NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC (Out-Of-Character):

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No spamming, flaming, or hijacking will be tolerated and nations that do will be ignored.Synapsis

This thread runs almost simultaneously with the The New Dawn (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=109656) storyline. It details happening in Drakonia, which are the result on an unnamed group taking advantage of opportunity offered them.

Invited Nations Drakonian Imperium
Glorious Humanity
Lavenrunz
Revenia
Menelmacar
Britmattia
TersanctusAll further posting will now be,
IC (In-Character):

{...Continued from Only the Bad News (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2665964#2665964)}

They were not normally alone in this room. Normally.

This particular room was large and ornate as most of the rooms in the Grand Praetorian Palace. The room seemed to mix technology with Anglo-Romanic architechure. In the center of the room there a large conference table was spread out filling much of the room. Along it's center ran a video monitor and the colorfully grained would was intricately carved with designs of great winged serpents carved. The were several other video moniters built into the room blending the world of the past and present amazingly.

At the far end of the room from the main entrance, Augustus Drake, Praetor of the Imperium, had brought his wife, Queen of Trinidad, Jolené Sutherland. They sat on the window seat that looked out into a beautiful tropical garden. Jolené sobbed softly.

She had just emptied the room. She had come in yelling. Yelling for peace. The arguments were ended, the decision made, and Augustus ordered the room emptied so he could attend to his wife, who needed him.

He did not know what was wrong, only that something was, very wrong. She was horribly upset, and he did not know why. It tormented him. His worry over matters of state were set aside and replaced with worries for his wife.

He cradled her for a second before he spoke again. "What's really wrong," he pried, speaking softly and comfortingly. He had been worried about what could happen to his nation, if he went to worry with Arda. It had been tearing him apart with concern. Now, it was gone. Thrust aside with concern about his wife. "What's really wrong," he whispered, again.

It took her a while, but she finally responded. Her voice took a while to recover. Tears streamed down here face. "I'm...." She broke down again and Augustus held her closer for a second. "I'm pregnant."

OOC: Please note, this is not a public announcement, only the Royal Couple know at this point in the Storyline.

Augustus breathed in fast and deeply. It was a second before he could say anything. "Pregnant?"

Telling her husband the news helped greatly to relieve Jolené's anxiety, stress, and general depression. Even so the fealings remained. "Yes, we're going to have a child. I'm pregnant," she said, much calmer than before. She still cried, as if the news was bad news.

"A child," Augustus repeated. He knew what was bothering her.

When the duty of the Praetorship had fallen on Augustus, Drakonia was not the power it had become. Still recovering from the war that had ended the Sanctus Empire and the economic depression beforehand, it had taken the years of the beginning of Augustus' reign to build the Imperium to it's current glory. Finally, after years of building alliances and a strong economy, Augustus had decided to take of the crusade for good. And now it came to this.

The situation in Fyreheart and Rukemia had deteriorated to near collapse and hopelessness. Some of the Imperium's closest allies had abandoned it and the alliance Tersanctus and Drakonia had built. Worse, it now seemed Melkor would be coming after both Drakonia and Tersanctus. The end it seemed was near.

And the Royal Couple would have a child.

Neither knew what to say, so they just held each other. How much time passed, neither knew. It was Jolené who spoke first. "We should go. The nation needs us."

Augustus exhaled tiredly. "Yes, I we should."

It was another minute before either moved, but finally, Jolené hauled Augustus to his feet.

"A child," he whispered, unbelieving.

"A child," Jolené replied.

They walked to the door arm in arm. Augustus opened it, and they stepped out into the chaos of leadership of a nation.

The Royal Couple were greated by Nathan Lamb, cheif advisor to the Preator, and Diana Minerva, Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps. The usual Praetorian Guardsmen were standing around, actaully there were a couple more than usual.

"Sir," an aide spoke. "There is a man, here from the Glorious Humanity Embassy, he wishes to speak to you, personally."

The Praetor sighed. Back to business. "Send him to my office," he replied, still holding his wife close. "I will see him there."

"Sir," the woman informed. "He said, it was very important and that he must speak with you personally and immediately." Adding quietly. "He is waiting around the corner, Sir." The aide gestured to the hallway, that opened up into the one they were standing in now.

"Very well," the Praetor relented. "I will speak to him."

The woman aide, gestured to one of the Praetorian Guards. The Guardsman stepped into the hall and reappeared leading a tall muscular blond man, in the garb of a Glorious Humanity diplomat.

"You have an urgent message," Augustus asked, forgetting to greet the man.

As the Guardsmen and Blond Man approached he replied. "I do," the man spoke. "President Albert sends his reqards."

It happened the second he had spoken. The blond man rammed his elbow into the kidney of the Praetorian Guard that was escorting him. As the blow landed, another vicious attack landed on the man's arm as the Praetorian's hand went automaticly to his gun. A gun that was so suddenly relieved from the Guardsman that he could not react. The Guardsmen stumbled as the blond man's leg, swept under him, send him sprawling on the ground. The gun came up, as the other Guardsmen reacted to the sudden action.

They were trained well, but were too slow. Automatic Rifles (affixed with ceremonial and deadly bayonets) came to bear. Pistols were drawn. The Guardsmen reacted with trained precision, one group swarmed toward the Royal Couple, the other to the shooter. But, all were too slow.

Augustus had reacted immediately as well, he shoved his wife aside, stepping forward between her and the shooter. He started to charged the man.

Three shots rang out, three expended bullet casings fell to the ground.

A chorus of gunfire went off almost simoltaneously as the second shot was fired by the assassin. There was no chance for survival, a final bullet was fired from the stolen gun as the man was killed instantaneously by the hail of shells. He died and his bullet-ridden corpse fell to the floor.

A women screamed, and then there was another scream. One of the Royal Couple had been shot.

Shells sliced into the walls' wood panelling, into the furnature, and into almost everything, from all directions as they converged.

Jolené let out a scream, as the first two bullets hit her husband in his center mass, slizing into his chest. He took one step and halted mid-charge, and he fell. She was sprawled on the floor and made a wild attempt to reach him.

The final assassin's bullet hit her. It tore into her abdomen, and her attempt to stand and reach husband ended. She fell forward, arms reaching out to her fallen husband.

The Praetorian Guard were all over the Royal Couple. Bodies surrounded them. as the others searched for any other threats. A final burst of gunfire added more blood to floor as the Praetorians ensured that the assassin would no longer be a threat. Bullets tore into the flooring.

An alarm sounded.

Nathan Lamb and Diana Minerva had both been thrown to the floor as soon as the attack had started. Both had since regained their feet, under the close guard of those same Praetorians as had thrown them to floor. Both rushed over to the fallen rulers of Drakonia. Both feared the worst.

Tears fell down Diana's face. The Royal Couple had been like family to her. She rushed to the side of Jolené.

The Guardsmen had immediately flipped the Queen of Trinidad, putting pressure on the entry and exit wounds, to slow bleeding. There was small blood smears on the floor. They swarmed around their Queen, but Diana was allowed to reach her side.

It suddenly seemed as if the Praetorian Guards were everywhere.

Jolené let out a low moan. "Augustus," she cried suddenly.

Diana was at her side and grabbed her hand as Jolené started to reach again for her husband.

It was hard to tell what was happening with the Praetor, Nathan Lamb tried to get close. The Guardsmen swarmed over the Praetor, speaking quickly to each other. For a second a floor slick with blood was visible, lots of blood. Just as instantly it was invisible through the pack of bodies.

"Augustus," Jolené cried out again, in pain, in anguish, and in fear.

Diana did not know what to do or say. She was a diplomat, she should know, but she did not. "Jolené..." She couldn't continue, her voice died.

It was enough, Jolené's eyes darted from where her husband had fallen to Diana. "Augustus," she said, not crying out this time. Tears appeared in the Queen's eyes.

Diana mind raced coming up, finally, with something to say. "They will take care of him, dear. We need to take care of you." False courage was in her voice, false belief alongside it.

The lead Praetorian Medic said something, but neither Diana or Jolené heard it, their thoughts on the fallen Praetor. The man repeated himself, quickly bandaging the wound so they could transport the wounded woman.

The door of wardrobe was layed down beside Jolené, having be ripped from it's hinge to be used as a makeshift stretcher. She was quickly lifted onto it, and the Praetorians rushed her away to palace's infirmery.

Augustus was already gone, all that was left in his place were great puddles of his red blood.



OOC: Please note, this has all been kept quiet and no one outside of the Palace knows this has happened. Not even those who instigated the attack.

Emirate News Network

ENN Logo flashes while a Loud Booming Voice says, "Reporting live is Candace Locke at the Grand Capitol Building, on the sudden events of apparent Terrorist Attacks in Drakonia."

A beautiful blond woman appears wearing a crisp suit and red blouse, behind her is the massive structure of the Grand Capitol Building, the Anglo-Romanic Architecture strongly visible throughout the structure. "Several hours ago, there was an attempted on the life of the Speaker to the Imperial Senate, after he left the Grand Praetorian Palace.

"The Speaker was driving to the Grand Capitol Building stopped at a stoplight, when a large van jumped the light and rammed the limousine. Seconds later the driving fled the vehicle, just before the carbomb was detonated. The speaker was reported killed in the attack, but government officials have not yet confirmed his death. Fortunately, police captured the two men who instigated the terrorist attack. Apparently, the two men were foreigners although police have neither released their names or nationalities.

"There has also been reports of an break in at the Ziggurat Nuclear Power Complex and something happening at the Grand Praetorian Palace, but nothing has been confirmed and strangely officials could not be reached for comment. There have been further rumors that the Senate is discussing succession from the United Emirates. The effects this could have on the alliance are unknown.

"Meanwhile just after the Speaker's reported death, Drakonian Embassies around the world were closed, Military Bases on foreign soil were locked down, all outgoing and incoming flights in the nation were cancelled, coastal and border patrols were doubled, and all international communication, both military and civilian, has stopped. There has also been an increase Praetorian and Senatorial Guard pressence in the capital. As of yet there has been no foreign response and again, officials could not be reached for comment.

"What has prompted this sudden and massive change in foreign policy is entirely unknown. We will keep you our viewer's upraised as this situation develops. This is Candace Locke reporting from the Grand Capitol Building, in Drako Throne."

The screen again changes to the ENN Logo and the Loud Booming Voice is heard again saying, "This has been an ENN News Bulletin."

OOC: *tag* since this concerns me.

The infirmary was a disaster area.

"Code 4, Two GSWs to the chest!" The Praetor was rushed in first.

"What are we looking at?" The doctor on duty was up before even the nurses could react.

The Grand Praetorian Palace had a fully trained staff, in fact the medical staff at the palace were the best of the best trained in all areas of medicine and capable of handling any emergency. They were in almost constant training in a wide-variety of medical emergencies, because the medical staff was almost never called on, almost never.

"Full Metal Jacket, 185 Grain Injection!" The Praetorian Guard Medic was yelling as it quickly seemed everyone was. Information was quickly passed between the Guardsmen and the Medical Staffers.

The Infirmary was located in the basement of the palace, among the various staff offices. It was fully-equipped with all the latest and greatest in medical technology as well as the mundane tools, sparing no expense. The Infirmary was comprised of several rooms for recovering patients, a pair of surgery rooms, a storage area, and a quick front office/trauma center. The Praetor was being wheel into this area and rushed on toward one of the surgery rooms.

"9 Millimeter Lead Poisoning?" The Doctor had crossed the room with surprising speed.

The medical staff were quickly swarming toward the incoming patient as the in-the-way Praetorian Guards stepped aside, taking up guard positions throughout the Infirmary.

"That it," the Praetorian Guard Medic confirmed. "His right lung's collapsed, as well!"

"Get him prepped for surgery, now! No letting anyone leave to the Eternal Care Unit, today." The Medical Staff were now quickly wheeling the Praetor from the Praetorian Guards. A couple stayed with the Medical Staff, among them the Medic.

Then the Queen was being brought in. "GSW to the abdomen," another Praetorian Guard Medic called out.

"Damn, what happened?!" One of the doctors broke off from the Praetor.

"Diplomat went crazy upstairs," one of Guardsmen stated. "You won't be treating him."

The staff were quickly at work, both surgery rooms quickly in use. Time would tell, if either patient would survive their wounds.

Somewhere in Glorious Humanity

The room they sat in was nicely appointed, though not overly lavish. Decent carpeting, wood-paneled walls, and a few other touches of opulence without too much grandeur. There were overhead flourescent lights, but they were turned off. The only source of light was a desk lamp, which cast its yellow glow on a chessboard, and partially on the two playing the game.

One of the players suddenly winced slightly.

"It's done?" the other player asked. A man's voice.

"Yes," the one who had winced replied. "I was just caught off guard. They shot him dead, and the backlash was... disconcerting." This voice was female, and as the speaker shifted slightly, the light fell on her uniform. Psi Corp gray, with the outstretched arms of a telepath.

The man moved a piece on the board. "They're dead?"

The woman made a move. "I don't know. My pet wasn't able to confirm their deaths before he was killed. But he definitely shot them."

The man snorted. "Our friends will want confirmed dead, you know." He moved his Queen forward.

The woman slid a Rook sideways. As she leaned forward to make the move, her face was caught briefly in the light. A flash of blonde hair, framing a face most men would consider beautiful, were it not for the glint in her eyes that spoiled her otherwise luminous features. Her eyes had a predatory look, like that of a big cat appraising it's kill.

"Would you like me to reach out and poke around?" she inquired.

The man considered that, making another move. The light hit his clothing now. He also wore a Psi Corp uniform, but the emblem on his shirt featured a figure with hands touching its head. A telekinetic. "No," he said after a moment. "No need. Dead or not, they're out of the picture. If our friends want confirmation, they can get it themselves."

"Good enough." The woman made another move. "Checkmate."

The man stared at the board, trying to figure out how she had ferreted out the complex play he was making. "Are you reading my mind again?"

The woman emitted a sultry chuckle. "It's more fun for me that way."

"Not fun for me." The man shrugged and stood up. One could hear his clothing stretch as he raised his arms over his head to work out some stiffness. "Well, another game lost, and a bigger game won. I'd say we've done enough for one day. Can you read my mind now?"

This time the woman laughed openly. "I don't have to read your mind to pick up what you're thinking now." Her hand briefly appeared in the pool of light, then with a click, the lamp was shut off.

Chuck Petain, sat quietly in his office in front of his computer. On it he was drafting an E-Mail letter. The man, average looking man, was the personal Aide to Senator Rufus Breakspear and as such, Mr. Petain had access to information the Drakonian public didn't and some he shouldn't have had access to. For instance, Mr. Petain knew what had happened at the Grand Praetorian Palace. Something only the Senators and Parliamentary Representatives were supposed to know.

This didn't bother Mr. Petain in the least. In fact, he was quite please that he did know this information. After all, it would be fetching him the finishing sums to top off the nestegg he had been preparing. Mr. Petain was not a tall, large, or good looking and in fact he was quite average in all regards, excepting of course his greed, of which he had a lot. So for little bits of information pass on to the right people he had been amassing in secret enough money for himself to retire early, very early.

With a final flurry of typing Mr. Petain finished his E-Mail and mailed it to several Newspapers and Television News Services, including ENN and several operations in different Emirate countries. The business man stood, checked his watch, grabbed his jacket and left to lunch. Remember just as he left the door to send the E-Mail.

Down the block aways, Mr. Petain made his way to one of the Cyber Café popular in the larger cities of Drakonia. He settled at a corner desk, out of sight from most of the room and ordered himself a Mocha Cappetchino with extra cream and sugar.

Nervously glancing around the room, he slid a small USB Jumpdrive from his pocket and plugged it into the computer before him. A bit paranoid and nervous as usual, he slipped his hand into his large coat to ensure that both packets were in his inside pockets. They were. Seconds later, he had access to his overseas bank account in New York and New Jersey. All his money was there, and soon there would be quite a bit more.

Mr. Petain, idly wondered when his employer would arrive.

Ingrid Dent walked into the cafe at precisely 8:45 AM, as she always did every day, for her morning coffee. Petain was there, she saw, and she made a point of walking past him to make sure he noticed her as she sat down at a computer two in front of his. Dent was a nondescript woman in her late thirties, with shoulder length blonde hair, glasses, and a bit of pudge around her midsection. Officially, she was a member of the embassy staff, an unimportant secretary typing up whatever her bosses told her to write. Unofficially, she belonged to Glorious Humanity's Department of Military Intelligence, Civilian Operations Division. A cumbersome name, and kind of silly in Dent's mind. She'd thought for quite a while that Civvie Ops ought to be its own organization, but MI wouldn't hear of it. Wouldn't be as efficient, they said. Dent thought the Civilian division would actually be even more efficient on its own, but oh well.

She ordered plain coffee, and asked for some sugar packets. When her order arrived she set the cup down by her right elbow, where Petain could see it, and tore open two sugar packets, which she poured into the cup and stirred with a plastic spoon. The two packets were the signal that she was ready and he could send her whatever he had to tell her. One packet was the sign that she wasn't ready to receive information. The sign system had been her idea, and she was rather proud of it. It was so natural, no one would guess what it really meant.

Glorious Humanity had been establishing a network in Drakonia for nearly two months, ever since the two nations had first made contact after the nuclear attack on Drakonia. Though some would frown on the idea of spying on an ally, MI considered Drakonia enough of a loose cannon to justify establishing a small network to monitor their political and economic happenings. Managing the network was assigned to Civvie Ops, who had treated the whole thing mostly as a joke. After all, Drakonia had been stable and nothing if not a loyal friend, gathering intel on them seemed more like an exercise than a serious operation.

But now Drakonia had shut themselves up and were throwing walls up everywhere. Political contacts were strained, and the Drakonians were moving their army out of expected deployments while refusing to say why. Suddenly, the network was not a joke at all.

Dent pulled up her email address and sifted through her messages. Her cover for coming to the Cyber Cafe was that low-ranked embassy personnel couldn't use the internet connection at the embassy for personal reasons. This was perfectly true, and Drakonian intelligence could check the rules if they wanted to, they weren't classified. Thus, Dent came here to check her personal email and communicate with her family and friends back home. She also checked another account, one that was registered with a public server and not in her name, where the dispatches from Petain were sent.

The setup worked very simply. Petain emailed his information to the "secret" email address when she gave the ready signal. She then opened the message, read it, committed it to memory, and switched back to her regular email. It was quick, efficient, and very difficult to trace. She'd given the signal, now she had to wait for Petain to send the email.

Chuch Petain thought this whole setup was a waste of time. Stupid paraniod spy junk and a royal waste of his time. He saw the signal to send his E-Mail and send it he did.

It was short, sweet, and to the point, and read:

Praetor and Queen shot by one of your diplomats. Current status unknown. Government is seriously paranoid.

I expect major payment for this.

Drop at corner wastebasket. Have fun.

Petain snickered at his total disregard of procedure. He knew he was breaking the drop prodecure that had been set up by the Glorious Humanity Intelligence people. But to Hades with that, he thought. He just wanted his money.

Standing, Petain pulled one of the manilla folder packets he was hiding inside his coat. He dumped it in one of the wastebaskets on his way out. He knew the Glorious Humanity people wouldn't just leave it there, as it held all the information they wanted.

Then Petain was gone, off to make more money from foriegners looking to find out exactly what was going on in Drakonia. This one little event would make him rich and right out that was all he cared out. In fact, in his hurry he had forgotten about his Mocha Cappetchino, which was delivered just seconds after he left.

Dent rolled her eyes. Smartass. The whole system was set up so that he would be hard to trace by any counterintelligence. To think all this security was for his sake... but they didn't have anyone else with his access, so they put up with him. Idly, Dent wondered if he would ever be found out. She had to admit a malicious part of her hoped he would. It certainly wouldn't hurt Glorious Humanity any, their end of it was well-nigh untraceable. The public account could be closed from this very terminal with a few keystrokes, just like that the only link to them could be gone. Even if counterintelligence got to the account before it could be deleted, they'd find nothing, as all messages were cleared after being read. A check on the name of the account owner would reveal it to be fictitious, but otherwise would go nowhere.

Just a few keystrokes, and the whole thing would vanish into a black hole. Smartass Petain would be left to hang.

Dent checked her regular mail while she drank her coffee. Her sister had sent a letter to tell her the family reunion next month would be at her place. Dent shrugged and sent an email back saying that was fine. Truthfully, she would've preferred it at their parents place, but her sister loved to show off the big expensive house she and her husband had. There was nothing else of interest, so she signed off, finished her coffee, paid for it, and headed for the door. As she passed the wastebasket, she bent over to drop her coffee cup in, and picked up the manilla folder. This was slipped into her coat, then she left.

The RNS Victory burst into existence on the outskirts of the system in a flash of multi-colored light. The mighty fortress ship, fresh from the shipyard, was ideal for its current purpose.

Sitting in the command chair on the Victory's bridge, was a silver-haired ruggedly handsome male. He was, of course, none other than his esteemed excellency Commander His Grace Dysaryn Stark, Prince Celestian.

The Twilight Knight watched the holoscreen, and the to-scale blips that showed activity in the system. It was mind boggling. The Sol System was no longer the backwater he'd thought it was, but it wasn't united.

An organized force was never outnumbered by an unorganized one. The frantically scurrying Solars were definately unorganized. Dysaryn nodded to his helmsman.
"Lieutenant, set a course for high Earth orbit. Full tactical speed. We are expected."

"Aye Skip," was the Lieutenant's response.

The massive bank of High Drive nozzles at the aft of the Fortress Ship lit in a dim blue glow, and the Victory began to move. The High Drive was far superior to the Induction Drive for propulsion, but it was horrid for manuevers, and using it in an atmosphere was suicide.

Dysaryn sighed, and wandered off to his quarters. He found his dress uniform ironed and ready for him. But first, he would shower, then he would eat. He decided on a nap after dinner, after all, even with full tactical, it would still take some time to get to Earth.

Now, if he could just get rid of the feeling of uneasiness he had, everything would be perfect.

Uto Simms slid into a booth in Ally's, a quiet restaurant and bar in Drako Throne's business district.
He swallowed, staring down at the menu. His hands were still shaking, disbelief and fear warring in him. The Praetor. Oh my God the Praetor!
A waitress, pretty in her apron and short dress glid up to his table. "Hey Uto, not your usual time, but your usual order?"
Uto jumped. "Uhh, n,no Sal. A double brandy please." His hands rapped a quick tattoo on the table.
Sal raised a thin eyebrow, her dark face shading into worry, "You alright Uto?"
He clasped his hands to stop the shaking. "Yeah, I just had a near miss in my car on the way here. Damn scary, my hands..you know?"
Sal pursed her lips. "Oh ok, well, you stay there, I'll get your brandy." She tucked her pen behind her ear and sashayed back to the bar.
Uto blew out his breath and leant his head back against the booth, closing his eyes. He didn't open them again when Sal returned and set his drink down with a gentle "glink" on the table.
He stayed leant against the booth till he heard the sounds of a heavy body settling into the bench across from him. He opened his eyes.
A large, very large actually, dark skinned man, wearing the dress uniform of a Master Sergeant in the Britmattian army had sat down opposite. He looked at the smaller man.
"You needed to talk to me Ut?"
"Oh Jesus Sammy." Uto leaned forward, picked up his brandy and took a healthy swallow from it, splashing some on the table as his hands shook.
Master Sergeant Samuel Brigham, the large man in uniform, and chief NCO at the Britmattian embassay, stared at his wife's youngest brother. An up and comer in the Drakonian staff, he was noted for being a rather dapper young man. Seeing him like this, was unusual to say the least.
"What's wrong Ut?"
Uto took another deep draught from his brandy, then looked up at his brother-in-law "Someone's shot Augustus Drake."

For a further Britmattian response to these events, please click here. (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2710177#2710177)

Chuck Petain, personal Aide to Senator Rufus Breakspear, and traitor royal, walked calmly (because he was trying aweful hard to look calm) into the Lavenrunzian Restaurant. It smelled strongly of Fricadeln, a dish of chopped meat, spiced with paprika, onions, and garlic, which was made into balls and fried.

Chuck's stomach grumbled as he waited for a waiter to come and seat him. After a few seconds of waiting a waitor arrived. The waitor recognized their usual customer. "Your usual booth, mein Herr?"

"Yeah," Petain replied, following the waitor to his usual back corner booth. When he was seats, Mr. Petain cautiously removed the manilla packet from his coat pocket and wedged it under the bottom of the table top in the usual spot.

It was just a few minutes later that Fritz, his usual waitor, appeared to take his order. Petain ordered the Kartoffelsuppe, a German Potato Soup that he rather enjoyed. The soup also happened to be the signal that he was making a drop.

As Petain closed his menu, he slid the manilla package from under the table into the menu. He handed it Fritz. The waitor left, and Petain was left to wait for his food.

Fritz went into the back, pausing to receive a dessert order from another customer on the way. In the back, where people were chopping vegetables and stirring pots, he casually handed the menu to the hostess, who frowned and said, "This one's dirty..." and took it into the back.
Where the manager, who was really from the Lavenrunzian Ministry of Information's Information Retrieval section read the contents carefully.
"Petain, eh?" he mused to himself. "Very interesting indeed..."

Commander Dysaryn Stark, First Lord of the Revenian Star Navy, adjusted the collar of his full dress uniform. The uniform was black in overall color, with silver piping down the legs, and silver epaulets.

He wore a full length cape of the same black material, which was in fact CF Weave. His boots glinted, and his spurs twinkled like small stars. His rank insignia, a small platinum sword, glinted on his lapel.

Around his neck, the Guardian Cross hung on its ribbon, and from his ear, a fat chunk of obsidian rested in a silver net. Completing the ensemble was a thin circlet of silver, resting on his brow. The total effect was breathtaking.

He stood in the passenger compartment of one of the Victory's Assault Shuttles. The shuttle carried the rest of his party, as well as the Peregrine Command Car he customarily used in these instances.

Dysaryn turned around, to let quicksilver eyes play across the other people in the compartment.

Major Jennifer 'Ghost' Rodriguez was in attendance, though in full battle armor. She and the other two Twilight Seraphim who made up the party's security detail both wore Myrmidon combat armor.

Lounging in a chair, looking totally innocent, as usual, was his staff Spook. Lt. Commander Marc White had fooled many a person with his lazy ways. Even now, his uniform was far from pristine. Nonetheless, he was the best in the business.

Sitting next to White was Surgeon Captain Fritz Helbert. Fritz had been on Dysaryn's staff for so long, that doing much of anything without him was unthinkable.

Sitting next to Fritz was a certain robed individual. There was possibly one stronger Mindwalker in all of the Supremacy, couldn't possibly be two. Xan was an oddity, but he was also Ian's eyes and ears. What Ian Stark said, you did. No questions.

Rounding out his party was a distant cousin of his. Alicia Stark, though barely even related to House Stark, certainly made up for her apparent 'distance' from good blood, with plenty of attitude. Dysaryn genuinely liked the kid, and Sero has passed her as a competent enough diplomat.

They'd make landfall in Drako Throne soon...and Dysaryn found himself fingering Heartsflame's hilt. That feeling of wrongness had just gotten stronger. He didn't like it one bit.

Not one bit.

0956 Zulu
Drako International Airport
Drako Throne, Drakonian Imperium
Diplomatic Section

Diana Minerva and an Honor Guard of Praetorian Guards waited inside the terminal, for the Revenia delegation to arrive. Already they could see the shuttle approaching the terminal. It was not hard to see that the entire group (including Diana) were tense. The eyes of the Praetorian Guards roved anxiously across the diplomatic section of the Drako International Airport complex.

In charge of the Honor Guard Uto Simms called them to attention. "Okay, look sharp everyone." They all snapped to attention, but even Uto could not resist the urge to continue search the area with his eyes.

Diana watched the Revenia shuttle dock with the terminal. Give them the run around, she thought. Keep them busy until we reveal what has happened. She knew what she had to do and she didn't like it.

None of the them thought to switch off the television broadcast the Emirate News Network for that small section of the airport.

Tag; possible post

"Status?"

The two men met in a dark empty apartment. Both were disguised by the darkness both seeming to be shades. The man at the far end of the room, by the window that had it's shades drawn, wore a long black trenchcoat, and a wide-brimmed hat that hid much of his face in shadow. He had spoken first.

The other man wore a black sweater and baseball cap pulled foreward to hide his eyes. Dark cargo fatigues hung from his belt, as well as pistol holstered. He was next to speak. "It is still unclear on whether the attempt on the Praetor and the Queen was successful or not. Our friends aren't talking."

"As expected. And the other jobs?" The trenchcoated man's voice held veiled threats.

"Our attempt on the Speaker appears to have been a success," the baseball capped man stated. "Although, it is obvious that the attack on the Ziggurat Nuclear Power Complex failed. Otherwise, the results would be obvious."

There was a second of silence, the the trenchcoated man spoke again. "We must know for sure that the Speaker is dead, and I want news on what happened within the Grand Praetorian Palace as soon as possible."

"As soon as I know, I will relay the information," the baseball capped man said.

Another threat was spoken. "Make sure you do."

"I will," the baseball capped man repeated. "Hopefully, it won't be necessary though, I suspect it may be released to the press soon, whether the government want that or not."

The other man absorbed the information, but did not comment on it. "Proceed then," the trenchcoated man said in parting. "The police are getting far too close." Then he was gone.

The man wearing the baseball cap remained for a minute. Then he too left, opening the door, and leaving.

Top Secret Communiqué

[Channel: Open - Transmitting]
[Encryption: Active - Polymorphic]

TO: Frank Pierce, Minister of International Relations
FROM: Diana Minerva, Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps.
SUBJECT: Assassination Attempt

Yesterday, a diplomat from your Embassy, as you know, was at the Grand Praetorian Palace. He died in an attempted to assassinate the Praetor and Queen. Both were shot. The Praetor twice in the chest and the Queen once in the abdomen. Both have just left surgery and our both listed in critical condition.

We are investigating the incident. It is not known if the assassin was acting indepentently, with others, or by the order of your government, but all possibilities are being investigated.

Diana Minerva
Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps.

[Encryption: Deactivated]
[Channel: Closed]

It was breakfast and Captain Uto Simms, of the Praetorian Guard, was again eating lunch in the Ally's, when it was announced. There was a sudden hush in the room as the Television in the corner played the Emirate News Network (ENN) broadcast.

"...Cheif Advisor Nathan Lamb announced today, during a press conference, that there was an assassination attempt on the Praetor and Queen. Both were shot by what the Advisor called a foriegn diplomat. They are listed in critical condition and it is uncertain if their condition will improve...."

There were several gasps throughout the room, and a crash as a waitress dropped a tray.

"...The Advisor would not release the identity of the assassin or any other information about the attempt...."

Uto looked down at his food. He sighed, it hadn't tasted like anything but ash anyway.

"...In other news the Imperium has decided as reopened diplomatic channels and ended international travel restrictions. Most Drakonian Foriegn Embassies have reopened as well. Although, the recent stepped up border and coastal patrols have continued...."

Slapping down the tip, he decided he was finished, stood and left the resaurant.

Council Room
0900 Zulu (9 AM)

The Council had only been adjourned from its morning meeting for a couple hours when Minister Pierce abruptly called an emergency session. He stated that he had found out something desperately important, and needed to speak to the others immediately. He also specifically said that only the international decisions arm of the Council, that is himself and Generals Ablegard, Hanoway, Washington, and Director Fox should attend. He also added the Minister of Internal Security, Paul Brooks, to the attendee list.

When the invited filed into the Council Room, they found Pierce already there and pale, a pack of paper in his hands. He gestured for them all to take their seats. Brooks did so with his curiousity openly displayed on his face. Internal Security was rarely involved in anything international, save for security in Glorious Humanity's embassies. Brooks was a handsome man in his late thirties, clean shaven, with combed brown hair and brown eyes. His uniform was dark blue, a dress shirt and pants, with polished black shoes. The Glorious Humanity flag was sewn on the right shoulder of his shirt, the badge of Internal Security on his left, and his name and rank sewn over the breast pocket. Brooks liked to remind himself and everyone else that he was the chief policeman of the country, not a politician.

"I have something you should all read," Pierce said to start the meeting. He took the top sheet of his packet and passed it around the table. It was the Drakonian response to Millhouse's inquiry, sent to Pierce instead of the Deputy Minister. Pierce didn't have to guess why. The information on this was eyes-only of the highest priority. One by one the assembled people read the document.

"Jesus Christ on a stick," Ablegard breathed when they were done. "That's heavy."

"Very," Pierce nodded. "As soon as I got this I got on the horn to Alfred Collins. He's our ambassador over there. He told me that they'd discovered a guy was gone, and he'd been gone for more than a day. They had filed a Missing Person report with the local Drakonian cops only an hour before I called. He faxed me a transcript of the report." That was the next sheet passed around.

Brooks frowned. "Wait a second. The transmission said a diplomat was the assassin, but the report the embassy filed said he was a security guard."

"He was," Pierce answered. "And that's why you're here Paul. Embassy security falls under Internal's jurisdiction."

"How do we know this guy was the killer?" Brooks asked. "Drakonia didn't give us his name did they?"

"No, but someone else did," Pierce looked towards Fox. "Director Fox gave me the rest of this packet just forty five minutes ago. The embassy Intelligence staff got something. Director?"

Fox cleared his throat and began, gesturing for Pierce to pass out specific sheets from his packet as Fox explained. "One of our informants in the Drakonian government leaked us some very valuable data. We've got the full details of what happened, as well as a picture of the killer. It was taken post mortem, and was full of bullets, but the face is intact enough for us to do a personell check on him. The embassy people did just that, and then forwarded the results to me. It is indeed Peter Kelso, the missing man. For security reasons, Intelligence did not inform the ambassador that Kelso had been located, but I did inform Minister Pierce as soon as I received the information."

"I haven't informed that ambassador either," Pierce interjected. "If I did he might tell someone in the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps, and that would tip them off that we know more than we're letting on. In fact, right now the identity of the killer is not to leave this room. Don't tell anybody, not even your immediate subordinates. My Deputy Minister doesn't know, and if Lacey doesn't get to hear it, neither do any of your seconds." There were slow nods around the table.

"The Drakonian blockades make a whole lot more sense now," Fox continued. "Obviously they expect trouble from some direction, and they're looking at us to follow up on 'our' performance."

"Which raises a troubling question," Brooks spoke up. "I didn't order anything like this, and I'm sure you gentlemen and ladies didn't either. So who was this guy getting his orders from? And why did he do what was basically a suicide mission? Surely he had to know he couldn't get out alive."

"All bad questions," Pierce nodded. He didn't mention that Military Intelligence had run a quiet check on Brooks, on every communication he'd sent out, and had only cleared him after it was proven that he hadn't even talked to the embassy for nearly a month. "Which is why you're here. We need to find out where the order came from, and who would have the authority to get him to take a suicide mission. Start by checking your own seconds, then as you clear people enlist them to help in the search. Keep this quiet, only tell as many as you absolutely need to help you, no more. Director Fox's people will be helping you as well."

Brooks didn't miss the implications. MI would be watching as well as helping. The Minister of Internal Security may have been cleared for the moment, but that didn't mean he wasn't still suspected.

"I'll get right on it," he nodded.

"Good man." Pierce stood up. "Also, in light of recent events, I think Ablegard's idea of starting our exercise (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=122869&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=40) earlier than planned is an excellent one. Meanwhile, I get to be our international mouthpiece again and send a message to the Drakonians."

"We should send a message to President Albert and call him home," General Hanoway spoke up. "We need him back here."

Pierce shook his head. "We've already gotten into bad blood with one ally. If Albert suddenly leaves Lavenrunz, they're going to get suspicious too. Right now the best place he can be is right where he is making sure we don't lose another friend." Pierce paused, momentarily thinking of his son Thomas, who was traveling with the President on the state visit. "However, once we have more information, we may find a way to quietly get word to Albert. He probably should know. That's all for this meeting. Let's get back to work."

The meeting adjourned.

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

TO: Diana Minerva, Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps.
FROM: Frank Pierce, Minister of International Relations
SUBJECT: Assassination Attempt

I swear to you on anything you want that this was not ordered by our government. We would not compromise relations with one of our strongest allies for anything, backstabbing you would be like shooting ourselves in our collective foot, metaphorically speaking.

I do have something that might help. I have received word that one of our embassy staff has been reported missing, and that the embassy informed local police of his disappearance. Perhaps if you could find him, we could learn more.

Gil Anderson sat at his desk, flipping through folders. Most of the stack of folders on his desk was there because the Department of the Treasury computers had flagged the account for possible Tax Fraud, a federal offense in Drakonia. He picked up the one on the top of the stack and opened it, scanning the information inside.

Gil's job was nothing important, and generally boring, but that did not bother Gil, cause everyone once in a while, Agent Gil Anderson of the Department of the Treasury, got a little excitement that made up for it all.

Gil looked across his desk to that of his partners'. "Looks like we've got a good one today," he informed the other man. "This guy looks like he's smart, but greedy. Made a major mistake." He handed across the folder.

Gil's Partner looked through the folder for a second before commenting. "I'll get a guy on a review. You want to pay a visit to this..." He looked down and read the name off the folder. "...Mr. Petain."

The Revenian Delegation had been brought from Drako International Airport to the luxerious hotel, Unity, in the mall of the International Relations Complex. Normally such a high level small foriegn delegation would have been given a room in the Grand Praetorian Palace, but so soon after the shooting it was unlikely that it would happen anytime soon.

Diana Minerva had made sure that the meeting between the Revenians and Praetorship had been postponed, leaving the Revenian Delegation to their own ends. Something that had no doubt annoyed them until now. By now, they knew the real reason for the postponement. The assassination attempt was the latest shocking tradegy that was most important on the local, the national, and the Emirate news channels. So it was ensured that the Revenians knew what had happened.

"Sir," someone said. "Ma'am?"

Nathan Lamb looked up from where he leaned against the wall, he too was brooding. Diana looked up as well. "Yes?"

A women doctor in surgery scrubs stood next to where Diana was sitting. "The Queen is out of surgery," she informed. "The bullet grazed her small intestine and kidney, but we were able to stop the bleeding and hopefully prevent an infection from the bacteria in her Digestive Tract. Unfortunately, we don't know if her pregnancy was able to survive the trauma."

That caught Diana's attention. "I'm sorry, pregnancy?"

The Doctor realized that she had just revealed personal information. "Um, yes the Queen is pregnant." The woman wasn't sure what to do, it was obvious neither the Praetor or Queen had yet told their advisors and friends, yet. "Approximately a week or two, pregnant."

Diana looked furtherly pained. "And her and the..."

"She should be alright, although there could easily be complications." The Doctor did not want to continue. "However the pregnancy could have ended by the trauma she sustained by the gunshot wound."

"And Augustus," Nathan asked.

"He is still in surgery and will be for a while longer," the Doctor stated, happy for the change in subject. "The two bullet wounds in the chest he sustained are going to take a lot of work. The one in his left lung especially. From what I've been told it just missed his major arteries and heart. The wound to his right shoulder is not serious, but it did do a lot of damage."

Diana had gone silent, again brooding. Nathan nodded at the woman. "Thank you, Doctor." She nodded back and was gone, happy to be done with her duty.

Both Nathan and Diana were brooding now, neither wishing to speak when a man approached Diana. "Diplomatic Dispatch from Glorious Humanity, Ma'am."

Diana looked up and took the piece of paper from him. She read it, and then scribbled a reply. It read:

We will take that under advisement. For now, we will assume this incident was not government sponsored. But our trust is wearing thin.

It wasn't until the man left that she spoke. "Do you think they did it," she asked Nathan.

Nathan looked up. "I think it's a possibility," he said. "If Melkor could get to them. Maybe Britmattia as well...." He let his sentence hang.

"So we are left to distrust everyone." Her voice was cold, tired, and pained. She had lost too many friends and family lately. Her brother in the Nuclear Holocaust at the twin cities of Eugene/Springfeild and now this.

"I see few we can trust." His reply left much to be desired. It did not help Diana's suffering any. "I'd better go get Edmund," Nathan continued. "He'll want to see her."

Nathan appraoched Edmund outside. He was crying and smoking at the same time. His humaness was all too evident, Kungshao was being pushed back further and further.

"Edmund?" Nathan said quietly. "You can see them now..."

Edmund got up and flicked his Ciggarette to the ground. And walked inside with Nathan. They went too the Entrance.

Diana greeted Edmund , and looked sorrowfully at them both.

"Edmund, come with me to Jolene's Room." She said.

Edmund nodded, and grabbed his friends hand, and put his other hand on his cheek before he left.

He walked with her, and came too Jolene's room. His enhanced senses fired too life. He could....hear..see..and smell it.....she was pregnant!

"Diana....how long has she been..." Edmund trailed off.

Diana looked at him increduously. "Executor! Edmund! how on earth did you know? I just found out!" she exclaimed.

Edmund simply shook his head. She wouldnt believe her even if he told her.

He wanted too...help.

He could too...it would be so simple...just raise his hand, and transfer some simple magicks.....she would be whole again....and her unborn child...likely his Godchild....

His hand rose ever so slightly.

...Stop....

He couldnt...or rather, something wouldnt let him.

...Its bad enough you are here,....Leave these mortals to decide their own fate....it is what was chosen by them. It is not our place too interfere any longer...

Edmund simply dropped his hand and collpased too his knees crying.

"Oh, God! Jolene! Aug!...."

Dysaryn was pacing.

The other members of the group were doing their best to avoid him, and that was a little annoying.

Of course, it was nothing compared to the feeling of total uselessness that permeated his every though. He -hated- this diplomatic bullshit.

<Yeah, you're not the only one>
Dysaryn smiled wryly.
<I was wondering when you'd start talking again, and now that it has happened, I'm not sure that it's an improvement.>

Heartsflame gave the mental equivalent of a snort, and began to sharpen itself.

The marvels of a sentient weapon indeed.

Dysaryn's thoughts turned to what he -should- be doing, and that was pretty much anything but what he was doing right now.

He turned as the door slid open, coming face to face with Lady Alicia Stark. His eyebrow quirked.

Alicia glared at him, "What the hell are we doing, sitting around here. There has to be something we can do to help, anything would be better than this."

Dysaryn looked past Alicia, as if she didn't exist. If she was going to barge in here and yell at -him- to do something about it, then she could very well ask nicely.

"And if you think you're getting a 'Your Grace' out of me, Dysaryn Stark, you are most assuredly mistaken."

Dysaryn smiled.

It was an unearthly thing, and it chilled Alicia to the bone.

"Dysaryn, stop, please. You're scaring me"

He let his gaze drop to meet hers. He wasn't quite imposing, at six foot three, weighing in at one hundred seventy five pounds, but nobody would ever call him weak.

Growing up on Northfell had begun the process, and the life he had no choice but to lead had finished it.

The Twilight Knight nodded once, as if considering something, then nodded again.
"Yes, Alley. We should be doing something, but I'm not sure if there is anything to do. This is a Drakonian problem, and if they want to shunt us to the sidelines, well, that is entirely their prerogative."

Alley looked up at him, startled.

"But, You're Dysaryn Stark. Prince Celestian. The Twilight Knight. You -are- the Supremacy. They can't just quietly set you off to the side and keep you waiting until they feel like talking to you!"

Dysaryn smiled gently, shaking his head. "Alley, Alley, Dearest Alley. They can, and have, done exactly that. No, Alley, they couldn't do this to somebody like Rel, but that is why Rel is System Administrator, and I'm not. I'm just a figurehead right now, here to lend a semblance of importance to this delegation. You want to get out of here, go talk to Xan."

He was entirely right, of course. Xan was no more of a diplomat than Dysaryn himself was, but the Arch-Mindwalker -was- Ian Stark's personal agent. Of course, he knew Alley wouldn't go talk to Xan, she didn't have the nerve.

Very few people could stand even being -near- Xan. He radiated power like a flame does heat. He was also decidedly different. His powerful mind had warped and changed his body, and that was why he wore a hooded robe.

Dysaryn was one of those few people who could stand being close to Xan, and he knew what Xan's incredible mind powers had cost him.

He stood six foot four with white hair and ice blue eyes. He was built like Adonis, but he never took chances. The power coursing through his veins tended to alter his body randomly for short periods of time, usually along the lines of fangs, claws, and the like.

Dysaryn dragged himself back to the present and the task at hand.

He began to pace.

DISCLAIMER: Yeah...uhm...this is Rev. But you knew that, right? Of course you did.

12:00 PM
Office of International Relations

Pierce was pacing.

He'd just read the Drakonian communication, and could not for the life of him figure out how to answer it. The two sentences had said it all. Glorious Humanity's relations with Drakonia were stalled at best, more likely finished. It had just barely been two months since the Nuclear Holocaust, and already things were in the crapper. In diplomatic time, that was like turning around once and losing an ally.

He was tired. It was just barely noon and he was tired. His lunch, delivered a few minutes ago, sat untouched on his desk. A deli sandwich he'd ordered, normally something he would've wolfed down immediately. But he was thinking about more than lunch today.

Finally he decided wearing a track in his office's carpet wasn't going to help and sat down at his desk. He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Not bad. The deli still made great stuff.

As he ate, he finally composed a response to the Drakonians.

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

TO: Diana Minerva, Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps.
FROM: Frank Pierce, Minister of International Relations
SUBJECT: Investigation

We understand completely about your lack of trust. Be assured we are putting all of our resources towards solving this crime as well, and if we find out anything you could use, we will forward it.

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

Somewhere in Glorious Humanity

The room was now brightly lit by the noonday sun spilling in through open windows. The two chess players again sat at their board, playing another game. In the daylight, it was easy to make them out. The woman was, of course, beautiful and frightening at the same time, the light revealing that her appeal did not end with her face. Hers was a body to make men drool, though again if one looked back up at her face the eyes ruined her sex appeal. They were green, and glittered like emeralds, as hard as the gemstone the resembled.

That didn't seem to bother her opponent though. He was a handsome man, well-built, with short black hair and piercing blue eyes. He seemed more pleasant and personable than his companion, although looks could be deceiving.

Oddly, the nametags normally stitched on to Psi Corp uniforms were missing from their shirts.

"They know," she said quietly after making her move.

The man made his. "Unsurprising. Nobody in our government is stupid. Except of course the Army. MI and their director are nobody's fools, though. I expected them to learn about the assassination and who did it." He looked across at her. "Do they know who really did it?"

"Not at all." She smiled. "The only way they could learn would be if someone picked the information out of my head or yours. My mind is far to strong to be probed, and I'm keeping an eye on yours."

"That's why you're in my head all the time then," he said with a smirk.

She smirked back. "You didn't really think I read your thoughts just to beat you at this game, did you?" She leaned across the table and kissed his cheek. "No one gets in your head but me."

"That's reassuring." He kissed her back. For just a moment, her eyes softened, and they stared at each other with genuine affection. Then the moment was past, and their eyes returned to the game.

"Drakonia didn't get as mad as we hoped," he continued. "But they certainly don't trust Glorious Humanity anymore. I wish there was some way to get at Lavenrunz though..."

"Why bother?" she asked. "They aren't strong enough friends to come help. Besides, if we destroy our nation's standing with everyone, there will be nothing to rebuild after this is all over."

"True enough." He looked at the board, and suddenly grinned broadly. He made a move. "Checkmate."

She looked down at the board with surprise written all over her face. "How on Earth..."

"Should've been paying more attention," he answered. "Anyway, we should probably go out and look over the others again. I've noticed a couple of the new recruits acting displeased over something. We might be able to add them to our ranks."

"Indeed," she nodded. They both stood up and left the room, leaving the chessboard as it had been.

Diana had sat in Jolené's room for hours, finally she had decided it was time for some rest. Especially for Edmund, who looked horrible. Diana had brought Edmund to his room. Being a regular visitor, and close friend of Augustus and Jolené, he had a regular room. Augustus and Jolené had been/were family to Edmund.

After the death of Augustus' parent, the future Praetor had spent much of his life living with his godfamily the Dantes. He had been/was an older brother to Edmund, a mentor. The death of Edmund's parent was like a loss of Augustus' own. Now it seemed another curse of death had been layed on the family of the Drakes and Dantes.

Diana was to busy to comfort the Executor of Tersanctus. She had left the Revenians to there own ends and needed to meet with them. She rushed off to the massive mall of the International Relations Complex. It was as she was leaving that she realized she would need to schedule a meeting with the Ambassador of Glorious Humanity, possibly even a video conference with the Glorious Humanity Minister of Foriegn Relations, Frank Pierce. She made sure her assistant knew all this and also that she would meet with investigators before hand.

It was all a rush and before long, she was at the Unity hotel outside the large suite of rooms that had been prepared for them. She rang the bell and waited, she had much to discuss with the Revenian Delegation.

The Senatorial Sector Police Department was it's usual busyness, which actually wasn't much. The Senatorial and Praetorian Guards made sure of that. While bearing the ceremonial role of the protectors of the Drakonian Capital they also kept a tight lease on crime in the city, especially in the governmental sectors of Drako Throne, which left the Drakonian Police not much to do.

Which is why when Captain Hector Garza saw the missing person's report he was quick to take over the case, from some lower flunky. After a quick review, he'd discovered that the man was part of the security personnel on the Glorious Humanity Embassy Staff. It wasn't until the Captain glanced at the News Broadcast on his way out that he realized the significence of a missing Embassy Staffer.

"...Both were shot by what the Advisor called a foriegn diplomat...."

The Captain looked on in shock, realizing that if it got out that the Police were investigating the disappearance of a foriegn Embassy staffer, it wouldn't take an Anthropologist specializing in Ancient Elven Society to put everything together. He spun around to hunt down the flunky he had siezed the case from to hopefully catch the man before the information got on ENN or any other News Network.

OOC: Drakonian being a free society, with multiple international and foriegn News Serives operating inside the nation, it would not surprise me if one of those services came to above said conclusion and broadcasted as such.

The door opened to show the business end of a large pistol, with an even larger clip. It was flat black, and fat towards the muzzle end. An Armel Military Technologies SMP-10, held one-handed by Major Jennifer 'Ghost' Rodriguez, CO, Twilight Seraphim.

Jenn, seeing who it was, stepped back from the door, flicking the SMP-10 to its safety position, and shouted in the general direction of one of the smaller individual rooms.

"Commander, Someby to see you!"

Jenn slid quickly to attention as Dysaryn entered, and at his nod, went to Parade Rest.

Today, His Grace wore a black, unadorned t-shirt that was tight to the skin, and black baggy combat pants, belted with a black web belt. He wore his sword slung over his shoulder, and a pistol was in a drop-down assault holster on his right hip.

He flicked his head back gently, and a cascade of silver moved his hair from his eerie quicksilver eyes. He smiled as he saw who the visitor was.

"Ah, Madame Director, Good to see you. Do come in..."

Diana was a bit surprised to be faced with a gun when the door opened to the group collection of suites that had been granted the Revenian Delegation. In fact, it had terrified her near to death. For a split second she had thought she too would be shot. She would end up like Augustus and Jolené...or worse.

She stepped slowly inside. "Your courtesy is severely lacking," she scolded, although her voice clearly sounded of the aftermath of total fear. "Especially considering recent events." She would have stated the man's title, but she had forgotten it, along with his name, when the gun had appeared.

She didn't know what time it was, but she woke up. At first (as is normal after waking up) she had no idea where she was, who she was, or much of anything else for that matter. Slowly the horror returned to her and it all came tumbling back, even if she still had no idea where she was.

The room was dark. The door was closed. There was the twin sound of rythmic beeping. And slowly, her eyes adjusted to the dark light. The walls were white. There was another bed in the room, within arm's reach, and it looked as if there was someone in it. Jolené was in a hospital room, no doubt that of the Grand Praetorian Palace's Infirmary.

A name came to her lips automatic and she would have cried out, but for what she realized. The name of her husband. The name of the man that was laying in the bed across from her. For a second she realized he must be alive; at least he was alive, she thought. But, all the medical equipment hooked up to him (which was much more than was hook to her) gave her the realization that he could very easily die at any moment. And the beep of his own Heart Monitor sounded too slow, too weak.

Her eyes teared up and she started to move toward him, but her abdomen responded in a cry of pain and the IV and Heart Monitor on her prevented her from leaving her bed, without serious trouble (and probably a screaming doctor). All she could do was reach out and grasp the pale hand of her husband. Slowly, quietly her suffering overcame her and she cried softly to herself and the body in the bed next to her. It was a while before she spoke.

"Remember, I love you," Jolené sobbed from her bed, finally. "I will always love you." The tears rolled down her face and her hand tightened it's grip on his. "Remember (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2786356#2786356)."

And the night enveloped her, yet her hand stayed clasp to his.

Dysaryn gave Diana his most reassuring smile.

"My dear, I assure you that Major Rodriguez had only the safety of my delegation, and of your own esteemed self in mind. And, of course, I understand you're uneasiness after the attempted assassinations. Pardon my bluntness, but I have never had a talent for disguising my words."

The tall, silver-haired man extended his hand to her with another smile, and a face that positively glowed, and it wasn't Dysaryn anymore.

No, the man standing there was Prince Celestian, Heir to the Granite Throne. He was absolutely charming, and he hit all the right buttons, masterfully playing the game, always one step ahead.

This was a person who lived, breathed, and ate politics and intrigue. Who's very life blood was secrets and sweet talk, and who had adapted superbly to it.

If there was one thing that could be said of House Stark, it was that its rulers were some of the best damned actors ever to grace the stage that was called 'Existence.'

Of course, somewhere in that tangled mess of roles and false smiles was the real Dysaryn Stark, and that person rarely saw daylight anymore. Only in his most personal moments did he come out, but it was alright. He had been born to this task, and he lived to carry it out.

Of course, the real Dysaryn wasn't erased, merely refined. A facet of his personality was strengthened, while others were weakened, and that was how he did it. He still had his rigorous code of morals, and he wouldn't see them broken.

For example, his firm standpoint on Rape. There was only one crime that ensured death one hundred percent of the time, and that was it, and in the Supremacy, there was only one method of execution.

Beheading.

With your lord's blade. No exceptions. If your lord couldn't take your life, then you probably didn't deserve to die. There were, of course, things worse then death. Nonetheless, that most final of punishments was reserved for that most heinous of crimes.

Celestian snapped back to the present, and his staff had already broken out the wine and assorted food items, which he himself simply disgusted, period.

Even in his refined form, Celestian felt that the only liquors worth the name were the ancient and much-loved liquors coming straight from Northfell, a harsh world, that bred harsh men, and those men drank harsh liquor.

He smiled as he selected a glass of lightly flavored sparkling water.
"Ah, help yourself to the refreshments."

And so the bantering continued...

Glorious Humanity embassy in Drakonia

"Ambassador, message from the Drakonians," the messenger said.

Alfred Collins straightened in his seat. He'd been expecting this. "Yes? What is it?" He was in his office, lately he'd basically been living there. He looked tired, and his suit was a little rumpled from sleeping in his chair.

"Diana Minerva of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps wishes to set up a meeting to speak with you," the messenger replied. Fresh-faced boy, Collins thought enviously. The young man couldn't be more than seventeen or eighteen, and he looked far too chipper to the Ambassador. Collins was in his sixties, with almost white hair and a lined face. He wished he still had the energy of youth. He needed it right now.

"Alright, I'll look at my schedule. You are dismissed for now," he told the messenger. The young man saluted and left. Collins rolled his eyes as he turned towards his personal computer. More than a few of the messengers and couriers were Army grunts serving the field part of basic training. Glorious Humanity's military routinely put rookies at guard posts and small things like transport assignments in foreign countries, supposedly to get them used to operating in unusual territory. Collins had served in the military, many years before, and he was convinced that the real reason for putting soldiers to work as errand boys was to test their patience and tolerance for utter bull.

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

8:00 AM
Orson de Soto International Airport
Dulles, Glorious Humanity

The whole international branch of the Presidential Council were waiting when Albert's jet touched down on the government runway set aside for official VIPs only. The jet had been flying most of the night, and everyone on board had slept on the plane. Thus, the President walked off very awake and feeling pretty good. As soon as he saw the solemn looks on the faces of his advisors however, he seriously thought about pleading exhaustion and going to bed.

"Welcome back sir," Minister Pierce was the first to speak. Behind Albert the other passengers from the Lavenrunz diplomatic mission were filing off, first the guards, then Thomas, then the flight crew.

"Thanks," Albert replied. "Judging from the way you all look, I'm going to guess things have been less than optimal while I've been gone."

"That's one way to put it," Pierce replied. "Let's get to the Council building, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Hey Dad," Thomas greeted his father, coming up to hug him.

"Hey Tom Bomb," Pierce grinned and returned his son's hug.

Normally, Thomas objected to his father's pet name for him. This time though, the boy just patted his dad on the back. "Yeah, it's good to be home."

Pierce paused, noticing the change in his son's tone and manner. He straightened, holding the boy at arm's length. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Never better," Thomas declared with a grin. "I had a good trip."

Pierce threw a questioning look Albert's way. The President couldn't help grinning. "As you know Frank, the Empress of Lavenrunz is about Thomas' age. They got along very well."

"Oh really?" Pierce looked back at his son. "Made a friend, did you?"

Thomas blushed. Albert chuckled. "I have it on very good authority that they said their goodbyes with kisses," the President told Pierce.

The silence was total. Pierce stared at his son. Behind him, Generals Washington and Hanoway were concealing smiles behind hands. General Ablegard was grinning openly. Brooks, recently added to the international branch, coughed delicately. Thomas' face was as red as an apple.

"With kisses, huh?" Pierce said after a second.

"She's very nice to kiss," Thomas told his father.

"Right..." Pierce swallowed hard. General Ablegard whooped with laughter and pounded the International Relations minister on the back.

"What are you teaching this boy, Frank?" Ablegard asked. "Cause it sounds like he's got 'international relations' down pat." There was muffled laughter from the others.

"I didn't teach him that," Pierce said. "In fact, I thought I taught him that one does not do things like that with foreign leaders."

"Hormones know no rank," Hanoway murmured. Thomas wished he could sink into the ground.

"Alright, that's enough," Albert came to the boy's rescue. "I'm sure we've got better things to do than discuss Thomas' amorous adventures. The way you all looked when the jet touched down, I think there's some things I should know about."

That sobered them up. "There are," Pierce told him. "As I said before, let's get to the Council building. Cars are waiting for all of us. I'll tell you what's going on on the way."

Diana looked from Dysaryn to Major Rodriguez (and her gun) and then back to Dysaryn. It was easy to see (despite her attempts to hide it) that she was still a bit flustered. "I would hope, that the Praetorian Guards would be enough," she replied, the strains of the day seeping into her voice. Yet, she knew as she heard it that they weren't they hadn't been for the Praetor and Queen.

Still, timing, for once, was on her side. A pair of Praetorian Guards, on patrol in the International Relations Complex, passed by the doorway before it was closed. As they glanced in they nodded in respect to those inside and proceeded on seeing nothing out of the ordinary (obviously not seeing Major Rodriguez's gun).

"Nevertheless, I appreciate your bluntness," Diana stated. "And I think I will have that drink."

She accepted a glass of wine and took a big drink. She would be glad when this day was over and she could rest.

"Now if I may be blunt." She had decided to cut through the small talk. "I am here to ensure that your visit to our nation is not a waste. We are very pleased with our relations with Revenia, even if recent actions have appeared otherwise. We value loyal allies and would not want to jeapardize our relationship during this crisis."

To say that Mr. Petain was upset was a major understatement. He was very upset. He had seen the government agent snooping around his work and his office, but fortunately (at least for Mr. Petain), he had been at the water cooler when the agent had appeared and had exited the building with great speed.

If Mr. Petain had known what branch of the government where the agent worked, he would only been more upset. Mr. Petain had a horrible fear of the tax office, partly because he had been cheating them and partly because they regularly attempted to take his money.

Now he didn't know what to do. As he stood outside the office building where he worked, Mr. Petain looked both direction trying to figure out where to go, what to do. He simply stood on the sidewalk looking and trying to think of something to save himself.

Then he had an idea. He rushed down the street--he was hoping to be out of sight when the government agent emerged out of his office building--toward the Lavenrunzian Restaurant. They would be able to help him. The Glorious Humanity people were too worried about their being compromised, but maybe the Lavenrunzians would help him flee to the Puerto Rican Luxery Hotel he had bought in New York and New Jersey.

Mr. Petain rushed down the street, hoping to escape the wrath of the Drakonian government, or to be more exact, the Drakonian Office of the Treasury.

Captain Hector Garza was in his car and on his way to the Glorious Humanity Embassy when he heard the news, he'd been hoping had not leaked from his Police Department. He was listening to ENN Satelite News Radio.

"...In a surprising turn of events the Glorious Humanity Embassy in Drakonia reported one of their security staff to be missing to Drakonian Police, just hours after the assassination attempt on the Drakonian Praetor and Queen. Both who are still listed in critical condition, after the shooting. Whether this man is responsible for attempted assassination is not known, but the coincidence is thought to be...."

The Captain stopped his car just in time to miss running a red traffic light.

"...Police are still investigating this new lead." The radio droned on. "In related news, the Imperial Senate Speaker Tomas Bennett was confirmed to have been killed in carbombing that coincided with the attempt on the Drakonian leaders. Investigators and Medical Examiners--"

The Captain flipped off the radio with a sigh. So it had been leaked out, and out of his Police Department. No doubt, it was all over foriegn news networks as well. He idly wondered what the rest of the world thought about the events in Drakonia.

GH Embassy in Drakonia

No one was surprised when the police cruiser pulled into the embassy parking lot. The embassy guards looked nervous, and they were fingering their holstered sidearms. By now everyone was aware of what was happening, a few people had heard the radio broadcast and the word had spread. Captain Garza no doubt noticed that there were several more guards out and about than usually patrolled the embassy's central courtyard, and the few functionaries he saw went about their business quickly, darting from building to building in the compound.

A young woman emerged from the main offices, the largest building in the compound, set at the upper end of the courtyard. She was fairly tall for a woman and fair skinned, with bright red-orange hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore a conservative blue blazer and skirt, with black high heels that clicked precisely with each measured step. Her green eyes appraised the arrival carefully, and as he got out of his car she offered a hand.

"Good day... Captain," she greeted him after reading his name tag. "I am Marsha Denton, one of the Ambassador's aides. I assume you are here regarding the missing person report?"

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

Dulles, Glorious Humanity

Ein Sargos' apartment looked almost exactly like it had when he'd left it. Which is to say, a disaster. Like most single men in their twenties, Ein wasn't very good at keeping an orderly home. The biggest change was dust, with a month of no one living there it had taken up residence.

Single men... Ein walked into the largest room of the apartment that he used as a living room. His coffee table had a layer of dust from the month he'd been gone, he made a cursory attempt at blowing it off before dumping the things he'd brought with him on it. Mostly just mail. He'd had quite a backlog of it. Of course the most important letter hadn't been in the mailbox. Ein reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded message Erica had sent him back in Lavenrunz. I guess I don't belong to that group anymore.

He reread it. Yeah, he definitely wasn't single anymore. Even if they weren't formal, he knew where it was going, and he found the idea very pleasant. Almost without thinking he walked into his bedroom and sat down at the little writing desk in the corner, next to his bed. This too had a healthy share of dust, but he wiped and blew it off, then started writing a reply to Erica's letter.

Dear Erica,

Lucky to have friends in high places. I got your letter, and I'm very happy to hear from you. As you've probably already figured out, I'm home now, although I have to admit this apartment of mine doesn't seem as great as it used to. Something's missing now... ah well.

A mother, huh? Sounds interesting. I don't doubt you'll do great. I'd love to meet Monika sometime, hopefully soon. With any luck I can be back in your country before long. I know what you mean about the service, same kind of deal here. We're never really allowed to go where we want to and do what we want to. I've heard things about the new Empress, good things, so maybe it'll get better for you. Me, I could always put in for a transfer. Bodyguard duty is getting old, maybe I can get something with more travel. Err, make that more travel where I know what's going on. At least in a combat assignment I know what I'm getting, rather than having to stand around wondering if someone's going to take a shot at my charge and I can react in time.

You're on the Olympic team? That's great. I'll be sure to cheer for you. Heck, maybe I can even show up when you compete. I'm sure you'll do wonderfully. You've got the skills.

Anyway, I should get cleaning. How does so much dust settle in only a month?

With love and affection,
Ein

He finished the letter and carefully folded it. He'd get an envelope and send it off later. For now, he had dust to argue with.

{Market in the Drakonian City of Veii}

The market was it's usual packed self. People walked everywhere, vehicles having to roll down the streets slowly so not to hit anyone. It was the open markets of the city that brought all the people here. Tourism, that is what they came for, that is what made the cities money, and that is what would be hurt on this day.

The day was lit by the coastal sun, and no one saw it till it was too late. The car sped up, right into and through the crowd. Then it smashed through a flower stand and into the front of a restaurant.

Seconds later survivors of the car's rampage were thrown down by a violent explosion. An explosion, that originated from the car. The market was left skattered with blood, bodies, and burning wreckage.



{A town along the border of Drakonia and Glorious Humanity}

The local Police and Border Patrol had quelled recent rioting at the new the Praetor and Queen's attempted assassin was of Glorious Humanity nationality. In the border town of Plain's Bluff the rioting had been much lighter than some of the larger cities in Drakonia. There were reports of Police actually having to fire on some of the more violent rioters.

Life was good in Drakonia and riots were rare, but that had ended with the sudden rash of extreme violence and lawlessness that seemed to be working it's way across the national media. Violence that would not end with the carbombing rampage in Veii.

The repair man finished his work and made his way out of the water treatment plant in Plain's Bluff. He made his way past the front desk of the building, nodding to the bored woman sitting behind it. "It's fixed," he said.

Then he was outside walking to his truck. The dessert sun beat down, almost cruelly, almost impending what was to come. No one noticed that the repair man stepped past his truck and stepped into a silver car. The car was gone before anyone did see it.

Inside the car, the repair man pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. The phone beeped a couple of times and then there was the distinct click of a connection. "It's fixed," he said, and the car drove on out of the border town.

Mr. Petain walked quickly, shuffled, and jogged down the streets until he finally made it to the Lavenrunzian Restaruant.

They would help him, after all he still had intelligence he could give them. Didn't he? No, Petain realized, in his rush he had left his breifcase in his office. He was doomed. But, maybe...just maybe they would help him anyway. Hadn't he helped them by giving them invaluable intelligence. Hopefully, they would return the favor. He had to try.

Holding on to what little hope he had left, Mr. Petain entered the Lavenrunzian Restaruant.

As Jolené slept, she Remember (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=125852)ed. It felt almost as if she was there, in a moment of the past. And her sleeping mind recreated the memory with amazing clarity, almost as if she was reliving that past; her and his past.

"Oh Augustus, it's amazing... (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=2905707#2905707)."

Had it all been a dream. Was their romance, their love, their tradegy all nothing more than something she had found in sleep, a fleeting thing that would soon be lost from memory. Her mind was pulled to the present and she shifted in conciousness.

Then slowly she realized it hadn't been a dream. She felt the hand held in hers, the weak cold hand.

There was a moment of panic as she realized what all that had occured.

The weak cold hand.

Was he gone. She clenched the hand and turned to look at the man she loved. A weak rhythmic beaping filled her ears. He was alive.

Yet, he felt so far away, almost as if he already was gone.

Dysaryn had turned away from the Drakonian Diplomat as she spoke, and upon mention of the Praetorian Guard, he had almost been unable to restrain the snort that would

"Forgive me, if, in light of certain recent events, I respectfully disagree. Quite bluntly, your vaunted Praetorian Guard might be better placed guarding its Praetor, as opposed to a mere foreigner such as myself. Especially considering you recent.." he coughed lightly, "predicament."

While he had spoken, his eyes had narrowed slightly, and his right hand had twitched faintly. An almost unnoticable tensing of muscles chain-fired throughout his well-built body.

On the last word, however, he had relaxed visibly, and now he turned to face the diplomat, that characteristic dopey smile of his in full effect. Amazing how Celestian could look friendly and sophisticated, sipping from a glass of sparkling water, and yet a large firearm, roughly sized with an earthly desert eagle, rode his right hip.

But, then again, Celestian was an amazing person, ya know?

"Of course, we never thought we were, uhm, how would you put it, under-appreciated? We value our Drakonian Allies muchly, and, as always, we seek to strengthen those ties."

Yes indeedly.

"As do we, our Revenian friends and allies." The stiff drink has seemed to relax Diana. She no longer seemed to be close to losing her sanity.

"And, I assure you..." She paused, still a little strained and the memory of recent events not helping her stress level. "Having witness that tradegy, that if it had been the Mornahossë of Menelmacar there would have been no stopping it. The abilities of the Praetorian Guard are no less." Her strain was definitely still visible, but the wine had helped, much.

"But, I am sorry to continue this argument," she said, now also sounding diplomatic again. "We are here to discuss how we should proceed. Being as you and the Royal Family are friends, I think it would no trouble, if you wish, to visit them. In fact, I think they would much appreciate it. But first, I should acquaint you with their condition." She waited for Celestian's reply to the offer.

Harz Mountains, Southern Lavenrunz

The snow was still crisp, the air so chilly that frost twinkled in it; the mountains seemed like remote, lofty ice helmeted gods, staring fixedly south to the blue line of the antarctic ice.
Snow monkeys, bears, marmots and other creatures made their homes in this most isolated, remote and scarcely populated part of the country.
A blue gore-tex clad figure was moving along a mountain trail, her breath coming in little puffs, her skis gliding over the powdery snow, poles moving in rhythm. She peered up beyond to where colorful flags marked a mountain village, to which had been added some pre-fab buildings that had steam hanging above them like questions.
Reaching the village, she swept in to where a group of skiers were limbering up, and they began to laugh, seeing her.
"Gung-ho, eh, Erica? Couldn't wait for the trainer?" one of them called.
She smiled at him, and at the trainer, who was despairing of her. But then, that was her style, find out how things worked for herself. Train ideally on a tougher area than the Olympics would be offering, and then probably get surprised anyway...it was a thrill of discovery too, being on trails she didn't know were safe or not, exploring.
"Erica," one of the staff, a political minder called Kemmerich, said, "Letter for you." as he passed her, bundled like an eskimo. She nodded her thanks and took off her skis, put them over her shoulder and headed in to the pre-fab lodge she shared with two other women; they all had their own sections in it.
She went in, and read. A smile came to her face; she felt light and full of air and brightness.
Along with the letter was a set of orders.
She opened the seal, apprehensive. It had Ministry of War on it.
She read, and her heart sank...yet a fluttering remained. She was totally confused, but the main thing was thinking of the Olympics...
They can't do this to me! she thought.

1612 Zulu
Drakonian/Glorious Humanity Border
Cherokee, Drakonian Imperium
Plain's Bluff

The family sedan rolled down the main street of the small dusty border town. A tumbleweed rolled across the sand scattered street as the car slowly moved down it.

Both adults in the vehicle knew something was wrong. It was quiet. Oddly quiet. There were practicly no vehicles on the road (and none that were, were moving) and no people visible in the desert plains town. Something seemed seriously wrong, but both adults (who happened to be the parents of the two children in the sedan) tried to dismiss it.

Maybe, there was a town meeting or something, they hoped. But, that did not explain the stray car sitting in the road ahead.

"Are we there, yet?!" Apparently, the children did not realize something was wrong. "I have to go to the bathroom!" "Is this where we are spending our vacation, it's too empty. Where is everyone?"

The mother turned in the passenger seat to look back at her children. "Daddy is going to find that out," she stated.

There was a protestant look from the father, but he relented to the idea upon her replying look. Reluctantly, he stopped the car (in the middle of the empty street) and got out. He walked toward the sidewalk, passing between the cars parked along it, and let out a loud gasp.

There, laying on the sidewalk, were bodies, human bodies. Several lay dead on the sidewalk. The man looked inside the storefront he had been approaching. There were more bodies inside. They were dead, all of them. An entire town dead.

The man looking back at Diana appeared physically the same, but there had been a change. A slight tightening of muscles, a faint narrowing of eyes.

Dysaryn grinned idly, "Yes, yes, I'd like very much to see them..."

"Tell you what, I'm going to go change, then you can brief me on the way?"

He nodded faintly, and turned, not waiting for an answer. Not like he needed one.

He slid into the room he'd claimed as his own, and simply swapped out his current belt for his gunbelt. Two drop-down assault holsters, each holding a single RevTek APCP, an FS-2 riding the right hip, and some mag-pouches.

He then pulled on his cloak, strapped Heartsflame to his back, slid his circlet into place, and pulled up the hood.

He stepped from his room, and at the exact moment he did so, two other doors opened, and admitted two other cloaked figures, much like himself, to the lounge area.

They formed up on him, and he pushed back his hood.

"My car or yours?"

"I have a limosine and escort waiting, outside," Diana informed Dysaryn. As they marched out of his room (literally, with his bodyguard detail following), Diana spoke again.

"There one little matter we should work out," She informed, indicating the various and rather numerous armaments arrayed on the Revenians. "Your weapons.

"While, in the past exceptions have been made, because of your diplomatic status and your friendship with the Praetor and Queen, security has increased tenfold since you last met with them. After the Lavenrunzian Winter Ball incident and the recent assassination attempt, I think it is going to be quite hard to convince the Praetorian Guard to let you bring even your sword, much less the rest our your armaments or your bodyguards'. I'm afraid you may need to leave some of them at the entrance security checkpoint."

She knew that Revenian society practically required weapons at all times and it would nearly impossible to the Revenians to part with even a few of their varied arsenals. Yet, even with this obvious problem Diana was sure they could work something out. This type of thing was her job, after all, and she was damn good at it.

Absently, Diana wondered if maybe she had drank too much wine before they left. She quickly and happily dismissed the idea as not possible.

Dysaryn smiled knowingly, as he heard Diana's concerns.

"Ah, of course, how positively idiotic of me."

He mumbled something into his lapel mic, and Alicia burst out of the hotel, carrying a rather large sack...

He hit the release on his gunbelt, and dropped it into the bag. He turned to the two Twilight Seraphim following him, and he was quite serious. His face had hardened, and there was none of the plushy friendliness of a few moments ago.

All Business.

"Karl, Jens, your weapons," he snapped.

With a slight grumble, they threw back their heavy cloaks and unbuckled their gunbelts. They went into the bag with his. Following the gunbelts were the two submachine guns they had carried, and an assortment of grenades.

Dysaryn nodded slowly, and turned back to Diana. He was about half-way to becoming again the consumate diplomat...

"I'm rather sorry about the sword. Simply impossible for me to part with him. If your Praetorian Guard will find that unacceptable, do tell me now, and save me the trip."

He had known Augustus and Jolene for a time, yes, but Heartsflame had been with him since childhood, since the very day he was born, and the snotty sword had become an essential part of him.

Dysaryn without Heartsflame, or Heartsflame without Dysaryn, was simply unthinkable. They had reached that one-ness that others could merely strive for, though it didn't show through often.

That was just the way it was with him, and for all of the Ascended. They all had their own bonded weapon, and in the case of House Stark, it was a sword. Blight, Torment, Heartsflame, and the indominable Velaril, the transcendant blade itself.

The story of Velaril and it's wielder, Ian Stark, was one known only to a tight circle of people, but it showed something of the loyalty shown by these blades.

When Ian Stark finally died of the disease that had taken his body but left his mind intact, he became being of pure psionic energy. The day that happened, Velaril simply shifted. The sword became as incorporeal as its master, for it couldn't stand the thought of not being with him.

It just didn't happen.

Ever.

"I think, I can convince the Praetorian Guard to allow you and your sword entry," Diana confirmed, smiling.

The slight effect of all the wine she had drank was quickly becoming more apparent and it took great effort on her part to hide it. Nevertheless, her diplomatic training and experience was more than able to compensate, at least mostly. Anyone close enough to smell her breath might suspect the truth.

Dysaryn definitely seemed satisfied with her answer and he at least made the semblance of not noticing any intoxication on Diana's part. Whether he did notice or not was not clear, as much of Dysaryn was kept very well hidden. Still, Jolené had once confided in Diana that she felt Dysaryn and his Sword were more closely linked that was obvious. She seemed to think that at least Dysaryn considered the sword alive. Being an intelligent man, Jolené had wondered if it was sentient or in some other way living. During the conversation, Jolené stated that Augustus had said it was ridiculous and crazy. Yet, Jolené knew her husband and he her, and she knew that he had felt it as well, even if he denied it.

"Is that all the other weapons," Diana asked as they reach the front of the hotel and it's separate entrance, eyeing the bag and then sending a questioning look at the Revenians. She knew about Revenians and their weapons. "The discover of some forgotten weapon might cause a fuss with the Praetorians."

Behind them the thirty stories of hotel stretched joined to the massive mall of the International Relations Complex. The massive modern looking build was impress and seemed to stretch on for quite a while, it's structure showing many different areas, like the hotel. In front of and around them was the beautiful cultured city of Drako Throne, looking like some wondrous...city. It seemed a true paradise of the modern world, elements of the great cities of eras past, the quiet peaceful towns of Europe, the modern cities of the Americas, and the futuristic sprawls of Asia all seemed at home together in the capital of Drakonia. Tree adorned the sides and center of the streets and building were crafted in amazing mixes caribbean, ancient, modern, and anglo-romanic architexture. Colors were all around them, the greens of plants, grasses, shrubbery, and trees, the purples, reds, and of the Imperial Drakonian Theme, the slate grays of the modern cityscrapes of the world, and the many other colors of life and creation. All mixed in a strange beauty of the past, present, and future.

Dysaryn smiled grimly to himself. Of course there were other weapons. There were always other weapons, but -he- didn't know where they were, and if he couldn't find them, there was drek-all the Praetorian Guard could do about it.

As for Dysaryn himself, well, there wasn't a whole lot you could do about him, you see, he himself, was a weapon. And a very, very effective on at that.

But, then again, it wasn't exactly as if his men would try and assassinate anybody. Wasn't their job. That kinda stuff went to the boys and girls over at the ID. Nah, his guards were Twilight Seraphim. His Bloodguard was resting, and, as such, the Drop Commandos were on duty.

Regardless, he turned his attention to Diane.

"If there are any other weapons, I can't find them, and if I can't find them, then the only way they are going to be found, is if they are needed. Which, hopefully, they won't be. Now, shall we be on our way?"

With the conversation ended they entered the limousine, which was waiting. A standard issue government diplomatic limousine it was heavily armored with bulletproof windows and titanium plating all cleverly disguised. A Law Enforcement Sport Utility Vehicle painted Violet, Black, and trimmed with Gold (the markings of the Praetorian Guard) accepted Dysaryn's guards and provided extra security following the armored limousine. As well, two police cars, also bearing the markings of the Praetorian Guard, pulled in front of and behind the vehicles providing further security. It was clear to note the increase in security since the recent terror attacks.

But, thankfully, the trip to the Grand Praetorian Palace passed without event. The city was ever, it peaceful self.

Drako Throne was also ever the beautiful achievement it was created to be. Built in centuries past, it had been rebuilt several times over. In it's current rendition, it was a city of diplomacy, a capital, and the face of Drakonia to the world. While the other cities of Drakonia were centers of social and economic contact, it was Drako Throne where the nations conversed with the Imperium. And so, it was that the city was made to show Drakonia to the world (and indeed the universe, in the case of the Revenians and other spacedy nations).

As they drove through the city this was clear. The streets were lined with shrubbery and trees. Ornate streetlights were placed at intervals and would it have been night, they would have lit the streets with a bright, yet soft, glow. Even the streets themselves were cleaned to the jet black of asphalt.

The vehicles drove on and quickly reached the Palace Grounds, in the very center of the city. They were waved through the main gate and moved on through the outer lawns. Passing flora, as well kept as that which adorned the streets of the capital city. The palace itself was grand, a large architectural structure built with clear Anglo-Romanic leanings. Yet, in all its grandeur something seemed off and wrong.

It became clear in a moment. The security, it was everywhere. Snipers were placed on the roof, as well as dozens of other Praetorian Guards with varying weaponry, including but not exclusively missile launchers and massive machine guns. Elsewhere on the grounds, Praetorians patrolled, appearing and disappearing around trees, bushes, and floral gardens. At the foot of the Palace itself there were dozens of heavily armed Guardsmen. It was at this checkpoint where the Diana and the Revenians were cleared before they entered.

As Diana and Dysaryn were being checked, to be allowed into Grand Praetorian Palace, Jolené was still lost in her memories of the past. This time though her thoughts drifted to the not so distant past.

It had been only just before the fateful day during which they had been shot....

Augustus was becoming increasingly concerned about his godbrother, Edmund Dantes. There were rumors of peculiar happenings in Tersanctus.

Edmund Dantes' girlfriend had called and talked to Jolené for hours. Apparently, Edmund had changed drastically, totally; enough to end their relationship altogether. Who Edmund's girlfriend claimed he had become was even more unbelievable. She said, he had become Kungshao, Dragon God important in the primary religion of Tersanctus. Her god. Being as she was one of the Tersanctan Templar Order, she was a warrior of the Kungshaoist religion.

Jolené couldn't believe it. But, something deep inside Augustus did believe it. The son of his Godparents had become the Dragon God, Kungshao. Yet, to be entirely truthful on the surface Augustus didn't the shocking news at all, either. It was outrageous. So he had called.

Things had escalated from there. "You've got to be bloody kidding me, Eddy," Augustus said angrily. "This is no time for childhood jokes."

The reply, Jolené could not hear from the doorway, where she was listening, but it only further angered the Praetor of Drakonia. And the brothers feuded.

"You fool!" Augustus had a fiery temper. He kept it in check most of the time, but this was family and the Drakonian anger surfaced. "You're no more a god, than I am. Stop this, stop hurting those you love. Alyssa loves you and you her. I know it and so do you. Now quit this at once!"

Jolené about stepped in to stop the brothers and calm her husband, but she agreed with his statements and thus let him try to stop what she felt was madness. Edmund, or whoever he was, was unyielding.

"Your faithful servant?! Damn it, your not her god!" Augustus had quickly become irate, the famed Drakonian anger consuming him.

The being at the other end of the call would still not yield. "My Go...this is madness!"

It had ended with that and the two brothers had parted in anger.

At the checkpoint, there were no problems and Diana and the Revenians made their way toward the infirmary. Where the doctors remained concerned for the welfare of their Praetor.

"It's amazing he's made it through these last nights," the male doctor spoke.

"It will be amazing if he can make it through the next few nights," said the female doctor. "If he doesn't wake up, I'm not sure if he ever will."

Their worry was mimicked all over Drakonia. The entire nation seemed in dire turmoil. Their Praetor and his beloved wife and Queen had been heartlessly shot. Now he was on his deathbed, she would survive. But was their anything worse in life to have one's closest love's very soul wretched cruelly away so early in life. Their romance had brought together a nation and now it seemed their tragedy would tear it apart.

It was then that Dysaryn and Diana arrived in the infirmary. Where the two doctors met them. It was hard to say which group looked more concerned.

"Doctors," Diana greeted, trying hard not to let her emotions surface. "How...how are they?"

The female doctor replied first. "The Praetor is unchanged, but the Queen is improving marginally. But Ma'am..." The woman trailed off, her news could not be more saddening.

Diana had feared what she anticipated would be the doctor's news and her dread overcame her. Dysaryn had to indicate to the doctor to proceed. He having not heard the earlier news, had no idea what the doctor was about to say.

"The trauma was too severe. The pregnancy has ended prematurely. There was nothing we could do." The news brought even more dread. Diana could not speak; she shuddered at the thought of informing her friend, her Queen. That burden was taken away from her, as almost inaudible sound informed them that Jolené had been listening. She knew.

Both her friends entered the room without hesitation, but Diana could still not speak.

Jolené lay there, attempting to hold back her pain, her sadness, and her agony. A single tear ran down her cheek and the redness in her eyes made clear that it had not been the only one shed over her husband and child. Yet, it was easy to see why Augustus loved her as he did as she lay there.

Even in her wounded state she was radiantly beautiful. Her skin was soft silky and the color of soft light milk chocolate. Her hair was dark, wavy, and long. Augustus had once said she was a goddess, one he would love and worship, forever.

He had also said, his job would destroy her and destroy him. Now that prediction seemed to have come true.

Mr. Petain frazzled, scared, and totally out of sorts after his run from his office to the Lavenrunzian Restaurant rushed over to the front desk breathing deeply as he tried to catch his breath. "You have to help me," he sputtered, not caring who heard him. "You have to get me out of the country."

After a befuddled look from the man at the desk he elaborated. "They're after me," he cried out, sounding more and more like crazy person.

This was followed by another look, this one much more confused. The man at the desk had no idea who "they" were and that only fueled Mr. Petain's madness. "The government! Their looking for me at my work! You have to help me!"

By now customers were turning their heads and trying to figure out what all the commotion was about and who this madman was that was making it. Yet, Mr. Petain was too self-absorbed to notice. "Please, you've got to help me escape the country!"

Captain-Commander Dysaryn Levan Blackstar-Stark, Warprince of Revenia, called the Twilight Knight by the media, was not amused. Mind you, that was putting it simply.

Every single holder of the Stark bloodline was different, but in many ways, they were similar. They tended towards silver in the hair and eyes, and tall slim figures. Quite unlike the usual tall and, well, big figure that was often the norm among the inhabitants of the Supremacy's two gee worlds.

They also had unique, well powers. Psionic powers, to be specific. Of course, they tended to be specialized. Telepaths, Psychokinetics, and the like. However, among the Ascended, the full-blooded Ascended, that was un-true.

Nonetheless, even the Ascended show a much stronger aptitude for a specific psionic 'path,' if you will. Adrian was a telepath, Wraith was a psychokinetic, and Dysaryn, well, Dysaryn was a rarity.

Of the many 'paths,' three stuck out as being rare. These were the paths having to do with the control of things on the molecular level, the so-called 'dark path,' the control of the placement of things, or 'psychoportation,' and finally, the manipulation of organic life in other entities.

Dysaryn's strongest, and only reliable, psionic 'path,' was that last one. He was a Vitakinetic, and possibly the most powerful one in the universe. Vitakinesis provided both the abilities to do great harm, and to undo great harm.

However, Dysaryn wasn't about to mention that...it was, after all, "magic."

And, if there was one thing that Revenians had learned, and learned hard, it was that "magic," was something one did not go about spreading. Thus the prevalence of psionicly-talented individuals in the Revenian Intelligence community.

Thus, any thoughts of 'meddling,' were firmly suppressed. The Drakonians were friends, yes, but they were still Solars, and the last thing diplomacy needed was, ahk-hem, any misunderstandings.

Dysaryn repressed a shudder upon entering the room, it stank of hopelessness. He had known Death, and known him well. Survivor of countless battlefields he was, and if anyone could truly 'get used' to pain and suffering without losing oneself entirely, than he should have.

Of course, he hadn't, and indeed, it showed. His jaw clenched a bit tighter, his eyes narrowed just a little, and his right hand twitched, just a little.

He turned his attention to other things, and as he did so, he changed. It wasn't obvious, really, it was mostly in his eyes. When before, it might have been said that one could drown in those Quicksilver depths, now, they were cold.

There was no twinkle in those eyes, no, they were as steel. Cold, cold steel. That analytical eye swept over the room, and he judged that there was little that even Revenian medicine could have done to improve the situation.

Dulled the pain a bit, sped up the process a bit, reduced the chance of secondary infection for certain, but otherwise, not a whole lot. Augustus undoubtedly had a punctured lung or two, and maybe somebody should introduce flapped-holsters to the Praetorian guard.

As for Jolene, it seemed a miracle to him that she was doing this well, gut shots tended to be quite nasty. Of course, it was quite possible that his analysis was in error, he hadn't exactly examined the wounds or anything.

It was a tribute to his excellent skills as an actor that you couldn't even tell that he might have wanted to.

"Jolené...." The sound was almost a whisper, but it caught everyone's attention, especially the Queen's. "...I'm sorry."

He was conscious. Augustus was alive. The near lifeless body in the bed next to the Queen stirred looking straight to her, the love of his life.

Diana was shocked speechless.

The joy that overwhelmed Jolené caused her gasped back a cry. Sadness and joy mixed, all consuming. "Augustus." It seemed all she could say. "I love you." It was all she needed to say.

For the first time since the shooting, the hand that Jolené clasped squeezed back.