NationStates Jolt Archive

As Sacred Emperor Lucifer awaited the rulers, he felt a rare sensation: nervousness. He had not felt it for some time, mostly just contempt, hatred, and fury. But now other leaders were arriving, and he had no idea what they would do or say. It was, as politicians and historians called it, a Great Moment in History, when empires rose or fell on words and territory was lost or gained in moments. Let them come, he thought.

bump, dammit!

The small diplomatic jet soared over the capital city of The Warmaster, nearing the airport. Towards the read of the plane, Antonius dozed in a comfortable leather recliner, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, a bottle of Black Death Vodka lying on the floor at his feet. The plane jolted, and Antonius started awake.

"What!? Where?! Kill them!"

An aid tried desperately to calm the man down, and Antonius at last relaxed, and lit another cigarette as the plane began to descend. The jet halted in the center of the runway, and the stairs unfolded. The Emperor and a contingent of White Guardsmen, servants, and GIIS operatives stepped out onto the tarmac.

A High Prefect walked towards the Generian Delegation out across the tarmac. Murmuring a prayer, he welcomed them with a warm politician's smile and said, "Greetings, Most August Emperor Antonius. If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will take you to the Imperial Private Lounge in the Palace, where this conference is to be held."

"Who the Hell are you? And where the Hell are the cigars and brandy?"

As the evening sank in over the skies of The Warmaster, a splotch on the visible sun grew larger, it was recognized as a blimp. As it neared the airstrip, it became apparant that it was made to resemble a bannana, except that the original colours of yellow and brown, had been replaced with orange and purple.
The bloated mass decended on the dusty airstrip and attendants rushed to fasten it to the ground.

A ladder sprouted from the only visible gap in the zeppelin's canvas. The first to descend was clad in a leopard clown suit, atop his enlarged skull was a badgerskin tophat, dyed green. his left hand was clasped around a rubber chicken, and a pair of sunglasses. He was closely followed by the stiff figure of the Psovian Premier who was dressed in a red toga. "Where's the party!" shouted the Premier.

"I, milord," replied the High Prefect, "am a High Prefect of the Imperium, member of the Intendant caste and personal attendant to His Majesty the Sacred Emperor. And as for the Cigars and Brandy, they await you in the Imperial Private Lounge in the Imperial Palace." He turned to go. "And yes, we do add Imperial to every sentence in here."

A Supreme Commander zoomed out across the tarmac on a motorcycle. "Hey! Our airfield is NOT DUSTY! How dare you! and by the way, I am Supreme Commander Tuphonis of clan Pall, and I would like to welcome you to the Empire. the 'party' is in the Imperial Private Lounge in the Palace. If you would care to follow me. And by the way, I apologize for my unforgivable behavior", he said as he cut his own throat in apology. A minor intendant stepped forward and declared, "The same thing he said."

As the attendent walked off, Antonius turned to one of the members of his entourage.

"Funny bunch, aren't they?"

He turned to follow the prefect just as the zeppelin touched down.

The Man in the leopard clown suit shook the minor intendants hand enthusiastically," i would prefer it if you would take us to the lounge immediately, you see the Premier needs to use the pooper." The Premier nodded in agreement then grasped his buttox and began to count to ten in German. The Man in the leopard suit made a gesture to hasten with the proceedings.

The High Prefect led them up the obsidian steps into the Palace. The Imperial Immortals flanking the doors saluted rigidly as the delegation passed. At length, after passing through dozens of massively expensive great halls, they came upon a room about the size of a football field with five urinals adorning the far walls, along with the Imperial Stable for Racehorses. "The Lounge is through that door on the right, milord. I salute you, and though it is not my place, I wish you luck in your negotiations." He left, murmuring another prayer, and returned to his quarters, his whiskey, and his extremely sexual mistress.

"Of course," said the intendant. "The pooper is in the hall before the Lounge. If you would follow me." As they hurried through the labyrinthine halls, they occasionally caught sight of another delegation. As the intendant stopped before a large ebony door, he said, "I am not authorized to go through this door. I wish you luck in your negotiations. May the Sacred Emperor's grace go with you." As he left, he muttered, "and his taste for alcohol."

Antonius walked into the room full of urinals and immediately unzipped.

"Thank God. Excuse me, gentlemen, I've got to take a leak."

Two guards pulled the doors open to reveal a room, lavishly decorated in the finest Warmaster style, tastefully blending Classical Roman, baroque and German tapestry art. A man in the black Romanesque armor of an Imperial Sacred Emperor was sitting in a large Victorian throne, his black breastplate's gold details glinting in the soft light. "Welcome" he said, in a voice like velvet, yet that all knew could turn to icy steel at the proverbial drop of a hat.

OOC: Jake 4, I will now speak a sentence constructed entirely of Imperial derogatory language.

Son of a blaspheming Mameluke, how dare you set your pigdog foot in this sacred and blessed summit, knowing full well that the Eternal Emperor has warded this place against yokels and barbarians? Kindly, in the name of the Seven True Gods, leave, and wait until we finish this benevolently devious conversation to profane this bandwidth with your infidel insults, or the Torturer god will spit on your bones.
:mp5: :sniper:

Antonius looked around, first examining the architecture and decor of the impressive room, then allowing his eyes to fall on the imposing figure at the opposite end. Antonius in comparison to the man's black armor, wore his black and red ceremonial uniform, covered in various decorations and medals for valiant service in various theaters prior to the great civil war that had dethroned his father, taken the lives of his two brothers and his sister, and placed him rather reluctantly on the throne of one of the most powerful dominions in the world.

Straightening, Antonius let his hand rest on the hilt of his ornate saber, and offered a slight bow at the waist. He addressed the man, his voice echoing around the room.

"And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

OOC: Jake 4, I will now speak a sentence constructed entirely of Imperial derogatory language.

Son of a blaspheming Mameluke, how dare you set your pigdog foot in this sacred and blessed summit, knowing full well that the Eternal Emperor has warded this place against yokels and barbarians? Kindly, in the name of the Seven True Gods, leave, and wait until we finish this benevolently devious conversation to profane this bandwidth with your infidel insults, or the Torturer god will spit on your bones.
:mp5: :sniper:

((OOC: Personally, I would have chosen something simpler and more direct, something like "leave now or I'll call the mods."))

You will be polite, even unto those who are not polite unto you. I trust that this is understood.

IC: The Premier was Pleased to be able to relieve himself, as he zipped and buckled up he realized it had been nearly four hours before he was last inebriated.He began shouting profane and unnessessarily unchristian phrases at the nearest innocent bystander. Then Ran away screaming. His Clown attendant rushed after him.

The man in black armor stood, smiling, and bowed slightly more deeply to the Emperor Antonius. "I, sir, am the Sacred Emperor of this Holy Empire, Lucifer of Domain Halcyon. Let us dispense, though, with full titles. They will be such a waste of time." He turned to a table, pressed a button and spoke, "Prefect, have you managed to locate the Psovian delegation?" With a hiss of static, a voice replied, "An intendant is leading most of them to the conference, Lord. However, the premier is rumored to be running down a hallway screaming the words to Swan Lake." "What? There are no damn words!" "That's what we told him, Lord." "Ah. Kindly bring him here." Turning back to Antonius, he resumed his conversation in a more civil tone. "Perhaps you would like to sit down? Fetch the cigars!" he shouted, and sat.

The Premier Burst through the thick ebony doors shouting "Swan Swan Swan. Lake Lake Lake, Quack Quack Quack Quack!" "Please sir," An attendant rushed to his side and tried to seat him on a decadent loveseat. The Premier, disgusted by the obvious elegance, began to convulse violently and tried to reescape, however his leopard clow suited assistant assured him it was politically correct, and the premier reluctantly squatted over the loveseat, refusing to touch the capitolist filth. "Get me something to drink!" he shouted at the brass lamp to his right.

"Of course you may have something to drink, Your Excellency," the Sacred Emperor replied diplomatically. "And I am over here. No, not on the ceiling. Thank you. SERVANTS!" he yelled. "Get His Excellency a large wine list, and make sure there is no poison in any of it." He turned to the Premier. "My apologies, but I have recently assassinated a cousin, and we must be careful about such things."

Antonius scratched himself, and took a seat.

"You got any Black Death Vodka?"

A servile and cringing Damnatus entered the room, sycophanctically grasping a huge wine list the size of War and Peace. He ripped two thousand and five hundred pages off of it, and they saw it was covered with pictures of spaghettios. He handed the list to the Premier, and Lucifer pulled out a handgun and calmly shot him in the base of the skull. "You have been dismissed."

The servant, not being quite dead, raised his head and replied, "Yes, I'll have someone fetch nineteen bottles."

Yet another servant came in, balancing a tray of cigars and holding nineteen bottles of Black Death vodka. He spat out a bucket for vomit, drawing awed looks, and handed an Black Label Emperor's Choice Hand-Rolled to Lucifer, and then both gave the vodka to and pushed the tray at Antonius.

Antonius pulled a cigarette from a pack in his pocket, placed it between his lips, and raised a silver lighter.

"Yeah, that'll do for starters."

He turned to this entourage, which still stood awkwardly in the doorway. He shouted to them across the room.

"Hey! Get lost! Go find a leg to hump or something!"

The Premier having realized that he could not read English (or any language for that matter), called his leopard clad attendant to read the entire list of wine out loud to the Premier. Having gone through the first three the Premier ran out of patience and ordered a glass of each, except for the first three, but three bottles of Penfolds Shiraz. His Foreign Minister seated to his left stared intently at the Generic Imperial delegation, as they scurried out.

Lucifer cut and lit his cigar, taking a long drag and exhaling in a satisfied sigh. He turned to an attendant, and said, "Get me a bottle of The Macallan single-malt whiskey, and five fingers of Scotch. And then that will be all." Facing the leaders, he said, "Gentlemen, we have several matters, perhaps many matters, to attend to. First is the sharing of technology. I am sure that all of us will pay well for suitably lethal weapons of war. Emperor Antonius, do you have any weapons that you would like to offer?"

"I have a grenade in my pocket" The Premier produced a frag grenade from his trouser pocket and began to stroke it slowly and lovingly like he would a siamese cat,with no hair. His foreign Minister urged him to conceal it again in his trousers. The Premier reluctantly complied and sat on it. A snapping sound and then a clatter. The leopard suited clown leaped foward thrusting his hand under the premiers buttox producing the active grenade, swallowed it and ran out the nearest exit. An explosion was clearly audible in the surprised silence of the lounge. The Premier farted.

Antonius drained half the bottle of vodka, and took a drag on his cigarette.

"Now this is my kind of conversation. Perhaps you boys would be interested in the GIR-37 assault rifle?"

"Probably," Lucifer replied, sipping from his Scotch, "knowing your commitment to quality. Could you give us a short synopsis of its qualities? And Premier, your wine is coming," he said as a helicopter landed outside, its engine sounding strained by the weight of the thousands of wine glasses onboard.

"Even better. I'll show you."

Antonius called to one of the White Guardsmen who were milling around outside the door to the hall. The armored warrior rushed to the side of the Emperor. Antonius grabbed his gun, and handed it to Lucifer.

"Check that baby out. 100 round clips, three in reserve. Thirteen pounds of full metal ownage. This is Praetorian standard fare. Completely G.I. proof."

"Forgive the colloquialism. Damn it. That is a good weapon. I'll buy the production rights for 1 billion USD, if that's acceptable."

"They're yours. Enjoy."

Antonius crushed the cigarette into an ashtray, and accepted a cigar from one of the servants, cutting the end, and lighting it with a wooden match struck against his face. He took a long pull, and exhaled, allowing the smoke to drift over his lips and through his nostrils, wreathing his forehead.

"I gues its my turn. I've got the Ravager Heavy Tank, equipped with one 152-mm cannon, two smoke-grenade launchers with a ten-grenade clip, and three SG-552 assault rifles built in.

"Hmm, I'd like to see a demonstration of that sometime."

Antonius thoughtfully puffed on the cigar, contemplating when best to begin getting utterly hammered.

"Perhaps we will find a nube to demonstrate on?"

Antonius had reached the conclusion that he would begin getting utterly hammered after the weapons demonstrations had concluded.

"An excellent idea. I'm glad I thought of it. Now, we must find ourselves a nube. Quick! To the Batmobile!"

The white Guardsman was still standing at attention behind the Emperor. now he leaned over and whispered into Antonius's ear.

"Sir, I'm afraid we don't have a Batmobile."

"What?! I told you cretins I wanted a Batmobile three months ago!"

The Premier, who had passed out a couple of hours ago suddenly woke with a start and realized he was surrounded by foreigners. Shrieking for his guards, he drew his sword (actually a letter opener shaped like a sword) and waved it in the air violently. Then being coaxed to reason by his foreign minister he offered to assist the fledgling warmaster's military by donating old Psovian tanks, humvees, and test monkeys. "Hey why don't we assist you by donating old tanks, humvees and test monkeys?" asked the Prime Minister.

The Sacred Emperor noticed Antonius' dismay at his underlings, calmly pulles out a sidearm, and shot one of them in the head. "Obey the Emperor Antonius while you are in my Palace, or die. Get him a goddamn Batmobile. In the meantime, I'll just surf the North Pacific for nubes."

OOC: Genius!

"How about the People's Republic of Jimmm?" said the Sacred Emperor, drinking from his whiskey.

Antonius wiped the blood off of his face and uniform as he looked with distaste at the once incompetant, now dead servant.

"Impossible to find good help these days. Speaking of, would you be interested in purchasing some Shooban slaves from us? We could also offer you a breeding farm in Generian Shoobooshaaba. Free labor would greatly assist you in construction of your infrastructure, military and otherwise."

"Of course, of course," said Lucifer. "In exchange, the Ministry of Pleasure could spare at least a hundred young, talented, and needless to say arousing young girls from our adult movie industry. You culd use them as breeding stock for a harem. We've done it for decades."

"Sounds good to me. The Imperial harem's been needing some new girls lately. So, uh, could I take some of them for a, you know, test drive?"

The Sacred Emperor allowed a knowing smile to stretch his lips. "Absolutely," he said, puffing on his cigar, "as long as I can give them a...farewell gift."

The Sacred Emperor allowed a knowing smile to stretch his lips. "Absolutely," he said, puffing on his cigar, "as long as I can give them a...farewell gift."

Antonius laughed heartily. Innuendo was manly.

"Be my guest. They're yours until they're mine."

"Indeed they are." he replied. "The Psovian Premier seems to have passed out."

The Psovian Foreign Minister tugged on the jacket sleeve of the Premier, "sir," he whispered hoarsely, we need to go attend your wife's wedding. "n'yes the Premier nodded," g'day Gentlem'n," the Premier waved violently at the same brass lamp he had addressed earlier. His foreign minister redirected him so that he was facing the Sacred Emperor, and thanked him for the outstanding alcohol in a language that was unintelligible to all present. He then collapsed in a heap in the midst of his foreign minister and a random guard, who then carried him from the lounge to his zeppelin.

"Now that he's gone, perhaps I can suggest a permanent alliance, technologically, economically, and militarily? And I will also trade the secret of the Shavan BioWar virus for some vehicles, ships, and a few nukes. I want to end our status as a Third Worlder." said Lucifer.

"A permanent alliance seems to me a most favorable prospect. Have your people call my people, and they'll arrange a more formal agreement. As for now, we'll keep things simple. We'll scratch your back if you scratch ours. Your Shavan BioWar virus intrigues me, and I am more than willing to part with equipment from our extardinary military stockpiles to acquire it. I may also consider giving you a few viles of the 'Kali' and 'KM2' viruses, very rare indeed."

"Admirable. With your skills and productivity, you could even operate a storefront, if you so wished."

"Incidentally, the Shavan virus causes braindeath, and is relatively easy to modify to attack any bearer of any trait. It can be changed to kill anyone with blue eyes, for instance, or anyone with three eyes, let alone the color. That is its true strength."

"Excellent. i shall be looking forward to recieving the samples. Now if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to in the capital. Just have the women sent to the White Citadel in Generia City. I shall do likewise with the slaves. Good evening."

Antonius stood, bowed slightly, and exited the room. His entourage met him at the door, and they proceeded towards the diplomatic jet. In a few minutes, they were off the ground and headed back to Generia City.