NationStates Jolt Archive

Hoek van Holland Allied Defence Base, Knootoss

A lone voice sang into the night at the Commonality-run Hoek van Holland Allied Defence Base in Knootoss; it was a sweet voice, a gentle voice, a musical voice with undoubtable talent; a voice that some nearby had no doubt come to be quite used to, singing out each eve at dusk. And ever the same song:

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aearon!"

The owner of this beautiful singing voice had sung the very same song each evening following his end of duty at the comms relay station in the base; he was the lead operator, in charge of six others who worked in shifts. Regulations demanded two were always present at that station at any one time; he, now, was free until tomorrow. He was on the A shift; he felt sorry for the D shift, who worked midnight til' the early hours of the day - especially when there was, in fact, very little to do.

The base had been quiet for some time, with most of the ships out to sea on defensive patrols; only one remained in port, and she was undergoing repairs.

And better - the base commander was away on important business, back in the Commonality. The guards were a little more relaxed without that taut and disciplined man to watch over them; and it made it all the easier when he had kept the same routine for so long.

So when he slipped past them unseen, he was not unduly surprised; he had not gained an off-base pass - nor even tried to - even though they were freely given to any who followed their duties well enough.

But he had special business tonight. Tonight, he would reveal himself; there would be repurcussions.

Now, at last, he stood at the public payphone which would bring him his destiny. He had placed a small device inside the machine - which had been a mean feat, even with the tools he carried - just under thirty-six hours ago; it would make it appear that this payphone was, in fact, a payphone thirty miles away. If it worked. Which wasn't sure. In fact, he rather suspected it wouldn't work at all; he was open to the possibility that he would be taken as a foreign spy.

So long as the Knootians were what they seemed, and didn't shoot him on sight. That...

That would be highly inconveniant to his mission.

He punched in the Minister President's private number confidently...and waited, excitement building.

This would be interesting at the least.

[OOC: Same player as Ma-tek, different nation, different agenda. I've made one small thingy here: that the person in question has gotten hold of said number. Suffice to say, palms would have been greased considerably, by way of explanation.]

Aren't you going to finish the Story.??? :mp5:

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Noordeinde palace
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*ring ring*

*ring ring*

Galadriël Táralóm nos Círdan sighed as she heard the ringing of the phone and put down the soap. The Elvish Prime Minister of Knootoss was busyily taking a hot comfortable bath, with lots of foam and nice smells and oils.

This better not be Hans again, she grumbled referring to the liberal foreign minister who was consistently the only member of the cabinet to ignore her wish that she did - in fact- not like being called when she wasn't at work.

With her wet, soapy arm she reached for the phone next to her...

"Hello?"

"Hello," came the soft, lilting voice, speaking in Quenya, which could not be mistaken for Human in a heartbeat, "and greetings Minister President Galadriël Táralóm nos Círdan, Honoured Friend of the Iluvuaromeni Commonality of Everlasting Light. I am CommOps First Rate Raumondil Sírefëa Tulcóman of the Crown Guard Navy, but indeed I am in fact only in the Navy; not of it. Nor am I of the Commonality."

The voice moves to greater swiftness (for he was speaking 'quickly' already, although not especially so for one speaking Quenya), not stumbling over any words, but delivering the whole quickly, whilst each word is caught upon with crystal clarity. There can be no question of speech not identifying the voice; it is surely an Elf of some kind - and the accent carries a similar quality to that of the Noldor.

"You are moved to cease contact, but I beseech thee: do not. For the stars in the sky hang on my word, and the stars protect thee, and hold thee in might; and a slight from thee may do more harm to us all than all the strokes of your enemies against thee; nay not yet, for I threat not - I entreat, for the future hangs on a thread, as it ever has, and we cling tight and ask that time be given to us.

"I am indeed Raumondil Sírefëa Tulcóman, but I am chief counsel to my High King, the High King of all Tumnoreans and Nenyar, Gil-Romen, son of Gil-Galad who was High King of all the Noldor, and I speak now with his voice.

"Wilt thou not listen?"

"You know we do have ambassadors for this kind of thing", the Lady thought to herself, noting to have the phonenumber changed. She did not speak this thought, however, somewhat intrigued by this messenger but not overly impressed with his methods.

Calmly, she sank her body back into her tub and let the hot water wash over her belly before she pulled up her legs, playfully putting one of her legs in the air as she listened to the swift Quenya. The running of the water was probably just audible on the phone.

"Please, go ahead and I will listen." she replied in a less formal, 'developed' form of the Elvish language. "I had not foreseen this exchange but I trust your motivations are urgent. It has been long since anyone from my House has been in contact with your kin."

And with that, she playfully raised her other hand out of the water and watched the foam slowly run down to her armpits.

"My pardon," he replied softly, striving to speak in the same style. It was difficult to understand in small part: the language had divided over the years amongst each seperate group who spoke it, and he had not realised the difference would be so great, "if I have disturbed you too much. But we knew so little of your land it seemed wise to visit; and to visit openly would damage the secrecy we maintained then. Now we have exposed ourselves to the world, we still cannot afford to be too open, too pronounced in our existance. Not while the Enemy remains at hand; which is no doubt to say until the Great End.

"But we seek to make contact. And rebuffal of that contact would damage our triple friendship; it would strain both the Iluvauromeni-Tumnorean alliance, and the Knootian-Iluvauromeni alliance. Yet were our contact met with open arms, undoubtedly all three would be strengthened. I speak not with threats but with counsel, Minister President, for we seek not power but friends; were threats to be uttered by my lips, I assure you they would be far more forthcoming, and not veiled in subtle lies such as those which the Enemy so often spouts."

There was a nomentary silence on the line; only the sound of running water.

"Quite", Galadriël mumbled more to herself then into the phone, not completely understanding the obtuse language of her conversation partner and not being entirely briefed on recent ICEL matters either. "You speak in riddles... friend", she said, pronouncing the latter with a trace of doubt. With frankness she continued: "And I cannot see where this is going. If you could ease my troubled mind at this late hour, I would invite you to write me a personal letter to explain things. "

"You are beginning to think and act like a Knootian", she curses herself when she notices the excessive bluntness of that remark.

"I hope I have not insulted... thee... with this."

He spoke more lengthily in response, this time, but his speech was no less swift for it; the length gave him additional time to choose his words.

"Letters are seen by eyes, and eyes often adorn faces which also have mouths and tongues. Tongues have a tendency to wag. It is a symbol of our trust in you, Minister President, that we do not bother with mere underlings. Or is Knootoss not like all other states, where all governmental mail is strongly checked?

"We have no interest in an exchange of letters. What does interest us, though, is an exchange in words and thoughts - face to face. But before such can proceed - assurances must be made. Our minds and the minds of ICEL may be perceived as one; but perception is as the crystal pool aside the mountain - infinitely clear, but ever in shadow. Thus it is that ICEL is not the tool of our communication; misperception comes too swiftly, and is slow to resolve, as our Iluvauromeni cousins have often discovered.

"Thus I ask reassurance for my people: will a meeting be greeted with friendship - or hostility?"

"I bid you... heed my words", she attempted in the old language. The attempt was honest but ill-made. "Have your message delivered this week at noon after the first moonless night. I will be there myself to recieve it and my judgement shall depend on its explanations. Please, do not speak riddles my friend. They will not avail thee. Now, please, I need to be alone with my thoughts."

The voice carried a smile, if not an outright beaming grin: "So shall it be done," is the brief sentence uttered before the connection cuts off promptly. Apparently, the speaker could also be clear and brief...one might almost suspect whimsy had played some small part in the method employed during that rather unusual phonecall.

[OOC: Rather brief, I know, but it IS Christmas.

Further, I'm too stuffed with food to think too much. Mm. Food... *is distracted by chocolate*]

The elf sighed and sank back into the bath, snoozing contently as night fell over the DDR. In the distance there was only the silent rumbling of a storm approaching seaside The Hague.

ze bump?

bump?

Last bump. After this I'll just consider that there never was a letter.

[OOC: Dependant on whether or not there was or was not now a letter, I'll post. However, as this is my 'second' nation, the needs of the first do need to come...well, first. Hence the slowness following my return from my little writing holiday. Sorry all the same.]