrassed, but couldn't help a slight red tinge creeping into his cheeks. Compounding his awkward situation was the fact that only with the simplistic explanation was he able to understand what she meant. His eyes darted from Galadriel’s face to meet Jeff’s and Christin’s eyes briefly, but they didn’t linger at either place.

“That’s certainly an ingenious system,” James said as Galadriel finished. “I admit, there are times I wish that our own was as closely tied to the people. It seems every other week some IanCorp rag runs an article about how poorly the average citizen understands what goes on in Jameston.

“Still, I wonder: you mention that this system takes work out of men’s hands. While I realize that human beings are a necessarily fallible creature, I still wonder if putting some sort of ... mechanical brain in charge of such things?” He fiddled with his drink. “I mean, I don’t know much of such things, but couldn’t one man sneak in and tell the machine what to do without the knowledge or consent of its operators?”

James was quite sure that Galadriel didn't mean to be condescending, or if she did, that it was only because she needed to be to penetrate his thick skull. He tried to keep himself from getting embarrassed, but couldn't help a slight red tinge creeping into his cheeks. Compounding his awkward situation was the fact that only with the simplistic explanation was he able to understand what she meant. His eyes darted from Galadriel’s face to meet Jeff’s and Christin’s eyes briefly, but they didn’t linger at either place.

Jeff looked over at James as the King glanced at him. He saw the comprehension and embarrasment flash in his eyes. He smiled and winked at his friend and mouthed one phrase to him when everyone else was looking at James.

Relax, you're doing fine.

James saw the words on Jeff's lips and smiled. That simple reassurance was all the High King needed to restore his confidence enough to express what was on his mind.

“Count Leopold, I presume?” asked the aged military man, bowing slightly at the waist. “I am indeed. Welcome to the Shield, m’lord.” Tri’s blue eyes flicked quickly over to the bodyguards, and then back to Leopold. “If it would please you to follow me, m’lord, I have arranged a horseless buggy to transport us to Jameston Place.”

Tri indicated behind him where a Westerton limousine sat idling. A doorman saluted and held the back door open as the two men approached. “I’m terribly sorry about the situation,” Tri said as he settled back into a fine leather seat, “but there simply wasn’t time to arrange for a transport more befitting a man of your importance.”


Leopold waves a dismissal to all but two of the Protectors. They guardsmen seem to take it as the due of the older man. Leopold settles himself into a seat across from Tri.
"Think nothing of it," says Leopold. "I am getting old and I appreciate simple pleasures more and more these days. Besides, trappings have never concerned me quite as much as they have with others that have held my office. And I am here to learn about Iansisle, I prefer the company of an awakened mind or one that can tell me something that I do not know, rather than have so much worry over how to get one from point A to point B. Perhaps you could tell me more about the Shield? I must say I think it has a certain beauty to it, yes one that is quite enjoyable."

The Westerton started with a jerk, but once underway it ran smooth and quietly.

"I'm glad to hear that, m'lord," smiled Tri, the corners of his mouth wrinkling softly with the grin. "Sometimes, I feel as if we're getting too much wrapped up in the images of power rather than its substance."

He glanced out the window as the glid down Empire Street. Outside, mighty oak trees flashed by, until they entered the urban canyon of the city itself.

"If you want to learn about Iansisle, I'm afraid you may have come to the wrong place," he said quietly. "Ianapalis is nice, in it's own way, but I've been from one end of the Commonwealth to the other, and I find more and more in my old age that it's nothing but pagentry. The politicians surround themselves with fine architecture to pretend that their power isn't slowly being sapped; pretending that anyone actually listens to the central government."

Leopold nods soberly, "It is my fear that one day in the future our own capital city of New Koln will find itself in a similar situation, Lord Tri. New Koln does have the advantage of having started as a thriving city of its own, rather than like most capital cities springing from the ground be divine fiat of a national government. Therefore it always maintains its original vitality. But still, the signs of New Koln becoming increasingly focused on its governing capacity, and that troubles me."
He turns away from the oaks as they vanish, "I also find your system of government interesting as well. In Valinon power has always flowed from the central government in the Imperial Palace and the Imperial Diet. But a growing trend is that the Five Worlds are gaining more and more localized autonomy and the central government in Imperial Centre relegates itself to more international and international affairs. But I have found this idea of a federated network of minature states within a state is far more common on Earth than in Alpha Centauri. Tell me, did this evolve on its own or is it the result of more recent pressures?"
"Of course, I don't mean to pry," says the First Minister in his aged voice. "And I hope I have not stepped on some taboo subject so far."

Sir Richard Tri was a little uncomfortable about being referred to as ‘Lord Tri.’ He was the current holder of one of the oldest baronetcies on the Shield, but ‘Lord Tri’ had always been reserved for his older, distant cousin who was a direct descendent of Admiral Lord Tri and the Third Earl of Tri. However, he didn’t correct Count Leopold, for fear of insulting the older man. Instead, he simply shook his head and smiled.

“My Lord, I shall not deny that I have very strong feelings on this particular subject. For years, I have railed against the increasing decentralization of first the Tarriff and then the Dhawan and D’Carlonia governments, to sadly little avail. However, I take no offense at the question, and consider it not prying in the least.” Tri settled in with the air of one about to launch into a tirade.

“There was a time, before I was born but not so long ago in absolute terms, when power was held by the Imperial Government in Jameston and the High King on Ian’s Island. However, the High Queen Jessica decided that the best solution to increasing unrest in the peripheries was not an increased military size, but rather to grant local self-government to the provinces. The new Dominions governed their internal affairs while paying tribute and sending representatives to the central government, which governed foreign and Commonwealth-wide affairs. She substituted the substance of power for its shadow, and now we may never return to the glory we had before.”

He knocked on the window of to alert the driver to slow down as they passed Unity Square. The limousine pulled over in the shadow of St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Sir Richard pointed out the window at a double-life sized marble statue. It depicted a moderately plump young-to-middle aged woman with a matronly expression holding her arms open as five young children clung to the hems of her regal robes.

“The Destroyer herself,” he said, a modicum of disgust creeping into what had been a carefully neutral tone. “Standing in the same field as the great builder.” He nodded towards the center of the square, where Ian I stood in the center of a great fountain, he sword drawn and facing the northern expanses of the Shield.

"It is an interesting irony," says Leopold regarding the two statues. "One I find wherever I go be it on Earth or elsewhere. It seems that all nations are blessed with great rulers and statesmen, but then we all have at least one who can easily bring the great works of all the others tumbling down with their own follies."
"We ourselves have had such a case not that long ago. In fact it was merely His Majesty's great-grandfather that caused our nation so much woe. The Mad Emperor Adolf is mentioned to day among the nations dishonored. There is not a day that I am not thankful that his reign was made brief so that he could not undo the entirety of the Empire. As it was, he did set the machinations in motion that would lead to the Outer Dominion Wars."
Leopold seems to smile after a brief grimace, "I trust that Iansisle has had some of those as well. The events that are both a blessing and a curse in one form."
Leopold's face seems to change briefly, "But enough of dragging up old and not pleasant memories. You say that your own beliefs on the matter of decentralization are vehement, and I believe that you are right in having such strong feelings on the matter. But tell me, is this a belief that is growing or is it one that is facing its own trials?"

At the dinner
“That’s certainly an ingenious system,” James said as Galadriel finished. “I admit, there are times I wish that our own was as closely tied to the people. It seems every other week some IanCorp rag runs an article about how poorly the average citizen understands what goes on in Jameston.

“Still, I wonder: you mention that this system takes work out of men’s hands. While I realize that human beings are a necessarily fallible creature, I still wonder if putting some sort of ... mechanical brain in charge of such things?” He fiddled with his drink. “I mean, I don’t know much of such things, but couldn’t one man sneak in and tell the machine what to do without the knowledge or consent of its operators?”

The elf nodded, noting the King quickly grasped concepts quickly.
“True, your Majesty,” she replied, “but just as a working man gets to know his boss these machines get to know their operators. For example, they can recognise your voice.”

Momentarily her smile disappears – but only for a second – “but indeed there are those who prey upon other nations’ technology. In particular the nation of SeOCC is adept at this: they have extensive electronic warfare programmes. If all computers would be targeted it could cause planes to fall out of the sky and the nation to grind to a halt. However I can assure you that Knootoss and its allies have means to counter this – or at least retaliate in kind.” She was determined. “The terrorist butchers and their allies won’t win such a scenario.”

She continued, somewhat calmer, “There are those that seek to misuse this technology, just as they seek to misuse man. But the sentient mind is still far superior to our attempts at mimicking its functions. The beauty of man, and of elves and other sentients of course, is its diversity, and its creativity.”

*Double post converted to a semi-useful message with ad*

I added Valinon to the title. 't is only fair. Btw, with one nation from the future, one postmodern nation and one nation from the past the kindredness must be something else. I’d add Larkina but there isn’t enough space! Bah – this needs a solution.

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*Double post converted to a semi-useful message with ad*

I added Valinon to the title. 't is only fair. Btw, with one nation from the future, one postmodern nation and one nation from the past the kindredness must be something else. I’d add Larkina but there isn’t enough space! Bah – this needs a solution.

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(*sniff sniff* Boo hoo hoo... I'm feeling so unloved... :P So unloved in fact that I must.... buy pink bunny cola, lots of it. ;) )

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:shock: *buys pink bunny cola* :shock:

Limo

Tri grinned at the Count’s words. True, he hadn’t advanced to First Sea Lord, the top military man of the R.I.N. and the de facto commander of all the armed services branchs, by lacking political savvy. True, his own exceptional abilities as a commander and flag officer had helped, as well as the Tri’s close friendship with the Callahans, but one had to know how to play the political game well.

Unlike most other navies in the world, however, in the R.I.N., once you got to the top, you were there almost indefinitely. Granted, the First Lord of the Admiralty or the Minister of War could remove him from power should the thought ever cross his mind, and that power had been exercised before, but it was a rare occurrence at best. The political leaders preferred not to upset the top link on the chain of command, and a few Admirals had built entire dynasties around the position. The Second Earl of Easterham, for instance, had served as First Sea Lord for twenty-eight years before finally croaking, decrepit and senile, at seventy-nine*.

As a result, Sir Richard found that more and more he could talk in a relative political vacuum. As an avid member of the conservative Imperialist Party, he found that fact handy for calling in old family favors from the crown to help them, even if James tended more towards the Commonwealthers in parliament. It also meant he could take more risks with revealing his true opinions to foreign dignitories, and Count Leopold seemed an eager pair of ears.

“Adolf, eh?” he grinned. “Um, excuse me, m’lord; I meant no insult. That just seems a fitting name, given the war and all.” He coughed into his hand and eagerly accepted Leopold’s change of subject, but added “I hope there may be time to tell of the Outer Dominion Wars later.” The Grand Admiral shrugged. “I hope you won’t think me a terrible romantic - I have seen the terror of war first hand - but I am a terrible sucker for exchanging war stories!” It was all he could do, in fact, to keep from launching into his story of the Nester and the Eques right there.

“I believe, m’lord,” he said after Leopold’s next question, “that the Empire has never been in as desperate straits as it is now. Already, Dianatran -” his face contorted with the word. Leopold may recognize it as the south-eastern most part of Iansisle; it was an arid wasteland, notable mainly for its tendency towards rebellion “- has tried to break their ties with the country. Fortunately, due to certain allies and internal interests, we were able to persuade them to remain.”

Tri shook his head. “But then, I guess that doesn’t really answer your question, does it? I hope you’ll forgive me, m’lord - I do have the tendency to take myself on birdwalks.” He laughed. “Much as I am doing now, in fact! My apologies. In conclusion, I would say that Iansislean politics is edging as fast as it can away from centralized control. Soon there will be naught to relate us but a common history.” He snorted. “Why, between that Galler Dhawan and D’Carlonia, there’s even serious talk of nationalizing the East Gallaga Company again and turning its holdings into a new Dominion!” Tri’s tone made it clear that any such act was beyond the realm of sane contemplation.

Dun Adien

(knoot, I’m going to try and merge our stories a bit. Hope ya don’t mind!)

An aide entered as the conversation went along and whispered lowly to Quinton. There was a brief discussion among them, and then the head butler approached James even as Galadriel finished.

“Pardon me, your majesty,” Quinton said. James wasn’t used to having a state dinner interupted; it must be something important. The butler leaned in and whispered something. James’ expression changed from one of consternation to one of relief to one of mild annoyance. At one point, James said “Richard!?” out loud, but quickly hushed his voice.

At last, the young High King stood and put down his napkin. “I hope you won’t think me too terribly rude, Lady Galadriel, but I’m afraid an old friend of mine has dropped by with some rather important news regarding tomorrow’s itenerary.” James’ voice carried a mild hint of sarcasm. “I’ll return as quickly as I can.”

Christin looked up at him, but James shook his head and cocked the left side of his mouth into a half-grin. Then he bowed slightly at the waste, turned to the south exit, and quickly made his way out of the room. Christin looked around the table. Her initial instinct was retreat, perhaps towards the familiarity of Jeff’s conversation, but she knew how important this meeting was. If she was to be the Queen Consort, there would have to be some sacrifices made.

She leaned in towards the elf. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Lady Galadriel, but I wasn’t born on the Shield, and I know something about computers.” She was in fact being much too modest; as a pilot in the Imitoran Colonial Marines, she had danced among the stars, and knew more about computers than Iansisle’s top researchers put together, and then some.

“In fact,” she continued, “I heard a bit about this SeOCC plot. I mean, since I moved to Iansisle, I haven’t been keeping as up to date in current events as I should be, but it sounds pretty scary.” Christin took a sip of wine before continuing. “In fact, I kind of worry about what will happen when Iansisle hits the information age. I mean, now everything’s done with hard copy, but th..we’re advancing very quickly.” She smiled at Jeff. “Especially with help from our friends in Larkinia, Celeborne, and Agrigento. But still, we’re a stubborn people, and I worry that when we plug into the web, Iansisle won’t be ready for the new inrush of unscrupulous people and ideas - and even then we won’t ask for help.”

Christin realized that she was probably rambling a bit, and her cheeks took on a slight blush.

((*it should be noted that the average life expectancy in the Commonwealth is only 43 or 44; medicine is modernizing, but slowly. And I’d advise any of your citizens tempted to move here to invest in a good water filter, as TB stands for more than Tanah Burung around here! :P)

"Indeed it is fitting, our attempt redeem the name went just as awire as Adolf's name sake. Thank God at least we were able to stop his madness before it consumed the entire Empire. As for the Outer Dominion Wars, I will tell you the good with the bad, but I warn you, Lord Tri there was more bad than good in the Outer Dominion Wars. Even while it was being rending by internal civil war and rebellion the Dominion of Outer Centauri destroyed an entire fourth of the Star Armada and half of both the Fourth and Fifth armies sent to quell them. And the Dominion Great Clans could have taught their Japanese ethnic predecessors a thing or two about fanaticism in their final days. Perhaps I can also leave some of our history records behind when I have to return to Valinon for you."
Leopold pauses for a long moment before continuing, "It seems that the situation Iansisle now faces could almost be considered dire. Forgive me if I sound a bit presumptuous, Lord Tri, but with the help of a close outside ally would it be possible to tilt the scales back in favor of centralization? Perhaps refocus the Dominions internally and renew faith in a central government?"

…:: buy pink bunny cola ::…

:shock: *buys pink bunny cola* :shock:
:mrgreen: *sells pink bunny cola* :mrgreen:

IC:
Galadriel arched an eyebrow as she watched James leave. This was highly unusual, usually if a King left during a state-dinner with guests something was going on, at least it was so with the Royals she knew. Another political crisis, perhaps? After all, the elections were drawing near. She made a mental note to check the Kings expression when he returned.

Galadriel took no note of the blushing cheeks and nodded kindly to Christin and gave her that look that is typical of two women together, chatting. As an elf, Galadriel felt uncomfortable with rushing things in general. Her people had had millenia to develop slowly but steadily and the thought of rushing things was intrinsically bad to her. She replied: “Well, everything happens in its own good time. I, too, have had to adapt to a very different culture, living amongst humans. The NS world is very diverse and you never know where fate brings you.” She smiled to Christin.

Ybe nodded when Christin spoke told how she knew all about computers. ”Poor girl”, he thought. ”She is trapped in the past, essentially, while she was raised in a modern country. Hmm… listen to yourself Ybe. You are feeling pity for a Kings companion.”

"I should love to read your records," smiled the Admiral. "I find other country's military history and traditions utterly fascinating. In return, Dun Adien has one of the largest and best-stocked libraries of original manuscripts in the entire Commonwealth; His Majesty enjoys the study of history. I'm sure he'd be pleased to show off his collection, if you ask him to."

Sir Richard frowned. His post may make him immune to the typical ebb and flow of Iansislean parliamentary politics, but even he recognized the danger in the count's words. He'd have to be careful how he went about answering this question.

"Well, m'lord," Tri started off unassumingly, "I don't think anything we do can restore the old empire; the Dominions have become far too accustomed to their liberties to ever give them up, especially to outside forces."

He sighed. "One thing, m'lord, that has become abundantly clear to me over the years is that Iansisleans are incredibly stubborn where the rest of the world is concerned. I have to admit that I myself thought it much better before Toto IV broke our long standing tradition of isolationism to the wider world. Everywhere else, things move so fast; so much happens..." He realized that he wasn't really answering any questions.

"Pardon me, m'lord, I digress," he said. "My point is that external influences often can have only a fleeting impact on internal Commonwealth policy. There have been exceptions - Ambassador Williams' speech to the C.C.P.* after Salvador is a prime example - but by and large, we run under our own machinations." He smiled. "This mess is of our own making, and we shall have to clean it up."

The motor-car pulled up outside the Greek revival splendor along Jameston Place, and the driver quickly came around to open Leopold's door. There was a bitterly cold wind blowing from the south, off Troobodia Bay, but the weather was generally not so chilly as when the Knootians arrived. Regal was being hastily prepared for another trip to the island.

"If you don't mind hearing me ramble on for a little longer, m'lord," Tri said as they walked down the cobblestone path to the docks, "I do have a few ideas about how we ought to go about cleaning up the mistakes of our ancestors."

(* not sure if I mentioned it yet - C.C.P. = Commonwealth Combined Parliament. Sorry if I already did and just forgot.)

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

“In its own good time; that’s very true,” smiled Christin. This was only her second or third official state occasion as James’ fiancée, but she was catching on to how they worked amazingly quickly. “I suppose all this supports the government’s modernization plan; after all, if we understand something completely, it can’t be used to take advantage of us.”

She took a small bite off her plate. “Living full-time in Iansisle has taken some getting used to,” she admitted, “though I don’t think it was quite as harsh a transition as the one you had to make. The main thing is how much more slowly everything works out here; almost all the internal travel is by train or ship. Actually, there are only six airports - erm, aerodocks - with regular commuter flights. Here in Ianapalis, in Lakeriverwood, in Chateau, in Harbor City, in Empire, and in Delton.” She grinned. “I was - I am - a pilot, so that was probably the most severe part of the culture shock.”

Christin looked down the table. “You’ve been very quiet, Sir Jeffrey,” she said, feeling very silly using his honorific, as he was one of her closest friends. “What do you think was the hardest part of moving from the information age to Iansisle?”

"Pardon me, m'lord, I digress," he said. "My point is that external influences often can have only a fleeting impact on internal Commonwealth policy. There have been exceptions - Ambassador Williams' speech to the C.C.P.* after Salvador is a prime example - but by and large, we run under our own machinations." He smiled. "This mess is of our own making, and we shall have to clean it up."

(Heh heh, yea! Jeff just kicked them in the butt a couple times to get them going.. ;) )

“In its own good time; that’s very true,” smiled Christin. This was only her second or third official state occasion as James’ fiancée, but she was catching on to how they worked amazingly quickly. “I suppose all this supports the government’s modernization plan; after all, if we understand something completely, it can’t be used to take advantage of us.”

She took a small bite off her plate. “Living full-time in Iansisle has taken some getting used to,” she admitted, “though I don’t think it was quite as harsh a transition as the one you had to make. The main thing is how much more slowly everything works out here; almost all the internal travel is by train or ship. Actually, there are only six airports - erm, aerodocks - with regular commuter flights. Here in Ianapalis, in Lakeriverwood, in Chateau, in Harbor City, in Empire, and in Delton.” She grinned. “I was - I am - a pilot, so that was probably the most severe part of the culture shock.”

Christin looked down the table. “You’ve been very quiet, Sir Jeffrey,” she said, feeling very silly using his honorific, as he was one of her closest friends. “What do you think was the hardest part of moving from the information age to Iansisle?”

Jeff was caught in mid-sip of his wine when the question came to him. He blushed and swallowed quickly while measuring his answer.

"Well Chri... er, ma'am," he caught himself, "It hasn't been too hard for me or the family. The embassy and manor house are as up to date as possible, thanks to the government and Dr. Niven," Jeff was careful not to call the man 'dad' in the middle of a state function, "He and I have made sure to upgrade the house with as much current technology as possible. What Iansislian power plants can't provide, we've installed solar generators so we don't tap too much of the nation's power," he said with a small smile.

"And where we can't upgrade, it hasn't been too hard to adjust to. It's almost like living with one foot in a rustic, quite home in the country, and the other in a 'modern', for us, technological world."

"I should love to read your records," smiled the Admiral. "I find other country's military history and traditions utterly fascinating. In return, Dun Adien has one of the largest and best-stocked libraries of original manuscripts in the entire Commonwealth; His Majesty enjoys the study of history. I'm sure he'd be pleased to show off his collection, if you ask him to."

Sir Richard frowned. His post may make him immune to the typical ebb and flow of Iansislean parliamentary politics, but even he recognized the danger in the count's words. He'd have to be careful how he went about answering this question.

"Well, m'lord," Tri started off unassumingly, "I don't think anything we do can restore the old empire; the Dominions have become far too accustomed to their liberties to ever give them up, especially to outside forces."

He sighed. "One thing, m'lord, that has become abundantly clear to me over the years is that Iansisleans are incredibly stubborn where the rest of the world is concerned. I have to admit that I myself thought it much better before Toto IV broke our long standing tradition of isolationism to the wider world. Everywhere else, things move so fast; so much happens..." He realized that he wasn't really answering any questions.

"Pardon me, m'lord, I digress," he said. "My point is that external influences often can have only a fleeting impact on internal Commonwealth policy. There have been exceptions - Ambassador Williams' speech to the C.C.P.* after Salvador is a prime example - but by and large, we run under our own machinations." He smiled. "This mess is of our own making, and we shall have to clean it up."

The motor-car pulled up outside the Greek revival splendor along Jameston Place, and the driver quickly came around to open Leopold's door. There was a bitterly cold wind blowing from the south, off Troobodia Bay, but the weather was generally not so chilly as when the Knootians arrived. Regal was being hastily prepared for another trip to the island.

"If you don't mind hearing me ramble on for a little longer, m'lord," Tri said as they walked down the cobblestone path to the docks, "I do have a few ideas about how we ought to go about cleaning up the mistakes of our ancestors."

(* not sure if I mentioned it yet - C.C.P. = Commonwealth Combined Parliament. Sorry if I already did and just forgot.)


Leopold has an encouraging expression on his face, "I do not mind, Lord Tri. Besides, I consider this conversation strictly private as part of a personal fact-finding session rather than anything for His Majesty and the Government. After all, I would loathe to face your King with the barebones the Ministry of External State Security and the Sardaukar managed to provide me on your way here. Besides sometimes those reports can be so....bland and dry! I've already found these few moments far more informative than anything I have read on your country in our own data files. So please do continue, it seems as though there are a few moments to spare as of yet."

Tri smiled as they walked slowly down to the Regal’s slip. “I am glad to hear that, m’lord. I was starting to worry that my excessive talking had rather put you off.”

It was in theory just another working day for parliament, but Leopold could only see a couple men and women wandering about. The simple truth was that, with Christmas only a few days away, most of Iansisle’s government had gone of extended break. As lawmakers composed, thought Tri in reckless exaggeration, almost a larger proportion of the civil service than the bureaucrats who enforced them, this wasn’t terribly important.

After they had walked a few steps down the winding, lawn-surrounded path, Sir Richard started up again. “Well, m’lord, I’m not sure how thorough a briefing you were able to receive on our government, so I fear I’ll have to start with square one. Please tell me if I’m talking about things you already know; I would hate to patronize you.

“Iansisle’s central government, or rather the modern organization of it, is the problem most key to why we haven’t been able to retain proper control of the Dominions. When High King Ian I united the warring kingdoms of the Shield, he exported Shadoran’s style of government to the new imperial one. The king was advised by a cadre of ministers, called rather banally the ‘High Council’, who couldn’t take a role any more active in politics. All decisions made by His Majesty were law.

“However, any tyranny naturally rouses support. The noblemen in the peripheries resented the imposition of artificial boundaries and foreign tax collectors, and there were several large but uncoordinated risings in those early years. By the time James I took the throne, he realized something had to be done, and called the first cruinniú. The word literally means ‘gathering’ in Ancient Shieldese, and the body functioned as something of a primitive House of Lords. Then, later, you have James II, who implemented the first gathering of an Imperial Parliament, though it didn’t include the cruinniú.”

The Admiral smiled thinly. “And there you have the first huge mistake in Iansislean politics. The major legislative body segregated the nobles from the commons; and as the cruinniú could be dissolved, whereas by law the Imperial Parliament could not, the nobles slowly but surely lost ground in the race for power. Without non-elected members to provide stability, the government was prone to swing with the whims of the public, to the right and then to the left. It refused to give up any power and was always hungering for more. Soon, neither the cruinniú nor the High King could challenge its authority.”

Suddenly, Tri laughed. “If you’ll forgive the pun, m’lord, I suppose you could say we found out what happens when you leave the parliament without a peer!” He started to lead the way up Regal’s gangplank.

The Dinner

“In its own good time; that’s very true,” smiled Christin. This was only her second or third official state occasion as James’ fiancée, but she was catching on to how they worked amazingly quickly. “I suppose all this supports the government’s modernization plan; after all, if we understand something completely, it can’t be used to take advantage of us.”

She took a small bite off her plate. “Living full-time in Iansisle has taken some getting used to,” she admitted, “though I don’t think it was quite as harsh a transition as the one you had to make. The main thing is how much more slowly everything works out here; almost all the internal travel is by train or ship. Actually, there are only six airports - erm, aerodocks - with regular commuter flights. Here in Ianapalis, in Lakeriverwood, in Chateau, in Harbor City, in Empire, and in Delton.” She grinned. “I was - I am - a pilot, so that was probably the most severe part of the culture shock.”

Christin looked down the table. “You’ve been very quiet, Sir Jeffrey,” she said, feeling very silly using his honorific, as he was one of her closest friends. “What do you think was the hardest part of moving from the information age to Iansisle?”

Jeff was caught in mid-sip of his wine when the question came to him. He blushed and swallowed quickly while measuring his answer.

"Well Chri... er, ma'am," he caught himself, "It hasn't been too hard for me or the family. The embassy and manor house are as up to date as possible, thanks to the government and Dr. Niven," Jeff was careful not to call the man 'dad' in the middle of a state function, "He and I have made sure to upgrade the house with as much current technology as possible. What Iansislian power plants can't provide, we've installed solar generators so we don't tap too much of the nation's power," he said with a small smile.

"And where we can't upgrade, it hasn't been too hard to adjust to. It's almost like living with one foot in a rustic, quite home in the country, and the other in a 'modern', for us, technological world."

As they talked the elf finished her plate. Ybe's was already empty and the Knootian had indicated with his knife and fork that he didn't need more.

When will the King return?, was the dominant question on Ybe's mind . After all, He and Galadriel still had matters of state to discuss. Galadriël however was patiënt as always, wondering if there would be a desert.

As she noticed a short silence in the conversation, Galadriël nodded, "I can imagine. The NS world has so much technological differences. When I came from Middle Earth it also took some getting used to."

There was indeed a dessert coming, and it took two servants to place the great apple and cheese pudding upon the table.

As for James, even Christin was starting to look a little nervous. She continually glanced over her shoulder as the pudding was spooned out, even though one portion was going to James’ place. Johnson kept his eyes locked on the door, and Grand Admiral Tri did his level best to look interested in the current conversation, though he failed miserably.

Johnson had just gotten up and announced he was going to remind His Majesty that they had company when James strode in quickly. Anyone watching Tri’s face might notice a quick expression of anticipation flash across it.

“I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, m’lady?” the High King asked of Galadriël as he sat down. “I just got a call from the office of Earl Dirwisham.” His eyes tracked slowly down the table, settling at last on the very uncomfortable First Sea Lord. “Apparently, the Opposition has taken the liberty of inviting a foreign power to conference on the Shield, and they can’t help but wonder if I wouldn’t be willing to host them for a while in Dun Adien.” Tri coughed softly into his hand but never looked up from the pudding.

James sighed and looked back at Galadriël. “I realize that this is a terrible imposition upon you, m’lady, as well as a gross breach of customary protocol, but I wonder if perhaps we couldn’t perhaps, ah, expedite the initial Iansisle-Knootoss talks to make up for the impertinence among some of my ministers?”

A wizened chuckle escapes Leopold's lips, "Yes, that could pose a difficult problem indeed, Lord Tri."
Leopold carefully climbs the gang plank to the Regal, "It seems that the problems of Iansisle are somewhat like those of Earth's British Empire in its final days of granduer. I must admit we have something of the opposite of this problem in Valinon. The Congress of Lords in the Imperial Diet holds the majority of political power, but that can cause problems as well. You would be surprised at the number of times the ever-changing Opposition in the Lords has caused inaction through their political machinations when we so desperately needed action. And sometimes not having to worry about an electorate means you vest a little too much in your own personal empires and niches. Thankfully, His Majesty can still dismiss both Congresses for a breif span of time, at least disrupting this problem for a bit."
"Besides," Leopold says, "even the Lords dare not risk stalling a 'request' that comes from the Palace. If it is not addressed those responsible for the stall will be subject to His Majesty....displeasure."
"Another question, if you don't mind, Lord Tri. I have heard that a Knootian delegation is supposed to be visiting Iansisle as well. Is there in basis on this rumor besides just off-hand gossip?"

((OOC: do you also mean OOCly? *grin*))

"Of course", replied Galadriël. "I most certainly understand your situation." As she slightly tilted her head the light played with her fair skin, casting patterns as if it were shadows on white paper.

What she didn't say was that she was curious what exactly that situation was.

"Perhaps we can discuss business matters in the morning, or perhaps after dinner? If it is not too late. I'm sure Ybe would love to present his plans."

The civil servant looked up from his desert: "Uhm, well, yes, of course I would. “A slight pause was followed by the realisation that the man is a crowned figure. With his voice slightly softer, he adds: "If it fits Your Majesty."

Galadriël inserted: "If his Majesty is receiving other guests as well due to unforeseen circumstances then perhaps we can fit in a schedule?", she added, looking at the king and trying to gauge his thoughts.

EDIT: added some stuff. Corrected some spelling errors. Knootoss and Valinon are allies, btw. FYI for Ian and Lark. so them meeting wouldn't be trouble at all.

“I am no stranger to inaction and the political wheeling that causes it,” said Tri, walking Leopold to the comfortable study while steam was being built up in Regal’s engine room. “Why, just more than a year ago, Tarriff’s government was unable to take firm action against Germany, even after they had stolen crown property and sunk a RMM freighter! It wasn’t until one of my battlecruisers had been surprised and nearly sunk by the fiends that a declaration of war was served at last!”

He clucked disapprovingly and settled into one fine leather armchair, indicating that Leopold ought to take another. What the Admiral didn’t mention was that, even now, the conservative party he favored was throwing a wrench (or should I say sabot? ;)) into the machinery the liberals were attempting to build to fight the war, as part of Earl Dirwisham’s plan to seize control of parliament.

“It is good that His Majesty the Emperor has the power to wield some degree of executive power,” said Tri. “His Majesty the High King - or I should say His Majesty’s ancestors, for James has done much to reclaim the ancient powers of the crown - is often rendered powerless and finds himself pushed about by parliament.”

The mention of the Knootian delegation brought a slight frown to Tri’s face. Not because he didn’t trust Galadriël or Knootoss - though I fear she and her government might be an ... unwelcome liberal influence upon the country and the King, he thought - but rather because of the rant James had delivered last night in private. The young monarch had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t like being caught in the cross-fire of some parliamentary fight. James had said that while he was more than willing - glad, even - to host both Galadriël and Leopold in the name of international solidarity, and further attempts by either Sir Richard or Lord Dirwisham to force his hand would meet with his extreme displeasure.

“That is true indeed, m’lord,” Tri said at last as Regal cast off. Leopold could see some muscles clenching in Tri’s face; whether it was because of the Knootians or because he - as one of the last mariners from Iansisle’s day of sail, and as he was vastly more experienced than her sailors or captain in handling Regal - wished to be on the ship’s quarterdeck.

----

James blinked once at Ybe. He wasn’t quite sure if that last part had been added as a sarcastic comment or not; certainly, Iansisle had met a fair number of countries who, blatantly or subtly, ridiculed her court and peerage. However, it may also have been meant sincerely, and to imply otherwise would certainly insult the Knootian.

Whatever the hidden meaning - present or not - behind the words, he quickly brushed them aside and smiled. “Mr. Ybe, I should love dearly to see your presentation; Lady Galadriël, whatever schedule you see fit to set would be most welcome.”

James set his silverware down and pushed the plate from himself slightly. “As my good man has just informed me, we are expecting Count Leopold, a representative of the Star Empire of Valinon on the morrow, perhaps by mid-afternoon. I do not know if you wish to make these joint talks, but Dun Adien is certainly large enough to host two separate conferences.”

((Ah, gotcha. I wasn’t really sure; we can always just blame that goof-up on my part upon the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; they are fairly incompetent, after all ;).

BTW, Valinon, I’m sorry if James seems a bit hostile towards your ambassador. I’m very glad you decided to join us, but James is a little concerned and perhaps slightly bitter about being caught up in this whole mess Dirwisham is creating.))

(( No sarcasm was intended.))

“Count Leopold?! Now there’s a familiar name.”, Galadriël’s mind raced. ”What a small world it is indeed. But what is a representative from Valinon doing here? They always made it abundantly clear that their primary interests are in Proxima Centauri, not earth.”

This would require some skill. There was that longstanding offer of a formal alliance. It had never been made, through official channels but it had always been implied. Knootoss’ economic influence in sol, Valinon’s fleet protecting their merchants. Joined operations. It had always made sense.
Yet it was an offer that had always been kept at arms length, for fear of damaging relations with certain Sisgardian nations. The state-secretary recalled all too well the conversations they had while negotiating the KRS-ONE treaty. And the two nations would always be there for each other anyways. ((Well, unless it is not required for OOC reasons ;) ))

Ybe and Galadriël exchanged a look. Ybe was anxious to present his plan, but the elf knew that they both were tired after the long day. Better build up some strength. Perhaps the morning can bring new insights.”

“Perhaps we can schedule bilateral talks first, tomorrow morning? I would think it wise that we get some sleep after our long journey.
After our meeting we can always meet together with the Count, if possible. The Star Empire and the Dutch Democratic Republic have always enjoyed pleasant relationships. Both economic and military. I would not mind a trilateral meeting if the Count does not object.”

Ybe wondered what their beds would be like.

OOC: No problems by me, makes the RP that much more interesting. Do what you want, Iansisle, I will deal with it.

"That is good," says Leopold. "It will be a pleasure to meet with our friends from Knootoss while we are here. A true pleasure indeed."
Leopold takes Tri's expression as a reflex of that of a great mariner.
Leopold sighs slightly, "That is one thing I enjoy on Earth. Sailing and seamanship is something of a lost art in Valinon, and I realize that I miss it more than I think. Oh, there is still the Great Blue Fleet on Proxima, Pholus, and here on Earth but our own blue navy just doesn't have the same traditions the same feel as a true navy. Sometimes you lose things as you advance, and sometimes I wonder if it is worth it."
"The Star Armada just isn't the same as the traditional navy, no matter how much other people say that."
Leopold walks toward the edge of the ship, looking into the water.

“Indeed?” asked James with an arched eyebrow, somewhat taken aback by her familiar tone. “I must confess, neither Count Leopold nor the Star Empire are familiar names for me; but then, my knowledge of extra-terrestrial nations is somewhat limited.” He smile, hoping that Galadriël wouldn’t take too much by his previous rather hot-headed comment.

Christin smiled up at him. She knew that James was frankly not too enthusiastic about entertaining the Knootians, and she could imagine how frustrated he must be by this new development. He seemed to be fairly comfortable with Galadriël and Ybe, no doubt because they - much like herself - were largely ignorant of the intricate social customs and peculiarities that governed formal Iansislean receptions. No doubt neither Ybe nor the elf realized it, but they had broken a half-dozen protocols over the course of the evening, and that was just by Christin’s count (Quinton, a veritable encyclopedia of ‘proper’ behavior, was probably into the thousands of infractions by now). In the late High King Toto IV’s court, from what she understood, the Knootians probably have been tossed out mere minutes after they arrived; James, for whom the peculiarities of social life had held scant interest, was doubtlessly delighted by the fact he could cut a corner every now and then.

“Ah, of course,” James was saying, “I had quite forgotten what a long trek you were subjugated to earlier. Please forgive me; I do not mean to detain you if you wish to take your leave.

“In fact,” he continued, taking another glance down the table, “once I have had a short talk with Sir Richard, I fear I shall be turning in for the evening as well.” Tri swallowed hard and kept his gaze straight ahead - which only led it to Ambassador Johnson’s questioning eyes. “If you so desire, Quinton would be happy to lead you to your rooms.”

The head butler, immaculately clad as ever, stepped forward from the edges of the room. “At your service, m’lady; good sir.”

-----

“I quite agree,” said Sir Richard, standing next to Leopold as the black waters of Adien Bay rushed below at twelve knots. “On things being perhaps lost in the rush for progress.” A sailor tried to creep by behind, but Tri caught him in a gaze. The young man snapped off a salute, then rushed aft in as dignified manner as possible.

“Though I agree with that point, I fear that Iansisle is hardly the proper place to turn for true seamanship. Most of our modern ratings couldn’t tell the difference between a topgallant and a main royal, and the midshipmen the TMA is graduating couldn’t find their asses with both hands, a full chart, a compass, and six navigational buoys.” He snorted. “But pardon me, m’lord, I have digressed slightly.

“The Star Armada, did you say?” he asked, the importance of those words suddenly hitting him. “As in...sailing the void?” Tri appeared ready to be quite impressed; despite his traditionalist roots, the Admiral had always been very impressed with aero-flight, and astro-flight! THAT was something incredible!

((ooc: very cool. I just wanted to be sure you knew that I have the utmost respect for you, even if some of my characters don't ;). Same goes for you, Knoot!))

An odd air comes about Leopold, the look of a far younger man entering into the face of the old Valinor's face.
"Yes, sailing the void is a very good way to put it," says Leopold, his voice filled with a whimsical rememberance. "When I did my ten year mandatory service I entered the Star Armada, why that must have been under the reign of Emperor Karl III, that seems so long ago. But I am proud to have been briefly a part of the Armada's history, and it's hard to believe that the Armada has existed for close to 1,000 years. From the mag-sails ships we returned to the stars in to our modern ships."
He smiles, a laugh cutting the air.
"It was once a joke, Lord Tri, that the Star Armada still had the cryo ships that brought the Valinor from Earth stored away. Well, that joke soon became a stunning truth when First Star Lord Grossadmiral von Detering had one of them to take an orbital cruise around Proxima for a few weeks. We are very connected to our history in the Empire, perhaps a little too much to a degree, but the saying that the Star Armada never truly get's rid of anything is not so much a joke any more."
"My son is a Korvettenkapitan now," says Leopold and begins to dig inside his great coat. His hand coming out later with a small, thin silver disk. His fingers manuver around the edge and suddenly an image shimmers into life from a beam of light. Becoming a man that looks to be in his twenties standing in a black and gold uniform. "He just received his first jump capable command a month ago. I will shamelessely admit I can have no greater pride."
He sighs, "Oh, but enough of this, listening to an old man ramble must bore you to tears."

“Ah, of course,” James was saying, “I had quite forgotten what a long trek you were subjugated to earlier. Please forgive me; I do not mean to detain you if you wish to take your leave.

“In fact,” he continued, taking another glance down the table, “once I have had a short talk with Sir Richard, I fear I shall be turning in for the evening as well.” Tri swallowed hard and kept his gaze straight ahead - which only led it to Ambassador Johnson’s questioning eyes. “If you so desire, Quinton would be happy to lead you to your rooms.”

Jeff pulled out his pocket watch and quickly checked the time as Quinton walked up to the two elves. "That's a good idea, your majesty," he said to James, "If I head out now, I'll just catch the last ship back to the shore for the night to visit my wife. She's like to see me sometime before Conner is born," he winked to James and Christin. "I'll be back tomorrow morning-ish."

Jeff turned to Ybe and Galadriël and offered his hand with a warm smile, "Madam, sir, it was a pleasure to meet you both and I will see you in the morning."

"Don't get yelled at too much," Jeff whispered to Tri as he walked past him on the way out.

((OOC: hhrm… I didn’t think I had violated that many rules, being generally respectful and all. But ok…
I propose we won’t spend OOC ages getting to the bedroom / sleeping / getting up / having breakfast etc :) ))

The head butler, immaculately clad as ever, stepped forward from the edges of the room. “At your service, m’lady; good sir.”

The two Knootians followed the head butler to their bedrooms. The beds may not have been as soft as the mattresses the Knootians were used to but they fared very well. It was pretty dark already and the two were too tired to take much notice of their surroundings. Ybe thanked the head butler before getting into his pyjama’s. They were light-blue with little bears on them, a gift from a friend with a strange sense of humour.

Galadriël, meanwhile, lay down with a good book on international relations in the 19th century.

((There was a whole discussion sparked on IRC on the question if elves sleep sparked by my question if they would wear pyjama’s. I’m just leaving it in the middle so as not to offend anyone in both camps. :P ))

The following morning, a tiny bit of light crept though the castle windows, right onto Ybe’s face. The light seemed to tickle him and wake him. He yawned loudly and sat up, looking around where the heck he was.

“Oh, right, the castle.” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes wondering if there would be someone to wake him.

“No, Lord Leopold,” insisted Tri quickly. “Please; feel free to tell me all.” He smiled, perhaps somewhat sadly. “I - I’d love to hear more about your son.”

The Admiral’s hand moved quietly into his jacket pocket, and there was the soft sound of rumpling paper.

“He is a very handsome boy,” whispered Sir Richard. “And so young!”

------

((ooc: Well, Christin was using a bit of hyperbole; there are just a few obscure court rituals which were probably offended. But don’t worry - James’ father was as famous for sticking to the exact tradition as James is for ignoring it. ;)

As for speeding things up, I’m all for that. Maybe we could even finish just as Leopold arrives, and have everything on the same timescale again. It’s hard playing Richard’s character in the future when I’m not sure what happened to him in the past!))

“It was wonderful seeing you, Jeff,” said James with a small smile. Quinton grimaced at the lack of a formal title, much less the use of nickname, but James really didn’t care. “Good night, Jeff,” added Christin.

“Hmmph. I’ll try not to,” was Richard’s rather pessimistic farewell.

The next morning, neither Knootian would find a wakeup call for them; James had decided to let his guests sleep to their hearts content. After all, Leopold wasn’t due until nearly four-o-clock, local time. They would, however, find a man in the intricate dress uniform of the First Grenadiers directly outside their rooms.

"That's something of a misnomer I'm afraid, Lord Tri," says Leopold. "You see, it is my sad duty to admit that to my people time has lost some of its meaning. My son will be forty-seven next year. Sometimes, I wonder if the prolongs and the gene baths don't fossilize our society rather than strengthening it."
Leopold looks at Tri, the movement and the look not lost on the old First Minister. Leopold's own eyes are filled with some sort of remorse. Every time he comes to Earth he is reminded of what the Valinor have lost for all they have gained. Leopold oft wonders how many there are like him in Alpha Centauri, that would trade their own lives for one on Earth in a place like Iansisle. For above all else, Leopold longs for simplicity once again.
"God bless my son. His position is based on his own merits. I myself abhor the system of patronage that seems to be becoming more predominant in His Majesty's armed forces. I suspect he will make a career out of the Star Armada, and I will support him anyway he wants me to. The Hawkwing is a good vessel...a good vessel indeed."
Leopold looks out over the water.
"Tell me, Lord Tri, perhaps later you would like to tour a ship of the Armada? The HMS Corinth is in orbit currently, although I think using a battlecruiser for a transport for myself is somewhat excessive, His Majesty thinks otherwise. But still, I think Flottenkapitan Trowbridge could accomodate it. And it would allow me to repay you for the gratitude you have shown me here."

After sitting up in bed for a while in bed Ybe decided to get up and get dressed. Would there be showers here?

He popped his head out of the room and saw Galadriël just striding down the hallway together with her grenadier guard.
“Good morning Ybe!”, she greeted cheerfully. The human, however, was not really a morning person. “Mornin’”

The two Knootians had breakfast together; and ate quietly* while they and discussed the morning news that had come in via Galadriëls communications device. (An obscure thing with many buttons and fancy displays that could be used for visual communication. For now, however, it was only used to download text-based news reports. She was up in the popularity polls, she noted happily. Even though the elections were still far away good polls made her feel happy. Just as happy as the profit of her company had once made her.

Ybe, meanwhile, went over his act later on for the King. It was difficult enough as it was, with the King not being an executive –exactly- but a, well, they didn’t know what exactly he was. Ybe just hoped it would all come around as they had planned and that he wouldn’t say anything stupid.

After the breakfast they refreshed themselves and prepared themselves to meet with the King.

OOC:
*I am aware that it would also have been possible to do this together but for the sake of argument lets say that the King had other affairs to attend to.

“Forty-seven?” asked Sir Richard incrediously, looking at the - to him - young man’s picture again. “Certainly not! Why, then, he’d be just a few years younger than I am myself!” The deep, external dejection which had threatened to engulf him just moments ago vanished in the blink of an eye as the elderly, by Iansislean standards at least, Admiral attempted to wrap his mind about this fresh conundrum.

Richard didn’t take up the thread of political patronage; after all, to many countries the R.I.N. was famous for its cut-throat political advancement through naval ranks. In fact, the Tri family was one of the oldest and most celebrated naval dynasties. Admiral Sir Daniel Tri, later elevated first to the Earl and then the Marquess of Tri, was the overall commander of the Shadoranite forces during the final stages of the Wars of Unification. After Shadoran’s triumph, he became the first First Sea Lord of the combined empire. His sons and other relations had followed in his footsteps; in fact, there was only one person with the surname Tri in the R.I.N.’s history who hadn’t achieved at least the rank of Commodore.

Sir Richard Tri was a second cousin of the current Marquess of Tri. The Marquess, despite all family urgings, had never shown the inclinations towards a life at sea; however, three of his five sons, including his heir, the honorary, non-peer Earl of Tri eagerly signed up for the Martial Academy. The Earl, a captain, was now serving as Admiral Sir Hunter N. Kennington’s chief of operations. The other two were a commander, the gunnery officer aboard HIMS Behemoth and a lieutenant commander, the skipper of the sloop HIMS Inswick.

The mention of the Corinth was enough to snap Tri’s mind back to matters currently at hand. For all his famous conservatism, the Admiral had always been personally thrilled by aeroflight and all that it entailed; even if that same fascination was actively discouraged in other he knew.

“Tour the ship?” he asked cautiously, as if he were unable to believe his ears. “I can honestly say, m’lord, that it’d be quite impossible to find anything I’d love to do more!” He shrugged. “I know I can offer precious little comparable in return, but if it would please you, m’lord, and the Flottenkapitan -” his mouth twisted around the unfamiliar word “- it would be my honor to have you as guests for dinner aboard the battlecruiser King Ian V after your negotiations. She’s just working up now in Troobodia Bay, and I’m sure her captain would love to show off his new ship.”

----

(ooc: * faux sniff* You don’t want to RP breakfast with me? I ... I don’t believe I’ve ever felt so unloved! :(;))

It was somewhat unwillingly that James forced himself out of Christin’s bed and broke his fast. In his opinion, the morning was best used for sleeping through. Granted, that wasn’t a luxury often afforded to heads of state, and he thought wistfully back to the days when he had been simply the Prince of Shadoran.

It’s rather cruel, he reflected while half-conscious and eating some sort of egg product on a stool on the kitchen, to wish my father was still alive simply so that I could sleep in. Quinton was scolding him about something, but that was a fairly usual state of affairs, and James didn’t even lend half an ear to the complaints.

After a hot shower - unfortunately for the Knootians, in the only one at Dun Adien, as it had been installed at James’ specific request - and donning his clothing, James was at last ready to face the day. He sent Quinton off to invite Galadriël and Ybe to the Honeycomb, and then headed there himself.

The Honeycomb, added to the castle by King Alexander I during his brief reign, was probably James’ favorite room in Dun Adien. There weren’t any windows, but the entire room - which must have been better than six or seven hundred square feet - was plated in a thin layer of gold. When the electric lights were on, as they were, the entire room glowed with an eerie light. When there were only the torches lit, as it had been designed for, light flickered and bounced off the honeycomb designs on the wall, entrancing all who hadn’t seen it before and many of those who had.

Quinton led the two Knootians through Dun Adien, on to the honeycomb, and they followed the foreign man and the shadow of the candlelight reflecting on the walls of the ancient castle.

Galadriël felt in this castle a sense of home, the epic, the mythical, the foundations of stone that the castles of humanity had once been. A defensive structure, towering high above the rest of the land. Intimately connected with leadership to her. Leadership: an ambition she wanted to fulfil desperately. She stroked the wall carefully as she went past.
For an elf, she was uncharacteristically power-hungry. Castles, not forests were the future to her. Instead of the wood she had chosen stone. Instead of bows she had chosen cannons. If she was to lead a people –any people- it would be to lead a race of humans.

Instead of these grand thoughts, Ybe was reminded of his youth, touring one of the castle-ruins. Instead of a grand imposing structure, it had been little more then a heap or rubble with a few standing walls. A museum, and a gift shop. Long ago, the banners of noble Lavenrunzian dynasties had waved high above that castle. A testament to noble power.

Now there was grass growing between the rocks. Little bits of green sprouting up, a small tree standing next to the waterside – what his dad had told him was a moat.
Castles had given way to cities. Stone had given way to wood.

The Knootians entered the Honeycomb. Ybe was taken aback by the sparkling light, and turned his head in all directions. Wondering in marvel. Galadriël, too, absorbed the moment. But then she realised there was business to attend to…

“Forty-seven?” asked Sir Richard incrediously, looking at the - to him - young man’s picture again. “Certainly not! Why, then, he’d be just a few years younger than I am myself!” The deep, external dejection which had threatened to engulf him just moments ago vanished in the blink of an eye as the elderly, by Iansislean standards at least, Admiral attempted to wrap his mind about this fresh conundrum.

Richard didn’t take up the thread of political patronage; after all, to many countries the R.I.N. was famous for its cut-throat political advancement through naval ranks. In fact, the Tri family was one of the oldest and most celebrated naval dynasties. Admiral Sir Daniel Tri, later elevated first to the Earl and then the Marquess of Tri, was the overall commander of the Shadoranite forces during the final stages of the Wars of Unification. After Shadoran’s triumph, he became the first First Sea Lord of the combined empire. His sons and other relations had followed in his footsteps; in fact, there was only one person with the surname Tri in the R.I.N.’s history who hadn’t achieved at least the rank of Commodore.

Sir Richard Tri was a second cousin of the current Marquess of Tri. The Marquess, despite all family urgings, had never shown the inclinations towards a life at sea; however, three of his five sons, including his heir, the honorary, non-peer Earl of Tri eagerly signed up for the Martial Academy. The Earl, a captain, was now serving as Admiral Sir Hunter N. Kennington’s chief of operations. The other two were a commander, the gunnery officer aboard HIMS Behemoth and a lieutenant commander, the skipper of the sloop HIMS Inswick.

The mention of the Corinth was enough to snap Tri’s mind back to matters currently at hand. For all his famous conservatism, the Admiral had always been personally thrilled by aeroflight and all that it entailed; even if that same fascination was actively discouraged in other he knew.

“Tour the ship?” he asked cautiously, as if he were unable to believe his ears. “I can honestly say, m’lord, that it’d be quite impossible to find anything I’d love to do more!” He shrugged. “I know I can offer precious little comparable in return, but if it would please you, m’lord, and the Flottenkapitan -” his mouth twisted around the unfamiliar word “- it would be my honor to have you as guests for dinner aboard the battlecruiser King Ian V after your negotiations. She’s just working up now in Troobodia Bay, and I’m sure her captain would love to show off his new ship.”


Leopold smiles, "Lord Tri, I believe that the King Ian V will be more of a return than you believe. And it will be an honor to tour a ship of the Iansisle royal navy, a true honor indeed. As I said before, the vibrancy of the Blue Fleet is somewhat lacking these days. Besides it is the least I can do. And I like to entertain myself by thinking that I can still read people to a degree, and I sense something of a wanderlust for the stars. What kind of person would I be to deny you that opportunity after your own hospitality has been so flattering?"
"Besides, the stars are just a slightly larger sea," says Leopold in a joke. "And it seems that our two nations share much of a common history in terms of naval tradition."
Leopold straightens for a moment, "And if you will allow me a small moment of mild indiscretion, Lord Tri. Perhaps you would tell me how long it is until we reach our destination?"

“Hello, Lady Galadriël; Mr. Ybe,” said James, standing to greet them. He allowed a few seconds for them to admire the honeycomb; it was his favorite room in Dun Adien, and showing it off gave him a certain sense of almost paternal pride. “Please, come in; be seated.”

The High King gestured towards a couple of couches and chairs sitting in the middle of the room. Unlike the stiff-backed Victorian - or older - furniture that prevailed throughout the rest of the castle, the Honeycomb’s chairs looked modern and comfortable.

“Imported from Larkinia, for the most part,” James said in response to any questions that may have been put forward. “One of the perks, I suppose. The downside is that I have to put up with the stuffy, formal junk in every other room,” he added with a laugh.

As they all settled in, James turned to Ybe. “Now, Mr. Ybe, I understand that you have a presentation to make?”

---

“Hmm.” Tri pursed his lips and glanced towards Regal’s quarterdeck, as if that may have answered Leopold’s question at all. “Let’s see- we left about fifteen minutes ago, so that ought to put us at right about the half-way mark.”

He shrugged. “I must apologize, m’lord. The Regal may have been Iansisle’s first ship with a steam-powered screw, but she’s quite slow by even our standards today.” A faint smile skippered across the Admiral’s face.

“I’d love to take one our new Tiger class destroyers out for a cruise, accelerate it to thirty-five or thirty-six knots, and really fly...” He trailed off looking at Leopold. “Of course, I suppose even thirty-six knots is painfully slow for a person used to traversing distances measured in lightyears.”

He waved a hand vaguely behind them. “Of course, I don’t mean to make you stand out here in the cold for another quarter-hour! If you’d like, the study is open, and I’d bet they even have a good-sized fire going.

“Truth be told,” he added, rubbing his hands together, “a nice fire sounds pretty good right about now!”

((Hey, lark - I’ve sort of forgotten about Jeff, I’m afraid! Would you like to have him sitting in the study when Leopold and Tri walk in?))

(yeah, that's what I was thinking. No reason to repost him tearing through Ianapalis in the Ferrari again, that's just kind of assumed. ;) )

“Hmm.” Tri pursed his lips and glanced towards Regal’s quarterdeck, as if that may have answered Leopold’s question at all. “Let’s see- we left about fifteen minutes ago, so that ought to put us at right about the half-way mark.”

He shrugged. “I must apologize, m’lord. The Regal may have been Iansisle’s first ship with a steam-powered screw, but she’s quite slow by even our standards today.” A faint smile skippered across the Admiral’s face.

“I’d love to take one our new Tiger class destroyers out for a cruise, accelerate it to thirty-five or thirty-six knots, and really fly...” He trailed off looking at Leopold. “Of course, I suppose even thirty-six knots is painfully slow for a person used to traversing distances measured in lightyears.”

He waved a hand vaguely behind them. “Of course, I don’t mean to make you stand out here in the cold for another quarter-hour! If you’d like, the study is open, and I’d bet they even have a good-sized fire going.

“Truth be told,” he added, rubbing his hands together, “a nice fire sounds pretty good right about now!”

((Hey, lark - I’ve sort of forgotten about Jeff, I’m afraid! Would you like to have him sitting in the study when Leopold and Tri walk in?))

"Indeed it does," says Leopold nodding his agreement. "And don't worry about speed, Lord Tri. I will say that sometimes going fast really means that your actually going no where at all. There reaches a point where your no longer accelerating, your going so fast that your standing still. But let us retire to the study, a fire sounds excellent right now and perhaps something hot to drink?"

“Yes.”, he says mentally preparing himself. During the presentation, Ybe speaks with a calm, clear tone.

“Well, my purpose today is to stimulate Your Highness’ thoughts on our bilateral relations. As I understand it to be currently, so far not much has been established beyond a recognition of borders- Our government believes this to be a shame when there is clearly much potential.

He exchanges a quick look with Galadriël, who nods friendly to him urging him to continue.

“Establishing full embassies in each others nations would, in our opinion, be a first logical step.”

He waited for input, but presumed that would be all right. ((If it is a problem somehow then just insert it here.))

He continued: “I can imagine that your war with the Axis powers is at this point in time of the greatest significance to Imperial foreign policy.”

A small sigh escaped, and he bit his lip.

“Our nation has a strict policy of neutrality in this matter, as is traditional, and I’m glad that both sides have so far upheld this neutrality. As you can imagine by our position on the globe we have much to fear from German aggression and we wouldn’t stand much of a chance against it, should it come. Fortunately shifting temporal dimensions in this part of the globe have prevented Germany from becoming too much of a strategic threat to our homeland.” ((OOC disclaimer, please don’t mind it.))

The Knootian smiled, showing a wee bit of emotion. “However, between us, out sympathies definitely lie with your nation and with the allies. We would like to do all that is possible within our current positions to promote relations. Our strategic analysts project that your side will be victorious.” His voice trailed “…Though I must admit that this conclusion is based on some information, and a lot of hope.”

“In the immediate future, our government would like to offer to you a treaty of free trade between our nations. Certain reservations can always be negotiated, of course. If your war machine requires it we can also engage in the delivery of weapons, though delivery will have to be covert.”

“After the war, of course, we would like to build relations further. Having a strategic partner – a gateway - in Europe could do your nation much good, is our suggestion. “

He paused so the King could reply.

Sir Richard spent no small amount of time trying to figure out the mechanics of Leopold’s statement as he led the count towards Regal’s small study. It was ridiculously well-appointed for a ship that now primarily served to shuttle back and forth across the six or so miles from Jameston to Dun Adien. Of course, before the invention of aero-flight, Regal was the only way to shuttle His Majesty anywhere outside of Ianapalis. They could have used a train for continental matters, of course, but...well, Iansislean minds just didn’t work that way. If you couldn’t get there by water, it probably wasn’t worth going to.

A sudden glimpse of recognition and a small, friendly smile fluttered across Tri’s face as he saw...

----

“Establishing full embassies in each others nations would, in our opinion, be a first logical step.”

“Of course,” nodded James, before making a small face. “‘My’ government, and especially the Foreign Ministry, might prove slightly obstructionist, but there are ways to..expedite the process.”

-snip the rest-

“I thank you for your kind words and thoughts,” smiled James, “and, insofar as I may speak for the governments of Walmington on Sea, Calarca, and the United Kingdom, I extend the thanks of the Alliance. There is no doubt in my mind that your analysts are correct, and we shall prevail.”

Granted, it was easy to be optimistic sitting ten thousand miles away from the front line in Europe. Iansisle itself had never been bombed, at it more than likely never would be bombed, even if the Allies suffered a complete disaster. The Commonwealth, unlike her Atlantic partners, was fighting a war more for influence in the colonies and out of insult at German neutrality infractions than because of any genuine threat to her homeland.

“As for your proposals, Mr Ybe, I can honestly say that I am completely in favor of them.” No one would ever accuse James of being slight of hand. “However, I must warn you that my word is not the ultimate authority in this land - are you familiar with the Iansislean System of Parliamentary Review?” James’ face was open; he meant no insult if Ybe and Galadriël didn’t know the rather complex system of executive decisions in the Commonwealth.

“I might also suggest that a formal non-aggression treaty could well cement good relations between our states,” continued James afterward. “Unless, of course, you feel that such a document might prove...provocative. In which case, both myself and my government understand completely.”

Ybe and Galadriël looked relieved that things were going so well. When confronted with the question about the Iansislean System of Parliamentary Review Ybe frowned. He had looked it over but he found it rather difficult to understand the entire structure. The struggle for power between Parliament and King had clearly not been resolved in favour of either side in here.

“I… we… I think we have a general idea. However I sincerely believe that the word of Your Highness will still carry great strength. And I also stand with the firm belief that there is no way that better relations could possibly harm the interests of the Commonwealth or the Empire.

If your system permits it then our ministry could send lobbyists to, uhm, inform the parties of the benefits of better relations. We have learned that providing information is often the best way to encourage… rational decisions,” commented the civil servant.

As the king spoke of a non-aggression treaty Galadriëls interest was piqued. “An excellent idea your majesty,” she said, “this would accomplish that goal well. I don’t think that the Axis powers will find this overly provocative and they are already occupied with other events on the continent.”

She thought for a moment, she frankly did not care what the fascist bastards thought but her government was attached to peace and she had to conform to that decision. “Of course, we could symbolically offer a non-aggression pact to them also.”

Bring Up My Post!

((Don't worry, Knoot: I've not forgotten about this. I'm partly waiting for Larkinia/Valinon's next post. I've also been at my 'other' home for the past week and haven't been able to get on for long. I'm back in Tucson now, and will try to get a handle on all the catching up. ;)))

OOC: I was waiting on Larkinia. If that post doesn't come soon I will post again.

((Ah, good deal. Lark's usually on later at night, so he'll probably post thenabouts.))

(what? Who? Me on late at night? So you're insinuating I have no life? It's true mind you, I just want to make sure though ;) I've been waiting for an Iansisle post though, cause I'm just along as comic relief :P Although Jeff could take the lobbying payments for them...)

So you're insinuating I have no life?

Always :P (*hides fact he's on all hours of day and night* ;))

A sudden glimpse of recognition and a small, friendly smile fluttered across Tri’s face as he saw...

You can go from there if you'd like, or whatever. Or I can formulate another post, it's all good.

A sudden glimpse of recognition and a small, friendly smile fluttered across Tri’s face as he saw...

Jeff was sitting in the study with his morning glass of scotch (as opposed to his mid-morning scotch, his martini lunch and his bourbon afternoon drinks :P )

"Morning gents," he said with a smile to the two as they walk in. "Richard, how are you doing these days?"

(*still has Galadriel and Ybe hovering in Limbo meanwhile :wink: *)

“Jeff!” said Sir Richard in surprise. “I’m doing quite well, now that...” Suddenly, he remembered his duty was to escort a diplomat to Dun Adien, not chat with old friends.

“Oh, how perfectly rude of me! M’lord, this is Sir Jeffrey Williams, Ruby Knight Commander of the Imperial Order and the Larkinian Ambassador to the Iansislean Commonwealth; Jeff, this is Count Leopold, the Valinor (that’s the proper term, right? sorry if not) representative to the Ian’s Island talks.”

---

If your system permits it then our ministry could send lobbyists to, uhm, inform the parties of the benefits of better relations. We have learned that providing information is often the best way to encourage… rational decisions,” commented the civil servant.

James smiled wryly. “I shouldn’t worry, Mr. Ybe. I’ve found over the past few years that very little is illegal when it comes to, ah, ‘persuading’ my ministers. I’m sure that any lobbyists you’d care to send would welcomed by Parliament with open arms.”

As the king spoke of a non-aggression treaty Galadriëls interest was piqued. “An excellent idea your majesty,” she said, “this would accomplish that goal well. I don’t think that the Axis powers will find this overly provocative and they are already occupied with other events on the continent.”

She thought for a moment, she frankly did not care what the fascist bastards thought but her government was attached to peace and she had to conform to that decision. “Of course, we could symbolically offer a non-aggression pact to them also.”

“I’m glad,” said James. “I surely wouldn’t want to place Knootoss in an awkward position in its regional affairs.

“I’m not sure what our British and Walmingtonian allies would initially think about a Knootian-German pact, but I’m sure they could be convinced that it’s in everyone’s best interest without too much trouble,” he continued.

((sorry that was so short and long in coming. :oops:))

“Jeff!” said Sir Richard in surprise. “I’m doing quite well, now that...” Suddenly, he remembered his duty was to escort a diplomat to Dun Adien, not chat with old friends.

“Oh, how perfectly rude of me! M’lord, this is Sir Jeffrey Williams, Ruby Knight Commander of the Imperial Order and the Larkinian Ambassador to the Iansislean Commonwealth; Jeff, this is Count Leopold, the Valinor (that’s the proper term, right? sorry if not) representative to the Ian’s Island talks.”

Jeff stood up and shook the Count's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Count Leopold. Richard, we have to figure out a way to shorten that title," he winked to his friend.

“Jeff!” said Sir Richard in surprise. “I’m doing quite well, now that...” Suddenly, he remembered his duty was to escort a diplomat to Dun Adien, not chat with old friends.

“Oh, how perfectly rude of me! M’lord, this is Sir Jeffrey Williams, Ruby Knight Commander of the Imperial Order and the Larkinian Ambassador to the Iansislean Commonwealth; Jeff, this is Count Leopold, the Valinor (that’s the proper term, right? sorry if not) representative to the Ian’s Island talks.”

Jeff stood up and shook the Count's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Count Leopold. Richard, we have to figure out a way to shorten that title," he winked to his friend.
OOC: Why? Richard didn't even use half of Jeff's titles!

(bump?)

OOC: Whoops! Sorry, I forgot about this thread. :oops:

Count Leopold offers Sir Jeffrey a wry smile at the man's joke as he shakes his hand.
"It is a pleasure and an honor, Sir Jeffrey. Please do not stand on my account. Well, I suppose I will admit I am not quite as young as I used to be and I must take a moment to get off my feet. The universe is not quite as forgiving as one ages."

"Count Leopold," Jeff smiled as he shook the man's hand. "I hope you are having a nice relaxing stay in Iansisle, and that your trip here wasn't overly stressful."

((OOC: Writers block. Shoots off a TG to Iansisle.))

((Valinon: don't worry about it! I've forgotten it once in a while too ;)

Knoot: I've shot you a TG back

Lark: No real ooc message, but I didn't want you to feel unloved :P))

"Have a seat anywhere you'd like, m'lord," said Tri to Leopold as he crossed to a large chest, opening it to reveal a large stock of liquor.

"Name your poison," he smiled back over his shoulder. "I'm going to have to crack open this brandy, myself."

Lark: No real ooc message, but I didn't want you to feel unloved :P))

"Have a seat anywhere you'd like, m'lord," said Tri to Leopold as he crossed to a large chest, opening it to reveal a large stock of liquor.

"Name your poison," he smiled back over his shoulder. "I'm going to have to crack open this brandy, myself."

(Best Ralph Wiggum impersonation, "I'm wuvved!!!" :D )

"I'll have a vodka martini," Jeff said, "It's time for my morning constitutional or four anyway..."

"The trip was the best of any kind, Sir Jeffrey," Leopold says as he eases himself into a chair, "uneventful. As for myself, Lord Tri, a glass of bourbon will do me nicely if you have it, if not a glass of the brandy will do just as well."
Leopold turns back to Jeffrey, "Larkinia you say. I apologize for my ignorance, Sir Jeffrey, but I am unfamiliar with your nation. I suppose my information was not quite as accurate as I had hoped. I don't suppose you would mine giving me at least a vague idea as to where your homeland is located?"

((Boy, I don't understand this forum; one second, it's clicking along fine, the next I need a book to read between loads. :?))

Tri started pouring/making the various drink requests, which gave Jeff and Count Leopold a minute or two to talk.

((OOC: yeah, the forum can be hell... *considers TG... thinks*))

((OOC: Bah, little time to post. Thinking for a long time. I do hope we have anything resembling a trilateral agenda... ideas anyone?))

Ybe nods. "Well, then I guess we have a deal then", he said informally. Galadriël glared at him for saying it in such an inappropriate way.

The elf asks politely: "Your Majesty, if I may inquire, has the Valinon delegation arrived yet? Perhaps it would be fruitful to involve them at this stage."

(I'd imagine trade agreements, that sort of thing. Oh, and the Commonwealth is (well, probably should be) a notorious place to launder money; maybe Valinon and Knootoss want to try and curtail that somehow?)

"I don't doubt that it would be," said James to Galadriël after smiling at Ybe. "Weathers, I don't suppose you could check to see how soon Regal expected with Sir Jeffrey and Count Leopold, could you?"

"Of course, you Majesty," answered the KIG man, turning to go check.

((Hmmm... so is Knootoss. :P ))

Galadriel patiently sips her tea as she waits for the word.

(Hmmm..how about Iansisle being a hidey-hole for pirates and smugglers?)

(Hmm... Mos Iansley, never has there been more of a hive of scum and villany... :P )

("Move along!" ;)

Not to rush you, man, but is Jeff going to answer the count's question?)

(*waves hand* "this is not the post you're looking for..." :P )

(Question? *looks back and jumps in surprise* I'd forgotten it! I'll get right on it!)

("This isn't the post we're looking for."

Afraid I'll have to catch it tomorrow...night, man!)

"The trip was the best of any kind, Sir Jeffrey," Leopold says as he eases himself into a chair, "uneventful. As for myself, Lord Tri, a glass of bourbon will do me nicely if you have it, if not a glass of the brandy will do just as well."
Leopold turns back to Jeffrey, "Larkinia you say. I apologize for my ignorance, Sir Jeffrey, but I am unfamiliar with your nation. I suppose my information was not quite as accurate as I had hoped. I don't suppose you would mine giving me at least a vague idea as to where your homeland is located?"

Jeff sits back as Tri mixed the drinks, "Larkinia? Well, we're located on the Euro Latin Erathia continent in the Mid-Atlantic Ocean," he started. "There are two main mountain ranges, the Sandias Mountains, where the capital Golden Agate is located, and the Eastern Ridge Mountains, where the main ski resorts are located. In between the two are forests and grasslands, and to the south are more plains and the Great Desert."

(G'night Dude!)

*bump for Valinon*

OOC: Well actually I was waiting on Iansisle, I was hoping we'd be at the palace pretty soon.....

oops..sorry, I thought you wanted to talk to Jeff alone first.

I'll be on later tonight with enough time to post, and we'll arrive at the castle then.

Sorry again!

(a warning to all involved: the first most-of-this-post is just backstory on Admiral Tri. I started it as a sort of filler, but then the story just started begging me to tell it. If you want to skip to the relevant few words, they're the first two paragraphs and the last two. ;))

Grand Admiral Tri was just finishing the last little bit of his brandy when the Regal’s knocked once and walked in, saluting with the crisp respect of a career officer.

“We’re just a few minutes out of the island, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of issuing initial entrance orders.” Tri frowned; the captian was taking on an awful lot of authority, considering the Commonwealth’s highest ranking navy officer was on board. Already, Tri could hear a subtle shift in the engine tempo; they were swinging around to starboard and preparing to enter the cove. He wasn’t nearly as attuned to the sounds these confounded new steam powered ships made as he had been to the creaking of timbers and lines in Nestor, Inflexible, Prince of Shadoran, or any of the countless other tall ships he had commanded or flown his flag in before being, in his mind, confined to the dark, dank halls of the Admiralty. Still, any good seaman could tell when something changed in his ship, and Sir Richard Tri was one of the best seamen in the Commonwealth.

He certainly had the pedigree for it. Ever since the great Cecil Humphrey Tri, anyone with that surname had been automatically accepted into the King’s officer corps, and all but a small handful killed before true maturity had at least posted captain. C.H. Tri, better than any other officer in the Empire’s history, could best be considered Iansisle’s Nelson. Though his light had grown dimmer of late, more than likely due to how brightly the stars of the heroes of Salvador and the new War shone, he would, without a doubt, remain Iansisle’s foremost naval hero.

C.H. Tri, knighted in 1807 after defending an East Gallagaman convoy from pirate attack off the coast of Sarawak, had the fortuitous chance to fight during the one war since the unification when the King’s naval might was seriously challenged. His opponent had been a native Tilsitian one, the Principality of Dénia. Prince Ferdinand VII Ibrahaim-Ortegal de la Veritas and his ancestors, though blood relations of the Pater and tributaries to the Patria Effitiarum, had never been too closely tied to the imperial government in Veritas, which was more than two thousand miles distant from Dénia’s capital. They had paid their tribute and groveled the proper amount in front of Imperial, they had always been more mesmerized by the glorious bounty of the West, not the great empire of the East. Naturally, their interests had come into conflict with Iansisle’s in the South China Sea, and by 1809, a downright hostile working relationship had developed.

A particularly bad set of exchanges in August of that year between Prince Ferdinand and High King Ian IV led to the outbreak of hostilities, and the ships of the Royal Iansislean Navy set themselves against the nearly-as-large, equally modern Dénian Princely Fleet. At once, the war started to go badly for the Principality: Ferdinand had fully expected to be backed by the current Pater and the Empire; however, Ibrahaim IX made it abundantly clear that no help was forthcoming. Next, an entire army group was lost in the Tharian crossing, ending any hope of a land-based campaign.

Sir Cecil’s first chance to prove himself as a leader came in October of 1810, when as a Commodore in command a squadron headed by the 74 gun ship of the line HIMS Majestic he encountered two Dénian ships of the line, captured one, and forced the other to fall back on the port of Dénia itself.

Tri’s list of victories grew steadily more impressive: hoisting his flag as a Rear Admiral for the first time, he surprised and defeated ten Dénian ships of the line setting out for home from Mindanao in what has been termed the ‘Battle of Davao.’ After Davao, he was elevated to the Viscount Tri and promoted to Vice Admiral. It was in that rank, and with a fleet of twenty six major ships at his command that he completed may have saved the Iansislean cause: the Duchy of Esteroque, to the Principality’s south, was considering disregarding the Empire’s official position and joining the war against Iansisle. A six hour bombardment, resulting in the sinking or burning of tweleve Esterian ships of the line, albeit outdated and undergunned ones, convinced the Duke he’d be better not to challenge His Iansislean Majesty. Had Esteroque joined, and his fleet been able to join Dénia’s, their combined forces might well have overpowered the Iansislean blockade and broken out into open sea.

Finally, after being allowed to hoist a full Admiral’s flag, Viscount Tri met the main Dénian battle-fleet, which was throwing all its strength into one last bid to break the tight blockade at Dénia and steal momentum from the RIN. Seventy ships of the line from both sides met off the Unsterbank Shoal on the eighteenth of June 1813; Viscount Tri’s force ran rampant, capturing or sinking twenty-two of thirty nine engaged Dénian ships to the loss of only six of his own. Prince Ferdinand concluded peace two months later, and the Viscount Tri was elevated to the Marquess of Tri, also gaining the honorary title ‘the Earl of Unsterbank.’

But then, Sir Richard Tri was not a direct descendent of the first Marquess Tri. His family, baronets in their own right, had married into the prestigious Tri family name, and there wasn’t a moment Sir Richard wasn’t aware of how much those three letters, so very different from his great-great-grandmother’s maiden name of ‘Undergate,’ had helped his career forward. He often wondered if he’d even made it past commanding a frigate - his combat record had proved his worth at that - if not for simple name-recognition and blatant favoritism.

With a concentrated effort, Tri focused his thoughts into a coherent response. “Thank you, captain. Please handle the ship as you see fit.” Those simple words were more painful than even Richard could ever admit.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, turning to address Jeff and Count Leopold. “It would appear that we have arrived, at long last. I wonder if you’d care to join me on deck?”

(Wow! Tri's got quite a pedigree to him!)

"Sure," Jeff said standing up. "Just like old times," he added with a smile to Tri.

Leopold grips the arms of his chair and brings himself to his feet. He sits his emptied glass down on a nearby table.
"It would be my pleasure, Lord Tri. And even I cannot make the same claimant to old times as Sir Jeffrey, I assure you I will not enjoy it any less."

"Indeed," replied Sir Richard, grinning at Jeff. The emotion was certainly a mixed one; he wondered if Jeff was referring to the Behemoth incident or simply another time arriving at Dun Adien. "There; I can see the honor guard assembling already. I only hope we're not too early. I wouldn't want to interrupt His Majesty." His voice got slightly more distant on the last couple words.

Regal's captain would appear to know the route from Ianapalis to the Island as well as any man. Tri was a little embarrassed by the desire he'd had to interfere with the man's handling of his ship as Regal's bulk swung gracefully into the narrow channel and alongside the long pier. Lines were tied and a gangplank was set up.

"After you, m'lord," he said, indicating for Count Leopold to precede him.

"Thank you, Lord Tri," Count Leopold says and moves to procede down the gangplank. The two Protectors that had accompanied him and remained unobtrusive until now suddenly seem to materialize on the opposite sides of the gangplank from Leopold. They move with a quiet, deadly grace eight steps behind the aging Count at opposite sides of the gangplank.

The various KIG men scattered about the pier didn't seem too happy about the Protectors, but they didn't move to interfere.

One man stepped up and saluted Tri crisply. "Welcome back, Sir Richard." He bowed to Count Leopold. "My Lord," he said. "His Iansislean Majesty awaits you in the Honeycomb. If you will please follow me, Your Lordship?"

He turned and led Leopold up the winding, uphill path to the castle.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt His Majesty."

"Oh come one Sir Richard," Jeff grinned, "It'll do him some good to get up before noon every once in a while."

Leopold's eyebrow arches at the reaction of the KIG, and he makes a sharp gesturing cut to the Protectors flanking him. One turns to the Count, eye's filled with some form of professional defiance, but it turns quickly to a clicking of his booted heels and an accepting bowing of his head.
Leopold then moves to follow the KIG who saluted him, and moves to keep a brisk pace as not to slow the rest of the party down.

They passed through the South Gate quickly. They were led to the Honeycomb doors, and the KIG man nodded to Leopold. "Your pardon, your Lordship; I'll just announce you."

He stepped into the room. James looked up.

"Your Majesty, presenting His Lordship Count Leopold of Valinon, Grand Admiral Sir Richard Tri, and Ambassador Sir Jeffrey Williams of Larkinia."

Galadriël and Ybe also stood up, waiting to be introduced as guests of the King. Galadriël nodded knowingly to Leopold.

((Did they not meet before somewhere? :P Somewhere about the shadow war?))

Jeff moves to the side so introductions can be made and accidentially bumps into Admiral Tri.

OOC: Yes, they do. Leopold met with Galadriel and some others via vid link before Lady Adriana Hanse was dispatched to Knootoss.

Leopold steps forward from Sir Richard and Sir Jeffrey, he stands before the King for one moment, then bows slowly, noblely, and with painful skill at his waist.
"Your Highness," he says in a careful, measured voice, "I bring greetings and tides of friendship from His Majesty, Emperor Rowald Alderman I, from the Twin Stars. He wishes that your reign may be long, bountiful, and filled with glory and that soon a strong friendship may be established between our two nations."
With that Leopold bows again and moves back in line with Sir Richard and Sir Jeffrey. He inclines his head, and gives a slight nod to Galadriel.

"Count Leopold," replied James, bowing his head slightly in return. "Thank you for delivering His Majesty's kind words. Please inform His Majesty that the entire Empire of the Shield holds the Star Empire and its august monarch in the highest of regards."

He nodded to his friends at the door. "I can see you've already made the acquaintance of Sir Richard and Sir Jeffrey. Please allow me to present Lady Galadriël and Mr Ybe, both of Knootoss.

"But please! don't stand in the doorway; come in, come in!"

Galadriël curtsied. "It is Good to see you again Count," she stated. Ybe nodded his head in a way considerably less noble, but the respect was well-intended. "Good to meet you Sir!", he said warmly.

Leopold returns Galadriel's curtsey with a bow deep with respect, and replies to Ybe's nod with a brief nod of his own.
"Lady Galadriel," says the old Count, "it is also a pleasure to see you again, and at such a more happy occasion than we did in the past."
"And as for you...Ybe...," he pronounces it with a diplomats care and studied ear, "it is also a pleasure to meet you as well."

BUMP!

James smiled. "Please, Count Leopold, take a seat. I hope you don't mind the less than formal setting; I find I have a hard time concentrating in more, ah, grand settings."

Tri bowed. "If it pleases Your Majesty, I see no further need for an old sea dog like myself to interfere in matters of high state."

"Actually, Sir Richard," replied James in the same formal tone. "I would like it very much if you were to join us for the remainder of the afternoon." He glanced over at the diplomats. "Assuming, of course, that my honored guests would not mind his presence?

Leopold makes another slight bowing nod with his head, "I find that very agreeable, Your Highness, very agreeable indeed."
The ancient Valinor diplomat moves to take a seat neary Lady Galadriel and Ybe with one of his strange, distant little smiles. Often it is seen by the Court to reinforce the opinion that Count Leopold maybe slightly senile.
Leopold looks up at James' next statement, "I have no objections, Your Grace, in fact I think that Admiral Tri has a tendency to underrate himself. I certainly found him to be a most interesting conversationalists on my way here, not to mention the undercurrent of the best kind of intellectual--the self taught."