NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Alas, I make my return to the NationStates forums. I.I wasn't cutting it for me anymore. Here's a small scoop as to what's been happening in AMF the past couple months:

Damien found out he has a son, named Azrael who is 20 years old. After the death of the Lord Reaver of Pantera, Damien placed Azrael in the hands of the new Lord Reaver, Dayne the Evenstar. In a trial by fire Azrael proved himself a man's man, and was given the Lord Reaver's blessing. From here Azrael makes ready to succeed Dreadfire as the new Supreme Warlord, but he has one final task left ahead: getting to know hte leaders and people of the world he will soon be a big part of.

*********


With Dawn's Cathedral nothing more than a memory and Azrael's new fortress atop of it's ruin, times seemed to have changed throughout the land. The new mighty structure that stood imposingly atop a high peak in the shadows of the ULE Mountains was a sign that a new era was being ushered in. Azrael's battle wounds had healed, but still his mind was filled with his exploits in the Free Lands of Pantera....the Seastone Council.....the bloodied beach....the final slaughter....all these things prayed on his mind.

But as usual he reassured himself his endeavors were nothing more but history now. The Lord Reaver had bestowed onto him his blessing that he was a man, and fit to one day oversee the whole of the Empire. So, he had decided that he would take the first necessary steps to establish himself in the eyes of the world and try to change to blood soaked image that had been burned into the minds of those both near and far. He decided he would formally christen his new home and hold a small get together. He expected attendance to be rather low, but he figured it was worth a try regardless.

****

High atop the hill that once was home to Dawn's Cathedral (now known as the 'Westwind Citadel), a cool breeze shufled in from the snow covered ULE Mountains that surrounded the entire valley. The valley was dotted with several clusters of high grassy hills, and as the winds blew in from the north they swirled and changed direction westward. The winds seemed to pool and dissipate around the Citadel and the hill it rested on, which is probably why the ancients chose this as the site for the long gone Cathedral.

The stone walkway towads the Citadel was alive with the gray, green, and gold banners of Azrael the Advocate. The banners danced serenely and tussled to and fro in the crisp air as the typical breeze blew in and engulfed the entire hilltop. The grounds were littered with servants and dignitaries bustling about here and there, making sure everything had been completed to Azrael's satisfaction. The groundskeepers began placing torches in the ground near the stone walkway and inbetween the colorful banners, but they would not be lighting them until the dying sun cast it's beautiful colors of crimson, orange, and yellow across the sky.

The inside of the Citadel was spotless from floor to ceiling, and large gray, green, and gold banners accented the room and dominated it's interiors. The main foyer was clear of clutter and the hall to the left had been readied for the great feast that was to come, and the hall to the right was empty and would be used for dancing and the like. The entire building was lit only by the bright rays of sunlight that enshrouded the ULE valley, although thousands of candles and torches were made ready for the evening.

Upstairs in his private chambers, Azrael stressed as he tried to figure out exactly what to wear to this event. Without a doubt he was here to make an impression, and possibly catch the fancy of a single lady if one should happen to show up. He pondered for a second, and decided that he would wear his usual ceremonial garb consisting of a shining breast plate made of solid milled steel, crested with an ancient dragon and a pair of longswords. His matching steel shin guards went on next as well as his forearm guards, each beautifully detailed and free of imperfection. He shined them up for several minutes until they were so clean that the sun's rays illuminated the steel and made it seem to glow. Next would come his shirt, pants, and cape, all decorated in the colors of The Advocate:

Green for the rolling tides of grass and leaf that color the earth,
Gray for the twilight just before the darkness,
and Gold for the glory of the Sun and it's nurturing rays.

Thus is the parable of The Advocate


*****


Midday had passed, and the last of the preparations had been made. All that remained was to get this gala underway. Azrael decided that he would remain upstairs until the last of the guests filed in, then he would make his grand entrance. He hoped he didn't trip or make an ass of himself on the way down, for that would certainly spell disaster for his unknown reputation.

The invitations had been sent both far and wide, and Azrael read his copy of it over and over, making sure he left nothing out.

*****

~From the desk of Azrael the Advocate, Protector and Warchief of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek~

Greetings one and all,

My name is Azrael, called 'Advocate' by my people. I am the son of the famous Lord Damien 'Dreadfire', and Warchief of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek. I am hosting a goodwill event at my new home, the Westwind Citadel, for anyone and everyone. I would like to use this event to get to know those of the world that I have not had the honor to meet. I certianly hope to see many new faces and meet many new friends in my quest to one day become the new ruler of Automagfreek.

Thank you, and I hope to see you at the event.

http://67.18.37.14/40/9/upload/p1005314.jpg
Azrael the Advocate
-Warchief of AMF Forces-
Member of N.A.T.O


*****

Oh Gods, it sounds like crap. A blabbering idiot could have written better... he muttered to himself. He ran his hand across his face and let out a heavy sigh before standing and walking towards the balcony windows. He did not open them, but instead looked down at the valley that sat thousands of feet below him. All his life he had been a nobody, lost and forgotten to those around him. But now was his one defining moment where he could finally start his life anew.

But his thoughts were interrupted by the soft words of a servant. M'Lord, our guests are arriving. He bowed his head respectfully and shut the door slowly, and as he did Azrael's heart raced. He moved towards the mirror and gave himself a once over, not satisfied with what he saw. He moved towards the rack near his bed and picked up his Panteran broadsword, eyeing it up and down. He affixed it to his belt and returned to the mirror, this time more content with his appearance.

Outside the Citadel servants moved about casually as the first of the guests began arriving. Live music from inside the building echoed it's way outside, creating a peaceful and melodic atmosphere.

ooc: Would it be okay if I got a little baptism by fire with NS here? I've been puttering around II since I got into the roleplaying part of these forums, but that place is mostly just pointless wars that end up nowhere.



ic:

Encoded message from the Imperial Dominion of Sdaeriji



TO: Azrael the Advocate, Automagfreek
FROM: Chairman Ilsuo Santite, Sdaeriji

Greetings from the Imperial Dominion of Sdaeriji. I recently got your invitation to your citadel, and I would just like to personally let you know I'd consider it a great honor to meet the future leader of AMF. Although, I hope that you plan on coming to power through legitimate means. AMF is a world power, and I'd hate to see the destruction that would result from an AMF civil war. I will be accompanied by my Praetor Imperatrix, Adiano Omaro. I eagerly await our meeting. Goodbye for now.

Respectfully,
Chairman Ilsuo Santite
Imperial Dominion of Sdaeriji


*****


Wow, he's definately got an intimidating presence here, Chairman Santite thought as he walked up the winding path to the gargantuan doorway that marked the entrance to Azrael's Westwind Citadel. It seemed that every detail, from the giant banners decorating the citadel's outer walls, to the torches lining the pathway, were all designed to create an air of dominance around the young Azrael. It was enough to make a man as powerful as Santite tremble.

Beside him strode the beautiful Amazon Adiano Omaro, Santite's personal bodyguard and head of the Dominion's Praetorian Guard, protectors of the Chairman and elite paramilitary organization. She stood at an imposing 6'3", with dark brown hair and impossibly dark brown eyes. Beneath her purple-trimmed jet black Praetorian uniform was an extremely powerful physique. Her muscles flexed visibly beneath the uniform as she walked up the long path. Despite this dominating physical presence, she still maintained an attractive womanly figure. Indeed, she was quite striking. She did not look a day over 21, the result of years of Dominion bioengineering research. Her long brown hair, tied into a tight ponytail, floated in the breeze behind her.

She gripped the hilt of the sword at her hip as she walked alongside Santite. This entire situation made her uncomfortable. I don't trust this Azrael character one bit, she thought to herself. I've heard too many unsavory stories about the actions of Lord Damien. I can't imagine his progeny can be much different. This entire thing reeks of a set-up. Still, there was little she could do. The Chairman was insistent on attending this meeting, and her training made her incapable of disobeying him. She would just have to be on her guard all night. Her hand switched from the hilt of her sword to the snap on the holster of her handgun.

The two arrived at the towering doors and stood in awe.

"Shall we, my dear?" said Santite coyly.

"Let's just get this night over with."

Receiving the message from AMF, the Foreign Minister was a buzz with talk of attending the event. With the recent assassination of Sir Walter and the current 'incidents' that have been befalling the Grand Duchy, many senior officials doubted that Hamptonshire could send a delegate to Azrael the Advocate "get together".

Foreign Minister Lord Easton called a meeting of his senior staff to decide upon a response to this message.

"Well, since we are now one of the leading members of NATO," Lord Easton said to the conference room full of senior Foreign Ministry officials, "we must send someone to meet the future leader of AMF. It's only right."

"Of course it is, sir...but we must send someone of 'stature' in order not to offend our new allies. I simply cannot think of a Minister that has the time or opportunity to attend for the length of time necessary." one of the Deputies said before the room nearly exploded in conversation over who should go. For the next ten minutes the room was a bubbling spring of discussion and very 'lively' debate.

Sitting quitely in the turbulent conference room, Lord Easton began to think. He knew that none of the Cabinet had the free time, and sending a Royal Senator could turn into a disaster. Just as he was about to give up, he jumped up and yelled "I've got it!"

The room immediately quieted down.

"We'll send Princess Patricia. She's a member of the Royal Family, she's third in line for the throne, she's the niece and adopted daughter of the Grand Duke, she's brilliant, a Member of the Royal House of Represenatives, and..." he begins to say in a hushed tone, "she's single. She's had powerful suitors before, maybe lightning will strike three times." he says with a grin.

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

Getting off the plane, Princess Patricia Anne Cessar, MC (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v114/hamptonshire/pac.jpg) quickly made her way to Westwind Citadel. She was nervous, it had been a few years since she had been on a major foreign mission. She knew that she could do it, but she still had a small nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She would always recite to herself the same thing before she would meet someone of great importance:
I am a Daughter of the House of Pyotr-Hampton, we have ruled Hamptonshire for a thousand years; take strength in the past and future. The people of Hamptonshire trust me, and I have to trust myself.

Just as she finished her little mantra, Princess Patricia came to the Citadel. Taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes, she began walking toward the great building.

OOC: Ahh, We meet again. well, im just gettin back myself, hopin to stick around alittle longer this time

anyways, AMF, if you want, me and Daikerta are doing a Coming back RP to kinda kick start our way back into NS, if you want to partake, do so by following this link, and do it before wednesday as that is when it will start

http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=6787893

"Sir, a message has arrived from Automagfreek. An invitation of sorts." an Imperial servant said, his head in a deep bow throughout his speech. Handing the slip over to Emperor Lucious, he quickly departed the Golden Throne to let his Lord have his peace. Lucious quickly eyed down the invitation, then set it down onto his desk. "The warchief beckons us to a ceremony, eh? Well then, I believe we should make our presence known once again!" Lucious said to himself, sitting back down at his desk.

*two weeks later*

'This had better be worth it.'

Emperor Lucious stepped out of the unnusually long limousine, flanked by two guards and the Warlord of Daikerta, Maurius. As the vehicle pulled away, Lucious and Maurius began to walk along the stone walkway towards the Citadel. "Rather extravagent, don't you think?" Lucious said under his breath, looking at the colored banners scattered along the area.
"I believe it is quite fitting for a man of his stature." Maurius replied nonchalantly.
"Well I do hope this is worth it. I did not travel halfway across the world just for free bread and wine."
"Don't worry, My Lord. We shall be met quite warmly. Perhaps we might even rejuvinate our relations with Automagfreek."

The four Daikertans continued their stroll, making small talk. "I should have donned my Ceremony Armor, these robes are freezing in this wind!" Lucious exclaimed to no one in particular, a slight chill going down his spine. "Who is this Azrael, anyways?" Maurius asked, also to no one in particular.
"Son of Damien Dreadfire...and that's all I know." the Emperor replied, strking his chin.

Walking up to the gates of the large citadel, the Daikertan guards announced their party. Soon they were show into the main room, still fairly empty of guests. "Looks like we got here early," Lucious began, scanning the massive room. "Do as you wish, I'm going to go find our host of honor."

The guards disappeared into a corner of the citadel, keeping a watchful eye on Maurius and Lucious. Maurius found a table and sat down at it, sighing. He did not know what to expect at this event, and shared some of the feelings of his Emperor. 'This boy, if he is to ascend the throne of the Excessively Armed Empire anytime soon, better be at least half the man his father is.' Eyeing down a hostess, Maurius snapped his fingers to get her attention. When the lady arrived by the Warlord's side, he asked for a cup of their finest wine.

Lucious, however, was not having any luck finding Azrael. 'Perhaps he is going to make a big entrance later. Hmm, no matter then..' Lucious thought to himself, trying to find anyone he remembered from previous occasions.

(ooc: For reference:
Emperor Lucious (http://img40.exs.cx/img40/9619/lucious.jpg), and
Warlord Maurius Calgar (http://www.edenstudios.net/odyssey/warlord.jpg))

The dull thud of steel echoed around the room. The messenger room, or so it was called. It had'nt been cleaned in millenia, the last time it was used was in the days of the Kristalkacht and the anarchy of the Dark Eldar. But those days had passed and with them the extensive messenger systems used in that room. But something was here, something flung silence out of it's domain. Something disturbed the balance of power held in the room. Something had come to fling the noiseless atmosphere out of it's atrium.

As the dull thud of steel became more apparent, the echoes lasted longer, powering their wakes with supernatural eeriness. The systems, long broken started to power up. The Pentogrammic wards flashed with fiery green as the thousands of messenges poured through that had been ignored or lost in the ststem. In particular one message stood out. A message that was hours old, a message that came from Terra. The mysterious figure uploaded it onto the data-slate and exited the room, leaving silence to govern once more.

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

"The messenges that ordered mi'lord" The figure said, handing the data-slate to Urien.

"Did you find anything of interest? Or are they antiquated Terran threats?"

"Yes, mi'lord I did. A Terran message that is but hours old. From a Automagfreek"

"Automagfreek? I have heard of them, but what does the message say?"

"See for yourself"

Urien turned a colour of green and looked back at the screen.

"This is unusual. Prepare the answering system for response. A Mon-Keigh nation. Who would have thought...."

"Yes mi'lord" The figure gave a curt nod and walked out of the command centre.

Response: Azrael the Advocate
The invitatation you sent us was most unusual. We do not often get invitations from Mon-Keigh. But we would be most happy to send a representative.

Silmarili Isandorne walked through the doors. The atmosphere was mellow and calm. She felt unsettled in the environment, the cold, wide room seemed to ooze an aura of death and torment. No more than she would have felt in Commorargh though. She walked through, trying to feel the granduer of such a place.

Ebony Palace, City of Frosternesse:

"My emperor, forgive me for interrupting you and your daughter, but we have received a message from a mighty foreign power!" exclaimed a frail looking man from the mighty archway that leads into the throne room, he was obviously a mere courier. "Hmmm," the emperor murmured, in thought. "We have not been contacted by the outside in ages, how... interesting. Give me the message, courier, and then leave us." The elderly Merefrost took the letter in his hand and scanned through it, a smile spread across his face.

He turned to his daughter, who he had been taking in tea with her father, and spoke. "This is a perfect opportunity for our nation, Selene! Here, take a look for yourself!" She took the letter into her delicate hands and quickly read through it. "Oh father, if we attend, Frostguarde could perhaps gain a powerful ally!" said the beautiful girl. "Not just that, my daughter, perhaps we will be a step closer to escaping this god-forsaken region!" exclaimed the emperor. "Yes father, so when will you be leaving?" asked the princess. The emperor responded with silence at first, and then spoke again. "Why my dear, I am not going. You, however, will be the perfect dignitary to send! I shall send guards with you, so fear not. Show this, Azrael, that Frostguarde would be a powerful and trusted friend, only if he is ours as well. Make me proud, dear."

A multitude of things happened after that, much too quickly for the Princess Selene, but before she knew it, she was on a transport bound for Westwind Citadel... and possibly the home of a future ally. She could not mess this up.
---------------------------------
Three weeks later, The Westwind Citadel, Automagfreek:

Princess Merefrost found herself and her guardian, a giant of a man clad in elegant, navy body armor, walking the impressive walkways up to the citadel. She paused to admire the gray, green, and gold banners that danced in the fair winds. "Come my princess, we must not delay," said her guardian. "Yes Brian, you are correct. I suppose I am just nervous, that is all. I have never been to another kingdom before, I have only read of them," she said, slightly in awe of her surroundings. Things were very different from the urban colossus that is Frosternesse.

After much walking, the duo from Frostguarde reached the citadel gates.. then were ushered into the main rooms to find a small number of guests already assembled. "Well Brian, I suppose we can be known for our earliness at least," said the princess, sounding slightly more at ease. "Indeed, milady," he responded. "This could mark a new day for our people," she said, seemingly to herself. She smoothed out her blue dress and tried to appear as regal as possibly and probably succeeded, being a princess and all.

Picture reference of Princess Selene Merefrost: Link Here (http://home.comcast.net/~sargoth/Princess.JPG)

[OOC: First RP attempt on NationStates. Worst thing that can happen is all out war! XD >_> Hold it together man! You're gonna look stupid!]

OOC:

http://members.tripod.com/~AprilLee/ccgwh40k/iyannaarienal600c.jpg

Here's a picture of Silmarili Isandorne for reference....

The Brotherhood welcomes Lord Azrael. We hope that, if one day you succeed your father, you will rule in his spirit and bring Automagfreek's position in the world to new heights. The Brotherhood will naturally attend your goodwill event at the Westwind Citadel.

Lord Kane, Messiah to the Brotherhood of Nod

Sergei sat in his chair, it overlooked the City of Rose, he rubbed his chin with interest, but was confused it wasn't from Lord Damien. He thought to himself Excellent excuse to visit Automagfreek, but it might get me killed... He's already almost gotten himself killed a few times in Heimlichsburg and in his own Island, but he shook his head, he wanted... he needed to come, if not only to cement their friendship.

Official Statement from the Island of Rose:

I will be happy to come, if not only to visit your nation and to meet the future leader of Automagfreek. Hope to see you there.
-President Sergei Ilyanov of the Island of Rose

Sergei ran to his room, opening his closet. They were all the same clothes, white shirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots and a lether jacket, no suits. Sergei wondered if he needed a suit, but dismissed it, they wouldn't be offended... right? Anyway he put on his clothes, picking up the Colt .45 from his bed, checking if it's loaded. He rushed to the entrance of the Villa...

... where there was his car waiting for him. He drove along, speeding around the roads to reach his personal plane, which was an RF-1. His supplies were always loaded on a bomb under the plane. He put on his flying mask, checked for all of his guages and such. He took off, fast, saying good bye once again to the Island of Rose, and maybe saying hello to death...

________________________________________

The RF-1 landed, Sergei quickly stepped off the plane leaving his mask behind, he ran... like hell to reach the Citadel, he watched all the people that were already there, he looked around trying to look serious, ah but those Rosian genes can't make him serious, damn it all. He needed to be a diplomat, he can't piss off a nation that can utterly destroy him, he waited to be callen upon.

OOC: Since I don't have a picture, he's a guide to how he looks like:
Age: 45
Average build, 5'9 in height.
Hair is combed back, he has no mustache and his accent is Russian.
Plus he's wearing that clothes, his tan is white blah blah, I hope that's descriptive.

Bump for AMF <_>

So it was that Prime Minister John Entwistle finally was convinced to come out into public, and visit the new leader of Automagfreek.

As he walks up into the giant castle, he is reminded of the inadequacies of his small cottage on the town green in Magadan.

http://graphics.jsonline.com/graphics/owlive/img/jun02/entwistlebig062902.jpg

Prime Minister John Entwistle, official figurehead of the Parliament Funkadelic of Lunatic Retard Robots, Bass player extraordinaire, etc. etc.

OOC: Sorry to comment, but LRR your PM looks like a hippie man :p

Reading over the message, Ellison Chaknov grinned. She turned to one of her assistant's. "I'm going to Automagfreek to great the son of Lord Damien Dreadfire." The assistant looked oddly at her. "M'am, if you don't mind me saying, you have never left the country on foreign affairs. Why don't we send Jenna Paniri or her daughter?"

Elli thought for a moment and responded,"You have a point. I'll be taking my half-sister to Automagfreek. Contact Emily and tell her I want her to come with me." The assistant didn't approve, but couldn't do anything about it. He knew that Elli wouldn't give up once she had made her mind.

---------------------------------------------
To: Azrael the Advocate
From: Ellison Chaknov, Sigma Octavus

I have often wanted to get out of my country on foreign affairs, and this seems to be the perfect occasion. I shall attend accompanied by my half-sister Emily Paniri.
---------------------------------------------

Elli stepped out of the vehicle followed closely by Emily. Both women were dressed up nicely, excited about the occasion. They made their way towards the citadel.

(Okay. Quick descriptions.)

Elli
Age: 31
Height: 5'6"
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Black

Emily
Age:26
Height: 5'9
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Blonde

OOC: Let's mingle while AMF's away >_>

The message was received and considered by the controlling entity known only as 'Durie.' The situation was decided to warrant attention from someone other than the standard innocent diplomatic corps. As such, it was routed to the office of the most capable individual currently available.

Sir Jaime Coldfist peered at the message displayed on his monitor. A faint grin flicked across his youthful face, and he made the necessary arrangements. Transportation was provided by the Diplomatic Service's Crisis Response Team, and was thus, right on time. The Diplomatic Service also handled the necessary nitpicky details.

They did that, when the son of Lord Harm Coldfist, the grizzled and powerful man who controlled the enigmatic but powerful Revenian Intelligence Directorate was involved.

The fact that Sir Jaime Coldfist was also rumored to be in favor with the quite-legendary Warprince Stark helped a bit, too.

Sir Jaime stepped onto Freek soil for the first time, and his immediate thought was "I like this place."

He was dressed in the style popularized by his patron, the afore-mentioned Warprince. A loose black jacket over a tight black shirt, loose black pants bloused into shiny black combat boots, with a black cape to complete the image. He stood about six foot two and weighed in at one hundred fifty s.pounds.

He wore his silver-blonde hair loose, and it was long enough to just brush his shoulders. Eyes the color of cold steel stared out at the world, and he was the very image of the young Revenian Noble, complete with dueling scar on the right cheek.

Except that that odd scar was quite real and had been placed there by none other than Owen Stark, his longtime Swordmaster and mentor.

His sword rode on his left hip, situated for a cross-draw. It was a blade of the type known as a Warblade among Revenians. A true Warblade would have a good four feet of the blue-tinted Eldensteel, with the tiny practically imperceptible groove along the edge that allowed the application of Slicewire for an edge that was the next best thing to monomolecular.

This was, in every way, a true Warblade. And as all true Warblades, it bore a name. The cross-guard bore the word 'Frostseeker,' in the whispy almost ethereal written language of the Ascended, and thus was it named.

He refused to feel nervous. He had been trained all his life for such an occasion, and the blood of House Coldfist flowed through his veins. The Halfling blood of House Coldfist.

For Jaime was a Noble of Revenian, and he was a Halfling Ascended, unaging, unflinching, and utterly capable. Yes, and that raw talent had been molded and refined by the elite of Revenian society.

He was the Champion of House Coldfist, and By God, he would act the part! His left hand closed around his Tri-Staff, long the symbol of Revenian Diplomatic Power, and he began his advance.

OOC: Presuming you're in a hurry and/or don't feel like reading my writing (Can't say I blame you...), I'll put it down quick and easy.

Sir Jaime Coldfist, Knight-Protector of the Order of the Daggerstar.
Age: 24 (Yeah, He doesn't age physically past about 21, but he really is that young)
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 150 s.pounds (Effectively this means that he appears the same as a 150 pound 6'2" human. In reality, his bones are considerably denser than normal, but this tends to throw off comparitive weight stats. Thus the s.pound.)
Eyes: Steel Gray (shot with silver, but you can't really tell...)
Hair: Silver-Blond

Short Blurb: Jaime is a fledgeling noble on the equivalent of his first 'real' mission. He has grown up among living legends and feels that he is pressured to live up to 'his Birthright.'

He's quite cunning and rather capable, but his defining characteristic at this point is 'shyness.'

Ya dig?

-Rev

Alicia was fuming over the phone. There were limits to how much time stupid things like international meetings could take. Now was not a good time.

(Alicia li'Wye, High King of Weyr): No, Gibbs.
(J. W. Gibbs, Consul-General): He can crush us like a bug.
(Alicia): I don't give a f*ck. I've got other things to do than talk to some rich kid.
(Gibbs): So what do you want me to do?
(Alicia): Get...someone else...What about Ren, from BattleSpire?
(Gibbs): It's on your head if he becomes offended.
(Alicia): Tell him to shove it.

The phone line clicked, dead.

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

To: Azrael the Advocate, Protector and Warchief of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek
From: Consul-General J. W. Gibbs
Re: Invitation

We are most honored by your invitation, and will be most happy to meet the Lord Azrael in person. Unfortunately, High King Alicia li'Wye deeply regrets that she will not be able to attend due to matters closer to home, such as the IG Virus outbreak and the insurrection in Southport city. Ren li'Wye, chief of the BattleSpire, will be attending in her stead.

Sincerely,
Consul-General J. W. Gibbs

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

Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye, chief alchemist-magus of the BattleSpire, wondered why he was getting sent to the other end of the world. On the other hand, he reflected, the skyship was comfortable enough, even if it was only an outdated jet.

Focus on the here and now, Ren recited inwardly, looking at the impressive Westwind Citadel from the winding stone path that he now followed. You are not some questor on his first mission, he chided himself. It had been ten years since he passed the final examinations, and gained his title of Spectrum Alchemist. Although he looked not a day over twenty, he was already almost as old as High King Alicia. Yet forty years was not old by Weyrean standards, especially not with the advent of golemic implants.

Ren's eyes took in the gray, green, and gold banners that wavered in the light wind, and the other guests that were now arriving. The display of costumes was certainly more impressive than his own deep blue alchemist's uniform, but it would have to do. Probably only another alchemist would have noted the thin silver chain holding a magnificently-crafted pocketwatch, both of which were the only badges of office carried by alchemists. He paused at the towering portals to the Westwind Citadel.

------------------
Alchemist:
http://www.sonymusic.co.jp/Animation/hagaren/chara/roy01.jpg

OOC: I'll post tomorrow, I was going to do it today but I was busy. Thanks to those that are attending.

OOC: Sorry to comment, but LRR your PM looks like a hippie man :p

What, does the fact that he doesn't have mad swordfighting skills or carry dual .45s at all times somehow interfere with his ability to govern?

OOC: No, I'm not going to have my char do any magick or anything, or make references to thaumaturgic sciences.
---------------
IC:

Ren considered the unlit torches, and the people who were still setting up outside and inside. The interior of the Westwind Citadel was lavishly decorated. After the somber blacks and grays of BattleSpire, it was certainly a nice change.

Most of the guests were armed, Ren noticed, or had with them some sort of escort. The entire nation was armed to the teeth, from what he knew of Automagfreek, so perhaps it was expected for guests to bring armament even to what would probably turn out to be a peacefull evening. The alchemist wondered if he should have brought some sort of ceremonial weapon. Alchemists are weapons unto themselves, the unbidden quote flashed across Ren's memory, and a smile momentarily broke his impassive mask. There was no known mundane weapon that could pierce the carbon nano-mail of an alchemist's uniform, although the sheer force of an impact could break bones and even kill.

The simple invitation was received promptly by the diplomatic couriers, and was forwarded to the appropriate departments with all due haste, assisted by priority tags. Although a normally bulky and cumbersome beauracracy, always slow to process diplomatic messsages; this particular message was processed within hours - one of the benefits of being a close friend of the Holy Order of Sketch. The reply was unusually prompt, although most likely somewhat disappointing.

==========================================================

To: Azrael the Advocate, Automagfreek
From: AMF liason office, Sketch
Subj: Invitation
Msg:

The Holy Order of Sketch is gladened to see that the venerable Lord Damein has finally chosen a successsor to take the reigns of his great nation. It is our fervent hope that you will be every bit the ruler that Lord Damein was. As with your father before you, we give our friendship and our trust.

It saddens us to say,that due to an unfortunate turn of events that require our close attention within the Order, we are unable to send an appropriate representative to your goodwill event. Perhaps in the near future, when the issue is resolved, we will be free to render the proper respect you deserve.

AMF liason office, Sketch

==========================================================

ooc: normally I'd be alot more enthusiastic about meeting the new ruler of AMF, but I go on a roadtrip in a few hours. Soooooo, yeah, don't be too insulted ^_~

What, does the fact that he doesn't have mad swordfighting skills or carry dual .45s at all times somehow interfere with his ability to govern?

Eh, I have that too, except I don't do dual ;)

Zoogie's right, there are alot of uber Prezs :rolleyes:

Most messages that reach the Central Facehuggerian government get deleted immediately. Only a few worm their way up the buearucratic ladder to get to the top. Azreal's invitation was one of them.

Furhrer Gustav looked at the message intently for a moment, staring at it, trying to discern its purpose. After all, it could be a trick...but no. That certainly wasn't the style of AMF.

After a brief moment of consideration, he called down to his various underlings. "Prepare for me a car! I am going to Automagfreek!" he yelled, frightening the various secretaries and clerks in the Reich Building.

But then he remembered something. He had long ceased being polite to his underlings, but this Azreal was a new case all together. Straining his mind, he remembered that it would be polite to send the AMF government, or Azreal himself a little forewarning.

To: The government of Automagfreek, Warchief Azreal in particular.
From: The National Socialist Utopia of Central Facehuggeria, Furhrer Gustav in particular

Subject: Party

Greetings, mighty Azreal. It has come to my attention that you are hosting a sort of 'getting to know each other' party for the various world delegates. I would like to attend, by your consent of course. I feel this meeting would help to strengthen ties between our two great nations.

I hope to finally meet you face to face soon.

-Furhrer Gustav

Khaled's tanned face, lined by wrinkles and scars, was illuminated by the flickering of the candle positioned next to him on his Presidential desk. Some electricity malfunctioning had darkened the entire city, but Khaled had refused the offer of using the backup accumulators in the palace, everything was nice and quiet this way. He eyes were locked onto an official looking document, having the red classified notice in the upper left corner. His face betrayed none of his emotions, but he bursted with anxiety and curiosity from the inside, now knowing about the open invitation of the future leader of Automagfreek. He lit a Cuban cigar previously stuffed into a embellished casket, once occupied by his wife's bracelet, and inhaled.

"Ibrahim, get over here, and take this to the Foreign Affairs Ministry, let them send it when the power grid is back up!"

He yelled, his cigar still stowed between his thin, bloodless lips, making it sound a bit muffled.

A small boy, lean as a rail, appeared at the doorpost, he approached Khaled, took the document, meanwhile nicely stored been into a sealed manila envelope, and ran off without saying a word.

To: Azreal the Advocate, The Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek.
From: President Khaled Rashid Brahim, The Republic of Al-Sabir.

Dear Sir,

After reading your invitation, I was astounded by the very possibility of being able to meet you, successor of Lord Damien, in person. So, I'm honored to inform you that I will travel of to The Empire to attend your party at the Westwind Citadel. Something I am anxiously looking forward to.

Regards,

President Khaled Rashid Brahim
The Republic of Al-Sabir

Red Ball Air Force Base

The silver moon shone brightly through the bubble-shaped canopy of the flying wing, as the Flying Banana, her very own nickname given by the crews, could be described as best.

Securely strapped into the copilot seat of the F/B-220, Khaled worked through the checklist with the pilot, Lieutenant General Omar Johnson Sharif, his guard, companion and friend on this trip to Automagfreek and back.

Lining up for the runway, the F/B-220's engines were warmed up, ready to go. After a last conversation with the tower, the aircraft rocketed over the tarmac, leaping into sky, quickly disappearing behind a thick pack of clouds.

***

Khaled, while on the concrete hangar floor of the Freek airfield, unzipped his flight suit, revealing a neat, but nonetheless worn-out, black tuxedo. His companion did the same, though his suit was new. Leaving their flight suits near the aircraft, they headed off towards the Westwind Citadel.

OOC: Well, I'm a Fantasy nation, and despite me trying to keep it to a minimum, I based it off some home-written stories that will seem like Godmodding. Still, can I join?

The House of the Republic, Lassic, Ilek-Vaad

The Minister of Foreign Affairs read over a missive from the Excessively Armed Empire. The Free Republic had never paid much attention to or even sent a representative to Automagfreek. He thought about it for several minutes , the phrase 'impressionable young man' coming to the fore of his thoughts several times.

He looked up as the First Republican entered and spoke up

"You're really considering it? Why on earth would we send a representative to meet with the son of one of the worlds most infamous despots?"

The Minister smiled "It can't hurt anything if we keep it quiet. It can do well to gauge exactly how the Excessively Armed Republic feels about 'things'"

The First Republican shrugged "It's your call, they wouldn't even respond to your questions about NATO."

The Minster smiled again "I'm certain they knew we would never join, they don't like to waste their time. I think it's a good idea, I won't send a diplomat though, they prize warriors, we'll send them one of ours."

*****

To: The Most Esteemed Azrael the Advocate
From: Minister of Foreign Affairs, Ilek-Vaad


Your Excellency,
We have received your open message to send a representative to your nation to meet with you and we accept. We have never met with any representative of the Excessively Armed Republic, and perhaps your invitation is merely a sign that it is high time we took in your nation first hand and dispel the misconceptions of second hand information and international rumour.

I would be very pleased if you would accept as representative of the Free Republic of Ilek-Vaad one of our nations most esteemed heroes, Field Marshal William 'The One-Hundredman' Issem.

I hope that this step will improve the communications betwen our nations, should we ever need it.

Minister of Foreign Affairs Ilek-Vaad


*****

Field Marshal William Issem arrived at the Westwind Citadel. He is arrayed in the formal dress of the 1st 'Purifiers' Army, 2nd Division. His white long-coat is surmounted by a shinig silver breast-plate bearing the insignia of the 'Purifiers' a black Maltese Cross. He wears also white riders gloves, white dress pants, and black footman's boots, highly polished. He carries under his arm his silver athenian style tall white plumed helmet and at his side a broadsword with a black onyx hilt and pommelstone of very great age in a beautifully tooled leather scabbard that is emblazoned with the insignia of the House of Issem, a silver gauntleted hand grasping a black cross on a white field with the epithet 'For Coventry' underneath.

This uniform with his dashing good looks and dark hair and dark eyes make him look every bit the knight in shining armour. His youth (28) belies his already great achievements and his skill.

William moves confidently through the arriving guests, introducing himself. He quickly sees that he does not know anyone here, or even recognize what their countries of origin may be.

Prime Minister Entwistle feels somewhat uncomfortable around all the forigen dignitaries, generals, and leaders and their much more official appearance. That and the fact that they probably held some power.

Dressed in what is considered very suave in LRR, he probably looks like a fool to the rest of the delegates present.

The young Emperor shuffled through all of the new dignitaries, trying to get back to Maurius. On his way there, he bumped into a man of similair age, clad in military dress uniform. The man introduced himself as Field Marshal William Issem of Ilek-Vaad. Lucious noddeds his head, smirking. "Greetings, Brother Issem. I am Lucious, Emperor of Daikerta. I see we must both be friends of the Excessively Armed Empire. How do you know Lord Dreadfire?"

*TAG Ilek-Vaad*

From his upstairs room Azrael could hear the sounds of his guests echo up the oak staircase and into his room. For a second he grew nervous, and as his confidence faded he walked towards the mirror and gave himself a hard look. After a few nods and a sigh or two, he stepped away from the mirror and straightened out his breastplate. He decided that it was time for him to make his grand entrance, although the actual event was more of an 'open house' throughout the evening. This is your first and only chance Azrael, first impressions last a lifetime.

Down below him the sounds of chatter and butlers moving food and drink about filled the magnificent halls from end to end. The western winds picked up again as they usualy did, blowing the banners that lined the stone walkway outside to and fro. A large pair of double doors opened at the far end of the banquet hall, and stepping out from the light in perfect formation was an entourage of decoratively clad Sentinels carrying the banners of The Advocate and various ornimental weapons. The steel from the broadswords and spears glimmered and filled the room with their bright reflection as the entourage marched slowly into the main room. Upon reacing midpoint they turned a 90 degree angle and began ascending the staircase.

They stopped abruptly as the last Sentinel climbed the stairs, and the group placed their weapons and banners at their feet and stood at attention. Their faces were emotionless and unblinking, even as the trumpets sounded loud and drowned out all other sound in the hall. After a few seconds the trumpets fell silent, and only the clang of armored footsteps could be heard. Azrael rounded the final corner on the second floor and glanced down at the beautiful oak stairs and Sentinel guards that awaited him. Alright, you know what to do. Take the first step adn they will see you. Give them your attention and do not trip, slip, or do anything stupid. You can do this.

After a second or two of total silence, the armored 'clang' picked up again, and Azrael came into sight, striding down the stairs slowly and with his head held high. His left hand was placed delicately at the hilt of his longsword while his right hand guided him down from step to step. He seemed to almost move in slow motion, his long green cape fluttering ever so slightly behind him and his armor glistening in the now fading AMF sun. He paused at the first landing and faced the crowd, his head still high and confident. He raised both his hands up high and gathered the attention of his guests that stood below, and without a breath or throat clear he greeted them formally.

Friends and distingushed guests, greetings from the Excessively Armed Empire. My name is Azrael, son of Lord Damien Dreadfire, called 'Advocate' of the Empire by our subjects. The site you stand on is ground most holy, and upon it once stood a mighty cathedral. It is unclear as to who built it many thousands of years ago, but it's name has been passed down through the generations...Dawn's Cathedral. For thousands of years it stood as a symbol of strength and religious power for our people, and ancient prophecy predicted that one day a blaze would consume the cathedral, and the cleansing flames that engulfed it's magnificence would bring about great change for all mankind. The prophecy held true, for I set this mighty groud ablaze, and upon it's ashes I have built the fortress you now stand in...the Westwind Citadel.

This is one fo the largest castles ever built in the history of our nation, it's square footage ranging in the millions. It is both heavily armed and beautifully maintained. Outside in the gardens the flowers and trees are in full bloom, and their scent decends the mountain side and makes it's way through ULE City which lays just a few thousand feet below us. This is indeed one of the most beautiful places in Automagfreek, and it is from this building that the tides of change are sweeping in. As you know, my father only recently found me, but he has kindly announced that I will be the next to claim the title of Supreme Warlord. Damien is most pleased and proud that he now has a line, and I hope to get to know all of you when my time of ascention comes.

But enough with the formal chatter. Come now, let us drink and be merry. This is a celebration of old unions and new unions to come. I thank you.

Azrael bowed respectfully to his guests, then continued decending the stairs. In his mind he was overjoyed that he did not stumble or make mistakes, as he was sure his guests would judge his character on his entrance and how he handled homself. He thought he did alright.

To: Automagfreek Diplomats
From: Vrak Diplomatic Corps
Subject: Invitation

Consider a small contigent from our nation already on the way. Ambassador Orith Hagwonak shall be leading the delegation.

====

A modified hypersonic bomber was warming up. Orith, a large walrus, was clambouring aboard while muttering to his aides.

-By Bok's maw, make sure that someone tells those Freeks that I'm a walrus! I'm getting rather tired of trying to squeeze into regular sized limos.
-Yes, sir.

Interesting, Ren commented inwardly, watching Azrael. Why did Alicia refuse to come herself? She's usually a good judge of men, and Azrael would certainly be a good person to know in the coming years. Ah, well, wheels within wheels. 'Great change for all mankind' -- surely the world is changing; but how will it change, that's the question. At least he didn't trip, Ren aknowledged. They said that High King Alicia fell down two dozen stairs at her first appearance before the High Council.

John watches as Azrael comes down the stairs, wreaking with authority.

The Prime Minister has a glass of wine in his left hand, which he sips every few seconds.

Friends and distingushed guests, greetings from the Excessively Armed Empire. My name is Azrael, son of Lord Damien Dreadfire, called 'Advocate' of the Empire by our subjects. The site you stand on is ground most holy, and upon it once stood a mighty cathedral. It is unclear as to who built it many thousands of years ago, but it's name has been passed down through the generations...Dawn's Cathedral. For thousands of years it stood as a symbol of strength and religious power for our people, and ancient prophecy predicted that one day a blaze would consume the cathedral, and the cleansing flames that engulfed it's magnificence would bring about great change for all mankind. The prophecy held true, for I set this mighty groud ablaze, and upon it's ashes I have built the fortress you now stand in...the Westwind Citadel.

This is one fo the largest castles ever built in the history of our nation, it's square footage ranging in the millions. It is both heavily armed and beautifully maintained. Outside in the gardens the flowers and trees are in full bloom, and their scent decends the mountain side and makes it's way through ULE City which lays just a few thousand feet below us. This is indeed one of the most beautiful places in Automagfreek, and it is from this building that the tides of change are sweeping in. As you know, my father only recently found me, but he has kindly announced that I will be the next to claim the title of Supreme Warlord. Damien is most pleased and proud that he now has a line, and I hope to get to know all of you when my time of ascention comes.

But enough with the formal chatter. Come now, let us drink and be merry. This is a celebration of old unions and new unions to come. I thank you.

"An impressive entrance, to be sure," Adiano said.

Impressive indeed, Santite thought. He certainly presents himself well. And so eloquent. But something that Azrael said struck Santite. "...through ULE City which lays just a few thousand feet below us." Just a few thousand feet? He sure does have the grand sense of scale of a world leader. Perhaps his ascension won't be as disastrous as I thought.

Adiano just stood there mesmerized by the presence of Azrael. Even after he'd come down and started mingling with the other delegations, she just gazed into the empty space he had previously occupied.

Santite turned to speak to his bodyguard, but noticed her transfixed on empty air. Sensing the opportunity to escape her overly watchful eye, he silently slinked away.

Santite spotted a man across the room standing alone with a drink in hand. An average looking man, except for one difference. While all the rest of the guests were dressed to perfection, this man wore blue jeans and a black leather jacket. Santite approached him.

"Excuse me, President Ilyanov, from the Island of Rose, correct?"

Sergei walked around, his leather jacket rumpled a bit as it walked. He placed his index finger on one of the walls of the Cathedral. He thought So the Freeks have a pagan religion... I thought so... He looked over at Azrael, chuckling. And there stands the Advocate, well he better start getting used to me... He chuckled again.

Sergei started walking over, his stepped with pride, he'll probably be the first one to meet him, or the first Diplomat to die by his sword. Either way, it will interesting no? He approached him.

"Ah greetings Azrael!" His right hand being extended for a handshake. "You know in my opinion, this formality is bullshit, you know? I mean it just makes you look good." He chuckled to himself. "But than again, image is important. Anyway, my name is Sergei Ilyanov, I am the President of the Island of Rose. I hope we may further our alliance through NATO, maybe discuss politics, have fun hm?" He smiled. "Of course that's just me."

"An impressive entrance, to be sure," Adiano said.

Impressive indeed, Santite thought. He certainly presents himself well. And so eloquent. But something that Azrael said struck Santite. "...through ULE City which lays just a few thousand feet below us." Just a few thousand feet? He sure does have the grand sense of scale of a world leader. Perhaps his ascension won't be as disastrous as I thought.

Adiano just stood there mesmerized by the presence of Azrael. Even after he'd come down and started mingling with the other delegations, she just gazed into the empty space he had previously occupied.

Santite turned to speak to his bodyguard, but noticed her transfixed on empty air. Sensing the opportunity to escape her overly watchful eye, he silently slinked away.

Santite spotted a man across the room standing alone with a drink in hand. An average looking man, except for one difference. While all the rest of the guests were dressed to perfection, this man wore blue jeans and a black leather jacket. Santite approached him.

"Excuse me, President Ilyanov, from the Island of Rose, correct?"

Sergei was interrupted by Sanite, he looked surprised anybody could recognize him. He extended his hand, chuckling. "Why yes I am!" He smiled. "How do you find the party? I personally find it too formal..." He rolled his eyes. "But alas, that's the way of the world."

Sergei waited for a response.

Soon, Prime Minister Entwistle finds his wine glass empty, and heads back over to the refreshments table.

Seeing as the speech was over, Ren made his way to the refreshment table, where already there was a man with graying hair and a leather jacket. [[LRR's PM]]

Let's see if any of this is poisoned, the alchemist shrugged, downing a glass of wine, then taking another and deciding to 'sip it' as he was supposed to. If anything, he intended to sample Azrael's vintages before the night was out.

ooc: Did you make that first post in response to mine or were you just typing it as I was typing mine?

ic:

"Ah, I have no liking for these diplomatic endeavours. Give me a naval training exercise any day. But, unfortunately, they are necessary. To be honest, I likely would have not attended, but I have my reservations about this Azrael. I find it a little unusual that Lord Damien would name as successor a young man who he's only known for a short time, son or not. I wanted to meet Azrael myself and guage him." Santite glanced around the room to make sure his Praetor Imperatrix hadn't found him. She hadn't.

"So, what do you think about young Azrael's whole show here?"

Sergei chuckled, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

"The whole thing is very grand. Nothing unusual for the Freeks if I remember correctly. Ah, but that's just me, give me paper plates and pizza anyday."

His voice lowered, leaning over to Sanite.

"And yes it is a bit strange, a man so young. Than again, the young do sort of have a certain wisdom... as long as he doesn't cause massive world wars, he'll be a good leader."

Seeing as the speech was over, Ren made his way to the refreshment table, where already there was a man with graying hair and a leather jacket. [[LRR's PM]]

Let's see if any of this is poisoned, the alchemist shrugged, downing a glass of wine, then taking another and deciding to 'sip it' as he was supposed to. If anything, he intended to sample Azrael's vintages before the night was out.

"How do you like it? The wine, I mean."

"Pretty good," Ren shrugged, turnng towards the speaker. "Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye, commander of the BattleSpire," he bowed slightly. "What do you think of the new heir to the throne, if I may ask?"

Softly, Santite spoke. "Personally, I'd be more worried about an imposter. Damien certainly has more than his fair share of enemies; it would be easy for a dedicated enemy to produce a "son" of Damien to infiltrate AMF and destabilize her. I guess I'm just overly cautious, though."

He raised his voice to a normal level. "I wish I had your irreverance, however. I feel so uncomfortable in this suit." He shifted his suitcoat to a more comfortable position. "I tell you, the moment I get back to my palace, I'm going to burn this thing. So stifling."

Santite took another sip of his gin. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, but I must be off. If you find it acceptable, I'd like to continue our conversation later tonight."

ooc: I have to go for a few hours, sorry.

Sergei nodded as he left, his arms crossed. By God he has a point... well, I'll be able to see him soon...

He looked around the Grand Cathedral. he shrugged. He didn't like these fancy parties with the suits. But it's part of the job, but no way in hell he's wearing a suit. He just stood there, wandering off...

That certainly was a powerful first impression the Princess thought to herself.

Noticing that the rest of the guests are starting to mingle, she gets herself a drink and walks over to the first small group she sees. Just before she walks up to the group to introduce herself, she recognizes one of the men...President Sergei of The Island of Rose.

This is going to be very interesting she thinks to herself.


"President Sergei," Princess Patricia says with her arm extended, "it's a pleasure to finally meet you. My brother and uncle have told me many things about you and your people."

Sergei was startled, he was too deep into his thoughts. He saw Patricia in front of him, being a gentleman he bowed.

"Hello Ms... Patricia correct? Oy, I have too many things to remember." He chuckled to himself. "But seriously, what do you think of the party? Too much for my taste..."

He leaned over a little bit towards Patricia, whispering.

"And what have they said about us?"

President Edward Grove had heard of the transmission, and he was considering attendance. Apparently, it seemed as if Azrael the Advocate was taking leadership in Automagfreek sometime soon. He had no idea what this Azrael had in mind for the Freeks, however he thought it best to find out. Perhaps, he could even form a new friendship for the Union, which would be only beneficial toward his cause, and his fight for freedom.

Thinking to himself, he pulled out a pen and paper, and began to write a response;

-----------------------------------------------
"We have taken note of your invitation to Automagfreek, and we think it would be only beneficial that we attend. Therefore, we have sent Peter Smith, our Secretary of State to travel to your nation, and to the venue of choice.

He is travelling via hypersonic aircraft, so please expect him in a matter of hours. We hope this is beneficial for us both."

President Edward Grove
The Republic of Austar Union
-----------------------------------------------

OOC: Just pretend that hes there already. No point in delaying things...

"The party is fine. I'm just a tad nervous, this is the first major diplomatic mission I've been sent on." she says while returning the bow.

Taking Sergei by the arm, she answers his second question.

"I must tell you Rosians have a certain 'reputation' within the Foreign Ministry and the diplomatic circles. Before I left, my uncle told me to expect certain 'things'.

I think I'm prepared." she says with a wink.


OOC: Just to remind you, her uncle is Grand Duke Reginald Leopold I.

Sergei looked as she grabbed his arm, he shook his head, trying to look not surprised. He's not really a lady's man so to speak...

"Oh? And what kind of a reputation do we have?" He was curious you know... surprised that he made an impact somehow.

OOC: I knew that >_> I saw your website. :p

"Pretty good," Ren shrugged, turnng towards the speaker. "Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye, commander of the BattleSpire," he bowed slightly. "What do you think of the new heir to the throne, if I may ask?"

"He fits with the decor. By the way, I'm John Entwistle, the prime minister of LRR."

OOC: I'll post again tomorrow, I'm not feeling well tonight.

I appreciate the posts guys, but I'd like to make this more in depth and not littered with one sentence posts. No offense to anyone, I appreciate the RP you all are doing.

Sergei looked as she grabbed his arm, he shook his head, trying to look not surprised. He's not really a lady's man so to speak...

"Oh? And what kind of a reputation do we have?" He was curious you know... surprised that he made an impact somehow.

OOC: I knew that >_> I saw your website. :p

OOC: This should be just about the last of my short posts AMF ;)

IC:

"While direct contact between high level Hamptonian and Rosian officials have been limited, they still have made a note in our diplomatic logs. The first Victoria Alliance meeting, colonial actions in Manium, the meeting of certain high level church officials in Communist Louisiana...they've made some impact." Patricia finishes while taking a drink from her glass.

She continues, "It's more of a culture shock than anything else. Hamptonians are quite conservative and very reserved, even more so for me because of my upbringing. To be allies with a nation as different from ourselves as you are we must keep our diplomats 'alert'." she says while looking around for something to eat.

Sergei winks at her.

"We don't bite." He chuckles to himself. "But seriously, the Rosians are very liberal. It's our high loving of life really, that and the fact that porn is cheap..."

He shakes his head.

"That's besides the point. If I remember correctly, Rosians consider your people very restricted. Hell, it makes for a good stand up routine too."

Sergei looks around for a little bit, he still's looking at the Cathedral, amazed at the size. Nothing like they had at the Island of Rose. But that's life hm?

"So... how's it like to be royalty?"

OOS: Most of my RPs have a tendency to die. I'm like a curse. My very first RP is still stuck where it was last december @_@. *sigh* [/rant]
@AMF: Hope you're feeling better on the morrow.
-----------------

"Ah, a pleasure to meet you," Ren bowed again. When in doubt, bow and never show a moment's weakness. "I suppose he can afford it." With that, Ren disappeared into the throng. It looked as though John Entwistle had something on his mind, and Ren decided not to distract the man.

Some princess was quickly warming up to a foreign dignitary, the alchemist noted, circulating around the room with the wine glass in hand.

Some part of him still did not comprehend how a street rat like him could wind up among some of the most poweful people in the known world. You're an Alchemist of the Tower, not some kid, Ren told himself. Well, most people told him that he looked the part of a titled alchemist.

His gray eyes swept around the room once more, never lingering on any single person.

Princess Selene let Azrael's words sink in as she glanced about the mighty citadel. "It is impressive," she thought. "It is much smaller than the Ebony Palace though." She giggled to herself, not daring to actually brag to Azrael about it. She was certain that was not a good way to forge friendships. She looked over to the Advocate and noticed a small group was forming around him, as was expected. "The poor man is probably going to get swarmed tonight. I should go up to him..." Her legs, however, weren't as bold as her thoughts. Selene was from an isolationist kingdom, just now reaching out to the world. She knew very little about any of the nations represented here. Her facial expression faltered, for a moment she looked very alone and distressed. She quickly regained her composure and with a deep breath she strode up to Azrael to introduce herself.

She paused and waited for a gap in any other conversations he was engaged in and then made her move, "Excuse me Advocate Azrael, I am Princess Selene Merefrost from Frostguarde. You probably have not heard of us, we are a nation of power, but little repute," she smiled warmly and curtsied before going on. "That was a most impressive entrance you made, I can see you know how to choose your words well," she paused, wondering if she was coming across as boring or too formal, then shook off her doubt and continued, sounding more confidant. "Perhaps when you are done speaking with these other gentleman, we can speak again. I am eager to learn more of your people and history and perhaps share a drink, lest that kind of conversation bores you," she again smiled [OOC: not a toothy smile, she’s not some creepy chick with a big grin stuck on her face.] warmly at Azrael and waited for a reply. Her mind was swarming with questions, doubts, and anxieties, however she wore her mask strong and appeared very calm and pleasing to behold.

The princess however, had momentarily forgotten her guard, Brian, so he tried to find other guards or escorts (people of his 'stature') willing to talk with him. He kept a sharp eye on Selene.

William thoughtfully nursed a scotch as Azrael made his entrance and his speech. Like most Vaadians long speeches and ceremony were seen as very distasteful, so he was glad that the speech was short and to the point.

William had already introduced himself briefly to everyone that was already here, but he quickly forgot their names and simply smiled politely at them. With the speech finished and the crowd starting to mingle again William decided to complete his mission. He was here not to meet the representatives of other nations but to meet Azrael the Advocate.

With resolve and confidence William strode directly over to Azrael and bowed his head respectfully and offered his hand as he greeted Azrael.

"Greetings your Excellency, I am Field Marshal William Issem of the 2nd Purifiers Division. I have been chosen by our Minister of Foreign Affairs to represent the Free Republic of Ilek-Vaad at this event.

I must say that it is very well so far, particularly your speech. It looks like it's shaping up to a very memorable evening."


William stepped in as any Vaadian would, a bit rude, direct and willfully ignorant of any other foreigner that may have been approaching Azrael, and after all William had played Rugby at University and had a knack for interposing his body between himself and his target.

Lucious listened to Azrael's words carefully. 'He is able to present himself well enough. Perhaps he could make a good successor to the throne of Automagfreek.' he thought to himself staring intently at the Advocate as he made his speech. When it was all said and done, and after the applause died down, Lucious continued to make his way back to his Warlord.

Maurius had already had a few glasses of wine before his Emperor returned. Upon his arrival, Maurius greeted him and offered him a glass of wine. "Not a damn one here worth my time.." Lucious murmured, grabbing the drink from Maurius. Maurius nodded, and looked around the room himself.

Still unusually close to Sergei, at least unusually close for her, Princess Patricia started describing some of the details of her life in the Royal Family.

"My mother was the youngest child of the former Grand Duke and was the dearest friend of my uncle, the current Grand Duke. My father was a 'war hero'; a Major General in the Royal Marines. He was killed in a training accident six months before I was born. The year I was born was the 'Year of Succession'. My grandfather had died and had designated his second oldest son, Reginald Leopold, as heir.

Since the Royal Senate elects the Grand Duke, challenges to the throne can be mounted. The eldest son and child, Hans Frederick VI, mounted a vicious campaign to try to win the election. Thankfully he failed. However, even though my uncle was ready to forgive his older brother, Hans still left the country in self imposed exile. I haven't seen him in almost 30 years. While I grew up as the favority neice of the Grand Duke my older brother went off and joined the Royal Army, by the time he was 37 he was a Field Marshal.

Then, the terrorists attacked, and...I..." she stopped speaking and bowed her head.

Sergei looked over at Patricia, trying to get some distance between them.

"Do I make you uncomfortable? Is there something you don't want to say? I understand..."

He looks around for a little bit, looking once again at the massive Cathedral, the people, the mingling... oh the mingling...

"So... want food?"

Snapping back, Patricia begins a wierd non-coherent response to Sergei, "No, nothing, nothing at all, without a doubt there is no problem, no uncomfortable things here, none, nada, nothing. Everything's perfectly fine. Perfectly." she finishes her little rant with a nervous giggle.

"Food, that would be nice. Perhaps we'll run into our host or someone else of interest."

Snapping back, Patricia begins a wierd non-coherent response to Sergei, "No, nothing, nothing at all, without a doubt there is no problem, no uncomfortable things here, none, nada, nothing. Everything's perfectly fine. Perfectly." she finishes her little rant with a nervous giggle.

"Food, that would be nice. Perhaps we'll run into our host or someone else of interest."

Sergei nodded. Uh huh..., he thought. He shaked his head, looking over at the buffet table.

"So, how is it having capatilism in your nation? Worldtech Corp is the main one? I've already legalized small businesses, but I've always wondered about corporations.."

He waited for a response, escorting her to the table.

Orith listened to Azrael’s speech carefully, quietly committed it to memory while slowly gazing about the room, scrutinizing the other diplomats. Most of them Vrak hasn’t even heard of much less have any form of contact. As becoming a trained diplomat, he made small talk to whomever drew near, although his nearly two metric ton size and the fact that he was a talking walrus tended to make others uncomfortable and slightly nervous.

Then he looked at the LLR delegation.I suppose I should go over there and thank them again for their help against Dozle.

With a slight shifting of his great head, Orith began to waddle over, taking care not to squish any hapless soul along the way. Two King’s Own, dressed in tuxedos, accompanied their charge.

Upon hearing of your invitation, I have agreed to attend this gathering. I shall arrive shortly.
-Premier C. Robertson.

A few hours later.
The Dassult Falcon/Mystere 900 touched down on the asphalt of the ULE City airport. Its brakes deployed and the small long-range VIP transport aircraft taxied over to the waiting stairs. Premier Robertson stepped out of the aircraft and descended down the stairs to his waiting Zil limousine. Beautiful scenery he thought as they drove through ULE City. He suddenly straightened his military uniform; I hope I make a good impression, we’ve always been so isolationist; I hope my diplomatic skills haven’t decayed.

A short time later; the limo pulled up in front of the structure know as the Westwind Citadel. The Premier exited the vehicle and stared in amazement. Such beautiful architecture, our engineers could learn a few things. The Premier noticed the other dignitaries and decided to introduce himself later; as he strode into the Citadel he could not help but marvel at the artwork and the assortment dignitaries around him. He also was mindful of the possible threat of a terrorist attack or a attempt on a his life, and he was glad to see the number of Sentinels around. Then the loud sound of trumpets reached his ears and he turned his attention towards the stairs, where the Advocate made his entrance.

After Azrael’s greeting speech.

Robertson was impressed, So that was Azrael, impressive entrance. He then turned his attention to the area around the refreshments table, a number of foreign nationals had commenced mingling with the Advocate and others. He was able to recognize a few of the dignitaries from the dossiers he had studied before leaving Izistan. I guess I’ll introduce myself to Azrael later, better start with the others first, but first to sample some of the wine. He then headed off to bother the wine steward.

OOC: Oh boy, my first “serious” act of RPing(If I do something wrong please feel free to correct me). And now for some stats.

Premier C. Robertson.
Age- 22.
Gender- Male.
Height- 1.95 meters(6.4 feet).
Weight- 77 kilograms(170 pounds).
Hair color- Black.
Eye color- Brown.
No facial hair.
Joined Navy at 16, became Premier at 20. Elected for life.
Items- One RMI Boar Omni-Pistol, compact Iridium satellite phone and a PDA.
Wearing Naval uniform plus medals and the ceremonial patch of a Orca on his shoulder. And a traditional Izistani fishing knife(6 inch blade, teak handle).

OOC: Why don't you practice with me, I need to RP!

OOC: Who me?

OOC: Who me?
OOC: Yes you, pwease :(

OOC: Sure.

Robertson sipped his wine and began to scan the crowd. Well, might as well introduce myself now... He spotted a middle aged man who he identified as one Sergei Ilyanov of The Island of Rose. Might as well start with him, island nation; hmm, at least we have some common ground.

He strode over to the man and spoke clearly; “Pardon me, but am I correct in assuming that you are President Ilyanov of The Island of Rose?”

OOC Edit: I didn't notice the Hamptonshire/TIOR talk, so this takes place just after that.

"So, how is it having capatilism in your nation? Worldtech Corp is the main one? I've already legalized small businesses, but I've always wondered about corporations.."

Walking to the table, she began "WorldTech Industries is but the largest corporation in Hamptonshire. Since pretty much time immemorial in Hamptonshire, our people have been fiercely capitalist.

Some foreign observes would say that Hamptonshire boarders on "anarcho-capitalism", a system where there is no formal government and business runs the nation. Academically, it is the antithesis of communism.

While capitalism rules supreme, Hamptonshire is not some giant sweatshop. The average household income is over $40,000 a year, people are highly educated, and the poor are cared for. A long time ago people realized that capitalism reaches its fullest extent when workers are given premium rewards. If you work, you'll have a lifestyle rarely seen in the entire world; if you don't work you don't get any benfits."

Orith listened to Azrael’s speech carefully, quietly committed it to memory while slowly gazing about the room, scrutinizing the other diplomats. Most of them Vrak hasn’t even heard of much less have any form of contact. As becoming a trained diplomat, he made small talk to whomever drew near, although his nearly two metric ton size and the fact that he was a talking walrus tended to make others uncomfortable and slightly nervous.

Then he looked at the LLR delegation.I suppose I should go over there and thank them again for their help against Dozle.

With a slight shifting of his great head, Orith began to waddle over, taking care not to squish any hapless soul along the way. Two King’s Own, dressed in tuxedos, accompanied their charge.

Silmesse Isandorne intercepted "it" when "it" was "walking" across the room. This was a strange sight. It looked like a Terran walrus, or mabye some mutated creature.

"Erm, I am Silmesse Isandorne. How are you?"

Silmesse Isandorne intercepted "it" when "it" was "walking" across the room. This was a strange sight. It looked like a Terran walrus, or mabye some mutated creature.

"Erm, I am Silmesse Isandorne. How are you?"

Smoothly, as if a natural motion such as waving hello, one of the King's Own interposed himself between the Ambassador while the other stepped up closer. Both had guarded looks in their eyes as they sized up the incoming person. As well, of them were hardly tiny fellows, but beside the walrus they were dwarfed.

"Ah," said Orith tilting his head towards Silmesse, "You'll have to excuse my bodyguards. Just can't be to careful these days."

A graceful bow of his head.

"I am Orith Hagwonak, of Vrak. I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting."

"I believe not. I am Silmesse Isandorne, representative of the Excessively Torturous Kabal of Commorargh. I am aide to the Archite Eklavdrah. As you might have guessed I am not Mon-Keigh [human]" She said whilst looking tentatively at her watch.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" She said gracefully.

"I believe not. I am Silmesse Isandorne, representative of the Excessively Torturous Kabal of Commorargh. I am aide to the Archite Eklavdrah. As you might have guessed I am not Mon-Keigh [human]" She said whilst looking tentatively at her watch.

"And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" She said gracefully.

Did I not already tell her my name? Hmmmm

"I am Orith Hagwonak, Ambassador from Vrak. I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with the term 'Mon-Keigh'. What does it mean? And, forgive my forwardness, but what race are you? You seem similar in appearance to that of an elf."

"Mon-Keigh is translated as human. I am an elf, or rather a Dark Eldar whatever they say" She said. "You must also forgive my bluntness, but what are you? I do not wish to insult you, but...."

What a mistake...

"Mon-Keigh is translated as human. I am an elf, or rather a Dark Eldar whatever they say" She said. "You must also forgive my bluntness, but what are you? I do not wish to insult you, but...."

What a mistake...

Orith was not surprised. He encountered many who were not quite sure exactly what he was since if one encountered a talking walrus, one might as well sign up for the nearest AA meeting.

"Ah, well. I'm Vrakian, and that is what we call ourselves. Human folk found in our lands are also called Vrakian. Confusing, I'm sure. Still, we are often mistaken for ordinary walruses to the untrained eye. And, of course, no offense taken since, well, I do know that I seem out of place among more humanoid looking races."

A pause.

"Dark Eldar? Why, I've never heard of that before..."

"Well, we specialise in maiming, torturing, enslaving, killing, and mutilating. Strange you think? We get thrills out of it. But don't worry they usually choose the docile ones to be diplomats. Helps to not want to rip your allies throat out" She said smirking.

"I myself am 7056 this Year. A modest age for an elf."

[OOC: Hope this isn't too late. I just noticed this thread.]

President Mike Sarzo reacted with mild surprise when he got the message from Azarel.

"That's funny," Sarzo said to himself. "I don't remember hearing from Automagfreek before."

Saying the name Automagfreek sent a small shiver down Sarzo's spine. Even though his country had very limited dealings with them, he was still well aware of their reputation. It was hard for any nation not to be.

The phone rang. With some irritation but realizing that his secretary Becky had gone to lunch, he picked up the phone and tried to sound professional.

"Sarzo."

"Mr. President, this is Jeremy Goss," came the voice on the other end.

"Yes, Jeremy, what can I do for you?"

"Did you get the message from Azarel?"

"I did, Jeremy," Sarzo said. The Deputy Senior Vice President for External Affairs could be annoying at times and he often stated the obvious, but he also kept people on their toes in External Affairs.

"Would you mind if I led the delegation," Goss asked.

Sarzo pondered for a minute. Senior Vice President for External Affairs Mark Lorber was logging a lot of air miles lately and Senior Vice President for Internal Affairs Nicole Lewis was next in line for the Presidency so she needed to stay behind. Sarzo was beginning to pack for his trip to Praetonia for the Victoria Alliance meeting, so he was unable to attend."

"Tell you what," Sarzo began. "Why don't you send a telegram introducing yourself and asking if Azarel wouldn't mind your presence with the other leaders in the delegation? If you'd like, you can have Terry go with you since he's the Vice President for Defense."

"Terry?" Jeremy cringed. He and Vice President for Defense Terrence Wilson did not get along at all. They could barely work together when Goss was in the Department of Defense and they certainly didn't socialize.

"Yes, Terry," Sarzo intoned. "But let the final decision be Azarel's. Or Damien's if he happens to get your transmission."

"Yes, sir."

Goss went off to his office to send his transmission while Sarzo phoned Wilson.

"Terry, get ready. You might be going to visit Automagfreek."

Wilson gulped.

"Don't worry, it sounds like a getting-to-know-you kind of thing. We're now in NATO so it would be good to know a country we have joined with in an alliance."

"If you say so, sir."

"We'll find out what Azarel has to say when Jeremy contacts him."

"Jeremy? Goss?"

"Yes."

"Not that little bastard."

"Terry," Sarzo said, irritation clearly invading the previously matter-of-fact tone in his voice. "Be ready. You have your instructions."

"Yes sir," Wilson said. He knew getting into a debate with Sarzo was a lost cause.

Sergei nodded.

"Well, I put the bill foward to legalize capatilism." He raised his fist. "I'm not like these other Socialists, talking about Revolution." He started shaking his fist, speaking with a stronger Russian accent. "Ze Revolution Vill never finish!" His voice went back to normal. "It's over! The poor are doing good! Get over it!"

Sergei chuckles.

"Seriously, it's insane. Reminds me of Mikhail..." He laughed to himself. "His jokes are funny. He makes fun of all nations, eh... reminds me, I need to set up the decorations..."

OOC: Wink wink, future RP...

OOC: Sure.

Robertson sipped his wine and began to scan the crowd. Well, might as well introduce myself now... He spotted a middle aged man who he identified as one Sergei Ilyanov of The Island of Rose. Might as well start with him, island nation; hmm, at least we have some common ground.

He strode over to the man and spoke clearly; “Pardon me, but am I correct in assuming that you are President Ilyanov of The Island of Rose?”

OOC Edit: I didn't notice the Hamptonshire/TIOR talk, so this takes place just after that.

Sergei turned around, he bowed smiling. He extended his hand, waiting for a handshake.

"Yes I am Sergei. This ball is too grand for my case... ick. You're from... Izistan? You look it..."

He waited for a response, he was surprised he was getting this attention, he really wasn't expecting this. I guess the Island of Rose is becoming quite a power...

OOC: Sorry, damn school...

Robertson smiled warmly and grasped Sergei's hand and shook it, “‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Sergei, Premier Robertson, elected leader of The Peoples Democratic Republic of Izistan at your service; so what do you think of Azrael?”

Well that wasn’t so bad...I guess my diplomatic skills haven’t all disappeared. I must not screw this up. Say, is that a...Walrus??

Unfortunately the man did not realize that Sergei, or any Rosian is not capable of being a diplomat...

"Yes Azrael..." He leaned over a bit. "If you ask me, this is all too sudden, and the man is a bit too melodramatic, but... that's me." He stopped leaning, chuckling.

Sergei yawned, looking at his watch.

"So what have you heard of us?"

Robertson said simply, "Oh, the odd news item or story here and there; a few tourists visit from time to time. State Security keeps tabs on all major news outlets."

He then brushed some lint off his uniform and straightened his cap; "These damn hats always give me a headache." he said while massaging his forehead, "Why can't someone design a comfortable formal uniform for once!"

[

Robertson said simply, "Oh, the odd news item or story here and there; a few tourists visit from time to time. State Security keeps tabs on all major news outlets."

He then brushed some lint off his uniform and straightened his cap; "These damn hats always give me a headache." he said while massaging his forehead, "Why can't someone design a comfortable formal uniform for once!"

[

OOC: You don't know a damn thing about me don't you :p

Sergei chuckled.

"Yes, but at least you look good getting pissed off!"

Sergei laughed heartily, oy, he looked like an idiot.

"But seriously, I HATE formal events, all Rosians hate formal events... it's our thing..."

Sergei looked at his watch, thinking When the hell is Azrael going to mingle?

"Ah yes, formal events." Robertson sighed, "In this case I figured it was necessary; after all, its not everyday one get invited to Automagfreek, I needed some time away from the office anyhow".

Robertson scanned the crowd again noting a few other leaders that he did not recognize.

"Ah yes, formal events." Robertson sighed, "In this case I figured it was necessary; after all, its not everyday one get invited to Automagfreek, I needed some time away from the office anyhow".

Robertson scanned the crowd again noting a few other leaders that he did not recognize.

Sergei also scanned the crowd, shrugging at the amount of suits, oh the suits, damn suits...

"Yes, so true, so true. You should stop by sometime, the beaches are beautiful." Not mentioning the fact that there are nudists. "And the stores are good too... I've been thinking of opening an International resort."

"That would be interesting, Izistan has a large population of Cetaceans; we get a quite a few tourists that come just to watch them" he said while indicating the Orca patch on his shoulder; "They are after all a national symbol". Robertson grinned and remembered the view out of his office.

OOC: Cetaceans=Whales,Dolphins and Porpoises.

Waiting patiently, as she does all to often, the Princess waited to begin speaking to Premier Robertson.

"How about this Cathedral?" she says "It really makes a grand statement. You have the next leader of AMF come out, give a smashing speech, and then you leave all the diplomats here to talk amongst themselves.

You can't say the Freeks aren't keen on intimidation."

"That would be interesting, Izistan has a large population of Cetaceans; we get a quite a few tourists that come just to watch them" he said while indicating the Orca patch on his shoulder; "They are after all a national symbol". Robertson grinned and remembered the view out of his office.

OOC: Cetaceans=Whales,Dolphins and Porpoises.

Sergei nodded.

"The climate is tropical in Rose, especially in the coastal cities, I just wish it could snow once... maybe you'd like to participate in this venture?"

OOC: I know I know, crappilicious post.

Waiting patiently, as she does all to often, the Princess waited to begin speaking to Premier Robertson.

"How about this Cathedral?" she says "It really makes a grand statement. You have the next leader of AMF come out, give a smashing speech, and then you leave all the diplomats here to talk amongst themselves.

You can't say the Freeks aren't keen on intimidation."

Sergei looked over at Patricia, he called her over.

"Ms. Patricia! Come over here, join our conversation!"

OOC: My posts will get better, just let me regain meself.

Ren offhandedly listened to the conversation around him. Snow...there were ways of getting it in the tropics. The Tower once made a blizzard over Wye for two days because of an experiment gone awry.

Prime Minister Entwistle makes his way through the crowd towards Azrael, waving to the Vrakian delegate as he passes. He still has a half-full wine glass in his ring-studded hand, and spare change in his pocket.

As he navigates the dense clot of dignitaries and national leaders, the unconvenionally dressed Entwistle sticks out like a sore thumb in his colorful suit adorned with various false furs and feathers. People glance at him with amused expressions, which he returns with stoic or disgusted looks. Someone trips John, causing him to spill his wine on the floor, obviously bad form.

Khaled yawned, it surely wasn't as interesting as he had expected. True, the speech was impressive, but Azreal was constantly surrounded by a croud of delegates, prowling like jackals around him, all demanding his attention. There wasn't much of a chance pretty soon that he could introduce himself to Azreal, but he was patient and strolled over to a waiter to get his glass of wine refilled. Meanwhile he saw someone walk over to Azreal, wearing a suit colored like the rainbow, but he tripped over someone's feet and fell to the ground. Khaled hurried off towards him, meanwhile choking on his cigar he'd accidentely almost swallowed in the exitement. Spitting the chewed remains in some corner, he continued.

"You okay?"

Khaled asked, as he extended his hand to John to help him get back on his feet.

A sea of faces surounded him, and he tried his best to answer their questions and address their points. But alas after a few minutes of discussion he had to step away and gather himself. Damn, this isn't as easy as I thought. I wonder just how Damien manages to do it.

As he returned to the party, again he was swarmed by a crowd of dignitaries and other guests, all asking questions and making statements. He could not even distinguish one sentence from another, so he gently raised his hands and silenced the crowd. My friends, my friends. There will be plenty of time to discuss formal matters, we are here to celebrate! Just as he finished speaking, a servant of his walked towards him and whispered in his ear. Azrael's eyes lit up, and he snagged a glass of whiskey and ran to the first landing on the staircase.

He lifted the glass over his head and made a toast. I have great news! Automagfreek as given birth to it's 3 billionth citizen! Indeed this is a great day, and it is indeed peculiar that it has happened on this day. So let me raise a toast in honor of this great milestone! With the crowd moving in unison with him, Azrael toasted the crowd. He then slammed his glass of whiskey and cleared his throat. The fiefy liquid burned as it tumbled about his insides, but Azrael gave not a care.

As he walked back down the stairs, the sound of a gong filled the main lobby. As this happened, dozens of servants filled the dining hall, and Azrael directed his guest into it's beautiful chambers. Come now, let us feast until our hearts are content!


OOC: Sorry for the bunk ass post, I haven't had alot of time to be online these past few days.

Sergei lifted his wine glass, than put it to his lips, swallowing it in one gulp.

"Congratulations!"

He went back to being by himself... bored... alone... this party was.... slow. It needed some sort of... entertainment. He wanted to dance, no not here, not in a country where they can kill you... oh... but damn... damn, he wanted to screw this party up. Bah screw it! He took out a C.D. it was unlabled, he walked around, finding a nearby stereo, he than inserted the C.D...

"Don't touch that."

Those lyrics... they blasted out of the stereo, and than... he started to dance. You may now cue in the gasps...

OOC: Here's the song: http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/dont.php, I needed to insert some life into the party :P

"Damn it all, he couldn't hear one world I said! Why does everyone have to run up to him at once, I'm better than they are," Selene pouted to herself. "Surely if I could get him alone, he would recognize such a grand opportunity. We're strong, damn it! He just doesn't know it... none of them do, but they will! IF I CAN TALK TO THE MAN!" she continued ranting in her mind until she heard Azrael's announcement.

She added her congratulations to the ocean of kind words that followed and then began to walk towards the dining halls, she was just know realizing how incredibly bored she was. "Wow, I just stood around a single guy for about fifteen minutes shouting out to him like some sort of diplomatic groupie... I need a drink," she thought. Suddenly she heard music... maybe. She looked around confused and spotted a man by a stereo and gasped, what had he done? Her astonished look quickly faded and was replaced with a smirk, no a smile. Then she laughed out loud, she took a drink from a serving tray and gulped it down. "Before this night is done, I must talk with him... I'm just going to make sure he doesn't get shot before I try to," she though, as she grabbed another drink.

Robertson stared at Sergei, He's dancing?! I'll just go intorduce my self to a few more people.

He then slowly melded in with the crowd and moved off in Azrael's direction. Noting the posistion of nearby leaders, he struggled to decide exactly who to talk to.

OOC: Ahh, I can't really think at the moment, mixing everything up....

Robertson stared at Sergei, He's dancing?! Oh hey, theres Azrael; I should get closer.

He then slowly melded in with the crowd and moved off in Azrael's direction.

OOC: AMF is too busy, I think you're gonna have to find someone else ;)

OOC: Fixed it.

Seeing Sergei dancing to quite an 'interesting song' Patricia thought to herself-
Oh God, he's dancing. When Easton said Rosians will dance at a drop of a hat I thought he was joking.

Quitely she tried to side step out of his view.

Seeing Sergei dancing to quite an 'interesting song' Patricia thought to herself-
Oh God, he's dancing. When Easton said Rosians will dance at a drop of a hat I thought he was joking.

Quitely she tried to side step out of his view.

Sergei looked over at Patricia trying to get away, of course he didn't know that.

"Ms. Patricia, join me!"

Sergei started to sing the lyrics too...

"Shmai shmai shmai shmai! Music hit me so good, make me say Oh my God, thank you for giving me *don't know the lyrics but pretend he does* because that's just something you can't touch..."

Damn it he was making a fool of himself, still dancing he was, but hey Rosians love to have fun at any setting, and this was a party...

"Damn it all, he couldn't hear one world I said! Why does everyone have to run up to him at once, I'm better than they are," Selene pouted to herself. "Surely if I could get him alone, he would recognize such a grand opportunity. We're strong, damn it! He just doesn't know it... none of them do, but they will! IF I CAN TALK TO THE MAN!" she continued ranting in her mind until she heard Azrael's announcement.

She added her congratulations to the ocean of kind words that followed and then began to walk towards the dining halls, she was just know realizing how incredibly bored she was. "Wow, I just stood around a single guy for about fifteen minutes shouting out to him like some sort of diplomatic groupie... I need a drink," she thought. Suddenly she heard music... maybe. She looked around confused and spotted a man by a stereo and gasped, what had he done? Her astonished look quickly faded and was replaced with a smirk, no a smile. Then she laughed out loud, she took a drink from a serving tray and gulped it down. "Before this night is done, I must talk with him... I'm just going to make sure he doesn't get shot before I try to," she though, as she grabbed another drink.

I should go present my respects to Azrael, Ren mused, swirling around the contents of his glass. He had an urge to glass the stereo, but that would have been undiplo...thingie. Then there was the abuse of power, the wrongful application of alchemy, and way too much paperwork. The alchemist, who did not look a day over twenty-five swirled the reddish contents of the glass, then turned their contents into hard Weyrean vodka in a small flash of azure light.

"Something amusing, milady?" he inquired, hearing the laugh. He almost used the generic 'milord'. Weyrik had no gender distinctions, and he found such petty differences hard to grasp. If the only distinction was a single chromosome, why bother adding a few thousand words just to describe it?

Khaled yawned, it surely wasn't as interesting as he had expected. True, the speech was impressive, but Azreal was constantly surrounded by a croud of delegates, prowling like jackals around him, all demanding his attention. There wasn't much of a chance pretty soon that he could introduce himself to Azreal, but he was patient and strolled over to a waiter to get his glass of wine refilled. Meanwhile he saw someone walk over to Azreal, wearing a suit colored like the rainbow, but he tripped over someone's feet and fell to the ground. Khaled hurried off towards him, meanwhile choking on his cigar he'd accidentely almost swallowed in the exitement. Spitting the chewed remains in some corner, he continued.

"You okay?"

Khaled asked, as he extended his hand to John to help him get back on his feet.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Thanks, though. Say, have I met you before?"

But then his mind begins to wander as the music starts. He hadn't heard the song before, but he was not impressed. Sounds like somebody put it together with a keyboard and wav editor, he thinks.

John gives up trying to meet Azrael. Probably wouldn't like him anyway. Instead, he hangs around the Al-Sabiri, trying to start a conversation.

"No, I guess not, so I'll introduce myself, I'm Khaled, President of Al-Sabir. I believe you are a representative of Lunatic Retard Robots? By the way, I always found the name of your country, no offense, somewhat "amusing". Would you care to explain how, well, I don't know how to put it, your country got this strange, yet original, name?"

Khaled asked, meanwhile grabbing a new cigar.

"Oh, and you don't mind me lighting this, do ya?"

Khaled quickly added, before John could even answer the first question.

Orith patiently waited his turn to give his respects on behalf of the Kingdom and to present a gift from his homeland. The aide carrying the ornate box was beginning to grow weary.

Once I am done here then I have to go home. Maybe deal with yet another crisis I suppose.

After having said his peace to the Advocate. William wanders about. Sampling the food and drink and people watching.

The only delegate he recognised the nationality for certain was the giant walrus 'From Vrak, I'll bet.'. He busied himself with some small talk, introducing himself politely to whoever wandered to close to him.

He smiles to himself as the garishly attired gentleman takes a tumble, he pauses to corral a waiter "Pardon me, but when is dinner?"

OOC: Sorry for the bunk ass post, I haven't had alot of time to be online these past few days.

[OOC: No worries, mate.

Am I too late to RP being at this party? I didn't post my RP until #76 on the thread.]

I should go present my respects to Azrael, Ren mused, swirling around the contents of his glass. He had an urge to glass the stereo, but that would have been undiplo...thingie. Then there was the abuse of power, the wrongful application of alchemy, and way too much paperwork. The alchemist, who did not look a day over twenty-five swirled the reddish contents of the glass, then turned their contents into hard Weyrean vodka in a small flash of azure light.

"Something amusing, milady?" he inquired, hearing the laugh. He almost used the generic 'milord'. Weyrik had no gender distinctions, and he found such petty differences hard to grasp. If the only distinction was a single chromosome, why bother adding a few thousand words just to describe it?

Selene turned to the man, trying to stifle her laughter. "Oh, I was just laughing at the dancing man. It isn't often you see such a... sight at occasions like this. It is, as some would say, out of character for the event?" She paused for a moment, as if thinking. "Ah, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Princess Selene Merefrost, from Frostguarde. Who might you be?"

Basic stuff about Weyr ::
Common Weyrik has no distinctions in gender, so "King" and "Queen" both mean the same thing. A prefix "li'" before a city name means "from". People with such last names are almost always from the lowest tiers of Weyrean society.

"Full Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye, of Weyr," Ren bowed. "A pleasure to meet you, princess. I think, we need a change in music." Plastic, internal microcircuitry, antique CD, got it. "Consider it a personal joke," he laughed, as J-pop began streaming from the stereo. "Frostgarde, I don't believe I've heard of it."

OOC: Bleh...

Sergei stopped dancing, sighing, looking over at the Weyr dignitary. He gave out a slight chuckle, he inserted his CD again, he changed the tracks, a "5" can be seen on the radio, and so, Mozart began to play...

Sergei walked over to the Weyrian Dignitary, chuckling, and grinning too.

"I like you, in a none homosexual way..." He shook his head. "Right, I am Sergei Ilyanov, and you are?" He extended his hand for a handshake.

Congrats, he just made an alchemist think he's an undeveloped idiot.

"Isn't there supposed to be a live band?" Ren inquired. "Full Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye," he grasped the offered hand firmly, then resumed his usual impassive posture.

Congrats, he just made an alchemist think he's an undeveloped idiot.

"Isn't there supposed to be a live band?" Ren inquired. "Full Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye," he grasped the offered hand firmly, then resumed his usual impassive posture.

Sergei shrugged.

"The hell do I know, so how's life in Weyr, I've never really heard of it, or seen any documentaries on it..."

OOC: He's a History buff and is always trying to get documentaries on the History Channel >_>

"Violent, hot, and short. I hear a new group is fighting with the li'Illorins, with ties to Communist Mississippi. Christian something or other. I do not pay attention to such things these days -- I have enough problems with demons at the BattleSpire," the alchemist got another glass of wine, transmuted it into vodka in a small flash of azure light, and downed it in one gulp.

"No, I guess not, so I'll introduce myself, I'm Khaled, President of Al-Sabir. I believe you are a representative of Lunatic Retard Robots? By the way, I always found the name of your country, no offense, somewhat "amusing". Would you care to explain how, well, I don't know how to put it, your country got this strange, yet original, name?"

Khaled asked, meanwhile grabbing a new cigar.

"Oh, and you don't mind me lighting this, do ya?"

Khaled quickly added, before John could even answer the first question.

"Not at all. Not at all. As for the name of my adopted country...nobody really knows. There's several theories, most of them having to do with our founder, Ezra Goldberg, being in Hong Kong in an opium den with Alan Turing, although this has never been proven."

John is happy to have some company. He hadn't been to a party in a while either, and this one had started out badly for him, but hopefully he would go home happy. Noticing his empty wine glass, he plans to head back over to the refreshments table once Khaled responds.

"Violent, hot, and short. I hear a new group is fighting with the li'Illorins, with ties to Communist Mississippi. Christian something or other. I do not pay attention to such things these days -- I have enough problems with demons at the BattleSpire," the alchemist got another glass of wine, transmuted it into vodka in a small flash of azure light, and downed it in one gulp.

Sergei nodded.

"Ironically, I'm Roman Catholic. Hmmm, hot? It's hot in Rose, my it's humid, no Hurricane yet but it's coming soon. So have you heard of us?"

A cigar between his teeth and a crystal glass of fine whiskey in his left hand, Khaled surely enjoyed the party a little more now and with a conversation on his hands, he finally had something to do.

"I see your glass is empty and you look thirsty, you should get it refilled, my friend,"

Khaled continued, guiding John to the elongated refreshments table.

"I'm actually a little suprised to see you here, I mean, after the denial of your application for the NATO alliance, I thought you'd be not so eager to visit one of its prominent members, Automagfreek,"

A cigar between his teeth and a crystal glass of fine whiskey in his left hand, Khaled surely enjoyed the party a little more now and with a conversation on his hands, he finally had something to do.

"I see your glass is empty and you look thirsty, you should get it refilled, my friend,"

Khaled continued, guiding John to the elongated refreshments table.

"I'm actually a little suprised to see you here, I mean, after the denial of your application for the NATO alliance, I thought you'd be not so eager to visit one of its prominent members, Automagfreek,"

John refills his wine glass. Although he was not too impressed with the choice of beverage, it was better than nothing.

"Its a chance to get out of the house, at least. And these alliances...all they ever do is drag you into some territorial war. My country was actually booted out of its own alliance."

Khaled tried to nod in agreement, but his head, dazed by alcohol and nicotine, started to hurt so he ceased the attempt.

"Yeah, that's the reason why we didn't apply for NATO. Plus we are already tied to most members in all kinds of other alliances and pacts, so it wouldn't be worth a shit anyway,"

He sighed, took another gulp of whiskey and added:

"I wonder if Damien would show up at this party, as I'd like to meet the man in person some time. I'd like to know why in hell's name he decides that one he hardly seems to know, who is just accidentely his son, will succeed him. What made him trust Azrael that much? I don't mean that I don't think he should do this, but making a complete stranger the ruler of Automagfreek, along with its military might and political influence, could prove devastating to the world,"

Khaled tried to nod in agreement, but his head, dazed by alcohol and nicotine, started to hurt so he ceased the attempt.

"Yeah, that's the reason why we didn't apply for NATO. Plus we are already tied to most members in all kinds of other alliances and pacts, so it wouldn't be worth a shit anyway,"

He sighed, took another gulp of whiskey and added:

"I wonder if Damien would show up at this party, as I'd like to meet the man in person some time. I'd like to know why in hell's name he decides that one he hardly seems to know, who is just accidentely his son, will succeed him. What made him trust Azrael that much? I don't mean that I don't think he should do this, but making a complete stranger the ruler of Automagfreek, along with its military might and political influence, could prove devastating to the world,"

"Mr. Dreadfire must have his reasons. Personally, I don't think they should make such aa big fuss about it. When I was named Prime Minister, all I got was a cake from the baker in town. Mabye Azrael and Damien are closer than we think. Or mabye Damien was drunk."

"Yeah, I suppose you are right, who am I to question Mr. Dreadfire's motives? After all, he doesn't seem like a complete fool to me. Anyway, I never got elected, they were desperate to get me, I was the Vice President then, in office after some idiot blew up the parliament and got whole the government eradicated. I was lucky, had a hangover of a night drinking with some old friends and felt to sick to attend the meeting. Lucky me, well, I guess if the good ole' guy in the sky wants me dead, he doesn't have that long, my lifestyle is deadly anyway,"

He said, lighting another cigar.

"Ah well, times have changed since then, Al-Sabir is just only democratic in name now, I'm the sole controler of the nation, its pilot, its guidance. It isn't exactly easier for me, I mean, all those small issues have to been taken care of, and I'm pretty much a control freak and a dictator, an ideal combination, but it surely gives me a lot of work to do."

Sergei bowed towards the Alchemist.

"Well it was nice meeting you, I'm going to wander off now..."

He put his hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket, he looked around, sighing. Why wasn't Damien here? That big man who can kill you by speaking? That big man that when he speaks fire rises up? Or was that a myth? God knows what... he looked over at the Al-Sabirien and the Retardian representatives. He smiled, walking over to them.

"Hello men, my name is Mr. Ilyanov, and who might you be?"

He extended his right hand for a handshake.

"Yeah, I suppose you are right, who am I to question Mr. Dreadfire's motives? After all, he doesn't seem like a complete fool to me. Anyway, I never got elected, they were desperate to get me, I was the Vice President then, in office after some idiot blew up the parliament and got whole the government eradicated. I was lucky, had a hangover of a night drinking with some old friends and felt to sick to attend the meeting. Lucky me, well, I guess if the good ole' guy in the sky wants me dead, he doesn't have that long, my lifestyle is deadly anyway,"

He said, lighting another cigar.

"Ah well, times have changed since then, Al-Sabir is just only democratic in name now, I'm the sole controler of the nation, its pilot, its guidance. It isn't exactly easier for me, I mean, all those small issues have to been taken care of, and I'm pretty much a control freak and a dictator, an ideal combination, but it surely gives me a lot of work to do."

"Really? As Prime Minister I actually have little more than a figurehead role. Suits me fine, actually. No responsibilities, don't have to pay taxes...Its generally a nice lifestyle."

John turns around to see president Ilyanov apparently talking to him.

"Oh...hi. I'm John Entwistle."

"Really? As Prime Minister I actually have little more than a figurehead role. Suits me fine, actually. No responsibilities, don't have to pay taxes...Its generally a nice lifestyle."

John turns around to see president Ilyanov apparently talking to him.

"Oh...hi. I'm John Entwistle."

Sergei bowed.

"Good day Mr. Entwistle, am I interrupting anything? I personally think this party is too formal... bleh..."

Sergei bowed.

"Good day Mr. Entwistle, am I interrupting anything? I personally think this party is too formal... bleh..."

"No, no, you weren't interrupting anything."

John looks at Khaled nervously, and back at Ilyanov.

OCC: Not much of a post, but it'll get things going.

"No, no, you weren't interrupting anything."

John looks at Khaled nervously, and back at Ilyanov.

OCC: Not much of a post, but it'll get things going.

Ilyanov looks around the Cathedral abit, then looking at the various dignitaries. Oy, damn fancy suits...

"So you're from LRR right? That's what my dossier said... bleh. So... what's your stance on socialist nations?"

Orith was getting tired of waiting, Still he did not wish to cause offense, so he slowly, but inexorably made his way closer to Azrael. He cleared his throat and then said,

"I sincerely apologize for the interruption. Unfortunately, my homeland requires my services so I'm afraid I must cut short my visit. If it pleases you, Advocate, I bring a gift from my lands."

With a wave, the aide opens the ornate box. Inside, a gleaming war horn fashioned from iron with gold inlays rested in red velvet. Simple in design, yet large, with heft to it. As befits a warrior.

"Long ago, our race used such horns during battle to rally our troops and, as some legends go, cause panic in our enemies. We give you this to commemorate this day. May you prosper in all your undertakings."

Orith then bowed, then left.

Ilyanov looks around the Cathedral abit, then looking at the various dignitaries. Oy, damn fancy suits...

"So you're from LRR right? That's what my dossier said... bleh. So... what's your stance on socialist nations?"

"Yeah...they're fine. We sort of are one."

John then glances down at his watch, and notices that he should have left ten minutes ago. He takes another sip of his wine, and then makes for the door.

"Sorry, I should be going. Mr. Khaled, Mr. Ilyanov, its been nice meeting you."

Sergei groaned as he left, he was bored. He looked over at Azrael, he sighed. Well he could try again and talk to him... meh. Well here he goes again. He walked towards Azrael, his pockets in his jacket. He bowed then started to speak.

"Azrael hello there. I know these parties are stressful. But I want to discuss some things such as NATO. If it's not too much trouble anyway..."

He waited for a response.

"Oh...hi. I'm John Entwistle."

[OOC: May he rest in peace.

He's the reason I sang "Behind Blue Eyes" at karaoke the first time. The crowd's response is the reason I still sing it from time to time.]

"Full Spectrum Alchemist Ren li'Wye, of Weyr," Ren bowed. "A pleasure to meet you, princess. I think, we need a change in music." Plastic, internal microcircuitry, antique CD, got it. "Consider it a personal joke," he laughed, as J-pop began streaming from the stereo. "Frostgarde, I don't believe I've heard of it."

OOC: Sorry it took me so long to reply, I've been getting ready for school.

"Ah, not many people have heard of our homeland. We cut ourselves off from the rest of the universe for a long while. To summerize briefly, we are a peacful people who love their civil rights. We're looking to make somewhat of a mark of the galaxy," said the princess. "To tell you the truth, that's why I'm here. My father, the emperor, figured this would be a good way to become known." She releases a long sigh. "I should have known I'd get no where near Azrael though."

"I was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Entwistle, see you next time, I hope"

Khaled grunted just before John left. He turned around, strolled over to his Omar, as drunk as you could be, and helped him get to the door.

"It seems like I can never leave you for some time alone, you idiot,"

They stumbled out of the Citadel, looking for a cab to get them back to the airfield.