NationStates Jolt Archive

Message from the Kalessin Ministry of Peace to all interested parties:

“There is a large spur of rock which juts out from the sea, a few miles off the west coast of Kalessin. It can be recognised by the high crag which rises on its northern tip, atop which you may notice a great table of stone. We must suggest that it would be unwise for any delegates to approach this table. The waters to the west are deep enough to allow any ship that you might send to come directly alongside, and it is both large enough, and, for the most part, flat enough, to allow most aircraft and starfighters to land. Prince Mojasian al Kboisth, who has kindly agreed to host our conference, will provide transport from this rock to the Palace of the Rising Dawn. However, we must advise, in the strongest terms, against anyone attempting to enter the mists which surround our isle by any means of transportation other than that provided by lord al Kboisth - the Empire will not be held responsible for any damages should anyone attempt to do so.”

- Doctor Curmudgeon - Minipax


Message from the Kalessin Ministry of Plenty to all delegates, on behalf of Prince Mojasian al Kboisth.

“Lord al Kboisth has requested that we inform all those who plan to attend the AEON conference that while he personally guarantees their safety once they have been met by his servants (provided that they obey all instructions which they might be given), he will not be held responsible for any incidences of self-harm. Any bodyguards whom delegates might wish to bring will be allowed entry to the Palace, but not to the conference chamber itself. In addition, there will be no need for delegates to bring food or drink of their own, since lord al Kboisth takes great pride in the ability of his staff to cater for all possible dietary preferences. Delegates will also be given the opportunity to sample local delicacies and experience traditional Kalessini entertainments after the conclusion of the conference. The Prince eagerly awaits your arrival, and hopes that you will all find your brief stay in the Empire of Kalessin both profitable, and enjoyable.”

- Doctor Bountiful - Miniplenty

When Kalessin's Ministry of Peace, by way of the charmingly named Doctor Liberty, announced the establishment of a new league for national self-determination, it was unsurprising that the amount of hot air in circulation increased by such a degree and in such a short span of time as it did. People like to talk, and usually do so until they are interrupted. Given the excuse of an omnidirectional broadcast, it was no wonder whatsoever that the universe's self-proclaimed policemen stood proudly to beat their breasts claiming the moral high ground, generating sound bytes and reelection contributions by the minute. It was informal policy at Conquest Incorporated that there was nothing wrong with discussion, if only because talk is cheap.

Yet, it was potentially significant that there had been no Incorporated participation in the politely constrained philosophical shouting match. As more than one CI executive observed, shaking his head as yet another broadcast joined the queue, talk might be cheap, but time is money - and these fellows sure did seem to be wasting a lot of it. But there existed a deeper, more intrinsic factor in the institutional silence that dampened Incorporated transmitters during the debate, and one that would have been more pressing to the galaxy's policy analysts, had they been able to glean it from CI's extremely brief foreign-affairs track record.

Namely, individually and as a whole, from the rank-and-file to the highest of the higher ups, Conquest Incorporated just simply did not care. Oh, sure, slavery and genocide were bad things, and the latter in particular would never constitute intelligent or even sane policy, but if there was real, hard, tangible, get-naked-and-roll-around-in-it money to be made on the side during times of anguish, so be it.

Of course, the blue collar button-pushers experienced this only as a dull, general apathy combined with a gibbering need for more and more consumer goods. If one wanted to find someone who had developed shadowy callousness into a proper ethos, one would have to look a bit higher up. Certainly high up enough that the pool of philosophes was small enough to keep the whole thing under wraps (good PR was good marketing was good business, after all). And it went without saying that Conquest Incorporated did not value conflict for its own sake, or cherish it as the primary tool for the accumulation of wealth. Surely, no organization could ever hope to thrive in a universe beset by war during every hour of every day. Stability means, generally, profit. Generally.

The long and short of it was, ultimately, that Conquest Incorporated did not participate in the empty prattling because it was, frankly, against the idea of prattling emptily on subjects that were ultimately devoid of greater pecuniary meaning. The significance of that was then that CI was composed of some rather cool-headed sons-of-bitches, but who was really watching close enough to realize? Hopefully, no one who wasn't more interested in buying stuff.

'Cause Conquest Incorporated has lots of stuff.

Now, getting down to brass tacks and actually having some proper dialogue? That sounded good. In fact, when that dialogue was about chartering an alliance aimed at counteracting the established Because We Feel Like It international climate, that sounded great. So, the order was given to send someone. This someone turned out to be named Helmut Brandt, who worked as a senior aid to the Director himself.

Helmut Brandt was unconcerned with the historical and political ramifications of his employer's silence. What bothered him was that his arrival would be unannounced, which might potentially be embarrassing diplomatically. Kalessin's invitation had seemed open-ended enough to warrant a little spontaneity, though, so everything would probably work out for the best.

"Probably," muttered Brandt as he began to decelerate, bringing his nimble, chrome-plated executive shuttle to the appointed rendezvous set by the Kalessini Minipax. The 'large spur of rock' jutting up out of the sea was little more than that, and his shuttle's covert detection equipment found little to be alarmed with. Alighting atop a relatively level section of the outcropping, he powered down the shuttle, smoothed his light grey suit and checked the contents of his briefcase. This accomplished, he sat.

Waiting, as some crappy song in some crappy century had asserted, was the hardest part, and he furrowed his mildly pale brow in consternation at his ignorance as to exactly what to do next. Presumably, he'd be noticed and escorted to the conference itself. Until then, he would simply have to bide his time.

With the press of a button, he brought the craft's computer online. "Solitaire, anyone?"

The Allanean craft – a thirty-meter long contraption most closely resembling a huge pink bunny with motors – has originally been a Hughey Mk II vessel. The fact it now resembled... well, a huge pink bunny with motors – was because in Allanea, crews are encouraged to modify their craft in as many ways as is humanly – or orcishly – possible. This particular craft's crew has, it has been rumoured, received money from the administration of a certain Knootian corporation to do this. It has never been proven, though.

Right now, the six crewmembers of the ship were kind of pleased with themselves. The services of most of them (except the pilot and captain) were not really needed right now, and so they passed their time listening to really – but really – loud music.

“Jesus H. Christ, people! Don't you think that this is too high?!” - screamed Mlodius Pavich, the Allanean Ambassador to Kalessin. The Navy personnel smiled. “Not at all, Sir. We don't really have the assault loudspeakers on.”

Pavich quieted immediately with that thought. Besides, soon they would land.

* * * * *

Ground crews – if there were any – would be rather shocked to see a 30-meter monster right out of the Night of the Lepus perch upon the landing pad. Only as a part of the rabbit's side separated and fell open would they realize that it was, in fact, a door in a starship. And so, in the wall of artificial fur, appeared the impeccably dressed (except for the gold-colored tie) Mlodius Pavich.

“Hey!” - he waved to the hosts.

The ears on the monstrous bunny seemed to move in unison with his hand as they tilted in the wind.

The Emperor had decided to arrive at the AEON conference rather more modestly than normal. He was aboard the Narasen Class destroyer having his morning coffee when the captain informed him that they were in Kalessin territorial waters near to the point where Kalessian authorities would transport him to the conference site.

Off in the distance, he could see the mists surrounding the Kalessian Isle. He had heard bits and pieces about this country, but had never been there. The next few days would certainly prove interesting.

" Captain, even though I'm sure our hosts know we're here, would you inform them officially that I'm ready to be picked up?"

" Aye, m'lord. At once. Will the Brujah be accompanying you?"

" Yes, yes, of course. Even though I'm sure that Kalessin's security is above reproach, I'll have the Brujah with me. Not that I'd be able to stop them. You know how it is with them."

"Aye, sir."

The majestic form of the Naval troopers Destroyer, Lux Aeterna landed gracefully on the appointed landing pad. Somehow they managed to squeeze the entire 350 meter long star ship, perfectly in to its appointed spot. The fact that it most likely blocked many of the other attendee's craft from landing, was really not signifigant.

Suddenly on the side a blast door flew open, and a Morgenraete III shot out, in high maneuver mode, it set down a few dozen meters in front of the ship, and he turned his sensor head, looking back as the ship took off. He then walked his mecha to its landing spot. After all they had only asked for a smallish space, landing the ship was just theatrics.

But Tannelornians love theatrics. The mecha crouched down and a man in the black and red uniform of the tannelornian navy jumped out, landing neatly on the ground. He looked around, his high collar forcing his long dark hair to fan out, his sharp angled features looked around his new settings. He walked down the runway, his black jack boots banged noisily against the pavement.

Johannes shook his head, Sarya was late. They hadnt been given much time after their assignment in the belt to relax, and likely she was pissed off and taking her time. He wondered why the Praetor had asked him and Sarya to attend, rather then an experienced diplomat, such as Prefect Montgrove or Ivan Pavloski, but then again the Praetor did seem a little stressed of late. He shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the nearest wall, he leaned back against it and put his arms across his chest, waiting to see who else would show up.

Johannes kept watching, as suddenly the Lux Aeterna turned too quickly, it nudged the allanean craft, they stopped, noticing they had hit something..it was too late. As the crew of the Lux Aeterna tried to correct, they only suceeded in pushing the giant pink rabbit further and further towards the precipice.

"Hector what the hell are you doing!" Johannes ran as fast as his incredibly augmented frame would allow him towards his ship, which coincidentally was incredibly fast. Hector had tried to show off, after all he was Johannes Schneiders second, and if he didnt share the same casual disrespect for the rules of propriety as his friend and commander, then how could he call himself his second!

However sometimes, casual disrespect towards regulation was a bad thing, Such as when you knock the ridiculous allanean starbunny in to the ocean during a conference to forge an alliance. The lux Aeterna allowed itself to float up purely on antigravity power, then boost away, leaving the Allanean "Star ship" hanging precariously on the side of the cliff.


At this moment, he really hoped the Allanean representative, was already inside. He put his hand on his face and shook his head.

Aboard the USS Cuddly

“Oh crap, oh crap, what the hell are those Tannelornians smoking!” – screamed the captain of the small ship as he grabbed onto the controls. It took some nudging as the gravitic landing motors moved the bunny off the platform for a few inches, then repositioning it on the platform – only as slightly so it would no longer be in danger of falling off.

The Allanean diplomat smiled at the entire spectacle, as if trying to determine what was funnier – the bunny or the Tannelornian ‘accident’ involving it. He waved to Schneider. “Excellent pilots you have there, sir. That was one of the most careful starship manoevers I’ve to see yet. I sure do hope your pilots will be on our side in a fracas.”

"Ohhh."

Brandt had been wondering why the Director had personally selected him to attend the inaugural conference of the the Ascendant Enclave of Nations. While he had had limited experience dealing with foreigners, he wasn't particularly senior. The obvious preference on the Director's part to maintain direct control of diplomatic affairs had immediately suggested itself as the primary reason he had selected a trusted crony, but still, there were many of those. While that might easily have been the primary reason, it wasn't the only one. Why, Helmut Brandt asked himself, him, specifically?

The answer became immediately apparent as 350 meters of warship passed overhead, disgorged some ridiculous vehicle and promptly proceeded to sideswipe an even more ridiculous craft, nearly sending it plummeting to its certain doom.

The answer... was paranoia.

The intensely competitive corporate environment of Conquest Inc. fostered the development of an acutely sensitive array of survival instincts. It was a maverick indeed who succeeded in climbing to prominence but failed to carry some sort of concealed firearm. (Brandt added his own compact machine pistol to the contents of his briefcase in light of his future allies' antics, though obviously with no intention of use.)

But in his case, the pervasive nervous disorder was slightly more refined than average in regards to foreigners. This stemmed from a business trip during which he learned that certain Southeast Asian cultures still considered monkey brains - consumed directly from the skull of a still-living monkey - a delicacy. He had managed to close the deal - and refrain from vomiting - but he had developed what he considered to be a healthy skepticism about the sanity of any given person he might meet. This made him a more cautious - and successful - businessman. The Director's logic had been sound, it seemed. Especially in light of the flying bunny rabbit, if nothing else.

Brandt resolved not to leave the shuttle until he really, really had to.

It was just after dawn, and a chill wind was sweeping over the cold, barren grey rock. Beyond those gathered for the conference, there were no living things on the spur. Birds circled, but refused to land, and even lichen seemed reluctant to take hold here. The waves crashed and roared all around, the bitter salt-spray clutching at the ankles of those who stood too close to the edge, and the sky was overcast and dour, a light drizzle adding a final miserable touch to the desolate scene.

Then, in the east, where the silent white mists loomed up, silent and forbidding, melding seamlessly with the glowering clouds, a tiny speck of light appeared. Its approach seemed slow, though purposeful, yet within a matter of minutes, those who looked out toward it, straining their eyes in the gloom, were able to make out a small white boat, in the prow of which crouched a tall shape, shrouded in flowing black robes, clutching, beneath its wide sleeves, the handle of an ancient-looking oil-lamp, cast from gleaming bronze, and engraved with strange patterns and sigils unfamiliar to any of the onlookers. The boat had no sail, nor oars, nor was it driven through the water by a chugging turbine or a churning paddle. Rather the waves seemed to part before it, as if inviting it onward, and despite the heaving swell, its progress remained as smooth and upright as that of a swan, sweeping serenely down a placid river under a clear sky with a gentle following breeze, on a warm summer’s day. And then it its wake, emerging as one from the mist, came a score of similar craft. And these had no crew at all, nor cargo, and came on empty, unerringly gliding through the sea toward the rock, following the light.

As his strange vessel approached the gently sloping eastern flank of the rock, the robed figure, who, had it drawn itself up to its full height, must have been well in excess of eight feet tall, vaulted up onto the spur, with level of grace and agility that belied its size and hunched posture. As the other boats silently came up behind, and brushed up against the shore, it bowed low to the waiting delegates, as if in greeting, and swept one long arm seaward, inviting them to embark.


[OOC: The ferryman will continue to transport delegates to and from the rock throughout the conference – so don’t worry about ‘missing the boat.’ Anyone may join in at any time.]

Johannes grinned rather sheepishly at the Allanean representative. "Well actually that was probably some of the best flying i have seen out of my troopers, admittedly they really really chose the wrong time to do it" he laughed a bit putting his hand on the back of his head. "See that ship rightly should have knocked your uhh ship off the cliff, that was some timely maneuvering there, it was really quite impressive..if you think about how hard it is to maneuver something in excess of 80 000 tonnes that quickly." Johannes replied.

Johannes then started to look around waiting for the allanean representative to turn around. Then sticking his hands in his pockets he started to walk very briskly towards the waiting ferrymenl. Watching him, it looked sort of like a sprint, if he was moving his legs in a nice even stride very very quickly.

Johannes was already starting to hate diplomacy, and was beginning to understand why Prefect Montgrove drank so much...

Brandt watched over a video pickup as the squadron of boats made their way to shore. Enthused with the prospect of sitting down to business, he keyed a hatch access panel and exited his ship. The wary businessman advanced cautiously but quickly down the shore to the boats and their large, lone attendant. Upon reaching the vessels, he paused for a moment, trying not to look too uncomfortable. Deciding that the wordless reception required no particularly verbose response, he thanked the robed figure politely and stepped aboard.

As he selected a seat towards the rear of the boat in which his host had been riding, he turned. Catching sight once again of his fellow diplomats, he raised a hand in salutation, a cheery smile coming to his face through sheer force of will. Addressing the oncoming Tannelorian, who was closer than the Allanean, he spoke. "Good morning!" He inclined his eyebrows in a bemused expression and pointed upwards in reference to the departing destroyer. "Was that yours?"

Johannes nodded, whispering very quietly to the new comer. "Yes it was, and though i didnt tell them to do that..i really think my first intended to do that." Johannes continued to look at the very strange rabbit shaped vessel, none the worse for wear, short of some singed "fur" and a few dents.

"And greetings friend." Johannes looked over the newcomer.

Captain Dirk Armaude stared at the others, then glanced over to the Boatman. Armaude ran his hand over his balding head, This is one strange situation...I tell ya what... he thought. Staying low key was his job in the Martian Duma, and that's how he planned on handling things here as well. A few muttered words of greeting were given to Johannes, one countryman to another. The others, however, were ignored.

He would wait until the conference before he would speak openly, in the meantime, he'd just sit back and relax. And gauge the character of the others...

OOC:

I just sharted out that post due to pressure. I'll try harder later on.

The HMMS Blissful, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier used by the Makaarian Royal Navy, as well as 4 smaller escort ships, transported the Makaarian delegation to the conference.

OOC: Ambassadors aboard the HMMS Blissful:

Ambassador-General Sir Hugh Massingbird-Johnson
Ambassador Sir Liam Froggat
Ambassador Sir William Peeler
Ambassador Sir Germaine Wiley
Ambassadorial Aide Lauren Scott
Ambassadorial Aide Maria Wells
Ambassadorial Aide Johnathan Mitchells
Ambassadorial Aide James Summers
Major Tom Gillespy (Royal Guard Diplomatic Protection Corps, Head of Diplomatic Security)
Lieutenant William Hill (Royal Guard Diplomatic Protection Corps)
Private Jean Thomas (Royal Guard Diplomatic Protection Corps)
Private Joseph Crawton (Royal Guard Diplomatic Protection Corps)

All those of the RGDPC are armed with SA80 rifles, Beretta 89 pistols, and ceremonial swords, as standard procedure, though they only use them to protect the ambassadors. Sir Hugh is of Royal blood of the Ieci family line.

Just some explanation about Makaar - it is a constitutional monarchy, so not an absolute monarchy. Makaar itself is democratic - the Prime Minister handles the running of the nation, whereas the monarch is simply the figurehead.

IC:

The ship docked at one of the harbours and the delegation stepped out and entered the waiting cars that had been ordered by the Makaarian Foreign Ministry.

As Alaric stepped into one of the boats, he issued a gutteral command to the Brujah, both of which disappeared into the fog. They would be waiting for him at the Palace.

Alaric had noticed the writing on the Boatman's lantern, and idly wondered if it were runic from the lands far north of Xeraph. He also noticed a few of the other delegates embarking for the trip to the Palace. ' Quite a diverse bunch', he thought.

He settled back, getting as comfortable as possible, wondering just what in the hell he was doing there...

A pitch black, deformed ship, a wreckage, arrived at the rocks as told by the Kalessini and it brought down its claw-like landing gear upon the ground, breaking the rock as it were. If it were not for its... Combat-related deformities, it would have looked quite generic, in the sense that everyone has seen at least a thousand ships just like it during their lifetimes.

The Arch Censor and a living Dusk Elder were walking through the dark, green-lit corridors of the ship towards the exit. Just as they were about to step out, Caractor stopped, as so did the Dusk Elder, who turned to face Caractor.

"... Remember what I just said, Dusk Elder. I wish things to run smoothly."

"Yes, of course, Lord Censor. I shall not fail you nor the Empire."

Caractor nodded slightly and proceeded to walk out of the ship, forcing the Dusk Elder to take a few running steps to get back beside him. Soon afterwards, the ship took off and left.

They were just in time.

The transport spoken of in the transmission had already arrived at the spur, and the other delegates had already begun boarding them. Those that had not the two did not care of, rather they just walked straight to one of the vessels and boarded it.

(( OOC: Had a post ready but it kind of died with the computer losing power. So gotta deal with this one. ))

--Nearing--
The UJ-6 BWB was nearing the meating place.THis was to be the first time the leader of Usea left since the Xharn War.The Single wing was acompied by four Su-47 Berkut fighters."Sir,There are a lot of ships down there.Are you sure were going to the-","I'm sure,I'm a pilot."Resopnded the Usean leader as he saw the rock in the message."Land there,about 50tk away from the...Bunny?".The fighters pelled off as the Flying wing landed grasefully for it's size."Now to see who else came."

(Tk=2 meters.I'm running the MT version of Usea-Jason.)

As the last few delegates seated themselves on the long, white benches which lined the sides of the boats, the robed figure stepped back into the prow of the lead vessel, and let out a low whistle. As the eerie sound echoed over the rock, cutting through the sound of the booming surf, the ghostly flotilla, like a pack of dogs heeding their master’s summons, drew back from the shore, and turned smoothly toward the mist. There was no noticeable acceleration, nor did any spray kick up into the faces of the delegates, despite the low sides of the boats, and the wind was subdued and tranquil, no stronger than a gentle summer breeze, yet the waves seemed to fly past at an astonishing pace, and the mist loomed closer with every passing moment.

Kindly keep all of your body and possessions inside your boat as we approach and pass through the mist. You must not touch the water. Death is but the most gentle and trivial of the potential consequences of such an action. So long as you obey this simple instruction, however, you have nothing fear. I am the ferryman, and while you remain in my charge, the mists shall not cause you harm.

Each delegate heard this voice, speaking fluently in his or her own native language. It was quiet, yet completely clear, as if someone was whispering in each and every ear, yet it echoed and re-echoed within their minds, clinging like a limpet to their thoughts, and though the intonation was perfect and free from accent, the tone had a strange, alien musicality to it, which put teeth on edge, and caused hackles to rise.

And then, they entered the mist, and a terrible clammy chill swept over them as they passed into a strange, twilight world, of gloom and shadow. The delegates could only see their neighbours as pale, almost translucent shadows, their features impossible to fully distinguish. Then, half-heard voices came drifting over the water, speaking in a thousand tongues, and a thousand tones and pitches, some familiar, some beyond the ability of any mortal larynx to produce, endless waves of gutturals and sibilants, some high as a bat’s squeaking, and some lower than the roar of a mountain lion, and mixed with the voices were despairing moans and mindless gibberings, manic cackles, and terrible screams, both of pain and of pleasure, of terror and of lunatic joviality. And as the delegates looked around, monstrous, shadowy shapes loomed out of the mists, creatures only usually seen in the most black and sombre of nightmares, hunched ghouls and crouching ghasts, winged demons and horned devils, lurking bogeymen, and the creature that hides under your bed at night. All the horrors that parents tell to their children when the shadows gather at night, all the half-seen monsters of myth and legend, fireside tale and half-forgotten nightmare, all these gathered around the boats, and from the waters below, the faces of the damned stared upward, their eyes burning with fear and loathing, constantly calling on those above to come down and join them in their watery sleep, even as their dumb souls pleaded, unheard, for a final release from their endless torment.

Yet through all this, the light of the ferryman continued to shine through the darkness, reaching out to each and every boat, drawing the eyes of the delegates like moths to a candle flame, and as they gazed into the depths of the old bronze lantern, the music glided softly into their minds. The music was beautiful, yet unsettling, and it was altogether alien, speaking of age beyond time, and sadness beyond emotion, submerging all levels of thought, both conscious and subconscious, in its gentle swell. It brought the calm that comes with complete despair, when death and life both become equally meaningless, and with it the complete lack of compassion that can only be brought by the realisation that all things are equally small and insignificant in the great ocean of the universe. As their minds swam in the still pool of golden light and in the river of strange, swirling music, the shadows outside the boat seemed almost to shrink and disappear, flitting harmlessly just beyond the corners of eyes, while the voices faded to a barely-heard hiss, lurking at the boundaries of awareness.

Light. It came at last, burning away the last clinging tendrils of mist. Strong, bright, warm sunlight, breaking the spell of the lantern, and with it, silencing the music. It came beating down from a clear blue sky, tarnished only by an occasional woolly white wisp of cloud. Ahead, a series of gentle grassy banks, still tidal-pools, and crystal-clear lagoons, beyond which stood, gleaming in all its pure white marble magnificence.

The Palace of the Rising Dawn.




[OOC: Just one more lead-in post to go, and then the conference proper can start. Don’t feel compelled to reply to these if you can’t really be bothered – just announcing that you’re boarding a boat at the rock is enough for now. Equally, if you want to give the reactions of your delegate(s) to their journey, that would be most welcome.]

By and large, the general public cleave to the idea that one's mind is a personal, private space. Had this ferryman... thing not been invading his brain, Helmut might have reflected that merely having public opinion on his side failed to reassure. Quite resoundingly. The suggestion that fates worse than death lurked beneath the grey waters would have been disturbing enough without being communicated in an alien, psychic voice. As it was, he gripped his briefcase tightly in front of him, hands sweating on the fine leather, thumbs turning white as they were clenched against the releases as he struggled to prevent himself from grasping for the sweet comfort of the enclosed weapon.

Sweat beaded on his lip as things went from bad to worse. The warm light of the lantern served only to increase exponentially the terror he experienced, contrasting the terrors in the mist and the tranquility of the transport only exaggerated the former. The monstrosities danced in the peripheries of his vision, uttering grotequeries as his eyes fixed unwaveringly to the light.

From some hidden, deeper reserve, Brandt called up that which was most meaningful to him. Homo est deus. Man is the ultimate apex of existance, and through his actions is existance defined. The supernatural is the primitive's explanation for the turning of the stars. Homo est deus. Somehow renewed, he wrenched his gaze from the comforting glow of the lantern, staring directly into the very maw of madness. He bared his teeth in a primal display of hatred, hatred of the unknown and the obstacle, of terror and mindlessness. His back turned to the others and his inner struggle masked by the fog, he cast his fear into the grey waters.

The light that broke the music's spell found Helmut Brandt shaken, but unbroken.

Glancing about him at his again-visible colleagues, he quipped. "Well... I suppose it only gets better from here."

High above the world, a ship languished in the void; alone, a black cathedral of infinite woe and suffering; a temple-ship; a weaponised vessel fo praise and worship to the Gods of Chaos. Alone, in one of many transportation chambers, a figure sits. It's fingers are adorned with black rings and finger armor; claws of silver and obsidian dug into the ends of it's fingers. It traces lines absently, though it does not see. A book is bound to it's hands, and a great helm keeps it blind and enthralled; not that it has eyes anymore.

It hisses, the pestulant crater of it's mouth moving in whispered prayer, blackened worship. "The blood I spill is the blood of Kings...The oath I break is the oath of kings...The Sacrifice I offer, is that of regal blood most defiled; an offering of soul and service to the Lords of Chaos. I command thee; ancient spirits; I tame thee...I am ready"

A flash of energy; a crackling discharge as the runes coalesce and crackle; ablaze with energy. Now, the figure appears with the others in a seething manifestation of warp fire; black robes and armor shimmering. He grins softly, touching a clawed finger to his cheek. "We are here then..."

A whispering seemed to envelop him, a sinister malevolent hiss as though something spoke from around him, or within him. He shuddered almost involuntarily; his past and present and future all seeming at this moment to be as one. He remembered the Kings of Old; his world and it's councils, the proud sorcerors and warriors and royals; all of them seduced by the power of the Imperium; drafted in as it's ambassadors and generals and aristocracy; promised power, power at a most debased price. And now here he was, Remiel's agent; his Voice. Here to begin the deliberations.

The dropship fell from the sky like a brick, nose-first. Wind whistled past its outer hull as the island below grew rapidly in its forward displays.

"Don't you think we should start slowing down?" yelled Arak, Wyrm, Khrrck special operative, and mage-envoy. "We aren't dropping into a combat zone, for god's sake!"

"Calm down, boy," said Kate, calmly. She was the Augmented envoy to the proceedings, the pilot of the dropship, and, unlike most Augmented soldiers, human. "We're coming in perfectly. We're not gonna crash, so just sit there and hold on."

******

At six hundred feet and 300 MPH, the dropship's boxy nose pulled up. Four fusion rockets in its belly opened up, spitting white-hot, actinic fire and a painfully loud roar.

The ship came in fast across the landing platform. A few feet from the ground, the rockets abruptly shut off and it dropped to the ground, skidding forty feet in a shower of sparks and nearly crashing into Conquest Inc.'s ship.

******

Arak was lying on his crash couch, holding on for dear life. Gradually, as he realized that the landing was over, he relaxed his grip.

"Kate?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, no combat dropping. Okay? I'm sick of getting buffeted around like a mouse in an artillery shell."

"Aww... But I love doing that."

"No more, Kate. You can do them when I'm not on board."

"Alright... Oh, and by the way."

"What?"

"We're late. We missed the boat."

"Fuck."

The Allanean smiled warmly to the minion of Chaos. While Allaneans lived their everyday life with minimal slaughtering and torture, in war, they were Chaos itself – merciless, destructive, and cruel. They decorated their vehicles with the skulls of their foes, and they burned, destroyed and blew up everything they could set on fire, shoot, and plant explosives under. And as such, they were kin souls to the Chronosians, as well as their allies through ESUS. He waved to the intimidating – not to him, thought – being and welcomed him to what seemed to be the beginnig of a nice party – or a wonderful friendship.

OOC: sorry, been a busy weekend..

IC:

General John-Paul Walsh wore his black Ministry of Social Order uniform. It felt like a talisman against the evils of this outside secular world he was entering…the uniformity and discipline of his uniform against the excess of the foreigners….
Still, he entered discussion knowing that his superiors wished Iesus Christi to be a genuine part of the expanding world…many from his organization felt that persistent isolation wasn’t good for Iesus Christi or the world…Iesus needed to enter the new age or become a backwards theocracy…
He knew many people would find an Iesus General talking about advancement and enlightenment strange…but then people had always misunderstood Iesus Christi.

The Amir was not the Amir. He rarely left New Mecca now, and was never seen by foreigners. The tall dark man was dressed in full flowing robes, and even had the hat with the jewel and the feather. Not because such things were actually worn by the Corsairs, but because people expected them.

His two Jannisary Robots followed at a respectful distance, providing their master with security. As he entered the room he nodded to the Iesian delegate, feeling a certain kinship with the other people who still believed in god.

Johannes had been seated for some time before he heard a small amount of arguing, he turned around and there she was. Sarya had just arrived, late as usual, though it couldnt really be helped, those old Ikazuki's were slow as hell, and most likely she didnt get her orders till he had already arrived.

She had a rather angry look on her face, her long brown hair up in a loose bun, the white and red uniform of the PTSS looked very good on her, the tunic was framed loosely on her ample hips. her knee length white skirt, slit up the side swished softly as her knee high jack boots clomped noisily.

The angry look on her half elven face soon gave way to quite possibly the widest grin anyone in the conference had likely ever seen as she looked Johannes way. She walked straight towards the seat and sat down right next to him, grinning at him like the cat who ate the proverbial canary. He grinned back, completely forgetting about the conference for a moment before he came back to reality.

They started to whisper to each other. "Thank heaven your here Sarie, i dont think i could stand all this politicking if you werent, and have you any idea what the Praetor was thinking sending us here!!?!" he asked almost giggling. "Mmm i dunno but i do know one thing" she grinned and moved in close whispering in his ear, he grinned grinned roguishly at her. "Dont question the will of the Divine my love, we are here after all, so its the way it should be" she grinned and moved a certain way, lifting her leg up slightly to let Johannes see her surprise. She grinned at him in a way that would make a sailor blush.

This was likely to be an interesting conference after all...

The delegates approached the palace through a series of crystal-blue lagoons, the white boats carrying them smoothly up waterfalls which cascaded musically downward, and down foaming rapids, effortlessly navigating the water-smoothed rocks as if guided by some hidden rail. The grassy banks on either side seemed almost to glow with health, and the whole area teemed with wildlife, both the common, as with the frogs that croaked from the undergrowth as they passed, and the beautiful, such as the marvellous many-hued dragonflies that darted across the still water of the lagoons, in addition to stranger, more exotic things, that forced some delegates to blink in disbelief. Instead of bees, what can only be described as fairies, each barely an inch in height, flew swiftly from flower to flower, carrying grains of pollen in tiny silver buckets, while under the ancient oaks that grew up here and there, equally tiny gnomes, each sporting a flowing white beard, their faces ruddy with exertion under bright blue hats, tended fields of mushrooms.

Meanwhile, silvery lights floated over the water, drifting gently out of the path of the boats, and occasionally, a shining fish would leap out of the water. On one such occasion, a few delegates who happened to be looking in the right direction saw, or thought they saw, another fish leap up in pursuit, carrying on its back what seemed to be a five-inch tall man, clad only in a loincloth, brandishing a needle-sharp harpoon, but the onlookers were only able to snatch the briefest of glimpses, before, with barely a ripple, both pursued and pursuer vanished back into the water.

Above, a dozen Dragons wheeled, unbridled, riderless and free, their scales shining like sapphires in the bright sunlight, soaring up and down on the thermals, wings outspread, occasional spurts of flame belching out before them. The smallest would have dwarfed a fully-grown bull-elephant, yet despite their bulk, and their fearsome armour, they flew more gracefully than dolphins cutting through the water, or a prima-ballerina spinning effortlessly across a stage, seeming to ignore all laws of gravity and momentum, the molecules of air virtually stepping aside to allow them free passage. They trumpeted their glory to the heavens, exulting in their freedom, limited only by their own desires.

Beyond the palace itself, elegant minarets and shining golden domes peeking out over the top of a pristine white-marble curtain wall, was a dense forest, rising up to conceal whatever might lie beyond. Now and then, the canopy could be seen to sway and rustle, accompanied by the distant bellowing of hidden predators, and the faint cries of unseen prey.

The boats eventually came to rest in a small stone grotto, which lay just under the left shoulder of the palace, full of dripping stalactites, the walls rough and weathered. As the last vessel came to rest, the ferryman stepped up onto the narrow stone path that ran along the right side of the grotto, and gestured silently toward a crude tunnel at the back of the grotto, which seemed to lead steeply upward.

The tunnel was lit only by a series of guttering torches which were attached to the wall by simple iron brackets, such as one might have seen in any medieval fortress, although a keen eyed observer may have noted that the fire from these torches, though the flames were bright and hot enough, did not appear to be eating away at either the wood which made them up, or even the oil with which their tips were coated. The only sound was that of the delegates’ feet against the rough stone,

Eventually, they came to a large oaken door, bound with iron, which opened silently, seemingly of its own accord.






Meanwhile, those delegates who had but recently arrived at the rock saw a tiny speck of light approaching through the mysterious white mists which loomed up to the east.....

The spur-island sat, wet and somewhat shrouded in the fog rolling from the ocean. A relative silence had settled down after the daredevil maneuvering of the last ship, the fog swallowing the excess noise of engines cooling. A loud ping came from the fog, oceanward of the island. Vaguely, one could hear the chopping noise of water being splashed and a shrill whistle pierced the air. Chugging out of the fog came a large steel box, some forty feet long and twenty feet wide. The box was built or carved in the shape of working men pulling ropes and some appeared to be holding aloft bones, culminating the the prow, which was fashioned in the shape of a rams-horned dragon skull. The aft of the ship belched steam, its cast-iron boiler glowing faintly red as the waterwheel made spray of the ocean. In the clouds above, a smoking ball of flame winged lazily toward the island, still outpacing its ship. Spreading its wings, the ball slowed and descended on the platform, resolving itself into a flaming dragon's skeleton. Fire dripped from the dragon, bits of flesh perhaps, which burned like oil upon the ground.
The dragon slumped onto all fours, flapped its wings, and on the second flap was noticeably smaller. It rose to its hind legs, straps of leather enclosing its limbs as it shrunk, the smoke and flame being quenched by the encircling leather. The wings gave a last flap and fluttered into a long black leather coat. A white-haired high elf stood in the midst of the glowing red footprints the dragon had left, and gazed around him at the various craft with empty sockets, filled with a distant red glow instead of eyes. He looked across into Kallessin, and bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile, his dried skin cracking where it folded. He erased the expression from his face, leaving marked rivulets of charred blood on his skin where the flesh had broken. Lord Stanterion of Stanteria and Environs walked to the cliff overlooking his vessel, leaving glowing, molten footprints at every step. He crouched at the edge and watched his crew bringing the steam-ship in close to the rock.

[OOC: One more post to go 'til the conference can begin - just need to describe the Conference Chamber itself, and give the opening speeches from your hosts. Will be away tomorrow, so I shall post on Wednesday. Will spend tomorrow finishing off the first draft of the AEON charter! Apologies for taking so long over all this.]

ooc no troubles i work graveyards and wednesday, thursday and saturday are my days off, perfect timing!

Kate and Arak stood on the edge of the rock, watching the returning boats.

"Finally," muttered Kate. "I'll tell you, this transport system sucks..."

Arak gave the island's latest arrival a suspicious-perhaps disdainful-glance and stepped into the nearest boat as it crunched up onto the shore. Kara followed him, making the boat's hull creak as it took up her weight- her powered armor weighed over a hundred and fifty pounds.

THe Usean Leader,Jason Mikoyan,Had a hard time in contemplating what just happen.He left the plane,opting just to carrie a small 9mm for protection,And entered the boat."A 'Catipilar'?no not that small."He said as the boat whimsically stoped.Noting the Usean RO class submaries was over 400 times the size of the small boat.then it went down hill.The ferryman's injeted word to there minds was the first red flag."This might just suck..."He retorted in Usean as they moved along the river stix.When the darkend chaos enden,the surounding looked like a sean from his favorite childhood story,A Blue dove For the Princess,As the finally landed,he started to fell the eerie feeling,like when he arived on the island.

Since the white boat had docked and the other delegates were beginning to board, the two panting griffins took deep breaths and fanned their wings harder and swept close to the island. Large golden eyes amid their brindled feathers played over the various landed craft, lingering on the large pink rabbit in a ravenous fashion.
The black-clad rider of the lead griffin leaned forward in his saddle, "Easy girl. She's not an eating rabbit." The griffin tossed its head, indignant that something which looks like food would not be food. If a griffin can be said to land in a sulking manner, that is the way in which the two settled onto the island, as far away from the pink bunny as they could get.
The black rider swung free of his mount, smoothing its crest-feathers with a free hand, and holding the other out to help a woman in electric blue robes off of her griffin. He was somewhat tall, for a human, somewhat short if one accounted the slightly pointed ears that stuck from his disarrayed black hair. His grizzled beard only partially concealed the scar running from his chin to his forehead, passing under the patch over his right eye.
"Countess, you seem to have weathered the journey well," his bearded lips spoke, and his left eye glimmered with the laughter his mouth didn't express.
"Accursed beasts," she muttered, "Why other wizards swear by them, I'll never know." She managed to untangle her thighs from the robes that had been blown indecently high during their voyage. Her golden hair fluttered in the breeze, first one way then the othr as the erratic sea breeze changed direction. She glared at her griffin from behind flat, square spectacles.
"You were the one that insisted on not riding side-saddle."
"Right. Like I want to look like a girl. The heaving breasts and menstrual cycles aren't enough, I'm supposed to sit pretty on griffin-back?"
"And that is why you are my favorite Countess."
"You are too kind, Duke," She said, finally dismounting and dropping the hem of her robe to hang around her ankles. She nodded her head, "There, like God intended." During this time, the Duke had pulled two chickens from his belt and tossed one to each griffin. The griffins tore into the bird-flesh with gusto.
"Sometimes He tucks them into his belt." Duke Wistron of Embrelion Mountain led her, Countess Midvale over to where Stanterion was conferring with his newly arrived party.
"Gods are allowed a little blasphemy from time to time," the Countess said, her pouting lips forming the appropriate smirk.
"Hail, Lord Stanterion," Wistron said, "How's about we not go to war this week?"

A rickety, old Diplomatic-class Corvette exited hyperspace above Kalessin and began transmitting New Havenic IFF codes. It began its descent to the designated landing zone, taking its time as it scanned for a place to get close for a touch-and-go dropoff.

"Princeps Iuventutis, we're going to get close to the ground and let you off, seeing as we're due back in the Asherton System to ferry the Imperatrix from Asherton to Stanley on official business," the pilot of the corvette told the "child" in the backseat, The Princeps Iuventutis Alaric Newman. While he was only seven years old, he was no ordinary child. He did not appear like other seven year olds, being of much stronger build and much more restrained than contempories of his age group.

"Very well," The Princeps Iuventutis said as he adjusted his ceremonial armor and attached his Falchion (designed for his size and strength in mind) with its Scabbard to his belt. A much larger Falchion sat next to the Princeps Iuventutis, a gift from New Haven to the leader of the Kalessini.

The Diplomatic-class Corvette closed with the landing zone, the doors opened and the Princeps Iuventutis jumped out onto the rocks below (about 6 to 10 feet below him). The corvette closed its doors and began to ascend rapidly, leaving the Princeps Iuventutis to dust himself off and make sure he still had his sword and his gift.

Stanterion looked down his nose at the shorter low-elf Duke. "War," he said, baring his teeth, "is good for troop morale. We get so many new recruits."
"Yes, I'm sure. I still think it would be best to not cause havoc with our new neighbors."
"Perhaps. I am sure Kalessini Return as well as anyone else."
"Even so, let's not start anything."
"Agreed. Vindressin?"
"Yes, Lord?" A slightly-gray human, middle-aged and balding stepped forward to Stanterion's elbow.
"I wish you to proceed on the boat with the Embrelion representatives. See to it that the Kalessini are prepared for my arrival. I would rather not immolate any of their structures while we are guests. Lady MidVale, would you be so kind as to bring me over when you are settled in, with their Lord's permission, of course?"
Countess Midvale inclined her head, "It shouldn't be a problem."
The Duke spread his fingers of his right hand, tightened to a fist with the index and middle fingers extended, then closed the fist, pressing out a half-bent pinky. The Countess nodded and proceeded toward the boat. Vindressin, in his gray half-robe and military overcoat gathered three other individuals from the Stanterian group and boarded the vessel as well.

Wistron leaned forward, sweat beads breaking out on his forehead from Stanterion's heat. "This nation has tempered you," he whispered before moving to join the others on the white vessel.

"In these flames, one must temper... or be consumed." Stanterion turned the embers of his eyes back to the ocean.

Stepping up through the open door, the delegates found themselves in a small circular antechamber. The walls were adorned with ancient-looking tapestries, most of which depicted scenes of hunting or battle: magnificent blue dragons, spurting great gouts of flame, swooping down upon vast hordes of chitinous horrors, or chasing fearsome winged demons through cloud and over forest, and atop these Dragons rode warriors clad in strange, many-hued armour, that seemed to change constantly on the tapestry. Meanwhile, the sun could be seen rising up over the ocean, which stretched out into the distance, as far as the eye could see, through the single narrow window.

“Welcome to the Palace of the Rising Dawn, my lords and ladies. I trust that your journey has been… uneventful. Now, if you will kindly follow me, my lord al Kboisth awaits your arrival in the conference chamber.”

The voice was soft, yet clear and melodious, somehow mixing simpering subservience with aloof amusement. It came from a slender young man of average height, clad in sky blue doublet and hose, trimmed with silver thread, who stood in an open doorway opposite the window, the light from which illuminated his pale, elegant features, and carefully parted blond hair. His bright blue eyes swept over the group, as he bowed low, and gestured toward the open door, through which the delegates could see light flowing forth, but nothing more distinct – just a warm and fuzzy blur. Then, he straightened up, and led them through the doorway, into a vast circular hall. The walls were lined by tier upon tier of ornate wooden seats, and as each delegate entered, letters of fire appeared upon one of these, and the wooden sides of the affected chair seemed to flow of their own accord, forming complex engravings, and as the delegates came closer, they saw that names of their own nations were now written upon the seats, and the engravings represented scenes from their own homelands, of armies on the march, and of commoners going about their daily lives, of great starships soaring up into space, and of the flora and fauna unique to each land. The carvings on one seat, however, flowed continuously, images and patterns forming and reforming, now faster, now slower, in a bewildering fashion. This seat was already taken, by a tall figure, garbed in a dark, hooded cloak, who seemed to be lost in thought, staring down at the cold, marble floor.

The room was lit by vast crystal chandeliers, which seemed to float in the air, below a huge dome of clear glass panes, held up only by a few slender strips of bright gold, beyond which was merely an empty void, devoid of sun, stars, or any other source of light. An infinite expanse of pure darkness, hungrily devouring the flickering candlelight which leapt up from the chandeliers.

“Welcome, welcome! Do come in! It’s so wonderful to have the chance to meet you all! Drazyen has told me so much about you young-kingdomers! I do so hope that you’ll tell me all about these wonderfully quaint customs and beliefs of yours over dinner this evening!”

The speaker was a tall young man, his hair as fair as that of his servant, clad entirely in garments of shimmering golden thread, his blue eyes sparkling with merriment, and a broad grin etched across his noble features. His voice, while just as clear and melodious as that of the guide, was also full of infectiously open cheer, which almost concealed its distinctly alien timbre.

“But come now! Feel free to sit if you wish! Do any of you wish for food or drink while we await our other guests? My staff have worked for days to prepare the very finest dishes of all your cultures! Or do you wish to sample some of the delights that my own lands have to offer?”



[OOC: Rightyo folks - my next post will be Drazyen's opening speech - so if you want to attend this conference, get posting to announce your arrival!]

Still in Awe in this place,the modern minded Jason Mikoyan felt uneasy,being in a house of lords,a ideology he tried to dismember in his socalist state.Even with this,he still was brave and entered the room.In usean he spoke a saying that his teacher said,"With one of the Razgriz."it suppositly gave luck to who said it,as he may need it here.

Alaric had seen his share of magic and mystical lands, but this was beyond words. The very air shimmered with presences of ages past, the golden glow of magnificence everywhere.

As he found his way to his seat, he was touched by the images of his kingdom's past. As he watched, the shifting images retold the long trek of the wanderers to the then-wild lands of what would become Xeraph, the battles of the mercenaries against the tribesmen and clans, the building of the first city, the alliances made over the past 2,353 years, the social gatherings, the gains and losses common to a growing kingdom, and Alaric's ancestors.

He noted the figure in grey seated off to his left, but did not want to intrude upon his musings. Instead, he asked a passing waiter, " Excuse me, but I am unfamiliar with the cuisine of the Palace. Would you be kind enough to bring me a plate of your various meats with a tankard of ale?"

He sat back to wait for his meal, just realizing how hungry he was. As he waited, he noted the arrival of the other delegates. 'Quite a colorful bunch', he thought.

The operative walked towards the rear of the group so as better to survey his fellows. Mostly a gaggle of fairly nondescript diplomats, with a certain sprinkling of soldiery. A few... eccentrics. He met whatever glances they shot at him with a broad, commercial smile. Conquest Incorporated had spent billions on smiles - its salesmen elevated them to an art form. When Brandt combined his smile skills with his artificially whitened teeth, it was nearly blinding. Women swooned. Babies stopped crying.

Most of his targets were seasoned diplomats, though. So, there was limited swooning, but Brandt still managed to convey a scientifically near-perfect impression of amiability all the same.

The betapestried antechamber was definitely a step in the right direction towards regaining some sort of semblance of mental calm. The trip through the Mist of Utter Doom and Nastiness had been... well, nasty and... doomy. There was certainly a serious problem with Kalessini diplomacy. Or maybe Kalessini humor. Either way, the room's stunning artwork was comparatively non-threatening, even if it depicted (at least in part) dragons. Dragons were not something that civilized city-dwellers saw much of in this day in age, and the business agent was still reeling from the fact that at least one of the conference attendees had arrived on a dragon - but yes, certainly better than the mists.

Suppressing the urge to fling himself at the young man who greeted them - "uneventful" trip, indeed! - he moved into the adjoining chamber and found a seat emblazoned with an engraving of the words "Conquest Incorporated" over a shifting scene of orbital construction. For half a second, the corners of Brandt's mouth tipped downward, giving his now-constant smile a morbid look. The depiction of construction over the Mile High City was disturbingly similar to that which was actually taking place. He watched as a tiny tug docked with the station from which he had departed to come to the conference.

Creepy.

Fixing his smile more firmly in place and dropping himself into his chair perhaps more heavily than he intended, he turned his attention to the somewhat patronizing man who was speaking. "-come now! Feel free to sit if you wish! Do any of you wish for food or drink while we await our other guests? My staff have worked for days to prepare the very finest dishes of all your cultures! Or do you wish to sample some of the delights that my own lands have to offer?”

Helmut steeled himself to keep from sticking his hand in the air like a child eager to visit the bathroom and cleared his throat. "If it did not inconvenience our most gracious hosts, a scotch would be absolutely perfect." He glanced about, catching sight of the immense and complete blackness beyond the room's ornate ceiling. "A double, if you would be so kind."

Johannes would have been more concerned with the unsettling eeriness of his current surroundings if it werent for Sarya's constant nibbling at his ear, and various other parts she could reach. Of course it wasnt like he totally innocent, after all he was fondling her just as much as she was fondling him. OF course this was totally ridiculous behaviour for a pair of diplomats. Praetor Yannef however, was not well. He had sent two excellent troopers, who happened to be in a relationship..and hadnt seen each other in about 6 months..to negotiate Tannelorns way in to the AEON alliance.


Of course as soon as the conference began they would behave themselves, but at the moment that was not really an option. Still the place was rather "odd" and they really didnt want to be here. After all it was a conference being held in a nation that people knew little, to nothing about.

After a few moments Sarya and Johannes regained their composure, and fixed their clothing, joining the rest of the crowd as they readied themselves for the conference.

OOC: Also a placeholder, so I've got a place to jam a post in before it's too late.

OOC: I am assuming myself to be conveyed to the palace via the boats, because, well, Kal said to assume so.

Wistron and Midvale moved into the chamber, gazing laconically at the shimmering tapestries, noting that this nation had dragons as well.
"Remind you of anywhere?" Wistron muttered.
"Yes... It's a little like the Temple."
Duke Wistron snorted, "Which one?"
"Both."

Upon the announcement of their host, Wistron leaned close to Midvale and whispered, "Don't eat their food. I've heard rumors." He moved to Embrelion Mountain's chair, noting that the wording of their nation's name shifted and crawled as it attempted to compensate for the common name of the nation and the wording their Lord used. The scenes crawled across the wood, eventually settling on the Temple of ArchSchnitz, and beyond that one could see the Mountain itself. He was pleased to find Wistron Keep on the left armrest. He pulled a metal flask from his hip pocket, under his coat, and sucked from it while he settled into the chair. Compared to the collapsible chair he usually kept in his command tent, it was comfortable.

Midvale, meanwhile, directly approached the blonde man, looking him over head to toe. She unstrapped her staff which had hung at her back and held it at her side, resting the end on the floor. "My host," she stated, "The Stanterian delegate is awaiting our pleasure at the landing island. He requested that I open a portal for him to come through to Kalessin." She spread the fingers of her free hand and moved it outward. "In Duchy Westron we have no customs regarding this. How would you prefer I handle it?" She suddenly envied men their pockets, or she would have a flask as well.

General John-Paul Walsh breathed out a sigh of amazment as he looked at the surrounding country...he couldnt help himself...the land was amazing...
...The crystal-blue lagoons, the more exotic plants....the variety of life....the creatures that were long assigned to the legends of Iesus Christi....
dammit... He cursed himself, and regained his military stance...it wouldnt do to let the foriegners know he was impressed.

Even so...he decided to eat and drink. He had a very catholic view on such things....the incarnation had hallowed all creation after all....

OOC: Placeholder until I have time to write up a proper post.

The two mismatched delegates took stock of those already in the room.

"I don't like this," muttered Arak. He blinked to a wireframe outline for a moment in ghostly blue, then flicked back into solidity and reality. "Mages, jacked-up diplomats, intelligence officers, Kalessini... Thank God for prothex."

"Shaddup," snapped Kate. "This is a conference. You aren't in danger, especially if the thing's held by the Kalessini."

She stopped alongside her chair, marked "The Dominion of the Augmented" in beautifully embossed binary Unicode, and ran her gloved fingers across the carvings of vast, cold fleets and dreadnaughts. Absently, she noted that the chair was heavy and reinforced, to accept the weight of her armor.

Arak located his chair shortly later. It was actually nothing more than a pedestal, raised so that he could get his head above the table while still letting his reptilian form lie comfortably. It was labeled "Khrrck", in angular runes, and engraved along the sides with images of desert, massive ironworks, and plan diagrams of underground cities.

The two delegates settled onto their respective seats, and waited for the conference to begin.

Aedrick Vitrys, Warmaster of the Death Ferrets Legion, was an unimpressive Sevle. Physically, anyways. He was of shorter-than-average height at around 7 foot two inches, quite fit but not obviously so -- given, considering the power armor, but even without it...

Which didn't mean he was weak. Quite the opposite...one did not become Warmaster of a Void Striker legion if one were a physical weakling. It was simply that Aedrick Vitrys had never possessed the oft hulking physique of some Sevle...his gift was an incredible speed of reflex and movement. Even simply walking along, it was obvious that he was...unusual.

And not only because he was a seven foot two inch tall red-black skinned point-eared Sevle with the usual purple eyes and snow white hair, visible since his helmet was at the belt.

His immaculate Warmaster's Armor was the tan and dark green of his legion, and he wore a dark green cape, more a symbol of station that anything else. The sabre hanging from his right hip, however, was obviously not a mere ornament -- the fat red jewel in its pommel winked ominously as it caught light and whatnot.

Aedrick would not bother with a chair. It wasn't -entirely- paranoia, you see, it was just not done for a Sevle to sit in another man's chair. The reasoning that was that the Sevle was a big animal, not only dimensionally, but density-wise as well...and the power armor didn't help.

Thus he would stand, his face impassive...but looking all to weasel-like for peace-of-mind.

OOC: Get yourselves an account at the glorious AEON forums!
http://s12.invisionfree.com/AEON_Alliance/

Vindressin patted at his gray face with a perfumed napkin, hoping no one would catch the scent wafting from him. Kalessin was more humid than his home nation, and he would need his necromancer to correct for that.
"Mal-karaphas."
"Yes, milord." The blonde, goateed elf wearing the Stanterian half-robe and waist coat stepped forward obediently. His lapel and sleeves were marked with the ensignia of a skull with a halo above it and he carried a three-quarter length ivory staff.
"See that the servants are cared for. Once Lord Stanterion has arrived, I will need you to attend me."
"Yes, milord." Mal-karaphas gestured to the two humans with him whom, after some hesitation, followed him. Mal approached one of the servants. I and my master's servants need a place to repair to. Any cell will suffice, but repairs must be made. Your mists have damaged their will to live."

Vindressin himself accosted another servant. "My master," he spoke quickly, "shall arrive soon. This chair and much of your architecture is unable to withstand the heat of my master's body. We need something, perhaps of stone or steel that he may sit upon, so as not to immolate us all."

Vindressin ran his fingers over the wooden chair, depicting scenes of vast lava flows and a black, black castle cut of volcanic rock under acidic rainclouds. While it was true that their nation, ecologically, was mostly unaffected by their industry, that was because the ecology looked out for itself. When he found the western forests in their beauty, the white-sand beaches and the battlefields where laborers worked to unearth the corpses of those slain in battle all depicted in the carvings his breath caught. If he could have cried, he would, but his soft tissues weren't doing so well these days...

Raitor, a man seemingly in his thirties or so clad in a rather simple purple robe, had entered the conference room. Caractor wasn't going to be allowed to stay there just as the other... Body guards and the like, leaving the Dusk Elder to his own devices during the upcoming conference, which was not, in his opinion, a bad thing. It gave him a level of independence that he would not have had if the Arch Censor had been breathing down his neck all the time.

As he walked closer to the chair which was obviously enough meant for him, and it began to show things Ermorian. For the naked eye all it showed was intense darkness, a pitch black void, which permeates everything within the Ashen Empire.

Seeing this made Raitor chuckle slightly as he sat down. Well, at least he was present and accounted for.

As the delegates made their requests, Mojasian looked up towards the chandeliers, his eyes vacant, with a somewhat distracted and preoccupied demeanour. Then, as they ceased to speak, he raised his hands, and clapped them lightly together twice. As the light claps echoed through the chamber, tiny blue-skinned sprites, each no more than a foot in height, wearing towering chefs’ hats which wobbled madly as they ran, sped into the chamber, grinning wildly as their little legs blurred beneath them, dark eyes twinkling. In their hands they held an assortment of huge silver flagons sloshing with wine or ale, elegant crystal glasses, and vast steaming platters of freshly roasted meats, among many other containers and foodstuffs, most of which seemed rather precariously balanced atop each other, the piles of food and drink dwarfing their diminutive bearers.

As the sprites were streaming back toward the doors, having deposited their burdens on small, circular tables which stood to the right of each chair, one stopped before Vindressin, and listened to his warning, hands cupped to its pointed ears. Its grin widened, and its skinny sides shook, a brief giggle escaping from its lips.

“Hehe. Yousa silly person. Chair no burn! Master finished chair! Yes he did!”

Then, the tiny creature sniffed the air. Its face wrinkled up in exaggerated disgust.

“Eeeeew!”

It reached up inside its hat, and drew forth a tiny glass scent-bottle, the contents of which it sprayed lightly over Vindressin’s robes, before zipping off through the doors of the chamber in a barely-visible blue-and-white blur, giggling cheekily, leaving the Stanterian delegate smelling strongly of roses.

As the sprites vanished around the corner, the slender young man who had earlier led the delegates to the chamber, seeing that they all seemed to have found their seats, delicately cleared his throat and stepped forward. His voiced, while soft, carried clearly to everyone in the chamber.

“Would all bodyguards and other attendants please follow me. Only delegates and a maximum of one secretary per delegate may remain in the Council Chamber once official proceedings have begun. Comfortable quarters close to this chamber have been provided for you while you wait; where both refreshments and entertainment will be available should you wish to indulge yourselves.”



Meanwhile, Mojasian, having listened to MidVale’s request, closed his eyes momentarily, and then glanced uncertainly toward the cowled figure seated across the chamber.

My lord al Vvishiak…. is it essential that this guest attends? We surely cannot risk a portal…. my uncle…

… has no reason to suspect anything. It shall be a mere trifle to mask a portal this small for such a short time. I shall attend to it – ‘though a being too proud or too fearful to embark on one of the white boats….. ahh… I see him now. Perhaps he worries that he may not fit inside your vessels… or that he may damage them once on board. How… touching, if misguided. Ah well, all the other delegates have arrived, time is short, and your boats have not yet returned to the rock. I bring him directly to his seat. Once I have done so, pray retire, and go to greet our mutual friend. I seem to sense his approach already…..

As you wish. And remember….

Have no fear, my young friend. I shall do as you have asked.

At the rock, an oval pane of dark light appeared directly in front of Stanterion… and then swept over him.

Almost simultaneously, the same pane of dark light flew out from the Stanterian seat, and then vanished, leaving Stanterion standing in the chamber, his heels touching the wood of his seat, which felt soothingly cool against his searing hot form.

As the assorted bodyguards and other lackeys filed out of the Chamber, Mojasian gestured toward Stanterion, drawing MidVale’s attention to his arrival, before stepping gracefully toward the doors. As he reached them, he turned to face the now-seated delegates, and bowed low, his smile still open and friendly.

“I look forward to seeing you all at dinner tonight. I trust that… whatever you’re about to do in here… will prove entertaining.”

And with that, he was gone, and the great double doors were shut.

As SSu mikoyan looked at the other chairs,they were in the various languages of there delagates.He wondered about them.He guest about some,like the busness man with perfect teeth from a corperation.Corperate Counrties,He hoped that he's the only one.The other delagates from varing times looked a bit more compatible to his homes socalist ideas even if this conferance was to leep people's culterally independant.He looked down at the sean from his home,the Beuteful City of Rive,The Port Cities of Razto and Donet,The Current Capitol of Jasonsgrad,and the reminants of the former Capitol of Helios.He saw the daily way for the working class,the only class in his land.He knew that this was the right decition for his land.

As Mojasian left the chamber, a crooked, hunched figure, clad in a cowled black robe that completely concealed his form, shuffled slowly down between the seats towards the constantly flowing chair, and bent stiffly to confer with its hooded occupant, who nodded once, before rising to his feet in a single fluid motion. With measured tread, he strode toward the centre of the marble floor, a long silver staff, around which was graven the image of a great winged serpent, coiling upwards, gripped firmly in one hand, which remained hidden by his long sleeve.

Then, he solemnly bowed his head, and the marble floor fell into nothingness. He stood now upon a great void, stretching endlessly downward, sucking into it the words of the delegates, and the guttering light of the candles in the chandeliers, which died as if suddenly starved of air. There was void above, and void below. All was silence, and darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the words upon each chair. Then, in the centre of the abyss between the great circle of seated delegates, a light, pale and unearthly, emanating from the silver staff, which now hovered beside its master, as his hands, which now emerged from the sleeves, fine-boned and white as ivory, the skin almost translucent, slowly pulled back his cowl, revealing elegant, aquiline features, gently pointed ears, and dark green eyes which seemed deeper even that the void which stretched out above and below him, filled with hidden knowledge and ancient wisdom, and his expression was cold, his smile thin and unmirrored in those terrible eyes, which showed neither hatred, nor fear, nor love, nor compassion, but merely gentle, uncaring contempt. When he spoke, his voice was warm and melodious, inviting trust and goodwill, and as his words flew through the air, they seemed to flow and twist and change, so that when they reached each chair, the delegate seated within heard his own language being spoken, fluent and unaccented, albeit with a alien tinge, half-heard, carried on the wings of a song that seemed to hover just out of reach of the ears of each listener.

“Welcome, my friends. Welcome, fellow lovers of freedom and liberty, to the inaugural meeting of the AEON, the Ascendant Enclave of Nations. I am Prince Drazyen al Vvishiak, and I have seen many aeons. I have seen them rise, and I have seen them fall, and I have seen the suffering and the despair which comes which such a fall, the suffering and despair which comes when a thriving universe, rich with life and ideas, succumbs to order and to entropy: when it succumbs to the dominion of one set of values, one moral code, one inflexible mode of thought and action, which presses down upon the minds and souls of all the peoples under its sway until they become no more than machines, endlessly grinding out their dry and meaningless existences. In this galaxy, in this aeon, this terrible process has begun already. The yoke of the Triumvirate of Yut, and their allies, lies heavy upon our worlds. I could not merely sit by and watch it all happen again. You look into my eyes, and you see what the oppressors of freedom have done to me. So many horrors have I seen that my soul is dead and heavy within my heart, from the sheer weight of suffering that I have witnessed. Thus, I have called you together to this place. In this world, in this aeon, we must stand against the forces of blind prejudice and a simplistic morality that gives its followers the right to force their will upon others. And, if necessary, we shall fight. We shall fight for freedom, we shall fight for liberty, and we shall fight for the endless variety of chaos, which is our only hope of holding back the darkness. But no one nation can stand alone and hope to survive against the enemies of freedom and self-determination. We must stand together, and fight as one.”

Then, he looked up toward the watching delegates, and turned slowly around, arms outspread, reaching outwards and upwards, looking deep into the eyes of each being, one by one.

“This shall not be like the alliances that you may have seen or joined before. It shall not require you to create arms for a standing army, or engage in futile wars of aggression for the satisfaction of the lust for power of some vainglorious tyrant. It shall not order you to align yourself with some central economic or social code. Nor shall it be small, closed clique of the richer, more powerful lands. Rather, it shall be open to all lovers of liberty, irrespective of their wealth or strength, and it shall seek only to enable them to soar upon whatsoever ethical or moral winds they might choose of their own accord, safe from outside interference and cruel oppression, as free as the dragons that, as the sun sets over this very palace each night, fly out into the darkness of space, where they bathe in the hearts of stars, and glide across the galaxy, borne on the solar breeze.”

He waved his left hand, and upon each of the small, wooden tables that sat alongside each chair, a roll of parchment appeared, and alongside each roll, a simple quill pen.

“Join us, and help to save both yourselves, each other, and liberty itself from the horrors of universal and oppressive order. All you need do is sign on behalf of the government of your nation, and you shall have proclaimed yourself and your people to be a true force for freedom. Sign, and your name will go down in history as one who helped to save all that is good and valuable in this universe. Refuse, and when the warfleets of the Triumvirate are poised to destroy your land, and everything you love, in the name of what they call ‘justice’, then old mothers will curse your name, and little children will spit upon your tombstone. The choice lies in your hands. Freedom, or oppression. Life, or death.”

Then, the void was once again covered by the marble floor, as it had never disappeared, and the candles once again lit the chamber, guttering gently in their sockets atop the floating chandeliers, as Prince Drazyen al Vvishiak strode slowly back to his place, and sat, silently watching the delegates as they read.


1. The AEON Council shall not have any power to interfere in the internal politics and policies of member-nations. AEON exists purely to safeguard liberty and self-determination, and this principle shall never be sacrificed on the altars of expediency.

2. AEON shall not maintain any standing military force, or levy any standard tax upon its member-nations. AEON exists to defend liberty, not as a force for the oppression of others.

3. AEON shall not engage in any unprovoked aggressive wars. AEON exists to defend liberty, not to conquer other nations, or to aid its members in expanding their own influence or territory.

4. All members of AEON are guaranteed protection against any aggressors. The levels of provocation, interference or aggressive action which shall warrant an armed response from AEON shall be determined by the AEON Council on a case-by-case basis. If the aggressor is also an AEON member, it shall immediately be expelled from AEON in addition to any armed response.

5. For any given defensive military action, the AEON Council shall determine the total forces necessary to eliminate the threat to liberty. Each member nation shall then provide a proportion of this force according to its means, as determined by the AEON Council.

6. Since AEON’s belief in liberty extends to pacifists as well as more warlike nations, any nation may choose to supply other resources, the nature and quantity of which shall be subject to approval by the AEON Council, in place of a military contingent.

7. The AEON Council may order all member nations to cease from all commercial and diplomatic dealings with a nation that has provoked, attacked or interfered with a member nation.

8. All national contingents in any AEON-sponsored military actions shall fight under the command of one of their own officers, under the overall supervision of a commander-in-chief appointed by the AEON Council. All contingents shall obey the orders of the commander-in-chief at all times.

9. In order that AEON might not become the tool of any one nation, and may remain an impartial force for the defence of liberty, no one nation may provide a commander-in-chief more than once for every four campaigns. Furthermore, the posts of Speaker for AEON and commander-in-chief of an AEON military force may not be held simultaneously by officials from a single nation.

10. AEON shall have no single leader with executive powers. It shall not be permitted to become the tool of any one nation or individual.

11. The decisions of the AEON Council shall be announced by the Speaker for AEON, who shall have access to all the resources of the Kalessin Ministry of Truth. The AEON Council may request a new Speaker at any point. No reigning head of state may hold the position of Speaker for AEON. The first speaker for AEON shall be appointed by Prince Drazyen al Vvishiak, in his capacity as patron of AEON. The Speaker shall have no executive powers, and shall have no say in any decisions made by the AEON Council.

12. The AEON Council exists purely to interpret the terms of the AEON Charter for individual situations. It has no power to alter the AEON Charter, or to give instructions to member nations in matters not dealt with within the AEON Charter.

13. The AEON Charter may only be changed by a unanimous vote among the member nations.

14. The AEON Council may move to expel any member nation from AEON. Such a motion must be ratified by a seventy-five percent majority vote from the member nations.

15. Any nation may apply to join AEON at any time. Such applications are subject to approval by the AEON Council. Any member nation may move to overrule a membership decision. To carry such a motion, a seventy-five percent majority vote from the member nations is required.

16. Any breach of the AEON Charter shall be followed by immediate expulsion.

17. The identity of the members of the AEON Council shall only be known to the other members, in order to avoid attempts to bribe or intimidate councillors. No nation may hold more than one seat on the AEON Council. The AEON Council must always have exactly 6 members. The first six have already been chosen from randomly selected nations, although the councillors themselves have been selected from within their nations for their courage, integrity and dedication to the ideals of freedom, liberty and self-determination. Should any councillor retire, a replacement shall be chosen by the remaining councillors from a nation that has not already held a seat on the Council. All Council decisions shall be made via a two-thirds vote. Any decision resulting in a tie would surely be too morally doubtful to be justifiable. No nation should feel insulted due to not having a seat on the Council. The Council must remain small to allow critical decisions to be made swiftly.


As the delegates finished reading the scroll, they heard the sound of steps from outside the door. At this Drazyen looked up, his smile broadening. And called out to whoever was standing outside.

“Enter!”

As the great double-doors silently swung open, the Chamber was flooded with a pearly white light, and the sound of a choir singing far away in the distance, high and pure as a mountain stream, washing over the hearts and ears of the delegates, driving out any feelings of fatigue, both mental and physical. In the doorway stood a man of medium height, clad in simple white robes, a kindly smile upon his face, which sported a soft brown beard, and his eyes, framed by long, flowing hair, were bluer than the southern skies, and clearer than the cleanest rainwater. They twinkled with barely-suppressed merriment, open and trusting as a newborn babe. Above his head, there almost seemed to hover a halo of golden light, although the watching delegates could not be sure, for it was pale and insubstantial, merely a half-seen shape in the wash of pearly radiance, which highlighted his honest, ruddy peasant cheeks.

Drazyen gestured toward the stranger, beckoning to him to come and stand beside the flowing chair in which he sat.

“My friends, this is Count Yeshua al Mashiah, an old friend of mine, and ever a courageous supporter of liberty and freedom. More importantly, I have never in all the centuries that I have known him, known a lie to pass his lips. It is he who I have asked to act as the first Speaker for the Ascendant Enclave of Nations.”

OOC:
Ok - if anyone wants to join the thread from now on, please ask permission via a telegram to me first, then write a post covering your responses to the whole thread (i.e. assume that you arrived before my last post).

Alaric had been sitting quietly, munching on his plate of meat and sipping his ale. Taking in the sights, as it were. Hell, there were things going on here that the overwhelming majority of the human race would never be aware of.

Alaric wasn't easily impressed by much. This was a nice place, peaceful, orderly. Despite the many different forms of life, both physical and temporal.

But at the announcement of the figure standing by the door, Alaric sat bolt upright. What was this? The person who was being called Yeshua al Maschiah was known by Alaric and millions of others as Yeshua, or Joshua, Ha Maschiah....in modern terms, Jesus the Anointed...Jesus the Savior...Lord Jesus Christ.

Alaric was speechless. Stunned would be a better word. If this person was who his title alleged him to be, a large number of belief systems were about to implode. He gathered his wits, and stood up.

" Excuse me, forgive the interruption. Are we to believe that this person is the Yeshua of the Bible, or is it just a coincidence that two people have this title?"

"I'm surprised there are two people at this conference with the same name as Alaric!" the Princeps Iuventutis replied. The tour had really been a blur for him after he arrived, but his mind cleared as he read the charter. It would definately be a leg up for the Imperium if it became a member, making it harder for the Concordat to impose its will upon the ISK whenever it felt like doing so. The Princeps Iuventutis made up his mind at that moment: New Haven would sign the charter.

The Allanean chuckled:

"What difference does it make? And if it were Joshua from Nazareth, and he asked me to sign a treaty that would be bad for the people of Allanea, I'd crucify him all over again, just like my ancestors did! Think not of the man offering you this treaty! Think of the treaty itself! It is good for my nation, and thus, by the authority vested in me by the People of the United States, I hereby enter the Ascendant Enclave Of Nations.

May God bless the Enclave."

Jason was asounded,this whole thing was supremelly weird.Yet in this Storybook land,modern idea were conveyed.This solidifyed his desition.He reached for something to write with,as he found the quill pen and he Signed,
"Supreme Soviet Unifyed Jason Mikoyan of the Union of Usean Soviet States."

Wistron looked down at the Phellonbook that MidVale had left next to him in place of a secretary. The words of this Prince Drazyen had appeared in the golden pages, translated safely back into rune-speak. When the parchment appeared, he laid the sheet flat upon the golden page of the Phellonbook and waited for the translation spells to finish their job. Once the book was finished, he removed it and looked over the terms of AEON. This concept of a Speaker was not terribly satisfactory to him, and certainly not to Embrelion Mountain. However, his purpose was not to engage the AEON members in theological debate, rather, he was to act to counter the Triumvirate.

He pulled three signet rings from a pouch at his waist, two sticks of wax and flat metal mesh. He pulled the mesh apart, causing it to fold into a small cage, in the middle of which could be seen a small, struggling flame that flitted from wall to wall. He flattened the cage some, so the flame demon could not move about so much, and slid the first stick of golden wax into the cage, followed by the red stick. As the wax warmed, he signed his name, his full name, title and awards. He then pulled the red stick from the flame, allowing two sufficient blobs to drip onto page. He pressed the first signet into the wax, leaving the impression of two wheels, the waygate and directional code of Duchy Wistron, then pressed the second signet, showing a moutain peak above another wheel. He dripped another quantity of red wax on the parchment, then allowed the gold to drip onto the red. He let them mingle for a second before pressing the last signet, this one made of a dark silver metal. The impression left was of a gloved fist holding a warhammer just below its head.

"The deed is done," Wistron prayed. "Let us hope this so-called avatar of the desert god knows what he is doing. If this is the Yeshua that so many of these humans follow, it shall be interesting to see what he has to say, my people missed his last appearance."

The Princeps Iuventutis made his way up to the treaty, taking the quill pen in his hand and signing:


On Behalf of the Imperium of New Haven,

Princeps Iuventutis Alaric Newman.

"Well what do you think" Johannes grinned softly at Sarya, she grinned back at him with a hungry look. To most casual observers, the Tannelornian couple glanced at the aeon charter, then placed it down. It looked rather like they hadnt even bothered to read it as they picked up their pens. However the pair had read it, in fact they had read it three times. Just to be safe. Of course theTannelornian peoples incredibly genetically augmented physiques and minds might not be common knowleadge to most of the signatories present.

"I think it leaves us basically continuing as we are, in the middle of an alliance being formed by people who oppose the heavy handed behaviour of Yut,the concordat and Veritas in general" she purred at him. She had missed him after all. He grinned and started to sign the paper. "After all AEON wont interfere with anything tannelorn does, unless of course its against another AEON member, thats internal" she grinned again, she didnt really care but it was her duty to care. After all this was a big issue, and not much was known about Kalessin.However Tannelornians were willing to give people the benefit of the doubt.

After all civilised people dont try to hurt or trick each other. Thats what primitives did. And these people seemed rather civilised, if a bit...different.

And so both Johannes and Sarya signed the AEON agreement for Tannelorn.

OOC: This post carries us from before Drazyen’s speech (While Stanterion was still at the island) to the response of the speech. This should be self-explanatory, but I felt it best to clearly define that. A further note: Stanterion’s speech, while capable of being translated aurally, has a psychic component to it as well. What he says carries with it an impression of the meaning. Other characters may not understand the exact wording, but they will understand his intention. For instance, a reference to the Four-Falls River would bring with it an image of the flowing lava cascading over rocks. I’m not going to give the impressions associated with what he says, I’ll just give you what he says and anyone can choose to understand it. Note, this doesn’t mean that when Stanterion says, “I require drink.” (Which he shall never say) that another person will hear it as “Your mother is a prostitute,” the images simply are not open to that sort of misinterpretation. Also note that this speech is a characteristic of that particular character rather than the language. Vindressin and the others are speaking the same language, but without the psychic clues.

Double-OOC: Ugh. This post is crap compared to what I had. Let this serve as a terrible warning of how bad my writing can get!

IC: The island still stood, the mists stilled rolled, and Stanterion still crouched, staring down at the workers aboard the Stanterian steam-ship. The sweating men grunted and heaved, moving coal from ballast to the hopper, stoking and feeding the fire, and pumping in water to the boiler tanks and into the emptying ballast-holds. Presently, he rose and walked among the vessels of the other delegates. His red-glowing footprints traced his weaving path, until he came back to where his ship was moored. He turned away, turned back, and began pacing. The molten rock of his path splashed onto his boots, and eventually dripped off.
There.
He had felt something touch upon him for a moment, a contact that had been strong, if fleeting. When the gray disc appeared and rushed toward him: Silence. The world had become quieter, at least. Smoke from cooling engines hung in the breeze, coal floated in the air on its path from shovel to oven and Stanterion raised his gauntleted hand. The light glinted from the silver on his arm, the ornate plates fashioned together in ridges and valleys, some of those valleys running deep, deep past the surface of his arm and fingertips. From his wrist and fingertips, small ropes of orange heat protruded, waving contrary to any external force. The tentacles slid forward toward the disc, rubbing it, caressing the edges and slithering into the front of the disc. He recognized it as a transportation device, and definitely not MidVale’s. His first reaction was annoyance, then resignation. He could avoid the spell, surely, but other than attacking the mists and possibly starting a war, he had no other way to get where he needed to go. He withdrew his filaments of flame and stepped into the disc as it swept over him.

Stanterion finds himself in the AEON chamber, standing in the Stanterian chair. He readies a levitation spell, but finding the chair not immediately bursting into flame, he allows the spell to disperse. He seats himself on the back of the chair, his arse resting just above the emblazoned “Stanteria” on the seat back. A slight scent of an open grave, rotting and burned flesh wafts from him. He looked around the chamber, his face implacable. When one of the blue imps perched on the arm of his chair, carrying a tray of sweets, he made a half-hearted grab at it, sending it scampering easily out of reach. Vindressin came to his side, smelling faintly of roses. One empty socket regarded Vindressin critically.
“The humidity.”
“Yes sir. It seems I was not prepared...”
“Have Mal-karaphas bring you and the others fully back.”
“M-my Lord- H-have I disgraced-”
“Do it, before you rot. I can always kill you again later.”
“Wh- Yes, Lord.”
Vindressin ushered himself out, going to join Mal-karaphas in their temporary quarters. Stanterion sat, uncomfortably, while Drazyen took the floor and made his speech. Mortals. Stanterion couldn’t care less about their theological debates surrounding this Yes-you-ah person, cared not a whit for the hauteur of the Kalessini, and didn’t give a lavadingo’s rosy red behind about their cultures. He wasn’t going to say so, of course. His apathy had its draconic roots deep within his macro-consciousness, merely being a facet of who he was.
“The desert god,” Stanterion said, mirroring Wistron’s usage, “has had many aspects on this planet, each of them seemingly less effective than the last. Let us hope that this Yeshuah has nothing to do with the so-called ‘I am’.” Stanterion’s voice became a mutter, “What a pathetic name for a god.”
His face turned to the charter, the flame at the back of his eyes flickering as they took in the wording. His gaze seemed to linger on the portion about the speaker, and when he turned his eyes back to Yeshuah, it seemed that the fires were brighter, if deeper buried in the peat bog of his soul. Stanterion reached out and picked up the quill, “Xanthion’s Hell!” he muttered as the quill burst into ash, touching only briefly on the state of “aflame” before being consumed. Stanterion stared at the wisps of ash falling onto his chair and the floor, looked at the charter. He spread the fingers of his right hand, concentrated, and placed his gauntleted hand flat on the parchment. It flamed at his touch, the parchment blackened, but as he removed his hand, the flames stayed attached to the gauntlet, sputtering against the metal rather than consuming the paper itself. A blackened handprint was left on the AEON charter in place of a signature, it would have to do.

Two strings of characters. They once shared a common ancestor, as can be seen by the shape and arrangement of their alien letters.

One, burned into the parchment by the precise firing of the thousand microscopic lasers embedded in Kate's armored palm.

Kate, Envoy, Captain of AugShip Killing Dissonance, Second Level Commander of the Augmented.

One, glimmering with blue-white radiance just beneath the surface of the document, placed there by the skill of a master mage.

Arak, Khrrck Special Envoy, Battlemage First Class, Air/Fire.

The treaty has been signed. By both parties.

Having read the charter, Raitor grinned widely.

Indeed.

He placed his right hand over the part he was supposed to sign on. Purple flames came forth from his hand, and they most apparently burnt the paper to some degree.

A few seconds later, he placed his hand back upon the armrest of the chair.

What it said on the treaty was...

Raitor, Envoy of the Empire.

It was done.

He read and re-read the charter, absorbing it's spirit rather than it's letter. Alaric hadn't any problems with the tenets of AEON, just it's..........staging.

He was a practical man, running a practical Empire. There wasn't much room for what people called the supernatural. Supernatural meaning 'that which was above what is a causal agent of nature'. The spirits, sprites, entities and hobgoblins that were part and parcel of this world didn't fit into his worldview. Not on this level, anyway.

But, the charter was sound, the nations who had already signed it were old, respected, and capable nations, however spooky.

Alaric stood, pulled out his battle-knife, and ran the blade across his wrist. The three or four drops of blood hit the paper with a dull thud, staining it a bright crimson. He reached down to the blood, writing the name "Tanith", and it was done.

He glanced across the room, then at Yeshua. He felt complete.

The hypersonic transport dipped low as it neared the given landing area indicated by Doctor Curmudgeon. It performed a flawless landing and soon taxied to a stop. At once, the rear doors opened and an entire squadron of marines disembarked, forming a perimeter around the craft itself. They stayed very close to the transport though and kept a wary eye not only on the strange environment they were now in but also on the other occupants that landed.

Then, a huge Inuit bodyguard strode down the ramp and adjusted his sunglasses. He was immensely thick, with muscles on top of muscles bulging out of his black tracksuit-like outfit. He surveyed the land and then raised his right hand. Oddly enough, the spider tattoo on the back of his hand seemed to blend in nicely with the stark land. He wore no insignia indicating his rank nor any visible weapon seen. He did have a small mic that seemed permanently attached to his ear with a slender rod to his mouth, suggesting that he would be able to keep in touch with the plane and her crew.

The chugging “huff huff” of an overworked and overweight walrus could be heard from the depths of the transport. In a minute, Ipshi Hagwonak, Chief Diplomat of the Vrak Diplomatic Corp made his way down and let out a hrumph. In truth, he didn’t know what to expect landing in Kalessin. Vrak had little to no contact with this strange land but always made it a point to monitor nations that were of interest to the VIS. And Kalessin certainly qualified.

With a bark, he made his way to the waiting boats followed by the hulking bodyguard.

====

Ipshi wasn’t sure if the boat could support his bulk, despite the seemingly assuring gestures from the towering boatman. The Inuit was slightly taken aback at the agility displayed and could, by way of VIS files, recall that only the Var in the FKC would be of similar stature.

Still, Ipshi didn’t want to swim and the water did not look inviting so he gingerly climbed aboard. The boat, mysteriously, did not dip with the additional two and a half ton bulk. Odd, that thought both the Vrakians. They consigned themselves to their fate and heeded the instructions of the boatman as they swept towards the palace itself.

====

The walrus lumbered out of the boat, it being not a usual form of conveyance for his kind, still shaking his head after witnessing the sights seen during the journey. He was always known as unflappable and cool under pressure, but this…unnerved him. All this would form the basis of his report. It promised to be a doozy.

As usual, the silent bodyguard kept his own counsel as he got out. Here he would wait for his charge as the walrus entered the palace through the oaken door.

====

“The Glorious Kingdom of Vrak extends warm greetings to the Empire of Kalessin. I am Chief Diplomat Ipshi Hagwonak of The Vrak Diplomatic Corps.”

A low bow, as per his people’s custom, to the young man.

“I apologize for arriving late so I would like to attend the conference directly. However, I would like to sample some of your native foods, provided that they would agree with my stomach.”

====

Ipshi listened patiently to al Vvishiak’s speech. Carefully as in memorizing every single word and looking for nuances, though he suspected that Kalessini speech would offer him no clues in that regard for any hidden meanings. He slowly looked around the room at the other delegates. He recognized none, which to him wasn’t exactly a good sign. Vrak always made it a point to know who it was potentially becoming involved with.

Another disturbing fact was how quickly everyone rushed to sign the treaty. Did not anyone give anything careful consideration anymore? He tilted his great head as the latest arrival and then surveyed the room once again. Then, taking a deep breath, he began in his rumbling, baritone voice.

“On behalf of the Glorious Kingdom of Vrak, I would like to thank you, Prince Drazyen al Vvishiak and Count Yeshua al Mashiah, for the hosting of this conference. Your hospitality outrivals anything that I have been a participant of in my long years of service with the diplomatic corps. Yet, I feel that I must clarify the position of the Kingdom and, at the risk of offending those gathered, with no disrespect intended, ask some hard questions, if you would grant me leave.”

Ipshi waited, gauging the reaction of the delegates and especially that of the hosts.

General John-Paul Walsh had been enjoying the wonderful variety of snacks and treats on offer. He'd read the charter while munching away....trying to read and not spill food was always a trickytask...
He firmly believed in the goodness of life and the joys given from the Father to the people of God…thus had been helping himself almost non-stop. But now, he believed he'd better venture something more than recipe ideas...
He swallowed the mouthful of food and spoke his agreement..
“I agree with the noble delegates who have signed and spoken so well of this charter. Iesus gladly follows them ….and thus in the name of the free people of Iesus Christi we join with no reservations this group of nations!”

Yeshua smiled benignly at Alaric,

"Am I the Yeshua of the book? There are many books in the young kingdoms, are there not? But no, I very much doubt that I am the Yeshua featured in the book which you are thinking of. It is an awfully long time since I last visited any of the young kingdoms."


Meanwhile, Drazyen looked deep into Ipshi's eyes, his gaze hardening even more, if that was possible, while his thin smile remained firmly in place.

"Ask away, friend."

OOC: I'm really pressed with time so I really don't have time to make a whole post with my arrival so I'll just sign.

IC:

The President looked at the Charter carefully and read it twice, then signed:
"President Darius A. Shulze"

April 20, 2000

Los Angeles, California — Californian Federation.
Sandra sat reading over the latest referenda, laws waiting to be passed or vetoed, treaties and pacts that required signing and other documents that drove her insane for a few hours of her day. As she sat sorting her papers Alexa Sommers, the Under-Secretary of Foreign Affairs walked into her office with a grin "Here's another pact to sign, its from the Ascendant Enclave Of Nations... you'll like it... I read it on my way to your office." She dropped it on her desk, saluted and walked out of the room leaving Sandra to herself.

Sandra read and re-read the pact before signing her name on the dotted line "Alessandra Michelle Devnostraeva".

Tag for future editting

Ipshi looked back at Prince Drazyen and then began to comprehend the being that he was staring at. A truly ancient being with too many unknowns and not enough information on which to make a judgement call. All the Vrakian had was the prince’s words and the reputation of Kalessin itself. It made him uneasy and thus he averted his gaze but yet still spoke in his rumbling voice.

“Our Kingdom, which you term as a young-kingdom, has had its share of battles with most of them being in the long ago past. Our recent history began when we came out of our shell and the World Court was our first major…er…how do you say…shindig…on the international stage. Although, I will say that it was not exactly a party.

“When Menelmacar refused to show to answer the charges brought before them, we Vrakians and especially our King (may he rest in the Strange) took it as a personal insult. Some of the other Yut nations were more…practical and benevolent in their dealings but, on the whole, they basically ignored us and the Klatch in general. Then when elves were discovered on the Gonad peninsula, Menelmacar deigned to intervene again. They even refused to see the FKC delegates that we sent to their conference in order to discuss the matter. And Menelmacar, through one of their puppets, the Drakonian Imperium, basically sabotaged those talks in trying to insist on a clause in the treaty to protect those same elves. As it turned out, ironically enough, the FKC elves were not of Menelmacari stock and didn’t even know of her existence. So, we have, and I daresay much of the Klatch do not have any love for the elven queen.

Still, we do not enter alliances blindly. We have joined very few military alliances, most recently the Order of the Seraphim which is now, well, but a shadow of its former self. And that was the result of one of our own betraying us and then setting up an empire on Mercury, which if I recall has been dealt with. But that cost us…much…in the way of time, resources, and money. We are loathe to commit to such a venture in the immediate future.

But, we knew of those in that alliance while here…”

Here a sweep of a flipper to all the delegates.

“We know only a few to none. Iesus Christi we have heard of and know, but certainly from a far off distance. The rest…”

A shrug.

“We don’t. It is very hard for me to convince my people to commit to an alliance, however structured, unless some prior contact has been made. Related to that, I am not entirely convinced that it will be of great benefit to Vrak to join. We have survived so far and the might of the Klatch has withstood any Yut or Yut-aligned nation from meddling in our affairs. Still, we are interested, and if we do commit, you will not find a more stalwart ally.”

A pause.

“As well, I do have some concerns about the charter. I do not see an exit clause if a nation wishes to leave voluntarily. As well, a point of clarification on number 17. Will the members of the Council be known by all? I can understand the concern about wishing to reduce bribery and whatnot, but we would have a difficult time taking orders from someone claiming to be a council member without some kind of proof.”

Ipshi let the words sink in to everyone. Then he decided to conclude.

“Finally, Vrak is bound by the FKC constitution which requires Parliamentary approval for any state in the federation that wishes to sign a treaty of this magnitude. I myself do not have full authority to sign on behalf of my nation. That is for the Minister of Foreign Affairs himself to do.”

Drazyen listened in silence as the walrus spoke, his eyes glittering. As Ipshi's rumbling tones finished echoing around the chamber, he stood once more, and nodded slightly toward the Vrakian ambassador.

"My thanks to you, friend, for sharing your tale of Menelmacari perfidy and of their meddling in the affairs of others. It is exactly that type of bigoted interventionism that we intend to help to prevent, through this very organisation. We can also fully understand, given such experiences, how you may be reluctant to trust us, and those who have already signed the treaty that you see before you. If you were one of my own people, I would open my mind to you, so that you might see that I speak only the truth, and harbour no deceit in my heart. However, you are not, so I can only ask that you put aside your understandable caution, and trust me. And we me, you must trust in the aims and ideals of the Ascendent Enclave of Nations, which I have laid out today, in this chamber."

He paused, and smiled gently.

"I also empathise fully with you when you ask what benefits membership of this organisation might bring to Vrak. We of Kalessin, too, have no need of any alliance to maintain its own freedom of action. We too have power enough to withstand any outside interference, yet the first mark upon this charter is the seal of house al Vvishiak, and herein is the answer to your question. This is no normal 'military' alliance, formed purely for the selfish benefit of its member nations, although even the strongest shall have the right to claim protection should they require it. We of Kalessin support this alliance not in order to gain protection or power for ourselves, but in order to lend it to others, to defend the very principles of liberty, freedom and self-determination, and the nations that, through signing this charter, proclaim themselves to hold there principles dear above all others. Therefore, do not ask what you can gain from signing this charter. Rather, ask what values you believe in. Ask what values you are willing to fight for. Are the Vrakian people willing to fight for the right to self-determination of others? Does Vrak believe in freedom? Does Ipshi?"

The prince paused, and slowly moved his eyes over the serried delegates, meeting the gaze of each, one by one.

"This is why the Charter contains no 'get-out clause', no easy formula for departure. Should any nation choose to leave this alliance, then it will be stating, and announcing to all the world, that it no longer believes in the values that have brought us together; that it has forsaken the fight for freedom, liberty, and self-determination. Any nation that leaves this alliance shall be forever branded a land of liars, and a bastion of perfidy, and the taint of the oath-breaker shall never leave its people. In an alliance where each nation joins only for what it can gain, then departure is to be expected, once the benefits cease to exist. This is not such an alliance. The Ascendent Enclave of Nations is founded on an idea. The idea of freedom.

"Yet equally, the Charter lays down no punishments for those who forsake it, and the ideal that it represents. Perjurers and those who believe in oppression and interference in the affairs of others, so long as they do not act on their base urges to enforce their will on other nations, have as great a right to freedom and self-determination as any other lands."

He turned back to Ipshi, and smiled gently,

"Go back to your government. Go back to your Minister of Foreign affairs; and tell him of what you have heard here. I am sure that he and your people will do the right thing. I hope that he will take a stand for freedom."

Raising his arm, his thin-lipped smile broadening, he gestured once more toward Yeshua.

"And as for your last query, that shall not be an issue. All orders from the council shall come through Count Yeshua here, until such time as the council might wish to replace him. Of course, the council's role is only a minor one. The Charter gives the commands, the council merely interprets its instructions for any given situation."

The walrus’s eyes narrowed at the mention of “oath-breaker” and “liars”. He chose his next words carefully and then addressed the assembly in that same booming voice but with a slight increase in volume so as to make sure he could be heard.

“How many of you here have signed many other alliances that offer such similar goals? How many of you seek protection from those mightier than yourselves? How many of you see this but just a tool for your own ends? How many of you would place this alliance over the others your have signed? How many of you have even considered possible conflicts of interest signing this? And if there is a conflict, what side will you choose? And how much blood will you be ready to sacrifice to uphold this alliance?”

He then turned back to the Kalessin prince.

“We are a careful, practical, and loyal people. I am concerned about there being no exit clause simply because I do not want to see my nation dragged into unnecessary war. Yes, I know of item #3. I worry about the implementation. As well, I wonder about possible conflict between, say, a FKC state and an AEON nation, however unlikely that may be. I will say this now, Vrak shall side with the FKC first and foremost and then those that belong to the Order of the Seraphim before this. We would be hard-pressed to side with an AEON nation before them and therefore will run the risk of being labelled a nation of “oath breakers” and “liars” before all. I say this to be honest with you and to all those assembled. If I am not, then I would not be honest with myself and not in keeping with the spirit of this alliance. As for believing in liberty and freedom, we have put our state at risk time and again to defend our region from outsiders. Our record speaks for itself in that matter.”

He turned again to the delegates.

“We want to trust you. But trust must be earned and not rushed headlong. This is why we are reluctant and it does give me concern when I see many sign without asking questions.”

Then, a final turn of his great head and bowing deeper than what was received from Prince Drazyen, the Vrakian said.

“I have nothing more to say at this time but I remain open to answer questions about us, our lands, and whatever other information deemed necessary to facilitate trust. I cannot guarantee success at accepting the alliance, but I can guarantee that my people shall listen to all concerns. This I promise upon my honour.”

Drazyen gestured dismissively with his hand, as he gracefully slipped back into his chair,

"No blood need be spilt, if you value the lives of your people more highly than the freedom of others. The Charter permits members to contribute resources other than personell. If you do not wish to fight for liberty, you may still pay for it. As for potential conflicts of allegiance.."

He shrugged, raising his head, and spreading his arms,

"AEON is not an alliance founded on self-interest, greed, or a wish to press out beliefs on others. These are the things that usually lead to aggressive war - we are free from all of them. If we go to war, it shall be in defence of liberty. If we go to war, we will be in the right. Should this lead to a conflict with old allies, you will not be faced with a simple choice between old allegiances and new ones, in which case I would understand that you might favour the former. Rather, you will have a choice between right, and wrong. Between oppression, and liberty."

He looked again at Ipshi.

"You of the Vrak have no need to defend yourselves here. Your faithfulness and constancy, as well as your love of liberty, have been at the core of your actions as a people for many years now, and we of Kalessin have not failed to notice. You have no need to gain our trust, for you already possess it. Thus, we believe that you would be a most valuable addition to this Enclave of Nations, and both hope that you will choose to join us, and that, if things came to such a sorry pass, you would side with right and freedom over old loyalties."

He smiled gently,

"However, such an event seems unlikely in the extreme to me, for if this 'FKC', and this 'Order of the Seraphim' have been able to gain the loyalty of such a people as the Vrak, then surely they would have no reason to attack the ideals for which we stand, and thus come into conflict with AEON."

"Hold on!",Said Jason Mikoyan of Usea,"I think you need to fighure this out before making alliances."looking at Ipshi of Vrak,"I may not be the perfect leader yet I know to stear clear of conflicts like this by Observing the Situation.That is what a leader should do,And A a leader,you have to make sure that you won't be getting your self into anything that could hurt you people!I allready Observed this and seen that it,as weird as this place is,Would not interfear with my other alliances.So you Need to look things from the angle you atre given."As he finished with,"Sorry,I didn't mean to push you,thats just my oppinion,take it if you want it.Ok?"

Chief Diplomat Ipshi Hagwonak fixed the leader of Usea-Jason with a stare and replied.

"Quite frankly, I can't really understand you. But, if I follow you correctly, one should carefully consider the reasons before signing onto an alliance? I thought that I made this point quite clear by asking Prince Drazyen questions about the AEON charter of which he obliged by answering. As well, I will take this document back to my people and, as bound by the FKC Parliament, to submit this for the approval of that governing body. So you see, it is now out of my flippers. But, I do wish to stay and...discover...this land if only for a little while in the hopes that this will facilitate trust between the delegates gathered here."

[OOC: Rightyo then, I'm going to start off a new thread in the Nationstates forum dealing with post-conference matters, for anyone who wants to stick around and take a look at Kalessin. Might take me a day or two to get it written. Thus, anyone who wants to sign up to the treaty (or even, with a bit of timewarpage, 'arrive' at the conference, and then sign), or anyone who wishes to ask further questions of Drazyen, can do so at any time on this thread. I'll edit this post with the relevant link once I've posted.]

OOC: Sorry it's taken me so long to post again. I've been working on how this might be phrased.
IC:

Helmut Brandt coughed politely into the awkward silence that pervaded the room following Hagwonak's rebuttal of Mikoyan's advice. "Conquest Incorporated has some concerns that parallel those of the Ambassador from Vrak. Additionally, there are issues which might indeed lead to the conclusion that we pursue strictly bilateral relationships for the nonce."

He crossed his legs and set his brandy down on one of the arms of his chair. This could be a tad awkward. To come all this way, to engage in the preliminaries, and then simply... not sign? Best to tread lightly. "The potential we saw in this association was a solution to the unipolar environment that we have all disparaged so here today. While the Triumvirate establishment is free to assert its whims at random, it is impossible to call the Solar region stable. By helping to develop a defense network capable of entrenching itself against the combined might of the entire touchy-feely-dogmatic-imperialist establishment, we thought it would enable the region to become stabilized. If the Menelmacari feared to strike, the universe would be a much safer place.

“As I see it, there are two reasons why AEON is not going to qualify as the association envisioned in that plan.” He paused momentarily to order his thoughts. “First, those assembled here are too few. Second, they are of insufficient strength. The forces of the Triumvirate of Yut are vast, as are those of its allies. It would not simply be a matter of defending ourselves. We would need to be able to maintain a strategic defensive posture, with an ability to project force.” Brandt bowed (not an insignificant feat while seated) towards Drazyen. “Perhaps Kalessin is inviolate behinds its misty borders, but can its strength beyond them vie with those of, say, your immediate neighbors on Mars, such as New York and New Jersey’s New Huntington district, as well as Tor Yvresse’s Martian colony? It takes a dedicated military industrial complex to achieve the goals this alliance sets forth. And let us be frank about it. AEON will either be dismissed by the Triumvirate, or be attacked by it. They do not tolerate strength in others.

And at the moment, Conquest wants no part in that. While we applaud your principles and encourage you to give AEON a shot, we are going to investigate what profit can be generated in this unfortunately unipolar world. To be extremely blunt, we do not have absolute confidence in many of the nations here today. I know of only some. To be fair, most if not all of you assembled here have yet to hear of our corporation of… humble merchants.” He coughed into his hand. “And yet the facts remain. The course of this gathering is, inevitably, to either conflict or stagnation. It is not currently strong enough to exist by sheer prestige, without war or violence, as the Triumvirate does. We cannot, at this time, sign this charter.”

He bowed again to Drazyen. “This is by no means to disparage your efforts, or your nation. Conquest Incorporated has deep respect for both, as well as many of the nations represented by those in this room. And we shall always by a friend to responsible nations of all stripes on a bilateral basis. We shall hope to do business with you in the future. We will, as always, be an arsenal to those who seek to protect themselves.” Brandt picked his brandy back up off the chair’s arm. “Like the honorable representative from Vrak, I shall remain to answer whatever questions anyone might have regarding my firm or its potential services.” He lifted the crystal of the finely crafted vessel to his lips, and sipped.

Ipshi Hagwonak replied to Brandt while also addressing the assembly.

"I recall once that it took six nations of Yut to attack Sketch. They are not as invincible as they seem. As well, while they do have many allies, I daresay that many of us also have a number of friends as well. Besides, if Yut does not tolerate strength in numbers, then how come they haven't attacked Arda directly? Or other regions that may be hostile to it?

No. Yut seeks to gather people into its fold to mold them like themselves and , I think, to act as a buffer to the core Yut nations. What is worrisome to us is that they are quite adapt at it. And while Vrak has never come into direct conflict with a Yut nation, we have come into conflict with those that are of the same persuasion.

Still, there are nations that are ambivalent towards them as well. Those are the ones that AEON should seek out. As well, let us remember that Yut itself took time to build itself up. Why should this alliance expect to suddenly be able to challenge Yut overnight? It would take time.

In that vein, I would also suggest that this alliance be able to offer members other inducements to join or perhaps offer another vision that builds upon the ideals of liberty."

He then turned to Brandt.

"We would be interested in future business dealings with your nation."

Chief Diplomat Ipshi Hagwonak fixed the leader of Usea-Jason with a stare and replied.

"Quite frankly, I can't really understand you. But, if I follow you correctly, one should carefully consider the reasons before signing onto an alliance? I thought that I made this point quite clear by asking Prince Drazyen questions about the AEON charter of which he obliged by answering. As well, I will take this document back to my people and, as bound by the FKC Parliament, to submit this for the approval of that governing body. So you see, it is now out of my flippers. But, I do wish to stay and...discover...this land if only for a little while in the hopes that this will facilitate trust between the delegates gathered here."
"That is part of what I ment,"Responded SSu Mikoyan,"Yet the way you were talking,it seemed like you turn this little tussle into a full out battle."Then the Representative of Conquest inc. ,Mr Brandt,Made his comment."Spoken like a true Capitolist..."He retorted to the Corperate rep.

Brandt brow furrowed as Hagwonak began speaking, his disagreement plain on his face. As the Vrakian concluded, however, he nodded in acknowledgment of at least some of the walrus' analysis. Shifting his attention from his glass to the room, he lifted the former in salute to the ambassador. "Conquest Incorporated values every customer. Our organizations should sit down together, at a later date, of course. I would hate to bother the assembled delegates with our bilateral discussions. Regardless." He sipped again at his drink, and placed it in his lap, freeing his hands for the extravagant gestures of which he was so fond.

"It's always easy to cite an historic counter-example. I'm not trying to tell you that the Triumvirate is unassailable. What you all should keep in mind is that it does constitute perhaps the most highly concentrated military potential of, arguably, any associations you might name.

"There are two reasons that Arda has not been attacked recently. Paradoxical ones, actually. First, the Five Kingdoms are another good example of a nation that's messed up some Triumvirate faces, and they know it. Second, the Five Kingdoms, and Arda as a whole, have not been scheming worth a damn in some time. With all do respect to those nations. The Five Kingdoms in particular have been lethargic, of late." The agent's eyes twinkled almost wistfully for half a second. "Excuse me. Ah, the Yut fiends have not attacked Arda recently because there has been no reason to. The strength that lies there is no longer being marshaled effectively.

“It’s also difficult to ascribe strategic motive to the Triumvirate. I don’t believe your ‘buffer’ notion is entirely correct. They’re insufficiently centralized to merit that conclusion. They’re not astrographically defined. They have combined facilities in some locations, but they ultimately are… where they are. I think we have to admit to ourselves that the majority of them believe what they’re spouting. In freedom. In ‘democracy.’ The way their nations implement it is, however, the reason we’re all here today. Monstrously irresponsible.” He cleared his throat.

“Where I do most heartily concur with you and admit my personal oversight, is in your wise statement that AEON will necessitate time to become sufficiently advanced. Point taken, mea culpa, and so on and so forth. But my point about its general vulnerability still stands. AEON must be very well behaved in their eyes until it can afford not to be. In its infant stages, it is vulnerable.” Helmut’s dazzling smile reappeared. “Well, that’s all the free advice you get from me,” he said, practically sending rays of light caroming around the chamber with his pearly whites. “Any organization that promotes peace, prosperity and self-determination can expect to be a customer in good standing of Conquest. As I said, we look forward to doing business with you, and I shall remain to answer whatever questions that may need answering, and to discuss the wide range of products and services that we might provide.”

As Brandt’s gaze swept back from the walrus to his drink, it skewered Mikoyan. He caught himself visibly as if he had forgotten the pinko-commie delegate. “Ah, yes. As for you…” Brandt leaned forward and addressed himself to Mikoyan in very well enunciated tones, almost as if to a child. “Now, what was that you said? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of all the money I’m making. Bell bottoms can make a comeback every century or so. Communism needs to be kept in the closet.” He held up a hand to forestall immediate reply. “Wait, wait… shhh. Did you hear that? That was the sound of my bank accounts’ interest compounding. All three of them.” Reclining in his chair, he swirled his remaining brandy around in his glass, and then downed it in a single gulp.

"I beleave you might not know,yet in Usean,that frase means 'one who expands more' with no bad fealings,Or,'Some one who strikes first'."And in a Inraged tone,"Yet if you took a few seconds from watching you cash flow and learned about your fellow nations,You would not be such a A--"He was interupted by call,"Be right back,try thinking Next time...."

Ipshi noticeably sighed as the representative from Usea-Jason exited to receive his phone call. He idly wondered how a signal could even penetrate the mists that surround Kalessin but shoved that thought to the back of his brain as he addressed no one in particular.

"I humbly suggest that in order for this alliance to work that we would have to put aside our petty differences in how each of us run our nations and work together to make this work. As Prince Drazyen al Vvishiak has stated and also as we see in the charter, there are greater threats to our security that to be concerned as to members are either capitalist or communist."

He leaned back as far as he could managed and waited for any other commentary or, hopefully, a break in the proceedings so that he could circulate and meet the other dignitaries.

OOC: At this point, I have something to say. I'll post it as soon as I can.

OOC EDIT: And now I have MORE to say, but I can't justify taking the time from finals to say it. I swear I'll get back to this... as soon as I can.

Drazyen sat in silence as Brandt and Ipshi spoke, head bowed, and eyelids lowered. Then, as the chamber fell silent again, he stood, staff in hand, and waved it slowly over the floor, which, instead of falling away as it had before, seemed to ripple slightly, as if it had become fluid, and in place of solid marble or the empty abyss into which it had previously falled, there was now an endless pool of clear, liquid darkness.

"Yes, we are still fewer than the deluded minions of the Triumvirate. And yes, we of Arda have done little of late to attract the attention of those who dwell among the Saturnian moons. But would the forces of Yut have attacked Arda if they dared? Yes, most assuredly they would have. However quietly we may sit in our lands, and however little we may stir, still, they fear us, though they will never admit it, and, what is more, they hate us, both on account of our many conflicts, and on account of the fact that we still dare to be different, despite all their threats and posturing, and because, yes, they fear us, and fear, breeds hatred.

"But AEON is not Arda. It is something greater. Much greater. We are not yet many, but neither are we few. Yes, we shall grow in numbers and in strength, as our Vrakian friend has foretold, and only fear, fear this time of the Triumvirate, fear of the oppressor, the fear which stops those who know what is good from doing what is right, and thus turns them inexorably to evil, only that fear can slow our growth. Are you afraid, good sir? Are you afraid that if you join us, and declare your allegiance to liberty and to freedom, the forces of the Triumvirate may descend upon your Corporation, and your precious bank-balances may become just so much dust on the winds of history?

"You need not. Yes, we shall grow. But we are already strong. We are already 'ascendent'. You may not know all of the powers league together here in defence of freedom, but we do. And they are mighty indeed."

Drazyen motioned with his staff, and within what had been the floor, a starship appeared, bristling with guns, the backwash from its powerful engines blasting out into space. And then another followed, and another, and another. Then, their engines flared, and the floor flashed brightly, and when the light once again dimmed, a war-mage of Embrelion stood, hurling spell after spell into the air. Scene after scene followed, depicting countless weapons, magnificent ships and ferocious armaments all in their battle-array, displaying the seemingly endless strength and power of all the nations that had signed the Charter.

"From Khrrck and The Island States, great fleets of starships can come to our aid. From Ermor, the dead themselves rise in the cause of freedom, while from the depths of Embrelion Mountain, mighty sorcerers stride out to bewitch our enemies. Auman has defied all of Mars, alone, and stood proud and unbowed at the end, while the noble men of Iesus Christi have waged countless wars with the foul forces of SATO, many of which are now members of the Triumvirate, without ever taking a backward step. Furthermore, where Iesus Christi leads, the Reich follows, and with it, the incomparable might of the Reichfleet. These are just a few of the mighty powers that have signed this Charter. No-one need fear to join this alliance, for strong though the oppressors are, they have no stomach for a war such as would occur should they attack us."

ooc good call and people! lets get posting on the AEON forums! Everyone start posting secret projects, refits and meetings and diplomacy. And everyone take the time to respond to my joint research thread, I think it would be a wonderful idea for us to do one.

Jason mikoyan stoped his call to see the massive force he saw."Oh,my...",He silently spoke.he then realised a importaint part of this alliance.after the demonstation of might,He went to the busness man and said,"I think we started off on the wrong foot,with moth Communist and capitolist at each others neck,why not change that?Comerade?".Both nations were equal streinght militarally and industrialy,so alling sould be a interesting trial.

Drazyen narrowed his eyes

Why is that strange little man holding a conversation with himself? And what language is that he's speaking? Hmmm... must be a regional dialect of some kind.

(ooc-who are you talking about...)

Had Brandt not been a practiced salesman, he might have sighed discontentedly. It was not that Drazyen was absolutely incorrect. But the Kalessini clearly disagreed with the fundamental basis of the Conquestian's arguments, which made things prickly. The likelihood of Brandt convincing his host of his key points was virtually nonexistant, and pressing the discussion much further was likely to yield results that he would, frankly, rather not be yielded.

No one was going to accuse Arda of actual weakness. The concept nearly reduced one to giggles. At the same time, the guiding force and the most universally held proponent of the region had always been the Five Kingdoms. Or, at least, so it seemed to those on the outside looking in. While neither Melkor's remaining forces or his ex-subjects appeared the sort that could be snuck under the banner of an ostensibly freedom-loving organization, they would have constituted a grand rekindling of the anti-establishment flame. Not, of course, to suggest that the rest of Arda, from Kalessin to Embrelion Mountain, were a pack o' slouches. Far from it. But the argument could, hypothetically be made that their contributions to the crusade against a unipolar universe had not been as clearly documented.

As such, and considering additionally that the region had behaved relatively well for some time, it seemed unlikely that the Triumvirate of Yut had had much cause to assail the Ardan nations. The fact that any such effort would have been exceedingly costly in terms of both lives and material resources did not seem to be the sole reason such an effort had not been mounted. The Triumvirate was wary of Arda, sure. Genuinely afraid? It was uncertain.

Drazyen's righteous monologue had struck another dissatisfied chord with the avarice-ridden mogul. That there were entities of great strength and savvy in AEON was not something most were keen on disputing. But as the Kalessini host continued to list signatories, highlighting their past achievements, Brandt fretted about what Conquest's involvement with some of them might mean in the future.

Take Iesus Christi, for example. While not overly familiar (or really, at all familiar) with the nation - indeed, most of what he knew consisted of suggestions that its military was capable - he could make some fairly obvious observations that he did not care for in the least.

Obviously, they still clung to the idea of faith.

Pah.

One would have thought that that 'sort' had been eradicated by things like education, common sense or perhaps pornography by now. But, apparently not. The uninformed might point to the elves or the Ardans as a whole as evidence of the supernatural, and that was one thing. But this Christ guy hadn't done anything for anybody lately. Efficient at war Iesus Christi might be, but there would be some issues to hash out before even mediated cooperation could be considered.

And then Ermor. Frankly, Brandt was a little (read: massively) taken aback that not one single delegate had a problem with the fact that genuinely dead people were signing onto AEON. Many problems came immediately to mind (the smell?), not least of all the resentment that the undead must surely have for the not-as-yet dead.

None of this was to say that these reservations might not eventually be put aside in order to pursue a common goal, or that even a spectacularly diverse group would be unable to manipulate and be manipulated to their hearts' content, but complications presented themselves, certainly.

All the same, Drazyen's PR flick had been intriguing.

Brandt's smile leveled off to a less brazenly superficial luminosity. It had been hurting his face, for one thing, and for another it was likely that everyone present had gotten the idea. Namely: 'We're friendly!' He coughed politely into his hand before speaking. When he did, he almost-murmured and addressed the chamber softly.

"Am I... afraid?" Brandt's expression did not change, did not shift in the slightest. Had his smile matched his thoughts, the effect would have been decidedly less congenial. "Sir, you do us a great disservice. Capitalism is history. There is no surer sign of strength and stability than a robust... bank-balance." Including, certainly, 'freedom'.

Remembering himself, he brightened. "No, you need not make such accusations. Nor need you parade such evidence as this." At this last, he waved at the menagerie of images that continued to parade across the floor. "You speak wisely, of course. However, I feel, and I believe this to be a feeling with which my superiors will concur, that Conquest Incorporated can offer AEON more from without than from within. At the moment, at least." His head turned to look across the chamber at the assembled delegates. "Allow us to refine the services and further the infrastructure that will someday soon facilitate your efforts. As the number of" - a slight pause - "strategic assets that Conquest can provide increases, so too will the range of tools we have at our disposal to make the universe a safer, more stable place. Today I will respectfully decline to sign the AEON charter. Tomorrow, I will do something far better for those assembled here." His smile returned to its previous brilliance. "Trust us."

Oh, and the communist, right. Fanatical carpenter-worshippers and zombies CI and Helmut Brandt could deal with. Communists, they could not. Consequently, he responded to Mikoyan's newly upturned leaf quite succinctly.

"No."

OOC: I don’t really think there’s anything in Brandt’s personal assessment that could offend, but just in case, I reaffirm that his reservations are IC ones (except for the communist bit, of course), so no hard feelings.

In high orbit over the planet the IUCG ship came out of hyperspace. An immense ship of size and calibur as it was the newest ship in the Imperial Union. Then from its wide hangar bay a single shuttle with TIE Defender escort launched to the planet surface. As the shuttle hit the atmosphere the TIEs broke off and headed back to ship. The shuttle, a Scimitar class, headed for the landing zone where the constitution of the newly formed alliance known as AEON will be signed by the envoy to represent the government. The shuttle lands and the ramp slowly opens to the ground. Out comes two figures from the steam of the shuttle. The two figures were Admiral Pskov and his newly appointed Lieutenant, Torrel Ulgand. With no welcoming committee to greet them the Admiral and Torrel walked down the corridor to the chamber. There they saw what appears to be an arguement of some sort. They approached the constitution, read it, and read it again to understand the bylaws. Then the Admiral signed the document for the IUCG. As he was signing it, Torrel was wondering what in the hell was going on in the chamber? What was the argument about?




OOC: Well there signed the treaty now to mingle with the other members.

Tomorrow, I will do something far better for those assembled here." His smile returned to its previous brilliance. "Trust us."


Ipshi's expression did not outwardly change, but his curiousity was aroused. He listened carefully to Brandt's speech and slowly nodded when capitalism was mentioned as history. He mentally made a note to inform the VIS to make sure that they do a thorough background sweep on this Conquest Inc. when he went back to the capitol. He wondered what show this Brandt had in mind for tomorrow.

OOC: I couldn't remember if Brandt had introduced himself to the assemblage, and I'm far too lazy to scroll back through and see if he did. I will assume that he has done so, or that the names of individual delegates were announced or presented elsewhere. Also, my finals are.. finalized. Thankfully. Also, if this doesn't make sense, blame my lack of sleep.

IC: Wistron had sat in silence while Hagwonak, Brandt and Drazyen had discussed matters between them. His remaining eye had watched in interest when Drazyen had conjured the propaganda highlighting the signatories' military strengths, and he had chuckled when he recognized Magicum Imlatrius Tannenforn as the "Embrelion War Mage". Really, the man would pose for anything, for anyone. Wistron decided to include that in his official report, and wondered idily whether Tannenforn would go to feed the animafuge or would wake up with his soul bound to a stone at the bottom of the ocean.

When it seemed that the salesman from Conquest Inc. had said his fill and the splendid creature from Vrak had spoken, Wistron rose to his feet. "I hope- sincerely hope- that I may call you my friends." He waved his hand, and with it his flask, to encompass the sundry delegates. "Embrelion Mountain desires friends at this time, now, perhaps more than ever before.

"We are an old nation, though many of you have likely never heard of us before. That is because we are a nation of old men, old men that sit and waste away thinking of how things were in the old times. Men like my father, whom never saw the danger until it was in his bed slitting his throat. Men like my father whom had done nothing for their neighbors and so, when the time came that they needed allies, found that they had none."

Wistron approached the Vrak ambassador, raising his chin to stare at the walrus as near as into its eye as he could. "You have concerns about this alliance. So do I. I will address those concerns from within, and you have my word that I will not send Embrelion Mountain to war without good cause. I, and I believe Embrelion Mountain, would not ask you to betray another trust for this new, untested alliance. Do not betray the Klatchian coast, because if you did, *I* would not want you at my back. Do not fret over terms like 'oathbreaker', such words are... well, just words. Consult with your homeland, see how your people feel about this, and do what is best for Vrak. Either way, I hope that Embrelion Mountain and Vrak can find a way to cooperate."

"And for Conquest, Incorporated..." Wistron moved toward Brandt. "I think that your superiors need to speak with the Eurasian Bank in the southern region of Embrelion Mountain. I think that Embrelion Mountain can bring something to your nation that will help them greatly, and I know that there is a great deal that your nation can do for us. We would rather trade with you under the auspices of AEON, I can certainly see an economic benefit for you in a... preferential trade position. If you and your superiors do not see it as such, well..." Wistron shrugged expansively, "we will have to disagree on that matter. Personally, I would rather have you with us than not. That can be said of both of your nations.

"I would not worry about Yut. Embrelion Mountain has stood its entire history without conflict with a Yut nation. We oppose their ideas, but that opposition has never come to blows. However, if it should come to 'agressive negotiations', Embrelion Mountain will be there with sword in hand."
Wistron looked around him, coughed. He actually blushed and took a drink from his flask. "You'll have to pardon me if some of that did not make sense. I believe that was more words than I've said in the last six months. I am not... a trained orator."

Having said something that was completely unlike what he wanted to say, Wistron lapsed into a fretful near-silence, "Where's the damned whiskey," he muttered.

Official Announcement of the United States Senate, forty days later

While we support the general ideas of AEON, we are unable currently to assent to joining this alliance due to a variety of reasons. We are forced to inform you that the offer to join the United States of Allanea to the AEON alliance has failed the ratification process in the Senate, 46-40, with 4 Senators abstained from the vote.

However, this does not by any means mean that the United States of Allanea is closed to offers of alliance from individual members of AEON. Please call the Department of States at 1-800-1-8000-DOS-ALL for additional details of our Mutual Defense Pact arrangements.

Sincerely yours,
The United States Senate
and The People of Allanea

OOC: Telegram me with questions.

Admiral Pskov heard the alert on his datapad. It was a message from High Command.

To Admiral Pskov

Admiral you are to return to the Waterhelper Cluster ASAP. You have new orders that will be given to you upon arrival.

From Grand Admiral Ryurik
Supreme Commander of the Imperial Union Space Navy

Admiral Pskov turned to Lieutenant Torrel Ulgand.

"We are leaving."

"Sir?" Torrel asked.

"Urgent message from High Command. We are returning to New Siberia," Pskov answered.

Pskov excused himself from the delegates, including the Tannelornian delegate as he and Torrel left the chambers for the shuttle.