NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: Inspired from a thread written 2 years ago that was never finished. If you want to join in feel free, but you better be able to write.

No "tags" please.

**********************

Fall was beginning to show its colors across the Empire, starting in ULE City and spreading outwards in all directions as it always did. War had plagued Automagfreek yet again, but this was nothing unusual and the yearly festivities would continue as normal. With Damien and Azrael off defending the shores of the Empire, Silvia had been charged with the task of planning the ceremonies. Dreadfire had promised to not miss the most important holiday in Automagfreek....Halloween.

Halloween was a time where the Freeks could celebrate their long and bloody history and the spirits that have guided them throughout the course of their lives. It was also a time to remember the dead, with some Freeks digging up their relatives and making them the guest of honor at family celebrations. But regardless, AMF's most beautiful lady moved about the Great Hall with surprising vigor, making sure that everything was carefully planned and no detail forgotten. The 'Bloodlust' feast was a very important event for the leaders of Automagfreek, and it was the one time of the year when the borders of the Empire would be welcome to all, friend and foe alike.

During this time of the year the many windows of the Great Hall would opened, allowing the fresh autumn air to fill the stony cooridors and bring with it all the smells of fall. Dying leaves blew into the open windows and scattered their colors across the floor, and there they would be left until they were dried and turned to silt. Stepping out onto Damien's famous balcon, Silvia closed her eyes and let the cool breeze engulf her body, her thigh length hair dancing gently in the wind.

Her beauty was almost intimidating, and for this ceremony she had picked out the perfect outfit for which to greet the many dignitaries that would be joining in the feast and festivities. She could not have been happier, and the thought of her father and brother on the front lines gradually slipped from her mind.

Silvia left the blacony and made for one of the rear exits near the kitchen, a smile crossing her face as the smell of fresh pumpkin and squash met her nostrils. Her moved about the kitchen like a kid in a candy store, sampling the many dishes that the cooks had been preparing for the great bounty. She had finally arrived at the rear door and opened it without hesitation. She was now standing in The Gardens.

Great statues stood beneath the orange and red colored trees, and Silvia moved about brushing off leaves from their ancient stone faces. The fountains were still bubbling, causing a fine mist of water to coat the granite and marble figures, giving them an almost lifelike gleam. The servants had begun placing torches across the stone walkways in preparation for sundown, and after the feast the guests would be brought out to a beautiful gazebo where the first of several tributes would be paid in honor of Halloween.

M'Lady, our guests should be arriving shorty. All preparations have been completed. The servant could not help but smile as he bowed his head respectfully. Silvia was well liked by everybody that knew her, and the aura about her made those around her happy, quite the opposite of her father and brother. As the servant disappeared back into the house, she suddenly realized that the hour was growing late. I'd better get changed...

*****************

The time of the year has come once more, when we celebrate the coming of Autumn and the most important holiday in Automagfreek, Halloween. And during this time a great feast, known as 'Bloodlust', is given at the Great Hall. Dignitaries from all nations are invited for a night of feasting and fascinating history surrounding this event. This is a formal yet laid back event, and security will not be a concern.

I look forward to seeing you all.

http://img131.echo.cx/img131/9374/silvia1fu.jpg
Silvia Stormguard

OOC: Ooh...normally I'd keep in real-time with the rest of my RPs, but I think I'll have to make an exception for this one.

IC:

Hans Müller's mode of transportation was a rather simple one: an armored limousine. Müller knew that he could safely travel in Damien's land, and he took full advantage of this. With the windows down, he stared at the magnificent landscape they passed by. The setting sun turned the sky a fiery orange, a beautiful color to mask the landscape on this fall afternoon.

Looking ahead, Müller could see the massive, ominous structure that Damien called his home. Der Führer of SAVX admired the architecture immensely. He had a group of architects modify a large portion of The Palace in a similar style to Damien's Great Hall long ago, so great was his appreciation of the style. Now Müller would be entering the famous--or rather infamous, depending on your point of view--building and taking part in the renowned Bloodlust feast.

It wasn't long after they had passed the open gates at the perimeter of the area that they pulled up to the front of the Great Hall. Der Führer opened the door for himself before the driver even had a chance to get out. Straightening his sharp-looking tuxedo and making sure that his hair was still neatly gelled to perfection, he strode to the entrance of the Great Hall, looking forward to the festivities, though a bit wary. This was the first time he would actually meet face-to-face with the leaders of the nation most respected by SAVX, and he wanted to make the best appearance that he could.

OOC: Hope that's good enough.

Lady Marona, who was in charge of all diplomatic communications, walked up to Lady Destra's office, where she was dilligently working on the continuation of her expansion of diplomacy to other nations of the world. The work had been strenuous, but overall worthwhile. Opening up negotiations with new nations had built up more opportunities as well as more friendship and cooperation in this world; something that hadn't been easily attained without the threat of war. War was never an option in Destra's mind, with diplomacy always in the back of her head. There would always be a way to solve things diplomatically between two nations that had growing tensions, they just had to open up every possible option and be ready to cooperate if peace is to stay an option.

Knocking on the door of Destra's office, she walked into the room and stood there patiently awaiting Destra to finish her train of thought. It was considered to be extremely rude to interrupt someone while they were deep in thought or writing, and it was widely understood that once the person finished their thought, they would put their writing utencil down and look up at the person awaiting their attention. This was the case in this specific situation. Lady Destra put her pen down and looked up towards Marona with a smile on her face. It seemed as if she had been getting a lot of work done today, having been up in her office for the majority of the day that had passed already. It was now Lady Marona's turn to intrude politely.

"It seems that we've received an invitation from Silvia Stormguard, from Automagfreek, for a gathering."

Lady Destra looked up for a brief second and asked, "What exactly is the purpose of the gathering?"

Lady Marona handed the invitation over to Destra. She read it pretty quickly and handed it back to Marona, with a pleased look on her face.

"It seems pretty interesting. This is the perfect time to form better relations with Automagfreek, especially after the entire political fallout of the recent wars exploding everywhere across the world. Perhaps this is the start of a new peace?"

There was a brief pause, and both Destra and Marona gave out hearty laughs. They both knew that would never be possible. Peace on this planet? That would be the equivalent of asking the world to get rid of their nuclear weaponry. It ain't gonna happen. The human mind is a very complex thing, with the issue of always wanting to out-perform others, as well as feel superior over its 'enemies'. It doesn't look like peace will ever be possible, that is, until the extinction of humans themselves. That alone was more realistic, but this was an issue for another time.

"I'll need to prepare my things for the trip. It'd be a great time for me to continue working on my papers and perhaps, clear my head a bit at this gathering? After all, you can only focus on this sort of thing for so long before you really need to just get out and have a great time."

"I'll let the rest of the Cabinet know of your decision, Destra. I'll also let someone know of your needed transportation to Automagfreek. We'll need to have everything planned out before tomorrow."

"Thank you, Marona. I'll need to send out a quick transmission to Automagfreek, letting them know of our attendance."

They both departed to their tasks at hand, and as usual, both of the women did not hesitate to do anything. In their mind, the most important thing was to complete a task that they were given or had chosen to accomplish themselves. Honour was one of the most important things to them, as well as the entire Cabinet of Euroslavia. Losing this means that a political damnation would likely follow you, meaning you wouldn't be an acting government official for long...


>----------------------------------------------------<
Diplomatic Communication Opened
Level 3 Selected: Encryption Activated
To: Silvia Stormguard of the Excessively Armed Empire of Automagfreek
From: Lady Destra nos Thiendrel of the United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia
Subject: RE: Invitation

"We have received your invitation to the gathering that you will be hosting and wish to express our interest in attending this event. It's not often that one has the opportunity to attend an event having to do with this unique topic. It'll be a great way to get to know each other, as well as the rest who are attending, as well as having a good time. After all, leaders of all sorts within a nation can get quite tired of being serious all of the time, and having to take care of business all day and all night. It should certainly be required that everyone should have to take a vacation for a bit, to clear their head.

I am personally looking forward to attending this event, and hope that something good can be put in stone after this gathering, about the relations between our two nations, despite this being a more relaxed event. I am also interested in learning more about Automagfreek history, and how this event has become a very important day in society for the people of Automagfreek. I'm always interested in learning new things about foreign culture. A wise man once said that if every nation understood the cultures and customs of the rest of the nations on this planet, that war would be severely decreased. Misunderstandings between two vastly different cultures leads to war quite often these days, despite the fact that war isn't even necessary between the two. It often becomes a war for a superior culture, which only proves how inferior their own culture really is in the overall spectrum of things. Let us pray for good times and good stories, as well as new relations!"

Lady Destra nos Thiendrel (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v492/Euroslavia/pg37-1.jpg)
Free Dictator of the United Freedom Forces of Euroslavia


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

The next morning, Lady Destra awoke from a deep nights sleep and immediately thought of the events that were going to take place today. She needed to get out of bed and get ready for it all. Throwing her blankets from over her, she put her cold feet down onto the carpet and stretched her tired body. She was never a morning person, but she was dedicated enough to get up early to prepare herself.

Everything had already been prepared for Destra, in her journey to Automagfreek. The plane was sitting at the Arcadian International Airport, ready to lift her over to Automagfreek for the gathering. She rushed through her daily routine and got into a formal eastern-style dress. It seemed more appropriate to dress formal, despite the casual premise of it all. Getting into the plane, she still had her briefcase with her, along with all of the memos that she had started. Work never ceased as the leader of Euroslavia, and she did her best to keep up with it.

The trip itself took a relatively short amount of time. For the entire time, Destra focused on completing as many memos as she could, and had already accomplished a lot before the day even started. It looked as if she had almost caught up with everything, but she that once she returned to Euroslavia, her desk would be piled high of things to do.

Once the plane had landed within Automagfreek, of course, with the assistance of their own airport personnel, they were directed towards the area where the gathering would be taking place. Traveling in a luxury-sized vehicle, Lady Destra was taken towards the area, where she stepped out of the vehicle and thanked the driver for the assistance. It was the polite thing to do. She continued on into the entrance of the Great Hall and marveled in its beauty. The architecture was simply brilliant, as well as the items representing Automagfreek culture. In her mind, she decided that it would probably be best to wait there until she received further instructions.

Dominic knocked on the door. "Elli, we're gonna be late." A muffled voice sounding like "Just a minute" being spoken through a towel came from the door. Dominic dropped his shoulders, not the biggest fan of long waits. After several minutes her door opened and she came out.

Dominic didn't notice that she was wearing a very nice dress, and he didn't notice that she was currently drop-dead gorgeous. He was too busy trying to get his dress jacket to cooperate, and not make him look like a boring dignitary. Despite being in his fifties, he still looked not a day over twenty four. Being undead had its ups and downs.

He finally adjusted it so that he could look in the mirror and make small corrections. He put on a pair of sunglasses and smiled. "Elli, you ready to go now?" She stood behind him, her arms folded. "I've been waiting for you." Dom laughed, and walked out of the room. She followed behind him. They left the building, nodding to the guard, and got into their car. It wasn't a limo, but it still gave the impression that someone important was driving.

They began the drive from their home in ULE City to where the Bloodlust would be held. Elli got the look she always wore when travelling, Dominic knew that she was homesick again. He spoke up,"Hey, you know, I've been the same thing for halloween for the last thirty odd years. I don't need to dress up either." This got a small giggle out of Ellison, who knew that Dom was trying hard to get her mind off of her exile.

A hand lay on her shoulder, and she saw that it was Dom. "Listen Elli, this is a party we're going to. Can't have you moping about. We'll get home eventually, we just have to be patient."

They arrived at their destination, where they both got out of the car. They proceeded up to the grand building, where the feast would be held. It promised to be a fun night.

(OOC: Remembered that my nation's old leader is still in exile in AMF, so I thought she'd be going to this. Yay party thread.)

The jagged blade made a hissing sound as it cut through the air. After deflecting an imaginary blow, it was then brought upwards, turned around and swooped outwards in a slashing motion once again. The imaginary opponent ducked beneath it only to receive a clawed foot to the face, knocking him down roughly. The blade twirled overhead teasingly and then suddenly came down in a ferocious death-blow. It crunched into the wooden floor, leaving a hole as it was yanked upwards again in a shower of sawdust.

Bonfaaz Burntfur enjoyed practicing his 'charr-ko' blade techniques on his less busy days. The cleaners didn't enjoy it quite so much, of course, as it was them who had to clear up all the mess he often left behind. He got quite 'involved' sometimes. The blade was a distinctive one; half axe and half sword, yet not the same as either one of them. Its cutting edge was vicious, with teeth of various sizes and a long point on the end. The bottom of the blade formed a miniature hook, useful for disarming an opponent (literally if necessary). If the tell-tale stains on the sharp points of the blade were anything to go by, it had seen practical use once or twice in the past.

The blade nearly slipped from his hands as the great doors to his great office were slammed open with a thud. A dark-furred Charr stormed into the large room, stomping his clawed feet against the wooden floor as he strode towards Burntfur. The only illumination in the rustic, bare-wood room was a series of flaming torches along the walls, casting eerie shadows across the floor and right up to the high ceiling, making this Charr look bigger than he actually was. The black ceremonial robes he wore, and the black leather wraps around his thin horns, combined with the twisted wooden staff he carried suggested that battle wasn't what this Charr was feared for, however.

"Have you seen this?" the Charr growled.

"'Tis hard to see something without having it placed before your eyes," Burntfur sneered, leaving his 'charr-ko' stance and placing the blade at his side.

"This!" the Charr thrust a sheet of parchment into Burntfur's face, holding it there until he had scanned it with his yellow eyes. "You see now the heresy you have allied yourself with?! The Gods of Fire will surely consume your soul with all of their fiery power for this! I dread to imagine the heretical nature of the other sovereigns in this 'Gholgoth'!"

"Calm yourself Verklaaw," Burntfur growled. "Remember your place."

"My place is in the Great Flame Temple, begging for the mercy of the Gods, which is where I feel you should be spending a great deal of time over the coming years!" Verklaaw snarled.

"Silence! I have not been converted! Associating oneself with the outside world is not heresy -- it is common sense!" Burntfur scolded him, and snatched the parchment from him. "Now, let us see what this is about... Bloodlust... corpses? Food! There is nothing heretical about food!"

"They dig up the shells of their fallen heroes for their own twisted pleasure!" Verklaaw spat. "Nothing heretical?! Have you lost your mind as well as your soul, Bonfaaz?! Or has the lust for power and recognition clouded your sense of honour...?"

Burntfur gave the smaller, angry Charr a quick jab to the chest, knocking him to the ground so hard it seemed as though the thick timber would snap beneath his weight. The large Charr then placed a foot against Verklaaw's throat and pressed down enough to remind him who was in charge of the situation. Being the Grand High Flame Keeper didn't make one immune from honour battles, it seemed.

"Question my honour again and you will be judged by the Gods sooner than you had anticipated," Burntfur snarled, and stepped away. He left Verklaaw to struggle back to his feet as he sat down at his desk and looked over the parchment.

"This is a good opportunity to meet with our neighbours for the first time..." he growled quietly. "And they have food, which is a bonus of course."

"You are not considering going to that place, are you?!" Verklaaw gasped, flicking his tail. "No Charr leaves Tyria! There are no Flame Temples beyond this island! The Gods would abandon you!"

"There is an ancient Charrian tradition, dating back to before the Great Tyrian War," Burntfur said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "Warriors who were too far from the Temples set alight great wooden effigies of the Gods in their terrifying mortal form. These effigies satisfied the Gods, and brought their power and blessings to the distant battlefields. We can do the same, only with small firerock statues..."

"You are quite mad..." Verklaaw shook his head in dismay.

"Get out, Verklaaw," Burntfur snapped, waving his hand. "And tell Clan Leader Klarr Viletooth that I want to speak with him."

The black-furred Charr stared at the larger, brown Charr for some time with his piercing yellow eyes, trying to think of something to say that would convince him to change his mind. After a sighing growl he gave up, and stomped away from him.




"Much time has passed since our brief contact, when you invited us to join with yourselves and several other sovereigns in a pact of strength and honour. Since that time, we have had little contact, and you have been busy with a war that likely diverts your attention to other matters.

Well, that is about to change. Myself, one of my mates, my honourable peer Clan Leader Klarr Viletooth, two of our most honoured and gifted warriors, and even a human representative shall attend this 'Bloodlust' event which you speak of. We have only a single requirement. The Grand High Flame Keeper of Tyria has reservations about this event's 'heretical' nature, and you can dispel his reservations by allowing us to bring a small stone effigy of our Gods, which we will need to keep burning for the duration of our stay.

This is a good move. I think it will be interesting, if nothing else. We shall see."

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v248/MattLever/Charr/charrhead1.jpg
Clan Leader Bonfaaz Burntfur



The airstrip outside the great city of Lion's Arch was rarely used. Charr preferred to make their own way to places on the island, whilst humans either didn't have the time, money or inclination to use air travel. It certainly never launched any aircraft away from the island, until now at least.

A large brown aeroplane sat dormant on the grassy runway, with some mobile stairs propped up against the larger-than-normal doorway. The plane was not a normal passenger liner; its enormous wingspan was necessary due to the fact that the plane's main body was significantly taller and wider than most foreign planes. This would be the first passenger plane capable of long-range flight in Tyrian history, recently designed specifically for trips such as this.

Nearby a whole army of Charr Warriors marched in perfect unison along the length of the plane making sure it was kept safe from wildlife, or any humans who thought sabotaging it would be a good idea.

Burntfur stood on the top of the mobile staircase, talking with one of the technical staff who likely had doubts about the safety of the craft. Viletooth stood on the ground beside two soldiers, who both wore glistening golden armour, discussing the various victories and hunts which had made them so highly respected in Tyria. A much smaller, less imposing Charr was huddled beside a ground vehicle waiting to be called to the plane -- a female Charr, which was a rare sight to be sure.

Lastly, a small group of human militia milled around the terminal building. Each was armed with what looked like a home-made rifle of some kind, and they surrounded a man in a green suit who looked important to them. A representative of the small human sect of Tyria, no doubt -- having recently been granted equal rights, they hadn't stopping demanding representation since.

Finally a muffled speaker blared an announcement in Charrian across the airport, and the various figures made their way up the staircase and into the plane. The human representative and his two bodyguards received no small amount of abuse as they tried clambering up the stairs -- the steps were too big for their small legs, which humoured the nearby platoon of Charr no end. One of the Charr soldiers shoved a human bodyguard, who somehow managed to deflect the much larger creature and prevent himself from falling off.

Eventually, the staircase was removed, the door was sealed shut, and the large plane began to propel itself down the runway and upwards, towards the lands of Freek. It would be a long trip for these, the first Charr to ever leave their lands.

Silvia was quite pleased by the response that she had received so far. The last torches that lined the stone walkway up to the Great Hall entrance were lit as the first delegate arrived. It was Mr. Müller, an old friend of the Empire that Damien had slowly lost contact with over the years. Word had also reached Silvia that delegates from Euroslavia and those of Gholgoth would also be in attendance, and although the celebration had not started it promised to be one of the finest in years.

One particular delegate caught her attention, a newcomer to the ranks of Gholgoth. She was quite pleased to finally meet the great Bonfaaz Burntfur, and she eyed his transmission eagerly.

Most certainly, you may bring whatever items you wish. I do not know if you know much about Automagfreek culture or history, but the Flame and its masters are highly revered by our people, especially my father Damien Dreadfire. I would be most happy to accomodate you in any way I can. I look forward to seeing you.

~Silvia

Though she would not reveal herself until all the guests were presnt, Silvia continued to make sure things were moving in a fast and efficient manner. The last of the great foods were brought into the massive dining hall, where the intoxicating odors filling the room and swirling around the crystal chandelier that reflected the light of the burning torches that lined the walls. The last of the servants finished their work outside in the gardens and returned to the house, where they would assist with serving and other such tasks.

Unbeknownst to those that would be attending, Azrael and Damien were on a military plane and headed for ULE City where they would briefly partake in the festivities. This was sure to make quite an impact amongst the guests, for some had come to love Dreadfire while others hated him with a fiery passion. But tonight all hard feelings would be put aside in the spirit of ancient tradition, culture, and brotherhood. Months before Bloodlust, Damien began putting precautions in place to ensure that this years feast would not be disrupted the way it was several years ago.

*******************************

The servants made sure that the arrival of each guest would set for them the tone for the rest of the evening, and as Müller approached the entrance of the Great Hall two columns of decoratively dressed Freeks lined boths sides of the walkway. Dressed in clothes of the ancients they stood in silent formation as the torches implanted in the ground continued to burn without disruption. At the door Müller would be flanked by two of Dreadfire's most loyal servants, and from there they would guide their guest to Damien's personal den for refreshments before the great feast took place.

Headlights could be seen down the spiraling roadway, and indication that the other guests from around the globe were nearly upon the Great Hall. Silvia had just finished dressing and putting on her makeup, and she peered anxiously between the white curtains in her room as they came closer. She rubbed her hands together and made sure that her hair and clothes were just right, and she paced about in anticipation of Bloodlust. It was quite an honor to be the hostess of such an event that normally Damien would lead from start to finish, and she breathed heavily and tried to calm her tumping heart, assuring herself that everything would go without a hitch.

The Warlord of the Avalon, capital of the province Crimmond held in Gholgoth, simply stepped from the shadows of the night and onto the property, a stark contrast to most of the other guests. Dried blood stained his long, tattered robes, which seemed to also be alive, like moss and seaweed. His face was hidden by a battered helm and his worn blood stained scythe was in his grasp.

Seeming to glide in and out of the statues of the garden, he gazed upon each before continuing to the Great Hall. Striding into the den, he enjoyed the moment of silence his appearence brought as he gazed at the humans around him and was unimpressed. World leaders were not warriors and he was a creature of battle. He did not recognize any of them, having never dealt with the outside world, except reppelling invaders who defiled his lands, so he doubted they knew him. His voice was low and carried well. "I am Gar the Executioner, Warlord of Avalon and voice of Khan Delta." He scanned their faces, some no doubt wondering if his attire was embelished for this occasion, but the worn appearence, added to the heavy smell of earth, should say otherwise.

After his simple introduction he moved away from the others to a quiet corner, waiting for the appearence of the hostess.

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/executioner1.JPG
Gar the Executioner (http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/executioner.JPG)
Hunter of the Blessed Shores
Warlord of Avalon

Burntfur looked away from the window as he heard a strange noise. A deep, rumbling roar that seemed to shake the whole plane. At first he was somewhat worried; this was a prototype device, and while he had been assured it was 100% safe he still had his own reservations. He looked out of the window once more to check that the wing was still where it should be, but it wasn't coming from outside. It was... it was...

"KLARR!" Burntfur roared. "You are one of the first Charr to leave our borders and you are sleeping through the trip?!"

The slightly darker beast that was Viletooth stopped snoring and mumbled something profane, opening one of his yellow eyes as he sat up in the oddly designed seat.

"I was... I was just resting my eyes..." he grumbled.

"Don't give me that. Wake up!" Burntfur snapped. "We should be nearing the end of the trip."

"If you were better company I wouldn't get so bored," Viletooth moaned. "Clan Leader Opack would have been playing travel games by now. Bloody ones. Involving the baldies down the hall."

"Oh be quiet," Burntfur said. "If you want conversation, we should at least make it useful. Did you ever learn anything of the Enforcers in your land?"

"Oh don't start that again..." Viletooth groaned. "I have not had time to look into stupid fairy tales yet. When all of our problems are solved then maybe I will consider it."

"Fairy tales or no, reports of their sightings have increased and we need to know if there is a problem."

Viletooth looked up and down the passenger cabin uncomfortably. He was impressed at how well those engineers had made the place feel so traditional. The wooden panels that covered the walls were illuminated by enclosed candles, which cast a dim but warm light over everything. The chairs, designed to accommodate the Charr frame and to allow their tails to hang out of the back comfortably, were made from wood with little in the way of padding. The cabin itself was significantly higher than most conventional planes, and with a wider walkway between the rows of seating, to allow for the considerable height and width of the average Charr. Which in turn made for a larger-than-average craft. It certainly didn't seem as though they were sitting in a big metal tube, that much was certain.

A speaker above their heads perked up with a growling voice; "Belt up and hold on to something, we're approaching our designated landing point."

"Saved by our own impending doom," Viletooth sneered, wrapping a leather strap across his chest and his mid-section unenthusiastically.

"You're never satisfied with anything but ale, meat and hunting, are you?" Burntfur scolded.

"No, I'm not," Viletooth said. "I'm not happy with them being here, either." He lifted an arm and pointed down to the other end of the passenger section with his clawed finger. Three humans sat huddled together, talking quietly amongst themselves. Occasionally one of the bodyguards would glance in the direction of the five Charr suspiciously, and then look back down again. "What are they doing here? This is Charr business. Those baldies have no reason to be here."

"Giving them the chance to represent their kind here gives the rebels one less legitimate reason to blow something up," Burntfur shrugged. He glanced out of the window once more, noticing how close the ground was. "Regardless, I have a distinct feeling that any event called 'Bloodlust' will likely prove too rich for their Dwayna-loving, weak souls. They will be asking to go home again within minutes -- they will not cause any problems."

"You had better be right," Viletooth grumbled. He looked out of the window on his side and groaned even more as the ground loomed ever-nearer. The craft furthered his anxiety by lurching vigorously upwards. "How long does it take this contraption to land?!"

"You give the impression of a Charr who has never flown before," Burntfur mocked.

"I haven't," Viletooth snapped. "I prefer to walk!"



The brown behemoth gradually came down towards the concrete, its considerable landing gear lowered and ready to bear its weight. It touched down with a gut-wrenching screech and immediately started to apply its breaks, leaving a trail of black skid marks and sparks as it tried to slow down. Finally, it came to a halt and began to power down. After a short period of dormancy the doors on either end were pulled open with a 'clunk'. In each doorway stood a Charr technician, who threw down a thick rope ladder which dangled a few feet from the ground.

The technicians disappeared into the craft once more, and in their place appeared the various dignitaries from Tyria. The two Charr Warriors were the first to clamber down energetically from the front door, dropping to the concrete and sniffing around. They prowled around the ladder almost instinctively, seeking out any threats that might be lying in wait before their superiors followed them down. They stopped and squared their shoulders as they eyed the various foreigners nearby. They still donned their gold, ceremonial battle armour, which clanked quietly with every movement. Each held a light-brown, elegantly-designed but enormously bulky assault rifle, which they kept in a non-aggressive, upright position. They didn't seem particularly attached to the weapons; after all, the claws, horns and teeth that formed part of their natural appearance were probably sufficient weaponry for them.

From the other door two human bodyguards clambered down, more cautiously than the larger brutes. They wore less flamboyant, ceremonial clothing than their furry counterparts; instead settling for the Tyrian equivalent of a formal black suit. Tucked into their brown belts were primitive-looking pistols. Whether they would be able to keep them or not now that they were here didn't seem to bother them -- they were more for defence against Charr than anything else. They stood straight, with their arms neatly folded behind their backs, and made sure to place themselves between the Charr and the ladder.

After exchanging scowls, both the Charr and the humans looked up and signalled the 'all clear' to their respective leaders. Burntfur and Viletooth both leaped down from the front doorway, landing beside the two warriors neatly. They immediately strapped small, black necklaces around their thick necks and started fiddling with them -- advanced translation devices, designed to overcome the fact that Charr couldn't replicate human voices. Viletooth also held a small (about the size of a human head) black statue, made from an unusual type of stone. He held it in the palm of his hand and used his other hand to flick a switch on the base. The statue was promptly engulfed with bright flames.
Finally, the smaller, diminutive Charr clambered down and dropped to her feet beside Burntfur. Unlike the cocky, brash males who threw their weight around as though they were immortal, the female was a lot less energetic -- instead, she appeared sly and agile. She also seemed to lack the same bravery as the males, and as such she stayed close to Burntfur as soon as she noticed the foreigners.

The human dignitary, who apparently hadn't warranted an introduction in Burntfur's initial communique, clambered down more clumsily to join his own bodyguards. He donned no translator, likely having learnt the basics of the necessary languages beforehand. Nor did he have any weapons, or anything else of much note -- his bright green leathery suit would be more than enough to draw attention.

Both groups stepped away from the plane but kept fairly distant from each other, as they awaited contact.

"We are Charr, from Tyria!" Burntfur called, much to the annoyance of the human dignitary and his bodyguards. His incomprehensible roars and snarls passed through the translation necklace and came out a couple of seconds later as recognisable words, bypassing the need for anyone to learn Charrian. Suggesting that he sounded a little like Stephen Hawking's speech synthesiser probably wouldn't mean much to him, but it would be an accurate assessment. Nevertheless, it worked.

"We come for the Bloodlust!"

Müller always made it a point to be early, especially to congregations like this. Better to be early and make a good impression with his German-esque punctuality, even if he has to spend some time completely bored, than show up too late and look like a fool. As it was, few others had arrived, and most didn't seem interested in making any sort of conversation. Müller could take the hint from their body language, and he knew to leave it at that. Some people never got it, and in this diverse world they often wound up dead.

Finding a glass of wine on a refreshment table, Müller took a sip. It wasn't the greatest taste; of course, he was really more of a hard liquor person anyway. However, for the sake of the event, he would enjoy it well enough. He continued to wander around with slow, even steps, taking in the sights and smells. The Great Hall, even with this tiny bit of exposure, was truly a great place.

Glancing around, Der Führer wondered if Damien or his son would show up. The latest reports had noted something of a war going on, and Müller knew that they would be off in the midst of it. While Müller himself was a rather exceptional warrior when the need called, he didn't relish it to the extent that the Dreadfire lineage did. His place was in the head of it all, running every aspect of the nation with brilliance and determination few others could manage.

And, of course, his place was also at the parties like this. These events always had surprises in store, and they were always great fun. Müller looked forward to things picking up. Once he could find someone willing to talk with him, then things would start to get interesting.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Foreign Minister's Office, Ajer, Yafor 2
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was rare for Foreign Minister Aemon Chaliny to be visited at all, let alone by who he was, and at a time like this. The Foreign Minister had not expected to be visited by one who's power equaled the Elected Duke's, and there was only one such man in the nation, Guillermo Vicente. Vicente was the Chief Minister, a position that he himself had created, for a special advisor to the president. Of course, at the time, Aemon had wanted the himself, but he knew he had been deisgning it for Guillermo Vicente, a man experienced to rule and power.

What made it rare for a visitor to be there at this time was, of course, the fact that the situation in the world was rapidly falling apart. Their allies Sarzonia, Praetonia, and Hogsweat were each fighting battles accross seas and past millions of other tiny nations, all of whch wanted to join. There was a spy problem, with GIIS agents being caught by SRACH agents nearly every day. But, most of all, there were the thousands of messages that needed to be sent, trade routes that needed to be decided, and so on and so forth. He knew that the Chief Minister had at least as many responsibilities. So why was Vicente coming here.

As always, Guillermo Vicente was decked in a plain suit, with a checked red and white tie. His simple appearance, that of a businessman, made other delegates of other nations often feel offended or intriuged when they met him. Of course, in Yafor 2, formality was rare, and businessmen wore T-Shirts and Shorts (given the weather), except when meeting with foreign businessmen, who all thought Yaforites as being up-tight and too-formal. Vicente, however, would have to be formal, if men knew his backround. He was, in fact, the son of the old emperor of Yafor 2 (who had been banished eleven years ago) and his real name was Formain Yaforian. He did not call himself that, so that his name did not bely his power.

The first words out of Guillermo Vicente's mouth startled the orderly Aemon Chaliny into scattering his papers accross the desk. "Aemon, I'm going to Automagfreek. You will do my work, correct?" Guillermo Vicente always spoke formally. Aemon Chaliny, however, gave a start, his voice reverting to his harsh upbringing on the streets of Ajer. Curses and swears erupted out his mouth like as if he was a volcano in eruption.

But...the war....what?" were all the word that he could put together, not even a coherent sentance. Vicente, who was as harsh and formal as the pince that he was, allowed a slip for a smile."Yes, to repair relations. They've invited everyone, you know. It's only polite. You will do my work, correct? I've sent them this message. Read it. It's really short, but postage their costs a lot. See you soon!" Leaving a copy of the sent letter, he walked away from the startled Aemon Chaliny, allowing himself a rare moment of laughter.

Dear Esteemed Rulers of Automagfreek,

While relatons between our countries have not been the best of relations, we would like to send a diplomat to your celebration. Perhps we may repair the breach that has been broken between us as a result of this terrible war? WE will be sending someone, regardless of your reply.

~Signed~
Rudiv Sodo
Elected Duke of the Grand Democratic Duchy Yafor 2.
Guillermo Vicente
Cheif Minister of the Grand Democratic Duchy Yafor 2.

Accidentally breathing when taking a sip of his wine, Hans Müller coughed, bumping the liquid out of his trachea.

Lady Destra continued walking up the pathway to where the representatives would be sitting until further notice was given on exactly what was going to be done at this get-together. She had noticed a few other people arriving, one of whom she knows and others of whom she didn't know at all. Destra took a glass of wine and took a seat, waiting for further instructions. At that point, she looked over towards Hans Müller, who was representing Super American VX Man, a regional ally of Euroslavia. She was just in time to notice him begin to choke on his wine. Immediately, she got up and walked over towards him.

"Be careful there, killer." as she chuckled. "You don't want to choke before the gathering actually starts." as she gave a polite look. "I don't believe we've properly met in person like this, therefore I'll introduce myself. I am Lady Destra nos Thiendrel of Euroslavia. We've acted together numerous times, but I don't believe we've had a moment where we could meet each other in person and talk. It's good to finally meet an ally such as you."

Müller laughed.

"Killer? So that's what they call me now?"

After Lady Destra made her introduction, Der Führer bowed and kissed her hand. Rising back up, he introduced himself.

"Der Führer Hans Müller of SAVX at your service. It is also a pleasure to meet as esteemed a ruler as yourself, Lady Destra nos Thiendrel. Normally I would now introduce my wife, who would be standing right over here..." Müller gestured to his right side. "...However, she is currently stuck at home with a bad case of the flu."

He took another small sip of his wine, then continued.

"And how are things in your nation doing? The intelligence reports I get aren't very helpful." He smirked.

Gar stepped away from the wall and towards the table with the 'refreshments' and made a quiet gurgling noise, before taking a seat in one of the larger chairs, which protested his arrival with a creak.

He gazed around from inside his helm. "I feel I must give you all a word of warning, as a courtosey. Not many humans can look upon my face and still wish to dine. Any with weak stomaches would be advised to bear that fact in mind when choosing your seat for the feast."

Lady Destra smiled at Hans blushed a bit after his courteous manner. She always appreciated someone with good manners. "I'm sorry to hear about your wife," she continued. "I hope she has a speedy recovery."

"Things in Euroslavia are going great." Destra noted. "We've opening up a new age by extending our contact to more nations than we've ever done before. Essentially we've pulled out of our typical isolationist policies and have stepped into the international scene in hopes of having a good influence upon other nations, by promoting culture exchange, diplomacy, and getting to know other leaders, in hopes of learning more about their nation. We can only hope that other nations have noticed our attempt, and perhaps, have followed suit, rather than being so quick to war."

She realized that she had begun to rant again, and stopped talking. She didn't want to take up all of the time talking about Euroslavia. Taking this opportunity to learn more about Super American VX Man would be grand.

"What about you Hans? How are things in your nation? I've been keeping track of our intelligence reports, but we haven't heard much about your nation... at all."

Müller nodded. To an extent, he could understand what Lady Destra meant--to the extent, that is, that he didn't derive his own sort of pleasure from leading his armies to conquest. But even he valued peace, and that was why SAVX's military was so defense-based, even if it was enough defense to wipe out all of SAVX's previous enemies many times over.

"Well, speaking of war, we're still trying to clean up from that mess with IN a year ago. Galahan was nearly wiped clean, and trying to rebuild life to the way it used to be is taking quite some time."

"Clearly," Müller thought bitterly to himself, "our Apocalypse Defense Net needs some tweaking."

"Otherwise, things are going pretty well. Our asteroid mining capabilities have improved tenfold, and our other space technology is moving along smoothly. With luck, we might have a more serious influence within a few years. Otherwise...that's pretty much it."

"I'll omit the military talk..." Müller murmured to himself in his mind. Then, hearing Gar, he turned. Nodding and grinning, he made a quick reply to the...creature.

"Don't worry. It's among the better-looking things I've had to eat through."

Turning back to Lady Destra, he continued their conversation.

"So why did you decide to come to this gathering?"

Gar was not a Charr. The Charr had not even arrived yet. If anything, he resembled Death in armor more than one of the hunched beasts.

He chuckled and made a noise that should get the man's attention again, then slowly took off his helmet, showing a face that was only marginally prettier than a three year old corpse's.

Cracked and infected looking, his deathly pale flesh mixed with moss that grew from it. He was bald, which just revealed more of his mutilated head. Scars ran all over it, but they were not from battle. They were too fine. Too long, som wrapping aroun a quarter of his skull. Any scar like that made in a fight would have opened his head up like an alluminum can. But what would draw their eyes after a moment wasn't the scars... His piercing blue eyes were. The only human like thing about his face and very out of place, they somehow told of the anguish he had inside, caused by his massive suffering and yet held nothing but barely checked cruelty and loathing at the same time.

Thin, colorless and cracked lips twisted into a sadistic smile. "I somehow doubt that, Hans Muller."

[OOC: Think of Viktor from Underworld, right after being revived. Only heavily scarred.]

Elli looked away from the one named Gar, while Dominic smiled. A hundred jokes flew threw his mind. Dozens of skin jokes, several dead jokes, even a few dead baby jokes. But he felt that it was in bad taste to get into a fight as a representative. He decided to introduce himself.

"Hello, my friend. You're Gar the Executioner, from Crimmond, right? Dominic Wrathe, Sigma Octavus. The lovely young lady behind me facing the other direction is Ellison Chaknov. You'll have to excuse her, she led a sheltered life, you're a bit of a shock to her."

Dominic gave Gar a wide grin, revealing his fangs. He hadn't expected to see anything quite like Gar at this little shindig, but he knew that there were a lot of strange things in this world, he being one of them.

"Hey, at least now I know that I'm not the only one here who has to dress up for halloween." Dom didn't know if Gar could laugh, or if he even had a sense of humor, but that wasn't gonna stop a good joke.

He could tell already that this was gonna be quite the interesting night.

OOC: Blah, sorry. Got mixed up. It's fixed now.

Müller nodded: he could see what Gar meant. However...

"You're right; it's not among the best-looking things. Still..."

Der Führer shrugged.

"It's not the worst."

After listening to the conversation, and nodding politely towards the other guests who introduced themselves, she continued her discussion with Hans.

"Our recent policies having to do with the extension of diplomacy to more nations throughout the world would be the main reason I decided to come here." as Destra spoke softly. "We've always had semi-close relations with Automagfreek, and have expressed our interest in discussing further relations, and I see this as a great opportunity for that, though, this gathering is also a more relaxed get-together, so I'm quite happy about that. A night to feast and have great conversation is not a night to pass up."

OOC: This is all I can get in for now, but I'm quite excited about participating in this.

IC (a few days before the ceremony):


It was a warm day, the sort that seemed to stifle the spirit of the Pacitalian capital. The late afternoon sun warmed the blue waters in Timiocato's harbour, but suffused the land with a yellowish glow that only seemed to serve as an insulating blanket. Some found it overly hot, but Timiocatans were used to the 40*C weather that formed the majority of the summer season. True, it was now later in October and fall had been the host of the skies for at least four weeks; however, not a trace of the new season seemed to exist in the city.

The blanketing yellowish haze seemed to turn the palm and banyan trees into blackish silhouettes. The orchids, lilies and lotus flowers still had vibrant colour, but bright as day they were not - at least today - and at least to the naked eye, it seemed not. Up the gentle hills and down the backsides, the haze seemed never-ending, all the way to the Government District and the New Prado, where Prime Minister Timothy Ell and his Senior Secretary were mulling over the latest communiqué out of the Freekian government.

"Bloodlust, they call it, sir," Adriana della Capita noted. "Apparently it's a holiday that celebrates--"

"--the bloody history and spiritual connections of the Freekian people to and from their nation," Ell finished. "It's a very... fascinating holiday, wouldn't you say?" He punctuated his sentence with the slightest of intonations that would suggest he was less than ecstatic about the subject matter of one of Automagfreek's most commonly celebrated national observances. "Of course, I'd be delighted to go if we can arrange it. We should let Signora Stormguard know; although it was an open invitation, I'd rather be welcome than be given a less-than-friendly distaste with our surprise arrival."

"That's a good idea, sir," Adriana assented. "You're right - we may be friends with Automagfreek diplomatically, but we're not strong allies and it may look awkward. Maybe your attendance could be the start of improved Freekian-Pacitalian relations?" she added, smiling somewhat mischievously.

"Maybe," Ell murmured in response, his hands folded in that oh-so-characteristic tent formation under his nose. "Let's get the basic formalities out of the way first, though, Adriana, all right?"

"Yes, sir. I'll get on that right away." She left, her wavy skirt -- deliberately -- bouncing off her athletic frame as she walked confidently through the open door and back into the Bullpen, the colloquial name for the Office of the Prime Minister. Ell shook his head as soon as the last tassel of her outfit had left his sight.

She was flirting with him again. Blatantly, too, he added inwardly. He went back to the finalised education sector budget report he had received from Bandanaris. Meanwhile he heard the soft clacking of Adriana's keyboard outside the door. I'll give her one thing - she's quite a resourceful young girl, he mused.




To: Silvia Stormguard
From: Adriana della Capita, Office of the Prime Minister, Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia

On behalf of the Prime Minister of Pacitalia, Dr. Timotaio Fortanescu Amacano Jared Ell, MPP, C.GDH, M.Ps., LL.B, I would like to formally request the acceptance of his attendance at the Bloodlust feast in your wonderful nation. We understand that invitations were open, but we would prefer to respectfully request your permission as Pacitalian relations to Automagfreek have, although consistently friendly, never reached an apex of strength.

Prime Minister Dr. Ell is highly fascinated by the history of Bloodlust and would consider it a great honour for your acceptance of his presence at the ceremonies and feast. If your assent is granted to him, he has made himself available to fly out of Timiocato not long after to make it in time for the celebrations.

Thank you for your time.


Sincera in domina bene,

Adriana della Capita
Principal Secretary to the Prime Minister
Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia

Adriana clicked the 'send' button and watched the progress bar as the data was converted into hundreds of 0s and 1s and was shipped off through cables and wires to Automagfreek.

Gar shrugged off the anser Muller gave and looked at the new speaker. He didn't laugh, but kept that sadistic smirk. "Gholgoth and Automagfreek are not places that pander to the weak of spirit and stomach. I am one of the uglier creatures in the lands though. I think The One would be able to match me, but he never reveals himself."

Setting the helm on his lap, The Executioner sighed with an internal gurgle added, leading one to wonder if the plans were also growing in him, and the smirk faded. "I am Gar, yes. And from vauge reports I have read you represent an old ally of the Crim Empire... If not, pardon my ignorance. This is the first time in half a milenia I have been among humans not waging war." He glanced around. "I regret that I see no Reavers here. They have proven to me over the centuries that they are worthy allies in battle."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the Ceremony
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Guillermo Vicente was not one for idle talk, nor for flirting, nor for any excersie of the mouth beyond the necessary "hello". That was why he had brought along the voratious Major General Arman Adro, who, as a result of the conformity to the Yaforite military system, was not currently doing anything, even with the entire Generian situation (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=442037) beginning to become tense. Taking him was beginning to seem like a mistake.

The entire plane ride of twenty-six hours (nothing more, nothing less) had been spent on that one area that Guillermo Vicente did not enjoying in the least, which was, of course, talking. The Major General (who Vicente was beginning to think talked FAR too much for a military man) had been talking non-stop the entire journey, a babble of incoherent thoughts strung together (with an occational "hmm" from Vicente) to make a conversation.

Most of that conversation was about a) what the feast would involve/be about/what rituals they would have to be part of (Adro seemed to think that Freeks were some sort of savages, a view Vicente had told him to destroy if they were to live through this) or b) which women they would meet there. Major General Arman Adro was an extraordinary woman-pleaser. There was something about his slightly humorous manner, his handsome face, that no woman could resist. That was another reason Vicente had brought him along. Dreadfire's daughter should be able to teach him a lesson; especaily if she was as beautiful as it was said.

But now they were here, and Vicente's very-irritated heart was content, for the moment, at least. He floated around, Adro following him slightly, not at all interested in the least in whatever snippets of polite talk that were circulating at all. The Major General was respectfully in his train, his head bowed, noble and humble, in a distinctly un-Arman Adro-ish look. Not that Vicente cared.

He then spied, with a distinctly bored eye, a face whom he oft seen, though very little in person. It was, in fact, Lady Destra of Euroslavia, who Yafor 2 had sheltered for a while during the devastating Civil War that had ravaged the country. It had not been for a long time, less than a month, but they had met. Vicente twitched his lips, then decided to walk towards her.

Reaching her, and another man who was not far from her, he stopped. Vicente's asocial habits prevented him from ever intruding upon a conversation, even if it was a polite cough. He would wait for someone to see him, even if it was not the Lady. He was not anxious to be noticed, so this appealed to him greatly. Looking at the few assembled, he nodded. Not to many would be interested in a trip to one of the most feared nations in the world. That was why he was here. To see what this was really about.

Müller noticed the man standing off to the side. He seemed like he was about to interact with one of them when he stopped. Müller had no idea who the man was, so he assumed that maybe Lady Destra was the target. Glancing to his side and making a small gesture, he suggested to the Lady that she go and talk to the man.

"Looks like he wants to talk, and we don't know each other. Judging by the way he stopped, he's not the sort of person who would start up a conversation with a stranger like myself."

Müller smirked. With the way his handsome face looked now, there would be no better dictionary definition for "calm" and "cool" than his portrait.

"Go on. I'll be around if you want to continue later."

Kissing Lady Destra's hand once more, Müller turned and strode off to try to mingle with some more of the guests. He wanted to see what he could learn about the allies, friends, and enemies of Automagfreek that he didn't know. It could be a very interesting night if someone was willing to converse.

Alaric had been to this barren land only twice before. The dry, cracked terrain caused by the oppressive heat was punctuated by the mesas and plateaus surrounding the City of the Dead. Off to the west he could see the towering mountain range known as Terah. To the east and south were the jagged peaks of Pontil Lynxx, stretching as far as the eye could see.

There was no vegetation here......no grass, no flowers, nothing green. It was the perfect setting for a meeting between the Emperor of Xeraph and the Ruler of Vhammpyr, Xaltotun.

Xaltotun was the only resident of the City of the Dead. He was, as were the other 711 citizens of Vhammpyr, a breed of being known as 'hominis nocturnis', more commonly called..........Vampire.

Certainly not common, however.
They called themselves 'Brujah', and owed no alliegance to anyone except Alaric. Not to the Empire, not even to Xeraph. Only Alaric. Their only reason for existing was to protect the Emperor of Xeraph. They were very good at it. One touch of a Brujah's finger caused blood to pour from every orifice of a man's body, accompanied by horrible, excruciating pain.
" So, m'lord, what brings you to my abode?", hissed the priest-king of Vhammpyr.

Alaric stood apparently unperturbed by this creature. Massive arms folded across his chest, clad in his usual garb of black leather and dark grey chainmail, swords and sidearms in place, his shoulder-length hair held in place by an iron crown, he showed no emotion.

" M'lord Xaltotun, it's been a long time. When was it we last spoke? Sixty, seventy years ago?"
Xaltotun said, " One hundred seventeen years, five months, six days."
Xaltotun looked exactly like the other 711 of his people, except for the scarlet serpents that writhed along the lines of his body, the symbol of his sovreignty. He stood about eight feet tall, draped in a grey-brown robe of the coarsest wool, hood thrown back to reveal a skull face covered in the thinnest of parchment-tinged skin, incisors two inches long.

Alaric allowed the tiniest of grins.
" Ah, ever exact, m'lord Xaltotun." Alaric began to pace. " M'lord, I'm here to ask a special favor of your people. Automagfreak is holding their annual celebration, which they call BloodLust, and I've a mind to attend. As you know, two of your people attend me wherever I go. This time, I'd like all of the Brujah to accompany me to this function. A fitting party for the Brujah, no?"

Xaltotun hissed a hideous laugh. " One-up-man-ship, eh Alaric? Damien and company have such a reputation that you feel you must match him in blood and horror." The Vampire sat silent for a minute. " Very well, you shall have your Retinue of Death. They will be there when you need them."
Alaric bowed. " My thanks, m'lord. Xeraph won't forget."

Hours later...

"No answer yet, sir," Adriana called. "Signora Stormguard must be a busy lady."

Ell did not respond to that. He knew full well why she was the one planning the events, and knew who were really the busy people - Damien and Azrael, her father and brother, valiantly fighting to protect the Freeks from the Praetonian insurgency, among other repeated attacks on Freek sovereignty that had happened recently.

He facepalmed his forehead, irritated by the obvious but significantly annoying paradox. The invitation had been sent, but there was no reply. He found himself thinking - could that have been a sign that they weren't interested? Or, a sign that the answer was just as rhetorical as the question wasn't intended to be?

"Adriana," he barked suddenly, and she bounded into the room, nearly breathless. "Get my plane ready. I'm going to ULE City."

"But the invitation--"

"Adriana, it was an open invitation regardless of our request," he once again dictated, at a louder volume than what was to be expected from this outwardly calm man. "Do you not see it? Silvia may choose not to reply, but that can just as easily mean a 'yes'. If she really didn't want Pacitalians to attend Bloodlust, she would have damn well replied by now!"

Adriana was nonplussed, and looked down at the floor, slightly embarrassed. "I--I... guess so... b-but..."

Ell nearly instantly felt horrible for how he had spoken to his secretary, and impulse forced his hand upon her shoulder before he knew what he was doing. She looked up with what looked like hopeful requition for her secret -- but sometimes obvious -- crush on the Prime Minister, but his face remained impassively stony, with a hint of the inward remorse he was experiencing for his verbal outburst.

"Adriana-- I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me there." Her face fell, but he continued. "Please, go and call to get my plane ready. I must be there as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," she said, slightly choked up, her head still down, and she swiftly left the office. While she left, Ell thought he caught the glistening of a teardrop as it fell to the tile floor. He looked down, and a small splotch of fluid on the terra cotta confirmed it.

He stood there for a few seconds, somewhat concerned and spacey about how he had just acted, but when he returned from his dumbstruck, daydream-like behaviour, he was given an idea. He jogged outside his office and down the steps to Adriana's desk. She looked up, but quickly turned away, not wanting him to see the blotchy mascara around her eyes.

"Adriana," Ell said gently, coming to a halt in front of her black desk. "Put Paolo in charge. You're going on vacation for three weeks."

"Really?" she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Paolo looked up at the prime minister and Adriana, wondering why they had just mentioned his name. "Okay...? Paolo, the Prime Minister has granted me three weeks of vacation time. You're in charge for that time. Phone ATC at Isolamunicipa, and get his plane ready." She was suddenly full once again of the fiery passion she usually held every day that she came in to work at the Bullpen. "Debrief the staff, and good luck."

Adriana snatched her purse from the floor, put all her cosmetics and tissues back in, and stood up. She took a key from her purse and unlocked a tray under her legspace, sliding it forward. Getting down on all fours, she unclasped the datacards from her belt buckle and shoved them up onto the tray. Adriana pushed the tray back into place and locked it. She hugged the prime minister and said, "Thank you so much."

"Not a problem," Ell said. He was now the one who was nonplussed. "You need it. Where will you be going on vacation?"

"To Yafor 2," she replied with a grin. "My grandparents have a vacation home on the beach just south of Ajer and they've wanted me to stay with them for at least a week, for at least the past few years. Now I can finally do that."

"Have a great time, then," Ell articulated. He turned around and slowly sauntered back to his desk, his eyes on the blue, now-hazeless sky outside. He sighed and thought of his very pregnant wife, who would now be sitting up on the couch at home, eating ice cream from her favourite pint cups and watching soap operas on PBC 1. Ell caught his reflection in the clean, green-tinted glass separating his office from the Bullpen. Strands of gray were beginning to appear in his mane of hair, his eyebrows... he looked away, somewhat disgusted. Thirty-seven years old and I look fifty-seven, he mused at the increasingly wolf-like hair colours he was displaying. He'd have to dye it when he returned home. He shut the door and called the Prime Ministerial Residence.

Lady Destra noticed another man walking into the scene, but stopping before he could reach the area. He seemed a bit anti-social, which is normally how Destra would be feeling, but she felt an odd aura of security here. She felt like she could trust that everything was safe.

"You're right, Hans. It seems as if he'd like to talk to someone. He looks oddly familiar though," as she looked back towards Hans, and spoke once more. "We'll definitely continue our conversation later. For now, cheers." she began to walk over towards the mysterious man. She felt a ... warming presence, as if they've interacted before. Slowly, she neared where he stood, hoping that she wouldn't scare him away by approaching him. As she walked within a few feet of him, she immediately recognized him. Reaching him, she extended her arms, seeking to give him a hug, for the things that the nation he represented had done for her and for Euroslavia.

"Welcome to the gathering, Guillermo. It's been a long time. How've you been?" as she smiled and let go of him. She was glad to see him, so that she could finally convey her thanks to him and his nation for making sure she was safe.

Alaric sat alone, pondering the mysteries of the universe. Actually, he was downing his fourth Bass Ale and was feeling rather good.

In reality, he was thinking about his arrival to BloodLust, in Automagfreak. He was not normally one to give a rat's ass what anyone thought about him or his Empire, but this was special. His, and therefore Xeraph's, first contact with the rulers of the legendary lands of Automagfreak.

The simple fact that he was to be accompanied by over seven hundred vampires was enough of an effect. The revelers would see only a handful, perhaps a half-dozen. The others would not be seen unless they wanted to be seen.

"OK," he thought," we'll just disembark off one of my battle carriers. Walk the rest of the way to the Ceremonies."

"Captain, make ready for our trip to AMF. We'll take the Tan'it, escorted by two battleships, Aon Class. Inform our 'friends' of the plans."

" Uh, m'lord, theyr'e already on the Tan'it. Been there over 24 hours."

Alaric was only mildly surprised. Xaltotun's reputation was well deserved.

" Very well, captain. Let's get this freakshow on the road. The next couple of days should be quite interesting."

Gar gazed around rather boredly at this whole event. But his boredom was cut short by a deep voice, sounding allmost too low for a human's throat. The man was thanking the officer escorting him to the den.

A good sized bald black man wearing robes that were all gray, except for several ornate pins and medals on them stepped into the room and looked around. On his belt was what looked like a taser on steroids. Or an underweight caddleprod. His deep voice carried over the entire room. "Greetings. I am Omega, sent by the Crimmond Inquisition to attend this... celebration of death."

"Omega..." Gar said, rising from his seat, helm in hand. "You are also one of three surviving agents of the Black Staff, which, for those of you who do not know, caused a civil war in Crimmond years ago and lost that war, because of Damien Dreadfire, whom was exacting revenge for the botched attempt on the life of Damien's son." Gar chuckled raspily. Apparently he did have a sense of humor. "You must have balls of forged iron to come here."

Crossing the room swiftly and gracefully, Omega stood in front of the seven foot tall creature and stared up at it for a long moment, then grinned fanged teeth. "Your damned right I do, Gar. How the hell do you think my voice got this low?"

http://usera.imagecave.com/Alpha-Zero/underworld1.jpg
Omega
Crimmond Imperial Inquisitor

[ooc: hope you don't mind my late addition to the party, if you do, I can just delete this and then *poof*, it never even happened/ooc]

The Citadel
Imperium, Republic of New Britain

The Office of the Prime Minister provided ample space for the books, paintings, sculptures, and other assorted signs of civilization required by the Prime Minister. The open room, only sparsely decorated with furniture, hid behind thick white curtains, which when parted provided a picturesque view of the Residence’s gardens below and the Citadel wall beyond that. On the more comfortable of the two couches in the room, Prime Minister Alistair Tetley lay on his back with his head propped up against a pillow, his wire-framed glasses resting lightly upon the edge of his nose, which was buried deep in a book.

Tetley heard the door open on the far side of the room, the door which squeaked when halfway open meant… Good morning Tobias, and how are we this fair, beautiful morning? Tetley called out, not bothering to move his head, nor his eyes from the text.

It’s pouring with heavy thunderstorms outside, sir. If you want to call that fair and beautiful, be my guest. Heath hung his sopping rain coat on a tall standing rack adjacent to the door frame before walking over to sit on the couch opposite his boss. Did you sleep well, Mr. Prime Minister?

As well as well can be. Although I must confess it feels mighty good to have that whole election mess done and over with. Now I actually have time to read up on some good old-fashioned literature.

What are you reading? Heath asked, tilting his head to try and figure out the heavily slanted text for himself.

Re-reading Locke’s Second Treatise. I always find it amusing how he advocated capital punishment.

Why is that, sir.

Truth be told, I don’t know. I just would not have expected such… brutality from such a civilized, learned individual.

Well these guys do have a way of surprising us. They weren’t perfect you know.[/i]

Tetley placed the book on the coffee table separating the two old friends and then turned his head to look at Heath, sitting all the way back with his arms spread atop the couch. I know, but it doesn’t mean I expect it. I mean, for all intents and purposes this society comes from the guy, and yet he was so savage, so brutal to advocate execution. Tetley shrugged, his shoulders crushing the soft pillows underneath of him. I just would have expected more. Anyways, he continued, finally pushing himself to a more appropriate sitting position. What do we have on the agenda for today?

Not too much, a quiet first day really. Probably the largest happenings thus far would be the filing of membership applications to the Union of World Powers and the Knootian International Stabilization Treaty. Oh, and the Ministry of Colonial Affairs would like to brief you on our newest colony, Sarnia. I think later in the day, Ashley will come over with the Deputy Minister for Justice to discuss the national identification card proposal put forth by the Centre Party. But yeah, a rather light day for you, sir.

Excellent. Thank you, Tobias. Whenever you’re ready you can send in the staff for our morning briefing.

Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. Heath stood and headed towards the door opposite that which he entered, and quietly opened it while Tetley remained in the room, donning his simple jacket and placing the book back on the shelf where he would hope to touch it later this afternoon. It was rare that Tetley could afford the time to actually sit and read a book, and when it was he’d rather it not be the traditionally light trash favoured by his predecessors when there were so many more seminal works of political philosophy, philosophies to which the United Kingdom owed its existence.

By the time he sat down behind his desk, the door which Heath had just exited swung open once more with his personal aide, Geoffrey Blaine, in tow behind his senior staff. Blaine walked up Tetley, handing him a folded piece of paper, which Tetley received with a nod and a quiet thanks. He quickly opened it up and read its contents, merely raising an eyebrow before turning to his staff.

What would everyone think if I went overseas?

Depends on where exactly you’d be traveling to, sir. the bald-headed Howard Robertson replied. As the Deputy Chief of Staff, Robertson was most frequently the senior staffer who traveled abroad, leaving the Chief of Staff, Heath, to run the government while Tetley ran about on foreign stages doing intricate political dances for the benefit of the host nation.

ULE City of all places.[/i] Tetley responded with a slight smile on his face, already knowing the next question.

Where in the bloody hell is that? Robertson quickly answered right back, though being careful to look at Heath after realizing he forgot the polite “sir” at the end of his question.

Tetley didn’t care for formalities in such informal meetings like this. Automagfreek, Howard. I’d be going to AMF for a… well, it’s some sort of traditional feast or gathering of heads of state or such. Emily over at Foreign Affairs sent it over to me as they’ve been looking into it for the past few days, and they think it’d be a good idea. I’m interested in what you guys think.

Well, sir, are you sure you’d enjoy it? Heath asked more out of personal curiosity than anything else. I mean, the Freeks are more of a… well, warlike nation than ourselves.

Yeah, Howard interjected, but they’re also one of the big players in NATO, one of the few organizations we actually happen to be involved with. And I mean right now, with AMF at war with several countries, I’d think it’d be best to show up on their side.

Tetley smiled. Except this Silvia Stormguard has explicitly stated that a, and I quote, “formal yet laid back event.” That leads me to believe that such politicking as we’re accustomed to will be rather taboo at this gathering. If nothing else, the Freeks seem to be a very… I don’t know if spiritual is the word, but… traditional, culturally sensitive society. I would think that politics would be unwelcome, although it certainly could not hurt to be sharing a table, or even a room with the upper echelon of the AMF bureaucracy – at least those not serving in their little war. Additionally, there ought to be plenty of other nations with whom we do not regularly transact affairs of state and this Bloodlust will provide the opportunity to expand the contacts of the United Kingdom.

Yes, sir, but, they are in the middle of a war. Heath added. And there was that whole nuclear missile strike on those islands… and while AMF disavows any official connection to them, we can’t prove for certain that Damien didn’t order the launch. And the Conservatives would have an absolute bloody field day with us basically supporting a government that surreptitiously strikes at its enemies with nuclear weapons. Going to this event would be a dangerous move politically.

Howard shook his head. I disagree, Mr. Prime Minister. Look, we have just won the election, we just made our inaugural, and the people support us with that whole post-election high thing. It’s like they’re drunk on patriotism. I say we use some of that political capital and go to this feast, make some new friends, shore up the relationship with a NATO ally, then come home and deal with what little political fall out there may truly be – and that I think will amount to nothing anyway. Sir, I say you go.

Tetley nodded once, not in confirmation of Howard’s plan but in mere consideration. To Tetley, Heath and Robertson made good, valid points. But then again, that’s why he had made them his Chief of Staff and Deputy Chief of Staff, respectively. Personally, Tetley wanted to go only to meet the bureaucrats who would run the government of AMF, bureaucrats that he would like to make a favourable impression upon in case the UK ever truly needed the assistance of AMF. That, and this Ms. Stormguard had mentioned history, and there was no real way any lover of history could turn down the opportunity.

I’m going to go, Tobias. If the political pressure becomes too great, we can say I’m taking a working vacation on a personal invitation and Deputy Prime Minister Rousseau can take charge for a few days. Geoffrey, I’d like you to pack a few suits and other personal effects I’ll need for the trip. Howard, contact Emperor’s Field and inform them I’ll be requiring a civilian aircraft for transport to AMF. Now, what’s next on the day’s agenda?

Later That Evening

Tetley picked up a book and ran his fingers over the coarse, aged spine, taking a deep breath of the old, familiar, comforting smell of the yellowing pages. While not a particularly valuable book by any means, the text was an English translation of a classical native Azazian text on the philosophy behind the first Azazian Empire, which had spanned these very islands before the Europeans had ever even dreamed of an American continent. This was the true history of Azazia as Tetley, and the rest of the world, knew it.

Blaine walked in and handed a small black leather case to the Prime Minister. Your personal effects, sir.

Tetley nodded and thanked his personal aide for his work.

So are you going to find someone to go with you, sir? Or should I pack some condoms? Blaine asked on his way out.

What? Shut up, Geoffrey. Tetley laughed. One of the longest running jokes was the Prime Minister’s solitary lifestyle despite arguably being the most powerful man in the whole of the Kingdom. You know what, Geoffrey, you’re fired.

At that moment Heath and Robertson walked in each with their own folders to present to Tetley. Heath smiled. Actually, sir, you can’t fire any of us here.

What?! I’m the bloody Prime Minister, I can carpet bomb impetuous peoples, annihilate all of mankind, but I can’t fire my staff?

No, sir. Robertson responded, but you can demote Tobias and promote me in his stead.

Tetley laughed. And why would I want an even bigger pain in my ass as my Chief of Staff. Tetley laughed some more and place his folders in his carryon baggage, which he proceeded to sling over his shoulder. Seriously, though. Howard, are you ready to go.

Yes, sir, Mr. Prime Minister. My bags are already in the limo.

Excellent then, let’s hit the road.

Actually, sir, Heath added, it more like an air route. Let’s hit the air route.

Already on his way out, Tetley turned around to look at his Chief of Staff, the two just laughing. If I can’t fire you three, can I have you all shot for high treason?

But then, sir, you’d be as barbaric as that Locke fellow.

Eh, maybe he had a point.

Müller accidentally bumped into a small table, almost knocking it over. However, he was able to rescue the piece of furniture from certain doom.

OOC: Has AMF forgotten about us?

OOC: Nope, been busy. Got fired from my job...

**************************

With the last of her guests making their way up the stone walkway, Silvia exhaled with excitement and gave herself yet another once over in the mirror. Surely the guests already inside the Great Hall had made themselves comfortable, and as she looked at the clock she said to herself that now was the time. One more glance out the window showed an empty walkway and flicking torches that lined the cold concrete path, and with a smile she moved gracefully towards the door.

Chatter and warm laughter filled the main banquet hall, something that had not been heard in the Great Hall for some time. The servants continued rushing about from the kitchen to the dining room with great platters of beef and veal, exotic Freek vegetables and fruits, and fine wines. The glow from the large chandelier overhead made the banquet hall almost shimmer with a bright golden radiance, giving the old Hall an almost magical atmosphere.

Soon the large oak doors leading into the Great Hall were closed and a large gong had been sounded. Silence quickly filled the room as the various dignitaries looked about with eager eyes, interested in what would happen next. The large winding oak staircase near the rear of the main banquet hall was reserved for the Lord of the house to make his entrance for events such as this, and as the sounds of the gong faded away the floor began tremoring with the sounds of marching footsteps.

Nearly two dozen Sentinels decended the stairs in decorative battle armor and flowing red capes, a ceremonial dress that had been worn for thousands of years. The aged steel still produced a near blinding shimmer as the light from the chandelier danced and reflected itself upon the mighty Sentinel's chests. They stopped in unison on each side of the staircase and quickly turned inward and faced eachother, with not so much as one movement out of place. Then she came.

Decending like an angel from Heaven, Silvia took her first footsteps from around the corner above and came into view of the guests below. Her flowing black dress accented her fair skin which had been carefully dusted with a light helping of makeup and red lipstick. Her thigh length hair was left to hang freely around her delicate curvy body, the straight and smooth locks of hers swaying gently as she decended the stairs in near slow motion. The guests remained quiet and in perhaps a state of awe as the most beautiful woman in Automagfreek began the age old ceremony.

Friends of old, I welcome you to a tradition of nearly ten thousand years. In the ancient times feudal Warlords would come together on this very day to celebrate the Dead and their sacrifices, as well as hail the Gods and pray for the departed souls to make it safely to Valhalla. Today is the day we remember the loved and lost, those that have bravely sacrificed everything so that we may live our lives as we please. Today, we celebrate what the ancients call...Bloodlust.

As Silvia stepped off the last stair and onto the floor, the Sentinels bowed their heads in union and began to file out across the room. Their magnificent and colorful garb nearly disguised the killer nature of those that wore the ancient clothes, but tonight would not be a night to worry about one's safety. On the day of Bloodlust there had never been a single crime committed in Automagfreek in nearly ten thousand years. Today was sacred.

So now my friends I ask you to join me in prayer before we partake of this great feast to honor the dead.

Silvia bowed her head and folded her hands in front of her, taking a moment of silence before beginning the ritual.

Dear Gods above, we thank you for the sacred souls that once walked the paths of the living. Those that live in your green pastures are truely blessed to have been graced with their presence, and we ask that we continue to be looked upon with favor by you. On this day we honor the loved and lost...remembered and forgotten. On this day they shall live again in the thoughts and memories of us all, and we thank you for blessing us all with life and good fortune. In the honor of those who are no longer among the living, we partake in this great feast so that they shall live forever!

After the prayer was concluded, Silvia smiled at her guests and gently extended her arms outward, offering her friends to sit and feast with her.

OOC:Sorry for the fairly belated reply.

BIC:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
At The Celebrations So Far
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It was with an audible sigh of relief that Guillermo Vicente let go of Lady Destra Nos Thiendril, a sigh not of the fact that he believed that she should have held on, but a sigh in that nature of the fact that he was glad that she still knew him. It was a very good thing to reconize old friends, and even better one to meet them, but to actually meet someone who you spent nearly fourteen hours stright for four days on paperwork keeping in your nation was the very best feeling.

It was not that Guillermo Vicente minded in the least. Lady Destra was a delightful person to be around, funny, intelligent, someone who could make you smile. She was a brilliant leader, but when Vicente thought of her, he thought of her smile, of her laughter, but most of all of the fact that she manouvered Eurslavia like a skilled captain of a boat through the perilious seas of politics.

She reminded him very much of his younger brother Tyranus. Tyranus, who incidentally, was the rightful emperor of Yafor 2, as per age-old laws, if indeed there was an emperor, was as delightful a person to be with. In a way, he would have made the perfect monarch, someone honest and hilarious, someone who the general populace as a whole could identify with. If only he hadn't fled during the outbreak of the Revolution...if only he had wanted power...if only he had not been afraid of being emperor...if only...

Lady Destra's voice intruded upon his thoughts, breaking them as he struggled to catch the end of what she was saying. "Welcome to the gathering, Guillermo. It's been a long time. How've you been?" her voice betrayed the kindness and thanks she felt to him and his nation as a whole. It made Guillermo feel better, as indeed he did whenever he had realized he had helped someone.

"Fairly well. Lots of paperwork, because of the Generian situation (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=442037), of course. Tough stuff. Decided to take a break from all of it." He seemed not to have his regular cool, speaking in broken, un-conjoined sentances, he sounded, on the whole, flustered. "I'll talk to you later. Sit down, they've arrived."

AS he watched the Senitals file in, he couldn't but help to think what types of men lurked beneath those rich, ceremonial robes. Men who could kill, obviously, but without batting an eyelid, most probably. Behind him, he heard a gasp coming from Aemon Chaliny as Silvia ascended down the stariway. IT was justice, in a way. Now, at last, some beauty had caught Aemon's eye. But Dreadfire's daughter?

As she spoke the grace and invited them to sit, Guillermo stared off. They were polygamists, like Guillermo and Aemon, who were Hindus, she had mentioned "gods", but something bothered him. As he held out a chair for Lady Destra, in proper chivalraic fashion, he wondered. What was this feast really about? Why were they really here?

Gar looked at the sentinals and then at Omega. "It would be a sight to see... a deathdeul between these Sentinals and our own Civils. A pity I did not think to wisk some here with me."

As they marched out, Omega was far too busy looking at Sylvia to care about Deathduels. "Why are all the beautiful ones related to sadistic bastards?" he asks, softly. Gar said nothing, having lost such feeling long ago.

Niether bowed their heads druring the prayer, but for drastically different reasons. The Inquisitor didn't believe in Gods and Gar... he just didn't like them.

But as they sat, Gar became suprisingly friendly... for someone that looked like a corpse. "A cooked meal. It has been a long time since I've had anything cooked." He looked Sylvia over, but in more an appraisal of strength than lust. "I still find it strange that you are his daughter, being so much of a contrast. Azrael... he fits more with your father's looks, most definately. Though I doubt that many would like a seven foot tall bald woman."

OOC: Sorry to hear that, AMF.

The Sentinels...now there was something. Müller wasn't aware of many other soldiers in the known galaxy who could compare to AMF's Sentinels. Perhaps his own Shock Troopers and Death Troopers were something of equals, but it was hard to say.

Der Führer's eyes opened wider at the sight of Silvia. He had heard she was beautiful as far as angels were concerned, but now he was considering whether this was an understatement. After she made her introduction and began to pray, Müller bowed his head. It was out of politeness only; he was as agnostic as they come. However, he was willing to join in most cultural rituals just to get a taste of what it was like.

Once the prayer was complete, Müller casually but swiftly made for a seat somewhere between Silvia and Lady Destra. He wanted to be able to talk to both the only friend he had here and the daughter of the great Damien Dreadfire. He had much he could discuss. Hopefully Silvia shared some of the same enthusiasm.

Müller wanted to rebuild and create some ties with AMF, and he was hoping this would be a good way to start.

Prime Minister Timothy Ell's plane had been right on time, touching down on the smooth asphalt of the three-kilometre runway at ULE City's main airport. Freekian-Pacitalian relations had been on an enormous upswing as of late, and the results were notable - as soon as he had one foot on the ground, the Freek envoy treated him like a king, offering him water, snacks, pillows and blankets, and shuffling him gently into a black limousine to take him on the short jaunt over to the palace that normally housed the fearsome Damien Dreadfire and his two children, beautiful Silvia Stormguard, and her brave, patriotic brother, Azrael.

The night was cool, but a pleasant cool. The moon hung low, comfortably resting on perfectly spooky wisps of dusk cloud. Ell turned his attention back to that in front of him, and noticed he was the end diplomat in a short, but single-file line of men and women, guests all the same, climbing the sandstone steps and into the main banquet hall. He stared in awe at the complex beauty that was on display here. Large clumps of plants contrasted well with black drapery that hung over the ancient walls of this towering structure, while sculptures and fountains rang with history and wondrous and striking beauty. He realised his mouth had been hanging slightly open in his proverbial drinking-in of this delight, and promptly shut it.

Ell sighed as he noticed nobody had been looking and, smiling, nodded to the Freekian servants as they bowed to him and shut the doors quietly to the banquet hall. His ice-green eyes did a quick sweep of the room and came back with a number of familiar faces, including two "red flags", one of which he didn't expect to find, but was still pleased to see.

Azazians, he mused, looking at the delicate facial features of the men, who were standing in solace, disseminated from the crowd of buzzing leaders and diplomats. But who? I can't remember the face. Same with whoever it is beside him. He stood puzzled, but averted his eyes to the open window and the fluttering black curtains, as the man looked toward the door.

Only a few hours ago, the aircraft bearing the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, his Deputy Chief of Staff, and several aides and secretaries had arrived in Automagfreek per the request of the daughter of the government of AMF. While the aides and junior staff remained onboard the aircraft, keeping tabs on the ongoings around the globe, Tetley and Robertson had made their way to the lavish Great Hall along the stone pathway lined with torches. Robertson walked with his eyes wide in awe. Tetley glanced over at the childish man and laughed quietly.

Their walk in had been uneventful, the servants far politer than the stiff, nearly cardboard courtiers of His Majesty Michael I. Nevertheless, the two men had entered amidst the dignitaries whose names resounded through this Great Hall and other seats of power in voices far louder than the whispers or questions of the United Kingdom. For some time, the two had walked around the Great Hall, taking in the atmosphere, the play of the light on the leaves and on the stone, the sounds of informal diplomacy.

The two walked closely together, this being the first official visit to AMF by His Majesty’s Government regardless of the formality of the event. Fortunately, between the Prime Minister and his Deputy Chief of Staff, they recognized enough foreign heads of state to ease their fears of isolation at a gathering of such superpowers. Through the massive sea of people, Tetley found a familiar face, although the two had never met. Some heads of state merely were world renowned, and that was the case with this man, a man of younger years that sported some graying hairs.

With a nod to Robertson, Tetley maneuvered his way through the sea of dignitaries until he stood before the man he had sought out while Robertson trailed just behind the Prime Minister. After his success, however partial it were, Tetley had struck out to expand Azazian contacts throughout the world in an attempt to further solidify the truly impressive Azazian economic growth, and to ensure Azazian security in the wake of Novikov’s annexation. Although the government of the man before him had previously almost no contacts with the United Kingdom, Tetley now found this opportunity to be the moment to start a friendship between the two nations.

Prime Minister Dr. Ell, it is my most sincere pleasure to finally meet you in person. Tetley offered his hand and a wide smile. I’m Alistair Tetley, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Azazia, and this is Howard Robertson, my Deputy Chief of Staff.

Well, then, my powers of observation are still pretty good, Ell thought to himself, a genuine, warm smile crossing his face. He finished shaking hands with Tetley, the hand-locking firm, but friendly. "No, Signore Prime Minister, the honour truly is mine."

Ell turned and offered his hand once again, his ice-green eyes boring into the eyes of Robertson. The Azazian Deputy Chief of Staff seemed to misconstrue Ell's gaze as intimidating, and backed away only the slightest decimal of an inch, but kept his smile planted on his wide face. "And, Mr. Robertson - a pleasure to meet you as well." Ell turned slightly so that Tetley was included in the conversation again. "Well, shall we fetch ourselves drinks?" The men nodded in assent and the Prime Minister and his Azazian counterpart wandered with Robertson, over to a waiter carrying a stainless steel tray. On closer inspection, Ell noticed the flutes stationed on the tray were filled with ice-cold sparkling wine, with a golden/amber colour that looked suspiciously like Pacitalian asti spumante.

Joint post by Azazia and myself

"After you, sir." Tetley smiled broadly, sweeping his hand forward to invite his counterpart to lead the way to the server.

Ell took a sip of the wine and smiled as the familiar sharp bubbles of the chilled golden beverage swam in his mouth. After eyeing the peculiar amber-coloured wine, Tetley's delicate fingers wrapped themselves ever so slightly around the fragile stem. He raised his glass, with Robertson doing the same just behind his boss.

"Cheers." Tetley took the first sip, noting politely that peculiar taste that each man finds when the drink suits palettes not his own. "As gracious as our hosts are, I think I'll take a glass of water instead. Howard, if you'd be so kind as to fetch me a glass."

"Why, certainly, Mr. Prime Minister." Robertson bowed slightly and left the two prime minister standing with their wine glasses in hand. Tetley, however, quickly placed his back on the tray of a passing server with a quiet thanks and a nod. He tugged on his jacket, straightening his suit out and beckoned Ell over to a quieter corner of the hall all the while taking note of a swift but subtle glance from Ell's face that showed slight distaste for Tetley's disapproval of the Pacitalian sparkling wine.

"The timing of this meeting is most fortuitous, Mr. Prime Minister. While my intention upon accepting the invitation was far from conducting politics, I think it best that we take use of this time granted us to discuss a few items of mutual importance, unless of course you'd rather leave such talk to a future date?" Tetley inquired.

"Please, my dear friend, just call me by my first name - Tim," Ell said, with a slight and coy smile.

Tetley nodded very slightly, then smirked as he rose his head. "Only if you shall do the honour of calling me Alistair, my friend."

"I would love to talk politics," Ell replied, still grinning. "After all, it's what you and I do best." He winked at Alistair and chuckled briefly.

The two men sat for what seemed like only a few minutes, but in fact was nearly half an hour. They discussed Azazian and Pacitalian foreign policy. They compared and contrasted each other's outlooks on diplomacy, and, they were pleased to find many similarities and few differences. It was a rarity that it took such a short time for two leaders, of any race, and any political stripe, to find a mutual understanding of the other's position in the international community. Finally, Tetley brought the subject around to the debacle threatening to consume the Union of World Powers.

"Sarzonian opposition has seemingly become intractable, to the point that President Sarzo may have even ordered his government to indefinitely stall my government's application," Tetley continued. "We have seen the litmus tests been provided for the governments of Space Union and Silver Sky, but nothing at all has been presented to my foreign minister. I realise that Pacitalia and Sarzonia are quite close, and I was wondering how possible it would be for you to lean on President Sarzo, a close friend of yours, I believe, to put the Azazian application up for a yes or no vote. I truly feel that my government, my people, and my nation have much to offer not just Pacitalia, but the whole of the UWP, and that Sarzonian opposition to -- what they call -- Azazian imperialism does nothing but hinder the growth and development of all parties. It's a position I hate to put you into, Tim, but I feel as if Sarzo is pushing me into a corner."

"Oh, between you and me, there's no doubt the Incorporated Government is, shall we say, preventing the UWP Recruiting Minister from keeping to the timeline," Ell replied, smirking. He drained the last few drops of fizzy asti spumante from his flute and continued. "I understand you completely, Alistair. I'm also irritated, even openly frustrated by this, and I didn't expect this type of behaviour from Mike Sarzo or Nicole Lewis. Let me assure you, my government and I have been doing everything we possibly can to bring them down from their high horse, but to no avail. We can admire them, at least, for their determination in regards to their position on this mess." He paused and looked to his right with a pensive expression. "I think the time has come for a lot less talking of heads and a lot more action, if you know what I mean."

"Indeed." Tetley sipped slowly from his water, savouring the cold chill running down the centre of his chest. "I too must concede surprise regarding the behaviour of President Sarzo and his government." Tetley paused once more, taking a moment to enjoy another sip from his water, the condensation continuing to soak his pale skin. He shifted himself, settling more comfortably in his chair before returning the glass to the arm rest. "The question remains, then, about what action we may take - either jointly or independently - to force some action by the Sarzonians. Now, from what I understand, Sarzo is adamantly opposed to Freek and even Gholgoth policies so much so that Pantera and Sarzonia even came to brief blows over Branwyn. The United Kingdom is a staunch ally of AMF through the NATO alliance, hence my presence at this function, but quite frankly, the Novies gave the Royal Navy and other armed services a bloodying from which the UK has yet to fully recover, a bloodying that prevents from the UK actively engaging the enemies of AMF in this war." Tetley frowned momentarily, "Not that I particularly care for war, I'd rather avoid it at all costs, don't misunderstand me, please. It's just I feel as if the UK has shirked its obligations to AMF in staying quietly in the background during this whole bloody affair." The smile returned, albeit ever so slowly while Tetley rubbed his neatly trimmed goatee and scratched an itch on his chin. "My fear is that any blatant provocation of Sarzonia on the part of my government could lead to Sarzo widening his fronts by confronting my nation directly."

Ell continued to sit opposite Tetley as he spoke, the Pacitalian leader's icy green eyes pensive and contemplative. His hands were folded together, his index fingers pointing just under his nose as he took in the words of his Azazian counterpart. "Frankly, my friend, I would not be at all surprised if the Sarzonians decided it was in their best interest to militarily confront you, but I feel they're smarter than they make themselves out to be. Mike Sarzo would definitely not be a fool in this regard -- that is to say, he wouldn't declare war on the United Kingdom should you decide to rekindle the fires of animosity between your nation and his." He took a glass of water from the server and repositioned himself on the leather chair, this time resting his head on his fisted right hand. "That said, we Pacitalians are seriously unimpressed with the Sarzonian stance that bullying equals results. It's been commonplace in their foreign policy for too long, and I don't think they realise that this is what irks us the most, and that this is what's causing the fracturing of Sarzonian-Pacitalian relations. If he were to take you full on, there would be dire consequences not only for the Sarzonian government, but for the Sarzonian people as well. It would be too much for us to nicely package up and swallow. The last straw, if you will."

"I agree, at least on the first part. I can't speak for the Pacitalian people for the second." Tetley allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "Regardless, I applaud the recent shifts in your government's policies dealing with Sarzonian, dare I say hubris. In my personal opinion, the Pacitalian government, the Pacitalian state, and even you have been too silent for too long with regards to Sarzonian arrogance on the world stage. I assure you, within the UK for certain, and likely in many countries around the world, the your words and your actions carry far more weight than that of the Sarzonians. Any sort of condemnation of recent Sarzonian aggression - both diplomatically and even militarily - would be taken quite seriously by the rest of the world. And in so doing, Sarzo would all but be forced to do something. Whatever that something may be."

"Thank you, Alistair. I must say, you're on the mark in your view of our foreign policy towards Sarzonia -- we've been in a type of unimpressive stupor for too long, especially toward the mistakes of our allies. Aggression might be a strong word in general to describe Sarzonian actions over the past few years, but in this most recent case with Hellfire, Branwyn et cetera, I think it suits as a description. However, my government and I have a strong advantage in this case - neutrality. Plus, there's the fact that the Incorporated Government has grown complacent and falsely secure, believing that their allies will never fail to support them in times of need. They have noticed now, however, that Pacitalia and Euroslavia are two nations that will not bend in that manner. We have our own markedly different agendas, and we have no time to be showing any kind of servitude to Sarzonian foreign-policy arrogance." He took a breath and continued. "Speaking of Euroslavia, where is Lady Destra? It has been a while since I've seen her. And I think this may be your first time meeting her, thus, it's an excellent opportunity. Let us escape the confines of these rather uncomfortable chairs, Alistair."

"That sounds like a bloody marvelous idea if I've ever heard one. I suppose austerity is a trait attributed to the Freeks, even in their furniture. Anyways, no, I never have had the pleasure of meeting Lady Destra. That isn't to say our two countries haven't crossed paths. The Royal Navy helped restore her to her throne, though many thousands of Azazian sailors failed to return from that mission." Tetley paused for a moment, closing his eyes then taking a deep breath. "May God rest all their souls." Tetley sat a moment longer, opening his eyes only slowly before a feigned smile returned to his face. "I do say, though," he began, as he pushed his body up from the chair, "I think I shall mention something to this Silvia about their chairs. I'm sure I could round up some more pleasant ones as gifts or something."

"Valiant heroes," Ell muttered, noticing that Tetley was struggling to keep the sadness off his face. "True soldiers, through and through."

The two leaders went off in search of their Euroslavian counterpart.