NationStates Jolt Archive

Lorelei
Duchy of Zoria
Venus

The newly built districts of Lorelei were pretty much similar to the previous ones: giant cylinders within the surface of the planet, with impressive parks in the centre and residential and other quarters on the perimeter. The various cylinders were connected with each other through tunnels to allow for transportation. Each was covered with both a dome and a retractable armoured plate that could withstand quite a hit if somebody decided to play some orbital bombardment. Not that the TSF would ever allow that, but better be on the safe side.

There was quite a crowd assembled in one of the cylinders, with quite an impressive police presence. An attentive eye could spot some black and silver clad soldiers with sniper rifles over at the higher levels. Their faces could not be seen behind their full helmets, but one could surely recognize them as pertaining to the “Swans” Company, the personal guard unit of Archduchess Vethara, dressed into their service outfit. There were some other men dressed in the same manner, albeit unarmed and standing in the shadows, seemingly keeping to themselves.

On the ground, Swans Guards in their dress uniform (with black cloaks embroidered with silver swans, cuirasses and finely crafted helmets) were escorting a joyful young woman in a snow white dress. The woman was accompanied by a young girl, fourteen years of age.

It was quite clear that the woman came to see the people that have recently arrived to Lorelei from the endangered Fiefdom of Stribog, in the vicinity of which some crazy nation unleashed yet an other doomsday weapon, provoking the evacuation of the remaining third of the Fiefdom’s population, namely to Zoria. The Archduchess was there to reassure the people, to talk to them. And, despite what could appear as an impressive security detail of Swans Guards a bit everywhere and police on the stand by, it was nothing compared to the usual security detail. The Archduchess felt close to her people and did not expect any harm to come to her.

Unfortunately, there were people who wanted to harm her. Not because they hated her. Not because they found her to be a menace. But because she was a perfect tool in an upcoming power struggle in the highest ranks of the Taraskovyan society. And these people were powerful, very powerful, with access to the latest technology discovered during the Time of Troubles. Despite the security scans, despite the presence of psychics next to the snipers (yes, it were them keeping to themselves, since they were busily scanning the crowd), those hidden in mystery knew their way around.

And then, in a single second, the joyful picture changed. It was surreal. It was unbelievable. Several men in the crowd made their way to the vicinity of the Archduchess. Several telepaths on the heights sensed something and immediately informed their respective snipers. These latter immediately followed the instructions and took aim at the men that were coming towards the Grand Duchess from several directions, making their way through the crowd. Something was strange about them. Nobody could tell what. And then one of them kicked a woman out of his way. The telepath remained confused as suddenly his mind became filled with doubt. But then it hit him like a maglev train launched at full speed: the strange men were equipped with special devices, which incapacitated to a degree telepathic scanning.

It was military technology.

It was highly confidential technology.

Nobody undertook full weapons scan on the crowd using machinery.

Inhibitors prevented a successful telepathic scan for weapons.

“Shoot them dead! SHOOT THEM DEAD!”

The sniper followed the voice in his head and squeezed the trigger, releasing a bullet which hit the man straight into the head, sending splatters of blood, brain and bone all around. A second assassin fell to the ground, the upper right part of his body permanently detached from the rest. But another one had the time to draw his weapon in an evasive move, falling on the ground into the crowd, out of the sight of the snipers. One of the Swan Guards on the ground opened fire at the same time as the assassin. The woman dodged to the girl in a shielding move as two guards launched to shield the Archduchess with their bodies. The bursts resonated simultaneously…

And then there was anarchy. Swan Guards grouped in the center and began hastily retreating, shielding somebody in between them. Two guards were dragging a seemingly unanimated body of a comrade as two others were doing the same with an unconscious and generously bleeding assassin. And as they went, a trail of blood followed them. The crowd erupted into panic and began to quickly disperse, aided by the police that moved in and prevent a disorganized stampede. Snipers on the perimeter were busy watching over the dispersing crowd as the telepaths scanned franticly to detect any sign of threat. Other Swan Guards were making their way to the remains of the two other assassins, apparently in a quest to recover something.

The Grand Duchy and its Dominions, Colonies and Protectorates… the entire Taraskovyan Empire in Denial by now switched to the channel which was broadcasting the events live from Lorelei. In the middle of the night in the Metropoly, despite war tensions on Mars, disrupting the calm daily reports on Lagoon...

Back in the Winter Palace in Vigvar the Grand Duke’s eyes were glowing with an icy fire as they fixed a screen broadcasting the events. The same cold, icy fire which was devoid of mercy and was synonymous of great anger. Those who dared raise a hand at his sister would pay dearly, with infinite interests… several times over.

The planetoid Inertius Prime didn’t really have a name. Oh, its name, as suggested, was Inertius Prime, but it had a mind, it was a person, and it didn’t really have a name as such. It was probably the most knowledgeable entity in the galaxy, being as it was, a hub for intelligence gathering. It watched every ‘television’ station, be it two, three or four dimensional. It listened to every radio transmission. It viewed every ‘website’ too, systematically accessing every publicly available address and reading or watching the contents therein. It monitored the transmissions of billions upon billions of Cultural Survey Drones.

Needless to say it was a large entity, hence why it could justifiably be called the planetoid, despite the airless planetoid being larger than the moon. It could sometimes even manage to decrypt non-aligned codes. The others generally called it ‘the Voyeur’ because of this. It didn’t much mind, itself, it saw little importance in identifying itself, instead, it defined its identity as secondary importance to knowing. It was grown to love hoarding and knowing.

Not that all this was necessary this time, for the information was splashed over every news station in Taraskovyan Empire and far beyond. It viewed, waited for a few confirmations, and then signalled to Duat.


The target of its transmission was currently relaxing in a chair of a theatre in Tephet-Sheta, the capital city of Duat, with the Yvressi ambassador at his side. The players below the ornately decorated box – with a vast tapestry of the Greater Menelmacari flag (http://www.necrontyr.plus.com/images/greatermenelmacariflag.jpg) draped from it. He was dressed far more heavily than she was, in something similar to his accustomed robes. The Eldar ambassador, on the other hand, was wrapped in a gauzy rubicund fabric that looped around behind her neck, through the last link of the chain of her waystone, winding back around her chest and through an ornate, bejewelled belt that also held another strip of the fabric in front of her legs. Throughout, it bore various goldthread eldarin runes.

Throughout the play, they had been playing. At present, the game was an Eldar version of chess, one of the great truisms was that practically every race, especially every humanoid race, had its own version, and in this case, it was played on hexagonal based grids, with fine wraithbone pieces depicting various aspect warriors, from dire avengers to striking scorpions to swooping hawks to slicing orbs of zandros. On the other side, were various types of ‘dark kin.’ Each player’s were shielded from the other by compact holofields that snapped from one shape to the other, leaving it up to the player to determine, from the opponent’s actions, what every piece was. Five mostly-round boards were linked by a sequence of ornate wooden ‘wraithgates’ inlaid with semiprecious stones linked these, and there were intricate rules for their use. The final fiendish layer of complexity to the game was that there were several hundred pieces each about two centimetres high.

The Eldar weren’t entirely wrong in their claims to have superior intellect to that of humans. Not that it was doing Jill’Nais much good against her current opponent – who was still winning, despite happily letting her peer through the veils of time as much as was possible on Duat. It tended to take an entire week to play the game, longer with masters. For this reason, these particular boards contained gravitic motors, not only to let them float and be moved as convenient, but to allow them to be packed away with the pieces retained in their configurations.

In this case, they were taking frequent breaks during the game.

This behaviour might seem strange, but it was part of the theatre culture in the Necrontyr Empire, plays tended to last for very long periods with no breaks. The imperial palace’s theatre, where they were currently, was arranged as much like a cabaret room as a theatre, with tables, waiters and waitresses, and tremendously satisfying leg room and high backed chairs. Ascending tiers of semicircular seats that rose up quite a way. The ‘box’ in which the Elenaran and his ‘companion’ sat was relatively out of view, and merged with one of the middle tiers, leading into a set of private quarters.

Despite this, no one paid any attention when one of the other disappeared, nor to the two servants attending them. For that matter, the fact that the Eldar Ambassador was reclining languidly on the C’tan’s lap, with him occasionally whispering translations of unfamiliar terms in the Iesian – and thus English – play into her ear was also unremarked upon. The locals didn’t especially mind the Elenaran’s lovers, and her own country’s leadership and people in general were delighted at how she was received – she’d been chosen with an eye to such things, after all.

Ranisath held out a hand to one side, “Liëssa,” he murmered quietly – despite the expansive surroundings, one still didn’t talk in the theatre – and the servant to his right leaned forward to refill his glass. He paused briefly, and twitched. A moment later he dropped the glass, much to the servant’s dismay and confusion, and disappeared.


“What?” murmered Nais in her own tongue, rising up beside him as they appeared in a large throne room.

The planet loomed on a screen-window covering one wall, twisting fully into view. “We’re going to Eärendil,” the Elenaran said, standing up straight as the planet rushed forwards for a moment before disappearing, replaced by a view of the swirling clouds of Sol II.

“Why?” she asked, perplexed.

“There’s been an accident, and I must go there… Grab hold,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her upright. Aside from a pressure on her ears, there was no audible clue to the transformation as the environment changed once again, to a wide deck, with typical Menelmacari patterning and architecture. Various fighter craft and bombers, and shuttles were in assorted mountings in the bay, and Ranisath moved over to one of the shuttles, that was actually disarmed.

One says move, rather than walk or sprint, because he didn’t actually bother to move his legs, so much as drift at a pace that was just slow enough for the Eldar to keep up. “In,” he said, and prodded her into the back of the shuttle, drifting up to the cockpit.

Breathing heavily, his companion looked puzzled, “Close the door,” he said, seating himself and running through the pre-flight sequence, though in his case, this took a fraction of a second. She dashed back to close the door, and the Elenaran drummed his fingers on the console as the shuttle was shuttled to a launch deck.

“Where are we?” she panted.

“Eärendil ring, about to launch for Zoria.”

“And… why?”

“One of my friends,” he said it without any special inflection, of course, but rather with an urgency that conveyed his concern, “has been hurt.”

“Right,” she said, “Why not teleport or go by a quicker route?”

“That would just stir things up even more. Which would be counterproductive, hence, diplomatic shuttle, personal call-sign, and so on. Bah!” he snapped, and kicked the engines into full power, punching the shuttle through the walls of the ring.

Sometimes, the necrontyr technique of phase shifting was a useful thing to know. This was the case often, in fact. The shuttle’s windows showed a rotating view of the planet as he altered its course appropriately, “Now, I don’t think it politic for you to be dressed like that when we arrive,” he mused, already sending a message ahead using the shuttle’s communications system…

Lorelei, Duchy of Zoria

The Starport of Zoria was, just as other facilities, situated in an artificial crater of sorts. Aircraft landed above, on the territory not covered with the dome (and, by the same, not protected by the retractable armored blast gates at the top) and were then lowered down and moved into the covered area with a number of platforms. All this, of course, because the air on Venus was still notably high in sulfur and Taraskovyans didn’t really like it in their lungs.

The shuttle piloted by Ranisath was also lowered down and then the platform the shuttle landed upon moved it into a spot in the covered area. Civilian liners were, it appeared, hastily being withdrawn into hangars as the area was cleared, surely to welcome other aircraft. Ranisath came quite early indeed, before the Interior Guard reinforcements arrived to Zoria to help squelch and unrest that might erupt following the assassination attempt. After all, the Archduchess was immensely popular and her most ardent followers might want to resort to revenge without really caring to find out who did what. The news also reported that the Grand Duke and an important detail of NashSec personnel also departed Vigvar and would arrive to Lorelei later.

But for now, Ranisath was greeted by Daniil Sobolev, Zoria’s External Relations Officer. Since the Duchy had no independent foreign policy, which was the prerogative of the Grand Ducal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, it had a special officer charged with doing the preliminary work with foreigners before forwarding the case to the Grand Duchy. The man in his fifties was somebody with a lot of experience and intelligence, and so he understood that the sudden appearance of the C’tani Emperor in Zoria (of all places) following the latest events was not really a coincidence. The External Relations Officer was not alone, for he was accompanied by several men in civilian dress and one man in the uniform of the National Security Ministry, surely the head of the local branch. And, of course, a couple soldiers bearing the emblems of the Detached Zoria Contingent, the local NDF contingent, playing security detail. But since the entire DZC was on full alert and deployed everywhere, the presence of these two soldiers was merely symbolical compared to the hundreds of them everywhere.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Sobolev said as he bowed respectfully to Ranisath when the latter came out of the shuttle. “My Lady,” he nodded lightly to the woman that followed the Emperor before addressing the Emperor himself. “I must admit it was quite unexpected when the National Security officers confirmed your personal code and sudden arrival. As Your Imperial Majesty surely knows, situation is rather tense right here at the moment…”

* * *

Yekaterinburg, Metropolitan Taraskovya

The man was looking grimly at the screen in front of him where a Taraskovyan channel was broadcasting live news from Zoria. Nearly all of the hundreds of Taraskovyan channels were doing so, he had the choice, which didn’t really make him happier. He knew that millions of people in the Metropoly were also watching them, despite the late night time that reigned outside.

“…casualties unconfirmed so far, but witness reports indicate that a leib-Guardsman and two civilians lost their lives in the attack, all three assassins were also killed. Archduchess'es fate unknown so far…”

And as the news progressed, he felt more and more nervous. He knew that the Grand Duke would now turn over earth and skies to find the culprits and have his revenge. And the culprits would thank the Gods if she survived, for if she died, the full fury of Mikhail would be unleashed. The problem was that the man himself was the first suspect.

“…no official version so far. Zoria officials indicate that the assassins were in possession of extremely advanced technology…”

He had extremely advanced technology.

“…received excellent training and were professional and skilled…”

He had professional and skilled men. The elite of the former Kaskad was under his command. The problem was that he did not do it. He did not order anything. He didn’t even plan anything. And this is what made him frightened, which was quite a rare case indeed. But then did somebody in his command plan such an operation without his knowledge?

“Sir?”

Raven looked behind to see the figure of Alexei, the commander of his Archangels, the special operations unit of the White Legion, the elite of the elite, a unit that many states would envy. Raven didn’t answer as he leant against the back of his arms chair and kept watching the news.

“Sir, I believe you should evacuate while there is still time. We have indications this place might be known by the NashSec…”

“It is known by the NashSec.”

“So the more reasons to evacuate, Sir.”

Raven rubbed his temples and sighed. “Evacuate all personnel, destroy all sensitive documents. I also wish to know whether any of our units is behind this. Involve only the Archangels, I believe you are capable of carrying out a secret investigation.”

“Yes, Sir,” Alexei nodded. “What about you, Sir?”

“I shall remain here and wait for them.”

“I do not believe it wise, Sir,” Alexei’s voice was calm, as always. He knew his commander would not listen, but he felt it was his duty to voice his opinion.

“If I hide, this will make me even a greater suspect in their eyes. No, I have nothing to do with it, I have no reason to flee. Now, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Archangel bowed and went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Raven sighed and switched channels again and again and again in a mechanical motion, his gaze fixing the emptiness in front of him.

* * *

Vigvar, Metropolitan Taraskovya

“Any news from the cell?”

“None, it seems.”

“Three are dead or at least reported as such, where is the fourth?”

“Either he has been neutralized, either he is lying low,” the speaker extinguished a cigarette and sighed. “The operation is only a mild success, Sir. We have lost four agents, in the worst case, and we are not sure the target is dead.”

There was silence as the other speaker considered something. The plan did not really go well, but he had a back up one and would be soon putting it into action. The blow has been done, now remained the battle of information. And at this, he was certain to win...

“Your task is over as far as this affair is concerned. I believe that your unit should lie low for the time being. All cells into stand by mode.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Vigvar, Metropolitan Taraskovya

As most high ranked Taraskovyan officials, Ithun Khat, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, had several cell phones. One a rather public one which was always off and was never used and was just a catch eye to various people who wanted to phone and bug the Minister. Another one for the family. Another for the closest circle. And the last, the one for official duties, a jewel of technology and means of safeguarding information from unwanted eyes, ears and fingers.

It was this particular one that came alive in the middle of the night, tearing the Minister away from his happy slumber with his lover comfortably cradled in his arms. He blinked his eyes open and stretched an arm over, taking the thing into his hand. Several security mechanisms immediately scanned several parameters and allowed the Minister to open the phone.

“Yes?” he said quietly, not wanting to awake Angelina that was sleeping by his side, her head on his chest.

What the other voice said was not heard and could not be heard. But the Minister’s eyes went quite round indeed. The voice at the other end of the line was not giving him any good news. The Minister didn’t answer anything as he turned the phone off.

“Who was that?” Angelina whispered sleepily, smiling at Ithun.

“Work,” he said sighing.

“Anything urgent?”

“Indeed,” he nodded, stroking the back of her head. “There has been an assassination attempt on the Archduchess. It’s in all Taraskovyan and even some foreign news networks.”

This was definitely the wake up call as the Tartarian Ambassador sat up in the bed and stretched, chasing the remnants of sleep from her body. “This is urgent indeed. The Grand Duke is really attached to his sister from what I could notice… He is bound to react…”

“Very attached,” Ithun said sitting up himself. “Archduchess Vethara is also extremely popular with the population and, as you know yourself, there are always hotheaded Taraskovyans to start on a vendetta of their own. But Gods be praised, the Captain of her guards unit has reported that she is alive.” He sighed and smiled, looking at Angelina. “I have been ordered to be on stand by for an urgent Government session. The Grand Duke is currently en route to Zoria, he will contact us from there via video conference.”

“Shouldn’t you be keeping this secret and not telling me all this?” She frowned a bit, in her particular way when he did something silly and risked getting problems. “I do not want you to get into trouble.”

Ithun smiled and leaned in to kiss her tenderly on the lips, breaking contact after a moment to give her a wink. “Everything I say shall be in today’s newspapers. You just get it earlier, from an exclusive source.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Now, I must dart off to the government’s palace to join up with my colleagues who’ll also be arriving there soon.”

With that, he got out of bed and got to dressing up. He had some time to prepare properly for the upcoming meeting.

* * *

TSFS “Michael”, en route to Venus

The Flagship “Archangel Michael” of the Space Fleet also currently served as the transport means for the Grand Duke on his route to Zoria. It was an Archangel class dreadnaught named after, quite obviously, the Archangel Michael as seen by the Christian Orthodox tradition, the commander of the army of Paradise and leader of angels, a suiting name indeed for the flagship of the entire space branch of the National Defence Forces.

“All the Ministers have been contacted, Sire,” said man only known by the name of Kshas-Keth, which was infact his title and rank, the name clouded in mystery and only known to a select few.

“Excellent,” the Grand Duke nodded, looking through some sheets in front of him. “Any versions so far?”

The talk took place in a private quarters, secured from any outside observer and involving only the Grand Duke and the Kshas-Keth.

“I wish my men to take a closer look at these psychic devices the assassins were wearing. However, I do have information that a number of Kaskad material of similar nature vanished during the Ruling Council’s period.”

“The Kaskad? This would mean…”

“The White Legion, Sire. They aren’t exactly known to love you or your next of kin. I deem they might very well be behind this attempt, albeit I have some… doubts.”

The Grand Duke arched an eyebrow. “Doubts?”

“Indeed, Sire,” the Kshas-Keth nodded. “The status quo that was in place until now profited to them in a way. They could undertake their activities without fearing too broad an intervention by the National Security. An attempt on your sister would, of course, signify their death warrant. Raven is an intelligent and cunning man, he realizes this pretty well.”

“He does, but does his command realize this? We know they are not happy with the inability to undertake important actions against heathens.”

“Indeed, a splinter cell is quite possible.”

The Grand Duke pondered in silence for a moment before closing the folder in front of him.

“Send a unit to detain Raven. I want him… alive...” Mikhail’s eyes lit up with an icy fire at the last word and the Kshas-Keth nodded.

The Elenaran didn’t smile, for once, as he disembarked the shuttle, he wasn’t in the mood, far from it in fact, instead he was irate, as most anyone would say he had a right or even duty to be, in the same situation. The Elenaran was known for having a multitude of lovers, the majority by far being female, though they were not exclusively so. It wasn’t general knowledge that Archduchess Vethara was one of these lovers, indeed, though given her seemingly inexplicable necrontyr title of duchess of Khamesti, one of the more significant cities on Duat. A good – or rather, an accurate, scandal sheet would easily therefore tell one of this relationship, hampered only by the fact that the Elenaran’s relationships were of very little interest domestically. That said, any such ‘links’ would be supposition and no more.

Therefore his response was one of concern regardless of security measures, even though he didn’t explicitly state the degree of interest he had. For that matter, one person most ignorant of his reasons was the woman – female – at his side as he landed.

“yes,” said the Elenaran, frowning a little as he began to walk, impatience not entirely written in his body language so much as it was exuded by every fluid motion of his limbs. “It is indeed a grave matter, and what I have come. This attack concerns me greatly. I believe I would describe myself as incensed by such an attack on one of my citizens,” This was true, his reaction would be very similar for practically any member of the population, though he would generally delegate its investigation. Nevertheless, the necrontyr, as a culture, believed in an aggressively defensive policy for their own species – in more recent times, their citizens - this was both instinctual, from evolution as a herd species, and it was also a trait treasured as part of what it meant to be a member of the culture, and therefore extended to most of the other citizens, from star ships to star gods, and to humans. Thus, while the reaction would not be as severe as that of the tarasovkans themselves, it was a fair bet that not only those necrontyr who knew her would be incensed by the attack on Vethara’s life.

“If you could be so kind, what are you at liberty to divulge regarding the situation at present? How is the archduchess at the moment? My information says that she has survived, and I presume this to be accurate, but beyond that I know little. Is she stable and is she conscious at the moment?” These questions came out with such speed that they approached the point of being incomprehensible, but they didn’t quite reach that point. The Elenaran seemed to be speaking quickly because he thought quickly, unlike many computer-based life, this wasn’t necessarily a speed that exceeded humans, so much as an adjustable speed. Of course, concerned at the moment he was ‘running’ very quickly, and so spoke as quickly as could be without becoming a futile exercise.

“Also, how soon will it be permitted for me to visit her?” he asked. There was another question he strongly desired answers to, and that was what was known of her attackers at present, instead, on the matter of security, he said, “Of course, I shall aid in any way possible to bring the architects and operatives of this appalling crime to justice. If your government wishes any assistance from the necrontyr at all in this matter, you merely need to ask and it shall be provided,” the Elenaran said, meaning it quite literally, but aware that it would be rather indescrete for this offer to be taken up too overtly.

Lorelei, Duchy of Zoria

Sobolev nodded briefly to the Emperor’s last statement. “I am sure the relevant Grand Ducal authorities are grateful for your sympathy and support,” he spoke in a diplomatic manner. Not only was it true that he couldn’t accept or reject the offer, because it was out of his jurisdiction, but it wasn’t also good to accept or reject anything out of the blue.

The NashSec officer remained at a distance, not intruding into the talking, eyeing the Emperor closely. Ranisath’s sudden coming was quite surprising indeed, notably so soon after the assassination. Too soon. Where was he at the time of the events? Sitting on the ring and awaiting a report? But then again, why would he do want to kill the Archduchess? Maybe they are lovers, which would explain his sudden coming. There was the title to the city of Khamesti, out of the blue, after all. But then again, this did not prove anything. And so the officer doing what he did best, namely building dozens of theories and then defeating them with valid arguments to pass on to other theories and eventually stumble upon some that could not be refuted and would be sensible. There were always a couple such analysts around for every situation, who lent a hand and prevented the investigation from going astray.

As of the other questions of the Emperor, the External Relations Officer did not really have the time to answer them. Indeed, one cannot speak to intrude into the speech of a head of state and if the head of state just keeps on speaking in the manner of a machine gun, one can’t really answer until the end. But Sobolev returned to the previous points in due order.

“From what information I have, Her Serene Highness the Archduchess has been taken to the Lorelei Military Hospital. Her state is unknown to me. Access rights are, of course, restricted until the expected arrival of the Grand Duke,” he said pensively. “Aside from this, I am afraid I do not know much myself. Everything is rather confused right now and shall remain so for the coming minutes or even hours.”

The ERO paused for a moment as the group continued on their way to several aircraft, suited for flying within the tunnels interconnecting Lorelei’s component parts. “I can take Your Imperial Majesty to the hospital, but I am afraid you shall then have to be patient until the Grand Duke’s arrival, whom we are expecting from one moment to the other.”

Lorelei, Duchy of Zoria

The Elenaran nodded, he’d expected as much of course, “I am quite happy to wait, wherever is convenient,” he hadn’t expected to be given access to the Archduchess, of course, and even if he was, he couldn’t do anything – because regardless of what he might do, there was a risk that it wouldn’t do much good, and that would end up with him being blamed. So, he would just have to wait. He’d made things difficult for himself by arriving so quickly, of course, but it had been almost instinctive – it had been emotional, in fact.

He ducked a little and sat down in one of the passenger aircraft, “Please, lead on…”

And so Sobolev took place in one aircraft along with Ranisath and the woman that came along with the C’tani Emperor. The vehicle then proceeded to softly take off, taking direction towards one of the huge tunnels leading into one of the city’s sections. A small and agile gunship opened the way to the shuttle on a rather uneventful journey.

The tunnels the aircraft flew through were huge and divided in two layers: the lower for ground transportation, and an upper for aircraft. Rather practical and efficient. Such tunnels connected between them several “cylinders”, each “cylinder” being a neighbourhood of the city, with residences on several levels along the perimeter and some parks in the middle. And since Lorelei was a colonial city, it didn’t really have any breathtaking monuments, even if some of the “cylinders” were more refined than others, with the governmental district even having no perimeter installations, but a compound of buildings in the middle.

Sobolev did not talk to the guest throughout the journey, because there wasn’t anything to really talk about. And if Ranisath had any questions, he was bound to know that he could ask them and the Exterior Relations Officer would answer to the best of his capacities.

And after some moments of flight, the shuttle entered a rather particular district in the sense that it was not a cylinder, but more like a slightly disfigured triangle. Bay doors on the wall opposite the entry tunnels opened, revealing one of the docking areas of the Lorelei’s Garrison building.

“We have arrived, Your Imperial Majesty,” Sobolev said as the shuttle’s doors opened. “This is the Garrison. The Military Hospital is within the installation, so if you would follow me…”

The docking bay was a military one, so minimum of spiffiness and maximum of practicality and efficiency. It was clean, did not smell garage, but it did not have a red carpet with fireworks and a guard of honour. Even if two soldiers in black and silver combat armours awaited for the guests, weapons ready.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” one of them said in a slightly altered voice as he saluted the Emperor. “Mister Sobolev,” he nodded to the Exterior Relations Officer while saluting and then lowered his hand. “My Lady…” he addressed the Yvressi ambassador, whom he quite obviously took for some C’tani adjutant to the Emperor or whatever. And, as such, greeted her last as she was the lowest in the hierarchal ladder. At this very moment, the Taraskovyan was first a soldier doing his duty, not a buoyant officer on skirts hunt. “Poruchik Yarlin, Swans Company of the leib-Guard. I am here to show you the way around the installation, even if I already warn that I shall not answer any questions. You shall have to ask Captain Dolgoslavov. Now, pray, follow me.”

The group followed the lieutenant to a sort of “cars” used inside of military installations to ferry personnel and cargo around, in many ways similar to the “aeroport cabs” one could see at a, well, airport. The group took place, the lieutenant and the other guard at the sides, and the driver sped off into a rather large corridor, the roof of which was evenly covered with armoured cameras (machine guns included, obviously). The side doors were closed and they met only few personnel on their way, which took them to some rather normal blast doors, with a red cross over them.

“This is one of the side entries to the Hospital wing. The main entrance is more directly accessed, but from the outside, and since you docked…” Yarlin got off and went silent as he spoke something into the intercom of his helmet. Then he typed a password at a pad by the doors and the doors opened, revealing a security room with several more Swans guards in it.

The lieutenant led the group through some more rooms, typing some passwords and confirming his progress. Once passed the security compartment, the setting changed into a rather comfortable one, with plans, fountains and leather sofas arranged along the walls and in the centre of the rooms. Here and there was a Swans guard, keeping vigil. A bit everywhere were the same armoured HD cameras as previously seen.

Finally, they reached some room, fitted with sofas, arms chairs and even a bar.

“If you would please wait here until we receive further orders. I pray that you do not leave the room and my colleague shall remain outside in case you need anything,” Yarlin said as he gave order to the other soldier to do just what he had exposed. Then the lieutenant saluted and left the room, leaving the group to itself.

Lorelei, Duchy of Zoria

Minutes passed by and soon an hour was gone. And still the red light over the door was on. And this meant only one thing: the surgery was still in progress and, as such, there was no entry into the room. Mikhail took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to contain his frustration and rage, which kept boiling in him with increasing strength. Minutes ago he received the news from a doctor that Tania, his niece, has passed on to the realms of the Holy Theotokos while on the way to the hospital. He knew how his sister loved her adoptive daughter, how she held on to Tania, and now she had lost her. And she risked losing her own life, too. He risked losing the little family he had.

Another deep breath, yet this time the exhale came out with a quiet roar as Mikhail leaned against the wall of the corridor before suddenly moving forward several steps, then turning around and pacing in another direction. And so he paced forth and from, lost in his thoughts and worries, frustrated that he couldn’t do anything at this very moment. He was no medic, and the preliminary investigation was much better off in the hands of the Kshas-Keth, who was already busy on the case. And this left the Grand Duke, the supreme authority of the entire Taraskovyan Empire in Denial, the Commander in Chief of vast armies of soldiers and assassins, of cunning intelligence services and talented space fleet strategists, without anything to do. He couldn’t do anything.

He suddenly turned to face a wall and smacked it with his fist in an act deprived of all sense, yet destined to let his frustration and anger out. If he did not let it out, he could do something terribly stupid and useless. For example: chopping Captain Dolgoslavov to bits. This personage actually was standing in the corridor, his gaze lost in the emptiness in front of him as he considered his future. For a dedicated and loyal bodyguard the failure to protect the one under his protection was the worst of blows. But it did not mean that he was to be immediately executed, and Mikhail was still the rational and pragmatic leader he was, even if the berserk deep inside him was now having full freedom.

The Grand Duke sighed once more and then entered another series of paces, trying to walk as loudly as possible so that the sound of his steps chased the silence away. The silence was deafening and drove Mikhail crazy. Two “Silence and Death” leib-Guards stood in the corridor, silently as their trade suggested, not uttering a word to break the silence. But finally, the red light went off and a green one turned on, with the rather stereotypical audio blip accompanying.

Mikhail made 180 degrees rotation and immediately walked towards the doors, literally smashing them open with his arms and nearly kicking a nurse off her feet. The woman, in the isolative surgery suit, blinked behind the visor of her mask and then hurriedly followed the Grand Duke into the post-operation room, not uttering a word.

There, Mikhail met the surgeon, leib-Surgeon Anatoly Virtanen. The skilled surgeon used to work in Vigvar, where he was accredited with the Royal Household and was, thus, to be called in if any emergency came up (hence his title of leib-Surgeon, referring to his belonging to the Royal Guard in a way). And when Archduchess Vethara established herself on Zoria, he followed her upon a personal request from the Grand Duke himself. And, it appears, Mikhail did well… extremely well…

Vethara was indeed alive, now enclosed within a tank filled with regenerating liquid. A breathing mask covered her entire face, including the eyes, and all over the Archduchess’es body were fixed receptors that fed every single detail about her organism’s functioning over to a set of displays. For reasons of privacy, the woman’s chest and waist areas were covered with special hospital “underwear”.

And on the right side of her belly, Mikhail could not help but see an impressive hole, upon which was busily working a medical droid, restoring and regenerating tissues at a slow and steady pace. The Grand Duke then turned to the surgeon and sighed.

“Is she stable?”

Anatoly reached for the mask covering his face and undid the fastenings, revealing his tired and exhausted face. Yet the surgeon’s eyes were shining with pride and joy.

“She is indeed. I have retrieved the bullet, repaired the damages to the interior organs and her life is out of all danger. I will keep her under sedatives for some time. The medical droids shall repair the exterior tissues within the coming days,” the surgeon said with a smile, yet then a shadow fell upon his face. “Sire… the entry wound is up front. The assassin who was thought to have shot at her was behind the guards formation, thus facing the Archduchess when she turned around herself…”

Mikhail arched an eyebrow and clenched his fists. “A fourth assassin?”

“I fail to find any other explanation. The bullet I have retrieved was largely deformed, which suggests that it first passed through something very resistant, but I cannot say what. This deformed the ammunition and deprived it of its full piercing potential.”

“Thank you, Doctor…” the Grand Duke closed his eyes and thought for a second. “I shall ask that you give all your observations to a man who has my entire trust and who is charged with the investigation.”

The surgeon nodded as the Grand Duke reached for a communications device and established a communication with the Kshas-Keth. Virtanen politely withdrew to leave the Grand Duke alone to matters of state importance.

“Sire, I have some intriguing news. The fallen guardsman, Vicktor Kalenin, is not the one who is seen shooting the assassin in the broadcast. Kalenin was shielding the Archduchess from behind. He was shot at point blank range with extremely versatile ammunition, which pierced his armour at both sides and…”

“Proceeded to impact upon Tatiana and then upon Vethara, having lost most of its properties yet still versatile enough to go through unprotected flesh…”

“Yes, Sire. I believe you have already received some information from another source which I shall have to talk to myself. At any rate, the third assassin was taken alive and wounded. His burst of fire wounded three guardsmen and killed two civilians. But the ammunition used was not versatile enough to pierce through the combat armour.”

Mikhail sighed and shook his head.

“I want you to interrogate all medical personnel that has participated in the treatment of casualties. Especially leib-Surgeon Virtanen, he might have some ideas. And I want the fourth assassin found. Dead or alive.”

“Yes, Sire.”

And then silence befell again on the room, except for the periodic bleeping of the displays that signified that everything was in order. Mikhail looked once more at his sister and then headed out of the post-operation room and into the ante-chamber before entering the corridor again. Dolgoslavov met him with eyes full of terror and hope, and the Grand Duke just smiled and nodded back, relieving the Captain’s worries.

“Kornet,” the Grand Duke addressed one of the “Silence and Death” leib-Guardsmen standing in the corridor. “I believe the Emperor of the C’tan is currently within this compound. Inform him that I am interested in having a word with him.”

The soldier saluted and went off.

The “Silence and Death” leib-Guardsman in the rank of Kornet found his way through the corridors with sufficient ease, as the “practical” wings of Taraskovyan hospitals tended to be just that: practical and easily navigated.
It was not long before the waiting room in which Ranisath, Sobolev and the Emperor’s “aide” as she was dubbed by the Taraskovyan personnel, greeted a fourth brief visitor: the guardsman in question.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” he saluted the Emperor in military fashion before proceeding in a formalist style. “His Royal Highness the Grand Duke expresses the desire to have an audience with You.”

Ranisath doesn't seem particularly used to such formality, and says nothing for a moment, but he does nod briefly, followed a heartbeat later by, "Certainly, he is most welcome."

“Pray, follow me.” The leib-Guardsman turned around and led the Emperor out of the room and into a bigger hall and then through a series of corridors. The hospital somehow seemed empty and particularly silent, but then again there wasn’t really much cause for cries of joys around the place.

Some Swans Guards were spotted here and there, but otherwise the short walk was quite uneventful and Ranisath soon stood in front of the same doors through which the Grand Duke had slammed only moments ago. Mikhail, of course, was still there, leaning against a wall.

He did not greet the C’tani with any diplomatic formula, instead simply glancing to the soldiers around him. “Leave us.” The brief and short order was executed immediately by the soldiers who vanished out of sight as if they were never there.
“Your coming here is most unexpected, I have to admit,” Mikhail said calmly, without any emotion.

"Perhaps. But if so, it is only because such an event has not happened before - at least, not one involving anyone as close to me as your sister; is there news in that regard?"

The Taraskovyan ruler smiled faintly and nodded. “Vethara is safe and should recover, at least physically…” He paused for a moment. “Tatiana was killed. You surely know the importance my sister attached to her adoptive daughter…”
Ranisath nodded, "That is most distressing news," he said, softly, and said no more, seeming to be waiting to hear what else the Taraskovyan had to say.

“Distressing? This is bound to leave a psychological aftermath,” he sighed and shook his head. “I am grateful for your coming. I am sure sister would appreciate… even if I have to admit a certain extent of jealousy,” he smirked, “because you have made it here before my own self, the technical master of these realms.”

"I assure you, neither trivialisation nor insult was intended. I say distressing because I have full confidence that you understand well enough the magnitude of the effect upon your sister - and the event's inherent tragedy - without needing me to be so presumptuous as to tell you with rhetoric, and I of course, came only as quickly as I was able, without regard to other matters, once I was informed of what had transpired here of late."

Usually an apologetic tirade by an Emperor would have boosted Mikhail’s ego, but at that moment in time his ego was light years away. “The assassination is still shrouded in mystery… but we have already made some important conclusions,” the Grand Duke’s eyes lit up with the cold, frosty fire that was proper to Taraskath when they were angered. “I shall find them, anywhere and anytime. And they shall regret it, dearly.”

"I have already offered my assistance in any way possible in that, of course, and in case you've not been informed, I shall do so again; you need but ask for my aid in any way possible and it will be provided in the matter of... justice for this atrocity."

Mikhail arched an eyebrow and shook his head. “No, I have not been informed as of yet, but considering the situation, this does not surprise me.” He paused. “As Grand Duke and a loving brother, I can only thank you for your offer and promise to hold you to your word should the need arise.” A smile appeared on Mikhail’s lips finally
Ranisath nodded, "Would it be possible to see Vethara now?" he asked, at last.

The Grand Duke’s eyebrows rose up this time as he pondered. “Well, not sure Vethara would appreciate you seeing her in her current state… but… If you want to see her, you can just go through these doors and then take right, into the post-surgery chamber. I presume you’d rather a moment alone?”

"If you have anything else you'd like to discuss, I'm certain it can wait, and perhaps you're right," he says, thinking for a moment, "In that I should wait, for a time, until she is conscious again."

“Of course. Just… make yourself as comfortable as you wish and forgive me for not being able to provide for a better hospitality. But the current situation is rather… confused.”
"Rest assure that I am content simply to be here at this time," Ranisath said, "and please, don't hesitate to ask if you wish anything of me. I am not aware of any information that my people," a broad term, in this case, "may have for you, but I shall set them on to look for anything of value in discerning the culprits of this deed."

And thus, the rather informal discussion ended. The Grand Duke had to leave to check in on the current progress in the investigation, as well as the interrogation of the suspect. A guardsman was attached to Ranisath to serve as guide and arrange for anything that the C’tani Emperor might require.

TNW, News of the Hour

“… it has been confirmed by the Grand Duke himself that Archduchess Vethara of Taraskovya survived the assassination attempt on her life. Tatiana Shakhovskaya, the Archduchess’es adoptive daughter, was fatally wounded and died while being rushed to Lorelei’s Military Hospital. Tatiana, who was fourteen, was formally adopted by the Archduchess last year and has always been inseparable from her mother…”

“…Viktor Kalenin, Senior Guardsman, has also been killed while shielding the Archduchess with his body, thus bringing the total death toll to four…”

“… the Grand Duke has vowed to find the perpetrators and bring them to swift justice…”

“… following similar moves by Zoria’s Legislative Assembly and Vigvar’s Grand Council, the Grand Ducal Duma has met in an urgent session and voted unanimously to proclaim tomorrow a day of mourning and vigil throughout the Grand Duchy and its Dependecies…”

* * *

Yekaterinburg, Metropolitan Taraskovya

Finding and locating Raven in a single spot was not the simplest of tasks. Even while most of his hideouts were known to a special cell of the National Security Ministry, some were not. Finding out for sure at which location Raven was at a given moment was extremely difficult, because he had a bad habit of changing residences out of the blue, without any strict periods. This is why when the Grand Duke gave the order to find and detain Raven immediately, the Special Operations Command dispatched a group of Black Wolves at every known location for a flash-assault.

A Black Wolves group had no particular appellation, apart from a rather concise “Group” followed by a numerical. Group 7 was the one dispatched at one of the three residences in Yekaterinburg, the single most populated urban metropolis in all of the Taraskovyan Empire In Denial. The metropolis was also a hotbed of White Legion activity, its primary recruitment and training centre.

The local equivalent to the Vigvar’s “Outer Ring” here was even bigger and higher and police had some hardships covering all of it. Somewhere in the shadows of the lower levels, where industrial and maintenance installations mingled with storage depots, somewhere down there the Legion was in full activity. Training small groups of future assassins and flash squads, repairing and rearranging its weaponry. And while the National Defence Forces knew about these activities, the current “cease-fire” prevented them from going in and dismantling the operations. But then again, dismantling it would come at a price, because the Legion was not some rag-tagged militia, it was an army that many an independent State would envy. The irony was that the Grand Duchy would have been overjoyed to send the Legion to play national army far, far away.

But Group 7’s task was not to single-handedly dismantle the entire Legion. Their task, as of their colleagues, was to detain Raven and bring him back to “Base” for “interrogation”. Their aircraft hovered silently over the villa, drawing some curious gazes from passers by. Troops clad into chameleon suits repelled on the roof. From there, it all happened quite quickly. A stealthy infiltration into the villa, securing of the entry point, progress through the rooms in search of their target. The leader of Group 7 at first thought they had no luck, since the building was totally devoid of any presence. No guards, no staff, no inhabitants, nothing.

Until, in a comfortably arranged dining hall, they fell on their target. Quite unexpectedly, which made the Group leader’s spirits rise up considerably. Raven did not utter a word as he looked at the soldiers that were pointing their guns at him. Their chameleon suits adopted the colour scheme of the surroundings, thus making it a rather bizarre sight to have parts of the room “blurred” for now apparent reason.

And then the leader of the White Legion stood up and sighed. “I am coming along voluntarily, no need to sedate,” his voice was calm.

One of the soldiers went behind him, taking Raven by the arms and bringing these arms behind the back, quickly handcuffing them. The unit then proceeded to move outside, into the garden, where their aircraft had already landed, shielded from outside view by trees and property’s walls.

Several days later
Capital City of Vigvar

The couple of swans approached the stretched out hand, the female carefully picking up the bread as the male watched over the scene several steps away. The bird’s eye then went from the hand to the face of the woman that was feeding them, staring curiously. Her nose was red and her cheeks covered in traces of tears that just kept flowing from her emerald eyes. She was sobbing regularly and biting her lower lip. The woman, dressed into black and a veil covering her face, reached for some more bread and handed it to the female swan, the male still standing several steps from his half and overseeing the proceedings carefully.

“Vetha?” came a call from somewhere far away, but the woman did not react. Neither did she turn when she heard steps of somebody approaching, keeping on feeding the majestic bird with bits of bread.

“Vetha?” came a soft voice from behind, but she still did not turn around. And then she heard a sigh and the man sat behind her.

“I had wondered where you’d gone off to…”

“Did they seal the coffin?” the woman interrupted the speaker, struggling to keep her voice from breaking, but failing. She turned around, her green eyes fixing her brother’s from beneath the veil. Mikhail just nodded. His sister stormed out of the crypt weeping loudly as the coffin with her daughter's body was being sealed. Vethara made a deep sigh before breaking down into a cry again, leaning against her brother’s shoulders. The Grand Duke enclosed her in his arms.

“Hold fast, Cossack. Hold fast…” he whispered to his convulsing sister. “… and you shall one day become an Ataman.”

And then he was silent, just holding his sister in his arms and letting her cry, for sadness parted with tears and crying was, thus, beneficial. At least this is what the doctors said, but Mikhail never really trusted them, and he had his reasons. Finally, Vethara seemed to calm down, yet still sobbing.

“Who did it, brother? Give me a target…” she whispered, in half-ravings, looking into his eyes again. This time, her own ones were burning with that fire which was proper to all Taraskath when they set out to kill. “Give me a target, brother… The Legion?”

“No,” Mikhail shook his head. “I have had Raven interrogated at length, through all means possible, and he is not behind it. He appeared rather cooperative… considering my interrogators left some permanent marks upon his flesh.”

“Then who? Give me a target, brother!” Her voice was now coming as if from a distance, as if there was somebody else talking in her stead. The Curare assassin, buried so deep within her, was beginning to awake…

“I do not know, sister,” Mikhail said. “But I shall find out.”

“You swear?”

“I swear,” he said and allowed himself a bleak smile. Vethara sighed and buried her face into her brother’s shoulder again.

After a minute of silence, she straightened herself and gave a glance at the loaf of bread, which she let fall when her brother came. Not much remained of it, the two birds having had all the time to fill their stomachs. The male swan raised his head, giving the humans a look, assessing whether they were about to steal their meal and, reassured, returned to the feast.

“Vetha…” Mikhail spoke softly, already fearing her reaction to what he was about to say. “I am worried for your safety and… I believe it would be wise for you to leave the country during the time I investigate the matter.”

Vethara bit her lower lip and sighed. “Exile again?”

“No, a voyage. To get far away from this place, to be far away from the rotten plots and intrigues…”

“I see,” she smirked and sighed. “May I take Kshas-Keth with me?”

“He is the one leading the investigation, Vetha. I believe it would be wiser for him to remain here…”

Vethara sighed for yet an other time and stood up, turning around and looking at her brother from top to bottom. “And where does Your Royal Highness Soon To Be Imperial And Royal Majesty desire to send his humble servant?”

“Well, I have thought of a place where any Taraskovyan representing any faction would be quite easily indetifiable, due to the rather monolithic structure of that country…” Mikhail spoke, relieved to see that his sister found the strength to make a joke. But he could still see the blaze in her eyes and this was one of the reasons to send her away: to prevent her from entering into a vendetta on her own. “And this country is Pantocratoria…”

“The Catholic Empire?” Vethara arched an eyebrow, as going over to the Latinian realm did not enchant her.

“The one and only. I have still to write to that Emperor of theirs, but I am sure he’ll be happy to receive the most Orthodox of all Princesses in existence.”

Vethara chuckled and shook her head. She did not find it to be a good idea, but she trusted her brother. And if he thought that it was better for her to have a time off in some far away lands, then so would it be…

“I shall send Colonel Kiltharan along with you,” Mikhail said, standing up.

“May I also take Vailphi along?

The Grand Duke smirked and nodded. “I'll ask her. Now, sister, do you wish to head back to the palace?”

Vethara sighed and shook her head. “I would like to be outside for now.”

“Should I leave you alone?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Let’s go feed the swans in the pond.”

* * *
[ooc:here goes spiffy coat of arms I never drew]
Grand Duke of All Taraskovya
Confidential Correspondence
Into Hands Proper

Andreus Louis Constantine Isaac Manuel Capet
Emperor of Pantocratoria

Shokath-Kshas of the Romans,

Beneath Earth and Skies I greet You and pray the Holy Theotokos that this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I pray for I myself am not in the most enjoyable of states recently following events that Your Imperial Majesty has surely had word about. My beloved sister came to great harm and while her life is safe, she lost her beloved adoptive daughter. Thus, I feel it best for her to enjoy some time outside of the Taraskovyan many realms in a setting that shall drive her thoughts away from the past happenings.

This is why I request a personal favour of Your Imperial Majesty in acceding to extending Your hospitality to Archduchess Vethara of Taraskovya, Duchess of Zoria, in Your realms and at Your court.

Awaiting Your reply, I remain Yours beneath Earth and Skies,
Mikhail II
Grand Duke of All Taraskovya
Shokath-Kshas

OOC: Attempt at making up a spiffy format... meh. Can't bother. -.-

http://members.optusnet.com.au/a_marrington/ns/pantocratoria.jpg

To:
His Royal Highness Mikhail II Shakhovskoy
Grand Duke of all Taraskovya

Mon Cousin,

We pray that this letter finds you well, and that the blessings of God shine upon Taraskovya, its people, and their noble and worthy ruler. Especially We pray for the end of the current strife and for the safety of your person and your entire family.

Although We wish that We had received your request in happier circumstances, We would be delighted and honoured to receive Her Royal Highness, the Archduchess Vethara, into Our court. The scions of your most noble and royal of dynasties are always welcome at the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator and any other place at which We are in residence. We shall see to it that every effort is made in securing the safety and assuring the comfort of Her Highness' person.

Given by Our own hand at Our Palace of Chantouillet on the Feast Day of Saint Lucy in the thirty-third year of Our reign,

ANDREUS IMP.
By the Grace of God, Emperor of Pantocratoria, Autocrator of the Romans, Caesar Augustus, King of France and Navarre, Equal of the Apostles, God's Vicegerent on Earth, et al

Airspace above Pantocratoria

The fine and luxurious aircraft, one worthy of transporting the most noble of guests, was approaching its destination at Chantouillet. And in fact it was transporting somebody worthy, which was apparent by the Grand Duke’s own crest upon the fuselage. Three fighters, bearing the markings of the legendary Dagger Squadron, escorted the aircraft. The Dagger was long since detached from the Air Force upon insistence of the Archduchess and transferred into her personal guard. Vethara never forgot the pilots that risked their lives to smuggle her out of the country when the Ruling Council was quite intent on arranging a little “accident”. Some lost their lives.

The Archduchess herself was in the bedroom, yet she was not sleeping. She was just lying there in the twilight, staring at the ceiling, thinking about matters near and far. Eventually, her thoughts came to be interrupted as somebody knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Your Royal Highness, we shall be arriving soon,” came the voice of one of her guardsmen from behind the door.

“I shall be out in a moment,” she said and stood up from the bed, pondering what to put on for the coming event.

* * *

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

The airliner’s vertical engines kicked in as it came to a halt in mid-air above the landing strip, before the aircraft touched down softly. The three fighters made a fly by and touched down at a distance, in the area arranged by the Pantocratorians for the purpose.

The doors opened and down the stairs came two guardsmen, clad into black armours with silver motives representing swans on the cloaks and breastplates. Each carried a banner of the Archduchess, flying vertically, and each guardsman took position to one side of the stairs. Eight years spent in Menelmacar did leave their mark, it seemed.

Vethara came out next, covered with a warm fur jacket, of grey and white colour. The woman's legs were hidden beneath a skirt pertaining to a snow white dress. And while the dress appeared thin to those who were particularly interested in looking at the Archduchess'es legs, it kept the woman perfectly warm.

Following Vethara were two other guards. And then came down Colonel Nethair Kiltharan, the commander of the Taraskovyan leib-Guard in person. And accompanying him was a beast of very impressive size, a Taraskovyan black wolf to be precise. Vetha's little "puppy" Pushozverek was of the trip, too. The wolf, a good twice as big as a gray wolf proper to many countries of the world, sat down behind his Mistress, giving curious looks at the foreigners. He yawned a little to reveal his sharp and long fangs, before he shut his mouth again.

OOC: As I don't know OOCly who'll be greeting her on the spot, please forgive absence of introduction and whatnot :\ Just in case, Andreus Junior and Nethair have already met at TRD's coronation, when Nethair took news of a black wolf gifted to Nathicana way before that. Andra reacted rather... coldly. ;-)

Add-on: having been confused by Geneva's warm temperatures, I have totally forgotten that December might be colder in Pantocratoria than it is in Geneva :\ As such, edited Vetha's appearence accordingly.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Prince Constantine and his wife Princess Morgan of the Resurgent Dream awaited the Archduchess and her escort at the town's airport along with a troop of Varangian Guard in their winter dress uniforms. As far as formal greeting parties went, this was fairly modest, but then, Christmas time at Chantouillet was fairly modest by the standards of Pantocratoria's Imperial Family, with only an inner circle of especially selected courtiers accompanying the Emperor and his family for the season. Constantine and Morgan wore warm clothes, with woolen cardigans over smart but not particularly regal clothing - Chantouillet's dress code was much more relaxed than the courtwear of the palaces of New Rome, of which the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator itself was the most formal. Vethara would be able to wear basically anything she liked for her time in Chantouillet, which she might have taken as a relief if her staff had briefed her about what she would have to wear when they got to New Rome.

The town of Chantouillet itself was fairly modest - essentially it had sprung up around the palace and was dependent on the palace for its economic survival. The usually sleepy town was therefore bustling as the court returned to the palace, but even still the airport wouldn't have given the Taraskovyans much of an impression of life - it only really existed so that courtiers could fly back and forth when the court was in town. The sky was grey and the tarmac bore the evidence of recent light rain, and so all in all, the airport doubtless didn't make a great impression. Behind the greeting party, a pair of large black Peacock Motors luxury cars were parked on the tarmac waiting to take Vethara and her party to the palace, alongside which were parked several less prestigious vehicles to transport the more mundane things, like luggage and servants. The Varangians snapped to attention as the Taraskovyans disembarked their aircraft and descended the stairs to the tarmac.

"Your Royal Highness," Constantine started, bowing politely and taking Vethara's hand if it was offered. "It is an honour to welcome you to Pantocratoria. Allow me to introduce my wife, Princess Morgan, and I am Prince Constantine, at your service."

OOC: Since I was confused by Geneva's warm weather, I forgot that December might be cooler in Pantocratoria... so, amended Vetha's appearence a little in the previous post.

Also, feel free to cart them off into the limo's and to the palace.

- - -

The Archduchess, of course, offered her hand to the Pantocratorian Prince, smiling in sign of greeting. “It is an honour, Your Imperial Highness, to make your acquaintance and that of your most charming wife.” The woman inclined her head politely to Morgan in sign of greeting, smiling warmly.

“Allow me to introduce Nethair Kiltharan, Colonel of the leib-Guards,” Vethara said, motioning towards the man in a dark blue military coat, proper to the Alexander leib-Guards. The commander of the Taraskovyan royal Guard, equivalent in Class to a General-en-Chief of the Army (since the leib-Guard was of officer rank), was of Taraskath appearance: tall, pale, a bit phlegmatic. He looked as if he was between forty and fifty years of age, yet his real age was much, much more important due to his Taraskath heritage. He saluted the imperial princely couple in military manner.

Curiously enough, Captain Dolgoslavov, commander of Vethara’s guards, was not of the party. Indeed, the Grand Duke gave him a chance to redeem himself through hunting down the fourth assassin. The choice was cynical and pragmatic: the humiliated officer would tear apart earth and skies to find the culprit and restore his honour.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

“It’s an honour, Your Highness.” Morgan said with a friendly smile. She clasped Vethara’s hand lightly and leaned forward to give her a small peck on each cheek. “The role you’ve played in the recent history of your country is certainly one much admired throughout the world.”

After greeting Vethara, Morgan grinned lopsidedly at the officer Vethara was introducing. Morgan returned his salute with one of her own, copying the motion she had seen her brother use countless times.

Morgan paused briefly before giving her husband a sidelong glance and a small smile. Danaans, especially Danaan women, seemed to smile quite a lot in the absence of any specific reason not to do so. Then she addressed the Archduchess once more. “Our cousin, the Princess Helen has just returned with her family from seeing the Nabarran Pyramids with my ro…with my imperial brother. I remember that she helped you in your efforts to raise money for the victims of the Plague.”

Morgan was actually dressed somewhat more warmly than her husband. She still considered Pantocratoria rather chilly even in the summer time and found the winters quite frigid. Still, beyond her warmer dress, Morgan seemed fairly content. The worries about her marriage to Constantine which had been so abundant at the time they were wed seemed to have either been baseless or to have sense been resolved. At least to judge from Morgan’s manner.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Colonel Kilatharan smiled a little to Morgan’s salute, in sign of appreciation, but did not utter a word.

Vethara smiled and inclined her head a little, remembering the funny days on the album project. “It has done more than just raise money. It has stirred wealthy businessmen and aristocrats to action and spurred a number of projects, from private education grants to improving Aphyr’s infrastructure.”

The Archduchess gave a glance at Pushozverek, who had positioned himself by her right side, slightly in front, of his Mistress. He raised his nose a little to capture Constantine’s and Morgan’s scents, without going into direct contact with the two persons (after all, he wasn’t some little doggy, he was a well trained Taraskovyan black wolf), then gave a bored look around before staring curiously at Morgan. He inclined his head on one side a little, flexing his ears in the direction of each woman as they spoke, as if to better hear. The wolf was at a good 120cm height, despite being sat. If he stood on his hind legs, one could be sure he’d dwarf Morgan.

Vethara smiled and stroked her canine friend on the head. “This is Pushozverek, a good friend of mine.” The wolf brought his eyes to look at his Mistress. “Pushok for intimates.” The way the woman behaved around the animal could appear as weird to some, but not to those aware of the special relationship that tied Taraskovyans to their black wolves, millennia old history of common survival in the harsh Taraskovyan mountains.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Morgan smiled at the large wolf. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Pushozverek.” She looked back up at Vethara. “Does he accompany you everywhere? He’s beautiful.”

The Danaan woman wrapped her arms lightly around herself as they continued to stand out in the cold. Morgan hated Pantocratorian winters. Of course, it was nothing compared to the frozen wasteland her father-in-law had forced her to go to for her honeymoon. She glanced over at Constantine briefly, waiting for him to lead the two ladies back to the car so that they could make their way home to the palace and its heating system.

“I’ve heard a little about Taraskovyan black wolves as companion animals but not nearly as much as I’d like to know. They’re very close companions, aren’t they?” Morgan said by way of making more casual chit-chat.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Constantine's mouth opened to say some words of greeting to the Colonel but found himself silenced by the rather unexpected sight of his wife saluting the Taraskovyan officer. He found himself grinning despite himself as he offered the Colonel his hand to shake.

"A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur le Colonel." Constantine said.

Constantine regarded the wolf with a degree of apprehension, not being particularly enthusiastic about the animal as a result of its sheer size. He glanced to the cars behind them and wondered where the beast would fit. He waited for Morgan and Vethara to finish their conversation about Taraskovyans and their black wolves, and then motioned to the cars with one arm, moving the other behind Morgan's back.

"Ladies, Colonel, perhaps we should get out of the cold. His Majesty is looking forward to seeing you at the palace." Constantine suggested.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Colonel Kiltharan shook Constantine’s hand, replying with a proper courtesy formula fit for the situation. And then he felt silent again, glancing back at the Swans Guards, their black cloaks battered by the rising winds, and on the servants in warm winter clothing that were busy unloading the party’s luggage. Of all this Vethara’s clothes and things were only two bags, the rest belonging to the other people, and namely to the Guards, who had to carry along quite some equipment.

“He accompanies me most of the time, but not everywhere,” Vethara miled and looked at her loyal companion, ruffling the fur on his head a little. “And they are very loyal companions indeed. Loyal, yet free and independent, just what our ancestors needed to survive in the harsh mountains.”

She then nodded to Constantine. “Then we should not keep His Imperial Majesty waiting.” Vethara gave her wolf some order in Russian. Pushok gave his Mistress a glance and went back to the cluster of guards, sitting down and waiting for the group to move. Indeed, Vethara gave him the order to accompany the leib-Guards and, thus, ride with them.

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Constantine guided Vethara and the Colonel into the first car, in which he and his wife were also to ride, while the Swans Guards and Pushozverek were put into the second luxury car. The remainder of the Taraskovyan party followed behind in less glamorous automobiles. It was only a short drive to the palace itself, since the airport was only really located where it was for the convenience of the court, not the town, which was far too small to require an international airport of its own, or even a domestic one for any but the smallest planes.

The palace of Chantouillet was an impressive structure, no doubt, but to the astute palace-dweller eye, it was obvious that Chantouillet was foremost built as a leisure palace, a place more for the pleasure of the Emperor and his family than the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, which seemed more than anything else designed to be magnificent; splendour being achieved at the expense of comfort. Whereas the principal palace of the Pantocratorian Imperial Family was built to impress first and foremost, Chantouillet was built to enjoy. The gardens, visible through the car windows, were personal, designed to be enjoyed by people walking around in them, as opposed to formal gardens designed to impress people looking down at them from a far away palace window. Even in winter, much of the garden looked very much alive - the gardeners had planted particularly hardy native trees and bushes, capable of handling anything the unpredictable Pantocratorian weather threw at them.

The cold weather had some advantages to the palace's décor, as well. In the courtyard in which the cars came to rest, a Nativity scene had been constructed, carved entirely out of ice. The weather, combined with the ingenuity of Chantouillet's master steward, ensured that the magnificent ice carving would remain fully intact until at least Boxing Day. The aforementioned master steward was busy keeping two young girls wrapped in warm clothing away from the figures of ice - the last thing such a delicate construction needed was children touching it, afterall. The Varangian Guard, dressed in their winter dress uniforms, were more attentive to the two black cars which pulled up, and snapped to attention. Their commander, Sir Constantine, himself dressed in a particularly well-decorated version of the same winter dress uniform, moved to open the car door for the Archduchess, Prince and Princess, and Colonel.

"Your Highnesses," Sir Constantine said by greeting as the party disembarked the vehicle. "His Majesty awaits your presence inside, please follow me."

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Vethara greeted Sir Constantine with a smile as she took a breath of fresh winter air. She gave a glance around and smiled at the Nativity scene, admiring the craftsmanship. And as the Archduchess had a look around, she felt as the well familiar warm and heavy presence sat itself near her, looking curiously at the surroundings. The wolf soon received a light patting on his head.

Colonel Kiltharan had already gotten out and was now slightly behind her. The Swans Guards were waiting at a short distance, except for one which came to the Archduchess to get instructions.

“Your men and the civilian personnel are to proceed with the civilian personnel to the quarters and begin unpacking,” she spoke in Russian to the soldier. The Guard did not utter a word and simply moved with his comrades to the other cars, where civilian personnel were busy unloading the luggage.

“I would be grateful if my party were shown to their quarters,” Vethara addressed Sir Constantine in French. She spoke with a charming accent, which made it seem as if she purred when she rolled the r’s. “On this, we shall not keep His Majesty waiting any longer.”

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

"I shall have it seen to, mademoiselle." Sir Constantine replied, nodding politely. He was a tall man with a trustworthy, even kindly look about him despite his somewhat grizzled appearance, which included a handful of small but fairly visible scars on his face.

Sir Constantine guided the party up a small set of steps and into the palace, dire wolf and all. Once inside, he motioned wordlessly to a valet, who approached and received a few brief words of instruction, before guiding all of the Taraskovyans except Vethara herself and Colonel Kiltharan to their rooms, taking the wolf with them (OOC: presuming Vethara has no objections). Sir Constantine then accompanied the remainder of the party down the long hall, to whose usual rococo décor had been added all manner of Christmas decorations, wreathes and lines of holly from which were suspended delicate glass globes of white, red, gold and silver, decorated with gold leaf angels, stars, snowflakes, and Christmas trees. Someway down the hall, but not at the end, Sir Constantine stopped by a set of doors, scratched on one with his finger, and hearing a murmur from within, opened it.

The suite within looked almost like a makeshift television set, as the Emperor was preparing to record his Christmas address to the nation. A camera crew was set up at one end of the room, and the Emperor was seated in a silver chair beside a fireplace, wearing partial coronation robes. The make-up artist had just finished tidying up the Emperor's beard, and wardrobe was carefully arranging the heavy ermine around the edging of the purple cloak draped around his broad shoulders. On his head, in the place of a heavy diadem, was a much lighter olive wreath made of artificial leaves of glittering silver, freshly polished for the cameras.

"Somebody get me a light reading, please!" the director, behind the camera, snapped. Somebody took an appropriate metre out beside the Emperor, nodding politely as they approached, and made the reading. In the midst of this, the Emperor looked over the shoulders of the wardrobe person adjusting his cloak to Sir Constantine by the door.

"Sire, Her Royal Highness the Archduchess Vethara has arrived." Sir Constantine said.

"Excellent." the Emperor answered. He looked to the director. "Quiet."

"Sire." the director nodded, sighing inwardly as he motioned for the wardrobe, make-up and camera staff to withdraw back to him in silence to give the Emperor a few minutes of peace.

Sir Constantine turned back to Vethara, Constantine and Morgan, and motioned to the open door.

"His Majesty will see you now." Sir Constantine said needlessly.

As the party entered the room, Sir Constantine closed the door behind them and waited outside. Prince Constantine bowed to his father, and presumably Vethara and Morgan curtsied.

"Your Highness, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." said the Emperor, rising to his feet, which provoked an audible gasp of frustration from the director on the other side of the room. "I apologise for all this, I'm about to record my Christmas address. I trust your voyage was pleasant?"

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Having gotten rid of her warm vest, Vethara was now seen in a snow white dress, with gold and silver embroidering running along the dress depicting various Taraskath motives. The dress was sleeveless, offering a view of the woman’s arms. To compensate, the neck line of the dress ran along Vethara’s collar bone, effectively concealing her chest from the outsiders. But considering how well the fabric hugged her body, her forms could be appreciated by observers.

As far as greeting the Emperor went, bows and curtsies were absent from Taraskovyan protocol. However, as the saying went: “When in Rome, do as romans.” Partly, the saying was true for Pantocratoria, and so Vethara did a light curtsy, smiling to herself.

“Your Majesty, it is an honour to be greeted within your halls,” Vethara said with a charming smile. “And I can only confirm that my voyage was pleasant and the welcome was warm and appreciated. I also apologise if I distracted you from your present occupations, for I know the importance attached to Christmas addresses. My own brother approaches the matter with all due concern and attention and is quite impossible to get by on the 6th of January of every year.”

Morgan followed along with Constantine as Vethara was presented to the Emperor. She was quiet for now as was appropriate. Really, she was just relieved to be back indoors where it was decently warm. She didn't understand how Pantocratorians dealt with this weather year after year and had more than once, although never seriously, fantasized that she and Constantine might spend the months from November to March with her cousin, the Princess of Pele, in her nice warm palace in the tropics where there was surfing, instead of skiing and other such barbarous occupations.

The weather aside, however, Morgan was enjoying her stay at Chantouillet. It was one of the few places where the various members of the Imperial family were able to relax and relate to one another in a (relatively) informal manner and, after her trip to Amory and her conversion to Catholicism, she had largely been reconciled with the Emperor as far as their dispute about Finara was concerned. Morgan was also glad to meet Archduchess Vethara, about whom she had indeed heard many good things, and the Montmanuel family, which was also wintering at Chantouillet. Morgan was thinking about all of this. Morgan tended to think a lot when she went for awhile without speaking, almost as though the narrator of her life was struggling to get enough text.

"Quite, it comes with the territory somewhat." the Emperor answered. "I hope the Grand Duke doesn't have to deal with quite so fussy a production crew as I."

"And this, Sire, is Colonel Kiltharan." Prince Constantine said, introducing Vethara's military companion.

"A pleasure, Colonel." the Emperor acknowledged the uniformed gentleman.

"We should probably let you film your address, Sire." the Prince continued.

"Yes, unfortunately." the Emperor nodded, and looked to Vethara once again. "I hope you will do us the honour of joining us in the theatre this afternoon, mademoiselle. It is a pleasure to have you with us for the season."

When Vethara, Kiltharan, Constantine and Morgan had withdrawn, rejoining Sir Constantine out in the hallway, the Prince explained the Emperor's invitation.

"This afternoon a Nativity play... or perhaps an opera, I don't recall which... will be performed in the palace's theatre." Constantine explained. "It would be lovely if you could join us. In the meantime, I'd be happy to give you a tour, or perhaps you would like some time to yourself to relax after your flight?"

Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

Having given the Emperor the promise to attend the evening performance at the theatre, Vethara followed her guides out of the room, always accompanied by Nethair Kiltharan.

“Whilst I am not exactly tired, Monsieur,” Vethara said with a smile, “I would still prefer to check in on my quarters to get accustomed with what will be my home for the next few days.”

And indeed, she also wanted to coordinate the unpacking and arrange her wardrobe, as to choose what she’d wear for the theatre performance. Being a woman of the highest social rank was not always easy, but somehow Vethara got used to it and enjoyed it to a degree.

“I shall also check in on my staff and assure myself that everything is fine,” the Archduchess finished. “So, if nobody has objections to me retiring, I would love to be guided to my quarters.”

[OOC: I figure no need to post the guiding to quarters. Once there, she'll check everything is fine and take a nap or something.
So TRD can post his post he wanted to post :P]

The Great Gardens, Vigvar Winter Palace, Taraskovya

Just as all of Vigvar, the Great Gardens were covered with snow. As usual, greenhouses were mounted around compositions of tropical and otherwise warmth loving plants. The robust Taraskovyan flora lost its leaves, waiting for spring when it would blossom again.

Two persons were walking along one of the cleared paths, dressed into warm winter clothing. An aware observer would surely recognize the Grand Duke himself and his drow lover.

“Do you really think it was a good idea to send her away?”

Mikhail arched an eyebrow and sighed, as the question he has been dreading has come. He looked at Vailphi and smiled.

“I am unsure who wants to hurt her here. Pantocratoria is one of the best places for her to be…”

“Still,” she cuddled up against Mikhail, who passed an arm around her waist. “What she’d need is her family, not some strangers, to comfort her.”

“Why did you decide not to come with her, then?”

“Let me imagine… a drow amongst haughty arrogant peacocks that still dwell in some form of anachronism. No, dear heart, I much prefer Vigvar.”

Mikhail smirked, but said nothing. It was at this moment that his cellphone, the one used for only the “Most Important of the Most Important” calls, rang. The voice at the other end of the line could not be heard, but a wicked smile appeared on the Grand Duke’s face as his eyes lit up with that particular blaze.

“Good news?” Vailphi asked when Mikhail ended the call.

“Indeed… They got the fourth assassin. And alive. Kshas-Keth is already interrogating him.”

* * *

Somewhere, Taraskovya

“Still no news from the fourth member of the cell?”

“No, Sir. Considering the lack of contact, we have to presume he is either dead or captured. The latter is the worst case scenario for us.”

“He should not know anything of vital importance…”

“He doesn’t, Sir. Our undercover organisation has nothing to fear even if he breaks.”

“Let us hope your words are true then…”

* * *

Undisclosed Location, Yekaterinburg, Taraskovya

“We are fully positive, Sir, no Legion elements have been involved even indirectly in the assassination attempt.”

Relief could be read on Raven’s face as he heard the report.

“You are absolutely certain?”

“We have verified the combat squads, Sir. We have verified the logistics personnel. Special Operations division also has nothing to do with it, Sir. The Legion is fully clean.”

“Excellent… most excellent…” Raven paused pensively. “Somebody has tried to set us up, Alexei. I want you to track them down. Find them, whoever they may be and where they may be.”

“Should the targets be eliminated?”

“No, just find them. I shall worry about the rest.”

That night, Vethara had a very strange dream, oddly real. She was in a field of green soft, green grass. Here and there bright but strange flowers rose from the ground. The flowers were every color of the rainbow and seemed somehow brighter, lovelier than any color ever seemed in the Waking World. To Vethara’s left, the gentle fields rose into a rolling series of green hills. On her right, there ran a clear, shallow stream. The air smelled faintly of flowers.

As Vethara got her bearings, she heard the beating of wings above her. Looking up, she could see a large, majestic beast flying through the air. It possessed the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. On its back was a humanoid figure which seemed to shine radiantly with a sort of inner, golden glow. She was wearing shining armour of gold encrusted with sparkling emeralds which seemed to impede her movements not at all as she rode her fantastical mount.

The great beast slowly settled to the ground a few hundred yards from Vethara. Although the beast looked powerful and independent, it had a certain calm air about it which made it hard to believe that the Archduchess was in any danger. Of course, she was dreaming anyway and somehow aware that she was dreaming. Whatever the case, the armed and armoured young woman dismounted from the creature and made her way towards Vethara. Her face was still obscured by the visor on her helm but her movements were comfortable and relaxed and her gauntleted hands stayed far from her weapon.

The woman approached Vethara and fell to one knee in what the Archduchess might recognize as a chivalrous gesture, albeit one alien to Taraskovyan customs. She flung back her visor to reveal the radiant but somehow profoundly sad face of Grand Duchess Victorira ni Gwydion. “Your Highness, I’m sorry that I couldn’t come until now. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do anything to help. I meant to visit you earlier but the plight of my people is a dire one. Still, I felt the attack in the deepest realms of Garmar and worry has possessed me since.”

The words were perhaps a tad melodramatic, yet from a Sidhe, a noble of dreams, here in this larger than life dream version of the world, they seemed as natural as any words might have. In fact, they almost seemed restrained/ Vicotira, after catching her breath, rose from her knee and smiled softly at her friend. “It’s been too long. I really did mean to do this earlier and more often.” She turned towards the beast she had ridden. “Do you like Fukyri? She’s been my mount ever since the Shattering.”

Vicotira leaned forward and kissed Vethara on each cheek. “Lady Agwene’s been trying to follow events in the Waking World as closely as she can. She still feels responsible for the people of her former kingdom, even as much as everything’s changed. My other sister and I have been better able to adjust, although we’ve both missed our friends and she’s really missed her husband. I…” Vicotira smiled slightly as she glanced off before looking back at Vethara. “I should be quiet for a moment. You’ve been through a rough several days if my Kenning does not deceive me overmuch.”

Vicotira looked around briefly, a light wind catching her hair and blowing it lightly forward. She turned her gaze back to Vethara, elegantly tapered ears listening intently to what the other woman has to say.

The Dreamworld

For a short nap before the opera, that was sure quite a nap that Vethara had. But then again, seeing her old friend that went back to the Dreaming some time ago was always a pleasure and so the woman greeted Vicotira warmly, embracing and kissing the sidhe on the cheeks.

“It has indeed been long, my friend.” The woman remembered how the Grand Duchess promised to visit her ever so often before departing and how things kind of not went ahead as planned. “And I am glad to hear that Lady Agwene and your dear sister are well. Be sure to communicate my sincerest respects and warmest salutations to them.”

“Fukyri looks gorgeous, Vicotira,” Vethara said as she glanced at the mount. She had no fear in her, but was quite curious how such a creature could exist. But then again, it was a dream, and in a dream everything is possible. “What do you call this kind of beasts?”

"She's a chimerical gryphon." Vicotira said. "Chimerical versions of most creatures, real or fantastic, live in the Dreaming. There's probably even chimerical fish in that stream right there. Real gryphons are actually the national animal of the Resurgent Dream, or at least they were at the time of the Shattering. Exactly how they evolved and how they function aerodynamically...I've never really been able to fathom. Of course, when it comes to the nature of so-called fractal reality, I've learned it's usually best to just not ask too many questions."

Vicotira smiled slightly and started to walk back towards her mount, clearly expecting Vethara to move in the same direction. "You're welcome to pet her or even ride her if you wish. I know she looks fierce but you'd be hard pressed to find a more loyal companion. She's brought me alive through quite a few battles ever since the Shattering."

"So how have you been?" Vicotira asked in a more casual tone, starting to relax and fall into a more ordinarily conversational mood.

“No, no, thank you,” Vethara said and shook her head as she was offered to ride the mount. “I have been invited to the theatre by the Pantocratorian Emperor himself later in the evening, should not get carried away in my dreams and sleep it over.” The woman gave her friend a wink as she patted Fukyri a little before sitting down on the grass.

The question how has she been was a tad… saddening for her. Vethara remained silent for a short moment before answering with a sigh. “I would rather I had been going through something entirely different from the happenings of the past few weeks.”

She then looked up at Vicotira and smiled. “And how have you been, my friend? I did not know one had to wage battles in the dreamworld. After all, a good dream is a perfect world and there are no wars in a perfect world, or am I wrong?”

Fukyri nuzzled into Vethara's hand as she was petted. The gryphon settled down on her haunches as Vethara sat and Vicotira followed her lead. "Good dreams perhaps but there are nightmares too. There are quite a few nightmares."

"I don't want to bore you with all the details of the geopolitics of dreams but there are many different races, houses, courts and political alliances among Fae and chimera and there are also both dreams and nightmares and more powerful beings embodying fundamental traits of the unconscious in the form of thinking, feeling beings, mostly of the darker sort. There are, so to speak, gods of hatred, fear, greed, anger and all the other darker forces located deep in the Dreaming. To make matters worse, many otherwise decent Fae blame my sister or humanity or the Sidhe for the events of Shattering." Vicotira said a little sadly. "But things have been going better recently. My sisters and I have managed to rally the support of the greatest Troll chieftains which has given us the manpower we need to win."

“Well then, let us hope your victory shall be swift and rapid,” Vethara smiled and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and imagined herself the perfect world, thinking with a corner of her mind how was it possible to dream within a dream and finally decided not to check how far the chain could go. Being lost in ones head is never a pleasant experience, from what some people say.

“But it appears that the Dreamworld is just as fractured and divided as the world of mortals. But then again, we create our dreams…” The woman said pensively. “Or they create us,” she added, arching an eyebrow and looking over at Vicotira.

“Regardless of all that, before I have to end my nap and get ready for the evening performance, we have some time left to chit-chat. As such…” she paused for a second before continuing with a smile. “Tell me, has any handsome dreamlord managed to spin your head already?”

Vicotira laughed lightly. "No. Not yet. I haven't had the attentions of a man ever since Prince Peter. How are he and Gwendolyn doing by the way? But it seems that the spirit of love has yet to bless me. My sisters and I are all rather deprived in that respect. Agwene is stuck with Connor who seems to consistently betray her. Aiwyn's Phaeton is on the other side and seems to have largely vanished from any sort of activity in any event, as has his Empire of Akaton, gone the way of Syskeyia and Lavenrunz."

Vicotira sighed slightly. "How about yourself? Any handsome young noblemen in your life competing for the smallest attention from the loveliest and noblest lady in all Taraskovya? Or what about that North American President you brought to the ball in Lavenrunz? Any continued interest there?"

Vicotira perked up a little and turned to look more closely at Vethara as she inquired after her friend's love life. Her grin was affectionate but also perhaps it was rather playful.

“Actually, he was the one who brought me to the ball,” Vethara said with a smile as she remembered the past days of her exile in Menelmacar. “But ever since, he has gone off to some war and I have not had any contact with him ever since. So I consider that the storyline has grinded to a halt. A pity, though, he was rather cute.”

With that, the Archduchess lay back on the rainbow grass and stretched a little, admiring the skies above.

“Otherwise, cannot say my love life is of any particular interest. The usual host of suitors is after me, of course, more interested in my titles, influence and fortune than in myself.” She paused for a second, smiling to herself. “But Pushozverek, my little 3 meters long black wolf with very sharp fangs keeps them at an honourable distance from me.”

"He was cute, wasn't he?" Vicotira said. "But you can do better. There isn't a prince or king in all the world who wouldn't jump at the chance to wed you. You're in Pantocratoria. Have you met Prince Constantine? I've heard that he's a rather charming man and last I heard her was still available."

Vicotira lay there for a long while, just looking up at the sky and enjoying the company of a friend she hadn't seen for far too long. At length, she sighed and said "I suppose I should allow you to awaken now. I would hardly wish for you to sleep through your play."

The Sidhe rolled over to face Vethara, placing a small silver whistle into her hand. "If you ever need help from the Dreaming, just blow on this and I'll always be able to hear it. What I can do is limited but whatever I can offer is yours to call on. I have truly enjoyed this and I will be sure to call on you again, although I won't promise it will be soon."

As Vethara awoke, it felt almost like awaking from any unusual vivid dream. Until she realized that the little silver whistle actually was in her hand, as real as any physical object.

After Vethara had awoken from her afternoon nap (no doubt a result of jet lag) and freshened up, she was shown to the palace's theatre. The Emperor and his family were already seated in the Imperial Box a level above and to the side of the rest of the forty or so seats in the theatre, which were filling up with the select courtiers who had been invited to join the Imperial Family at Chantouillet for Christmas. Vethara was invited to join the Imperial Family in the box if she desired. Seated with the Emperor in the box were Constantine and Morgan, the Emperor's youngest daughter, Princess Zoë, his sister, Princess Irene, his brother, Prince Basil, and Basil's wife and daughters, Jacqueline, Helen and Marie, the latter freshly returned from the Resurgent Dream for Christmas.

Zoë and Irene were seated on either side of the Emperor. Zoë was a pretty girl of fifteen, and the woman she would become was already visible, even if it was partially obscured by the way her vaguely elven-styled long brown hair fell about her face. Irene was a woman in her early fifties, whom Vethara may have recalled meeting at the wedding of Princess Theodora and Prince Brendan (not to mention Danaan High King Owain and his Tartaran Queen Marissa, and Princess Gwendolyn and Prince Peter). If she did remember meeting Irene, Vethara might have been surprised by how much brighter and less severe the princess was. Although her face bore the lines of two decades spent scowling and frowning, now that the expression worn on it was a contented smile, and the eyes filled with a familial warmth as opposed to a judgemental glare, Vethara could see that Irene must have been quite an attractive woman in her youth.

Seated on the other side of the box was Monsieur, Prince Basil, and his family. Basil looked similar to the Emperor, although he was clean shaven and his full head of hair was only just beginning to show hints of grey. He was, like his brother, tall and broad-shouldered, and was somewhat trimmer than the Emperor was as well. His wife, Jacqueline, was also just on the tall side of being average height, and had a slender figure, even more so for being seated next to her broad-shouldered husband. Neither Basil nor Jacqueline seemed to be paying much attention to the preparations for the play, however. They were both stealing concerned glances at their daughter Marie. Both Marie and Helen were naturally slim young women with milky white complexions, and both shared the dark brown hair almost everybody in their family seemed to have, but Marie looked positively underweight, and her complexion seemed pale. Standing alone her weight loss since she had been assigned as the ambassador to the Resurgent Dream might not have been noticeable, but seated next to her sister Helen, who had always been almost the same size, Marie didn't look healthy.

Considering she didn’t really know where to sit herself other than where she was invited, Vethara quite obviously accepted the honour of sharing the Imperial Box. The other reason was because she’d be simply closer to members of the imperial family and, thus, could share a talk if the moment allowed.

The Archduchess wore a black dress with a long skirt that trailed slightly behind her as she walked. Silver thread was used all over the dress to draw Taraskath motives. The front part of the dress split in two in the breast area and the two parts of the cloth proceeded to circle around the neck, meeting behind and, thus, supporting the dress on the body. This allowed leaving the top of the woman’s back open. And to go with her eyes, Vethara wore ear rings with rather impressive emeralds, as well as an emerald necklace on her chest.

Colonel Kiltharan was dressed into the ceremonial uniform of the commander of the leib-Guard, namely a dark-blue outfit complete with a black cloak that hanged from one shoulder. His sword was not with him, out of respect for the local customs which were not as “cold weapon loving” as Taraskovyan ones.

As Vethara and the Colonel were shown to their seats, the woman spotted some familiar faces, namely Princess Helen whom she had the pleasure to meet back in Vigvar. The Archduchess also wondered with a corner of her mind how Prince Basil reacted to his daughter’s escapade and if the reaction was negative, whether he’d blame the poor Taraskovyan for anything.

Undisclosed Location, Taraskovya

“Sound filters on level four. We shall begin at three… One… Two… Three!”

The room was suddenly filled with a deafening cry as the victim writhed in the chair. Thankfully for the group of men in white medical outfits, their helmets were equipped with efficient sound filters.

“Four millimeters…”

“Excellent. Hold it and introduce a twenty-fifth.”

In that very moment, the victim would have appreciated having the power to go unconscious at will. But, unfortunately for the man, he did not and his torturers were not about to let him go that easily…

“Introduce stimulator. One dose.”

“Done.”

“Continue main injection. A twenty-sixth…”

“Six millimeters… Sir, his heart is beating too fast…”

“Hold the injection. One pain killer dose…”

The victim writhed some more in the chair, yelling helplessly as the torturers proceeded on, like mindless machines without any knowledge of such irrelevant notions as emotion or pity. And whilst various, more physical, means of torture were still in use with the National Security (not officially, of course), the “drugs” were the most widely used ones as they could be easily evacuated from the organism and, thus, leave no trace of torture what so ever.

Of course, the National Security was not a bunch of barbarians. At first, a suspect is interrogated by a psychic. But unfortunately for the man in the present case, he was quite efficiently trained and augmented to resist a telepathic scan.

“Sedative, three doses.”

The victim stopped yelling and convulsing and was now breathing heavily, levitating in a state between that of pain, relaxation, sleepiness and awareness. The head of the medical team looked at the man from behind the visor of his helmet and asked a simple question.

“Will you talk, Sir? Or do we continue?”

“I will talk,” the victim whispered. “I will talk.”

As the play began on the stage below, the audience, including those members sitting in the Imperial Box, settled down and started to watch quietly. This time of year was always one of unseasonable sombreness for the Emperor himself, despite the warm, if distant, paternal air he had adopted on his televised Christmas address. In private he was much more introspective, and despite the fact that his eyes were fixed on the stage, they were somewhat glassy - the Imperial gaze was unfocussed, reflexive, somehow turned inwards. Of those present, Princess Zoë seemed the most sensitive to the Emperor's quiet, somewhat dark mood. Prince Constantine was equally aware of it, but he was physically further away from his father, and seated with his wife. Zoë on the other hand was seated right next to the Emperor and was making a concerted effort to cheer her father up whenever he withdrew from his reverie long enough.

If Vethara was worried about whether Basil would hold her accountable for his daughter posing in a most unimperial fashion for her charity calendar, she had some good reason, as no doubt Basil did not approve in the slightest, but if she detected any awkwardness around Monsieur, then it was not in his attitude towards her in particular. Basil's relationships with his sister, Irene, and his nephew's wife, Morgan, were both rendered awkward by the not-so-distant political past, and his personal relations with his daughters had been strained by Helen's posing for Vethara's calendar and by her staying nearly-permanently at New Constantinople, and Marie's ambassadorial appointment to the Resurgent Dream, during which time she seemed to have changed so much. He seemed particularly distracted by Marie, as did Madame, on account of her obvious weight loss, which was somehow emphasised by Marie's corset-free clothing.

The Nativity play was a fairly short affair, and its actors weren't professional actors but children of the court. The Virgin Mary was the runaway star of the show, and was played by a particularly beautiful and serene-looking Emperor's Maiden (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Emperor%27s_Maidens), with milky skin and long golden hair. The Three Kings were played by three teenage boys, none of whom, the Colonel was informed by over-hearing Constantine whispering to Morgan, was below the rank of a count - none of them, however, were particularly exceptional as the Virgin had been. Before long the curtain fell and an air of general conversation filled the chamber once more. Helen looked over her shoulder to Vethara and smiled at her, a sort of inviting smile which implied that Vethara and the Colonel were welcome to join Helen and Marie if they were looking for some conversation.

Pantocratoria

The play was charming in Vethara’s eyes, namely due to the fact that it was played by teenagers and not by professional actors. Such a play always had a certain feeling of freshness and improvisation about it which professional plays lacked.

During the play, she was not particularly preoccupied with the behavior of those around her. She did notice the Emperor’s absent gaze, but then again he was the Emperor, he had a country to rule. Vethara was not intimate to the exact intricacies of the Pantocratorian political regime, but she did know that Andreus had quite a weight on his shoulders.

She quite well remembered her brother’s absent gaze during public events as he was pondering on how best to balance the interests of powerful Taraskath and Russian lobbies, satisfy the Patriarchate and the Church of the Seven Deities, ensure a neutral foreign policy despite interest groups calling for the TNDF to rub that or that country off the map. Not that the Grand Duke minded flexing the country’s military muscle, but random unwarranted use of force was bad PR.

As far as Basil’s potential animosity was concerned, she did not seem to notice it much. Of course, she quite well understood he’d blame her for Helen’s daring move, but Helen was an adult and took the decision herself. Besides, it had broken up the image Taraskovyans had of Pantocratorians a little, namely of stiff and haughty peacocks.

And when the aforementioned Helen invited the Archduchess for a conversation, the latter gladly accepted, for she could finally share a word or two with somebody she knew. She sat herself closer to Helen and Marie, greeting both politely and being greeted in return.

“A pleasure to see you again,” Vethara addressed Helen before lowering her voice to a low whisper, only for Helen and Marie to hear. “I fear that by the looks your father has given me, he did not really appreciate.”

Morgan nodded to her husband's whispered words. The fact that all the boys on the stage were counts or more, however, did not really impress her much. If anything, she found the information a bit out of touch with the spirit of the Christmas season.

"I wonder if anyone has ever written a work about the Virgin and St. Joseph later on in their life, before Joseph died but after Christ had entered his teenage years. I know there's not really much about those years in Scripture of tradition but ... I think it might be an interesting subject." Morgan mused as the play ended and people began once more to converse. "I mean, in between the conception and birth of the Saviour and the Passion, Mary and Joseph had to have been going on with daily life in Nazareth. Joseph would still have been taking work at a carpenter. Christ would have helped him before He began His ministry. It must also have been hard sometimes for the Holy Family to live the life God choose for them, especially as they must have had the same feelings for one another as other couples."

Constantine didn't really disguise his disinterest for Morgan's biblical fascinations. He had never really cared for religious discussion, his religious upbringing and beliefs usually forming the unspoken background for much conversation and thinking, and frankly his natural inclination was for them to stay there. He sort of murmured a sound of general agreement and nodded.

"You mean the calendar?" Helen clarified in response to Vethara's speculation about whether Monsieur approved. "I don't think he did. Should we ask him?"

"You know he didn't, and I'm sure he's just pretending not to be able to hear us in order to be polite." Marie told her older sister.

"Spoil sport." Helen chided.

Pantocratoria

Vethara laughed lightly and shook her head. “I would not like to have the Emperor’s brother against me on my very first day of staying in Pantocratoria.”

She gave a glance over at Colonel Kiltharan, who was sitting in a way which appeared to be relaxed. But she knew he was surveying the surroundings closely as a professional bodyguard, albeit she didn’t exactly know what he’d do weaponless against a ranged shooter should one pop up. But then again, a detail of her leib-guards was not far away…

The Taraskovyan woman then looked back at her interlocutors, more specifically at Helen. “It is good to see familiar faces at Chantouillet. I hope that you and your sister will not deny me the pleasure of being my guides and, as our dear Colonel back there would put it, liaison officers.” She laughed lightly, the Colonel not making any sign of having heard the joke.

* * *

Undisclosed NSM facility, Taraskovya

The room was small, brightly illuminated and comprised nothing else than a table and two chairs. A set of mirrors were arrayed against the walls, some of them windows to an adjacent room, some of them not. One of the chairs was occupied by a person in the uniform of a National Security officer, the other was dressed into a slightly rugged civilian outfit.

“State your name and age.”

“Ellarth Kishass, fourty two years since birth.”

“Are you Taraskath?”

“Yes.”

“Do you follow the Seven Deities?”

“Yes.”

“Any deity in particular?”

“Sathala.”

The interrogator arched an eyebrow as the name of the Goddess of War and Death (among other things such as Passion and Lust) was uttered by the subject.

“How many men were in your unit?”

“Four.”

“What about logistics personnel?”

“We are… were… a fully autonomous group capable of independent action.”

“Who was the leader of the group?”

“I am. Was.”

“What was your unit’s mission?”

“Our objective was to eliminate the Archduchess.”

“Did you have support of other groups on the ground?”

“No, as I have said, we were fully capable of completely independent action. We were alone on the mission, both to guarantee a maximum secrecy and also to allow for complete flexibility. We did not have a fully planned out pattern, we had to improvise. Dispatching more groups would could have potentially made us cause problems to each other.”

The interrogator paused for a moment before continuing.

“How many groups in your organisation?”

“I do not know exactly. Group leaders are not privy into such information. If we have to work in conjunction with other groups, we are of course informed of their existence and of their members. However, we do not know the exact extent of the organisation. I can confirm the existence of at least six groups.”

“What are the tasks assigned to the groups by the organisation?”

“Mostly aggressive persuasion, in the form of raids, kidnappings, menaces.”

“Executions?”

“Our work is mostly in intimidation. Executions are rare.”

“How many executions did your group carry out?”

“Seven.”

“Who were your targets?”

“Mostly White Legion and its supporters.”

“A vigilante organisation, I see…”

“Indeed.”

The interrogator arched an eyebrow and pondered. The person in front of him was playing cooperation while trying to put them on the wrong path. He summoned some information on the computer screen in front of him, checked some information that interested him. It all took minutes, which were spent in complete silence.

“Why execute the Archduchess?”

“I do not know. Groups just follow orders, but I can speculate that it was because the Archduchess sympathizes with the White Legion.”

“Who was your Coordinating Officer equivalent?”

“I do not know.”

“Male or female?”

“I do not know. Orders were given in written form.”

“In what language were the orders given?”

“Taraskath.”

“A regional dialect of Taraskath?”

“No, it was in standard Taraskath.”

The interrogator pondered.

“Have you met other Group leaders during your… career?”

“Six.”

“How many of them were Taraskath?”

“All of them.”

So far, the information did not allow making any conclusions. The link to the Taraskath community was apparent and the man appeared to be telling the truth most of the time. At least this is what the detector indicated. However, some little details, which could appear without importance, were picked up. An organisation fighting the White Legion. All group leaders being of Taraskath kin.

“Are all groups capable of independent action?”

“As far as I know…” The man paused for a second. “Yes.”

Of course, no group is ever fully capable of independent action. There is always additional logistics personnel behind them, in the dark, directing the soldiers and assisting them. And whatever organisation Ellarth Kishass hailed from, it was a very serious structure…

“You have used a conventional bullet, albeit with increased piercing capabilities. Why not a gauss weapon?”

“The initial plan was to kill the Archduchess from a distance. Bullet traces would have given us out. But there were too many people and the guards had taken over all of the heights, so we had to get near and forget about stealth.”

“Why not wait for another opportunity?”

“We had a deadline which was to expire in two days. We had to act quickly.”

“You were in a rush?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I do not know. We were just given a deadline.”

The interrogator paused before asking the next question, studying the already gathered information, verifying something on the computer, before returning to the dialogue. He went on asking the man where he got the weapons, how he got into Lorelei, the planned escape route. Any single detail was to be discovered and the interrogation would drag on for hours.

Hotel “Belle Etoile”, Chantouillet, Pantocratoria

The man scribbled the last couple words on a sheet of paper before ending the call and putting his cellphone on the table. That done, Reginald Morrison, a Danaan citizen, stretched in his arms chair and gave a glance outside. The town around the imperial palace was in full preparations for Christmas celebrations. Trees and houses were decorated and a general atmosphere of festivities was in the air.

Officially, Reginald was a businessman who came to New Rome for affairs and profited from the occasion to give a glance at the famed Chantouillet Palace. Non-officially, Reginald’s name was fake and so was his citizenship and everything in his legend. He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Honey, do you remember that necklace you asked of me? Yes? Well, so far I had no luck in laying my hands on it. Nope. I’ll be on the lookout. I still have a few days in Pantocratoria. Love you!”

He hanged up again and then gave a glance back at the sheet of paper, on which was coded Archduchess Vethara’s itinerary of the day. A young Excalbian couple, totally in love, and a Knootian elf were tailing the Archduchess, constantly changing turns and acting in a very, very professional manner.

And so far getting to the Archduchess appeared impossible. She was being shown around by Helen and Marie, under the attentive watch of Pantocratorian security officers and the all-to-familiar dark figures of the Swans guards. But eventually they’d get to her. Honey was waiting for her necklace… and she was getting impatient. Never mind the “real” honey wasn’t even a woman and that the voice at the other end of the line, traced somewhere in Allanea, was only a link in a broader chain.

* * *

Winter Palace, Vigvar, Taraskovya

“So far our raids have not given any results. The coordinates are either empty or completely useless,” Namel’lar sighed. “However, Raven has contacted us with some information of interest.”

The head of the National Security hit several buttons on a pad in front of him and the holographic projector came to life, displaying three photographs.

“These are on the Legion’s most wanted list for murder of sympathizers. Apparently, were identified by witnesses, but the Legion had no luck in tracing them down.” The Kshas-Keth grinned. “Recognise our man?”

Mikhail arched an eye brow as one of the three photographs was the face of the man they were holding in custody.

“That these three men belong to the same organisation would be mere coincidence, right?”

Namel’lar shook his head.

“We have done a full background check. All three are retirned Airborne special operatives, part of diversionary commandos. They are trained for covert operation in urban centres, disrupting enemy communications and killing off enemy commanders where they think they are most secure: within cities.”

“Our own men have come against us… Have you done a check in whether the TNDF is somehow involved in it?”

“Not according to what information we have. The three have been retired for the past ten years, working as security contractors and mercenaries. Four years ago they have stopped carrying out any professional activity, surely to concentrate on other things…”

“Four years ago? At the height of the Legion’s campaign to bring religious and cultural purity to Taraskovya…”

“Yes, Sire. All information verified, it appears that the Legion is playing honestly on this one.”

“Of course, their survival hangs on a thread…”

Mikhail sat back and pondered, looking attentively at the faces of the men. All three were Taraskath, but one of them appeared less so than others. He actually looked more like a Noldo or a Sindar. He looked like the man that was currently in Chantouillet with a Knootian passport, but the Grand Duke and the Kshas-Keth knew nothing of such.

“Send the photographs over to the Pantocratorians and inform Kiltharan, just in case. God protects the careful, after all…”

The head of the National Security nodded and left the cabinet, leaving the Grand Duke alone to his thoughts.

OOC: Moving this on, simply 'cause Panto said I could.

- - -

Vigvar Opera House, Vigvar, Taraskovya

“It is so, Sire. The Pantocratorians have arrested some fake Excalbians, a Knootian and a Danaan citizens. One of them is our man, the others have been traced as linked to him.”

The voice coming from the comms link was quiet and impossible to hear outside the lounge where the Grand Duke of all Taraskovya and his concubine were seated, admiring the Prince Igor opera in full swing. Mikhail grinned contently.

“Arrange with the Pantocratorians so that they allow Kiltharan to interrogate them.”

“Should we demand an extradition, Sire?”

“These are not our citizens, so we cannot demand and extradition.”

The voice at the other end smirked and reported that he understood the instructions well. Mikhail in the meanwhile sighed and stared at the stage pensively.

“Good or bad news?” Vailphi asked softly.

“Good news,” Mikhail answered. “Good news… I hope…”

* * *

Undisclosed Location, Taraskovya

“Sir, we have some extremely bad news. Our Pantocratorian cell has been uncovered and detained.”

“How did they uncover them?”

“We do not know, Sir. All papers were top quality; even their respective governments would have needed time to uncover the fake. The Pantocratorians knew whom to look for.”

“This means that the National Security knows of your men’s identities… How many cells do you still have operational?”

“Three, Sir.”

“How long would it take us to replenish if starting from scratch?”

“A year at best.”

“Can you reunite all of your agents at the same place?”

The voice at the other end remained silent for a moment as he understood what his master was coming to. After several seconds, the voice spoke again.

“Yes, Sir. May I advise against the plan?”

“You may not. Proceed.”

* * *

Several Days Later

A medium sized café, Vigvar, Taraskovya

Early January was always cold in Vigvar as snow covered the streets. Of course, the municipal authorities made a great job at keeping the streets clean, but they could do nothing to diminish the cold. From time to time, icy winds would blow from the Sword Gulf adding to the freshness. Vigvar’s streets were curved to break the winds to the greatest extent, but it did not prevent a random passer by losing his hat to a sudden blow.

It was, thus, no wonder that many Taraskovyans took refuge in small cafes, bars, pubs and other restaurants in the evening. It was in one such café, completely full, that Captain Naks Lasht of the National Security had a rendezvous with a contact of his. The contact appeared to have some absolutely important information concerning the assassination attempt on the Archduchess. The Captain did not always have great faith in that particular contact, but he showed up none the less for he could not lose an opportunity to climb some ranks if the information indeed proved truthful. Of course, it was needless to say that nothing gave away the young man’s belonging to Taraskovya’s secretive security and intelligence service.

But apparently, he came for nothing. His contact never showed up. And so, he called up the waitress and asked for the bill, which she immediately produced and printed with her machine. The captain passed his card over, paying and stood up, preparing to leave.

“Sir, are you sure you do not want the bill?” The young woman said, smiling at the security officer.

“Not really, no…” Naks said reflexively, but then pondered and frowned. He reached out for the piece of paper and looked over it. And there, he saw a little note which said: Meet me at La Plaza Cinema. 19h. Salutes from Pookie!

Naks frowned and looked up at the woman again only to see her gone. Pookie was the codename of his contact, but his contact was a man. Blinking a bit, he approached another waiter.

“Pardon, uhm… can you tell me the name of that blonde waitress of yours? Kind of… wanted to ask her out, but would be impolite to start without knowing her name…”

The waiter arched an eyebrow. “We have no blondes here. That is for sure.”

“Euh… aaah… Excuse me for the bother.”

And to the waiter’s badly hidden mockery smile, the officer made his way out from the café. He gave a glance around, wondering whether he’d spot the woman again. But he did not, and so he gave a glance at his watch. It was five in the afternoon. He had two hours to go.

* * *

La Plaza was one of Vigvar’s rather average cinemas with four theatres. It showed all the block busters and top flicks, but what made its fame with the connoisseurs was that it was the only place in Vigvar one could view on the big screen various Italophone films which did not necessarily ever make it outside their respective countries, mostly the Dominion.

At 19h there was only one movie, in theatre 3. Some love drama. Naks sighed and got a ticket, having no choice but to get to the bottom of it all. Apparently, somebody was taking the entire matter very seriously, if not far too seriously. And as he made his way into the hall, the still young officer did not notice as a man standing against a wall followed him with his gaze.

A mere five minutes later, that same man would seat himself next to Naks and, when the film began after the traditional minutes of commercial, the stranger leaned over to the officer and whispered.

“I know who commandeered the Archduchess.”

Naks froze and blinked, his heart beginning to beat wildly. He gave a glance around them, but apparently the film was not that of great success as the hall was only a quarter-full and the nearest people were several ranges away.

“Who are you?” Naks whispered to the man.

“Somebody who needs to meet the Minister. And I want you to arrange that.”

“With the Minister? And how will I justify it? You must understand that the Minister will not accept this coming from a mere captain unless he has sufficient reasons.”

“Just tell him that the Knootian was one of my best agents.”

“And how will we arrange the place and time?”

“Amalor Ice Stadium, in two days. There shall be a show Nut Cracker on ice. I will find him there.”

On the screen, there was a scene in the dark as two lovers chit chatted in bed about something in their language. But this has also plunged the hall into a similar darkness. Suddenly, there was gunfire out in the movie which completely broke the calmness of the scene and Naks instinctively switched his gaze to the screen. When he looked back at second later, the stranger was gone.

The officer looked around, but saw nobody. He looked beneath the chairs and still there was nobody. All he had to do now is to watch the movie to the end. Otherwise, might look suspicious. Not that anyone would give a damn, but since he had to deal with vanishing ninjas, he will follow the basic instructions.

Winter Palace, Vigvar, Taraskovya

“Is this information correct, brother?”

Mikhail only nodded as he leaned back in his arms chair, looking attentively at his sister. Vethara was studying some information he had passed her, in a half-stunned state of mind, her eyes sparkling with tears. What she faced appeared hard to believe, and yet she had no reason to doubt the information that was gathered by her brother and his men. Truth, as was often the case, was ugly and spread a putrid stench.

“What about those… those assassins?”

“We have them all at a NashSec detention centre. The one captured in Zoria, the four extradited from Pantocratoria. Their leader has surrendered, as indicated, told us everything and implored for mercy. Apparently, Il’liar wanted him to kill his own men. As of the other cells, they had nothing to do with the assassination attempt, but we are holding them just in case.”

“What shall you do with them?”

“Whatever you decide, little sister. I can have them all executed. I can have them shipped off to the Hold. I can bestow them with a free and fair trial.”

Vethara sat silently, biting her lower lip, pondering. “They are just pawns,” she finally whispered, breaking the silence. “Revenge on pawns serves no purpose. It will not bring Tania back. Have them stand trial, have the Prosecutor limit himself with a life sentence, not the capital punishment… Besides, anything else would surely be a bad gesture towards the Pantocratorians, who generously hosted me with their very Imperial family.”

“Indeed, they requested guarantees of fair trial when extraditing. Then, the case shall hit the courts. What about Il’liar?”

“Him…” Vethara’s eyes lit up with a cold flame, which made her soft emerald eyes suddenly turn into omens of death. “I want to take care of him. Personally.”

“The Hold?”

“Not enough. I want him to die, and live just to die again. Forever.”

“Uh-huh. I am sure the Order can help out with that.”

“No, brother. I do not trust the Order. Il’liar Tal-Nash is a well known Seven Deities follower and is quite popular with their share of extremist scum.”

Mikhail nodded, for it was true that Il’liar Tal-Nash was well known for his anti-Christian stance and defence of ancestral Taraskath values, which was sure to earn him some support from the more radical of the followers of the Seven Deities that still considered the Rus’ as “invading locusts”. Despite being the elder brother of Karth Tal-Nash, the Taraskovyan Interior Minister, Il’liar resembled Karth only physically and even then not much. Il’liar was a cold and calculating plotter that led his own faction of Taraskath nobility houses that have splintered from the main Taraskath Houses led by Karth Tal-Nash and the broader family. And while on the surface and in the public the House Tal-Nash was united, away from camera lenses things were not as rosy.

“Very well, and I do not even wish to know what you will do to him. Just tell me what resources you need, and you shall have them. Do I arrange for an “official” death?”

“Traffic accidents are not rare in the Outer Ring,” Vethara said coldly, as she began pondering over her future actions. What she was going to do was not exactly Orthodox and would not really stick with her title of Benefactress of the Church. But sometimes, good girls just tended to go very bad when some swine decided to kill off their family members… Maybe one day she’ll regret it. But it was not for today.

* * *

PRIVATE ROYAL CORRESPONDENCE
STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL; INTO HANDS PROPER

[Shakhovskoy seal goes here]
Winter Palace
Royal Household

Ranisath,

I write to you to request a favour, and not one of a bright nature. I write to you to arrange for a possibility to take custody of the man that wanted me killed, of the man that killed my daughter. My brother has uncovered the entire cabal of theirs and he made the wise decision to disclose the information to me before acting. And now, upon the Grand Duke’s gracious permission, I shall act as I deem best myself.

I shall apprehend one Il’liar Tal-Nash, the man behind the plot to kill me and which killed my daughter and three other persons. Officially, he shall die in an accidental death, surely a tragedy for all those rotten Taraskath extremists. Unofficially, I want him to die only to live to die again. I want him to suffer until the Second Coming and beyond. Taraskovya has the means to do just this, but the swine unfortunately has many friends in my country and so I want him to spend the rest of eternity in a place where he has no friends, only foes.

Please inform me as quickly as can be whether the Necrontyr Empire can arrange for such… services.

Faithfully yours,
Vethara Ducessa

By the will of Ranisath Cuilahîr Cuilévaher
Elenaran of the C’tan

Vethara,

This is a heavy thing you ask, both in my own experience of it, and that of others of my kin who have experienced similar stress. Nonetheless, if it is truly your wish, I shall have it done on your behalf, my word, my anger and my love demand it.

If you wish to go through with this, you may give no further word of it, nor need you speak of it again, simply dispatch the transgressor to one of the necron ships in orbit of Venus, or elsewhere, and it shall be attended to.

I will direct Asirnoth to expect this person, and to prepare to carry out your request.

With Love and Anger,
Ranisath

---

From: Ranisath
To; Asirnoth
Subject: Excecutions of Il’liar

You are no doubt aware of the current emotional state of Vethara; you’re on her planet after all. It appears that she has found the person responsible for the crime committed against her, and wishes us to give him a cyclical execution. I’ve said she should send him to you.

She wants you to give this Il’liar a perpetual cycle of repeated execution and resurrection. While I have no particular compassion for him, it is excessive and unjust; what’s more, I think that when she ‘comes to her senses’ she may regret it.

Consequently, while I don’t want you to tell her, I would have you find out the exact number of innocent deaths the wretch is responsible for, and provide that many, then shut down all brain activity and continue as she requests. Keep it so she can see that he’s getting what she wants, but don’t allow him to be aware of this ‘suffering.’

I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell her, it is after all, a betrayal, but I’ll have the option.

Orbit above Venus

A shuttle and two escort fighters entered real space high above the planet. The shuttle itself was not of particularly impressive size, one mostly used to transport small parties on “short distances” (Earth-Venus was short, compared to Earth-New Crimea for example). The two fighter craft weren’t huge, either, since they were just average interceptors. The three craft were marked as belonging to Her Royal Highness the Archduchess’es Own Company of the leib-Guards, a white swan spreading her wings on a black shield.

Such a sight was not surprising. After all, Taraskovyan royals did sometimes travel around in space craft of a lighter class than the fleet-killer “Archangels”. As such, their respective bodyguard units (as the direct translation of “leib-guard” meant) also had an aero-space component melted organically into the standard structure. The “Swans” Guard was not an exception, even if its aerospace capacity was fairly modest compared to that of the Alexander Regiment.

But a small contingent was all that was necessary for the operation at hand, which consisted in simply handing over a prisoner. The leib-Guards were not informed of the all details, yet still they had received orders to never divulge that particular operation. Then again, they were just to hand over a prisoner to the Necrontyr, not to ask questions or write books.

“INS… Jalkalaissatana,” the pilot opened the comms link with the Necrontyr ship in question, struggling a little to pronounce the name in a single world. “This is Swans Guard Shuttle Zero Four One Two Seven, requesting permission to dock for prisoner transfer. Mission ident is as follows…”

After the code words were verified, the Necrontyr gave the docking permission, the to fighter craft breaking off from the shuttle and letting the latter enter into the flagship of none other than Lord Asirnoth himself.

Once landed, a group of four Swans Guards in combat outfits led out a prisoner, hooded and chained. The difference between the ceremonial lavish armour (which none the less allowed the guards to perform their functions perfectly well) and the combat outfit was that, well, it was just the ordinary TNDF suit, just in black and with silver swans on the arms. The official presentations were made and the Taraskovyan soldiers handed the man over.

* * *

High Duke Il’liar Tal-Nash dies in air crash

Police have confirmed that High Duke Il’liar Tal-Nash, the elder brother of Interior Minister Karth Tal-Nash, has been killed when his private jet in the mountain roads of Northern Cardinia.

“The High Duke was traveling alone when he lost control of his aircraft,” a spokesman for the North Cardinian Fiefdom Gendarmerie commented. “The first version we have is that the aircraft collided with a mountain peak while in flight. We have recovered numerous debris spread over the mountain cliff and the valleys below, including some tiny pieces of flesh. According to preliminary DNA tests, the victim is one Il’liar Tal-Nash.”

The High Duke has been known for his extremist Taraskath nationalism and, as such, already rumours abound that he was in fact killed by either the Government or the White Legion. However, some facts appear to dismiss such speculations, as several family members have already confirmed that the High Duke wanted to fly alone from the northern city of Arkhangelsk to the old Taraskath castle of Tin-Kenth he has purchased recently. It is not yet clear how the early warning and automatic flight adjusters failed to avoid the collision, but a team of investigators from the National Security is already on the scene to shed all the light on the incident.

The loss of Il’liar Tal-Nash will surely come as a blow to the radical wing of Taraskath nationalists, who have already been at odds with the majority Taraskath nationalist moderates led by Il’liar’s own brother, Karth Tal-Nash. The latter has refused to comment so far.

[…]

* * *

Vigvar Winter Palace, Vigvar, Taraskovya

“Well, Your Royal Highness… he has taken your daughter. You have taken my brother…” Karth paused, his face frozen as he looked at the woman sitting opposite himself. “I shall consider ourselves… even. And I shall support the story of… accidental death. Il’liar has become uncontrollable, he has become a threat to us all. Maybe by taking his life, you have eventually even saved mine… After all, he has been hinting to me that I was considered a threat for cooperating with your brother.”

The Taraskovyan News Wire is a public media concern, owned jointly by the Taraskovyan State and private shareholders, which is the prime supplier of “World News, Taraskovyan Perspective” on the international level, including having a privileged access to major events from Taraskovya proper. It is not a propaganda tool and is in fact far from it, offering an objective view on the events it covers, as well as top quality analysis of happenings both inside and outside of the great Taraskovyan Empire In Denial.

The TNW One, or Taraskovyan News Wire One, is a television news channel, broadcasting in several available formats throughout any country that does not block the transmissions and allows its citizens access to foreign media. As it is an international channel, one should not be surprised to see non-Taraskovyan anchors, journalists and correspondents working for it.

* * *

TNW One, Live Broadcast

“Welcome back to TNW One and I am Andrei Marin,” the rather famous anchor of TNW One, a Ros (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Ros) in his mid-forties, spoke in perfect RP English. “We are taking you now to Vigvar, where the trial of suspected assassins that attempted on the life of Her Royal Highness the Archduchess of Taraskovya is about to begin. Our Vigvar Bureau Chief Helena Palnova is on the ground. Helena?”

The screen splits to depict the building of the Fiefdom Tribunal of Vigvar, the Fiefdom-level court charged with appeals against first-instance decisions as well as taking care of cases of “grave concern”. The Vigvar Bureau Chief, a woman in her thirties, was also rather renowned as she was the one covering major events in Vigvar. And since it was the capital of the entire Empire In Denial, there were quite some events at the Parliament, the Government, the Winter Palace and other important places.

The scene around her appeared rather tense and the viewer could see a tight cordon of heavily armoured riot-police surrounding the building. Two rows of riot policemen held the gates the Tribunal’s park and, thus, to the building itself, stretching the entire perimeter and even sealing off the park around the building. An additional two rows was stretched at the base of the stairs leading into the Tribunal proper and circled around the walls. Throughout the park, units of what appeared to be Security Troops in riot-control gear and even some armoured vehicles were on position.

Civilians on the other side of the cordon did not look particularly aggressive, albeit many were seen with bucket loads of rotten tomatoes and eggs. Random chants in Russian and Taraskath language would periodically shake the air, chants that foresaw nothing good for the assassins in the sense that they would “eat rot”.

“Yes, Andrei,” the woman also spoke in a good Received Pronounciation. “The situation is rather tense here at the moment as many very disgruntled, very angry people are being kept at a respectful distance by riot police. The main fear is that the crowd might attempt to lynch the suspected assassins as they arrive to their first hearing. People here are not at all happy with the fact that their beloved Archduchess was nearly killed and lost her daughter in the attack and they are making their voice heard”

“Any information on how the suspects will arrive? As I understand, the access to the building is shut by the protesters.”

“The police are tight lipped on this point, but it appears obvious that the six suspects will be delivered by air. The organizers of this rally here say they are entirely peaceful and will not commit any acts of violence. They will simply throw rotten vegetables and eggs, as well as paint. The Vigvar Gendarmerie has, however, decided to take no risks and we can confirm that elements from the Interior Guard are around the Tribunal with riot-control equipment and non-lethal stun weaponry.”

“While we wait for the suspects to arrive, can you please remind us the charges against them?”

“Of course. The main charge against the six suspects is, of course, high treason since they attempted on the life of the head of a Taraskovyan Dominion. Terrorism, murder, conspiracy to murder, disruption of public order, these charges follow. All six are tried for high treason and terrorism and these are the two charges that are most liable to earn them a death penalty under Taraskovyan Criminal Law. However, only two of the suspects are actually tried on four accounts of murder, which is also liable to earn them death penalties. The other four are tried on conspiracy to murder, which is punishable at most by imprisonment, but I cannot tell you the exact term as Taraskovyan Criminal Law uses a modular system to define them, not a stackable one.

“We do have information that the Prosecution shall not request the death penalty for any charges, as the six suspects cooperated fully and entirely with the authorities to dismantle their terrorist organization. It is not clear whether life sentences, or shorter terms, will be requested.”

“Thank you, Helena. We shall go back to you as soon as the suspects arrive.”

“I’ll still be here, Andrei,” the woman said with a smile.

The screen switches back to the anchor only.

“The Interior Ministry continues to remain silent on the terrorist organization which attempted on the life of Archduchess Vethara. The main reason for the continued discretion is that the investigation and arrests are ongoing. What we do know, however, is that the organization is tied to extremist Taraskath nationalists. In light of which, a host of governmental instutitions and non-governmental organisation have issued a call for calm amongst fears that violence might erupt amongst extremist Taraskath and Ros' nationalists, who, despite being a small minority, have the capacity to deal serious damage.

“In this context, the recent death of Il’liar Tal-Nash, known for his acute nationalists, has drawn a number of questions. The younger brother of Il’liar Tal-Nash, Interior Minister Karth Tal-Nash, has stated earlier that his brother’s death was accidental and that instead of “chasing ghosts” everybody should just remember the defunct for his good qualities. The Tal-Nash House has joined its new Head in the view that Il’liar’s death was fully accidental and asked the media to respect the family’s and the House’s privacy.

“Any link between Il’liar Tal-Nash and the terrorist nebula remains open to questioning, however… and… we are now going back to the Fiefdom Tribunal of Vigvar, where the suspects have just arrived.”

The image switches to the scene on the ground, with the camera showing in the depth of the park several aircraft. A group of Security Troops has formed a protective carapace around the suspects and guides them to a back exit of the Tribunal, as far from the protesters as possible.

Insults and shouts are heard from the crowd. Tomatoes and eggs fly into the perimeter of the park, but fall too far away from their intended targets.

“Yes, Andrei, the six suspects have just arrived and have now vanished inside of the Tribunal. The crowd has become excited a moment ago, but it appears that it is now calming down again as it has nobody to throw things on. The gendarmes are now asking people to disperse and let justice follow its course.”


OOC: Yay long lunch breaks at Uni.