NationStates Jolt Archive

Down the long corridors of the Senate building, steps echoed. A few people talking quietly by the double doors looked up to see who was coming towards them and stared for a long moment at the smartly dressed man approaching, at first because of the burly bodygaurd that was three steps behind him, then because of who he bore a striking resemblance to. The man came to the doors and a guard blocked his path. "The Senate is in session. No one is permited entry without authorization." The Marine motioned to a electronic palm scanner. The man places his hand on it and a friendly voice gives the results. "Coleman, Kenneth II. Authorization Level: Royal Family."

Kenneth looked to the mildly suprised guard, who then stepped aside. "Welcome the the Imperial Senate, Mister Coleman." Kenneth nodded and pushed open the doors, as some Polish Kingdom Senator ranted about the fact that Poland was 'occupied' by the Empire.

"The Empire is Poland, Senator. You know that. The Crimm started as Polish people. We are Poland and Poland is us." Kenneth stepped to the lowest ring of seats, but not into the speaking forum, as that would be severly out of order and an insult to the Senate, unless he was recognized. "I am sorry to come in in the middle of your speech and disrupt your proceedings, but I have an announcement that must be heard."

He waited until he was recognized and stepped forward as the Polish Senator walked to his seat. "For those that do not know, I am Kenneth Coleman, son of the High Commander. Many of you are unfamiliar with me and the citizens of Crimmond barely know my name. I have stayed out of the spotlight for many years, for various reasons I won't say here. I have, however, been chosen to lead an important and public delegation to a foriegn land to set up embassies and establish a lasting raport. The United Tribes of the Charr, to be exact." A ripple of murmers went through the room. "I have been told to gather the best team I see fit. I would like to hear what proposals those of you would bring to the table, if you were running the nogotiations and what you said was as good as the words of my father in the nogotiations. Be honest, for misrepresenting yourself now will end you political career permanently."

He listened for a good hour. The range went from xenophobia, to open up the borders completely, with little middle ground. The whole place had become a madhouse of lunatics, making Kenneth wonder how these people were able to run the nation. Perhaps all the madness cancelled each other out... Looking quite annoyed, Kenneth cut off two bickering Senators, simply by standing up.

"I've made my decision." All eyes fell on him. "None of you are suited for the task. I'm going alone." And he turned and walked out, to the angry shouts and protests of the Senate, except for it's leader, Larea dinAthos. She was naturally bald and was still considered one of the more attractive women in the Empire, both physically and technologically, being able to link her mind to just about any compatible system(most of which were in the heart of Crimmond) through either a small wireless device or a hardlink. Because of the drastic nature of her alterations, she was one of the few to survive it.

His bodygaurd spoke softly to him as they made their way outside of the Senate building. "Sir, you had allready decided to go alone, before you came here, hadn't you?" Kenneth stopped and looked back at the guard, then smirked and kept walking.

He only got ten more feet before he was stopped by dinAthos. "Coleman, I must request that you bring a represenative of the Senate with you. It would not be proper to go alone."

He glanced back at her and nodded once. "Meet me at the Palace airstrip in two hours then." She blinked in suprise, making Kenneth sigh softly. "You were the only one that didn't voice some extremist view. You listened and waited, then struck when you had the advantage." She nodded and walked off.

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Kenneth Coleman II
Member of the Royal Family

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Larea dinAthos
Senate Leader/Head of Civilian Government

---

A transport plane leaves Imperial airspace two hours later, heading for the United Tribes. From midair, with the aid of a translation device, Kenneth sends a message that was short and simple:

The Intercontinental Empire of Crimmond wishes to open negotiations for embassies and free trade between our peoples. There will be a delegation of four arriving in your lands within six hours, should you accept.

The other two being bodygaurds, of course.

Larea was looking out the window of the plane, down at the water below. "There's a Supremacy." She pointed and, sure enough, a large Supremacy class submarine was making it's way into port.

Kenneth hmmed. "I wonder if the Charr would like one. That I'd have to clear with my father, I'm sure." Larea just stared at him. "Fine... I won't sell them any attack submarines." She smiled, until he continued. "This trip. Hey, where are you gong?" he called after her as she walked of towards the cabins, shaking her head.

...and the gate came down with a crash as the gigantic Bone Dragon smashed its considerable weight against the thick metal fortification for the final time. A bellowing roar sounded, a battlecry as we flooded through the devastated gates brandishing our massive blades. The weak pinkskin force charged on our horde as they pointlessly defended the homeland they had built atop of the corpses of our honoured ancestors. The sound of footsteps was deafening as a thousand Charr sprinted into Ascalonian territory, towards their capital, and towards freedom.

And the two sides clashed. Frail pinkskins were thrown into the air as our powerful heroes collided with their oppressors. Blood was spilled as dozens upon dozens of the weaklings were disemboweled by skilled Charr blade warriors. Limbs were severed. Heads rolled. The squishy innards of the hairless ones gushed across the dirt floor as victorious Charr sliced through their petty defences. The first time, the pinkskins had used potent metalwork and tactics to gain an advantage over the ancient Charr. They had this advantage, no longer, and their frail, hairless bodies were no match for our strength.

Teerf Burntfur, our great leader, Uniter of the Clans, Destroyer of Demons, the greatest warrior that ever served the Gods of Fire, stood atop a pile of the dead hairless ones. His exquisite fur was drenched in the blood of his enemies, and he raised a firestick into the air and let a roar emerge from his awesome jaw, a roar that inspired fear in his enemies and pride in his warriors. The power of the Fiery Ones was surely within him. The battle was won, but our war had only just commenced. Additional pinkskins came forth in the distance, and...

"Sire..." a gruff Charrian voice interrupted Bonfaaz Burntfur's reading. Within Burntfur's claws was an ancient-looking leather bound book, tattered by the ages, with ancient Charrian writing emblazoned in gold on the front cover identifying it as a first-hand account of the Great Tyrian War. It was slightly biased, being as it was written by a participant in the battles, but nevertheless quite interesting. It had taken him many months to procure a copy, only to be interrupted by a subordinate as he started to get to the good parts...

"What?" Burntfur roared at him with irritation in his tone. "Can you not see I am busy?"

"Humble apologies," the Charr growled, almost sarcastically. "I come to you at the behest of your fellow Clan Leaders, who request the honour of your presence."

"For what purpose?" Burntfur snarled questioningly as he put the book carefully down on his rustic desk.

"They did not see fit to inform me," the Charr said.

Burntfur squinted his eyes at the Charr for a moment, gazing at him across the splintered-wood office, which was illuminated only by the moonlight from the windows and the flaming torches on the walls. His desk sat beside half a dozen bookcases, all filled with similarly-old leather-bound books of a variety of subjects. In contrast to the primitive appearance of the office a flatscreen panel was fixed to the corner of the desk, somehow blending in with the rest of the decor.

"Very well then," Burntfur said, waving his clawed hand in dismissal. The subordinate grunted and proceeded to remove his bulky body from the office, flicking his tail angrily. Burntfur sighed and slipped the old book carefully into a drawer, and rose to his feet.



The council chamber was usually empty at this time of night. A large, circular room constructed from the same rustic, splintered wood as Burntfur's office, there were no windows here and the only light came from flickering torches fixed to the walls. The room was quite large, with benches around the walls for potential audiences, and in the middle was a simple wooden table surrounded by seven Charr-sized seats. Another seat, much smaller, had been slotted in afterwards, apparently built to seat a human. At first glance, the round table seemed to be primitive, though at each place a small computer monitor was embedded into the wood. The Charr loved things to be traditional, but they certainly weren't without modern technology.

Several powerful and influential Charr sat at the desk already. Klarr Viletooth sat in his place, the most energetic. He was in control of the second-largest clan in the land, and was quite large himself, and yet he seemed almost drunk. He was wide awake all the time, no matter what was going on, and was quite rowdy for a politician. His jet-black fur was quite distinctive, and his yellow eyes seemed to glow in comparison.

Next to him was Drub Gorefang, who was easily recognisable by his bright red fur coat. His horns and spikes were slightly smaller than most Charr, though this was because he came from a slightly different sub-species of Charr that lived in the South of Tyria. This particular variety of Charr was renowned for having a short temper and a lack of patience, which made it somewhat lucky that they were smaller than most.

On the opposite side of the table, was Blade Bloodbane. He was a warrior first and a politician second, as his name seemed to indicate. He insisted on wearing an ancient set of gold-coloured ceremonial armour whenever he entered the capitol, which obscured much of his light-brown fur. He responded poorly to politicians, instead having respect only for fellow warriors. Fortunately several of the Clan Leaders had served in combat at some point in their lives, making them somewhat less susceptible to his casual disregard for everybody else.

In the smaller seat sat a human, in formal garb. He had short hair, and was quite heavily-built, though not quite enough to be of any threat to a Charr. His brown eyes were quite small, but they retained a stern look. This human was called Hollis Ryatt, and he was Clan Leader of the newly-formed Ascalonian Clan. Humans had repeatedly demanded national representation and officially recognised territory within Tyria ever since the Human Equality Act had come into effect, and had only recently been given a section of the Ascalonian Wastelands to claim as their own along with a seat on the Council of Clans. Despite intense pressure from his own people and the Charr he worked with, Ryatt was intent on making sure he got what his people needed. Having stood up to the Charr on numerous occasions, despite his comparatively diminutive size, his peers now regarded him as courageous and had some degree of respect for him. This made his job slightly easier at any rate.

The other seats were empty, and the seat of Reekfar Torus was always vacant since his death. The Council had not planned on being in session for a few days yet, and several of the Clan Leaders had returned to their territory for the duration.

Bonfaaz Burntfur pushed the double-doors open and stomped down the wooden steps into the centre of the room. The Clan Leaders turned to look at him, as though they had been waiting for him for hours. He glared at them, quite angry.

"I presume there is a good reason for this?" Burntfur snapped, pulling his own seat out and roughly dropping himself into it.

"As always Bonfaaz, it is a pleasure to hear your wit," Viletooth snarled at him mockingly. "But you are correct. There is a good reason for this meeting. Two twelfths and a quarter ago, we -- and by we, I mean brainys -- received a message, from the outside."

"That is not unusual anymore," Burntfur shrugged. "Our borders are still only open to authorised visitors, but we receive communications all the time now. We are no longer isolated."

"Yes, but this was from someone I believe you may be interested in," Viletooth said, retracting his lips into what could only be a Charr attempt at a grin. He pressed against the screen on the table in front of him, and a sound began to play from hidden speakers somewhere in the room. The Charr could not comprehend the meaning, though the human Clan Leader had been studying the outsider language known as 'English', and listened intently. The sound finished, and they all glared at the man.

"What did it say?" Burntfur demanded.

"I believe it said..." the human cleared his throat, and tried to approximate the message in human Tyrian. "The Intercontinental Empire of Crimmond wishes to open negotiations for embassies and free trade between our peoples. There will be a delegation of four arriving in your lands within six hours, should you accept."

"Six hours?" Gorefang snapped.

"Roughly three twelfths, I believe," Ryatt stated calmly.

"We have not heard of Crimmond for a long time," Buntfur pondered. "This is a very sudden visitation."

"They were a strange lot, as I recall," Viletooth said, chuckling slightly. "Those creatures they travelled with. And that Fisk character was... curious, for a pinkski..." He stopped mid-sentence and glanced at Ryatt, who scowled at him angrily. "Sorry, I mean, a human."

"Indeed," Burntfur nodded. "I wonder what they want. Well, I shall send the message to grant their request. I think we shall allow them to land here in Lion's Arch this time. There is no need to hide them in the Crystal Desert anymore I think... we shall meet up here in two twelfths."

The Clan Leaders nodded in agreement and stood up to go their seperate ways.




To: Incoming Crimmond Aircraft
From: The United Clans of the Charr

We have not heard from you in a long while, and I will be interested to meet with you once more. Our nation remains neutral in all global happenings, so it will be a rare honour to welcome guests to Tyria.

Your craft will be permitted landing within Lion's Arch city, at attached coordinates. From there you will be escorted to the Council Chambers to meet with us. The other Clan Leaders and I look forward to welcoming you to our home, and I shall wait with keen interest to hear the purpose of your sudden visit.

May the Gods of Fire give you strength.

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Clan Leader Bonfaaz Burntfur

The aircraft landed and stopped at a secluded area, as directed by the control tower. As the jet rolled to a stop, the doorway opened and a well armed Civil stepped out, with an equally well armed human behind him.

Then came the two represenatives, first Coleman and then dinAthos. Kenneth and Larea got into the vehicle provided, after the Imperial Commando. The Civil, however, stared into the eyes of one of the meaner looking Charr for a long moment and then follows suit.

---

The two enter the Council Chambers, followed by the bodyguards and both bow respectivly. Coleman lifts up his translation device, but before he can speak, Larea speaks in the Charr's language, though it is oddly accented and is pronounced wrong in a couple places. "We are honored to be among you, Warriors of the United Tribes." Coleman blinks at her and the bald woman smiles softly and lifts her own translator. "I'm afraid that is all of your language I know. And I hope I did not insult any of your mothers by accident."

Kenneth shakes his head and speaks into his translator. "I am Kenneth Coleman, of the Imperial Family and this is Larea dinAthos, leader of the Imperial Senate." He looks over the Charr for a short moment. "I realize that we seem to be a rather.... impulsive people when it comes to diplomacy. That is because we do not have many diplomats. We normally dictate terms to other nations and speak face to face with our allies. We tend to be rather blunt, as a result."

As the plane landed and its occupants emerged, the airfield was initially an empty, desolate place. The whistling wind pelted the exposed arena, blowing dead foliage around and stirring tiny pebbles from their resting places in the cracks of the concrete. In the distance, even over the sounds of the large Charrian automobiles that rumbled around the surrounding city, could be heard the terrifying roars and howls of the nearby Maguuma Jungle, one of the largest jungles known to exist in this part of the world, and certainly one of the most dangerous.

Unusually no other planes could be seen, which was unusual given that this seemed to be a fairly large international airport. A few dormant vehicles, such as mobile stairways and luggage carriers, were parked near the main terminal in the distance, though none of them had any drivers. Presumably traffic had been redirected to another airport for the occasion, though it seemed like a tough job to manage so efficiently on such short notice.

When it seemed as though no-one would show up, the silence was broken by a rhythmic thumping sound. The thumping sound grew louder, and even begun to reverberate through the concrete to the point where the pebbles on the ground shook slightly. Emerging from behind the terminal, they could finally be seen.

Five Black Guardians, marching in unison towards the visiting party. Their jet-black armour obscured their bulky bodies, and seemed to lend weight to their powerful footsteps. Even their large horns were covered by the armour, which lent them a particularly demonic appearance, as if they needed any help. Secrecy was the name of the game for these guys, and even government officials had never seen their faces nor heard their names. They came to a halt just ahead of the visitors, allowing their enormous assault rifles to drop down from their broad shoulders and into a more comfortable position, resting in their clawed hands.

Charrian translation technologies had apparently advanced considerably since their previous visit, and the cumbersome necklaces they once wore were now built-in to their chunky helmets, instantly translating their incomprehensible growls and snorts into whatever language was needed.

"You are Crimmonds," one of the Guardians said, without inflection, after regarding the Civil indifferently through his visor. "You are honoured guests here."

"Honour of grooowls, snort snort, amongst roaaaar," said the bald one, attempting to replicate a language that didn't lend itself to the vocal cords of a human. The Guardians quietly glanced at each other momentarily, then looked back at the bald one. Humans were ordinarily called 'baldies' as a common Charrian racial slur, but in this case they desperately held their tongues.

"I'm afraid that is all of your language I know. And I hope I did not insult any of your mothers by accident," the bald one spoke again.

"Indeed," one of the Guardians said, unsure of how else to respond.

"I am Kenneth Coleman, of the Imperial Family and this is Larea dinAthos, leader of the Imperial Senate." said the male human, who then paused and looked at the Charr. "I realize that we seem to be a rather.... impulsive people when it comes to diplomacy. That is because we do not have many diplomats. We normally dictate terms to other nations and speak face to face with our allies. We tend to be rather blunt, as a result."

"Indeed," the Guardian repeated once more, wondering whether the human was trying to challenge him with his unsatisfactory stare. "Our great Clan Leader Burntfur was not prepared for this unexpected visitation. Nevertheless he will speak with you. Follow us."

The Guardian nodded to the others, who all seemed to share equal rank (not that they wore any discernible insignia), who nodded in return. With a gesture, they turned and began their thundering march back across the airport, leading their guests to a pair of enormous military vehicles. Clearly built to accommodate the rather large frame of a Charr, the vehicles were veritable limos by human standards. The doors slid open rather than using a hinge, and the Charr allowed their guests to enter first.

OOC: Sorry about the delay, I've been busy both at work and at home. I did say I might be a bit slow in responding to posts ;).

Kenneth eyed Larea three rest of the trip on and off, for a different reason than he might have otherwise. He had brought her along for three reasons: To shut her up about this diplomatic trip, to have something pretty to look at in the talks with the Charr and because she was damned good at what she did, being the former foreign minister.

Larea, on the other hand, was looking out the window, watching the landscape roll by. "More humans than I expected, but not much more." She said when they entered a populated area(if they did).

The two bodygaurds did what bodygaurds did best, look like they were angry at the world and would seriously injure anything that crossed them. The Charr were eyed suspiciously, though the human seemed more aggresive in his body language than the Civil. The Civil understood that you push so far, but no farther, with large predators. An understanding that comes from being a large predator yourself. The human was intimidated and was, without knowing it, trying to act meaner than he was. The Civil nudged him and spoke quietly in the Civil language, which was little more than grunts and teeth clicks. The human relaxed, after a moment and didn't look the Charr in the face too often after that.

The two large vehicles rumbled off the airport and down a steep ramp onto what seemed to be a motorway, with lanes wide enough to accommodate the large vehicles they all seemed to drive around here. The vehicles accelerated with their muscular engines and joined the traffic at high speed, gunning their engines aggressively as they passed a large truck. One of the Black Guardians leaned out of the window and roared some abuse at the truck driver, who would ordinarily roar right back at him, though in this instance the Charrian driver seemed to almost submit to the abuse. Something to do with their armour no doubt.

The other vehicles on the road were all large, with none smaller than a Humvee. The amount of petroleum they got through must have been immense, though the sizes of their vehicles were quite necessary. Unsurprisingly there were none of foreign manufacture, and all had distinctive Charr pictographs labelling their brands.

The two vehicles pulled off the motorway a few junctions down, and began navigating some (comparatively) narrow streets through a less than wholesome neighbourhood. Charr police officers patrolled the streets on foot around here, remarkably carrying unusual curved blade weapons instead of firearms or non-lethal weapons. Regardless they seemed to keep order, with no apparent signs of crime despite the run-down nature of the place. This was primarily a human neighbourhood, a fairly recent phenomenon within Tyrian cities. Still suffering from privatised discrimination, very few humans achieved much in terms of a career, and a significant lack of any sort of welfare system in the country saw them kept at a poor level. Still, it was progress at least.

"More humans than I expected, but not much more," remarked the baldest one, as they passed through the area and into more prosperous, Charr-dominated areas.

"The ba-," one of the Guardians began, abruptly changing his wording. "The humans tend to group together into communities. There are but a few million of them in Tyria, but by grouping together in this fashion they give the illusion of greater numbers."

The vehicles entered a more commercialised district, though even here the high-tech skyscrapers 'looked' old fashioned, with wooden fascias covering up the concrete and steel construction. Charr were clearly in the majority in this area, with occasional humans appearing out of buildings and bowing their heads as they passed Charr and each other. Unusually there did not appear to be any female Charr anywhere to be seen, if of course they could be distinguished at all.

They kept going and left the commercial district, passing through some rather deep foliage as they circled near the City Limits. In the distance, the near-constant sound of machine gun fire could be heard, and briefly seen when they passed by a guard tower, as Charr soldiers held the aggressive wildlife of the nearby jungle at bay. Enormous Devourers seemed to attack the city every night during the summer, desperate to feed on the large population centre. Some burst from beneath the soft ground directly in front of the walls and the towers, unable to burrow beneath the large concrete fortifications that surrounded the city. Others emerged from the jungle, hissing as they sprinted on their six legs to meet the Charr soldiers. Some of the soldiers stood on the ground, fighting the Devourers with blades if only to save ammunition (though, mostly for the thrill of it). Others stood on the walls and inside the guard towers, their bulky assault rifles sending down hails of high-calibre bullets that tore through the exoskeletons of the insects and spread their yellow innards across the ground. Clearing away the piles of Devourer corpses each morning was an industry in itself, and a few Charr corpses were strewn across the never-ending battlefield as well. The poison on the Devourers' twin tails was instantly deadly, even to a Charr, and they weren't afraid of using it.

Fortunately the soldiers did a fine job, and none of the Devourers bothered them. The vehicles disappeared into foliage once again and after quite a long drive emerged near the United Clans capitol building, leaving the rough, pothole-riddled tarmac and using the dirt road that lead to the main entrance. The engines gunned one last time as they came to a halt before cutting out, and the Guardians exited the vehicles and slid open the doors for their guests.

"Crimmonds, we have arrived," the 'leader' Guardian said, gesturing for their guests to follow him. Their feet thumped against the soft ground as they head towards the large stone building, which looked just as rustic as everything else in the country. Two guards in ceremonial golden armour stood on either side of the door, using sophisticated electronic ID cards to unlock the doors for them. One of the Guardians reached out and threw open the bulky wooden doors, stepped inside the building.

They were met with a large lobby area, with a glass dome high above them. The floors in here were smooth marble, with large pillars running down the sides of the room to support the high roof. The clanging of the Guardians' armoured feet echoed around the room, as did even the slightest sound anybody made. On the far side of the lobby, an enormous burning sculpture stood, blazing away. It was the same hideous, terrifying statue as had been seen on their last visit in the bunker, only on a much larger scale. Several Charr knelt before it silently, unmoving. The Guardians looked towards it and bowed their heads briefly, before gesturing towards a door towards the right.

"This way," he grumbled, pushing open the doors. They left the lobby area, and passed through a much less impressive, wood-lined corridor. Paintings of various distinctive Charr lined the walls, some clearly very old. Some of the Charr in the paintings stood in victorious poses at the sites of ancient battles, such as one of a Charr who stood with one of his feet perched on top of a pile of human corpses, his blade raised in the air. Others, particularly the more modern ones, were simple portraits. In the distance, several large suits of ancient armour stood on display, though they turned out of the corridor before reaching them.

Two more large wooden doors finally saw them enter the circular council chambers, with various lofty Charr and a single human sitting at a round table, waiting. The flickering torch light cast unusual shadows over them, though in contrast several of them had bright light cast on their faces as they looked down at the computer monitors embedded in the table. They all looked around at the entrance to the large room as the Black Guardians entered the room, followed by their guests.

The 'leader' of the soldiers walked towards the group, speaking to them in Charrian with his translator offline. They listened to the respected warrior as though he were above even them, and nodded when he was finished. The lone human said something in a completely different, more eloquent language they had never heard before, to which the Black Guardian snorted defiantly before ranting on about something else. Finally Bonfaaz Burntfur rose from his chair and said something to the Black Guardian in his bellowing voice, who nodded reluctantly and turned towards the Crimmond visitors finally.

"You may enter," the Black Guardian said. He nodded to the other Guardians, and they all filed out of the room and closed the doors behind them. Burntfur gestured to the visitors to sit down in the spare seats, though one of the Charr put his clawed hand on one of them preventing any from taking it, snarling aggressively at any who so much as thought of it. The seat of Reekfar Torus, no doubt.

"I am Clan Leader Bonfaaz Burntfur," Burntfur growled through a hidden translator, clasping his clawed fist and thumping it across his muscular chest in salute. "These are Clan Leaders Klarr Viletooth, Drub Gorefang, Blade Bloodbane, and Hollis Ryatt." Each of them performed a similar salute as their names were mentioned (reluctantly in some cases), aside from the human Ryatt, who simply waved and bowed his head.

"Welcome to Tyria, and our capital city," Burntfur continued. "Though unannounced, your visit is certainly not unwelcome." He scowled at one of the Charr briefly as he coughed, and then continued. "What is it exactly that you want to discuss here?"

Once inside the room, Coleman spoke first(if nothing else than to keep Larea from butchering the native tongue again). "I scanned the record of the last visit... The view is certainly much better than that scorched desert. I am Kenneth Coleman II, heir to the throne of Crimmond and this is Larea dinAthos, Leader of the Imperial Senate." Behind him, the Civil bowed his head in respect to the Charr leaders.

Coleman didn't notice and continued. "There is much that can be gained for your people, both Charr and human, through a full trade relationship with the Empire and Gholgoth... though you are a full member, you are still isolated for the most part. What I mean to propose is an exchange of embassies, so that ambassadors from both nations can be stationed in, at least, our two lands.

"This would make setting up a permanent trade agreement easier and would allow shipments of military equipment to be easily sent to your nation, for whatever use you wish... most likely to take it apart and see how it works, considering no Charr would find them comfortable to ride in."

Finally Larea speaks up, thankfully using her translator. "Also, no matter what, these embassies would not interfere with any of your societies and customs. While most Imperials are staunch atheists, we're also smart enough to know not to pick fights about religion. Especially with someone bigger and meaner than us." That all should have gone without saying, but diplomacy meant that obvious things had to be voiced to ensure they were obvious. "The same would go for your embassy in Crimmond. You would be allowed to run it as you would a government office in your own lands, so long as your people obey our laws when outside the gates. I doubt that will be a problem though."

"That 'scorched desert' is a holy place!" Gorefang snarled, clenching his clawed hands into fists.

Burntfur leaned forward in his chair, the wooden joints creaking under his shifting weight, and held up his hand dismissively. He glanced at Gorefang aggressively, as this was neither the time nor the place for a theological debate. Gorefang was about to protest once more, but instead he simply slumped back into his chair and remained silent. Burntfur looked back at the Crimmond baldies again.

"We would have no issue with an exchange of embassies," he said. "If nothing more, it would make such unexpected visits less frequent. So long as your people respect our ways, our men would do likewise.

"Trade agreements are not necessary however, unless you yourselves have some kind of protectionist policies in operation," he continued. "Although we are politically isolated for the most part, we do maintain a policy of free trade in most respects. It is just that, few outsiders have been able or willing to establish themselves in our markets. Their clothes are too small and undesirable, their vehicles are too small and underpowered, their entertainment is of no interest or appeal, their food is unpalatable, their drink is too weak, their technology is incompatible... and you get the idea. It is more profitable for Charrian companies to adapt to do business on the outside, than it is for outsiders to adapt to do business with us, and our small human population does not sway them. That is their loss and our gain, though.

"And thank you for the offer, but our military equipment has advanced considerably since the end to our total isolation, and satisfies our needs well. Unless your manufacturing companies wish to bid for custom construction contracts with the armies, of course, which we welcome. They would have to wait for our present contracts to expire though."

The two look at each other for a second and Coleman looked at Gorefang. "We meant no disrespect... but we come from a continent where there is nothing even remotely like that place."

He then looked at Larea, who answered the rest of the issues. "We have a policy of open trade within Gholgoth. Outside of that is a case by case basis. This is to insure that our resources are not depleted by a nation that will use them to wage war on us later on.

"As for business ventures, the Crimm are a very resourceful people... if our traditional drinks are not up to your standards, we can always ship in Crimm produced Elarian Ale. It's the strongest legal drink in the galaxy, they say. We... aquired the recipe before the Elarian Empire went into seclusion and now produce our own for internal distribution. Clothing is easy to adapt to as well, if you have the right designers. I do doubt that we can prvide you vehicles, though we can sell to the Baldies." She lats a very small smirk show while saying the last word. Just to look at their faces.

Beside her, Coleman sighed softly. I should have come alone... he thought to himself.

The two look at each other for a second and Coleman looked at Gorefang. "We meant no disrespect... but we come from a continent where there is nothing even remotely like that place."

He then looked at Larea, who answered the rest of the issues. "We have a policy of open trade within Gholgoth. Outside of that is a case by case basis. This is to insure that our resources are not depleted by a nation that will use them to wage war on us later on.

"As for business ventures, the Crimm are a very resourceful people... if our traditional drinks are not up to your standards, we can always ship in Crimm produced Elarian Ale. It's the strongest legal drink in the galaxy, they say. We... aquired the recipe before the Elarian Empire went into seclusion and now produce our own for internal distribution. Clothing is easy to adapt to as well, if you have the right designers. I do doubt that we can prvide you vehicles, though we can sell to the Baldies." She lats a very small smirk show while saying the last word. Just to look at their faces.

Beside her, Coleman sighed softly. I should have come alone... he thought to himself.

"Harharharhaaaar!" Klarr Viletooth roared, giving the baldest one of them all a light (for a Charr at any rate) jovial slap on the back with his emormous clawed hand. "I like this one! Someone get her an ale!"

"Gah, that is all you do - drink!" Gorefang snarled at him.

"That is not true!" Viletooth growled in response, before letting out a grin. "I eat as well!"

"Yes, you do - like a Devourer!" Gorefang said, ruffling his red fur. "You never stop! You..."

"You are both as bad as each other," Ryatt butted in. He didn't use a translator, but instead had learned to speak English, albeit with a heavy accent. "Be quiet and get back to the business at hand!"

"Later!" Burntfur snapped at all three of them. Viletooth was about to say something else, but a stern look from Burntfur saw him slump back into his chair instead.

"Now, where were we?" Burntfur said. "Yes, trade. Companies from Crimmond - and indeed, Gholgoth - are more than welcome to try to establish themselves in Tyria with whatever legal merchandise they see fit. Whether they succeed or not is immaterial for the time being, we shall put up no barriers either way."

"Just be sure to remind them," Bloodbane spoke up for the first time, leaning forward in his unnecessary bulky golden armour. "Charr take business just as seriously as battle and the Gods. They will not respond well to deception, cheating or dishonourable tactics."

"Which reminds me," Burntfur said. "We have very few laws regarding business practices, as we respect the honour of our businessmen. Their respect for honesty, fairness and the sacred natural environment has never given us cause to devise pointless written laws. We would appreciate it if foreign businesses did not force us to change that stance. I do so hate making laws about things..."

Larea winced at the slap, but refrained from rubbing her shoulder. "Thank you, oh fuzzy one. I'll have the drink later." Smirks the same way as before, as Coleman spoke.

"Larea, behave... we're not here for your amusement." He looked over the Charr(and human). "Our laws are clear on what our merchants can and cannot do when in another country. The foremose being that if they break any law in the nation or they are unethical, we will not come to their rescue and bail them out of trouble. That includes laws where the punishment is death. It's a very effective way to keep them in line. Only took three fools dying to get the rest to stay in line, for the most part."

Larea spoke up then. "The corporations are under different rules though. For every proven unethical or illegal act, they are fined. Heavily. And the individual merchants are left to the local justice system. It has been critisized as cruel... but it works."

She pauses for a moment, then goes onto a different subject. "Shifting to a new subject for a moment... are your religious beliefs in conflict with electronic or mechanical alteration of the Charr or human body when it is not absolutly needed to sustain one's life? Such as... altering yourself to be able to plug directly into a computer?"

Coleman just gives her a wary look and sits back. He didn't like where this was going.

"Yes," Gorefang said with a noticeably deeper snarl than usual, as he narrowed his yellow eyes and leaned forward across the table. "They are."

"Hah! You are just afraid of doctors!" Viletooth bellowed in his usual joking manner. "You can't take a knife anywhere near him without him trembling!"

"Indeed?" Gorefang growled, pulling out a vicious-looking serrated blade that looked to be longer than a typical human arm. "Perhaps if you would like to step outside you can test my courage? My... opposition to doctors is irrelevant. The Gods of Fire forged the Charrian body with their own blazing flames. To even think of plugging bits of machinery into them, whether life saving or otherwise, is heresy of the highest order! And under different circumstances my response to the very suggestion would not be so... 'civil'."

"Perhaps not so afraid of knives as I thought, eh?" Viletooth said, pulling his lips up in what seemingly equated to a grin. "Let me guess which side you are on in the life support debate..."

"If you engage in battle, you should be prepared for the consequences," Gorefang said plainly.

"And I suppose that cancer and brain rot are also consequences of battle, hmm?" Viletooth sneered.

"Life is a battle," Gorefang told him. "One that all of us will ultimately lose. We are not capable of winning this battle no matter what we do, and that is not what is important. It is how we fight that battle that matters - with honour, or without honour. Desecrating the greatest creation of the Gods most certainly falls into the latter category. If you cannot use that which has been given to you by the Gods themselves to fight your battles, then you are not worthy of victory at all!"

"In all honesty I agree with you, my bright red friend," Viletooth said, grinning again. "I just like to rub your fur the wrong way!"

"One of these days your blood will stain these floors - and on that day, I shall laugh so loud that the Gods will hear of your coming!" Gorefang snarled with frustration, much to the amusement of Viletooth.

"Not today though," Burntfur sighed, turning the discussion back towards the Crimmond delegation - for now at least. "As you can see, it will require some further... debate. With the Flamekeepers themselves, preferably."

"No debate!" Gorefang snapped. "And the Flamekeepers will say only what I have said here - and they will use swords to drive the point home!"

"Did you just use a pun, Drub?" Viletooth asked, receiving only a scowl in response.

Coleman sends a very small look to the Civil standing behind and to the right of him. A second later, a long throwing knife embedded itself to the hilt in the wood of Gorefang's chair, mere inches away from his flesh, with a resounding(and satisfying) thwump. The Civil lowered his arm and returned to standing motionless. "Gentleman... may I remind you that I am not here to watch you bicker amongst yourselves? That and miss the fact that Larea asked that question for a reason?" Coleman says, leaning back in his own chair.

"She is augmented with cybernetics and artifical organs." He nods at her and she pulls down the collar of her jumpsuit a couple inches, revealing a data port. "Her baldness is not natural, but a side effect of the augmentation. She was the third person to undergo such transformations, along with fourteen others. These first generation Delta Class Humans are all bald, though that was rectified in later augmentations." He nods again and she straightens the garment.

Larea opened her mouth, but took a second to form the proper words. "There is a stigma attached to such things, even in our own Empire. Though we have no official religions, changing what is natural is generally frowned upon, unless there is no other alternative." A pause. "The Civils were another controversy. There are no females of Krill's species, as they were all created in vast breeding facilities by scientists." The Civil grunted, obvious acknowledging that he was Krill.