NationStates Jolt Archive

The Imperial Secretariat of the Purple Inkwell wishes to invite representatives from various Ordinary Reality nations to the Imperial City to discuss cannibalism.

Specifically, were the Secretariat to organise an international cannibalism forum, who would attend?

Would participants be solely from nations where cannibalism is the cultural norm and / or legal (though not necessarily encouraged)? Or would participants come from nations that wish to denounce the practice? What are your tastiest recipes? Could there be scope for an international cannibalism cooking competition? Is cannibalism always a human to human practice, or do other species and / or sentient beings engage in the practice?

Perhaps the leader (or leaders) of your nation wake up one morning after receiving the following message in their dreams:

Dear [Sir/Madam/Miscellaneous Other]

By command of his Imperial Majesty the Basileus of the Holy Empire, the Imperial Secretariat of the Purple Inkwell has been commissioned to undertake a study of cannibalism in Ordinary Reality.

You are hereby invited to send a representative to the Imperial University in the Imperial City of Alasdairopolis to discuss a variety of issues stemming from this curious practice, of which we have recently been made aware.

As some of you may know, the Holy Empire exists in the Dreamed Realm, a plane of existence that lies outside of ordinary time and space, and which simultaneously intersects with myriad realities. As such, it is likely that some of your fellow representatives may seem strange to you, or may have access in their homelands to technologies that may seem wondrous and unimaginable. Your disorientation may be heightened by the fact that reality in the Empire is malleable, and time is not necessarily linear; the entire Realm is continuously dreamed into existence by tens of thousands of Orthodox monks. However, we wish to assure you that the malleable nature of reality will not apply to our guests; we haven't had an accident in that regard since... well, for a very long time, anyway.

Your movements will be restricted to the Imperial City for the duration of the conference. This strange and wondrous place features an architectural style known as Neo-Slavic Byzantine, with many golden, platinum and be-jewelled domes, pillars and arches. Mundies (as we call those from Ordinary Reality) have been known to find it a little over the top, especially in the Imperial Palace, Imperial Hippodrome, and Imperial Basilica of the Holy Wisdom; but we like it.

Direct travel to the Holy Empire from Ordinary Reality is impossible. Should you wish to attend the conference, or send a representative, please indicate as much in your dreams tomorrow night (yes, we know what you're dreaming; we know what [I]everyone's dreaming - some of you should be ashamed of yourselves), and a monk shall arrive at a time of your convenience to build a portal through which you or your representative [only] may travel to our reality.

Please note that non-consensual violence and crime is impossible in the Dreamed Realm; any attempt to engage in either will result in instant and immediate deportation. Smuggling weapons and intended weapons into our nation is also impossible, as all entrants are monitored by the State Bureau for Imperial Security [SBIS].

We look forward to seeing you, or your representative, soon.

Manuel Phocaso
3rd Senior Undersecretary of the Middle Inkwell

Barram o SilverStars, an Ursine shabear of the 'One plus Seven' sect, expresses his interest in attending.

Pieter van Delta was watching out of the only, but still rather large, window he had in his office. Sometimes he felt that the nation’s troubles were just too weird for words. Just a day ago he had a request from the church to install an inquisition to judge heretics, a ridiculous idea. And things got worse. When we was nicely dreaming about that nice new Koselic ambassador, the girl with the long hair, he was cruelly interrupted by a message from the Dreamed Realm. About bloody cannibalism.
The Nethertopian Prime Minister awoke from his contemplations when the Minister of Finance entered the room. “Ah, Anton, nice to see you.”
“You asked for me, Piet?” Van Delta nodded. He didn’t like the United Democrats, but Anton Klein was a man of discretion and always had an answer that made sense.
“Yes, I have. You see, I had this dream…”
“You called me for a dream?”
“… From the Holy Empire,” continued Van Delta, as if he was never interrupted. “They would like to discuss the issue of cannibalism.”
Klein looked surprised. “Oh, really? Well, that certainly is surprising.”
“And?”
“I don‘t think us important people have time for that, but we could send someone from Healthcare. They‘re a waste of time anyway, and that way we can even use it as a good excuse to build up some nice relationships with other countries participating in the discussion.”
Van Delta looked Klein in the eyes. The minister always spoke that arrogant about himself, but at least he had a sharp mind. “I was thinking something in that direction as well. Thanks for your time, I‘ll message their department to send someone.”

Bill Hoefdraad, Minister of Healthcare, was reading the message from Van Delta.
“Shit.”
“What‘s up?”
“They want us to send someone to the Dreamed Realm to discuss cannibalism,” explained Hoefdraad to his State Secretary, Mark de Wit. De Wit rolled his eyes..
“Ah. Shit.”
“They really think we aren‘t doing anything at all here, don‘t they?”
“Yup. They have no idea what we are doing here all day long.”
“Bloody Van Delta,” said Hoefdraad.
“Aye. Bloody Van Delta,” repeated the State Secretary. “So, who to send?”
“Let‘s put Vykor on it.”
“Maurice Vykor? But that guy is nothing but trouble! He can‘t keep his mouth shut about anything, at all!”
The Minister grinned. “Yup, that‘s why we‘re going to send him. We will be released from his presence for at least a few weeks.”
De Wit looked up, also grinning. “Great idea, sir. I‘ll message the Prime Minister as soon as we‘re done with our business.”
There was a silence for a few seconds.
“Sooo… Err… What were we doing again?”
“I have no clue. Want to get a cup of coffee?”
“Seems like a plan.”

Whatever Barram o SilverStars had been expecting when he passed through the portal to the Dreamed Realm, it hadn't been that he'd be greeted by an ursine. An extremely attractive female ursine with limpid eyes, strong firm paws, and fine golden fur at that.

"Ah... Barram O SilverStars! We've been expecting you! You may call me Theodora." She said. "I'll be your escort to your quarters this afternoon."

She immediately saw the puzzled look in O SilverStars' face.

"Oh. Yes. My ursine form... We have decided, for the purposes of this conference, to show ourselves in a form that you'll find more familiar. The Empire is a strange enough place for Mundies to cope with as it is, so we thought you'd appreciate us making an effort. Other attendees will see Imperial citizens as taking whichever form they're most familiar with. Ah. We're there."

O SilverStars could have sworn that they'd only taken four or five strides, yet they seemed to be in a completely new part of the city.

"Let me show you to your quarters. And tell me Barram - I may call you Barram, I hope - what's your favourite recipe for roast ursine? I understand that it's best to marinade ursine flesh in an oil-based marinade for at least 24 hours prior to cooking, but perhaps you have a different perspective? We are so eager to learn more about Ordinary Reality customs towards eating ones own species!"

Sasha Bakke came home late from the rally. It was a tiring and, she feared, ultimately unproductive day, although it could have been worse. A divided Parliament--more so than was usual for Zwangzug, anyway--couldn't muster the majority needed to make things even worse for the publishing employees. Nevertheless, the inaction was frustrating.

She was about to climb into bed--maybe that night she could get to sleep quickly--when she noticed her answering machine beeping. Sasha had discontinued her cellphone service when her provider had been exposed financing a Progressive Traditionalist campaign, and hadn't bothered to get a new one.

"Hello, Ms. Bakke? I'm sorry about this mor-"

Sasha bent down and deleted the message. Of course. The prank caller.

She'd put up with him far too long, really. After he'd claimed to be Felix Wainwright, she assumed it was someone trying to scare her off from the rally. Then he'd blathered on about an extradimensional convention and how her speech had been influential in the Parliament, blah blah blah...She'd hung up after "All you're supposed to do is dream about it." As if she could control her dreams! She didn't remember most of them, and those that she did usually involved going to the county fair with her grandmother.

It took too long to get to sleep that night.

Since the secretary had left the office for the day, first gentleman Brian Patrick happened to be in the office when a message came in. Being curious, he looked at it.

His eyes widened. "Cannibalism?" he said out loud, not realising that his paramour, president Jay Tyler was within earshot.

"What do you mean by saying 'cannibalism' out loud?" Tyler asked.

"Uh, look at this," Patrick said, his hands shaking as he handed the printed out document to Tyler. Tyler read it and his eyes widened. He thought for a second and wondered how the late president would have handled it. He could picture Mike Sarzo's eyebrows furrowing with some sort of sick curiosity.

Finally, Tyler looked up.

"I think James will be a good representative to the Dreamed Realm. That is, if Grant can get back from Timiocato in time."

Patrick nodded. He knew senior vice president and external affairs officer Grant Haffner was in Timiocato to discuss not just normalising relations with Pacitalia, but actually returning the two countries to their former position as close friends on the international stage. He also knew Tyler couldn't personally leave Sarzonia while both Lewis and Haffner were out of the country. So that left James Melvin.

Even though Patrick hadn't been around the Gray House very long, he could easily imagine Melvin's reaction. He knew it wouldn't be a whole lot of fun for the newly promoted deputy senior vice president. But then again, diplomacy isn't always the most fun job in the world.

"Should I call him or should you?" Patrick asked.

"Uh, I'm president. I guess that means it's my job." Tyler gave a slightly wincing smile as he saw Patrick breathe a sigh of relief.

"So, Nicepherous, how many have turned up so far?"

"Two, Sir - though we're expecting two more shortly. There's a Barram o SilverStars from Bears Armed..."

"Ah. From the intelligent ursine reality."

"Yes, Sir. And then there's Maurice Vykor from Nethertopia - though monitoring of the dreams of Nethertopian officials suggests that they're not convinced by this conference."

"And that the new Koselic ambassador is considered sexually attractive by their leader, or so I'm given to understand..."

"Ha ha. Yes, Sir. You remain as perceptive as ever. We also have hopes that Zwangzug and Sarzonia will be sending a representative, though we're still working on them - bit of a problem with split timelines last Tuesday..."

"Was that the most recent time Tuesday that came before Monday but after Saturday?"

"That's right, Sir, for those of us caught in that ISPI temporal loop anyway - the one where Sunday came in the middle of Saturday. Anyway, we've been having a slight problem synchronising the Ordinary Reality sendings as a result, but we hope to get it sorted out by tomorrow. A little bit of temporal play, and the next two delegates should arrive both after and simultaneously with the last two delegates."

"Fine - just don't explain that to them. Might confuse them. Anyone else?"

"Well, we still have high hopes for the metal-recycling she-cyborgs of Gauz - I know you were personally quite keen on them, sir - a representative from the fanged dread lords of Fluffy Bunny World, and a couple of others at least."

"Well keep trying Nicephorous, keep trying."

"Just one more thing, Sir."

"Yes?"

"It's this conference package that we're leaving in the quarters of each delegate..."

"I know the one you mean."

"Well, it's just that the guide to Dreamed Realm etiquette we've included..."

"What about it?"

"Well, Sir... Given the nature of the conference, don't you think titling it To Serve Ordinary Reality might give the wrong impression?"

"I can't think what you possibly mean, Nicephorous."

Sasha's overeager worker closed the blog. Parliament had voted down a measure to mandate fluoride in drinking water. "They have to do something once in a while."

"Better nothing than a mistake."

"Health insurance is just going to keep creeping up for the rest of us."

"People have the right to choose what to put into their own mouths." The words seemed to echo from somewhere else, but she didn't give it any thought. She had an argument to win.

"Ditto nose, huh? Why haven't they-"

"Bakke?" interrupted the lanky secretary. "It's for you."

Cautiously, Sasha picked up the phone at her desk, selecting line one. "Hello?"

"Hi there! It's me, Renee."

"Oh." The new city councilperson could be frustratingly effervescent by Zwischen standards, but she was a true progressive and Sasha didn't mind her. "What's up?"

"Uh...well...this thing...in the basement of city hall. I was told you'd know what to do with it."

"What sort of thing? What's going on?"

"A couple guys came by, one of them sort of looked like Wainwright. And I heard people mentioning you."

"Okay, but what's in the basement?"

"It's...this weird glowing thing. I don't know."

With the exception of Kapro County in Anchett District and their nonbinding referenda, Zwangzug historically lacked legal precedent for dealing with the unplanned apparition of the mysteriously shiny. And when the city councilperson was stymied, reporting it to the government didn't seem like a good plan. "I'll be by after work." Some things took precedence.

But Sasha was unsurprisingly unproductive for the rest of the afternoon, dogged by concerns about...whatever it was. It had to have something to do with the pranker. Had she ever really heard Wainwright speak? Of course she had. He had a vaguely monotonic voice that seemed incapable of projecting true unsettlement. Still...

Riding over to City Hall, she transferred from the beige to the magenta line. Zwischen had never grown as large as the consolidators had hoped, but in a nation that ran on trains, the colorblind had very difficult lives. Magneta to chartreuse, two more stops, and there.

Things were quiet, but Renee was waiting for her. "Down here."

Sasha was about to balk, unwilling to descend into the basement before she had more information. But Wainwright emerged, unruffled even by the standards of someone whose only real responsibility was yelling at the Parliament, and they hadn't needed much instigation that day. "Hello there."

"You...what was that about?" Sasha eventually spluttered.

"Like I told you, it's a transdimensional forum about cannibalism." Her eyebrows were distorted, but he continued. "Your testimony at the hearing really was quite convincing."

"Ah..." She did remember that, yes. Standard fare, she just happened to be the one selected. "You said trans..."

"Indeed." He strode towards the lower level, lit only by the portal's ethereal glow.

"And that is?"

"The portal to the Dreamed Realm."

"Dreams. Well, that's one thing that makes sense here. I'm about ready to wake up now."

He shrugged magnanimously. "Go ahead."

"And if this," she stammered, "isn't a dream?"

"The fellow in my dream told me that violence is impossible there. There's nothing that can harm you?"

"The fellow in your dream?"

"Yes, some bureaucrat with an appropriately long title, junior oversecretary or something of the effect."

There was nothing left to do but giggle. "Oversized bureaucracy? Can't be too transdimensional. I can handle this."

Cannibalism? It had to be some sort of dream. Best to snap out of it.

Sasha walked, more confidently than she felt, down the stairs and into another world.

"Dear Manuel Phocaso,

The forum (and its venue, as well) that I have been recently informed of sounds most intriguing. I of course will not be an official representative of the Callisdrunian government, but I go with their blessing and interest. You must know how the behind the scenes affairs work with these matters. As a politically sensitive individual, it wouldn't do for the government to designate me as an official diplomat.

In any case, I do indeed plan to attend and arrive as soon as possible, as I am taken by such curiosity. This especially so considering my House's rather... unusual and notable history. I eagerly look forward to this forum as a chance for the acquisition of much knowledge that might be new to me on this rather unique and peculiar subject.

-Most sincerely,
Dr. Ilona Batory, Professor, University of Callisdrun (at Drun)"

The missive, as it turned out, was written in a most odd rusty color.

OOC: Is this going to go anywhere?

OOC: Is this going to go anywhere?

OOC - Yes, but at a stately pace. A couple of posts a week from me. I'm hoping other participants will give their imaginations free reign and post when the mood strikes them. Some nations (Bears Armed, Zwangzug, Nethertopia, Sarzonia) are a bit more familiar with the Dreamed Realm, and can probably have at it. Others may be less familiar, so may need a bit more scene-setting from me.

But yes, I plan on continuing the RP as and when time allows.

OOC: A creepy bit of Vetalian culture follows, especially for those uninvolved with us in International Incidents.

Every generation, there were those that "walked away from Vetalia". This was a poetic term, of course, but rather accurate for those involved given its permanent effects on those that took the journey. They were universally Vetalian-Londinians, the ethnic group descended from the people who fled British Londinium before its atomic devastation at the hands of Gholgoth, a region curiously and ironically enough now strongly tied to Vetalia following its collaboration in the Mediterranican War. For all of them there would come a time, usually around their age of maturity, when a desire to see their homeland arose within them and they would travel there via one of the few companies that still provided the service. Some, but not all, would answer that call while others would be content simply to know through the historical record. For those that did go, it was not technically legal, but no official would dare stop those that wished to see, and so it continued now, long after the nation of British Londinium and land of Victoria itself were both little more fading memories in the minds of the last generation of Vetalians to see the homeland of their most beloved and closest ally.

The ruins of Victoria were a frightening place, mostly a radioactive wasteland interspersed with the ruins and landmarks of a culture long effaced from the world. Dead advertisements in Vetalian Russian and Volscian, the emaciated husks of buildings, the twisted plants and struggling organisms trying to carve out a life in the wastes, all of it was there and all of it testaments to the culture they lost in that nuclear fire of two generations past. Seeing the waste land was something few humans could handle on a basic level, and even fewer could handle such a terrible sight were they of Londinian stock. However, to these visitors, this twisted visage was home and they treated it as such...their journeys might take a year or ten or some indeterminate date, and indeed some simply never returned. In some cases it was due to the latent radioactivity, in others the brigands and vagrants that had likely moved to the island in its desolation, and others simply stayed there to pursue a fate unknown.

Those that did return were something else entirely. The journey stripped them of their innate humanity, extinguishing the fire of human compassion and empathy forever but in the process making them masters of the one thing Vetalians did better than anyone: make money. It was something that was not proper for polite conversation, but many knew that these individuals were the drivers behind the country's insatiable appetite for profit. Even profit that came at the expense of other human beings...

It was this group that came to discuss, prosaically enough, the economic opportunities of cannibalism. The representatives themselves looked like any fabulously wealthy Vetalian anywhere in the world, but they were different in that this was a market they would pursue. The time had come to do business.

OOC - Yes, but at a stately pace. A couple of posts a week from me. I'm hoping other participants will give their imaginations free reign and post when the mood strikes them. Some nations (Bears Armed, Zwangzug, Nethertopia, Sarzonia) are a bit more familiar with the Dreamed Realm, and can probably have at it. Others may be less familiar, so may need a bit more scene-setting from me.

But yes, I plan on continuing the RP as and when time allows.

OOC: Okay, just wondering. It makes me a little uncomfortable sometimes if my post is the last one for several days running.

OOC - Please feel free to RP your own arrival in the Dreamed Realm based on the content of this post.

--------------------------------------------------------


"And more guests have continued to arrive, Zoya?"

"Yes, Sir. Sasha Bakke's arrived from Zwangzug, though she seemed a little... disoriented until we asked her to complete some ad hoc immigration papers in triplicate. A small group of wealthy Vetalian merchants have..."

"Wait a second. I thought we were only allowing individual guests. That's what the order from the Middle Inkwell specified."

"Perhaps, Sir, but we received a letter from the Third Sub-Directorate of the Upper Inkwell permitting the Vetalians to arrive as a group."

"Ah. Better let that one pass, then. Anyone else?"

"Well, we're still waiting for confirmation from one Grant Haffner of Sarzonia. Someone called 'Dr. Ilona Batory' in a nation called 'Callisdrun' will be receiving a confirmation dream this evening to make the necessary arrangements, the Vavasour of the She-Cyborgs should arrive imminently, and the Dread Fang Lord Mopsy of Fluffy Bunny World would have arrived already, except that the first group of monks sent out couldn't build a portal big enough."

"Excellent - so everything's proceeding as planned. Now, just one more thing..."

"Yes, Sir?"

"You did make sure that the copy of To Serve Ordinary Reality left with each delegate was the expurgated version?"

"The expurgated version, Sir?"

"Yeeesssss.... don't want the mundies finding out too much about us, do we?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


TO SERVE ORDINARY REALITY!

Welcome to the Dreamed Realm! We hope you enjoy visiting our beautiful country. Please feel free to walk around the Imperial City, see the sights, and greet our friendly citizens in the days before the Imperial Conference on Cannibalism gets underway. We only ask that, for your own safety, you stay within the confines of the Imperial City unless accompanied by a guide. In the meantime, we've prepared this introduction to our country to help you understand some of our more unusual customs. Many mundies find visiting the Realm to be a disorienting experience.


Introduction
The nation known as The Holy Empire of His Imperial Majesty the Basileus Alasdair I Frosticus exists in the Dreamed Realm, a mysterious plane of existence capable of intersecting with what Imperial citizens know as Ordinary Reality, and is ruled by its namesake Emperor (or Basileus).

Reality within the Holy Empire is not only malleable, but also actively manipulated in the service of the State and its citizens. While a stable reality is clearly preferred, this malleability leads to occurrences that may be considered strange - or in some cases downright impossible - to visitors from Ordinary Reality. The study of the Dreamed Realm and the science of dream reality is referred to as oneirology.

Our nation consists of a fertile coastal plain, where most of the population live, and an arid highland called the Chaco - where a disproportionate percentage of our football stars come from. Politically, the Holy Empire is said to combine elements of what some call 'Byzantine-inspired Orthodox theocracy' with the efficiency of a place known to some as 'Paraguay', though other visitors have noted that they consider the Empire to be something of a 'civil rights lovefest'.

Much of what mundies (as we call the residents of the myriad Ordinary Realities) know about the Holy Empire comes from an arcane tome known as the Codex Frosticus, which exists in several different versions (the A, B, C, D and E texts). The reliability of sections of the Codex has been called into question by several Ordinary Reality scholars, but few can agree on which parts are reliable and which are a tissue of myth and fabrication. Sometimes we're not so sure ourselves.


People
One of the great mysteries of the Holy Empire is whether its inhabitants are real, or are themselves artificially dreamed into existence. The different versions of the Codex Frosticus are unclear and contradictory on this point, and we're not telling. It may well be the case that some are real, and some are unreal, but separating the two would appear to be impossible for the casual visitor.

There is some question in Ordinary Reality as to whether Imperial citizens are immortal. While most oneirologists deny that Imperial residents are by necessity immortal, clearly both aging and time pass differently in the Dreamed Realm.

There are two distinct ethnic groups in the Empire, the Coastal citizens and the Chacan citizens. This is agreed upon by all versions of the Codex, though they disagree on what distinguishes the two groups. Coastalites and Chacans usually appear identical to the outsider, but a Chacan in particular would consider it a grave insult to be mistaken for a member of the other ethnic group. Chacan surnames end with –es, while Coastal surnames end in –o. It is believed that they also speak with different accents.


Government Structure
All of the Codex Frosticus texts agree on how the government of the Holy Empire is structured. The Codex A and B texts further agree that the Holy Empire is modelled on the theoretical ideal of the Byzantine state - a single universal empire and a single universal church.

The Head of State, founder, and ruler of the Holy Empire is the Basileus, Alasdair I Frosticus.

In theory, the Emperor’s power is supreme, but in practice the government features constitutional checks on that power that have led to the Holy Empire being better known for its extraordinary political freedoms and civil rights than for autocratic imperial rule. These constitutional checks recognise the power of four other elements in the State: the Court, the people of Alasdairopolis, the provinces, and - to a lesser degree - the Orthodox Church of the Holy Empire. These elements are each represented by councils with certain powers; the first three are referred to as the Senatorial Councils or State Councils, the latter as the Church Council. The Senatorial Councils are collectively considered to be the Imperial Senate.

We'd go into more detail, but I doubt you're that interested in our politics.


Law and Security
To the casual observer, the only law of the Holy Empire appears to be 'that which is not expressely forbidden is permitted'. This is, of course, a gross oversimplification. The B, D, and E texts of the Codex Frosticus mention three Freedoms from Necessity guaranteed to all citizens of the Empire. These are Freedom from the Necessity of Death, Freedom from the Necessity of Want, and Freedom from the Necessity of Unhappiness. While citizens may choose to die, be poor, and be unhappy, no citizens need be any of these things. Given the extent to which reality can be manipulated in the Holy Empire, this raises interesting philosophical questions on the nature of death, poverty, and unhappiness in the Holy Empire, and the extent to which these are controlled by citizens or their government. Otherwise, all laws flow from the maintenance of these freedoms, which are sometimes collectively referred to as the essence of Frostiness.

The A and C texts of the Codex mention a fourth freedom: Freedom from War. However, other legal scholars believe that this inherent in the nature of the Holy Empire's separate existence from ordinary reality rather than a legally codified freedom.

It may seem bizarre, given the nation's apparent total lack of prisons and inherent freedoms, that the Holy Empire has any need for internal security forces. Nonetheless, it is believed that there are two primary security units, the State Bureau for Internal Security (SBIS) and the Imperial Secretariat of the Purple Inkwell (ISPI); the latter also doubles as the Imperial civil service. These organisations do not deal with what outsiders might consider petty crime (which may not in any case be illegal where it satisfies the Freedoms from Necessity without causing direct non-consensual harm to another citizen), but their precise duties are unclear.

There is little need to subject non-citizens to the Imperial legal system. Any outsider caught breaking the law is immediately transported back to Ordinary Reality.


History
The precise nature and date of the founding of the Holy Empire remain a mystery, even to those who have studied the Codex Frosticus in detail.

There are myths and rumours that state that the Dreamed Realm was initially created by a figure known only as the Oneiromancer. The same myths state that the Basileus waged war on the Oneiromancer, casting him into the void between the different worlds of the Dreamed Realm, and eternally fearing that he might one day return to reclaim the Empire.

There is, of course, no such thing as the Oneiromancer. Really. We insist. NO ONEIROMANCER. Though parents still use this ENTIRELY FICTIONAL character as a sort of 'boogeyman' to scare children with.

Imperial archaeologists have uncovered what they claim to be the remains of a pre-Imperial civilisation that proves the Oneiromancer never existed, but there are those who argue that any archaeological discoveries in the Empire are unreliable as the existence of archaeological sites may have been manipulated by the authorities.

In so far as anyone can tell, the only ruler the Holy Empire has ever had is the Basileus Alasdair I 'Frosticus'. His heir is Isaac, the Prince Imperial, who is believed to be the Basileus' nephew, though little is known about the Emperor's brother except through the relevant excerpts of the Analects of Frostiness (see Literature, below).

The Basileus' motives for founding the Holy Empire remain as mysterious and unclear as so many other details of the nation.

Particularly problematic for those who would attempt to write a history of the Holy Empire is the fact that time appears to not only pass inconsistently within the Empire, but in some cases is also non-linear. It is said that the various Codex texts only begin to make some sort of sense when the reader realises that three days may have passed in Alasdairopolis where three weeks have passed in the Chacan capital of Philadelphia, and that an event which happened on Thursday in St. Mary's City might conceivably have happened on Monday in New Nicea. The Codex A and B texts even state that, in some rare cases, timelines may split so as to allow multiple events to happen in the same place at the same time. Needless to say, most outsiders find this very hard to understand or cope with.


Architecture
The architecture of the Holy Empire has been described as 'Neo-Classical Slavo-Byzantine'. In practice, this means that many buildings combine elements of classical Roman and Greek architecture with medieval Byzantine and Russian elements, with the use of gold and platinum lining (particularly on domes) and bejewelled ornamentation said to be almost indescribably beautiful - though some visitors apparently find the style is occasionally prone to ostentation.

An appendix to the B text of the Codex Frosticus includes the following description of the Imperial Capital, believed to have been writted by an Archregimancy monk:

We went on to a city of indescribable beauty. Its walls were built of twelve courses, each of a different precious stone, and its gates were of gold and silver. Within the gates we found a golden pavement, golden houses, golden seats. The city was filled with a strange light and a sweet smell. At the edge of the town we came to a wonderful palace, and we entered a hall as broad as a stone's throw. From one end of it to the other stretched a table of porphyry round which many guests were reclining. A spiral staircase, situated at one end of the hall, led to an internal balcony. Two eunuchs, resplendent as lightning, appeared at this balcony, and indicated that we too were to join the guests at the table....

The most spectacular buildings in the Holy Empire are said to be the Great Palace, the Imperial Basilica of the Holy Wisdom, and the 100,000 capacity Imperial Hippodrome, all of which are gold-domed (the palace also features platinum domes) and bejewelled. The Hippodrome's decorative features have occasionally caused problems at sporting events - one chariot race supposedly reached a farcical conclusion when sunlight caught a facet of a particularly large and inconveniently-placed diamond, temporarily blinding the lead chariot racer, and causing a collision of such epic proportions that no one finished the race. The problem is now believed to be solved.

Other notable buildings include the Meteora Stadium of St. Mary's City - which seems to almost hang in mid-air from the cliff face above the city - the Floating Gardens of Philadelphia, and the Pharos of New Nicea.


Literature
The literature of the Holy Empire is particularly known for its poetry. The Imperial Epic of Guillermo B. Yeatses and the Love Sonnet of Isaac, Prince Imperial are perhaps the best known examples.

Otherwise, the most famous work of literature in the Empire is the Analects of Frostiness, a series of sayings that encapsulate the Imperial philosophy of Frostiness. The sayings take the form of learned (and possibly apocryphal) conversations between the Basileus and his brother.

Well-known plays include the famous The Defeat of Tessan (which perhaps, strictly speaking, belongs to the literature of the Archregimancy) and The Borderer of Double Stock, a heroic tale of a nobleman of superhuman strength and prowess born to a Dreamed Realm mother and Ordinary Reality father, and who repeatedly routs whole armies single-handed.


Religion
All versions of the Codex agree that the official religion of the Holy Empire is Eastern Orthodox Christianity. The Orthodox Church of the Holy Empire (or OCHE) is led by the Patriarch of Alasdairopolis. The main cathedral is the Basilica of the Holy Wisdom, and the main centre of theology is the Holy Monastery of the Holy Wisdom. The OCHE is believed to claim canonical descent from both Moscow and Constantinople, though the precise line of Apostolic Succession remains unclear.

It is said that the nation known as The Archregimancy serves as a vast, self-governing seminary for the OCHE, and the A and B texts of the Codex state that the Holy Synod of the latter nation is itself an autonomous (though not autocephalous) branch of the Church.

However, despite the central role of Orthodoxy in the Holy Empire, it is believed that most Imperial Citizens are fairly relaxed about the role of religion in everyday life - certainly far more relaxed than the occasionally intolerant outbursts from the Archregimancy might suggest. Despite the official position of the OCHE, there is total freedom of religion in the Empire, and a fair number of the population are believed to be lapsed Orthodox, agnostic or even atheist. There are also believed to be small numbers of Jewish, Muslim, and Hindu Imperial citizens, though precise figures are hard to gauge.

No one worships the Oneiromancer, which is understandable when you consider that he is ENTIRELY FICTIONAL


Language
The official language of the Holy Empire is a state secret. Through a process that remains unclear, but is presumably associated with the malleable reality of the nation, all visitors to the Empire are able to make themselves understood by simply speaking their native language, and hear all conversations as automatically translated into their native language. Similarly, all texts are immediately readable by any literate visitor to the Dreamed Realm.

The various texts of the Codex Frosticus are entirely unhelpful on this point. The A text is in English, the B text in Byzantine Greek, the C text in Latin, the D text in Old Church Slavonic, and the E text is in pre-Maoist reform Chinese. There are persistent rumours of the existence of an F text in Sanskrit, and oneirologists are said to not only take these rumours very seriously, but also to be actively hunting for the F text. There are also vague rumours of a G text in a Semitic language, though reports are contradictory over whether the language in question is ancient Hebrew or classical Arabic; unlike the F text, the G text may be entirely legendary.


Physical Geography
Few aspects of the Holy Empire more clearly represent the unusual nature of the nation and its internal reality than its geography. This is even more true than with the inconsistent and non-linear passing of time. In the Holy Empire, geographers see the phrase 'Euclidean geometry', reach for the dictionary, and throw it away.

The Holy Empire apparently has no physical boundaries - it is believed to be simultaneously spherical and flat. Walking off (or, more accurately, sailing off) one 'edge' will merely find you returned to the opposite 'edge'.

Despite this unusual nature, all of the Codex Frosticus texts agree that the Empire consists of three broad geographical zones. These are:

The Great Sea: A mighty ocean of apparently limitless size. It is said that many ruins of vanished civilisations, including the legendary sunken cathedral of Heldscalla, lie deep beneath the surface. The Great Sea completely surrounds...

The Coastal Plain: The region where most of the Empire's citizens live, this fertile plain lies between the Great Sea and the massive cliffs that separate the coastal region from the Chaco. Some 90% of the Empire's population, agriculture, and industry is located in the Coastal Plain. The plain in turn completely surrounds...

The Chaco: A vast raised plateau where the searing heat of the dry season alternates with the suffocating humidity of the wet season, the Chaco is separated from the rest of the Empire by a massive, almost impassable cliff face. Agriculture is almost impossible, with most of the region consisting of dense underbrush cut by narrow marshy channels. Only 10% of the Empire's population live in this desolate landscape, though it has always disproportionately contributed to the nation's cultural and sporting life.

While the precise area of the Holy Empire and its physical landscape is apparently impossible to measure, it seems undeniable that the Holy Empire is slowly growing in area so as to accommodate its rapidly-growing population. Visitors to the Empire are therefore baffled that travel times between cities and landmarks remain constant. For example, while it is undeniable that the distance between Alasdairopolis and the Chacan capital of Philadelphia has increased over time, it has always taken precisely two hours to fly between the cities, and 24 hours to drive the same distance. No oneirologist has ever been able to satisfactorily explain this phenomenon.


Political Geography
Few details of the Holy Empire's internal political structure are known to mundies, and you'll forgive us if we keep it that way.. The detailed listings of provincial divisions available to Ordinary Reality through the various Codex texts are, for the most part, completely contradictory. The difference provinces of the Empire are believed to be called 'Themes', and the governor of a Theme is called a 'Strategos', but the names and nature of most of the Themes largely remain a mystery.

The few details that are commonly known outside the Empire are as follows: The Imperial Capital of Alasdairopolis is believed to have a special status outside of the ordinary Theme structure, as exemplified by the separate Little Council in the Empire's political structure. The entire vast area of the Chaco is a separate Theme, and its capital is Philadelphia (which is believed to be the only city of any substance in the Chaco). The cities of St. Mary's City, New Nicea, and New Chalcedon are all capitals of Themes, but the names of their respective themes are unknown. At least one Theme is called the New Opsician.

It would probably take a lifetime of scholarship to unravel more detail on the Empire's political geography.

There is also the possibility that the inconsistent descriptions of the internal political divisions in the Codex texts may reflect that these divisions are themselves affected by the Empire's malleable reality, and that they are subject to constant change. Opinion amongst oneirologists on this matter remains divided, as indeed it does on so many topics relating to the Holy Empire


Economy
The Holy Empire has no economy in the commonly understood Ordinary Reality sense. In a nation where precious metals and jewels are commonly used as decorative motifs in even the most basic of homes, different standards clearly apply in the Empire. It would seem that as all citizens are free from the necessity of want, money and goods are simply acquired as needed - though the A, C, D, and E texts of the Codex are quite clear on the point that need is not always necessarily the same as desire.

The official currency of the Empire is the nomismata, but the unique economic conditions make it difficult to place a consistent value on the nomismata. Several Codex texts seem to imply that it is worth whatever the user needs it to be worth. How hyper-inflation or total economic collapse are avoided under these circumstances remains unknown.

All visitors to the Empire who have attempted to remove precious metals and gems from the Dreamed Realm agree on one point, however: in most cases, these items will turn into base metal and glass the moment they arrive in Ordinary Reality. The exception seems to be items that are gifts from the Imperial Government, which appear to maintain their state and value once removed from the Dreamed Realm.

The C text of the Codex has a discussion over whether this means that most precious metals and gems in the Dreamed Realm are themselves iron, copper, lead, and glass, and that they are only perceived as items of great value, or whether they are genuinely items of great value whose inherent nature changes once they leave the Dreamed Realm. As with so many other Imperial mysteries, this may never be resolved.


Cuisine
The food of the Holy Empire is said to be heavily influenced by a type of cuisine called 'French' from an obscure reality based on a world known as 'Dirt' or 'Soil', or some such. It is, of course, the best cuisine known to any sentient species. Our wines are pretty damn spectacular too.

Recently, ISPI has become interested in a phenomenon known as 'cannibalism', whereby certain sentient species eat other representatives of their own species. Some species consider this a crime, while others appear to wholeheartedly embrace the practice.

Quite frankly, some of the ways of Ordinary Reality baffle us. How is it possible to eat someone without their consent? Why would you want to? Assuming the eaten is consenting, why would you consider it to be a crime?

We hope that by participating in this conference, you may be able to shed some light on this fascinating issue - and perhaps supply us with some really, really tasty recipes. Yum.

Kol A'hist looked at the paper the guard slid under his door. For the first time in over 200 years, had someone actually wrote to him, but who?

As Kol opened the letter, he began to chuckle, then the chuckle got louder and louder, until the same guard came back.

"What so damnned funny?" the guard asked through the gate of Kol's cell.

"I'm getting out of here, and there's nothing that you can do about it." Kol replied with a smile on his face.

"Yeah, good luck escaping from here." the guard said. You've has ever escaped Valla Prison ever before, and even if you did, you're still 500 miles away from anywhere. Good luck again!" the guard laughed as he walked away.

Valla Prison, is the most notorious prison in Qazox, sort of. Located just 3 miles south of the geographic North Pole, the prision holds only 1 prisoner, and that is Kol A'hist, Qazox' infamous 'Cannibal of Rockport'. The temperatures outside of the prison reach -50F, for highs, and that's at the peak of summer. In the dead of winter, temperatures have been recorded as low as -250F. The guards are rotated in 4-month shifts, with 10 guards rotating on 10-hour shifts 24-hours a day. Kol A'hist's cell in located in the center of the prison, accessable only by Biometric scanners, from the outside only. The cell is located 400 feet away from any other part of the facility, and the guards have to be transported in a special vehicle to and from the cell. If somehow Kol A'hist escaped from his cell, and survived the extreme cold to reach the main portion of the facilty; a holographic maze, keyed to Kol A'hist's DNA would be activated, and the maze cannot be shut off by any means. If somehow Kol A'hist found the exit, he would then have to survive a 500 mile trek in the bitter cold to the nearest airport.

But why so much security for just one man? Kol A'hist is virtually immortal. Somehow he gained access to a top-secret military installation and during his culinary rampage though the facility, he found a project codenamed PHOENIX. The technology was a form of pictobots that once activated, repaired the subject's celluar structure continously, almost making the person immortal. Kol A'hist had been shot, stabbed, hung twice, elctrocuted at least 20 times, and had been given at least 50 lethal injections; and still survived. Finally the judge sentenced him to life-imprisonment, and Qazox spent 15 years building the facility he his currently in, Valla Prison.

Why virtually immortal, you may ask? The pictobots run on a uranium-238 battery that has a half-life of 4.47 billion years. Luckily for the scientists, they had programmed in a fail-safe that destroyed the picto-bots after 1 million years. This is old news, by the way, as Kol A'hist has been imprisoned for almost 250 years. But that's not the story, now is it?

Kol A'hist looked again at the invitation from the Dreamed Realm. 'Finally a chance to meet with some fellow-minded people, and once in the Dreamed Realm, who's to say, that I can't find a way out, after all time is on my side!"

(ooc: Just wanted a bit of a back story to the character...)

"Oh. Yes. My ursine form... We have decided, for the purposes of this conference, to show ourselves in a form that you'll find more familiar. The Empire is a strange enough place for Mundies to cope with as it is, so we thought you'd appreciate us making an effort. Other attendees will see Imperial citizens as taking whichever form they're most familiar with. Ah. We're there."

O SilverStars could have sworn that they'd only taken four or five strides, yet they seemed to be in a completely new part of the city.

"Let me show you to your quarters. And tell me Barram - I may call you Barram, I hope - what's your favourite recipe for roast ursine? I understand that it's best to marinade ursine flesh in an oil-based marinade for at least 24 hours prior to cooking, but perhaps you have a different perspective? We are so eager to learn more about Ordinary Reality customs towards eating ones own species!"

"As regards your present appearance," Barram replied, "comely though it certainly is, you really needn't have bothered. As one of the Voices of the Great Medicine Society within the High Council, I have had frequent dealings with members of all the other Peoples that are represented there... and, more importantly, as a 'shabear' I have travelled extensively through the Spirit Worlds -- including, although this particular Realm is indeed new to me, certain of the 'Lands of Dream' -- and have encountered beings and places of many, many strange forms therein."
"But... recipes?!? We do not regard Ursophagy as a matter for gourmandising! Other than in the direst situations of food-shortage, during which the materials for a choice of recipes would probably be unavailable anyway, we allow the consumption of our own kind only as a part of the funerary practices amongst those of our People's various separate clans and free septs and other 'bodys' that still adhere to the old traditions. It serves as a holy ritual, a form of -- hr'rmm -- 'Communion', I think you would probably call it, that serves to reinforce the spiritual connections between the generations both still-alive and gone-ahead... and cooking the meat involved, in any way, would rob it of its spiritual 'virtue'. We might fumigate it for a while beforehand in the smoke that is produced by burning certain herbs, if the deceased-to-be-honoured perished from some illness or curse that makes such a purification advisable, but that is all!"

Kol A'hist materialized in the meeting hall at the Imperial University, Alasdairopolis and looked around.

'Where are the people? I don't see anyone yet.' he thought to himself, and no sooner than the thought formed in his mind, a person of indeterminate age and sex appeared in front of him.

"Who are you?" Kol A'hist asked.

"I'm the person who sent you your invitation. I'm Manuel Phocaso." the man said. "Oh, and since i'm non-corporeal, don't bother trying for a nibble"

"So what's this big thiong about anyway?" Kol asked.

"We here at The Imperial Secretariat of the Purple Inkwell are here to determine why cannibalism exists, and you are a featured speaker" Phocaso replied.

"Featured speaker, huh? So when's this thing gonna start?" Kol asked.

"Once all the invitees have arrived, it will begin, and to answer your next question, if you so choose, there is a, ahm, 'dining hall' to be provided for all. Just think about what you wish to have and it will be there for you, But i must caution you, knowing your eating habits, a private dining hall will be made available, upon request." Phocaso replied. "Any further questions?"

"Only to ask where my private dining hall is." Kol replied. After being pointed into the right direction, Kol walked down the hall and opened the door Phocaso pointed to. Inside was a just recently deceased 20-year old woman, with an apple stuck in her mouth. 'They really know what I like, I just may stay here for a while,' thought Kol as he slowly closed the door.

Didn't I just fill this out? The papers seemed to reorder themselves with every blink.

Sasha's initial shock upon emergence into the Dreamed Realm had been quickly replaced by that particular breed of indignation so conducive to productivity. Whatever the place was, she wasn't going to move there! The forms multiplied and her frustration grew to the point where she was about ready to thrust the final pamphlet she was given right back.

But it was not to be filled out. "There you go. Have a look through this if you'd like."

"When is the meeting?"

"Shortly." The elderly man who'd given her the forms nodded at an ornate piece of origami.

"What's that?"

"A calendar." At her expression, he gave a quiet chuckle. "Just read it."

She glanced at the title, recalling similarities to a niche Zwangzug publication of a similar name. "Is this a magazine?"

"More like a...brochure, I believe, is the word."

Dubiously cracking it open, she was relieved by the tone of the first paragraph yet tried to remain on her guard. By the time Sasha was halfway through, she had discounted the possibility of an elaborate practical joke and vaguely wondered if she'd even considered that before. The end returned her to unsettlement. Recipes? Are they sure the have the right person?

But just as quickly, she had her answer. I filled out too many forms for them to be wrong.

Confidence restored, she stepped out into the city.

Having explored his quarters, and meditated for a while, Barram sets out to see whether any of the other delegates to this conference are around.

(OOC: He's an anthropomorphic, bipedal Bear, about 7' tall, with silver-gray fur. He is wearing trousers & a long tunic, both made from undyed buckskin: These are decorated with beadwork images of various animals, plants and natural phenomena, and the tunic also has assorted feathers, patches of fur, and even [small] bones sewn on at various points. A [relatively] small drum, similarly decorated, hangs from a strap at his left hip.)

[OOC - RL's interfered with my ability to RP this past week; expect a lengthy Holy Empire RP to help move things along this Saturday - or Friday/tomorrow, if I get snowed in, which appears increasingly likely. Apologies for not being able to devote as much time to this recently as I'd hoped]

Her arrival in the dreamed realm went rather smoothly, though it was a bit of an adjustment at first. Nevertheless, Ilona took it in stride. Residents of this odd land would notice a tall, imperious woman dressed in a form fitting gown that appeared black until a closer inspection revealed that it was in fact, a very deep red. The only makeup she wore (as she really did not need any) was lipstick that matched in its hue. The dark colors of her garments, and also her long, raven colored hair, contrasted with her ghostly pale skin. As if anyone familiar with such doubted that she was a vampiress, her smile exposed vicious looking barbed fangs. The only thing throwing off the look at all were the stylish sunglasses protecting her sensitive eyes from glare.

As this was the dreamed realm, finding her lodgings was not difficult. Once inside, she noted that her chambers had been nicely prepared for her, though some of the coloring of the furnishings wasn't exactly to her taste, she couldn't complain. Suggesting that her hosts had anticipated the center of her attention, a brochure lay on the bed.

Sitting down, Ilona opened it. "To Serve Ordinary Reality," she read, the title causing a chuckle.

Manuel Phocaso held the menu for that evening's opening banquet as the guests started to file in to the Third Red Antechamber of the Great Palace's Courtyard of the Columns, venue for that very same banquet. "The Third Red Antechamber", he mused. "Do these mundies have any idea how lucky they are? A lifetime of service to His Majesty, and I've never made it past the Fifth Red Antechamber before..."

He set the imagined injustice aside, and returned to the menu. He had spent hours of subjective time planning this evening. He glanced at each item in turn.

Boudin noir a la Nouveau Nicea - each slice of blood sausage served with apples fried in butter....

Poulet en vessie - seasoned chickens steamed inside pigs' bladders....

Calves brains in tomato baskets - each lovingly poached in a light giblet bouillon....

Manuel looked up briefly, and nodded at one of his junior aides who was preparing Kol A'hist's temporary restraints. He did so hope that the Qazox delegate understood the need to avoid... embarrassing incidents this evening. Where had he been? Ah yes!

Lamb's liver in garlic - the pan deglazed with one of the finest wines from the Basileus' own estate....

Veal sweetbreads with grapes - a personal favourite of Manuel's, who believed that the magic touch was just a few tablespoons of Madeira-style wine....

Stuffed calves' hearts - each filled with forcemeat and wrapped in pig's caul - and he had personally ensured that the Callisdrun delegate's serving was a little, well, fresher than the others....

He briefly looked at the gap in the menu. Had it been a mistake to take the rabbit terrine off at the last moment? Still, best not to upset the Dread Lord Mopsy of Fluffy Bunny World. Even in the Dreamed Realm, a giant carnivorous rabbit prone to murderous rages could prove a handful.

And then, the piece de resistance.... seven lambs rotating and roasting in individual firepits in the centre of the table, each serving cooked to the preference of the individual guests, and each to be served with a sauce of that guest's choosing.

This would be a meal for the ages!

Noting that each guest had now arrived in the Antechamber, and that they had been served with the drink of their choice, Manuel raised his glass of Imperial Chateau Pinot Noir, and greeted the attendees.

"Sentient gentlebeings, humanoids, cyborgs, ursines, and rabbits, welcome to the Holy Empire. I do so hope that your time here so far has been restful, however you may have arrived. We have done our best to ensure that each of you has had as comnfortable an experience as possible.

As you know, we have called this conference to discuss cannibalism - the practice of a sentient species eating their own, sometimes even on a non-consensual basis! I believe that each of you will have a different perspective on this fascinating issue, but let us leave that aside for the time being. For now, let us enjoy each other's company - though I ask that those of you with a taste for sentient flesh refrain from eating any of the guests, or my staff for that matter, even if they appear to be otherwise consenting. It just wouldn't do to lose any of the guests before the conference even begins, would it?"

There were chuckles from the visitors - some appreciative, some perhaps slightly more nervous.

"Come, sit, feast upon this repast that I have specially planned and prepared for each of you. Once we have all eaten, I hope you'll each take a moment to clarify for me why you have chosen to come to this little gathering during the post-dinner drinks. In the meantime, enjoy - and for your dining entertainment, I have taken it upon myself to provide a troupe of four-dimensional jugglers. I do hope you find them adequately diverting."

"Cannibalism, Cannibalism, Cannibalism!" Supreme Grand Poobah, Righteous Savior, And Probably President Phether Tucks seemed to be having a great amount of fun with the word. He had a very wide, stupid grin on his face, which was normal, but that his face was not his Presidential Face was unusual.

Kan Hazz nodded. "Yus, Sur. Thuy wunt tu tulk abuut Cunnubulusm," said the Troglodytian secretary. "Whuch hus buun un ussue un thu pust wuth thu Rugung Punguuns uutung thu huurts uf thu Umpurure Punguuns, uf yuu rucull."

Phether Tucks nodded happily. "Cannibalism, Cannibalism, Cannibalism!" he exclaimed.

----

Qui Squa, professional bureaucrat, regional witchdoctor, and official Forn Parts Diplomat in all affairs of the Debatably Existant, was late. Not only that, but they probably didn't realize he was coming. He'd gone berserk at the sight of the paperwork required to enter the Dreamed Realm (the text was lighter than the regulation ink, and the font was all wrong), and he doubted the forms had been read.

But he was a professional, so he'd faithfully filled it all out, but he'd sent it back with something to convey his Rage; a nasty surprise. Tucked away inside the manila folder (which had kept refolding itself as he filled it) was a reoccuring Nightmare with a lit fuse. One of his own, as it happened. It involved a three-hundred meter leopard seal wearing armor made of farmland, holding a basketful of Squa's dirty downfeathers, chiding him in his mother's voice to 'never look under the red pillow'.
Not as terrifying as the one in which he was afraid of being ambushed by a pile of empty pens, but he'd been unable to summon that one properly. The pens kept missing their entrance.

Still, the nightmare had probably done the regulation amount of damage to whichever resident of the Dreamed Realm opened it, qualifying it as a registered type 7.2A Letter Bomb. Singed eyebrows, hurt feelings, and no letter left to trace it to the sender. A neat piece of work, altogether.

Squa paused, smoothed down the feathers of his immaculate natural suit. He needed to make a good first impression, because a good first impression forgave a second bad savaging.

There was the portal. It was very old. The monks had never come back to take it down after they kicked The Team out the first time. Too many professional Rioteers waving torches about, and after one of the monks was assaulted without his consent, the rest of them had realized just how dangerous Ordinary Reality in Raging Penguins was.

The portal had, due to its nature, survived the former nations' fall. But over time, a strange effect had taken place, due to lack of maintenance and sheer age. It had shrunk considerably, and it no longer transported a visitor to a designated entryway. Squa's predecessor had tried to sneak in once for a vacation, and had never been heard from since. Still a penguin could comfortably squeeze through the gap, and Squa was not worried about getting lost. He'd played with nightmares as a child, and he could, even as he approached the portal, smell the faint citrus tang of Dream.

But...nobody to welcome him through? No guide at the gate? That wasn't normal protocol. Not at all up to regulations. Highly irregular.

No matter, they could hardly be blamed. His forms were filled out, but nobody had read them, and the last time Representitives had travelled to the Dreamed Realms, they'd gone to play football. It was a long time ago, before Forn Parts had properly existed, but there were legends which still haunted the diplomacy offices about the costs of repairing the sanity of the effected areas.

Squa stepped through the portal. And found himself on someone's dinnerplate.

My first faux pas of the evening, he thought. And...is that a Rabbit looking at me hungrily?

Squa stepped through the portal. And found himself on someone's dinnerplate.

My first faux pas of the evening, he thought. And...is that a Rabbit looking at me hungrily?

Barram blinked, to clear his eyes, and then shook his head in mild disbelief. Was that a Garefowl that had just appeared from out of nowhere onto the plate in front of the powerful-looking being who'd been introduced as a "Rabbit"? No, maybe that wasn't a Garefowl after all, but it looked a lot like one... Hr'rmm, was this an extra course provided as a surprise by their hosts (he looked down at his own plate, now empty... apparently not, then, unless it was only the "Rabbit" for whom one was being provided), or a sudden manifestation out of some being's dreams (although he'd thought that this particular 'Realm' was supposed to be fairly stable , as Dreamworlds go...), or what? Might it even be another conference attendee arriving, somewhat off course and late?

Well, anyway, he wasn't going to argue with the "Rabbit" over it. If the ordinary rabbits back home were anything like that one then the 'Cute Bunny Burger Corporation' probably wouldn't have managed to establish any franchises locally, and if the sapient 'Rabbits' who'd been the Ursines' eastern neighbours for a while had been of that sort then it would probably have been they who'd devoured the Wulfen rather than vice versa and then they -- rather than the Wulfen-- against whom the Ursines themselves had had to unite for self-defence.
Hr'rmm, could it possibly be a mutated descendant of those 'Rabbits', from a stock whose ancestors had been carried away into the 'Hazardous Wastes' by the Wulfen (instead of just devoured in their own homeland) and had fallen under the dire influence of 'That Which Abides' in the 'Shunned Ruins'? Could it be that Rabbit himself, having seen the first people whom he'd "awakened" destroyed in that way, had gone on to "awaken" a second people too -- somewhere else -- and had made them mighty like this so that they would be safe from such a fate?
This was certainly turning out to be an evening for interesting questions... as well as for delicious food. :)


____________________________________________

OOC: 'Garefowl' is another name for the 'Great Auk', a species of large seabird whose RL population lived around the North Atlantic but became extinct -- due to pressure from humans -- during the 19th century AD. The name 'Penguin' was actually applied to this species originally, and then European voyagers assigned it to the birds in the southern hemisphere that still bear it today because of the similarity in appearance. Bears Armed still has a population of this [non-sapient] species in its 'Northlands' section...

What a long day that Cecily Lockhelm had to cope with. First, being called for a online meeting that never happened. Then, again the threats of many engineers in the MilNet that they would take away all blueprints of the CL-32 if they did not stop selling it to enemies of the free people, an issue triggered since the failure in the Aero Kargucagstan, that was getting out of control as those who wanted restrictions on Third Spanish States sales were slowly becoming the majority. She was sent into the fire to persuade all of them that the ends justified the means, and even had to promise she will openly support the liberation of all tyrannical nations they sold their fighters to once the time comes, solving temporarily a major crisis that threatened to split the largest cooperative group in the Confederacy. And to end her afternoon, they threw her multiple war plans about an amphibious assault in Spain, as if they thought she was qualified for Grand Strategy just because she played Hearts of Iron 5 and World in Conflict 7. Meanwhile, most people of her same age were rarely given any greater responsibility than paper-pushing, although in a way, it was fulfilling despite stressful to do what she did.

All in all, there was certainly too much for a head of State to do in a place that supposedly was an anarchy, but Cecily had no powers, just a good skill of persuasion and a stubborn mind, and although there were no governments, people too mediocre to have opinions of their own were plenty. In a way, she could rule over people even without any formal authority, simply through arguments, through the art of convincing them of what she believed to be the best action. In many ways, there was a de facto government in the Confederacy, the government of the people who cared enough to influence the decision-making of the direct democratic organizations across it and who had a strong opinion.

But sometimes, even the strong of personality let themselves be influenced by the suggestions of others. As Cecily left her "Home Office", the mess of an apartment she lived on, and began to walk on the shiny, gritty night streets of Tucker shouting out the sort of scenery expected from a William Gibson book, to the point a few public Internet connection points she saw across the streets were already taken by individuals with black coats and laptops, blackhats seeking profits from "stealing from the capitalist pigs" through exploits in Internet Banking systems of few countries that haven't blocked most Third Spanish States IP addresses. And add the occasional punk walking around, the nudists, the people too high to even walk and the massive arcology she could spot afar whenever she looked above, and thus was formed a typical cyberpunk scenario, except for cybernetic implants, because those were still nonexistent, or perhaps part of secretive research programs. Even Cecily's "casual" clothing, a brown leather jacket placed over a bulletproof vest, riot boots and brown leather pants would only finish them off with the sort of Mad Max post-apocalyptic grade style. However, it was more than style, for in a place like Tucker, wearing a bulletproof vest was a nice idea, and the cold winter night usually made long coats useful, while the nails, splinters and glass on the streets made wearing thick boots a nice idea before the cleaning week.

Her rimmed eyes, from overwork rather than from smoking certain things, were like signals for some. And while she moved to Fred's Pub, which was only two blocks away from her apartment to meet her old friends: Aaron Paul, Kcarrab Amabo and George Hines, an irresistible offer came to her, as an elegant men, wearing a badass black and long coat, with liss black hair and green eyes, immediately looked at her, not like the usual types that she tended to humiliate as they asked for a date, or more oftenly, for sex, but with the look of a man of business, speaking clearly without hormonal influences, either for being a perfect liar or for not caring on her because of such matters:

"Hey Cecily! You seem quite down, don't you? Why don't we catch our names on Fred's? I can offer you a drink, or more heavy stuff, if you wish."

Nodding at the strange acquaintance, Cecily moved her hand near to the holster of her pistol, a safe reaction when a stranger suddenly approaches a young and attractive woman like her from an alley. And she wouldn't let anything happen.

"Oh! If I wanted to take you down, you'd already be taken Cecily," the man then explained, "your reaction time is too slow for even defending yourself against the cheapest thugs and rapists around. Maybe you are a bit out of shape, as I see..." the man then said, observing the small amount of fat that Cecily had on her belly. She was a bit overweight, but it still didn't detracted from her looks. The sort of "cute" attractive appearance of her face that drew the disciples of a certain infamous Japanese bear to her.

"Yeah, I know. like if I cared. There are more important things than frivolities for me to worry about." Cecily then said, with a shrug as she began to walk through the streets, with he following her towards the pub.

"So politics fatten people, I see." the man said, smiling.

"To be honest, I hoped being this close to a "fat chick" would cut off the number of pricks trying to convince me to sleep with them. I have more important matters than attending the needs of pubescent boys unable to get it in a place like this, where even obese boys manage to do it." Cecily answered, as she crossed the street and saw the neons of the pub right ahead.

"Yes... I see what you mean. Now, do you have a date Cecily? Not that I am asking this because I am interested in you physically."

"It is a silly, emotional illusion losers cling to because they have no real purpose in their lives. Aaron Paul divorced fifteen times before writing his essay about evolution and the delusion of love." Cecily replied back with her cynical coldness regarding subjects like romance and love. Of course, if Aaron Paul was as much of a prick with his former wives as he seemed to be whenever he stated something on behalf of the Dawkins Institute for Research of Memes, then it would be well explained.

"Maybe you are afraid, you must feel something sometimes." the man then replied.

"Yes, I have a passion," Cecily answered back as both were talking next to the pub. It was quite crowded, with conversations running around and some people doing drugs.

"I am passionate for the idea of building a free world. Now regardless, what is your name? And what do you do? I bet you make a living by doing crimes nobody here cares about... like taking some sips from the wealth of fat bourgeois pigs who own banks."

"Just call me Bob, and I am a Hacker, yes, I hack banks for a living."

"Full Robin Hood or just the "steal from the rich" part?" Cecily then asked him with a wry smile.

"The latter, there aren't poor people here anyway."

And then they got inside the pub. It was not like most pubs in the world. There were no waiters, no attendants, only automated vending machines, some of them linked with conveyor belts where food came from, and an humanoid robot that stood in the counter standing as the sheer bottom of the uncanny valley, which had the same capability of chatbots in the Internet to answer customers. Most preferred to type their questions in a terminal, but youngsters found it amusing to throw insults against the robot, as it absorbed words, and nobody cared. A pub where the only attendant was a robot who said "Welcome to Fred's Pub Newfag. Generate LULZ or GTFO." certainly wasn't something found in most places of the world. Repetitive jobs were being gradually replaced, and the demand for automation was massive across the Confederacy, even beyond what currently technology allowed. Every office was a server database. Paperwork was virtually nonexistent and fast food chains had to develop full automation for everything role besides manager to succeed.

There, Bob came next to a drug vending machine as Lockhelm found seats for both, not being able to found any of her old friends there for now. It was then that he asked again, while Lockhelm yawned from having a day like such.

"Are you sure you don't want some marijuana? I swear, it's not as bad on your health as alcohol. In fact, you'll probably feel better once you start."

Sighing, Cecily took a bottle of ketchup from the table and began to drink it. Bob realized her message, but nevertheless he stubbornly purchased two cigars of pakalolo, and sat next to Lockhelm again, offering for one last time:

"It won't hurt you. This is the pure legalized deal, there is no shit like in the dirty drugs of backstreet dealers, you won't regret it... really. Even the Bolivians did drugs. Why should you deprive yourself the right of altering reality to your will? Why?"

Cecily, who still tasted sourly the ketchup on her mouth, began to drink mustard, then, when her tastes were totally messed, she put the mustard on the table and got up, seeing that perhaps delusions weren't that bad. Or perhaps it was just the way her personality was set on the moment, for tomorrow she would have probably refused. Friday was the drug day in the Confederacy, where most people had their ways with marijuana, cocaine, crack and all sorts of heavy and not so heavy drugs.

And thus, Bob took the staircase to the terrace of the pub, where some tables and chairs were set, and nothing but starlight made the roof. It was a cold night, but their heavy clothing was enough to keep most of it off. The cigar would eventually be right next to Cecily's hand, as she observed Bob lightening his and taking some puffs of the stuff. He was slowly relaxing, his eye seemingly becoming distant as they stared at the stars. She took her own lighter, and lit it up. The smell of marijuana was now permeating her, and thus Lockhelm, not resisting it anymore, moved the cigar to her mouth and tried it for the first time... everything began to slow down, as she relaxed more and more with each puff of it. Feeling light-headed and staring at the stars as well. Even the simplest memories were difficult to gather at such moment, as she simply stood there, enjoying such guilty pleasure in silence. All notion of time lost.

There was no certainty on how much time has passed, only that he left, and as Cecily began to slowly recover from the effects of the drug, she felt a nearly insatiable hunger, but even such feeling didn't hinder her curiousity as she encountered a strange letter on the table. As she opened it, Cecily immediately said to herself, smiling:

"Seems like the acid trip of a politician... Dreamed Realm, Holy Empire I never heard in my life about... Conference about cannibalism. Where the hell do I manage to build hallucinations like this?"

The letter though seemed too solid to be a mere hallucination as her fingers felt the touch of its paper, and tricking all senses at once wasn't common. Folding it and putting on her pocket, Cecily walked, a bit on shambles, and got downstairs. Most of the patrons were already passed out or very high, as she saw it was 4:00 AM. Although never losing totally her consciousness, she certainly smoked more than once during that night, and fortunately it was Saturday now.

Taking ten mini-pizzas from the vending machine, she satiated her hunger, and then made her way back to the apartment. Bob didn't leave any message or address, that man simply vanished, like if even he was an hallucination perhaps. As she laid again on her bed, with an unusual urge to sleep completely naked, Cecily could only think about the contents of such mysterious letter. Eventually, already relaxed by the load of drugs, she fell asleep.

When Cecily saw everything around her dream, she found herself into a luxurious, large bedroom with a golden cupola above, and could even feel the cold touch of the floor on her feet. Instinctively, she covered herself up as she realized she was naked in such dream, sitting on a comfortable chair with a book called "To Serve Ordinary Reality!" on her lap. In a brief second, as her will demanded, she was again wearing the same jacket and bulletproof vest she once wore instead, and immediately began to read the book, as she said to herself in a loud voice:

"I shouldn't have done this many drugs at once. Now even in my dreams I am having an acid trip."

Eventually she decided to leave the excessively large bedroom, which sometimes forced her to close her red-rimmed eyes to to the amount of reflections done by its jewels and gold. As she opened the door, a man, some butler of sorts wearing a black suit, explained to her:

"Greetings Empress Lockhelm of Third Spanish States, I am honored to meet you. Please follow me, Cecily Lockhelm, you are late for the Conference. We are currently having a dinner, follow me. I will show you the way to the Third Red Antechamber. You will be given the honor to be allowed to dwell there."

"Empress Lockhelm? What are you thinking man? I live in an anarchy, I don't have authority to even order someone to clean a toilet, let alone lead an entire country. And it is not even a country, it is a Confederacy." Cecily immediately replied back and aloud, somewhat puzzled that she would be called an Empress.

"But haven't you always moved your nation in the ways you wanted, your Majesty? Only dictators, emperors and empresses have such power." the butler replied back, somewhat unsurprised by the lack of politeness in way she replied back.

"Oh great, even in acid trips I have to argue politics," Cecily Lockhelm muttered, as she scowled, making a straight face towards the butler, "but could you please stop calling me like a royal?"

"As you wish, your Majesty." the butler answered, with a wry smile.

Sighing, Cecily simply began to follow him through the way, staring at the nearly unrealistic proportions of the place, as she decided to ask for one last time:

"Am I dressed like an Empress? Do I behave like an Empress? Do you know any Empress that smokes multiple kilos of marijuana before going to a conference?"

"I am not well versed in the traditions of your nation, your Majesty." the butler said as he opened a massive golden door covering an equally massive archway, so large that Cecily could swear only a giant could have built it.

"I can notice that," Cecily grumbled, "because traditionally, nobody calls anybody "your Majesty" in Third Spanish States. And it is considered a bad joke to do so. We call each other by our first names, because traditionally we dismiss formalities, do you understand?"

"I apologize Cecily. I thought the Empress of Third Spanish States would have to be addressed formally," the butler answered, as he also explained, "the Third Red Antechamber is right after this door. I wish you a good time, Cecily"

"If this is what I get every time I do drugs..." Cecily thought before being interrupted by the psychedelic visage of the dining room. A talking bear, a talking bear period, and all sorts of strange types were swarming around. It was then, that running out of control, Cecily Lockhelm said, right as she took a seat, one of the remaining ones, exactly next to the talking bear:

"If I will for this acid trip to end, it will end right?"

The Right Honorable King of Persile expresses intrest in coming to said meeting.

Having read the brochure, and taken a nap (an odd idea, being inside a dream already, but she had felt somewhat tired), Ilona again donned her dress, preparing to go out. It was at this moment that she was informed by a staff-person (a butler? At least, he looked like one) that she was invited to a conference-opening banquet.

"So I will have the pleasure of meeting my fellow guests at last?" the vampiress inquired.

"Indeed, ma'am," came the perfectly enunciated reply. "If you would simply follow me, I will show you to the Third Red Antechamber, where the meal is just now commencing."

Nodding, the Batory Queen (though no longer sovereign rulers in their own right, Callisdrun having annexed their home city of Istengrad a millenium ago, the Batory Clan's matriarch retained her title of "Queen"), strapped on her boots (black leather in a style that could be described as brutal, yet elegant) and made her way out the door, following the man to an ornate door. He stopped, stepped aside and gestured dramatically towards the door before opening it, whilst saying, simply "Ah yes, the Banquet."

Though she did her best, Ilona noted that her entrance would be far less dramatic than usual. While elegantly dressed in her garment that in truth hid nothing, and standing tall, a commanding presence, she was most definitely not the most riveting sight in attendance. A very large, threatening looking rabbit That's odd, I suppose..., what appeared to be some sort of bipedal bear, and other odd personas were in attendance.

Finding the plates already filled, Batory found that her own place was next to a relatively normal-looking (meaning human and dressed in a manner that did not strike the vampiress as particularly odd, albeit a bit casual for an official banquet) attendee, a woman with a long coat and boots on, who looked a little dazed.

Ilona gracefully sat down, regarding the food on her plate with interest. It was a dish wholly unfamiliar to her, but it appeared to be some sort of meat. It appeared deliciously bloody, so the vampiress was not one to complain.

The woman sitting next to her was engaging the bipedal bear in conversation. Something about an acid trip. "I don't think any drugs you may have used got you here. After all, while I enjoy the use of quite a few substances, I didn't require their chemical help to arrive," she said, joining in. Her voice, while smooth and sensual, had a strange, rather unnerving hiss to it, almost as if several people where whispering in the background every time she said something.

"If this is what I get every time I do drugs..." Cecily thought before being interrupted by the psychedelic visage of the dining room. A talking bear, a talking bear period, and all sorts of strange types were swarming around. It was then, that running out of control, Cecily Lockhelm said, right as she took a seat, one of the remaining ones, exactly next to the talking bear:

"If I will for this acid trip to end, it will end right?"
"When you say 'Acid'," Barram replied in a polite tone, "are you referring to a drug of some kind? I know of several substances that would enable dimensional travel in the spirit, but none that would make it bodily possible as well... So, if you are actually here physically..."
*(He pauses, tweaks one of her ears, and notices her response)*
"As would indeed seem to be the case, then I rather doubt whether any drugs of which you might have partaken could have been responsible for your journey."

Though she did her best, Ilona noted that her entrance would be far less dramatic than usual. While elegantly dressed in her garment that in truth hid nothing, and standing tall, a commanding presence, she was most definitely not the most riveting sight in attendance. A very large, threatening looking rabbit That's odd, I suppose..., what appeared to be some sort of bipedal bear, and other odd personas were in attendance.

Finding the plates already filled, Batory found that her own place was next to a relatively normal-looking (meaning human and dressed in a manner that did not strike the vampiress as particularly odd, albeit a bit casual for an official banquet) attendee, a woman with a long coat and boots on, who looked a little dazed.

Ilona gracefully sat down, regarding the food on her plate with interest. It was a dish wholly unfamiliar to her, but it appeared to be some sort of meat. It appeared deliciously bloody, so the vampiress was not one to complain.

The woman sitting next to her was engaging the bipedal bear in conversation. Something about an acid trip. "I don't think any drugs you may have used got you here. After all, while enjoy the use of quite a few substances, I didn't require their chemical help to arrive," she said, joining in. Her voice, while smooth and sensual, had a strange, rather unnerving hiss to it, almost as if several people where whispering in the background every time she said something.

Barram noted this other newcomer's arrival, and nodded at her to acknowledge her presence as she sat down just beyond the rather confused-seeming girl with whom he'd been conversing. Hr'rmm, this looked like a Human female, as well as he could tell so far, but something about both her scent and her aura were just a bit 'off' for such an identity. Cautiously, he fingered one of the charms that were atatched to his tunic... but then, remembering their hosts' promise of safety, he relaxed again.
"Might I enquire your name, or at least whatever designation you are choosing to use here, and the name and nature of the nation that you are representing at this conference?" he asked her.

Nodding, the vampiress gave the ursine a smile. While pretty, her smile was cold and predatory, and the presence of her barbed fangs only enhanced this. "I am Dr. Ilona Batory, representing the Batory clan, since the subject of this conference is... relevant to our interests," she said smoothly. Her accent was slightly sing-song, though not blatantly so, and her speech was clear enough despite both accent and hiss. "I'm also representing my nation, Callisdrun, in an unofficial capacity."

Ilona extended a slender hand to shake that of the anthropomorphic bear's. Her fingernails were painted black, and apparently also sharpened, enough so that they could probably do some damage. "And you are?" she asked, curious as to her fellow attendee's name.

Friday the Thirteen was a few days ago, and just a typical routine day for Lockhelm, where the mundane events would be kept at the basement of her memories, locked away due to their potential irrelevance unless when truly needed, however, Cecily could do nothing but wonder whether it was a wise idea to watch the poorly done Dracula 5 sequel in the Midnight of a Friday 13th, for perhaps for a drugged mind, even such memory of the cheesy plot, filled with holes, Twilight grade of failure including vampires getting a suntan on the beach, and a Dracula that only needed to cut himself to become a complete goth emo, besides bullet-time effects done just as filler and C-movie grade dialogues that would make Plan 9 From Outer Space seem like a masterpiece.

Perhaps the fact the movie was so bad was what made it outstanding on her chemically altered mind, a somewhat too pale woman to be alive, sat down right next to her and said in a way that gave Cecily shivers:

"I don't think any drugs you may have used got you here. After all, while enjoy the use of quite a few substances, I didn't require their chemical help to arrive,"

Nearly simultaneously, the bear also insisted on the same idea, as if in her own acid trip, the entities her mind imagined were trying to convince her everything was real, and answering the vampiress back.

"When you say 'Acid', are you referring to a drug of some kind? I know of several substances that would enable dimensional travel in the spirit, but none that would make it bodily possible as well... So, if you are actually here physically..."

"As would indeed seem to be the case, then I rather doubt whether any drugs of which you might have partaken could have been responsible for your journey."

Meanwhile, somewhat dizzy about it, Cecily watched as the woman showed her fangs and greeted the bear, telling him her name was Ilona and she went from a sort of place called Callisdrun Cecily never heard about. Before they resumed their brief conversation, Cecily had to say what was obvious for her:

"Excuse me, but I believe you are all figments of my imagination. A man called Charles Darwin," she politely mentioned, looking at the talking bear, "and thousand years of humanity written history would confront your existence as real, and as the entire world is known by us humans, if you, or the other unique visitor here," she said, pointing to the rabbit," if you existed, we would have discovered by now."

Then, she immediately turned towards Ilona:

"Now Ilona, it is impressive how far a myth spread by the combination of an outbreak of rabies, of interpretations of a supposed word of God, of the existence of human beings who have fetish for blood and of the infamous past history of some of the most brutal and twisted tyrants of mankind history could have gone, so far that even in modern times there are some fools who believe in it. Three days ago I was watching another sequel of the vampire movies genre, and I suppose not seeing a vampire in an acid trip after watching that movie would be unlikely. Or maybe... not really, I don't have any repressed fetish for blood."

'"So after all, this might be an interesting trip... I bet these creations of my mind will refuse to acknowledge they don't really exist, as my subconscious doesn't seem to be uncreative or uninteresting."' Cecily thought shortly after she made her point on their nonexistence or on the nonexistence of such entire place.

Ilona laughed. It was a truly chilling sound. There was that background hiss, but the laugh itself was that of someone capable of great cruelty. "Believe what you want," the vampiress said, turning to regard the woman between herself and the bear, with her eyes, so dark that the iris and pupil could not be differentiated. "No one can force you to do otherwise. You can proclaim the world to be flat and the center of the universe for all I care." This statement seemed to indicate Batory's opinion on the woman's thoughts about her kind. Smiling, she continued. "I can assure you, my dear, that I do not have rabies. In fact, I promise I won't bite. Unless of course... you want me to." The last she added with a smile and wink.

"As for the word of God... which one? Ithtyr seems the likeliest choice... But I digress... If we don't exist, why do you claim to have a genre of films based on us? What material would there be to draw on? If you don't believe that Queen Sarkany ever existed, surely making a film about her would be odd. And writing history without her would be quite problematic as well, considering the vastness of her empire. And by 'us humans' do you mean to imply that I am not a human? My kind are a subspecies and it's a bit insulting when people try to claim otherwise." Clearly, Ilona was a bit confused by what the apparently sane woman had said, as if she had insisted that the sky was, in fact, neon purple and that its apparent blue color was a figment of her imagination.

Ilona was amused by this seemingly very strange woman. She clearly wasn't stupid, but very odd in her ideas. Didn't she know of the studies of moroii kind undertaken by intrigued anthropologists? Books had been written on their anatomy and bizarre evolution. "If, as you suggest, I am merely a hallucination produced by your mind, shouldn't I know your name? I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name and homeland... but I haven't a clue as to either of yours." Finally, with a curious look, she added "And who is this Charles Darwin? Is he an important man where you come from?"

Kol A'hist came out of his room, leaving the remaints of his lunch there to be cleaned up, and decided to make an appearance in the main dining hall. He took a quick look around and found a bear talking with two young women, but something seemed wrong about one of them, but Kol couldn't put his finger on it.

He listened in on the conversation amongst the three, when a mention of Charles Darwin came up.

"Excuse me ladies, but did one of you mention a Charles Darwin? I knew a man by that name. Oh, I apologize, where ever are my manners? My name is Kol A'hist, and you ladies are?"

After they introduced themselves, and Kol once again apologized for interuppting the conversation, he continued with his point.

"I do believe that this Darwin, if it is the same man I once knew, spouted non-sense about survival of the fittest, correct? The only survival theat any sane person cares about is their own, am I correct, Ms. Ilona?"

Kol awaited Ilona's reply, and wondered if he could convince Cecily to come back to his room, for a midnight snack....

"I wouldn't call it nonsense," the Callisdrunian mused, smiling. "It sounds quite similar to Andat's theory of adaptive mutation," she added.

Continuing, she explained "For about two hundred years it's been the understanding that those with characteristics most helpful to surviving in their habitat will have the greatest chance of reproducing and that these advantageous characteristics will be passed to their offspring. As for the others..." she grinned, again exposing her fangs. "My subspecies was quite glad to take care of them, in the case of other humans."

"Also, it's 'Doctor Ilona Batory.' I'm not trying to be arrogant, but I did spend quite a bit of time and effort on my post-graduate work." She smiled, softening her correction. Somewhat. "In any case, it's a pleasure to meet you, Kol A'hist."

"My apologies, Dr. Batory, for being so informal" Kol replied. "Pardon me, but I see an old friend in the corner, and I must speak with him. By your leave, Doctor, Ms. Lockhelm."

As he walked over to the corner to speak with a man he thought was a Nethertopian. Kol A'hist muttered to himself, 'dammit, figures a vampiress would show up here. They are nothing but leeches anyway, 'we only drink blood...bah!' if they were truly superior, they would eat the flesh of their victims. I hope no others show up, i do rather like having my meals rather bloody.'

"I can hear you, Kol," the moroii said, chuckling. Having greatly heightened senses, when compared with a non-vampiric human's, she had heard the man's muttering. "It seems you have quite some misconceptions about my race. I will leave you to them, if that is your desire."

Turning back to the woman beside her and the bear, she said, pleasantly "Now... where were we? Oh yes, introductions."

"Excuse me, but I believe you are all figments of my imagination. A man called Charles Darwin," she politely mentioned, looking at the talking bear, "and thousand years of humanity written history would confront your existence as real, and as the entire world is known by us humans, if you, or the other unique visitor here," she said, pointing to the rabbit," if you existed, we would have discovered by now."

"There are more worlds than just one," Barram quietly murmured as that young woman turned to converse with the newer arrival. ("Hr'rmm," he though to himself, "I wonder how somebody so ignorant of the Multiverse came to be sent to this conference?")

"I wouldn't call it nonsense," the Callisdrunian mused, smiling. "It sounds quite similar to Andat's theory of adaptive mutation," she added.
Continuing, she explained "For about two hundred years it's been the understanding that those with characteristics most helpful to surviving in their habitat will have the greatest chance of reproducing and that these advantageous characteristics will be passed to their offspring. As for the others..." she grinned, again exposing her fangs. "My subspecies was quite glad to take care of them, in the case of other humans."

("Oh," Barram thought, "genocide?" He sighed. "Ah well, I knew that some of the other attendees at a conference on this topic would probably have backgrounds that I'd dislike..")

Turning back to the woman beside her and the bear, she said, pleasantly "Now... where were we? Oh yes, introductions."

"Oh, yes," replied Barram, "introductions'" (He paused, and thought about this for a brief moment. On the one paw he wasn't at all certain that he wanted to let a blood-drinker know who he was and where he was from, but on the other paw their names and homelands would probably all be made public when the formal part of the conference began anyway... and anyway, it wasn't as though his name, and home, weren't 'protected'...)
"I am Barram o SilverStars, from the nation of Bears Armed, where I serve as a shabear and as one of the Great Medicine Society's 'Voices' in our people's High Council of Clans."

Kol A'hist returned to his private dining room, and upon reaching it, was stunned to find Manuel Phocaso standing there.

"Mr. A'hist, I did rather warn you about your eating habits. While personally, I find cannibalism ahborrent, I do respect the need for some people to to do. I also find having a dining room turned into an abattoir equally repungant. Please, if you must eat the way you do, at least attempt to clean it up or we'll be forced to expel you."

Kol A'hist was a bit stunned, but something about Mr. Phocaso's voice and tone didn't seem right to him.

"Phocaso, You invited me here, and you are now abhorred with cannibalism? I doubt that. You are either a phony, a shape-shifter or..."

"Or what, A'hist? A figment of your imagination? This is the Dreamed Realm, where all reality and thought exist together. So since I am a figment of your imagination, what figment bequeathed me, existance?" the "Phocaso" said, shifting his appearance to match Kol's.

"A part I wish that didn't exist, my dear little used conscience. But since we both are here now, why don't you just go back to Valla Prison for me?" Kol asked.

"We both know that is not going to happen, Kol. I know you better than anyone, including you. Someway, Kol, We'll both go back to Valla Prison, either dead or alive, your choice." the doppelganger said before leaving the room.

"Oh, yes," replied Barram, "introductions'" (He paused, and thought about this for a brief moment. On the one paw he wasn't at all certain that he wanted to let a blood-drinker know who he was and where he was from, but on the other paw their names and homelands would probably all be made public when the formal part of the conference began anyway... and anyway, it wasn't as though his name, and home, weren't 'protected'...)
"I am Barram o SilverStars, from the nation of Bears Armed, where I serve as a shabear and as one of the Great Medicine Society's 'Voices' in our people's High Council of Clans."

"I take it that is a position of great importance," Ilona observed, sounding genuinely interested (for she was). "I'm afraid that I am quite unfamiliar with your society and government, though a High Council is familiar enough. But the position of Shabear sounds like one of both religious and political significance. Is that so?"

"And what of you?" she said, turning to the woman between them. "You deny the existence of Barram here and I, yet we do not yet know your name or your homeland. Please, enlighten us."

OOC: So, um, where'd the host go?

OOC: So, um, where'd the host go?

(ooc: I think this can be considered a DEAD thread... espcially since it had been 5 weeks since the last post.)

(ooc: I think this can be considered a DEAD thread... espcially since it had been 5 weeks since the last post.)

OOC: Unfortunate, I was looking forward to it.

...and now it's been several months--more to the point, we've migrated over to the other forum. The NationStates subforum seems to be doing fine (and the Sports RPs have found their own niche, so no need to worry about encroachment), so the thread's original purpose might no longer be relevant. That said, if AIF wanted to start it up on the new forum, I'd come back.

I was surfing through here for another reason, but what happened was.... unfortunately I started the thread just before being offered a new job - which sucked up most of my writing time as I struggled to write an 80,000 word textbook in 4 months.

I barely logged in to NS for 2-3 months. Sorry if I let anyone down, but RL intervened.

Most excellent, I just needed this thread for some info about some ministers. Perfectly timed bump xD