NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: Firstly, a note: if your nation were to 'observe' Angagor at this point, they would find a rather more liberal-looking state than national stats indicate. This does not mean that Angagor is not as oppressive as the UN says it is - it means Angagor hides it fairly well, in order to allow for my concept below. Sorry for any confusion; NSWiki stuff on Angagor sooooon. Promise. >.>]

IC:

Nostrils flared.

The stench of death was a weight upon his chest, a weight forever borne in misery. Hands scrabbled at the rock, a whimper torn from his chest; the pain, the agony, eternal and everlasting...

He ripped at the rock, and the rock ripped back.

A million hands worked alongside him. Each hand ripped at the rock, endlessly, stopping only briefly to feed and to be injected with the numerous chemicals that Shektar the Great, Alchemist of Alchemists, had created for their betterment.

So were his titles. To think otherwise was-

He cringed, howling in agony.

Nobody really noticed. Each private horror was as bright and virulent as the last - and as unique.

The Altered could not think of themselves. They were not themselves. They were extensions of His will, and He demanded that they work.

And so they did.

Shektar, God-Dominar of Angagor, gazed out across his devastated lands. Long had that smog lain low across the land, bringing darkness where once there had been light. Long had been his journey to this day, and long had he waited, waited.

Today was his victory, his final triumph of this particular age of the nation. The Altereds were working.

The Great Project come to fruition at last...

Happiness... as currency. Surely there could be no more devious a control over a state; the Altered minds of millions would drive him onwards, and their joy could be flicked on as with a switch. They would never rebel, for they were not capable of rebellion; and they could be treated easily, for Human bodies were simple things, to a God.

However, Shektar did not have glowing eyes. Nor did he have great powers - not great powers that he displayed frequently, at least. Such acts were tiring and tiresome, for they merely reinforced the terror. And terror, although deeply enjoyable, the Dominar had discovered, was also costly. One could not control through fear.

So it had come to him, almost as a dream: through joy.

The snivelling Elves had preached it's worth for so long that he had ignored it's potential since he had taken power here, in this land, with it's fierce and fearsome warrior folk.

Noble, they had been called, by some, but that had been long ago, and in a different land. The migration here had happened nearly a thousand years ago, after the Schism that rocked Old Daegor.

Shektar still did not quite understand how those old kingdoms had suddenly thrown off the old yoke that Angagor had kept a careful grip on; but they had angered him greatly, and if a blow could be dealt...

Yet he did not know if they even existed.

And they were not relevant.

Despite the smog, he observed, Angagor's main city, now Anga rather than the old Gor, was a veritable fortress of beauty.

Somehow the smog caught the light in a certain way - and to the right eye, the angles of the building were almost aesthetically pleasing. And there was the pretty lights of advertising.

Angagor was almost entirely self-sufficient, but this, Shektar knew, could not last. Therefore allies would be needed outside - both within Arda and without.

Shektar, then, was here.

Reaching out with his mind, he felt carefully for those receptive to him; those who had greed, and lack of virtue, and were dishonest and furtive and prone to violence...

He smiled. They were as prolific in number as ever.

Ascending higher in his great tower, he sat down at the computer.

This always felt somewhat strange.

However, when in Rome...

Or Anga, for that matter.

* * *

"The Eudaemonic Dominion of Angagor freely invites foreign dignitaries, and corporate dignitaries, to a state-sponsored dinner to be held in the Angaric Central Hall, in the capital, Anga.

"We the Dominar, We the Dominion, fondly greet those of the world who would wish to partake in trade with us, and indeed have much to offer.

"In tentative friendship,"

~ Dominar Shektar, Uniter and Leader of the Eudaemonic Dominion of Angagor

Shektar yawned. There was no need. Nor was it entirely an act of his subconscious - rather, it was a required act, an act he had learned over many years of learning to look 'normal' amongst the inferior scum he ruled over.

Some days were just depressing.

He twisted his arm, slightly, a curious expression on his features. The answering scream was satisfying, but not satisfying enough. "Useless," he informed the slave, who writhed agonistically in response.

He spoke a Word; the slave promptly no longer spoke at all. Death was swift, but exceedingly painful, and Shektar revelled in every instant. The Word burrowed through it's victim's brain, the primeval sounds weaving destruction and pain - and the Word itself remaining thoroughly unknown to any it wasn't directed at. Such as the guard. Who tried to look calm, Shektar observed with some (minor and obscure) pride - he had trained the idiotic human personally. Smiling at the guard - his day had improved marginally, much to the guard's relief - he observed, "Dispose of it, and bring another. We continue to search."

The guard nodded, delirious with joy at even that brief moment of favour.

[OOC: Obviously this is off-camera in that nobody can actually see it; and something of a bump, but one with an actual purpose. Honest. Not just killing people for giggles. No, really!]

[OOC: *peers out into the forum hopefully*]

"The Eudaemonic Dominion of Angagor freely invites foreign dignitaries, and corporate dignitaries, to a state-sponsored dinner to be held in the Angaric Central Hall, in the capital, Anga.

"We the Dominar, We the Dominion, fondly greet those of the world who would wish to partake in trade with us, and indeed have much to offer.

"In tentative friendship,"

~ Dominar Shektar, Uniter and Leader of the Eudaemonic Dominion of Angagor
To: Dominar Shektar, of the EDA
From: Theao, MFA

We wish to send a delegation to attend your dinner. We must ask if this is a formal event, and if there are any prohibited items?

Arda was dying, and the rats were leaving the boat, Kira thought, and chuckled, and considered how to leave without breaking a Promise, the Promise, a very specific Promise made by someone she hadn't really known, for reasons neither she nor anyone she knew could understand or explain. Thus, Kira watched as the Five Kindgoms vanished from the fractal realities of two nations, as Gholgoth split and made a new realm for itself, and as Raem left (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=459158) to go its own way, and waited and did nothing, because a Promise was not something a Weyrean could easily break. Thus, the question of what to do about an actually active member of Arda, Kira considered, and wanted to do nothing and let the issue go away, because it had worked on the Empire and it was liable to work here, possibly. Or it might not.

She might have later regretted not giving this particular issue to someone else, but then again there really wasn't anyone else free to bother with the issues of international relations. The METI's foreign arm consisted of a Weyrean and a Sprite, and the MinForeign was mostly staffed by volunteers and 'paid' interns, which left a High King with a title borne of mistranslation and a lack of real function to become once again the Distributed Kingdom's delegate to a nation that she had never heard of. In all it led to a reply akin to 'Certainly, I will attend,' except with a few more words, and requesting more information, such as the where?, when?, and what is expected?. It was amazing how much was left out of official diplomatic affairs, Kira noted at one point.

Dominar Shektar had no involvement with the response.

There was no need. He had cheerful, chirpy underlings who could carry out that task far more pleasantly than he...

Well, at the moment.

A black mood had descended over him - and he was seeing no-one. Which was probably wise, since seeing people without considerable calming would have meant killing them, since the Dominar had forgotten such things as 'tolerance' when it came to his own people.

They were intolerably stupid, he mused. Intolerably.

* * *

We would be so glad to meet your representatives or your own pleasant persons!, gushes the handwritten letter, with elaborate facing and pretty colours. Not very scary, to be frank. As our great Dominar announced, the meeting will be held in the Angaric Central Hall of Anga - our beautiful capital city. You just can't miss the gorgeous brown cloud that hangs over it.

Happy Tidings!

The letter is signed 'Dominar's Office of International Relations', rather than by the Dominar himself.

The corporate offices of Red Dawn International, a private military corporation of some renoun, had recieved a rather interesting piece of mail smelling slightly of smog. General Jeff Garand, USMC (Retired), plucked the strange letter from his desk-top and slid the miniature KA-BAR letter opener under the lip of the flap...

'Why they just don't send an email is beyond me... Where the hell is 'Angagor'? Shit, I'll just ship Dekker's ass over there and see if anything good comes of it...'

A finger slammed down firmly on the call button on Garand's desk...

"Michelle, hun, tell Colonel Bray to get his oversized, Scwartzaneggar-wannabe ass in here ASAP..."

Garand's tone was neutral, some of his former DI training came through in his daily speech...

"Sure thing, General. He's on his way..."

Like clockwork, there was a knock on his office door...

"It's open Dekker..."

The door swung open to reveal Garand's right hand and former son-in-law, Colonel Dekker Bray, USMC/USN (Gunnery Sergeant Retired). Bray was a powerfully-built individual, standing about six-foot-one and weighing a muscular two-hundred-forty-three pounds. A former Navy SEAL, originally a Marine, and one-time Mr. Universe, he'd risen quickly through the ranks of Garand's corporation once he'd retired from the military. He assumed a position of parade rest before Garand put him at ease...

"At ease, Colonel... I've got a'nuther shoulder-rup op for you. There's a new country that's just popped up apparently, I still can't find the fuckin' thing on a map. Grab your shit and report to the trans terminal at fifteen-thirty..."

Dekker nodded, executing a sharp salute, fingertips barely touching the brown eyebrow on his right side...

"Yes sir."

He turned to leave...

"And Dekker..."

The Colonel turned again to reguard Garand with his unnerving blue eyes...

"Wear a fucking suit and don't embarass the company..."

"Yes sir..."

Dekker smiled slightly as he headed for his own office to grab a few things before heading out. It was already nearing thirteen-thirty. First on the list was a few extra magazines for his forty-five, and more importantly, his only suit. It was an expensive Italian thing, black as death with a crimson clip-on necktie and a stark-white undershirt. He'd polish the fuck out of his boots on the plane ride over...

While Dekker was preparing to make the trip, Garand's secretary Michelle was putting the finishing touches on the letter that would preceed their dignitary...

"Dear Dominar Shektar,

We at Red Dawn International have recieved and accepted your invitation. Colonel Dekker T. Bray will arrive at the airport of your designation in about two buisness days.

General Jeffory J. Garand
President and CEO
Red Dawn International"

With the click of a mouse, the letter sped off through cyberspace. Michelle had found the international relations website after a brief session with Google..

The office of the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Ptolemais, Alexandrian Ptolemais

The fans were quietly humming, only interrupted by the frantic typing of the Secretary, and the frequent coughs of the Minister. The Minister was, as is usual in the daily routine that he has followed for the past thirteen years as Minister, opening the diplomatic mail. His eye squinted as he looked upon a letter of obvious importance. Opening it, he read the letter and it's contents were as follows


"The Eudaemonic Dominion of Angagor freely invites foreign dignitaries, and corporate dignitaries, to a state-sponsored dinner to be held in the Angaric Central Hall, in the capital, Anga.

"We the Dominar, We the Dominion, fondly greet those of the world who would wish to partake in trade with us, and indeed have much to offer.

"In tentative friendship,"

~ Dominar Shektar, Uniter and Leader of the Eudaemonic Dominion of Angagor

"We need allies in this world," stated the Minister, quite matter of factly to his secretary. "We have only recently come out of over two hundred years of self-imposed isolation. Except for regional contacts and involvement in the United Nations, we have not been involved in international affairs. I believe that now is the time to obtain diplomatic recognition."

Immediately, the Minister dictated the letter to his secretary. The wording was as follows


Dear Mr. Shektar

The Empire would be pleased to send a delegation to your dinner in Anga. We hope that this will allow our corporate and political leaders to meet and establish positive relations with your corporate and political leaders. To allow you with your planning, I propose to send the following people

Jane Cromwell (Top Diplomat of the Empire)
Peter Churchill (Associate Minister of Foreign Affairs)
Theresa Barrett (CEO of Arretnof Ltd.)
Gary Major (CEO of Alexandrian Ptolemais Telephone and Wireless Pty. Ltd.)
Lockwood Ryall (CEO of Ptolemais Tramways Ltd.)
Christopher Hall (CEO of Empire Railways Pty. Ltd.)

We intend to use an Imperial Airforce Boeing 767-400 to transport the delegation to the airport of your convience. If this jet is too large, we can transport them in an Imperial Airforce Boeing 737-900.

Unfortunately, due to our election campaign, I am unable to attend in person. I hope that after our election, I may be able to meet with your political leaders.

Signed

The Honourable John Marshall
Minister of Foreign Affairs
Deputy Leader of the Conservative Alliance


Those words were sent in the most efficient manner that the Minister knew how, by electronic mail. So, it had been sent, waiting for a reply.

We would be so glad to meet your representatives or your own pleasant persons!, gushes the handwritten letter, with elaborate facing and pretty colours. Not very scary, to be frank. As our great Dominar announced, the meeting will be held in the Angaric Central Hall of Anga - our beautiful capital city. You just can't miss the gorgeous brown cloud that hangs over it.

Happy Tidings!

The letter is signed 'Dominar's Office of International Relations', rather than by the Dominar himself.
A representative shall arrive promptly, and we thank you for your prompt reply

MFA, Theao

Dekker boarded the small Gulfstream promptly at fourteen thirty. Clad in a pair of jeans, a black UnderArmour T-shirt and his ever-present combat boots. An AMT M1911A1 Hardballer hung under his left shoulder, opposite three magazines under his right. The weapon was stainless-steel plated, sported numerous modifications, and had been fitted with black half-wrap pachymar combat grips contrasting well with the silvery stainless-steel finish.

A duffel bag matching his shirt hung heavily on his right shoulder, over which was draped his suit, wrapped in dry-cleaners' plastic for ease of transport. Seating himself in one of the plush bucket-seats, Dekker promptly removed a tin of Kiwi 'Parade Gloss' polish, a bag of cotton-balls, and a horsehair brush from his duffel before unlacing his left boot. The short briefing he'd been given via intercom from Garand's office had told him he had about eleven hours before he'd officially be on-duty in a diplomatic capacity.

Small as the aircraft was, it carried a crew of four: Pilot, Co-Pilot, Stewardess, and oddly, a Jump-Master. Dekker had found it odd that the thing had been equipped with a rear-mounted cargo door, but it appeared to double as a covert insertion transport as well. The small armory towards the rear seemed to support that hypothesis, but now it consisted of an empty rifle rack and a cabinet containing four Glock handguns, model 19's loaded with sub-sonic hollowpoints for safer useage in an aircraft cabin. The Black-Talon +P+'s Dekker had in his forty-five would most likely puncture thin aluminum skin of the Gulfstream as well as the target. He'd probably have to surrender his personal weapon on arrival, but it never hurt to bring it along. Safety and security always seemed that much safer and secure when you had a hogleg under your arm...