NationStates Jolt Archive

Some time ago...



Deep within the galactic core, the luminous strength of myriads of burning suns drenched the soil of those planets that dared to coalesce there with a never-ending torrent of eternal radiation. There was nothing here but dead rocks, the baked surfaces of a thousand barren worlds, and, deep within the center, an all-devouring black void.

And, contrary to all logic, for longer a period of time than anyone except one man knew, it was being canvassed, searched, explored.

Countless systems were logged, sorted through, and discarded. None of them had just what was being looked for, exactly the right combination of qualities. And then, one day, as a need unforeseen by the program's originator arose, the twisting strands of Fate wove themselves into a beautiful, dark tapestry.

___


The small, glowing carbonaceous asteroid silently drifted through the dense asteroid fields composed of would-be planetary material, silently taking in all that it saw even as it's shifting, chromatic light lines registered the metaphorical tapping of radiation on its armored surface. Even as it interestedly began to archive everything its sensors could bring it, it drifted out of the slow dance of asteroids into its own personal paradise of the moment.

One planet. Binary star system with a gas giant slowly being consumed. The asteroid fields. Finally, the efforts of a small fleet of its kind culminated in one, glorious epiphany!

The message had reached the automata operating the ship over a week ago, and it had been forced to consider two less-than-optimum systems from the given parameters...but now they had this. Wakonda Thonba must have been smiling that day. As the projected pseudo-souls of the automata aboard reported their ecstatic success (being of a much older model of ship without a native ship-mind), far away, the grinning smile of a triumphant fleet-general almost lit up the chamber he was staying in.

___


The rendezvous point. These meetings always made him nervous. The fact that their cargo was entirely composed of dangerous, usually powerful insane wakongi, the nature of their assignment, and the personalities of the recepients all combined to make this one of the darkest missions Monhin ever rode on.

But he had news. Excellent, terrible news. If an Osage ship took their architects there the time would be decreased, and already they were growing...it must be finished soon. The point would soon be reached.

He gave a trusted (guarded) wakongi the coordinates as the slave shipment docked, an official robe, and orders to speak to Rath himself, and then left. His schedule was getting busier.

They had found their gathering point.

Gceilalok. Of the Kiamangau binary system. Fitting names, Rath muses. The radiation-seared world hangs in the sky before Razor's Kiss. The ship's viewports are dark, almost opaque from the intense radiation and ultraviolet light pouring out of the X-ray burster neutron star and its younger, hotter red giant sibling. The world would be a bone-white ball against the backdrop if not for the transition tinting of the viewports that seems to stain it the color of dried blood.

Rath's voice is an almost soothing baritone without the harsh mechanical translator of his helm, sounding too loud in the quiet on the bridge. "Estimated time remaining until our... guests arrive?" His voice stirs the grotesques at the foot of his dais to uneasiness, peering at each other nervously. Their agony had long since robbed them of the wits to understand his question, but his voice had long been enough to condemn the unlucky to fates more horrible than being made a grotesque.

"Any moment now, lord," one of the naval officers mews meekly, seeming as wary of the Incubus-Archon as the slowminded grotesques.

Rath inclines his head slightly, smiling only a little when the holographic readouts on the bridge paint a new object in the system: the first of the "guests" arriving to get this summit underway.

The Azim Amir-al-Kawakib sat in his seat, suspicion evident in his dark eyes. It was very rare that the commander of the Corsairs left Beyt, and even rarer that he removed himself from the Dhati Interstellar Emirate, a mostly insular nation nestled near the core. But this was no ordinary day. At least, he didn't think so. "Why have I come here, Most Honoured Lord of the Dark Ones?" He asked as the chair slowly hovered down the ramp from his personal vessel.

Behind the swarthy man two tall black-skinned slaves followed, acting as modern equivalents of the Mamluks with their heavy lazcannons. Neither spoke.

Overlord Rosiro strode down the dark, narrow corridor, towards a single hatchway. His boots fell heavily, pounding upon the deck of The Razor's Kiss. Flanked silently by his bodyguard, Pavlov, they paused for a moment inside the doorway, surveying the conference room. There sat Rath of Raem and the Foreigner, Azim Amir-Al-Kawakib . Rosiro placed his hands upon his hips, raising his chin, sneering at the men, which what may have looked like contempt to the common observer...in Aumanii culture was considered a polite greeting. Rosiro snorted and stepped inside the room.

Rosiro turned to Rath and politely asked 'May I sit?' with a brief gesture, the Overlord took his seat and offered cigarettes to those already in attendance.

Monhin's arrival had been unheralded but was not likely to go unnoticed. The man cut an impressive, almost divine figure, and the fleet-general did all he could to cultivate that image. Standing, as all Osage did, over six foot, alone except for a scribe, Monhin's skin, light brown with a black underhue, seemed to glow ever so faintly when you looked out of your peripheral vision.

His robes were pure, blinding snow-white, and at his side was a long curved blade with an ivory hilt inside a sheath of the same material. He sat down with a silvery look on his face, every pore radiating both sublimity and nobility.

"I would like to wait to explain that till all of our merry band have arrived, good sir." He gave the corsair a half of a smile with an almost airy look to it. "I am sure you understand."

He turns to Rath, again flashing that half-smile. "A pleasure, sir. My predecessor spoke highly of you before necron artillery ended his life as he led an assault on the Eldar."

And then he turns again, this time to the Aumanii representative, saying nothing, only giving a slight nodding in acknowledgement but declining the cigarette.

One moment, everything was well and good in the world, and in the conference room. Nothing untoward was happening. The next moment, the room was -full.- Full of black and gold armored figures wrapped in gauzy black cloaks, large-barreled shoulder weapons seeking out targets.

Then, in the next instant, those figures had vanished, just as mysteriously as they had appeared, replaced by three Sevle, one seated rather serenely in a chair that was most assuredly not the standard model -- irregardless of the quality of Dark Eldar manufacture, the Immortals were not about to trust the dignity of their Warmaster and Mage-King to the sturdiness of chairs built by Dark Eldar.

The first thing one noticed about that seated figure was that even seated, he was massive. Massive, even though the power armor he wore was considerably more graceful and sleek than that worn by the other Immortals who had preceeded his arrival (and where the hell, exactly, had he come from?,) or the armor worn by the two Sevle who stood behind him, silent and unmoving, one holding a shoulder weapon of some sort, the other supporting a notepad of some form on his forearm, pen cocked at the proper angle...

Returning to the seated figure, he was big. He was probably over eight feet tall in his stocking feet, and he was a -powerful- man of eight feet tall. He didn't look at all like an eight foot tall human would look -- all stretched out of proportion.

By way of weaponry, a large pistol hung at his left hip, of the type originally pioneered by Katr Blackhammer with the Blood Dance, Kassigar Aedarion with the Black Night, and by the third of that group of friends, a young Sevle by the name of Torquemada Illyrian, newly Warmaster of the Immortals...

Torquemada was still Warmaster of the Immortals, but now he was more commonly addressed by a different title...that of "Mage-King."

Opposite the dual-barrel over-under pistol hung a large, slightly curved sword with a knuckle-guard and index ring. The details of the sword's blade were impossible to ascertain, due to the flat-black utilitarian scabbard.

Torquemada's armor wasn't particularly ornate, just the standard gloss black and gold of the Immortals, the only symbols of his particular status being the decorative gold spurs on the boots of his armor, the single silver earring in his left ear (being a symbol of Warmaster status) and the black iron circlet resting upon his brow, symbol of the Mage-King.

Torquemada himself was inhumanely (obviously...) beautiful, his features being near to the ideal of masculine beauty, marred only by an old scar that split his left cheek to his chin. His eyes were a bright purple that was quite...strange...and his hair was a perfect white, almost blinding in consideration of his skin...

His skin coloration was the Sevle norm, black with a sortof red undertone. And his ears were pointed slightly. And there was a white C hand-painted onto the left forearm of his otherwise unadorned armor.

He was smiling, slightly, revealing perfectly white and slightly pointed teeth -- this man was a predator, of a sort that had long been missing from the universe. He was perfectly at ease, confident...confident in the knowledge that he had accomplished great things, great things...

And confident in his abilities. Yes, he was on a hair-trigger, ready at any moment to kill -anyone,- and that might be strange to some...but it was perfectly natural for a Sevle. That was the way they -were.-

It just seemed so -obvious- in the person of Torquemada. Part of that was because it was an act, yes. Making certain that the individuals one was negotiating with were well aware that you were quite willing to, and most importantly capable of killing them all in a heartbeat...was something that he had realized the value of quite early in his life.

His gaze swept the other occupants of the conference room, and one could almost -feel- it when that regal gaze passed over you, and -that- was another thing that had required much in the way of practice...

His "King Act" was flawless, honed through -eons- of putting on that act every day. It was like a second skin...but it wasn't -him.-

Of course, that was the point. His people didn't need Torquemada Illyrian. They needed the Mage-King, who just happened to inhabit the same body as Torquemada Illyrian.

Good thing that, mind you, because Torquemada was far and away the most powerful Mage ever to have drawn breath within the bounds of this existence -- his abilities exceeded the realm of plausible and stretched far, far into the realms that were traditionally thought to be reserved for "gods."

Of course, the concept of "gods" was rather silly to the fiercely atheistic Torquemada, even if for no better reason than he had seen with his own eyes what was beyond this existence, and he had met the entities which others called gods...and been singularly unimpressed.

It was a passive sort of presence, really. His "active presence" was considerably more shiny...but...anyways.

Torquemada Illyrian, the son of foot soldier who hadn't even been able to maintain his armor at a satisfactory level and a fallen noblewoman who had not once been sober within Torquemada's living memory...

Yet that foot soldier had begotten three children upon his noblewoman, and of those three, Torquemada had become a Warmaster, his sister had become a Swordmaiden...and eventually Champion of the Sevle...and his brother had had so very much potential...

But that was ancient history, and the last thing needed right now was for Torquemada to dig up long, long, long past wrongs...

So he simply smiled a bit broader, and murmured quietly, yet loud enough to carry, somehow...in that very pleasant baritone of his, "I'm sorry I'm late. Traffic was horrible."

---

So arouse you sons of Freedom,
the world seems upside down...
They scorn the poor man as a thief
in Country and in town...

The Khrrckian delegation arrived with a bang. Literally.

The ex-Aug destroyer Venomous Tentacula dropped into the system, accompanied by the hideous electromagnetic/gravitic scream of a mistuned wormhole drive. The resulting echoes were collected, collated, filed in reverse alphabetical order, and finally squished into something vaguely resembling a three-dimensional radar image.

fido> Seems like we're not the first comers.
Ilc> No big deal. We're not the last, judging by the numbers of ships around here.
fido> Meh. Well, head on in. If anyone shoots at us, bug out. Not that anyone will shoot... but you can never tell.

*********

The Khrrck representative turned out to be a small metal drone- rather like an iron coffee table on wheels. Obviously, the diplomatic corps wasn't taking any chances. Or their prize diplomat happened to be an iron coffee table on wheels- it was hard to tell.

The drone rolled into the room with just the right amount of noise as to not startle anyone. It parked itself against the wall, and remained silent.

Rosiro perked up suddenly at the arrival of what seemed to be an empty, autonomous, drink tray. Rolling silently, but for the slight squeak of a wheel that seemed to be needing grease, the Iron Coffee Table parked itself behind the Overlord. Staring in confusion at the device for a moment, then sweeping his eyes across the rest of the room, Rosiro faltered on Torquemada, who grinned back wolfishly...

'It's like the god damned Magnificent 7...' the Overlord muttered to himself.

Checking over his shoulder at the table again, before leaning his elbows against the conference table, Rosiro asked of the others, 'So, who else is invited to this little party of ours?'

The Iraqstani arrival was as always spectacularly disasterous, it seems one must be a seasoned gambler or just plain insane to travel on some of the Union's older less looked after spacecraft, as was the case with the six... wait no four Iraqstani destroyers that reverted from their jump flight, their treznorian FTL systems causing their not entirely stable reactors to go critical destroying two of the ships before they even know what hit them.

Iraqstani diplomatic envoys to space nations general involve atleast four representatives, this way it's assured that atleast one will make it to the target... This Iraqstani delegate, one only just recently released from the diplomatic instituates checks his uniform, ensuring the black with red higlighted shoulder patches, red arm band and Iron crosses on his chest are in proper order walks down the ramp of his shuttle after it lands and heads towards the assigned meeting room.

Walking in behind the rolling coffee table Baron Duis von Ottoman shakes his head slightly and seats himself at the closest empty chair, his posture one of refined calm yet cautious alertness at those around him, the nations represented known well for their less than honourable actions in some areas...

Ilc> Holy- OK. Who invited these guys? Losing 1/3rd of your force to malfs? That's insane.

The Venomous Tentacula put the nearest Iraqstani destroyer through a blatant bow-to-stern scan, noted its state of disrepair, and prudently moved away.

Ilc> Idiots.
fido> I agree.

Walking briskly towards the conference room, Jehanns Delanii, with a lit joint in one hand, and a sleek black briefcase in the other, was anxious about his current assignment. He had never before met so many representatives from so many different nations, and was especially excited to be given a mission of such high priority. He was after all, just a Junior agent.

Before entering the room, Jehanns took one final hit from the joint, the THC calming his nerves and giving him focus. Jehanns extinguished the joint and placed the remnants in the compartment that lay under the auto-pistol built into his cybernetic arm. Jehanns took a deep breath, straightened his tie, made sure everything on his person was in order, and entered the room.

Jehanns noticed upon entering that he was not the first one to arrive, seven diplomats from seven other countries had already arrived and taken their seats, "At least I'm not the last one to arrive." Jehanns thought as he took his seat at the table.

(OOC: Sorry for being so late, been sick.)

Rath sits quietly as his guests assemble themselves, yet barring two. One, he knew, would not be in attendance. That part was going to go to plan. Who knew if circumstances and screwups, like the light show of the Iraqstani arrival, would change any of the rest of it. He nods to Mon'hin's greeting. There will be time for pleasantries later.

He inhales deeply, he can almost, just nearly, taste the souls released by the twin malfunctions. They are a wisp of sweet-smelling smoke, like the scent of fine cuisine, only on the scale of a buffet. A buffet that is much to far away to partake in before it is consumed by ravenous others. He frowns a little as catches the smell of something pungent and unfamiliar, wafting in with the newest arrival. Something that foul must either be weapons-grade or contraband.

Rath directs his gaze at the Iraqstani representative. "Perhaps the Iraqstani delegation would feel more comfortable housed on one of our ships. Not to cast aspersions on this..." he peers around at the table and the diplomats. Are he and Mon'hin and Torquemanda the only real leaders present? It appears so, "... upstanding affair, but I can hardly imagine their radiation shielding being up to snuff here. Not if their faster-than-light systems are in such poor repair. Speaking of which, this system is producing truly prodigious quantities of deadly rays and energies. Even the shielding of the Kiss cannot fully protect us. I suggest we speak with haste, as soon as the remaining guest arrives."

"Greatest Star-Commander in the Fleet. Most decorated War Hero of the Sha'Ra conflict. All constricted to sitting in a high speed cargo box." Star-Commander Jaina Granger had her legs up on a crate of what could have been food rations or plasma shells as she read a book in her lap.

For this mission, she wasn't travelling in her legendary battlecarrier, the ANS Constitution, but instead one of the myriad stripped down light cruisers of the Adejaani Star Corps which were basically a hull on top of two giant engines. As said engines began their deceleration sequence, she strode into her waiting shuttle.

"Once again, judging by the composition of the ships out there, we are, once again, the dullest, stock-human and weakest contribution." She muttered quietly on the way over. Short and petite, blonde, she wasn't a particularly imposing figure. In most situations, her personality tended to be dominated by those more aggressive.

Nevertheless, she was one of the finest and compassionate Fleet commanders possibly in existence anywhere and it was her that was now headed to a conference which may lead Adejaani to its moment of glory or its moment of destruction...

The concept of diplomacy was not lost to them, not even after thousands of years of undeath. They knew that they would not stand a chance on their own. They knew that they had to choose a side within the ranks of the living, to work with them, to help one side against another, and to further their own goals in the process.

Yes. This was one of the few situations the Ashen Empire required the services of his kind. The hate of the undead towards the living did not affect him quite as much as it did his truly undead brethren. The unquenched hatred was not present in him, or at least his living side kept it in check. If anyone in the Empire could interact with the living in a civil manner, it was him. Not to mention that there was no need to show these potential allies that Ermor was, indeed, utterly and completely dead.

"... We are there," was all the Dusk Elder, like himself, said to him. But unlike him, this one had not been cursed with the questionable boon of unlife and life combined in one creature. No, he was still quite what the Ermorians are meant to be... Punished by the Lord. He could sense contempt within the spectral Dusk Elder, but he did not care. After all, he was alive. In a way.

The pitch black, battered troop transport ship simply appeared in a point in space, close, but not too close to their destination.

"Indeed."

"Shall you go alone, or...?"

"One Wight should suffice."

"Very well, Xirrath."

With little ceremony, he and his bodyguard left the ship behind and went for the Razor's Edge.

As they finally reached the conference room, he glanced at the others and said nothing. As for what he looked like, he wore a rather simple purple robe, and was rather tall a human being with black hair. The Wight that had come with him looked like an abomination, a creature with humanoid shape... With an odd, black armor of sorts, with a large machine gun-like weapon in its hands. Fortunately perhaps, the gun had no ammunition.

He walked to an empty seat, sat down and sighed rather heavily in an attempt to cloak what he was really doing. Air was a rare commodity on Ermorian space ships.

Monhin turned to the seated delegates from every spectrum of authority, wondering perhaps if he could match interest and dedication to rank. Here they were, in an uncharted system of the galactic core, deciding the fate of billions, and yet they were not a council of leaders.

Vaguely disappointing. He stood up, oozing serenity out of his slight smile and half-closed eyes, nodding slightly at who knew what. Finally, he spoke, and it seemed almost as if one or two voices spoke at once, resonating with his own to produce a powerful sound that was in tone soft.

"Welcome, all of you. As you have just heard from our gracious hosts, rapidity is of the essence, yet we have so very much ground to cover. There have been two very important questions so far, and I will deal with our Aumanii friend Rosiro's first, that of who else was invited." He nodded at the Overlord before continuing.

"In short, who you see here is the finals, the best, the top. I have chosen this moment to begin because all of you here are the first generation of an opportunity you have done wisely to accept." Nodding slightly this time at the Emirate's representative, he moved on.

"Next there was the Azim Emir-al-Kawakib's question of what you have been summoned for. Not an easy one, certainly, and only a rough outline very capable of being modified, streamlined, added to, deleted from, and codified in the coming dawn of a new era we will dictate."

He gave the benign, serene smile again.

"We are here because we are the underlying strata of discontent that eddies about beneath the imposing order of the galaxy and the centrally important system of Sol in particular. We are here because we are the errors in the mathematical formula of established order, the chaotic factors that will not submit or meld nicely with the rest of the accepting livestock. We are, in short, here because our aims, our agendas, our national policies, will not, cannot, and should not be forced to comply with the policies of the current pools of strength. That is the first reason. The second, gentlemen and lady, is not quite so philosophic and much more to the point. We are because there is strength in numbers. In other words, we are here for that strength. For advancement. For power. That is my, your, our second reason."

Again the sublime, half-closed eyes and slight smile flashed at the top of the blinding white shape that seemed to glow with radiance. "And, more specifically, we are here to discuss the means, organization, and codification of the ways in which those aims can be achieved. The genesis of an organization who can effectively espouse, support, and spread those ideals, and to ensure that we can still win a game that is, the longer we wait, increasingly stacked against us."

He turned and took in all of them in a grand gesture. "We have no permanent leader. All of us are equal. And, once again, since our time may possibly be limited, I outline our overarching plans: Creation of said organization. Its rules, its terms, its goals. Said organization must have a separate power of its own that is drawn from the collective power of its members, and to this end I advocate a combined fleet whose recruitment pool is from all nations. And, finally, said organization must have a haven, a fortress, a base."

He turned towards the wall. "An uncharted system, gentleman, from everything we can gather. Not within the projected routes for any public probes. And why would it? Near the galactic core, baked by radiation from untold suns, useless in its entirety. Unnecessarily hostile."

"And now, humbly, I turn over the floor. Anything you wish to speak, speak. Objections, concerns, support, anything." For the last time the picture of divine serenity flashed forth, and then Monhin Dapa, tenth fleet-general of the Osage Empire, sat down. It could be noticed that his scribe was scribbling hieroglyphics furiously.

"A most ambitious goal." Granger muttered. "The Regime of Adejaani would like to note first of all its in principle support of this organisation in concept and details. However, we note that... Should you choose to... Actively take on the strongmen in a campaign which may well sunder the greater civilisations of the universe.

"We will supply ships and men. Due to the relative inferiority of our fleets both qualitative and quantitative, we even offer to bear the full cost, construction and maintenance of all orbital assets, shipyards and the like.

"But if you actively go picking a fight, starting your crusades, we... Cannot join you. Defensively, of course, we will fight to the last, but we will not join in your offensive crusade." She finished speaking and sat down.

After the Adejaani representative had sat down, Xirrath rose up slowly and spoke.

"The Empire sees no reason to not give you its support. We are quite aware of the current situation, and it is not in our favor. There is a need for what you are suggesting, especially considering the failure of certain earlier arrangements," after which he paused for a second, quickly looking at the others.

"This means that, as the Adejaani already promised their support in a most tangible way, so shall we. The Empire shall bring forth its great legions and fleets - but only if this meeting bears the expected fruit, of course."

And then he sat down.

Torquemada did not need the detailed readouts that would have been available to him had he been wearing his armor fully sealed to be aware of the hazards of this system -- even with the Kiss' confines. He'd been aware of it since the first feelers were sent out into to it prior to his...umm...arrival.

He chewed faintly on his lip, and then his left hand moved just a bit, causing his two attendants to retrieve their helmets from the attachment point at the belt and secure them into place.

The helmets were quite alike -- black, with gold-colored optics that appeared to be almost fluid and compact crests of the same color...

Sevle had a decidedly high tolerance for radiation, and thus a Void Striker in fully sealed armor were, generally speaking, not bothered much by radiation...but, anyways.

Thusly, Torquemada could stop worrying about the individuals that he was responsible for -- his first duty was always to his own, and the Immortals had been his own almost since the beginning.

With that burden removed, he could redirect his thoughts. And so, he would speak.

"I cannot say that I agree entirely with all of your points, My Lord of the Osage, but the basic reasoning is sound, yes. I ask you, My Lords, Lady, to indulge an old man as he rambles on about his personal thoughts..."

The glint in his eyes showed that while he was joking, there was truth in the statement...

"You say that there is strength in numbers. I disagree. The...forces...that you speak of far outnumber the few of us who do not fit the "Civilized Ideal" that they adhere to. Certainly, we would be stronger in cooperation than we would be working separately...but even together, we would be nowhere near to equity with the forces opposed."

He shrugged, then continued on, his voice calm, unhindered, confident...

"The answer, then, would be to not oppose said forces directly. I'm sure I am merely stating the obvious, but for the record's sake, I will note that the Sevle, at least, will be not be engaging in any suicide actions while I still wear this circlet. And it does not take a military analyst to see that any direct action taken against the...established powers...-would- be suicidal."

He lay one great, gauntleted hand upon the table, spreading his fingers wide.

"Now, The Great Lord of the Osage states that we need a "fortress." I will interpret that to mean that we need a secure council hall. I will also presume from the location of this meeting that the intention would be to construct said location here."

Behind him, his aide continued writing, the short, concise strokes of Sevle shorthand condensing what was said into as small a space as possible, with the unfortunate drawback that it was -incredibly- difficult to read -- and write -- because the slightest movement of the pen had meaning...

Torquemada stopped himself for a moment, then, and closed his hand into a fist.

"In the interest of time, I will cease my rambling. On the matter of the alliance, the Sevle will join -- with the necessary provision that it be known that we will not die needless deaths. On the matter of the equality of nations -- We," and here, Torquemada used the Royal We, encompassing the entire Sevle race, "would have it no other way. On the matter of the need for a...headquarters...The Sevle agree. We do, however, have our own requirements in the area of the design of such a headquarters, though they are minor and would be constrained to a small portion. Presumably such details could worked out in less threatening circumstances."

He crossed his arms, thus signalling that he had finished. His mind was already not entirely focused on the present, contemplating the future, while a small portion remained aware of the now...

His lips would move, but no sound would be made. The only noticeable effect would be the eleven ships that seemed to slide into being from...no discernable location. There was no telltale FTL signature, no backlash from the rending of space-time...nothing. They were simply there, as if they had always been there...and perhaps they had.

Irregardless, the arrival of the Greatheart and its attendant flotilla served one purpose and one purpose only: The Sevle, and by extension The Impworld and all of its various denizens, had given their support.

Rosiro sighed heavily. Staring blankly at the Adejaani, he contemplated her intelligence...as well as her bust. Why? Why the hell are you here? he thought in quiet frustration. Little woman, so far from the kitchen... he chuckled in self dialogue. The Overlord watched his "Allies", taking in every last word they said. Silently, he cast judgement. Introvertedly he pondered the advantages of this alliance.

The words of Torquemada made him wince. Mage-King Torquemada, Lord of the Sevle, Master of the Obvious. Rosiro laughed out loud to the thought. Soon, the council was looking at him, different expressions upon their faces.

'Mr.Torquemada... The Overlord said with humour in his voice ...I think it would be obvious at this point, to all of us, that engaging "The Powers that be" head on would be completely pointless.' Rosiro raised his barehand level to his ear, making a circle with his thumb and index finger. 'I sense there will be much, meticulous, planning ahead of us. While Im confident my men would be flying the Aumanii banner on Titan by the end of the week...Im not sure myself how long it would stay for. It's very obvious, by the time we bring the fight to Sol, our ranks will have grown exponentially. We, gentleman, are simply the base of a soon to be realized organization. Our ranks will be bolstered by "willing recruits"...' Rosiro uttered the last words dubiously, and even went as far to make air quotes.

'With out going into too much unneccessary detail at this time, I will say with extreme certainty that the Aumanii people are behind this ideal to the end. The Order of the galaxy is flawed. Chaos is overseen by the incompetant fools on Titan. Dominated by the Elven Bitch-Queen of Menelmacar. Manipulated by Nathicana and her Man-boy, Treznor. Shit upon by the idiotic meanderings of any else I forgot to mention. Gentleman, we let this go on for far too long. It is our duty to restore the galaxy to what it should be. Glorious. Honourable. Righteous.'

Rath snorts softly at the Aumani speech.

"Duty and glory," he all but purrs, feeding as much disdain into the words as he can manage. "These are the political, social tools of our enemies. Perhaps your government feels it can manipulate its own people with such fleeting wisps, but I do not think any among this august assemblage suffer from delusions of honor. There are many reasons for the rest of you to stand behind this so-called new Order. Mutual defense, self-advancement, the security of being among the like-minded."

Rath steeples his fingers in front of his face, peering out past the slender tips at the others around the table. "My Kabal has... certain arrangements with the Osage," he nods again to Mon'hin, "but we do not need the rest of you for the things I mentioned. The threats I face come from within the Dark City, no outsiders can touch me. It is purely my own good will that has caused me to risk so much to host this meeting. I am sure none of you are willing to rely on the good will of a Dark Eldar."

"What I now require is something more concrete. I require something in exchange for my involvement. I am, of course, willing to provide warriors and technology to this alliance. Guides to bring limited, and may I stress limited, numbers of your soldiers through the Webway. These are gestures of good will towards you, those who do not suffer delusions of honor and light. Yet my good will must be secured. I must also note that I speak only for Death's Fist. The other Kabals keep to their own council."

Torquemada smiled absently, and if his apparent absent-mindedness meant that certain individuals took him to be old and senile -- so be it. The fact was, irregardless of one's glorious past, senile individuals did not remain Warmaster of a Legion. Nor did they remain Mage-King.

Torquemada had attained and -maintained- his hold on that position by being three times more ruthless than any of his competitors -- and if he found that distasteful, well...he was the better man for the job -- that had been proved repeatedly, and the concept of the "best man for the job" was -- normally -- one that the Sevle held fairly sacred.

Anyways.

Then he would nod slowly in the direction of Rath...

"You say that "honor" is a delusion, and I would suppose that given your own...heritage...it could be seen as such. Within mine own species, however, we hold it to be an evolutionary adaptation. At least, in base form. One does not strike women, one does not allow women to come to meaningless harm, one keeps ones word...methods that serve to protect ones own life, hopefully, and also that of the childbearers..."

He shrugged, "I do, however, advance that any concepts of honor beyond such simple concepts are merely cultural baggage -- and as with most cultural baggage...have little purpose save for perhaps to provide amusement to outside observers."

He leaned back slightly into his chair, then spoke again...

"Now, oh Lord of the Darker Eldar...if you were of my species, I would appeal to your sense of...ahhh...duty. Unfortunately, my species seems to be unique in this universe in that so far as we have a sense of duty to the outside world, it is to destabilize and prevent the creation of a single controlling entity.

The perfect, ideal environment for the Sevle is one of contention. We thrive on war, thrive on chaos. Comrade Rosiro" and there was no expression in his voice a'tall "suggested that the great alliances of Sol "control" chaos. I would remind him that chaos cannot be controlled -- a scientifically proven fact. That's why its called "Chaos.""

He drummed his fingers lightly against the table, the powerful hand actuators that were capable of -amplifying- his not inconsiderable -base- strength to quite incredible levels under quite delicate control...

"It seems to me that the Dark Eldar would also...value..such an environment, for reasons that should be obvious. So, as Trt'krr (lit. "Lord." Low Sevle.) Rath has stated...we cannot help but gain advantage from an environment where no one single entity has -all- of the power. Not only is it an unnatural state of things, but it is a -damned- boring one."

That said, he leaned his head back slightly. He had rather nicely summed up the -real- reason for the Sevle interest in this...gathering. It was not in the Sevle nature to be of the sort of nation valued by the nations of Sol...but it was also not their way to rule. The Sevle had no interest in empire -- such things were futile, anyways.

They were warriors and poets and scientists -- they valued beauty and skill and knowledge. Such things had value to them. Or some of them, at any rate. Trying to make generalizations about the Sevle was...difficult.

Xirrath found the fact that the Dark Eldar would be offended by the use of... Words, amusing. "Glory", "duty", "honor" and so on... Regular human concepts. Who cares how some use them.

After the sevle had stopped talking, Xirrath thought it was his time to give something to the discussion.

"Honor in its base form, as you say," he glanced at Torquemada, "is synonymous to trust, at least in where I come from. Trust is a requirement in any form of alliance. Even if one does not believe in the archaic forms of honor... The kind where inane leaders create rules for war and the other side knowingly weakens its position against its enemy in the name of 'honor' or some such folly... One should never forget that 'honor' means not just that. I do not see why we are bickering about the usage of words, anyway. Words cannot be 'tools of the enemy', unless we let them become such. Words are words - we give them their meaning."

Xirrath took a deep breath. Even if the air was just something recycled in a space ship, it was better than the nothing he had had for quite some time now.

"Our enemies are not that different from us, not quite as they would like to think. Corruption and other evils flow through them freely. They turn a blind eye to their own darkness. They are twisted, decadent, but they do not admit it. Absolute rule of those who perceive themselves as 'good' and 'the forces of order' always destroys itself in its impossibility sooner or later. Yet they still seek to unbalance the natural state of the universe by attempting to keep the chaotic forces in check. Indeed, they are hypocritical. Entropy is natural, and order always loses against disorder."

He paused again for a little, and looked at the others while he did.

"Forming this organization would be only the first step towards the right direction. Considering the amount of time they are ahead of us means that we have a lot of catching up to do. We need more than just a combined force of arms - we need combined efforts in espionage, efforts to as fast as possible communications between members and the likes as well. But I'm sure these will be brought forth once we actually get to the specifics of this organization."

Monhin sighed unnoticeably as the Aumanii vomited out their latest rant. Without tact, poise, or subtlety, as usual. Sometimes I wish I was content with the current order.

He remained silent and unreadable as the philosophical talk began. To be honest there was only one value Monhin respected, and that was power, and perhaps glory, even if it was vain. Quietly he whispered something to his scribe, who handed him a papyrus completely covered in hieroglyphics. He scanned it, waited for the undead to finish, and then began to speak, hoping against hope that bickering would not ensue over what was about to be said. The collective egos assembled would fill several galactic voids, and they were trying to fit all of them into this little conference room. Let's hope this doesn't end in fencing...

He waited, trying to think of something suitable to let it be known that he was awake during the previous conversation, failed, and forged ahead.

"All very interesting, indeed. I hope no one would object, but I would like get on to the specifics so that we are not bogged down here discussing philosophy for millenia. There will be time for votes and objections later, but if you will allow me, I will outline what has been puzzled out so far.

"On the subject of a name, one has been suggested by our gracious host. It is," he paused for less than a second to cushion a slight dramatic impact, "Ordo Decemus, or simply the Order for short." He waited as his scribe finished the hieroglyphics on a blank sheet.

"The Order will have a joint coalition force, as yet unnamed. This force will make as its headquarters a planned construction in this hidden system. Each member-state will contribute a negotiable force or sum to the creation of this force. Each member-state's contributions (in terms of ships and men) will be overseen by an appointed general and representative heretofor referred to as an ethnarch. The ethnarchs would serve as generals in the combined forces, overseeing their racial contingents, and will form a Council of Ethnarchs (also up for naming). Each ethnarch would be responsible to his peers in the Council if he did something extremely stupid, but otherwise would be fairly autonomous. The Council would be empowered to raise its own military forces, create its own designs for ships, vehicles, weaponry out of a synthesis of the best of its members. As well, the ethnarch council would have a head who would be picked rotationally but also be subject to votes of no confidence.

"Now, none of this is set in stone. It is simply the most promising model yet brought to my attention that allows each race and nation to command its own while simultaneously being part of a greater whole. As always, questions, concerns, comments, and downright rejections are welcome. Yet I am eager to get this organization on its feet so we can move into the more interesting projects."

He gave all of them a warm smile, as if he was only a benevolent young man.

The Overlord simply loathed the concept of a Combined Service. The execution left the parent nations with less resources for its own armed forces...and in the end, left a weak combine of troops which may or may not even function well together. Though, for the sake of anonymity, it might be in The Order's best interests to form a combined army. For the sake of keeping a low profile for Auman and, to a lesser extent, the others, the idea did have a certain appeal.

Rosiro shifted in his chair, leaning on his elbow, propping his chin on his hand. 'I'll be honest, I hate the idea of a combined service. It'll leave our armies drained...but to be honest, in the formative stages here, I don't think we'll want to draw much attention to ourselves individually. The idea of a Combined Service, independent of all our nations politically might be very useful.' Rosiro grinned, thinking of the possibilities.

'Just think of it. The Order, a "Renegade" faction of all of our nations. On the outside, it would seem we have absolutely no control over the situation...this would be convenient. Have these so called "Renegades" do our bidding, with out fear of reprisal to ourselves so early in the formation of this organization.'

Monhin showed no malcontent even as spoke after the Overlord. Placating, calm, a friendly tone, every word filled with apologetic dismissal.

"Unlikely. Far too easy to discover, and I see no reason for hiding. We do not go seeking fights, only build up vast strength over long periods of time and take on only surmountable challenges. There is no need for secrecy, or easily unraveled plots. That said, I can see the idea, and the Order can certainly have a dedicated, perhaps expanded, special operations division dedicated to misleading, confusing, and of course assasinating the enemy." Again he gave the Aumanii delegate a friendly smile.

Against the background noise of a stylus furiously scribbling, Monhin quietly spoke again. "If we can agree on this structure, and by no means is discussion finished, we can begin to draw up the formal documents for signing. Now is the time to voice dissent."

Click.

Cunningly concealed hatches in the surface of the "coffee table" slid open. A dozen fish-eye lenses, revealed thereby, flickered with light for a moment.

A flicker of light outlined a chair, which quickly coalesced into apparent solidity on top of the coffee table.

Then came the image of a entirely unremarkable man in a dark grey suit. The hologram flickered for a moment, then stabilized.

*****

The Khrrckian representative leaned forwards. He spoke, a little disconcertingly, through the coffee table's speakers.

"I have no particular objections with the plan. I'd like to remark, though, on the subject of special operations. We have a rather substantial special division-of which I am a member- and intelligence library, and we would be willing to contribute a complete copy of our library and quite a few of our more talented operatives to any special operations division the Order might have."

The man, and his chair, winked out. The coffee table's hatches clicked shut.

"That's all."

Torquemada's fingers rapped absently against the table...

"Da. Agreed. The proposed structure is satisfactory."

Then...

"Special Operations. Unified...Special...Operations...you do what you like. Maybe I'll send a few of my...quieter people. However, I cannot make any promises concerning what established "special operations" may exist. They tend to not...work well...with others."

His smile was quite unprovocative and looked -almost- genuine, which was almost amazing, considering that his thoughts were drifting back through blood-filled hallways and countless battlefields...

And if his right hand had lifted from the table and come to rest on the pommel of his sabre...what of it?

Xirrath nodded approvingly.

"Yes, this sounds acceptable. We see no reason for dissent."

He paused for a second, almost as though he was about to stop talking but did not.

"Ah yes, we have our own rather unique group of... Special operatives as well, but that should not be a problem."

Rath leans forward onto the table, resting his chin on one hand almost gracefully. He listens quietly to the back and forth, a look of disquiet slowly growing on his face.

"I have one objection. No law passed by the Order will apply to any kin of mine. We will go where we wish, do what we wish, and be what we wish, and we will not answer to any court. That is our way. Of course, we will extend that courtesy to the rest of you. If a Dark Eldar should kill one of your citizens, I will expect no official retribution. However, of course, any private citizen may avenge the dead if so inclined. Just as an example."

Granger looked up to find everyone looking at her, especially the Auman delegate who positively seemed to leer. "The Regime of Adejaani has no objections at this stage. We'll agree."

Torquemada nodded absently to Rath, his mind in more places than one...

"That is satisfactory. In fact, that puts into words the intentions of mine own people rather nicely, save for I had no intention of notifying these no doubt educated dignitaries of the obvious.

I would say that few of the assembled are used to following any rule but their own...so perhaps simply saying that this Order should keep its nose out of its members...ah, what is the term...domestic issues...would suffice?"

Torquemada shrugged, whimsically. He would offer a proposition, but he didn't really care what happened to it -- applying -law- to the Sevle was...a humorous notion.

The Sevle would follow the Laws of this...Order...only so far as said Laws curtailed with their own intentions.

Amongst the Sevle, Laws were not made to be broken...they simply did not exist. You did what you wanted until somebody got annoyed and stopped you...and that was enough, somehow...

Sitting quietly off to the side the IRaqstani delegate listens intently his memory recording all of this in a near perfect retentive state, a required nessecity of an IRaqstani diplomat is a photographic memory of everything and anything, something said, seen or written will be remembered and passed onto others in the diplomatic chain, or passed directly to the Reichsführer.

Clearing his throat he speaks confidently "Whilst we have heard much to make Iraqstan feel quite comfortable with this, I would simply like to point out that whilst many of uh.. our comrades here are far better off technologicaly and even strategicaly placed it is painfully obvious to the rest that Iraqstan suffers in the realm of space hardware.

That being said whilst we cannot commit much i nthe way of military hardware, we have an over abundance of trained and capable soldiers. What sort of offers would we gain from entering this pact of nations? Certainly the defensive and offensive values are there, but sometimes simply having more defense only makes one look even weaker.

I'm I might of missed this durign the rest of the discussion, but perhaps this could be addressed? Simply put, what do we get out of this other than defensive and offensive advancements?"

The Amir leaned forward. "Everything I have heard today pleases me greatly. I am happy to accede to this alliance." The Arab gestured with his hand, and a quill shot from his sleeve into his grasp. He held up his other hand, and one of his rings became an inkwell. "Shall we sign?"

Rath clears his throat softly.

"Then, if we are all agreed, may we move on to more concrete arrangements? This world will not mine itself, our peoples will not magically appear here. Then, of course, there is the matter of what exactly we are each prepared to commit to this... enterprise."

Rath leans back into the imposing black leather chair and rests his hands lightly on the chair's arms. "I have taken the liberty of having a charter drawn up, as well, and it is ready to be signed." With a gesture, one of the doors of the oval chamber opens, and a haemonculus ushers in several slaves in various states of health and abuse. Each one is whipped or dragged to one of the emissaries, each bearing a copy of the charter burned onto his or her back in the native written language of each nation's ambassador.

The haemonculus then places a small laser pen near each emissary in turn, beginning with Mon'hin and moving counterclockwise around the table until he reaches Rath, the last to receive a pen. The Archon pauses to review the Charter, reading the twisted lamEldannar runes and glyphs.

In the cause of mutual advancement, trade, defense and power, we the Undersigned come together at Gceilalok in the Kiramangau system to form the Ordo Decemus.

I. In form the Order will consist of one representative from each member nation who will form a Council of Ethnarchs; this Council will reside upon Gceilalok and will have sovereign power thereupon.
1. Each Ethnarch shall be nominated by the member state in whatever manner best suits the member state. The Ethnarch shall have a life tenure, remaining on the Council until death or retirement.
2. Each Ethnarch shall be supported by a private military provided by the member state. These private forces are still under the control of the member state, and do not answer directly to the Council as a whole. The private forces are the nominal military of the Order until the Council can establish joint forces as described below.
3. One Ethnarch shall be elected head of each of the following concerns: Defense, Development, Foreign Relations, Domestic Policy, Trade, and Mediation. Each department head shall serve for three years before another election is held with no limit on number of terms. Each department head shall be given the resources he requires to fullfill his duties.
3. The Council shall have the right to expel an Ethnarch or remove an Ethnarch from a post as department head with a two-thirds majority vote of no confidence. The subject Ethnarch may choose to challenge a successful vote of no confidence with personal combat. The Ethnarch who is the subject of the vote and the Ethnarch who brought the vote will engage in combat, or nominate champions. The combat will be until death or one party submits, whichever comes first. The combatants are not required to aknowledge a submission.

II. The duties of the Council shall include the establishment of a permanent military base within Gceilalok, the establishment of a joint military force in the defense thereof, the mutually assured defense of each member state, the brokering of trade agreements between member states and mediation of disagreements or oversight of conflicts between member states.
1. The Council shall develop Gceilalok as it sees fit, so long as each member nation is provided a warren or sector in which it holds sovereign power. These warrens or sectors shall serve the same purpose as embassies to the Order and shall also be considered embassies to the other member states. These warrens or sectors shall also contain whatever military, industrial, or residential facilities as the member states see fit to install. The mineral resources of Gceilalok remain the property of the Council except where they are mined from the warrens or sectors of member states.
2. The Council shall establish a joint military using volunteers from the member states and captured slaves of other states who are the property of the Order as a whole. This military shall be armed with weapons and vehicles designed from technology crontributed by the member states.
3. The Council retains the right to modify the Charter with a two-thirds majority vote, which may be challenged as described above.

III. New states shall require sponsorship from one of the Founding Members. Applications shall be considered by the full seated Council and require a simple majority vote for approval. The new member state must provide an Ethnarch for inclusion on the Council, though that Ethnarch will hold a probationary post for the first two votes of his tenure, which he will not be allowed to participate in.

IV. Founding Members may not be ejected from the Order for any reason. Member states who are not also Founding Members may be ejected by a four-fifths majority at the discretion of the Council, though the vote may be contested through combat. If so challenged, the Order shall declare war upon the member state and the ejection of the member state shall be shelved until such a time as the war is resolved.

So agree we all,


Rath nods once, and raises the laser pen to inscribe the runes that compose his name upon the back of the screaming slave.

Rosiro stared at Rath in complete disgust. 'What...the...fuck?' stammered the Overlord. Noticing the laser-pen that had been dropped in front of him, he glanced at the shivering slave.

'This is complete crap, Mr.Rath. You should understand that not all of the states here condone slavery...I refuse to sign on the back of this poor boy. Bring me a contract on paper or tablet. I refuse to do this.'

Xirrath glanced at the back of the slave, feeling disgusted. He was a living, breathing human after all. He had expected the slaves to bring something they could sign on, not being the ones they would sign on. Whilst the dead did kill... They never took pleasure from inflicting needless pain. The Dark Eldar should have realized that others might not be comfortable with them flaunting their ways in front of them.

"Seconded. While this might be normal for the Dark Eldar... It is not that for us."

Granger looked disgusted. "While we respect other races' rights to... Manage their nations, citizens and prisoners of all shades, we cannot agree with this... Brutality.

"The Regime of Adejaani um... Thirds the notion. Put the treaty on paper."

The Amir-Al-Kawakim simply shoved 'his' slave away. "This is something I would not even see in the Crystal Palace." The Arab glared. "I will not sign a document in this manner. Is this whole thing simply some form of practical joke?"

click

The Khrrck representative blinked into visibility again, looking rather annoyed.

"I agree. This is rather... distasteful. We enjoy the noble art of battle, not slavery and torture."

Rath actually rolls his eyes a little and raises a hand against the objections of the others. "There is no need for such agitation. My Kabal lacks a diplomatic corps, and we have... difficulty estimating what other species, other cultures, would find acceptable, on those rare occasions when we even care. Given some of the practices of others seated at this table, I did not think such petty cruelties would offend so. You must also understand that I am a warrior first and a politician second. I assumed command of the Kabal upon Mieka's capture and death at the hands of the very nations we have come here to band against, to save it from the Dracons who would have torn it apart."

A dismissive wave of his hand causes the haemonculus to begin herding the groaning slaves out the door, jolting those who are too slow to move with something that appears to be a Dark Eldar cattle prod.

"We lack paper to print the Charter upon. However, my scribes should have vellum copies suitable for framing ready within the hour for most of you. Some of you possess native tongues that are somewhat more difficult to translate into, as I understand. I trust you will not object to signing on vellum?"

Rosiro waits on the Vellum to arrive, and upon reading the contract once more, he signed it. The Overlord glanced at Jehanns who had been waiting anxiously.

After Rosiro had signed Jehanns, who had been anxiously waiting for the meeting to end, took one final glance at the treaty and signed it, the slave wincing slightly as the flesh charred black the heat of the laser pen. After signing Jehanns focused his attention upon Rath and asked, "Are we to keep these slaves?"

Monhin's face changes not an iota as the slaves are rolled out. The only thought he has is that it is a bit distasteful, but as the complaints begin, a slight annoyance prods at the edges of his consciousness.

What did they expect, ribbons and Hello Kitty? Perhaps it was simply because he dealt with the Dark Eldar more often, but his sentiments were generally along the lines of: It's Rath, and you're shocked?

The fact that the man in front of him was in fact a notorious mass-murderer whose career Monhin had followed with some interest before he was captured and sent to the Dark Eldar only added to his mild frustration.

And yet he says nothing when the slaves are taken away. In the spirit of compromise, he maintains a face of complete indifference to the mild uproar. He does, however, retain his slave a little awhile, as his scribe furiously scribbles hieroglyphics into the papyrus at hand with his stylus, copying from the man's back.

Finally he releases the man as the vellum is brought out, smiling like a champion, he signs his name in odd hieroglyphics. His scribe raises an eyebrow and whispers something to him, apparently not able to recognize them himself.

They glow dark red and are quite geometric. Circles, lines, and curves meld together like an optical puzzle that seems to shift when you look at it. It you stared too long, they even started to look a bit luminous...

Satisfied, he sits back, quiet, and lets the atmosphere sink in.

Xirrath was amused, although it did not show on his face. The Dark Eldar didn't happen to have paper on board, but somehow they had vellum lying around. And enough of it to replace the slaves. And with such a short notice. Obviously they hadn't been waiting for the representitives to object.

Vellum indeed.

Yes, it was highly likely that the so called vellum presented to him was indeed human skin, ripped from the back of the hapless slave he had just sent away an hour or so ago. The smile of the Osage only strengthened this belief. He had "saved" his slave from a gruesome fate, as it were, although obviously they would have suffered the same fate later anyway. Living skin does not work well as something to write on. But it did not matter to him. This arrangement beat the alternative. Somewhat. At least it should seem better to most of the others present. The undead care not of pain caused by others, even if they do not care to cause pain that does not kill the subject in a timely fashion.

He read the charter again before signing. Since the Dark Eldar hadn't been able to find out exactly what language was in use in Ermor, it was in English. Current Ermorians did not use their own language in the presence of outsiders, after all. He was still quite pleased about what they had accomplished here and prepared to sign it.

Instead of writing anything with a pen of some kind, Xirrath placed his right hand over the vellum and whispered something incoherent. It was as though weak purple flames came forth from his hand and hit the vellum. He calmly removed his hand off it and sat back.

What the signature said was indeed his name, deeply charred into the vellum. Or that it seemed, as the letters were unnaturally black.

Torquemada had laughed at the sight of the slaves. That any people could so fear the so-called Chaos Gods...HAH!

He was still pondering where to place the black throwing wedge he held in his right hand, through the throat, through the eye...when the slave was led away. The wedge vanished just as quickly, not that it was likely to have been seen in the first place...

Then the vellum arrived, and he browsed over the document, and somehow written in the harsh scrawl of Low Sevle, which was right and proper. Written High Sevle was used only for rituals and oaths and suchforth...and quite impossible to be write or read if one was not Sevle, for the letters were ever changing and the patterns impossible to decipher...

Thus read, he signed. In Low Sevle. Because documents written in Low Sevle were not binding. It would have been better to write in Trade English...but only a scholar of the Sevle culture would know that, and the Sevle were an insular people.

It would have been better to swear a blood oath, but no doubt such things were uncommon outside the Sevle. No doubt honor meant nothing to such people as these.

Signatures were signatures. Signatures meant nothing. Blood was binding. Literally. A Sevle Blood Oath could not be broken. There was no would or should it involved. It was physically impossible for a Sevle to break a blood oath.

An oath in High Sevle could be broken, but repercussions ranged from at the least loss of honor and purging from the rolls of the legions to various fates considered worse than death...

Otherwise, the word of a Sevle was no more valuable or less valuable than the word of any other being. Certainly, Torquemada wouldn't break with the document -- he agreed with much of it. But he would suffer no internal repercussions were he to do so. Of course, the same could be said of the majority of the others, probably all of them. Such beings were, as they so proudly stated, or argued against, or whatever, without honor, at least in his eyes.

One did not trust non-Sevle. They were foolish, weak creatures. Even the vaunted Dark Eldar did all they did in fear of the Least of the Chaos Gods.

Gods that lived in fear of the Sevle.

And Torquemada smiled.

The Azim Amir-Al-Kawakazim licked his lips nervously as he studied the arabic on the paper in front of him. 'In the name of Allah the most merciful, what manner of beings have I agreed to join with?' He dipped the quill in the ink and read down the treaty. It all seemed perfectly reasonable to him.

'The Ten-Year Peace with the Infidel would be preferrable to joining with the devils of the Dark Eldar', the leader of the Corsairs thought to himself. However, he found nothing to object to in the treaty before him, certainly nothing worth the punishment that would be meted out to him if he returned to his 'master' a non-signitary.

He looked around the room for a moment, seeing that the others were signing industriously, then scrawled his name and title on the line indicated. For added clarity, he also wrote his title in the unfamiliar language of Trade English.

click

Springing from underneath the "coffee table", a fountain pen flicked into the air, poised over the parchment, and began to write.

The paper was signed in English:

"fido, Augmented Fleet-General, Khrrck Diplomatic Operative, Khrrck Special Operative, AI."

The pen paused, then followed with a series of runic characters, in Wyrmish.

"Romduran".

The pen vanished under the table.

click

Monhin speaks again after signing, looking directly at the Iraqstani diplomat.

"I believe our good friend had a question as to what he is getting out of it. First and foremost, and here I am speaking to more than simply the representative from Iraqstan..." His eyes pass quietly over to the delegates from Khrrck, ElectronX, and Adejaani. "In the times we live in, and with the stated goals of mutual defense and power in the treaty, the importance of powerful space forces cannot be underestimated. Of course, neither can those on the ground, but I do not think any here are deficient in that capability. Therefore, out of my own generosity, the Osage Empire hereby pledges to aid in the development of a powerful fleet for any nation who so chooses to take advantage of this offer. We will provide funds and technology to those who ask it. In return, we ask only your unfettered fealty to this Order."

Beaming, the tenth fleet-general waits. Perhaps those who are vascillating can be persuaded...

Granger had bit her lip, but nonetheless used an ancient eagle feather quill, dipped it into an inkwell and signed the treaty as it reached her place along the table. With a series of flourishes, she signed and printed her name, title and job in block letters next to it. That done, she cleared the table and stood up.

"Perhaps it's time to move on to more concrete issues. What you may or may not know is, the Regime of Adejaani has had many years of experience dealing with, shall we say... Court politics? At the height of our sway, we held the Delegacy and thus unofficial stewardship of APTO, the Allied Powers Treaty Organisation.

"As the Delegate, we chaired the many conferences with varying degrees of success. It wasn't easy trying to bring peace and order, as the people in this room well know. But in the same room, we had delegates from nations like New Genoa; Imitora; Sambizie; Pantera; Elara; Crimmond; New Empire; and even the vaunted Automagfreek. And it was up to my people to try and get them to see peace and work together.

"Therefore, I volunteer my name to be considered for the Ethnarch position(s) of Foreign Relations and/or Mediation, as I have explained, experience with both fields. Thank you." She sat down.

'Women tend to get better responses, diplomatically, than men. This is not meant to be derogatory, Miss, it's just fact. I second the nomination.' said Rosiro, swiftly. Sweat began to bead and roll down the Overlord's forehead...it was getting so god damned hot.

Surprisingly, Granger smiled and levelled her gaze at Rosiro. "Normally, I'd be offended, but I believe you've proved my point, sir. I had once hoped for a romantic candlelit dinner where we might have enjoyed some fine wines and spoke eloquently of the finest poets of the galaxy.

"Instead here I am disappointed to see you are about as diplomatic and intelligent as the stuff I feed my pet fish in the morning." She raised her glass to toast him, covering up her smirk as she did so.

Nodding the Iraqstani delegate shows his thanks to Monhin with a simple bow of his head and picks up a pen and quickly yet carefully reads through the charter before signing the name of the ReichsFührer on it and his own name proving the authority of his position with the Reich.

"I think that perhaps after the meeting, certain parties could open discussions with Iraqstan regarding technology and the likes as it would be of great benefit to us to quickly advance the capabilities of the Iraqstani Reich, to match those of our comrades in all aspects of our diplomatic circles." He says quietly, his voice just being able to be heard by everyone. That and can you imagine the looks on our enemies faces when our space navy is no longer, a drifting hulk that is more a threat to ourselves than them. He adds to himself, a slight smile playing over his lips.

Monhin looks around once more, a jackal-like smile playing over his face.

"And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the first gathering of the members of Ordo Decemus is, I believe, concluded. Some time will be alloted to each member to appoint an appropriate ethnarch and equip him with appropriate forces." He pauses here, scanning the crowd before spotting Mrs. Granger. "Him or her."

"I believe you all have been privately briefed concerning the Order's intentions with the planet Gceilalok, to this end I expect work to begin as soon as possible.

"If that's all, then..." He pauses for a moment, and continues. "Until another day."

Jehanns Delanii was leaving the conference room, slave in-toe, when he noticed Xirrath and his guard. "His gaurd... no signs of life about him: no pulse, no body heat, nothing that would signify life!" Jehanns thought to himself, curiosity getting the better of him. "This warrants further investigation..."[i]

"Xirrath! I know this may seem odd but I would hope you would not mind answering a few questions I have for you." Jehanns exclaimed as he ran up to Xirrath.

Xirrath turned his head slightly towards Jehanns whilst continuing to walk out of the ship in those narrow, dark corridors. "... What would those be?"

Jehanns recomposed himself. "I have noticed that your guard... that scary fellow right there, has nigh no life signs. I wonder how this is possible."

Xirrath continued walking, showing no emotion. It isn't like it was the first time someone had noticed a Wight to be less than alive. "Through magic."

The power of curiosity again overcame him, Jehanns matching speed with Xirrath as he continued his questioning. "Oh, Magic? How does it work?"

"It is... Hard to explain. Any thorough explanation would take ages to finish. Magic simply [i]is and always has been. As for him," Xirrath quickly glanced at the Wight who was walking by his side, "He is a creature... From another plane of existence. He was brought here by us through the ways of magic."

"Amazing! Are many from the nation of Ermor like him?" Jehanns replied, barely managing to contain his excitement.

"... Yes," Xirrath replied, emotionlessly, still walking. Usually people did not show such an unhealthy amount of interest towards the Ashen Empire.

"Wow, that truly is fascinating." Jehanns recomposed himself before continuing. "What are these others like? If you do not mind my asking."

"Hmph." Xirrath was thinking what he could say without going too much into detail. He knew this road could potentially be a dangerous one. But if he didn't tell enough, the man would continue to pester him far longer. "Well... Some are like him. Some are mindless, as is the case with the Soulless, who are a lot like the zombies you hear so much about in fictional stories, and the Longdead..."

"Interesting..." An idea was forming within Jehanns' mind. "How many of these 'soulless' and 'Longdead' are there? And exactly what are they like?"

"... As I said, the Soulless are a lot like zombies, walking corpses in varying stages of decomposition. The Longdead are skeletons. As for numbers... There are quite a few of them. Why do you ask?"

Jehanns did his best to hide the smirk that appeared upon his face with the answer Xirrath had given him. "Before I answer that, would you mind telling me of their performance in combat?"

"Of the Soulless and the Longdead? Sub par.The Soulless are too stupid to hold weapons after some time, are sluggish and are easily destroyed... They must be controlled at all times or they shall wander off. The Longdead are brittle and sluggish, but are not affected by the passage of time like the Soulless, not to mention that they require less attention. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, Yes it does. Though-" Jehanns continued, "It only leads to more questions, such as: would these soulless particularly mind undergoing... experimentation? Medical or otherwise?" Jehanns stood his ground; he knew he had taken the conversation down a road which few ever traveled.

Xirrath slowed down a little. Maybe this man actually has a point after all. "Mind? They're mindless. Of course they wouldn't. But what would be, as they say, in it for us?"

"Let me get straight to the point, as obviously you are a busy man, and all this time basking in the radiation that is being given off by that neutron star outside is not good for either of us, I have a business proposition for you." Jehanns' took in a deep breath before he continued. "The Research and Development branch of the Ministry of Defense has many projects which had to be shelved, some permanently--because no living being could be expected to make it through the experiments." Jehanns stopped, allowing Xirrath to take in exactly where Jehanns was going.

Xirrath stopped walking for a moment, and then he continued. "Ah. And for that you would wish us to give you access to some of the Soulless, yes? As I said, they are next to useless at the moment for us, so I see no problem in what you are proposing."

"And I can grant you such access. Our... Leaders have given me the right to act on my own on certain matters... And I can always say that this is related to the Order, as it is."

"So you would be willing to give our scientists access to some of your soulless for use in these 'experiments' for free? Or do you desire compensation?"

"Of course, we would want any of the successful results made by your experiments if possible... The ability to recreate them would be greatly appreciated. The failures we are not interested in. The possibility to have more than the ones used in the experiments refitted by your people, for which we will pay in gold, would be appreciated."

"This is more than acceptable. The R and D branch will be most pleased with this news. I promise that Ermor will not be disappointed with what they get out of this little business venture of ours." Jehanns paused, pulling a pen from his right jacket pocket, "When can these soulless be delivered?"

"Whatever time works for you." Xirrath looked forward for a second. They were getting closer to the docking area.

"Very well. I will have the R and D department dispatch a message to you as soon as possible in regards to the time and place." Jehanns put his pen away. "I thank you for your time, until we meet again." Jehanns said as he began to make his way towards Corporate Marines that were waiting at the airlock adjacent to the one Xirrath was walking towards.

Torquemada would stand slowly, incline his head just ever so slightly in the barest gesture concievable -- and then he would vanish, taking with him his chair, and all other indication of his existence there -- one could go over the room with whatever one wished, and there would have been no evidence that there had ever been Sevle in it. No stray hairs, no skin particles, no nothing.

The Greatheart and its escorts would also seemingly dissappear into nothingness...
----
Onboard the Greatheart, Grand Battlecarrier of Warmaster Torquemada Illyrian of the Immortals Legion

Torquemada paced the length of his cavernous personal chambers -- the Greatheart preceeded his own appointment as Warmaster, and thus followed the traditional Sevle design -- which was drawn primarily from the concept of "Rank having its priviledges."

At any rate, he was thinking, and thinking...

"You really should stop doing that before you wear a rut in the floor..."

Torquemada barked a laugh...and kept pacing. The comment had come from the sleek, attractive female in the black and gold armor of the Immortals sprawled lazily in one of the chairs scattered about Torquemada's immense living room.

Then he stopped, turned, and slumped down along the large couch which creaked lightly as it took the weight of his not inconsiderable body and the armor he wore...

Then he smiled, rolled his eyes, and spoke...

"Pfah. I wouldn't be pacing if I wasn't half-way afraid that these crazies were going to go about getting us into some half-baked war within the next year. You know how those Solars are, and the extra-solars are even worse! Just because they can't beat you in twenty minutes or less, they start invoking strange deities, and invoking strange deities gives me headaches...

And Hell Take It, I don't like Headaches."

The corresponding giggle was quite genuine -- one didn't screw around in the presence of the most powerful Sevle ever to have drawn breath. Not even if one were had been in his close circle since the very beginning, not even if one had been in his bed more times than one could count...

Not even if one were the rightly feared "Lady of Blades," Talya Irdalin. Perhaps especially not if one were said individual. Because much of Talya's power came from her influence with the Mage-King, and that same closeness that allowed her to whisper a few choice words into his ear also made her a target for his -- thankfully rare, but quite, quite horrible to behold -- rages...

But he seemed pretty stable, and thus she slid lithely out of her chair and draped her armored body atop his with a clank. Then they both laughed.

Later

Torquemada finally allowed his eyes to close, and began to let the soft, rhythmic breathing of the warm body next to him lull him to sleep. Hopefully. Sleep often eluded him these days, the stress of his position was a weight that he always felt. The fact was, he didn't want to be Mage-King. He wasn't built to be Mage-King -- He didn't have the arrogance or the belief in his own divine right necessary for the position.

He had just beat the living crap out of everybody else before he realized that...

Such is life.

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