NationStates Jolt Archive

King Alexander was getting on in his years, and the recent diplomatic crisis between the three powers of the New Alliance Treaty Organisation, Gholgoth Regional Alliance, and the Alliance for Preservation of Civilization had done nothing for his grey hairs nor his strong spirits supply. Looking out over Jesselton, the new capital of the country after London's suffering, the King realised that his country could not fight another war. He, nor his soon to be elected Government could ask the country to repeat the past. Yes, history does teach lessons. He thought to himself. It was late, and the city was dark - a lack of nightlife was what crippled the Questarian tourist industry, and the city was rather peaceful at this time. As he finished his last glass of brandy and said a short prayer, he climbed into bed and wondered what could be done...

Then it struck him.

The next day, the leaders of all countries who were memberstates of the three organisations were invited to Jesselton Palace to discuss the concept of a lasting peace between the three groups. As he wrote the letter, Alexander II thought not of the face he could and would lose, but the lives that could and should be saved from the horrors of another Great War.

[OOC: OK basically, if you accept, just rp your characters arriving in Questers and taking their seats in a conference room. No fancy requesting to land, just have them pretty much appear. We ought to get this started as soon as possible...]

New to the scene of global politics but having a personal stake in matters with their acceptance into NATO, the Holy Marsh sent Priest Arcady Liasin.
He arrived in Questers and made his way to the confrnece room. Sixty-five and weary of war and bloodshed, things that dictated the history of the Holy Marsh in almost all ways, he was the perfect person to send on the mission of peace. He had served as Colonel of the 16th Armored during the Ninth Crusade, and swore off the works of war and death soon after. A man of peace for a confrence where peace could be decided; the nation hoped they were in good hands.

The motorcade sped through the streets of downtown Jesselton from the airport, and unceremoniously made its way towards Jesselton Palace. Annadale leaned upon the rest on the door of the car; she sighed as she watched the streets speed by through the tinted window. The Primary Director and her staff rode in silence towards the Palace, a silence which was overlayed by somber tones of frustration and contempt for the current situation.

"Madame Director, we're coming upon the Palace now.", the Driver called back.
"Thank you, Charles.", Elizabeth replied. "Mary, grab my bag please. I'm sure I'll have at least twenty hands to shake when I arrive."
"Yes, ma'am.", replied her young aide. A woman of about twenty-four years old, she was youthful and full of life. Her dark eyes showed a passion for her work as she lifted the rather heavy parcel from the floor of the car and hoisted it to her shoulder.

The car came to a stop at the curb; the Cravanian flags mounted on the front of the hood ceasing their triumphant dance. The driver walked around to the passenger side back door and opened it, offering his hand to the Director. Almost instantaneously she was surrounded by her staffers and security detail who joined from the cars in front of and behind her's. As a group they walked towards the Palace entrance, exchanging formalities with the greeters and were directed to the conference room. Time was of the essence.

"Madame Director.", her young aide announced to grab the woman's attention. "Emperor Matthew will be attending this meeting as a guest of the Northfordian delegation. He's currently en route with Prime Minister Brookes."
"Excellent.", Annadale remarked as she turned a corner in the long and splendidly decorated hallway. "We could always use another level head in the room."

Fresh from the increasingly wearying negotiations in Kahanistan, Abram Vidann (http://i171.photobucket.com/albums/u308/TataliaLW/AV.png), the Imperial Minister of Foreign Affairs, was surprised to learn of a global leaders' conference being called in Jesselton, the new capital of the proud Questarian Empire. As the Emperor had put it, "I can't afford to send a war fleet out every two fucking months. We need to talk this over, because if nothing else, these fucking crises are getting repetitive."

And so here he was, taking a seat in the richly appointed conference room selected for the purpose of these delicate negotiations, eying his allies in the room: delegates from the powerful NATO leader Cravan and the NATO member Holy Marsh. He selected a cigar from a box that a servant brought him, had it cut and lit, and then simply waited, observing his surroundings, for more delegates and ultimately for the Questarian King's arrival.

OOC: I'm going to be in Italy for ten days starting tomorrow; the only reason I reply at all is because I hope at least something will get done tonight that I'll have a say in. When I vanish, don't be surprised.

General Brigand (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v335/Snow_Fall/Characters/mtrest.jpg) was a bit nervous. He didn't trust the Questers, but he knew that this meeting might be the only way to stop a world war. He had to be here, for NATO and for Gholgoth. Fighting face to face with APOC on the battlefield did sound great, but it could also be the end of many things he had come to hold sacred.

He took his seat in the meeting room, recognizing some NATO members already. For the good of Sigma Octavus' alliance and region, peace had to be reached.

Alexander (http://i221.photobucket.com/albums/dd172/Hoodtan/alexanderii/alex2.jpg) was rather late, but entered the room nonetheless in his typical formal attire. Despite the delay the catering staff had provided drinks and had attempted to make the guests at least somewhat comfortable. Removing his hat and coat and handing to a servant, Alexander opened the door almost right in Annadale's face.

"Madame Director." He said somewhat flustered, offering out a hand. "What a pleasure to see you here today."

Alexander wasn't to be there alone, and meanwhile, the diplomatic team headed by Lords Ellington and Harvey arrived in the main conference hall and sat down in their seats, re-checking their proposals for the last time before leaning back and waiting for the rest to appear...

If they were going to.

"Your Majesty.", Elizabeth (http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c381/crave22/5896_small.jpg) replied with a slight smile while accepting his hand. "Always a pleasure.", she said, an ever so slight tinge of skepticism in her voice while her demeanor remained friendly and cordial. "How have you been keeping?"

While she encountered the King of the Questarian Empire, Annadale's staff was hard at work preparing files and folders which flooded across the Cravanian delegation's desk. One figure sat off to the side of the diplomatic staff, obviously a member of the security, but he remained quiet and watchful of his surroundings. His counterparts were nearby, probably concerting their efforts with the Questarian security contingent at the Palace.

Annadale's primary aide, Mary Tellersfield, sighed deeply as she sat back in her chair. This was their one shot at a possibly lasting peace. The opportunity could not be blown.

Jesselton, Questers
Riding with the Fuhrer of Kampfers

Eric Richtoff's car shot down the moterway, dangerously weaving in and out of traffic. He flipped through a few pages of notes in the backseat, but in truth paid the words on the pages no due, choosing to rather mull the situation over in his head. The fact that the King of Questers had called the meeting himself was rather unsettling in and of itself. If Questaria Proper and all of her might was not prepared for a war with Gholgoth, than surely Kampfers was not. The Fuhrer dismissed that thought; however, as he knew that both Kampfers and Questers would be ready to answer to the call if it ever came. However, another thought came passing into his mind. For so long now, all Kampferian and allied military grand strategy had relied heavily upon Questarian assistance. If they could no longer count on that assistance, well, that just made this meeting all the more important. Despite this, not all signs were bad heading to the meeting. Word had reached the Fuhrer that the nations often arrayed opposite APOC were taking the meeting very seriously, which generally indicated that they realized the true strength of APOC despite the propaganda that their governments spewed. He hoped that they would be reasonable at the least. He had previously dealt with Aequatian and Cravanian leadership, and knew that they would at least listen to the proposed offer. He onlyhoped the others would follow their lead. Of course, as he continued to pursue peace, he could not overlook his own allies. Certain figures in allied governments, no matter how much Richtoff liked them, had a certain reputation for despising anything that was even related to Gholgoth.

As those thoughts flew through Richtoff's mind, he noticed the car begining to slow down. He looked out the window and noticed that they had arrived. He straightened his tie and examined his image in a car mirror. He would let on nothing of how he was feeling in this meeting, cold to both sides. It was better not to reveal his hand at the moment, and he still had a few tricks up his sleeve. As his chauffer opened the door, he ordered him to stay by the car. He would take no escort inside the building, a sign of good faith if you will. He rushed inside, recognizing a few faces, and not knowing others. He walked in, found his seat, and sat, hoping that the numerous open seats would be filled quickly. If someone approached him, he would gladly talk, but if not then he would sit in silence. The following disccusion would be crucial. For Kampfers. For APOC. For the world. A solution HAD to be discovered.

Conrad watched the road go by as the car moved along, slightly bothered by this whole ordeal. He watched as the Questarian palace came into view. He knew that he was about to meet with men he either had a good friendship with or had a deep hatred for, and he could feel in his gut that the meeting was going to suck. The limosine stopped and he stepped out of the car, straightening out his uniform. The front side door of the limosine opened, revealing the eccentric Minister of Foreign Affairs and Grand Admiral of the Zukariaan Armada, Pime Taradox, also Conrad's brother-in-law.

"Highness, where the hell is this thing?"

Conrad's eyebrow twitched,"Shut your trap or you'll embarass me."

"Ya whatever," Pime Taradox had already lost interest and was pulling a briefcase from the limosine,"This is the crap you wanted, right?"

"It isn't crap," Conrad grabbed the briefcase, full of documents, away from the clutches of Pime. He had no idea what the man would do given the chance,"Lets go."

The two walked side by side up to the palace, greeted whoever was waiting for them to arrive (if anyone) and continued off towards the conference room in ernest, but a certain Zukariaan Emperor couldn't help but wonder how he'd be able to stand staying in the same room as a Goth for any extended amount of time.

Lady Autocrat Kurumi Hamazaki (http://img246.imageshack.us/img246/7933/derleaderey5.png) and her entourage of aides and support staff representing the Tyrandisan delegation to the conference arrived late to the party. She hadn't slept at all on the flight to Questers, with the crisis in Akkida Prefecture still smoldering despite a promise of Doomani assistance in defeating the revolt. Her eyes were bloodshot from one too many glasses of whiskey in the air. They scanned the room; there were old acquaintances from Cravan, new faces from the junior members of NATO, and some regional blood-allies from Gholgoth. Her face narrowed into a hint of a frown as she passed over the representatives of the reformed APOC, an organization which she helped midwife into existence long ago.

Imperious and proud, the Tyrandisan government secretly desired nothing more than an end to the silent and indeed nonsensical hostility between the NATO/Gothic and APOC powerblocs. The rhetoric and bluster of the past few months had proven quite alarming on a personal level to the Lady Autocrat. Perhaps now was a chance to defuse the powder keg before it ignited into a war that would threaten the survival of mankind itself. Of a more important concern, Tyrandis simply could not afford to support wild foreign adventures. Its reserves of manpower were already stretched to the breaking point trying to suppress the New Glory Movement - and the fight was not going well. If armed conflict did break out, it was entirely plausible that the Militaristic Federation would disintegrate from the inside out.

OOC: Shitpost, but I'm short on time, sorry.

Deputy Foreign Minister for Haven Affairs Karvoni Schvenskoy arrived at the meeting place via flying pink hippo with magic rainbow pixie dust. He realized that a permanent peace would never be found, due to the massive egos of both AMF and Doomingsland, but a temporary one would serve everyone's interest, and Derscon was typically a fan of diplomacy over war.

He greeted all present at the table, and sat down in his allocated seat, waiting for the party to get started.

Jesselton, Questarian Empire


indentLord Consul Gordon Barkove (http://i151.photobucket.com/albums/s126/Alacea/fff.jpg) glanced drearily out of his limosuine's window. The foreign city was unusually dark and lifeless, he was used to a nonstop buzz in his native Lorica. The long flight from Alacea left his body exhausted, being unable to sleep and the fact he was halfway across the world in and entirely different time zone didn't help the situation, in addition to the fact that Lord Consuls tended to be overworked. Barkove nodded for the automobile's built-in expresso machine, indicating he wanted some of the energizing drink. His young aid handed him the glass, and the liquid dissapeared in a single gulp, and he went back to surveying the city. He was jolted to atteintion when the motorcade halted in front of the Questarian palace.

indentThe Consul allowed the chaffeur to get out and open his door before procceeding to scale the stairs at the front of the building. The man was so tired the rest of the voyage to the room was mostly a blur. A short time later he arrived at the conference itself. Filing in, he noticed the entire array of world leaders already assembled. Annadales of Cravan, Taradox of Zukariaa, Alexander of Questers, everyone was their. In the spirit of diplomacy he offered his hand to the Questarian King. "Pleased to meet you finally, your Majesty." He exchanged a few nods and greetings with his fellow statesmen on his walk down the table, before his party took a seat next to Annadale's.

President Arnold Fukada (http://cache.eb.com/eb/image?id=97319&rendTypeId=4) couldn't keep the butterflies in his stomach from fluttering around as the small 3-limo motorcade drove towards the Jesselton palace. The tiny country of 531 million was meeting with major world powers that most similar nations would only dream about, and fear-one mistake, and his nation could be snuffed instantly. As he downed his glass of whiskey, the limos halted in front of the palace. Muttering to himself, he followed the security detail into the conference room. Technically, he wasn't invited, but as Shansekia was a part of the Zukariaan empire, he could pass as an imperial official.

As he walked down the table, he found it best to keep himself inconspicuous. Finding an empty seat, he walked down, sitting with Lord Consul Gordon Barkove of Alacea to his right and the Zukariaan officials to his left. It seemed they would meet personally earlier than expected. Turning towards Emperor Conrad II, he smiled and said "Nice to meet you, my majesty," holding out his hand for a handshake.

Chris Watson Arrived on Scene, looking around for anyone of interest, and noticed that it was quite the motley gathering thus far, with diplomats of countries ranging from Monarchies to Libertarian Empires, to incredibly fucked up lands, oh, wait, wrong country, to Fascist States and Military Juntas. Every type of government Imaginable was going to be here. Watson Looked at his two aides/ body guards behind him, and went and took his place at the table, and he and his aides began getting to work, with each setting up a tablet laptop and began conversing in hushed Illiorian.

Like so many other of the delegations here, Watson's objective was to see what he could do to get the best for Illior, NATO and Gholgoth, and luckily for him, all three of those interests were perfectly in a line. Chris wasn't the usual diplomat, not having served any time in the foreign service, but he was a retired Sergeant Major from the Illiorian Armed Forces. His other main qualification was that he served as the go between for Erika Kars and Jessica Lantelme, the President of Illior and the Illiorian representative to NATO. Unluckily for him, both were incredibly busy so he was forced to rush his ass onto a plane, with a quick stop in Burning Bay for Fuel, and then continuing on to questers. He Didn't get the coziest of feelings from the room here, more of one he got sitting on a battlefield at night, when both sides were trying desperately to get a few tentative winks of sleep, but with the everpresent fear of the other side pulling a surprise attack in the middle of the night.

Watson was pulled back from his Reverie by a tap on the shoulder, and he went back to looking over the digital files, conversing again solely in Illiorian (which to any who hadn't been taught (AKA most of the world) it was indecipherable), waiting and preparing for the conference to begin.

To be quite honest, Maximus was begining to grow weary of these things the infidels referred to as "diplomacy" and "negotiations." After all, problems were solved far more effeciently through force of arms, and it was on that principle that he had brought the Imperium to a level of power previously unimagined by the Doomani people. Unlike his Questarian allies, Maximus had actualy profited immensely from the Four Day War, effectively gaining total control over the Straight of Doomanum at the cost of relatively few casualties. If anything the war had ended up helping the economy, not helping it. However, the stakes were far higher this time around: a war between APOC and NATO in Haven would result in the entire region being thrown into chaos.

However, Maximus was fairly certain that if APOC as a whole were fully commited, the alliance would eventually crush NATO in Haven as a whole through sheer weight of manpower, leaving Haven and Gholgoth unified in and of themselves and standing diametrically opposed. This of course would only lead to a war of even larger proportions, which was certainly something he kept in mind. Even if APOC prevailed in what was sure to be an extremely costly war it would only lead to carnage of an unimaginable magnitude later on, and nobody could predict the results of a full-scale Gothic-Havenic War. Such a thing would best be avoided in Caesar's mind, especially considering Doomanum's geographic location: it was the one nation directly between Haven and Gholgoth, a buffer of sorts, which would make it everyone's prime target in the event Gholgoth decided to invade Haven. Of course, there was the matter of the NATO-APOC situation at hand, and this had to be dealt with swiftly and decisively. Whether or not a peaceful solution could be achieved would be decided at this conference.

As he stepped out of his armored limo flanked by the Equites Augusta, he glanced ahead and sighted men and women he recognized: his cousin Conrad of Zukariaa, his ally the Lady Autocrat (to whom he'd pledged troops to help crush a revolt by cultists, Tyrandis was probably the last country Doomanum wanted to go to war with), his brother in law King Alexander, Fuhrer Richtoff (another APOC ally); and of course there just had to be a Kregaian there.

Fucking traitorous pagan scum, his eyes narrowed towards Vidann. The Kregaian betrayal of Doomanum was perhaps the largest source of Doomani resentment towards Gholgoth, and that was one event that just could not be undone.

This was going to be an interesting conference.

A limousine screeched through traffic, weaving in between various lanes and the shoulders. A huge flag painted on the side left no mystery as to the origin of the machine as it sped away from the airport, its transport plane idling on the tarmac. It's speedometer crept up far past the legal limit, but the driver continued on doggedly, somehow squeezing the vehicle into places it shouldn't fit.

Mile after mile, the vehicle continued its relentless struggle, a black streak against the steady lines of traffic. It finally swerved off the expressway and into city streets, barreling for the Palace. Finally, the blur condensed back into a vehicle in front of a security checkpoint, brakes screeching against the tremendous forces required to stop.

After several seconds, Atal Amner emerged from the driver's seat, stretching as he stood up. He flashed a brilliant smile at the befuddled guards and opened a door, helping a badly disheveled chauffeur into the driver's seat. Saluting the guards, he hopped into the vehicle, which slowly proceeded through the checkpoint. As soon as it cleared, several police cruisers pulled up, sirens blaring.

========================================

Within the car, Atal leaned back and put his arm around Kara, holding her close. "Ahh, that was WONDERFUL! I must've violated every traffic law in the nation! I haven't felt this good since.... ah, in months!" He glanced down at her, the one person who had stuck by his side after Violet.... well, that was all over now. No sense digging up old history. It was a new day, a day of peace and prosperity, a day of dialogue between two great factions, and Atal was ready to live it.

Imperial Minister of Foreign Affairs, Alec Pradeux, sat in his limousine, scanning over various scandocs of the situation. He was not originally scheduled to appear at this meeting, however, last minute changes to the Emperor's schedule, forced him to appear. Thinking to himself, he thought such a meeting was not needed, but the big wigs of APOC and NATO were heading on a one way collision course. The result, most likely, being war between the two powers.

He glanced over at the side window of the Limo, glancing at the various sights. This was brought to an end when the Limo arrived at Jesselton palace. Upon exiting the limousine, Alec adjusted his uniform and began his journey to the meeting area. Upon entering, he greeted his NATO allies, reaching to shake their hands one by one. He then sat down, waiting for the meeting to begin.

The Suprainister, Denteth Tolion (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v619/DK_Viceroy/Novacom/Novan%20Personell/Suprainister.png), had already entered, he and his entourage had made a distinctive entry, flanked by Partothene Cley (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v619/DK_Viceroy/Novacom/Novan%20Personell/PartotheneCley2.png), Izalien Jhanhus (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v619/DK_Viceroy/Novacom/Novan%20Personell/DefenceMinisterIzalienJhanhus.jpg) and Hugoro Sarestus noted members of the Council of Ministers, each wore their uniforms with pride, their Vzaaqke’s further enhanced their enigmatic standing, even as they were attened by several Xikarians, an almost mythical scholarly order from the noted city of Xikar. Denteth appeared on the whole unconcerned with the entire debacle, after all Novacom maintained strong relations with many Havenic states, and as such, any possible war would be considered a wasteful indulgence by several of his allies.

Indeed strong ties with the Doomani were as strong as ever, even though last operations with their allies had been at least a year prior, things had changed quite radically within the military, causing minor ructions with issues of co-operation, though this mad mainly been on the Doomani end, as several Consuls had jokingly suggested purchasing Doomani equipment opposed to the typical homegrown equivalent, Denteth smirked, apparently unburdened by the weight of leadership, but then, who could know the mind of a Novan, and how the myriad of the mundane affected them, indeed, Denteth appeared quite at home here, but then, he was by now used to such pomp, even if it were unlike the Novans, with their more Epicurean tastes.

The call to conference, had been received in the midst of a rally, but then the Novans were known for their almost supernatural level of patriotism, and as such it would be hard to distinguish, where one ended and another began, of course, assembling several members of the Council of Ministers had not been hard, though persuading Valcus to go to another summit, rather than this one had been an amusing exercise, the thought caused Denteth’s smile to widen, and indeed, if he had designed to mention it, several other representative’s from other nations would recognise the reasons. Valcus Torrodell, had a noted history, of sending a pair of Doomani commanders to the infirmary after daring to label him a politician, the issue had of course, been glossed over, with the man getting several slaps on the back by other members of their military, of course the resulting shouting match when he had returned, well that in itself had been interesting, suffice it to say, many present, had in some form had an altercation with the “battleaxe” of the Novan Diplomacy service.

Kara had only feared for her life on a few occasions since leaving the military, this happened to be one of those occasions. She silently thanked god for helping her remember the deep breathing techniques the military taught her in order to keep stress low. She also thanked got that she had packed her harisen, otherwise the poor old driver would have passed out without her fanning to soothe him.

Then she heard the screech of brakes and the g-forces from the deceleration. The seat belt narrowly prevented her from getting a face full of chair back as the car skidded to a halt. Between Atal picking up the driver and setting him down in the driver's seat Kara had just enough time to fan herself and regain a 'normal' heartbeat [although nothing belonging to Atal is normal]. It was comforting to Kara to have Atal's arm around her again, even it if only meant he wasn't driving, she quickly nested her head onto his shoulder, he was just tall enough so that she could comfortably rest her head there. She did however raise an eye at Atal's comment.

"Better then our honeymoon? I find that hard to believe, we didn't leave the bedroom for two days straight, and even then it was because we need more protection." She said with a slight pout and puppy eyes. She knew Atal would be sputtering to come up with a response, he was so easy to fluster.

There was, naturally, an Allanean representative. It was not Alexander Kazansky himself – not because Kazansky wished to offend anybody by his absence, but because he chose to send a person who knew the field of diplomacy better than himself. It was, in this case, Maverick Monningham, the Allanean Secretary of State – an exceedingly polite man. Where Kazansky's vision of diplomacy was usually to break things and hurt people – or invite them to grand-scale orgies – Maverick was more subtle.

It'd difficult not to be more subtle than Kazansky, of course – which is why Monningham was sent.

The King of Cotland sat in the black luxury limousine provided by the Cottish Embassy in Jesselton, flipping through a few documents as the limo was quickly making its way to the Questerian palace where the talks were taking place. It would be the first Cottish participation in a major international conference as one of the parties, notably that on the side of APOC, and the King was rather nervous. Not the least bit because the stakes involved. If an arrangement couldn't be found in this conference, it seemed that war would be ever more likely, for reasons which eluded the King's memory at present. Perhaps joining APOC had been a bad idea after all, like some of his advisors had insisted on?

After the seven-vehicle motorcade (including two limousines in order to confuse any potential assassin) rolled up in front of Jesselton Palace and the few bodyguards had been given a few seconds to make sure the area was clear of any potential assassins - the Cottish had the utmost of confidence in the Questerian security arrangements - one of the bodyguards opened the door and allowed the King (http://i271.photobucket.com/albums/jj146/Eeobroht/Kongen.jpg) to disembark the vehicle.

After making his way into the Palace and through the various rooms and corridors on the way to the conference room, the King finally entered the conference room and found that a rather substantial host of people had already arrived. The King recognized some, such as Eric Richtoff, Caesar Maximus, and of course King Alexander himself, but the identities of the majority of the remainder remained a mystery to him until a helpful aide discreetly whispered the names of the various people to him as they were encountered.

It didn't take the Council of Clans an inordinate amount of time after hearing of the invitation to decide that sending their Grand Clan Leader, or even a minor Clan Leader, into the maw of the dishonoured ones was a poor idea at best. As a member of the "Terrible Trio", as Klarr Viletooth was fond of referring to the core membership of APOC (much to his own amusement, if nobody else's), Questers may have been considered to be 'neutral' so far as the Charr were concerned, but they had been officially granted 'dishonourable' status due to their various acts of dishonour in the past. It didn't exactly require a particularly highly sensitive nose to smell trouble and deceit on the horizon.

And Charr had great noses.

And so it was that Fissk Longhorn found himself stepping out into the cold, stale air of Jesselton to serve the Council of Clans as a 'representative' at these proceedings. Charr had no 'diplomats' as such, detesting politics and preferring to generally ignore the outside world as much as possible, but Longhorn was well-versed in the CoC's position on the situation and had been instructed in a variety of responses to give on various subjects. His real purpose, however, was to serve as an intermediary without putting any of the Clan Leaders at risk of whatever manner of deception the Questarian leadership had planned for this conference.

A Flamebearer, a soldier of Guardian rank temporarily honoured with the duties of a Flamekeeper for the duration of their visit, immediately set about placing a small firestone statue of a Fire God on the nearest patch of true ground that he could, and set it alight. The aim of course being to ensure that these vile lands had the blessings of the Gods, if even they were capable of such a terrific feat. Longhorn immediately proceeded inside alone, wearing little but his animal skin loincloth to cover him. One of his jagged horns had been snapped off at the top fairly recently, it would seem, and some manner of burn mark mottled his fur on the right-hand side of his chest. Hardly formal dress for such an occasion.

Longhorn immediately detested this place. It was cold, sterile, without any manner of soul about it. Already he missed his ancestral homelands, and quickly grew to realise the reason why so few Charr ever left Tyria, but he was doing a duty to his people and dismissed the notion of turning back for home. He made his way to the conference room at a brisk pace, and immediately grabbed the first armless chair he could find, swinging it below his legs and perching his significant frame upon it. He spoke with nobody, recognised even fewer, and had no particular desire or intention to do either. A human translator, a short fellow wearing a suave, earthy-brown suit, jogged to keep up with him and took up a standing position directly behind the Charr, ready to translate for him.

(OOC: Apologies for the short and crappy post... at work!)

The dark crimson and white livery of the Aequatian President's VP-191F aircraft "Eagle One" came in on a landing at the airport outside Jesselton as Reid looked outside the cabin's window at the city in the distance. Fatigue and jet lag had begun to set in on the leader, although the flight had been a short one from Aiur in Zukariaa, Reid had been flying non-stop around Haven meeting with leaders and signing historic treaties.

There was no fanfare or ceremonial greeting when the Aequatian leader stepped off the plane with his bodyguard and made their way to the waiting armoured vehicles unloaded from the accompanying C-181A Starlifter II transport. In a short matter of time they had made their way through the downtown core of the Questarian capital and arrived at their destination. Reid quickly swallowed a pair of Q-AID brand anti-inflammatory pills without water before exiting the car and entering the building where the conference was to be held.

Reid was led into the room by one of the Questarian stewards and his personal guard, he examined the room and took note of his allied counterparts from both Gholgoth and NATO along with those of the opposite bloc in APOC. His head was still aching and his composition weakened by the Diphenhydramine hydrochloride in the sleeping pills taken on the flight from Zukariaa. The president took his seat and greeted his Cravanian counterpart next to him, "Hello, Elizabeth, I hope you have been well since we last spoke," He said as the meeting was still getting underway as others arrived and were seated.

Freshly crowned Emperor Nikolai II idly rolled a cigarette as his eyes scanned the pages of notes an advisor had handed him before he got into the limousine. He closed the folder and sighed. He had had little faith in diplomacy, after seeing the terrible things compromise had done to his father, Kazatmiru's Generia. In Nikolai's mind, the only way for this friction between Gholgoth and the APOC pretenders to disappear was through legitimate warfare. Bad blood had to be ironed out. It was the simplest solution.

Lighting his cigarette, he put away his notes and sat back. He was exhausted from the flight and the many sleepless nights spent back in Generia, cleaning up the details of government neglected in his father's last year. He even regretted his previous insistance to his advisors on attending the conference personally, but in the end he still figured it best to make his face known to the leaders of the nations Generia continued to share the world stage with. He was also personally very interested in meeting Emperor Maximus of Doomingsland, a close cousin of his, though one who he had never met since the falling out between the Orthodox and the Catholic Empires. With the lines between church and state dimming in Generia, perhaps the two would have something to talk about.

The limousine halted before the palace, and the Emperor allowed his security detail of two Imperial White Guardsmen to lead him into the meeting room.

King William VII arrived via Sabre space plane to Jessleton International Airport, whisked through the traffic by vehicles from the Clandonian Embassy, arriving at the palace he had seen the Charrian counsel arrive. Giving a disgusted look as they burnt some effigy outside on the grass.

'Barbarian savages' thought the King along with the other Clandonian diplomats as they walked past the creature.

Seeing the various leaders, the Cottish King, the Doomani Emperor Maximus and various other Havenic friends and neighbours along with King Alexander II, one of his closest allies. Already tensions were high, the Allaneans were being aggressive on the border with Cotland and there were calls to deploy the Clandonian Expeditionary Force to defend Cottish positions.

[OOC: Anyone else arriving can fluid time themselves back to the start. BEtter start this now :P]

As the assembled delegates were hushed, Alexander stood. Although it was a semi-circle, there was nobody in the centre apart from an announcer and a security team and, of course, the media. The announcer would say very little except from who is standing, which had been pre-arranged. Itineraries had been given out which told that the days plans was that Alexander II would speak with his ideas, which would be discussed, then the next nation would represent an idea, which would then be discussed. The first day would be about deciding which issues to carry on with to the next day, until they were hopefully thinned down to an agreement that (almost) everybody benefited from. The announcer coughed, and into the microphone began speaking in his best Queens English. "Welcome, honoured assembled delegates. I presume you are all familiar with todays itinerary, and so I am proud to announce the first speaker of the day - His Majesty King Alexander II of the Questarian Empire."

Alexander stood and after whatever clapping (or booing...) had died down, began his speech. He was a good orator if nothing else, and was able to look directly every national leader in the room in the eye at least once during the speech.

"I have invited you all here today to achieve something. An achievement that would be the first in the history of mankind. Never before have nations as influential as the ones being presented here today gathered in such a manner. I understand that there are deep rooted dislikes between many of you, but I request that you set aside your difference for a common cause that every man in the world who does not lie ignorant in his shielded prosperity wishes for. This common cause gentlemen, and women, is peace. Peace in our time. Peace at all cost. What need is there for the fellow man of each of our countries to slaughter his peers on the battlefield? What does with the Questarian docker hold against the Freek factory worker? Or the Doomani oilpumpman? Our nations can prosper together, our people can grow wealthy and live long lives of prosperity and peace, but only we, their leaders, can make this new world concept a reality and not just a pipe dream of a graying old man. It will require sacrifice; it will require surrendering face to strive for a better world not for our national and personal egos, but for all the people of all our countries. This is a task more patriotic than raising a flag above another nation, or committing thousands to their deaths. It is a task that will ensure decades of stability and prosperity."

"Obviously this task is not an easy one. It will grow from humble beginnings to great things, should you accept it. Neither will it be entirely Questarian, for I am sure that those of you interested in a lasting peace will formulate and agree upon ideas of your own. If you are here for a mere formality and have no interest in such a prospect, it is in your best interests to leave. I invited you all here today to build a better future for our people. Given the circumstances, it would not be surprising if any of you assembled consider me a hypocrit. You should know now that I have changed my ways, I have reconsidered the true path that a national leader ought to take. Three miles down the road - some of you may have passed it - is the Commonwealth War Memorial. There the names of hundreds of thousands of war dead that fell fighting for their country are engraved, and some buried. Throughout my country, there are four days of the year when people feel their worst. They remember their personal loss, their collective loss, a loss of husbands and wives; of daughters and sons and of fathers and mothers who needn't have died. If that war taught myself anything, it is that such suffering must never be seen again, and I will strive to make that so. I pledge, from this day onwards, that the Questarian Empire will never again fight an offensive war. However, I pledge my commitments to APOC, and I pledge my commitments to my people that if we are attacked, we will defend ourselves."

"Therefore, the first thing I propose is a Non Aggression Pact between our three groups. It is true that an N.A.P is but a piece of paper; but even the most epic of novels being life as nothing more than that. Thank you."

Alicia Knight was an Imperial diplomat from the mainland city of Shelby. In many ways Shelby was a city that wouldn't be out of place in Questers, in fact Alicia's upper class accent (plus her private school education and rich family) would have placed her as the social equal of any such person native to Questers. Except for one small problem, her dark mahogany skin marked her as a pariah in Questers. By and large the idea that not only would a majority of people in a nation give a damn what somebody's skin color was (a completely foreign concept in the Imperium), but that the government would see fit to run an active campaign of discrimination against those people, made her nervous in a way she had never been before. It honestly made her question just how dedicated to civilization the Questarians really were. However, she was a professional and determined to see this conference to a successful conclusion.

As her car pulled up she noticed the burning effigy and grimaced. The idea of anyone practicing their religion did not bother her, there were enough religions in the Imperium who practiced ritual burning of their dead that the concept wasn't entirely unfamiliar. No, what bothered her was that the effigy meant that the Charrians were present and their overdeveloped sense of honor would make things more... difficult than normal. Which, considering that the effigy or anything remotely "distasteful" (read: outside of their norms) would have the hackles of the diplomats from Clandonia and Praetonia up in a heartbeat, was saying something. As the car stopped and the chauffeur allowed her to exit, she absentmindedly thanked him while scanning for anybody she recognized. She didn't see anybody dallying, which wasn't surprising given the sudden nature of the proposal. Hurrying inside herself, Alicia was pointed to the hall where the meeting was to take place and upon entering quickly found a seat. Scanning the room Alicia found her eyebrows raising significantly, a Doomie delegation was present, which would make things more interesting (in the Chinese sense of the word) than they had already promised to be.

Watson and his aides sat there, quite shocked for a few moments, as they hadn't expected this, at all. They began conversing in hushed tones, talking quickly and their voices overshadowed by the clacking of keys as they got into contact with their own nation, using encrypted satellite uplinks to ensure that no one else got wind of what was going on. Watson, unlike his aides, wasn't typing away, he sat thinking, and the military man in him took over for a moment: What are they playing for? Are they trying to lull us into a false sense of security? This isn't something that the rest would offer us so easily, especially after months and months of propaganda and posturing and rhetoric that have divided us and just deepened our distrust and even our hate for one another... Has this man really changed as much as he said he has? Has the Questarian government moved back to its Pre-APOC days in terms of sensibility when it was friends, if not allied to many of the nations sitting on our side of the table? He sat there thinking, and then finally decided to speak his mind, and stood up.

"Before I go on, I'd first like to thank His Majesty for being so willing to host this conference, especially because of the courage that it takes to invite one's "enemy's", so to say, to the table to talk face to face," He said, facing Alexander, then he turned back to the rest of the group, "And I'd like to thank the rest of you for coming as well, especially my fellow NATO members and Gholgothians, willing to travel to a land that many of us could consider so hostile that you could have easily turned this down for fear of your lives or a trap, but instead stepped past that and came.

"But I digress in my praise, first and foremost, my name is Christopher James Watson, and I must offer my Lady's apologies that she could not be here today with all of you, but, ah, internal matters took precedence after Illior's steward during her absence made some rather, shall we say, unfortunate choices and she is now having to deal with the consequences of his actions. Anyways, I know I may be unfamiliar to you all, but please do not underestimate what I have to say, as I do have m'Lady's ear and confidence, so what I agree to will be done.

"With that said, I must first address His Majesty's proposal, one, which I think shocked many of us, well, at least me. I was fortunate enough to not have to fight during The Four Days of Hell, or even be deployed, but I was witness enough to the aftereffects, having toured the ruins on the Carpanthian-Northfordian border, and seeing what the riots on Burning Bay and Northland caused, none of which, will hopefully ever happen again. But before I continue, I feel the need to voice my discomfort with the said Non-Aggression Pact proposed by His Majesty. Firstly, I must say that I was doubtful that there would be any chance that this pact would be kept, especially due to our previous actions, especially with all the previous Rhetoric, posturing, propaganda and slanders that we've thrown at one another, as that created such an enmity and distrust between us, that it seemed it would never be dissipated. I also felt that this could be just some sort of scheme to draw my fellow NATO members and Gholgothians into a false sense of security, allowing APOC forces to spring on us while we were looking the other way," Watson chuckles, "And there's that distrust that I speak of, it even permeates me and my oh so logical mind.

"But even with all of my doubts, I feel compelled to put those aside, as many of our nations have worked together in the past, and for the sake of millions if not billions of lives, we must do so again. I need not provide examples of many of our cooperations before APOC ever existed, but I do hope that we can reach some sort of cooperation now, and put our differences behind us. with that in mind, I now speak as solely a Citizen of Illior when I say that I truly thank you sir for being brave enough and possibly having to face the scorn of your allies by proposing this, and hopefully I can make the same gesture. On behalf of The Centrist Demonarchy of Illior, I say that Illior would accept any sort of agreement between any APOC nations and my government, even if it is a one on one basis and not done by the alliances as wholes.

"I hope I set some sort of precedence here of leaving the past where it should be: in the past, and working together for a better future of all our peoples. Finally, I leave the rest of you with a charge: step up to the plate, do what is right, put your pride aside for once, and work for the betterment of us all. Please, follow the examples of good faith that His Majesty and myself have offered, and agree to the pact, even if it is a piece of paper, as symbols can become infinitely more powerful than any of ourselves would ever even dream of.

Thank you," He finished and sat down.

Brookes and Cravan raced down one of the busiest streets in Jesselton. They were running late, simply by virtue of the fact that not only had he just secured a seperate diplomatic agreement with the Cravanians regarding colonisation in South West Haven, but also due to the fact he had just undergone a full medical with a 'crack' team of Cravanian Doctors. All was well, except for one of the cells in his battery pack was faulty.

Racing off the plane, Brookes and Craven had the luxury of using a private 3 seater VTOL to spirit them to the conference, at just under the speed of sound. He did not like flying, and in his present health condition, doing so was no strictly advised, but he had been in the plane in question many times and had recently had it modified for his health needs.

They slipped quietly in at the rear of the building, with Craven helping the solitary guardsman lift Brookes electrified wheelchair over a rather large step. It would be another half an hour before their body guards and personal security detachment, so they were accompanied by a covert member of the Northfordian Security Services around the building to the theater. Craven and Brookes entered at the top of the conference room hastily finding a couple of empty seats. They could see there were places reserved for them, but the rest of the Northfordian Delegation were blocking their route. For the first session, it seemed, they would be 'away from the action'. It also meant, perhaps to their advantage, that they would be able to talk relatively loudly, and freely, since the microphones where they were sitting were not switched on. More personally perhaps, there was another plus side for Brookes, sitting at the back, he did not need to switch his artificial ventilators to "Silent", meaning he would not need to recharge his ventilators batteries as soon. Also, he learnt in recent months, a lot of countries viewed a nation whose leader struggled to walk more than a few paces unaided with... distrust... and the sight of a skin-grafted 'backpack' attached to his suit did little to his style. While, of course, his clothes were excellently tailored, there was little that could be done to his the 'angles' in his clothing.

Taking a sip of water, Brookes fidgeted in the seat. He could not stay in his wheelchair due to fire risk, and, unlike the one reserved, this particular one had not been modified for his box-shaped chest.

Glancing over to Craven, he thought he'd throw the basic 'plan' out there, since after landing in Jesselton international off their high speed flight, he had little chance to converse.

"Well, we're here", Brookes said rather stating the obvious, "... in case you needed briefing here, our delegations plan is to stay close to the Questarian official line, except where they might interfere with our plans in Southford. Given the amount of bollocks I've been through in the last 24 hours for that land, world peace can take second stage for a change."

"You damned Northfordians. Always thinking on the smaller scale.", Craven chuckled quietly.

Brookes smiled, "Oh, but of course," he said smiling, "life wouldn't be so interesting if always looked at the big picture."

They both stopped momentarily as applause broke out for the Questarian King finishing his speech. Unlike everyone else in the room, including Craven, Brookes did not clap.

"Well that was another chalky number from Ol- Alexander there, wasn't it?" he mused to himself, glancing over the various delegates until his eye settled on the Cravanian delegation headed by Annadale.

"What'd you think Elizabeth's take on all this is going to be?" he asked honestly, knowing that the Ex-Monach was far enough 'out of the loop' he could give his friend a relatively honestly answer.

"I don't know much of the situation right now, but for NATO and Gholgoth to come to the table like this it must be bad. I've a feeling Elizabeth will attempt to go for the NAP for the sake of maintaining peace and preserving NATO and, more importantly to her, the Cravanian people. She's a sweet gal, but she'll fight for this. She's tough when it comes to what she wants."

"That could get her eaten by the hawks here, Matt," Brookes said worryingly. "I know we've made a few promises today, but I think I ought to let her know I'm not going to specifically object to her posturing around Northfordian interests, if it strengthens her position in the NATO discussions."

They both watched another minder speak to the crowd, addressing them as to the protocol for further speeches.

"Actually" Brookes said, with a slight pause, "what do you think the chances of me being able to secure a meeting with her? Me, Her, You, and whoever else she thinks might be worth having in a room? I've spoke to Koslin and his buddies one to one today, no harm in doing that sort of thing again?"

Brookes's eyes flickered towards the next speaker starting as he waited for a reply.

"Chances would be pretty good I would think. Northford's among her primary concerns considering past relations." said Craven.

"mmm", muttered Brookes to himself. "Well, I'll approach her in the recess, see if I have any luck."

Turning his body fully towards the latest speaker, he decided to draw the conversation to a close. He suspected, quite correctly, the tone of the Questarian message, however knew little of the Gothic/NATO reply, the delivery of which, he would need his full concentration for.

"Looks like this is it..." he said, withdrawing a small pot of Minstrals*, taking a couple and offering the Cravanian one.

*Small chocolate confectionery eaten in the UK

Karvoni Schvenskoy watched the hollow exchanges with disinterest. He put on an excellent façade to at least seem like he was paying attention, however. Karvoni would pay more attention when actual substance was discussed, rather than the words being thrown back and forth.

Karvoni naturally sat next to Maverick Monningham, as of all present, only Sigma Octavus matched the Dersconi commitment to Allanea, and remained friendly enough that the heads of state were on first name bases, regularly sharing drinks together. He thought about leaning over and commenting, but doing that at the beginning would be in bad taste, so decided against it.

He chose not to speak just yet, as his instructions were mostly to observe and push the Tsarist agenda. For now, he would stay quiet.

“I must interject upon the proceedings here,”

Denteth’s Tunic swept around his as he rose, his garb, only marginally different to that of his governmental colleagues his right arm held behind his back, pressing against his belt, while his left simply stayed motionless, his body angled slightly, to his face as he appraised the other leaders, his clear blue eyes sweeping across, piercing and reading each in turn, his expression was unknowable, and typically Novan, a hidden emotion glimmered behind his eyes, his Vzaaqke perched upon his fair hair, which betrayed not a sign of worry, not a day of age, his face was a mask of determination yet seemed genuinely unconcerned by what should have been worrying issues, as if in possession of knowledge of immense reassurance, or perhaps something else as he paused for another moment before continuing.

“and state that such an act is far from easy, considering the propaganda that spews daily from several noted news outlets about the, and I quote, “The Big Bag Evil Gholgoth” and the “Clear and Present Danger” that we apparently pose, I must seriously enquire as to how such a pact could be presented to the populace’s of such nations, where the governmental mouthpiece has repeatedly placed itself at odds with our region, and has attempted to put forth the farce that NATO is a Gholgoth puppet, as a result, although the political will may be there, how can we rely, on a citizenry so indoctrinated, to vote for their present government, and not one whose ideals fit the propaganda, and as such will renege on such a pact with all possible expedience."

Izalien and Hugoro smiled cryptically at either side of Denteth, while Partothene went so far as to smirk knowingly, behind his many curled beard, lending his head a similar aspect of that of an octopi cast in silver, and looked exceedingly grand in his Vzaaqke, indeed all of the Novans wore some sort of headwear, the soldiers wore their typically contradictory combat helmets, with attendant ceremonial trim, while the ministers naturally wore their Vzaaqke, while the Xikarians, bore strange sweeping twirling helms, incorporating several strange shimmering crystals, in which some strange apparition appeared to twirl and dance, everywhere was the Novan Icon of state prominent, in every aspect they fitted their stereotype, and at the same time shattered it.

“Despite ascertains to the contrary, Gholgoth by in large does not have such an expansive propaganda organ, and while I cannot vouch for the rest of my colleagues, I can vouch for Novacom itself, the reformation with APOC was viewed with more humour than anything else, and the fact that the membership hadn’t banded again under the umbrella of friendship already was, admittedly perplexing in Novesia, and frankly it changes little in the way of the dynamic, except to whom any communiqués regarding this long established bloc are addressed”

It had been said matter of fact-ly, there was no bias there, and it was evident, close allies of the Novans would know this better than others, and frankness, among other things were a Novan hallmark, the expression hinted at yet more intent, yet this may have been a side-effect of Denteth’s Native Tongue, it had long been theorised by linguists that Novan was among other things, many many other things, an emotive language, in which the very emotion with which something was spoken influenced the meaning, it was for this reason, that the Novans little indulged in political subterfuge, and in many cases treachery was not in the cultural identity. Denteth paused before starting again, his head tilting gently, his expression one of immense confidence, had changed little, if at all.

“Trentzar Partnieinai Voritanza, Quzieuoenugiieul Trenghziziziik Xiktovien”

“Vaitenar Jaizikrelliozar Voezeouekyeuon, Parelviantor Vijukariitokrellzan”


Those words, that Novan phrase slipped from his lips, smooth despite it’s nigh impossible pronunciation for the uninitiated, echoed throughout the hall for a moment, filling the listeners with a tapestry of feelings, to say the least, listening to Novan by a native speaker, was a rarity, and the language was such a compelling thing to most and before Denteth continued on, he paused for a moment, blinking only once.

“Steep a mind in hatred, and Hatred is all it shall know.”

“To End Conflict, You Must Conflict its causes.”

The words sounded flat, almost broken in comparison to the Novan, in comparison to English, it had been mentioned, as to compare the epics of Tenvaylyen, an ancient Novan writer of similar renown to Homer, Virgil or Shakespeare, to the incessant ravings of some lunatic, the Novan language was such a strong and emotive thing, a towering oak compared to the newborn sapling that was English

“Both are sayings we Novans have, however naturally, they loose much in translation. However, both are over seven thousand years old, but two of many sayings of Voronzel Jindrax, who was in a similar situation to that in which we now stand, the only way we can break this vicious cycle of conflict, is to combat the actual causes of the conflict, and to undermine the effects that perpetuate these causes, it is for this reason that I would propose at least, that all press agencies of the signatories, have it impressed upon them, to be more mindful of the effects of their mindless propaganda and hate mongering, while at best, I would advise a gagging order, on the more excessive of these ridiculous stories, there will be some who argue that, that goes against freedom of speech and free market, but I instead say this, there is no freedom of speech for those who would be killed in an ensuing war, and there is no profit to be made from those long dead or war, it is in all our national interests to prevent a conflict, that above all else should be remembered. This among other things, must be considered, as this is but one of the causes of these repeated clashes, and it is the many causes of this, that we must tackle, if we are to attain peace enduring, in these times.”

He levered himself back upon into his seat, the Gold Skull Enforcer guards lurking behind him, and the pair of Xikarians, with their staves tipped in stylised spiralled Novan arrows, the full weight, and almost oppressive weight of Novan history seemed to rest on their shoulders, if it were not for the uniform and the head gear, all bar Denteth would look the same, for all exuded immense pride in their history, and confidence in their future, and respect for their leader.

Striding through the doors of the meeting room was a man many would not have expected. General Omar Pace himself. The Crimm leader paused and surveyed the room as they surveyed him. And what a sight it was, with the great coat two centuries out of style, no shirt, BDU style trousers and combat boots. To top off the bizarre combo was that one of his eyes had black grease paint around it, making it resemble the Eye of Ra.

He made a low noise and walked slowly around the group to sit beside the Charr. He listened to the opening speech and sighed. "I am General Omar Pace, leader of Crimmond and the Brotherhood of Nod. This meeting is already proving a waste of my precious time. You want a non-aggression pact to prevent a war that Gholgoth is not even provoking? Why should we not respond to blatant threats to our alliance? If we formed some alliance and stated the reason was 'to counter the threat of APOC', APOC would be fully justified in telling us to stop causing trouble. That is why I am here... Alexander, if you don't want a war... don't fucking threaten one! There will be no war if you troop of warmongering fools would just leave Gholgoth alone. I defy you to find one instance in recent memory where Gholgoth was the agressor... before APOC began rattling sabers."

http://img50.imageshack.us/img50/1787/raven46apm6.jpg
General Omar Pace

"The vulgar language and dress just used by a so called 'nation' is testament to the barbarity of their practice of statehood. The Crown feels threatened with the ever encroaching threat of Gholgoth forces into Haven, now Clandonian cities are in range and our colonial assets are endangered. APOC is not a warmonger, it was formed to counter the threat of NATO and Gholgoth because of the past actions of the tyrannical regimes. Every time a bomber lands or a ship takes off from Gholgoth colonies in Haven then Clandonia and our allies is threatened, I take it the same levels of colonisation would not be allowed in the Gholgoth region?"

The King then directly looked at General Omar Pace in the eye.

"Your presence here is testament again, here we are in Jessleton surrounded by Kings and democratically elected liberal thinking leaders, sending a general to a diplomatic conference is a sign of the militarism that your country likes to project out into the wider international community."

"Good afternoon, Holden.", Elizabeth replied with a glint of white teeth showing. "I have been well, I trust the same for you?"

"I have invited you all here today to achieve something. An achievement..."

Before the Aequatian President could answer, however, Alexander gave his opening statement. Throughout the duration of the speech Elizabeth's eyes darted around the room, taking in the individual reactions of many of the leaders to the Questarian King's words. During the opening she heard a door towards the back of the room open, and turning slightly could see Prime Minister Brookes slip in out of the corner of her eye. Following close behind was His Imperial Majesty himself, Matthew of Cravan, the now retired Emperor of the Eastern Havenic Empire. She smirked, knowing Brookes was usually more punctual.

"- Therefore, the first thing I propose is a Non Aggression Pact between our three groups. It is true that an N.A.P is but a piece of paper; but even the most epic of novels being life as nothing more than that. Thank you."

As the King concluded his speech, Elizabeth politely applauded him. The proceedings then began in full, with representatives from Illior, Novacom, Crimmond, and most recently Clandonia Prime making statements or debating during the proceedings. She smiled to herself as the Clandonian King, whom she had thought would better be titled as a Prince or Duke considering Clandonia's position in the RGL, made his venom filled remarks towards General Pace.

"He's an arrogant son of a bitch considering he's the King of Clandonia.", Annadale remarked quietly to President Reid. "I mean honestly. To call out General Pace like that. That's either courage or stupidity. I lean towards the latter."

Omar stood slowly and smirked. "Haven allowed open colonization. We did not. Why? Because we wanted to avoid this very mess. Another alliance moves in... an alliance that is strong and is militaristic. One that poses an interestingly powerful opposing side inside their home territory. Why Haven was so ignorant to think such a setup wouldn't cause problems is beyond me. In my view, they deserve the mess they are in, because of shortsightedness. I still insist that Gholgoth and NATO are not the aggressors here... everything was moving along fine, until we were provoked."

He eyed the King. "Actually, I am an elected leader. The people voted in the Senators, who in turn voted in myself as leader. One-hundred percent democratically elected. That I was also voted in as a permanent military leader and elections were subsequently deemed unneeded is a matter best taken up with the Imperial Senate, not me. And while most nations send a diplomat to speak on behalf of a leader, I came personally to speak on behalf of an Empire... as you did, King." Said with just the barest trace of sarcasm.

Slowly, Pace sat. "Now, why don't you people get to the point and start laying out the terms of any pact or, better yet, cite examples of why this meeting is necessary."

The Imperial diplomat cut in right after General Pace's rebuttal and looked directly at the Clandonian King, "You are out of line, Sire. This is a diplomatic conference with the declared intent to write out a document for lasting peace between all parties in Haven. Frankly your tone and rhetoric are entirely unhelpful and not a little hypocritical considering the company your nation keeps. Gen. Pace has asked an entirely legitimate question considering that any factual record will show that Gholgoth has gone out of its way to avoid inflaming the sensibilities of Haven's resident states by involving itself in Haven matters. The same cannot be said of certain APOC member-states who started the last war. Now, Sire, if you cannot answer Gen. Pace's question with a civil tongue I would kindly suggest that you shut up, observe, and nod like the good little puppet you are."

With that, Knight gave the Clandonian King a short, vicious (and not particularly humorous) smile before turning back to her notes.

Conrad couldn't take the audacity of the Crimm representative. It seemed like his very presence was simply to cause trouble and annoy other world leaders. Conrad suddenly interjected,"Oh, shut up, you pompous twit! How can you even possibly claim that we're threatening you with war, or that we are even warmongers, when one of our top leaders just offered a NAP? Are you honestly so stupid that you can see a threat in an offer of peace? You want an example of aggression by a Gholgoth nation since the formation of APOC?

"How about you? Right now? You're coming in here to what is turning out to be a bloody Peace Conference and are calling it a waste of time? Then what the hell are you even doing here?"

Pace listened to the venom spewed at him and his smirk grows. He leans forward just a little bit. "Getting you angry. What else? Anger is a very basic emotion. It allows true feelings to come out. By starting this conversation off as I did, I watched to see who would rise to the bait or remain civil."

He chuckled and looked around. "Seriously, do you all not see that this truly is a waste of time better spent building our various nations up into something better than they are? There would be no need for a pact if Gholgoth and NATO were not being harassed by APOC and Havenic forces."

He leaned back again and looked around. "You're tired of having us as neighbors and want us out. Too damn bad... we're here and we will remain here. Pact or not."

"Enough!" the Prime Minister of Bruxella interjected, having sat silent since his delayed arrival, listening to the bickering between the less mature of the various Heads of State in attendance.

"Could I possibly request that fellow delegations refrain from attacking each others' various characters and that we instead focus on the issue at hand - the actual terms of any Non-Aggression Pact?" he continued, looking towards the Questarian delegation to reclaim order.

(Northford cannot post due to technical reasons on his end, thusly this is posted on his behalf as transmitted over IRC.)

With Brookes and Craven stuck towards the back of the venue, it was left to a minor Northfordian diplomat to read allowed a hastily scribbled note that Brookes had sent via bluetooth on his PDA to the Northfordian Delegation. It was written on paper, and passed down to the end of the seats that were occupied by the Northfordian Delegation, where it was then read.

"Gentleman, this is not the place to discuss the failings of our own constitutional systems. If we are to get along, we need to accept and understand the source of the hostility of many of the nations here. It is ignorant to pass off our collective wariness of someone so outwardly militaristic Mr General Pace, the very same way it would be unwise and unintelligent for us not to accept some of your criticisms regarding letting Gothic nations into Haven.

"The fact is that we, as individual nations, valued the possible benefits worth the potential risks. Unlike yourselves, we are not unified to an extent to allow us maintain military control over every inch of land. If an individual nation were to mobilise to prevent colonisation, it could start a series of events that could potentially lead to the very situation we are here today to avoid. These are facts that we feel it would be very unwise for you not to appreciate. Gothic presence in Haven, the extreme views aside, need not be a cause for friction, or indeed war. When, however, nations feel their territories are at range from land based military threats, even the most liberal thinker will take a moment to consider the wider picture.

"You may chose, if you so wish, to retort to this with rhetoric, but consider wisely the consequences. We may avert war, but, critically, if we do not address the wholesale concerns of each party here, there is a risk that one of our alliances may feel pushed into a box, cornered, and felt threatened. In which case, this meeting has very little meaning. I think I speak for the vast majority for the moderates here in wanting peace, not a stop-gap ceasefire."

The diplomat paused to look around, and took a sip of water.

"Thank you very much," he uttered, sitting down.

If I may...

The voice from the back of the room came loudly over the rest, causing all in attendance to shift their attentions to the man rising from his seat near the corner and adjusting the DI ceremonial hat on his head. Hartman raised his eyes slowly towards those present in the room, and after tightening his tie he folded his arms behind his back and began making his way around the room.

The first person he paused in front of was the General, who had already ruffled the feathers of those unaccustomed to being addressed in any manner except polite formality. He placed an aging hand on his shoulder but for a second, smirking ever so slightly and saying to him 'Be at peace, General Omar.' He then looked out at the numerous faces still looking his way, and he then turned to them and began slowly pacing about as he spoke to them.

First off, if all this is going to be is a circus of chest thumping and ethnocentric snipes, then I believe King Alexander is indeed going to be disappointed. He eyed the Clandonian king briefly. I would not suggest throwing around the term 'barbarism' amongst those here, you'll get more than you've bargained for.

Having said that, let me get right to the meat and bones of this whole matter. The signatories of the APOC feel threatened, which has been echoed by William here. I suppose everyone here from APOC already has their minds made up as to who Gholgoth is and what it's all about, so nothing I say is going to change generations of presumptions. What I will say is this, Gholgoth is very straight forward in everything it says and does, and if our plan was to militarize within Haven you would certainly know it. Thus far we've been pretty damn good about maintaining peaceful relations with Haven, and as far as I can tell no other countries within the region have any real problems with us.

But that's straying from the point a bit. We all know why we're here, we all know this all started inside Allanea and I'm not going to waste my breath explaining it because you should all know what happened. The Allanean government was slow to respond to the embassy crisis, and in fact Marines were deployed from the Aequatian embassy in order to help secure and maintain order, so once already Gholgoth made efforts for peace. Coincidently thereafter we see wargames being staged near Allanea's coast, to which the Allanean government responded with wargames of their own.

Now, I've been around for a long time. In fact I've been involved in politics longer than most of you have been alive. I've rarely seen wars erupt over such trivial matters, and to even hold this conference in the first place sort of bewilders me, since in Automagfreek the whole embassy incident didn't even make the newspapers. If anyone honestly thinks that what happened is a catalyst for war, then perhaps you should step back for a moment, take a deep breath, and realize what you'd be fighting over. The incident in Allanea ended peacefully and the sovereignty of the embassies were not violated, so I personally see little reason to pursue the matter.

I'm surprised none of you have mentioned the real threat of war; the incident taking place at Foxbury Island, which is positioned roughly between Gholgoth and Haven. The military from The Peoplesfreedom attacked and sunk a Freekish superfreighter and her three escorting ships without provocation, and in response we dispatched a fleet to extract revenge. What happened was a rapid series of escalations, as we received intelligence from NATO holdings near TPF that a very large armada was being sent to counter ours, to which Lord Dreadfire himself assembled his task force and set sail. The TPF military then attacked our satellites, costing us billions of dollars in materials and filling space with large debris fields which will eventually effect the orbital assets of everyone in Gholgoth and Haven. So we responded with escalating force per our rules of engagement, and still there has been no resolution to this conflict.

This, gentlemen, is what you should be worried about. Automagfreek would be well within its rights to take this fight to TPF itself over this injustice, but yet none from APOC have verbally condemned an unprovoked assault on Freekish ships. How would any of you react if the situation had been reversed?

My point is this; if there was to be war between Gholgoth, NATO, and APOC, it would have already happened. We're getting unconfirmed reports that the Foxbury garrisons will be surrendering control of the island and TPF forces withdrawn, so perhaps the worst is over. If any of you here are honestly worrying yourself about a potential conflict, then you must know something I don't.

So...as far as a treaty goes, AMF would not be interested in signing anything at this point in time. With the Foxbury incident still playing itself out, we will not bind ourselves to any treaty until sufficient time has passed for us to be sure of APOC's intentions. The lack of outrage over this event has lead us to believe that APOC is not truely interested in peace, and if that is indeed not the case, then when enough time has passed without incident we will re-evaluate our position.

After clearing his throat, he began heading back to his seat in the corner.

"More than I bargained for? That to me sounds like a threat, addressing an audience of sovereigns and senior diplomats with a profanity is not the way civilised nations conduct diplomacy. My countries demands are simple, a withdrawal of military forces capable for offensive purposes within Haven. If Gholgoth and NATO are advocates of peace they would do this without a wince, I sadly don't see that as likely event."

The King then turned towards the Scandavian diplomat.

"Then why they move in during the last war, it could of remained a Havenic matter yet outside forces entered causing much death and destruction around the crucially important Strobovia Strait and other SLOCs? For the neutral nations of Haven there was economic strife due to the effect on merchant shipping and general sea travel. Wars take time to manifest, events such as the wargames held by the Allaneans help to fuel the fires for a potential war by harassing our allies in Cotland they have caused more harm than good for NATO's image and reputation."

Pace started to laugh. A full fledged laugh. He stopped after a couple seconds, then leaned forward again. "Gentlemen... ANY military assets can be uses offensively. Even an Anti-Aircraft gun can be used offensively. If we are to follow this demand to the letter, NATO and Gholgoth would have no defenses in Haven. You would be able to walk right over them if you so chose to. No. That is unacceptable... totally. Unless there is an equal disarmament, this is nothing short of chopping a rival off at the knees so he's easier to kick over when you get around to fighting him."

He looked to Hartman for a second, then back. "As has been said, we have all the justification we need to start a war, but haven't. That is restraint. That is proof we WANT peace. Demanding that we deprive colonies of garrisons is nothing short of insulting. I truly hope this man," gesturing to the King, "doesn't speak for all of you... because he is causing more harm than good to APOC's image and reputation." he smirked at being able to use the King's words against him.

"Withdraw 'military forces capable for offensive purposes?' My dear man, are you mad? Many of those forces you are referring to are defensive in nature, yet the nature of most, if not all military forces is that they can be used for offensive purposes, as pointed out by Mr. Pace here. So what you ask of us, in such a highly hypocritical way, is to leave our lands undefended so that when you and your allies please, you could take them over without much resistance? Now, if all the nations in the world were peace loving, or at least "advocates of peace", then maybe there'd be no need for militaries, but sadly that is beside the point," He finished, looking away from the Clandonian to the rest of the room

"We're not here to discuss who's at fault for all of this, but we're here to discuss a viable solution, not some incredibly improbable one, and while all this posturing and ego boosting may feel good to some of you," Watson said looking around the room,"It's not, getting, any, little, thing, done. Now, I do understand the venom flowing through this room, here, as I can feel it in the air, but if we do really want peace, we are all," He said, scanning the room once again, "Going to have to give something up, and for the most part, that something will be pride. Yes, some of us here in this room are going to have to swallow our pride and get over ourselves and say, 'yes, I am willing to work with my fellow man to make my own country better, even if he at one point hurt me. Let bygones be bygones,' and please, let's get to work on something of substance here, or M'lady back at home will be wondering why I wasted so much fuel to get here."

"And your words are causing more harm than good for your cause.", Lady Annadale stated firmly while remaining seated but straightening in her chair. "Why could it not have remained a 'Havenic affair' you ask? NATO nations who deployed in defense of their allies were following the charter, which states mutual defense as a primary concern of the alliance. There is no such thing as a 'Havenic affair' when it comes to war, especially a war we did not and had no intention of starting in the first place. I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that the days of chivalry are over. All's fair in love and war, as they say."

Director Annadale paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts and taking a sip of water.

"In any case, you should not be complaining of the nations who did deploy from outside Haven to assist in the defense of the region's NATO and Gothic assets. There was one extra-regional entity in the Strobovia Strait, and that would happen to have been the United Kingdom of Oceania ((OOC: Azazia)) and, to a lesser extent, Aequatio assisting with recovery and defensive operations in Carpanthium. The Strobovian Line was fronted by Cravanian units, and supplemented by the Oceanians and Scandavians."

Lady Annadale sat back in her chair, returning to her watchful state of observance until she again needed to speak.

Hartman stopped dead in his tracks upon hearing the retort from the Clandonian King, his left eye twitching ever so slightly. He then turned slowly and looked upon William with great contempt as he began approaching him, his voice displaying an audible disgust with the Clandonian.

Sovereigns and senior diplomats, eh? I'm the most senior diplomat in this room, and I've been Minister of International Affairs longer than you and most likely your parents have been alive! You want to speak of profanities, which 'damn' most certainly is not, like your virgin ears have never heard the word? I'll tell you what, son, I was the most highly decorated soldier of my day. I served with distinction through over a dozens tours and have received more medals than can fit on my jacket, and I've both seen and done things you only hear about on the news or recreated in movies. So don't you ever mention the word 'barbarism' to me or to my friends and allies ever again, do you understand me? You will address me and my counterparts with nothing but respect, because not only have we earned it, we demand it.

He turned back to the rest of the those in the room.

And what blows my mind is how out of my entire address, the Clandonian ignores everything except the word 'damn', and chooses to fixate on it instead of supplying a valid reply to my very valid points. If anyone else representing APOC has anything to say on my statement then please do so, but if the Clandonian speaks on behalf of you all then this meeting is over. If not, then I urge you silence him before he ruins this whole thing. Insulting the dress and syntax of those not like them is unacceptable, for ethnocentrism and xenophobia have no place here and will accomplish nothing. Perhaps instead of soiling your knickers and causing an uproar over trivial BS, you should shut that hole in your face and let the rest of us handle this matter, "King".

Now, does APOC have anything to say regarding my statement?

The Rt Hon. John Alden MP, Prime Minister of the Sovereign Kingdom, had had quite enough of the nonsense that - despite his interjection - showed no signs of abating. Overdramatic and pompous statements from both sides were getting them nowhere - it was pretty clear that the issue of a meaningful peace agreement was not going to be discussed. As per usual, the Clandonian was allowing himself to be easily provoked - reacting the only way he knew, overpompous and empty threats based on an exaggerated perception of his own personal power. General Pace was similarly being his usual self, an uncivilised, foul-mouthed common grunt attempting to play the statesman. In many ways, the pair were rather similar - both warmongering barbarians. The elderly Freek from the corner had contributed little of note, it was just so much more hot air and partisan rhetoric, repeating yet again the supposed fear of the APOC nations of the power of Mighty Gholgoth; whatever the Foxbury Incident was, it hadn't been considered significant enough to be mentioned in his daily security briefings.

Alden turned to one of the various special advisers sat near him, "We're leaving. Have the plane readied,"

"Yes, Prime Minister" replied the other man, flipping open a mobile as he walked towards the exit of the room.

Alden rose.

"My fellow delegates, it saddens me that I shall have to leave this conference. I'm afraid I simply do not have the time to listen to various individuals' mindless rhetoric. Rhetoric based upon a seemingly intransigent distrust on the part of certain nations..." he paused to look pointedly at the Clandonian Monarch and the General, "...from amongst both the Gothic nations and our esteemed allies is both unproductive and unneccessary. Sadly, past experience would lead me to believe that nothing shall change during the next few hours. Indeed, I fully expect these discussions to degenerate further. Apparently the..." he stopped to glance at the paper in his hand, "Public Sanitation (Amendment) Bill 20XX is due to be read a third time in two hours time, back in Parliament...I expect it shall be riveting. To all of you, I bid you farewell, and good health,"

With a smile, and a brief wave, he turned and headed towards the door.

Arcady Liasin had sat there, listening to the proud continue their slow march to doom. Arcady had hoped for peace, and the meeting had started off well enough. However, all it takes, when pride is involved, is one comment to destroy all the work that had gone into the meeting. Now, Liasin saw the writing on the wall, and those whose disallowed them the chance to accept peace with their enemies would soon have war to answer too.
As long as the meeting went the way it was so far, at least.

"If peace is what both APOC and NATO desire, then we are sure that those who will stay and discuss this will happen upon a deal. A deal we would be happy to abide by. However, the talks are dissolving into idiotic chest thumping. I don't want to waste my time with this, I could be sleeping. Therefore, the Holy Marsh will abide by a peace deal that pleases NATO and APOC, but will not endorse the childish speech that is passing as reasonable discourse. Good day." Liasin says slowly, sighing at times and looking quite bored. At the end, he stands up and leaves.

[OOC: I'm aware several of you are running different fluid time lines to me, but this is more for character stuff. In any case, Brookes will still be in Northford by the time Matt makes the declaration]

Brookes took a brief respite from the Room. He needed the bathroom, and unfortunately, theater seats often didn't come with built in urinals.

Despite the fact it was quite a distance (disabled toilets weren't a premium in Questers), his electric wheelchair meant that he managed to traverse the distance relatively fast.

He drove into disabled Bathroom and turned on the light. Large, spacious with a well designed sink for wheelchair users, it had everything someone with a full bladder and no limbs needed.

Unfortunately, however, Brookes's bladder would have to wait several moments. He was not alone.

"Alan Brookes." said the man. He was wearing a well pressed suit and carrying a small memory disk.

"Excuse me?" said the PM, not quite aware of what is happening.

"Call me George. Questarian Secret Service. I'm afraid there have been some developments. Consider this being a friendly big brother telling his sibling to go home."

Brookes froze. He genuinely hadn't planned for this. He'd spent numerous hours reaching a perfectly fine gentlemans agreement with the Cravanians, and now he had a person posing a secret agent warning him to leave.

"Evidence" said Brookes plainly, "is a wonderful thing. Do you have any?"

"Yes, we do. As do you. Unfortunately, however, sitting in there for the last few hours, the news has failed to reach you. Freekish forces are commiting genocide in TPF and the Havennic Balkans.... are seemingly finding themselves the victims of Aequatian involvement."

Brookes didn't say anything, his bladder was physically hurting.

"His Majesties Government is about to issue an ultimatum to the Freekish Government. We are giving them twenty four hours. We've already notified the rest of your government. Foreign Minister Pembers has enacted Commonwealth War Plan Indigo."

Brookes spoke, choosing his words in a robotic fashion. "I need a short moment alone. I must use the bathroom."

"Of course" said the agent, walking out.

"Indigo" muttered Brookes as he relieved himself. Indigo was operationally thought of as the "Northford First" option, in the event of a meltdown. Like all nations, Northford kept numerous plans of what to do in the event of war, and Indigo sat towards the extreme end of the "Blue" series, second only in seriousness to "Violet".

The Blue series was a set of plans designed to cope with a scenario whereby Northford was cut off from its allies in some form or another. They ranged from the relatively inane situations (i.e, losing Cohenian wireless internet services, "Sky") to meltdown of the Questarian Commonwealth ("Violet"). Indigo was designed with the possibility of Northford facing multi-theater combat, each on multiple fronts, with only limited or logistical support from the rest of the Q.C.

Colonising Southford left Northford in a unique position in the event of a war. Eight thousand ships, there abouts, were in the Northfordian Navy, give or take a thousand depending on the counting method used (reserves, logistic tails, etc). During normal peacetime, they were distributed across the world -in Haven, Arterus, Continentia- providing convoy protection, "Fleet at Sea's" off various different countries coasts, on training maneuvers, or providing the Northfordian strategic deterrent.

With the exception of the last, all of these were largely cancelled with the build up to colonisation. In order to maintain a certain degree of tactical mobility, fleets were left in key areas, relatively close to QC or RGL home ports, however, on the whole, the Northfordian Navy had well and truly 'pulled back into its shell' in preparation to colonise.

This was not idle chest thumping: half a million civilians were expected to move across in the first year of operating, and with the present security climate it was judged that every ship was needed. Having eight thousand ships in the Strobovia Strait, despite its drawbacks, was a very, very, real necessity.


“Prime Minister Brookes?” Called the agent, tapping the door. Four minutes had passed since Brookes was left alone.

Opening the door rapidly, Brookes sped out on his wheelchair, moving into the hallway.

“Which way?” he replied. Four minutes was a very long time, even for an eighty-something year old, to grasp the realities of the situation.

“Rear exit two. Apologies for the transport, but you're going fast again. Our orders are to ensure you're back in Northford for the announcement, and putting you in the back seat of a hypersonic interceptor is the only way. You'll be briefed on route... as I understand it, Pembers took the pre-emptive step of withdrawing your country from the APOC 'Command Structure'”

For the first time during the discussion Brookes roused himself slightly.

“Did he now?” he asked, knowing full well that there was no such thing as a “Command Structure”.
“Yes, he did... he seemed to explain that it would give him the flexibility to engage Plan Indigo. As it stands, Northford is currently operating 100% independently of anyone, including us. As I understand it, he's spent the last hour activating old admirals from the first war...”

“Trickers crowd?” asked the Prime Minister, his gut suddenly lurching.

“Ahh yes... it would seem so... we're not awfully happy about it either, Minister... though from what my department gathers, he's doing it purely to get a hawks' point of view... the current crop of Admirals just don't add up, apparently.”

Great mused Brookes to himself, as they both exited the warm interior of the building and walked into a cold breeze.

Gesturing towards a twin seater interceptor, the Questarian agent stopped walking.

“This is where we part, minister. Good luck. The plane is taking you directly to one of the Remote Command Centres (RCC's) in western Northford, where the rest of the government has been relocated. Good Day.”

“Good Day” said Brookes. This was the third time in 72 hours he was using a fighter jet as a passenger jet. He hoped it would be the last. Donning double earplugs, he closed his eyes. Sleep, is but a most wonderful thing! he mused to himself briefly, before he took a mild sedative.

“Sweet Dreams” he told the pilot.

[OOC: Just going with Zedlacher being there.]

Zedlacher's bulky prosthetic hand slammed down on the table; causing pens and other small objects to bounce around wildly.

"Enough!" He roared, a thick Izistani accent suddenly taking over from his accentless English. "We are squabbling like children! And over what? A civilian causality statistic? We all have blood on our hands. Anyone who says otherwise is a damn hypocrite! We risk global war over what would be a mere footnote in any major newspaper!"

He suddenly wheeled on those leaving. "And you cowardly bastards are letting it happen! You fucking Judas's! God help us if it comes to war, because I will do everything in my power to make it known that you lot would rather sort out some damnable bill about your sewer system then a international crisis. I'm sure the relations of those killed in this pointless war will love to hear that, will probably do wonders for you in the next election." He gave a joyless laugh at that.

Turning back to those still present, he raised his arms in a imploring gesture.
"Now for gods sake, can we please discuss this as rational, educated, men?"

As the Bruxellan delegate stormed out, Amner and Kara appeared in the doorway. Atal's normally perfect composure seemed interrupted. His collar was crooked and had been hastily realigned, and his normally flawless hair had become mussed. Even his suit, normally starched to perfection, had sunk into nigh disarray. He nodded his head at the Bruxellans, muttering something proper beneath his breath. Catching the door as it swung back closed, Atal held it for his wife, gesturing her in. His smile seemed somewhat off, and the hint of red across his face shone out against his pressed white shirt.

Kara was in little better shape. Several strands of hair had worked their way loose and hung awkwardly about her face, and her appearance seemed just as mussed as her Husband's. She slid through the doorway, flushing at Atal's smile and moving quickly to her seat.

Closing the door gently and moving towards his seat, Atal gestured about. "Now, what's all this noise? Are we seated here not of the highest stock this earth has seen? Why, then, should we act no higher than the vermin that should be the true focus of our ire? We are the greatest of all nations on NSearth, the power-players and the deal-makers. Our civilizations have weathered the great tests of time. So I repeat, what could all this commotion possibly encompass?" Atal peered about at the faces, finally resting his eyes on the Izistani delegate.

The Emperor sat back and stifled a yawn, only to feel a hand fall gently on his shoulder. One of his advisors leaned in and whispered something in his ear. The Emperor raised an eyebrow, and nodded discreetly, before quietly getting up and moving towards the back of the room and the exit. In a few minutes, he was back on the plane, heading off towards his capital.

Karvoni Schvenskoy chuckled to himself at the proceedings, although mostly in comedic agony. And to think, had this conference been in Derscon, three people in this room would be screaming in the Kremlin Dungeons by now. He shrugged it off and continued listening to the events, knowing that the report he would be writing would get him a healthy bonus from the Tsar -- merely for the entertainment value.

Fissk Longhorn had remained quiet throughout the proceedings, listening with casual disinterest to the incessant and wholly pointless ramblings of the squabbling politicians. His large frame sat uncomfortably in the chair, resting his elbows on the table in front of him to prevent himself from slipping off the chair and onto the floor. He didn't look very happy. If there was anything the Charr hated, it was politicians, and Longhorn found himself trapped in a room full of them, surrounded by their putrescence, bathing in their utterly undeserved and yet still highly vocal pride. On the one hand he could have just left, abandoning the spin-filled fools to their heated bickering and returning to a place where some semblance of sanity could be found. On the other, he hadn't risked his soul and wasted his time leaving the holy lands of Tyria for this... place, only to walk out without anything to show for it.

Without adjusting his posture, he let out a roar and began to snarl in Charrian. Quite quickly his translator snapped awake, thus far having had nothing to do, and began to speak in English on his behalf.

"It is unthinkable that the fate of this whole world relies on politicians!" Longhorn blurted out. "Bickering like pups, when the fate of millions of souls rest on this very table. Your mouths never cease to move, yet nothing of substance ever emerges! We have all come here for one very simple reason - to avert a war which would have no meaning and no honour. Thus, the only thing needed to be said is: do we want peace, or do we want war? If the latter, this is all pointless. If the former, we need only form an agreement. Our differences are self-made, they are petty, and they could be torn down like parchment if only we all had the strength of will. You all seek strength and power, for whatever reason - imagine if Gholgoth, NATO and APOC were to put aside their petty differences, and instead of diminishing our strength by fighting one another, were to cooperate! None could threaten such a force."

At that, he leaned back in his chair which creaked in protest. "It is that simple."

The situation was spiralling out of control and further and further off topic. It seemed that the meeting had stagnated into a verbal fight over whether or not APOC knew about the TFPian attack on the Freekish ships and the subsequent Freekish attack on Foxbury Island – a gross overreaction to the attack from the Freeks if there ever was one – and not about what they were supposed to be here for. Already, many leaders had walked out of the meeting, realizing that the conference was doomed, while others urged the bickerers to get back on track, each in his own way. The King didn't intend to remain long enough to hear if they were successful.

Quickly scribbling down something on a note, King Haakon gave it to one of his aides with the instructions to hand it to the Questerian King before he quietly and dignified rose from his seat and left the conference room without saying a single word. Perhaps a statement or rousing speech would be in its place, but sometimes actions and not words had a greater effect.

As the note the King had written, in which he said that he saw no further point in remaining in the conference as they obviously weren’t getting anywhere and thanked King Alexander for his hospitality and the attempt at peace, reached the Questerian head of state, King Haakon was already on his way down the outer stairs, heading for the airport.

In thirty minutes, the VT-38 Entajek supersonic royal transport aircraft would be airborne and heading home to Cotland.

The Allanean diplomat left quietly, about the time when the Cotlandi ambassador had departed.

Soon after, when his plane was already flying towards Port-Allanea, his last message was uploaded to Youtube from the aircraft.

The Secretary of State was calm, reasoned, well-dressed – but today, his voice shook with anger and disappointment.

“Look at you, Questarians!

We Allaneans have waged war against you before – when your Commonwealth attacked us with no provocations. We fought fairly, and treated Questarian POWs with dignity and humanity. And we won, despite the millions of troops you had arrayed against us.

Did we seek revenge?

Oh no.

Immediately after the war was over, we sent volunteers, aid, money to rebuild your infrastructure and aid your civilians. Our wealthy men donated billions to schools, to orphanages, to colleges in the Questarian Empire. When your country was infested by Communist rebels, Allanean volunteers came in to help fight and drive back the Red Menace. They bled and died, so Questarian children would be free of Communist slavery.

You suspected that we wish to wage war against your friends in Cotland. Immediately we conceded deals and non-agression treaties and partial disarmament.

And what does Questers do? Do they embrace us like brothers in the struggle for liberty? Do they thank us for our nobility, for our sacrifice, for our kindness? You offer us the blade of a poisoned knife when we offer our hand of friendship, your bullet for our dollar, treason for courage, hatred for brotherly love.

When I was a young child, I learned Questarian literature in school. I was enamored with the culture of your country, your art, your civilization. And this is not how the noble Questarians whom I grew up to love would act. This is not Questers. This is not even Sparta. This is madness.

I believe I speak for all Freemen, and for President Kazansky, when I deliver this final message to the Questarian government:

Fuck off and die in a fire."

An aide rushed up to Annadale's side from behind, whispering in her ear and handing her a slip of paper. On the slip was a simple scribbled note, messily written and signed MC. Turning back she saw the former monarch looking at her, a cold stare in his eye. The note requested her immediate withdrawal of the Cravanian delegation and an immediate talk with her. She nodded, and turned back towards the conference itself.

"Tell the King's staff we had a lovely time but must be going.", she whispered to her aide. She then turned to President Reid of Aequatio. "I'm taking my leave now and getting out of here. I suggest you do the same. This conference is getting nowhere, we'd better spend our time preparing for the worst."

Annadale and her accompanying staff rose, and exited the conference quietly so as to not disturb the rather futile proceedings. When she came to join the former monarch, she matched speed and walked briskly down the hall as her security personnel phoned the drivers to have the chain of cars ready and that they would be away from the airport the second they arrived.

"Alright, Your Majesty, what's this all about?"
"First, I have something to talk to you about regarding Northford's colonization plans. And second, I have a bad feeling about what's going on. I trailed behind Brookes when he went to the bathroom and only saw him ushered out a back hallway. Something is up, m'Lady."

Within several minutes the trio of black vehicles arrived at the airport, and immediately drove into the rear cargo ramp of the transport aircraft which promptly taxied onto the runway and sped off for the Home Islands.

Little did Annadale know of how little time she had.

ooc:
.... -_- you pull a nuke out of nowhere, use a yield so low as to merely scare the delegates mindless but not actually kill them (groudbursts suck, 350kt only has a 4km 2PSI radius in direct LOS if I'm doing it right, so beyond that and with any sort of obstacle, the delegates are fine and the building is mostly intact YAAY NUKEFIX), and expect us to just nod and go with it? Seriously.

Personally, I'm okay with your move. We probably wouldn't be able to recognize Dersconi origins until there was a sample taken from the site to get residual elemental compositions, so you'd have a good amount of time to prepare. Also, you'd likely cause a lot of burns and lots of cuts from flying glass, but the delegates would likely survive and be picked up. They'd have a slightly shortened lifespan, but if the helivac was quick and at least semi coordinated (as is likely at a diplomatic conference), there would be a very high rate of survival (if building fires were kept under control) and low radiation exposure (due to the building taking the brunt of the force)

However, the somewhat abrupt use of a nuclear weapon in someone else's nation during what would preferably be a character RP is.... unwelcome by many.

OOC: bawwwwwwwwwww

OOC: bawwwwwwwwwww

OOC: XD
Sorry. Too much butthurtedness, and I redid my plans.

[OOC: Did you... nuke the conference? Moron.]

Omar Pace finally stood, slowly. "This is getting us nowhere. Your demands are outrageous, your goals are obvious and we all know this is all designed to give you a justification for war. Fine. You want your justification? You have it. Gholgoth and NATO spits on your proposed pact."

He walks slowly around the table. "You have what you wanted. Now you can start your precious war that you have such a hardon for. So, now I dare you to take the next step and fire a shot at NATO or Gholgoth while we are at full strength. Do it. And find out first hand what happens to those who rouse our alliances from dormancy." He takes a pocket watch from his coat and lays it on the table in front of the Clandonian King. "Take this watch, King. It is more than three centuries old and has been in my family for almost half that time. I am loaning it to you... one day, I will come back for it. It is up to you whether or not that will be a peaceful trip."

He then turned and stalked out, ignoring anything said in his wake.

The King quite shocked at such a primitive race carrying a time keeping device, picking up the watch as the General left the room and examining the device. Pocketing the watch he thought where it would go in the in the Grand Georgian League Museum, filled with artefacts that the various Royal Georgian League member states had liberated from primitive races such as the Londiniums, ViZion and Kahanistan. The King knew that as the Royal Navy prepared in the ports of Southampton and Plymouth as the war drums increased, the next time he would meet the Crimmond leader it would likely be on a Royal Navy battleship in an ocean surrounded by oil and wreckage after the destruction of the NATO and Gholgoth navies.

Atal looked about at the rapidly declining population of the conference room. "Well then, I assume I must go and prepare some sort of official looking response to the present shenanigans. It seems there are few wishing to negotiate. I bid ye all good day." He beckoned Kara out and opened the door.

Petulant fools, but we shall reap the rewards. I must convene some of my comrades, this shall be quite entertaining.