Xanthal
09-01-2007, 06:20
Security wouldn't let the Deep Eyes into the Alphin. The Sephrioth military's reputation for brash violence preceeds it, as does its penchant for placing individuals in command that are hasty to make threats and back them up over fairly trivial issues. They define fierce; armed with superior technology and a base disregard for the rights of friends and enemies alike. These traits make them ruthlessly effective in battle, but are rather undesirable for... less violent pursuits; so when the Xanthalian Triumvirate was told to expect the War Master for a diplomatic meeting with none other than Xanthal's own bulldog Yatzil Omsai, a great deal of concern passed between his two compatriots, concern they were quick to share.
The Sephrions have been trouble ever since they arrived, the War Master accompanied by a mystrious "Libarian." The paranoid, warlike Deep Eyes first had to be convinced to cut weapons power and drop shields, then guided on approach to Mirfak. Upon reaching the surface, KGB personnel wasted another half hour talking Hans and Lucius away from their arms and out of their armor. By that time, nobody was ready to let the muscle-bound duo into government square; so instead they were led to an administrative building near the edge of urban Jin Rin, where they were seated in a small, windowless conference room well attended to by guards.
They don’t spend more than a few minutes waiting. Yătzĭl Ąmsi enters the room with a red face and heavy breath. He’s hurried to get here; not having been told until the motorcade had left the spaceport of the alternate meeting site. He takes a seat opposite the Deep Eyes and grabs a glass of water from the tabletop. “wą postəp sĭl iə,” he says, recovering quickly. “zəke ŧeoi keb səs?”
The translator strapped to the Triumvir’s belt relays his words in English. “You made me late. Why are we meeting here?”
The Sephrions have been trouble ever since they arrived, the War Master accompanied by a mystrious "Libarian." The paranoid, warlike Deep Eyes first had to be convinced to cut weapons power and drop shields, then guided on approach to Mirfak. Upon reaching the surface, KGB personnel wasted another half hour talking Hans and Lucius away from their arms and out of their armor. By that time, nobody was ready to let the muscle-bound duo into government square; so instead they were led to an administrative building near the edge of urban Jin Rin, where they were seated in a small, windowless conference room well attended to by guards.
They don’t spend more than a few minutes waiting. Yătzĭl Ąmsi enters the room with a red face and heavy breath. He’s hurried to get here; not having been told until the motorcade had left the spaceport of the alternate meeting site. He takes a seat opposite the Deep Eyes and grabs a glass of water from the tabletop. “wą postəp sĭl iə,” he says, recovering quickly. “zəke ŧeoi keb səs?”
The translator strapped to the Triumvir’s belt relays his words in English. “You made me late. Why are we meeting here?”