NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This thread is open, save for Haven related BS.

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The Blood Pact had long stood as the building blocks for Gholgoth's unification so long ago, and had once shook the Earth to its very foundations. The Three were once the symbol of fear and might to many across the world, and their conquests would remain the stuff of legend for generations to come. But alas the decay of time knows no limits. In a bitter world where only the strongest survive against the sands of time, Automagfreek had remained the only visible partner in the Blood Pact. The Panterans had become consumed by internal squabbling and complacency, resulting in their de facto withdrawl from all but the most pressing Gothic matters. The Tersanctans too had fallen victim, and Dantes had moved his country into a fortress of isolation for nearly a generation.

It was in this most dire hour that Dreadfire looked inward to the great regional juggernaut that he helped to forge, the mighty Gholgoth and its associated territories. It was in the absense of two of his closest allies that he had slowly come to forget the oaths once sworn in blood and the dedication to achieving global supremacy...but as fate would have it the tides were to change once more. Damien had learned that internally Tersanctus was beginning to stir, causing the Warlord to do a figurative about-face when he heard that Dantes was beginning to make waves on the scene and began to look outward once more. Dreadfire knew that this change in fortune was a sign that his fortunes and that of Gholgoth were about to change, and for better or worse a new era was about to be born.

The towering magnificence that was the Great Hall beamed with a pulsating light the likes of which had not been felt since the Glory Days of old, when Templar, Sentinel, and Reaver alike took the world by storm and held it in a stranglehold. Servant and official alike moved about with a great vigor as they accomplished their daily tasks, but it was in the blackened halls of Dreadfire's chambers that the Warlord began plot and politick, though the latter he despised to no end. He ordered an emissary sent forth to the Imperial Republic of Tersanctus specifically inviting their esteemed leader to ULE City, and all the Lords of Gholgoth would be contacted as well in the following hours. It had been too long since their last sit down, though this time he would be making an unexpected move; the meeting would also be open to outsiders for the first time.

The message to the outside would be simple, dignitaries of any nation interested in establishing relations of any kind with Gholgoth would be welcome to come to ULE City and speak their case. The message to the Gothic Lords would be of much greater detail, which included an outline for their greater strategic interests across the world, a reaffirmation of their commitments to one another, and whatever pressing issues needed to be discussed. There would be one Lord who would not be attending, the representative from Aequatio, of which formal diplomatic relations had been severed in recent days following Federal Republic's decision to become in league with the Kingston Pact. It would indeed be a first for Gholgoth to not allow a sitting Lord to participate in a gathering, but truth be told it was the furthest thing from Damien's mind. He had been personally penning a special invitation to his friends in Tersanctus, and expressed his delight in strengthening their bonds of brotherhood.

~From the desk of Lord Damien the Destroyer, Supreme Warlord of the New Gothic Empire of Automagfreek~

Greetings old friend, for it has been too long.

Much has changed since Tersanctus turned its back on the world and withdrew into seclusion inside our Gothic paradise, and I for one cannot blame you at all for doing so. There have been times when I too have contemplated diminishing and moving into obscurity while the world tears itself apart, but alas the fire that burns within my soul cannot keep me away. I am hereby inviting you to a gathering of all Gothic Lords, and it would be my personal delight if you yourself would be present. I am unsure if our Panteran brethren will be able to attend, for the Blood Pact has stood upon the edge of a knife for many years now.

Ah yes...the Blood Pact, that takes me back. I remember a time when the Three of us held a stranglehold upon this Earth, and I remember all the sacrifices that were made to secure the Pact's place in history. I cannot express how overjoyed I will be to see you again, for we are living in uncertain times. The Aequatians have betrayed us all, Panterans have withdrawn into seclusion, and Gholgoth's fearsome reputation is beginning to slip. One thing is certain my friend, if the Blood Pact falters and fails once and for all then it spells the demise of everyone. Wether the Pact itself needs a complete revival or merely a strengthening of its existing state remains to be seen, for there are few candidates I can think of that would be truely up to the task of melding their people and civilization into one. The Aequatians have shown their true colors, the Crimm are not yet ready...for politically they have remained without stable and consistant leadership, and I know not of any other prolific Gothic Lord who would be up to such a task...but I most certainly may be wrong.

Alas, these are all matters we can discuss in person, and I look forward to your reply.


http://img352.imageshack.us/img352/1818/signson6.png

The message sent out to the wider world would be much shorter and to the point, delivered not by Damien's pen but by that of Minister Hartman, who had long served as the mouthpiece for everything Freekish. The brief statement contained an open invitation to any who would be interested in sitting down the Gholgoth's leaders and establishing ties, be it in the form of diplomatic, military, or economic relations. Those who received the message would be several days time to RSVP, for the regional meeting was scheduled to take place in exactly one weeks time.

Sonya Volsung looked at the message in front of her. Damien wanted Gholgoth to gather for a meeting... A meeting to discuss the state of the alliance and it's goals. "A meeting he'd no doubt embrace Pace at." She muttered and balled the letter up.

After a few moments of thought, she realized that there was a decision to make this day. One that would shape the Empire for generations. Finally, she made her decision.

----

Less than an hour later, a response would find it's way to Damien.

Damien Dreadfire...

There is no other man in this world I would rather meet face to face than you. Indeed... meet and break the nose of. You stood by and accepted the Brotherhood as the rightful rulers of Crimmond as if they were always there. They shoved the Crimm aside and crushed any civilian resistance. It took almost five years to form a military resistance against General Pace and despite our urgings to Gholgoth... not one Gothic nation came to the aid of the true owners of this nation. Not one of you assisted us. We had to go to a NATO nation to get the political assistance we needed.

This failure on the part of Gholgoth to throw off an invader has distanced you all from my trust. Pace demanded a Blood Pact in his first message to you. I do not do any such thing this day. I do quite the opposite. I demand that you never speak of this alliance to me. For you have proven you cannot be relied upon to give the assistance you once did.

I will attend this meeting, Damien. And I will help plan the future of this alliance... but do not mistake this for forgiveness. Apathy on the part of our allies will not be easily forgotten. Or forgiven. I attend because I care about your nations, even if you may not care about mine.

http://wikistates.outwardhosting.com/w/images/e/e2/Signaturev.png

OOC: I'm fluid-timing to the night of the event.

IC: Emperor Ishamael stared in open admiration as he walked into the Great Hall of ULE City. This was the fifth year he had bore the title 'Lord of Gholgoth' on his formal style, and yet he had never visited ULE City or Automagfreek in general in all his life. Indeed, the only visit he had paid to another Gothic nation was his abortive trip to Pantera some time back. A regrettable state of affairs, but one that would be fixed tonight.

The vast rotunda was a marvel of engineering, rivaling in grandeur the elaborate spires of the Cathedral of Ascension or the sheer magnificence of the Imperial Palace. Smiling slightly, he muttered to himself, "To hell with architecture academies...we could just send them here." He watched as servants bustled around serving the attending dignitaries, offering trays of appetizers. The Emperor himself selected an outlandish-looking morsel from one of the passing servants' platters, and discovered that despite the odd flavors (Freeks, no doubt, had different tastes than Kregaians), it was actually quite delicious.

This was an extremely important occasion. Not only was he meeting Lord Dreadfire for the first time (after having spent years listening to Lucifer insult him), but this occasion was meant to reaffirm the supremacy of Gholgoth before all the world, strengthening the bonds between the Gothic Lords and reviving old friendships. Word had reached his ears that Tersanctus, a nation that had barely twitched on the international stage for years, was represented here tonight, and with his chief diplomat, Minister of Foreign Affairs Abram Vidann, at his right hand, it was the perfect time to establish new bonds. The Iron Crown was on his head, he wore the armor of the Emperor with pride, and his black cloak swirled around him. The military tattoos on his arms and torso seemed to itch, something he had long ago learned to associate as an omen of great undertakings.

Ishamael motioned for the two Immortals flanking him to hang back slightly; they were a ceremonial necessity, as the Emperor was never to travel without them, but it was a mild insult to Lord Dreadfire to have them here. He would have to explain things when they met. In the meantime...he accepted a glass of scotch from a servant and began making small talk with a nearby Freekish minister.

Shijin Kotomari's face showed no sign of the nostalgia and sadness he felt. It was the hardest of his lifes' choices, the solitude of the Thrice Holy Lands. The lands of the Reaver and Sentinel were now, not diminished, but different. The sister of the Drakonian Imperium flourished in the lands of his chosen allies, Gholgoth. It was a harsh reminder of the days of idealistic youth of their nations, when the Dual Dragons swept the deserts of Al Akbar, flirted with death in the face of the Klatch. And still, to this day, their alliance lived.

And now, the second of three blood oath devotee's letter shook slightly in his hand, and his heart swirled with a mixture of excitement and regret. Regret that he had been away so long, excitement to meet one of his closest allies again after so long.

To be delivered to the Hand of Damien Dreadfire. Post Haste.

To the Honored Damien Dreadfire,

My friend, you are the first to extend your hand to us upon our return. Truly, loyalty and honor has always been your way, and this why the Three once dragged the waters of war together.

It saddens me that not all has been well in our absence. For the entire world is not run by men of our caliber. Deception and betrayal are the order of the day it would seem. It further saddens me that the Reaver is not counted among the three, but each nation must do what is necessary for itself, lest the the fibers that weave us together rot and tear. It is ironic that these times of self-imposed exile, that give us the appearance of weakness, actually serve a much higher purpose.

Alliances come and go like flashes of lightning. And no army of man, no oath of blood, can stand up to the ravages of time. Nations, like men, rise and fall at the whim of their peoples. But by reinforcing our own infrastructure and adapting to change like water to a new shape, we become resistant to those forces.

Tersanctus has long held the word and the sword as the most sacred extensions of a man. Words can cut as deeply as the sword, words can inspire entire nations to pay the dearest cost for their country. But as word is sacred, the sword must so be tied to its direction, its promises. The Blood Pact is the Word of Tersanctus, and the Sword follows the Word.

I will be most pleased to attend your proposed meeting in ULE City, it has been too long Damien Dreadfire, old friend! I will be making my preparations to depart before the ink of this letter dries!

Sincerely,

Shijin Kotomari,
Executor of the Imperial Republic of Tersanctus,
her armed forces, and conquered lands.

True to the word of the letter, a Military Aircraft bearing Tersanctan markings landed in the military base designated to visiting dignitaries. A group of Templars in black BDU's and body armor, exited the plane. Saluting with an added zeal, a group of Sentinels, there honored bretheren in the ways of war.

A man of perhaps 35 years, and clearly of Asian decent exited the plane last, his haircut was a sharp as his suit, though dark circles under his eyes showed that the weight of office was indeed a burden on him. But, after all these years, Tersanctus knew peace internally.

Entering the armored limousine while waving and smiling to various Freek military personnel Shijin, the Poet as the media called him, let out a deep breath.

I miss my old friends, but I am curious as to what time has done with Damien. I hardly expect a 'kinder, gentler AMF" but even the crucible cools over time, to make a stronger steel. He thought to himself, as the limo pulled away to ULE City.

[OOC: I'll skip ahead to my arrival too. Get things rolling.]

Stepping into the grand hall was a woman who looked like hell and high society mixed into one person. The new Empress of Crimmond was still showing the damage done to her face by Delta during that first speech over two weeks before. Flesh colored bandages wrapped her head in several places and bruising was heavy under them. She also seemed to be favoring her right side. In all likelyhood, there was an infuriated doctor somewhere back in Crimmond. Besides her slowly fading injuries, she looked the epitome of professionalism in a standard Marine dress uniform, with the only things designating her as anything other than a Marine being the lack of rank insignia on the uniform (though her medals were there) and a simple tiara consisting of a solid silver band with a single small ruby at it's center.

Behind her were two other people. One was a slightly round Colonel in the dress uniform of an Imperial Commando (and sporting a scimitar on his belt) and the other a Staff Sergeant in a standard dress uniform as well. Most likely, he was the traditional bodyguard/aide that normally accompanied the ruler of Crimmond. Strangely, he was unarmed.

Sonya looked to the Colonel, who was appraising the building. "You read my letter to Damien, Colonel?"

He nods at her and rumbles back an answer. "I did. No offense to her highness... but I would have phrased it a little more tactfully. That's because Damien Dreadfire is one of only three men that scare me, though."

Sonya arched an eyebrow. "Who are the others, Daunt?"

He chuckled. "Uh-uh... I don't care if you are Empress, Sonya. I'm not revealing all my secrets." Apparently the Colonel held some large amount of sway, as she shook her head in amusement. Daunt pressed on, though. "Honestly, I think he'd have killed you if you'd said it to his face."

The Empress didn't bother responding to the comment, instead making her way towards the other arriving leaders.

A scorched, partially rusted government high priority car ground to a stop. The formerly majestic official diplomatic relations building in the heart of Barbarosea City was its destination. The building had once towered over the city, a symbol of the power of one of the most fearsome nations in the world. Now, however, it wearily leaned over the crushed and dusty city, a shell of the former power it displayed. A weathered man emerged from the car, and headed up the rubble of steps, towards the doorway.

"Sir, we received this last night, I was dispatched immediately to deliver it to you," the messenger said. The large man turned in his desk, the scarring on his lower left jawline was obvious. The skin grafts hadn't helped much, but the fact that skin grafts were available were a luxury. His eyes were sunk back in his skull, his eyelids heavy. He showed the signs of a sleepiness that one can not acquire overnight, but over years.

"From?" His single word rattling the messenger's composure.

"An old friend, one we have not heard from in some time sir. Lord Damien Dreadfire." The messenger replied. The man at the desk drew in a breath. His features shifted in ways they hadn't in a very long time. A small fire was rekindled behind his eyes.

"Give it here, thank you for your speedy delivery." He told the messenger, extending his scarred and dirty arm. The messenger handed the slightly worn envelope over, paid his respect, and made his way out. Before he could reach what was left of a door, the large man stopped him.

"Respond with an acceptance, and arrange for a transport for me tomorrow. Early is better, but not before daybreak." He said, with more authority then he had spoken to anyone with in a long time.

"As you wish sir." The messenger replied. He quickly took his leave.

The man in the chair stood up, and walked around his desk and towards the remains of a fireplace in the wall to his right. A dusty mirror was there, still mostly intact. He gazed into it. Who he saw was not the same person he saw years ago, before all...this. He took a long, deep breath. Frederick Barbarosea VI was headed to ULE City to discuss matters no one inside the boarders of Barbarosea had even considered in 20 years. Maybe things were about to change...

(OOC: I'll 'arrive' later)

Damien, it has been too long. It has been quite a while since I have been to ULE city, as I have sent my underlings so often in the past. As one of the oldest members of the Gholgothan brotherhood, it would be an insult if I did not show a presence at a meeting meant to bring this cooperative we live in back to its former and proper power.

I shall be bringing two guards with me, I hope this does not offend.

From the desk of
High General James Snowlander

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v335/Snow_Fall/JBSnow.jpg


The day of the Meeting

Snowlander stood in his military uniform in front of the limo he had just exited, two silent SOET troopers standing behind him in their black with white trim uniforms and reflective helmets, each wielding a traditional battle cleaver at their sides. With the mention of the blood pact being renewed, the SOET had become excited in his nation and these two were no exception, even though it was not visible. The SOET had fought alongside the Sentinels in the past, each time a victory, and the prospect of something as strong as the blood pact hanging in the air added an extra spice to their current guard duty.

Snowlander sighed and slumped his shoulders a bit, never liking being in his full uniform, much preferring his normal BDU. He stretched a bit and began making his way to the place of the meeting. It was always so cold in Automagfreek, he could never adjust, as much as he loved the scenery in ULE city. Give him hundred plus degree temperatures and a sandstorm and he was fine.

"Now you two, just do your job and I'll see to it you get vacation after this."

He didn't have to turn his head to see if they understood, he heard the slight noise the neck of the SOETs dress uniform made as it creased from them nodding in unison.

He loved that sound.




OOC: Just so I'm in here. As I mentioned, I'm going on vacation on thursday and may not have internet. I'll try, but no promises. I just had to have something here though.

"Do we have relations with Gholgoth?" asked a surprised junior diplomat, who was promptly cuffed by his senior.
"No, not officially. But relations with the region as whole has been somewhat strained if not, well, left best ignored. That is, they pretty much left Klatchian affairs alone while we left them alone. It seems to work out pretty well."
"Not that we couldn't do much about that,"muttered the junior, to which a baleful eye was his answer.
"You forget, young pup, that at one time, the Klatch boasted of more than twenty nations under its banner, to say nothing of the numerous allies that many of the Klatchian states once enjoyed. Alas, however, the tides of fortunes have changed. I personally blame the doldrums of inactivity which is but a finger of that ancient enemy, Time itself. If only..."
At this point, the junior began to tune out the monotony of the other walrus's words, especially when the "good ole days" and philisophical ramblings became more apparent in the conversation. Out of deference, though, the junior walrus did put on a mask of appearing to be interested, interjecting with the occassional "Yes", "Absolutely", and "Quite right, sir" at the appropriate intervals. However, his whiskers began to twitch when he mentioned the conflict between the Klatch and the Drakonian Imperium (may the pakrahs drown in their own filfth!) in which the latter at that time was not a part of Gholgoth but instead enjoyed the support of those thieving, malicious, pointy eared folk of Menelmacar. Then the older and heavier walrus made a surprising announcement.

"I want you to head a low-level delegation to that region. I'll arrange the details since you will be busy familiarizing yourself at ARCHIVES and a briefing by the VIS. Don't look so surprised. I will send a couple of pros with you to keep you company. Hmmm, likely one of the Hagwonaks I'm sure. A stellar family with proven diplomatic skill...yes."
"And our main purpose?" asked the younger walrus.

The senior's whiskers twitched. Of course in the Klatch, nothing was ever simple and one always had to count on layers of duplicity that could be found within even the simplest appearance of a diplomatic delegation. His head cocked slightly to one side before answering.

"Well, mainly to investigate and report why AMF has taken such a step. They have never been at a dearth for hanger-ons and wannabees. Let us say that I'm curious as to why this is happening at all. I'm sure you will also run into some of the usual blokk pakrah nations that we've encountered before so don't let them bait you. They are beneath us. As well, I will enable you to set up a consulate should the opportunity arise. One step up from a Trade Office, I know. Let's see if they can pick up on it. You'd better get yourself ready."

The smaller walrus bowed and then waddled his way out of the office. The larger walrus signed and then spoke into the intercom.

====

A message from the Vrak Ministry of Rites was sent to the appropriate AMF diplomatic channels, essentially stating that the Vrakians would be in attendance. The usual diplomatic language was observed, but nothing flowery since the Vrakians were, by nature, a direct people.

The Central Ministry
Alkra City, Agrandov

The Emperor looked hungrily at the stainless steel box, with an appetite that knew no limits. Toying with the six-digit code on the side, he brushed an offensive speck of dust from it's polished surface and then flexed his agile fingers, like a master pianist in front of an expectant audience. Settling on the appropriate code, the document case clicked open, the spring-assisted lid lifting to reveal a plain brown dossier inside. It bore only the stencilled letters 'Phase 2' on the outside; such a document was beyond any conceivable security level.

Grinning wildly, he set the dossier down on his desk - a tasteful oak piece with protective steel plates and kevlar lining - and reached for a silver pen. Opening a drawer and searching underneath a small radio, a pistol and three loaded magazines he produced a notepad. Clutching the fountain pen in his right hand, and opening the dossier with his left, an almost childish joy turned to outright anger as a shrill sound pierced his silent office. Swearing venomously he slammed the pen into the desk, burying the whole of the nib in the oak.

Seizing the phone, the Emperor unleashed an incoherent torrent of abuse at his secretary.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Disturbing me like this! Me! Do you have any idea how busy I am? Any idea at all?"

"I'm so sorry, si-"

"Shut up, you'll speak when spoken to, didn't they teach you manners? What the hell is wrong with you, you're disturbing me at a critical moment in my day! And you're sorry? If you were sorry, then it would be your fault. If it was your fault, I could fire you. It's probably a criminal offence to waste my time. In fact, if it isn't one then I'll make it one. Is that what you want? Is it your fault?"

"It's Dreadfire, sir," she stammered, "Damien Dreadfire, of Automagfreek. He is holding a meeting, and as an Emperor of a nation in this region you would be expected to attend."

"Expected? They're expecting me? Damien Dreadfire is expecting me, personally, to attend? He is inviting me?"

"Not.. not personally, sir, it was a general invitation... and not from Dreadfire, from a Minister Hartman."

"Minister Hartman? Minister fucking Hartman?!"

"Now, sir, I don't-"

"Shut up! I thought I told you to shut up! You know what it is? They fear me. Yes. All of them, those cowards in Automagfreek, out there on their fucking island. Not even part of the region in my books, no way. Too far, you see. But you don't see, do you? You're just another idiot appointed to remind me why this nation needs me! Why you all need my help."

The line was silent for a second, and then, "Will you be attending, sir?"

"No, never. He didn't invite me personally, so why should I meet him? Why should I, the Emperor of this magnificent nation, take the time out of my day?"

"Would you like to send a representative then, sir?"

"How the fuck should I know!" he said, slower now with self-pity in his voice. "Send Ronnal. We can trust him, can't we? We can! Send him, or... no! Don't send Ronnal, I need him here. But let Ronnal choose, let him pick someone to send over to that useless fucking island and speak to that man Dreadfire who is too far up his o-"

A click notified the Emperor - a man of sixty who looked every day of it - that his secretary had put the phone down. He reacted, hurling the phone across the room and sweeping the items on his desk straight into the bin.


The Ministry of War
Alkra City, Agrandov

A polite-looking man of around thirty was sat comfortably, as he calmly declined a drink from the older man sitting behind a stainless steel desk in a remarkably bare office. The older man was Simon Ronnal, the Minister of War for the Central State of Agrandov. He addressed the man in front of him with sincerity and respect.

"I'm glad you could come, doctor. Were you able to see the Emperor?"

"Yes, I saw him this morning for his bi-monthly medical examination. I told him that his usual doctor was unavailable due to a contamination issue at the hospital. He didn't ask questions."

"Excellent," said Ronnal, taking a sip of his drink. "Your diagnosis?"

"Not good, I'm afraid. He's paranoid, definitely, and I would say bipolar too. I Have suspicions of schizophrenia, but I need more time with him."

"Is he fit to run this country?"

"In my opinion as a medical professional, this man is unfit to be allowed in public office of any level. He needs to be medicated immediately, and examined by a team of specialists."

"I thought you were a specialist?"

"I am," smiled the doctor, "but not in psychiatry of this level."

"But you would recommend the removal of the Emperor? From, uh, from office, that is," said Ronnal nervously.

"Unquestionably. Who knows what kind of schemes a man like him can fathom, he could jeopardise everything this nation has worked for."

"I know... can I trust you, doctor?" said Ronnal cautiously, leaning forward.

"Minister?"

"But you're not just a doctor, are you? You hold a seat in the Senate. Another in the Council. You're running for mayor in Anzeig City in six weeks too, and no-one expects you to lose. The people seem to like you."

"What are you saying?" asked the doctor, it was his turn to be cautious.

"I'm saying that there is about to be a shift in the balance of power. You're going to have to leave the country for a while."

"What? You can't be serious-"

"Trust me," said Ronnal, this time smiling. "There is a regional meeting in ULE City coming up. I want you to be there, and I want you to make good impressions on the rulers of Gholgoth."

"You want me to be an Advisor?" sneered the doctor, "I know how they work. They're puppets, just a proxy for the government to talk through."

"No, not as an Advisor. We won't give you an Eye, no microphone either. Nothing but a small security detail. And I mean small, can't draw attention to you."

"What on earth do you have in mind?"

"In my mind," smiled the Minister, "Doctor Byrne, there is a nation of oppurtunity waiting for men like us."


http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/agrandov.jpg
THE CENTRAL STATE OF AGRANDOV
One State. One Party. One Future.

Communication.

Minister Hartman of Automagfreek.

The Emperor of Agrandov is, at present, unavailable for a diplomatic mission due to various concerns within the Central State. However, I have been chosen to act as an envoy of Agrandov and as a representative of Gholgoth towards the diplomats from other nations. My security arrangements are minimal, and I will be arriving in ULE City as soon as possible.

It is my hope that what I see in Automagfreek can inspire the people of Agrandov towards greater Gothic co-operation, and help them see the benefits of embracing regional relations. Until now the Central State has been indifferent to the policies of Gholgoth, and it is my aim to change this apathy and indecision.

Ambassador of the Central State of Agrandov,
Dr. Thomas Byrne.

“It’s Deplorable, Why am I being sent to that hell ridden region, there won’t be any need for diplomacy, more like dictating terms, As usual Valcus positively howled, his features lupine in aspect as he stared out the screen at Hugoro.

“Valcus,” Hugoro muttered faintly

Even then those deranged lot will nuke themselves before they allow so much as a Gothic toe to set foot on their supposedly sacrosanct homelands, they will probably claim our soldiers will dissolve upon setting foot on their benighted soil,” he slammed his fist down as if to emphasise a point that was apparent to no-one but himself it would seem.

“Valcus,” came only the steady response.

“Why we don’t simply loose the military on the entire region I don’t know, I can name only 5 countries out of the entire pack of hyena’s I’d trust with a glass of water, let alone a Nuclear Weapon,” he was as usual as blunt as ever, the man’s mannerisms were nigh on trademark, he was at times the despair of Hugoro, but still, he did get results, even if it did mean the occasional rant…

“Valcus, you’re their on Vacation, not on official business.” Hugoro mentally braced himself for the outburst, the gambit had paid off, removing Valcus from any sensitive matters and giving the man a vacation had been elaborately planned out by a great deal of many people, because of course persuading the man to go on holiday before had failed spectacularly.

“I’M WHAT! YOU NEVER MENTIONED THIS; YOU INFORMED ME IT WAS URGENT!” Valcus literally exploded, an observer would have thought that the man was ready to leap through the screen, and probably would have, defying several laws of reality, his expression was twice as murderous as before, and his voice had raised to an almost deafening volume as he positively bellowed.

“Valcus, I’m afraid I’m out of time, we’re landing, Enjoy your holiday” Hugoro tilted his head his eyes closing slightly and smiled broadly ending the conversation.

“NOW WAIT ONE SEC” Hugoro smiled as the screen cut out leaving only a Novan emblem, a red stripe in the background going behind the emblem and Novan caligraphs shimmering gently in the lighting, reaching forward with a long tapering finger and depressing a switch upon the console Hugoro padded his way to the main cabin, where Denteth and Izalien were finishing a conversation in a similar vein as his own, with instead Auria Tolion who would not be so easily dismissed and given the notoriety of the lady, referred to some as the Dragon Matriarch for her temperament, most would not dare to be so brazen, nonetheless, even she would not halt anyone from their duty, as the image shimmered away.

“We’ve made good time Young Tolion, and if only your father could see you now, he would be proud of you, Auria, although she hides it well is proud of you, don’t deny it, I can tell what you were thinking,” Hugoro placed both of his hands upon the Suprainister’s shoulders appraising him with an almost fatherly stare.

“You always were good at reading me like a book Hugoro, but it’s not that I’m worried about, I’ve never visited Automagfreek before, all of our other encounters with Lord Dreadfire have been in more military settings, or that time in Pantera,” Denteth shrugged as he patted himself down, ensuring his tunic was immaculate, while Izalien did the same, their eyes met briefly, and lasted for what seemed an eternity as they smiled gently, at last they would not have to hide the truth, well, some of it would remain hidden for the moment, but that was something to deal with later.

Ah yes, Dol Ragash,” Hugoro shook his head as Denteth smiled and looked almost wistfully out of a view port, neglectful of course that the scenery was far different to Pantera, yet that did not stop the fond memories

“Yes that, I’m looking forward to this, in all actuality, it is far more appreciable to be among our brothers, they understand our ways far better than others do,” the statement spoke volumes as even the other Gothic people’s and leaders were regularly mystified by the Novans, their acts and customs.

“We can’t spend the entire day in reminiscence and reflection, our timing is tight as is, let’s go Denteth and Miss Izalien.” Hugoro smiled gently as he half bowed leading the way, with his arm, his jet black hair shining, only in recent months had accents of grey began to mar it’s sheen, and even then, they had been worn as marks of pride, for distinguished service was it’s own reward.

The Trio padded towards the rear where the guard awaited, the landing had been unnoticeable, so smooth was the touch down, and soon they would arrive within the heart of ULE city, and into a place as alien to them, as they were to it.

In garb that bespoke of the unusual cultural heritage the wearers possessed, the Novans strode through the grand and vaunted ceilings of the Great Hall, Novan Enforcers flanked Suprainister Denteth Tolion, Foreign Minister Hugoro Sarestus, and War Minister Izalien Jhanhus, whose engagement and impending marriage to Denteth had been recently announced, they wore their traditional uniforms, only hue of highlight and headwear differentiate, the Enforcers in their typical Helmets, with strange look, while the Politicians bore Vzaakqe’s sitting gently upon their heads, the four points evenly spaced. When offered, the Novans accepted only water, the strength of Freekish spirits and ale were famous throughout the region, and in direct contrast to the heady aromatic spirits favoured by the Novans, opposed to getting smashed, the Novans preferred light relief, opposed to getting drunk. Then again, then Novans were known for their business first approach, they were straight and direct almost to the point of insult, but many were by now used to it, for it was their way.

The hypersonic space plane reentered atmosphere, it's leading wing edges glowing red with the heat, but speed was bled off quickly and not that much later the crew was exchanging electronic handshakes with the controllers at ULE City airport. If they hadn’t been on Earth on Unity business they would not have come but the rest of their fellows were, interested, to say the least and Crown Prince Thoth, the spokes jackal himself had asked for their attendance and observations. It pleased them to agree, for they -the Ruling Triad ( http://www.atddm.com/trio.jpg ) was curious too, as during their time in Gholgoth Minor, they had not had a chance to meet with the legendary Dreadfire.

An proper RSVP had been returned to Minister Hartman, and now the Ruling Triad of Nuevo Nihongo had arrived….

Minutes after that, the sleekly contoured spacebird was wheels down and following a jeep labeled 'Follow Me' to an assigned disembarkation point. Once it was parked and a stairway rolled up, the door swung open and a security type, anonymous behind dark sunglasses and standard dark suit stepped out. He surveyed the area for a moment then disappeared back inside.

A tall man, slender but broad shouldered, his own eyes hidden behind shades stepped forth with two women hard on his heels. All three had dark hair, and one of the women was obviously of Japanese extraction, though her green eyes almost glowed in the white face paint she had masked her features behind. Her lips were a blood red hue, as was the quilted silk jacket and form fitting halter-top she wore. Her tight fitting black leather pants flared at the knees and fell over high-heeled black boots of soft suede.

The other woman was obviously Caucasian, with fine, fair skin that showed off her deep blue eyes remarkably well. Her attire was similar but in reverse, jacket and halter top in black with deep crimson pants. Both women's hair was thick and worn long, falling almost to their trim waists. They moved with the grace of ballet dancers, or more importantly martial artists. Both carried swords slung diagonally across their backs and shoulder holsters holding Smith & Wesson 1911Sc's.

The man who led the way down was only slightly taller than the two women and in their heels they stood just over six foot. He was in a casual suit with a dark blue shirt and a bolo style string tie with featured a carved gold long horn skull head with ruby eyes, and the horns done in ivory. The jacket was a comfortable, well-worn suede jacket that hid his own shoulder holster. He carried no sword; however a tanto was on his belt. And if one were knowledgeable they would note on all three that the belt buckles were actually discretely concealed punch daggers. The PALADIN armor they wore was invisible to all known Gholgothian technology, and was a gift from their brethren in The Unity. They brought no security personnel with them.

And armored limo took them swiftly to the Great Hall of ULE City, and with his usual gallantry Sam Ravensclaw Houston handed out Lady Victoria Dominique McMasters, and then is Tai'shenn Kahane. As one they looked over the exterior carefully, though each searched for different things. Once they were satisfied, with the silent communication of people who had lived, fought and killed together for a long time, they turned and entered the gleaming structure. All three moved with the sublimely unconscious air of those completely assured of their competence and position.

Ahead of them was a woman who looked to have recently survived an assassination attempt - Discrete flesh colored bandages wrapped her head in several places. She also seemed to be favoring her right side. She had two men with her and the trio's uniforms were identifiable by the Triad. Crimmond, and that might make the Lady new Empress of Crimmond, Sonya Volsung. They had not met her, but they had heard she had ...replaced... General Omar Pace.

Replaced... that was a nice word for slitting the throat of the General in front of the staff of a command center. Half of which she promptly executed for having loyalties in the wrong places.

Surveying the arriving leaders, Sonya approached the Novans. "I see I won't be alone in spartan attire." She comments, voice slightly muffled by a swollen cheek. under the injuries, her eyes were bright and alert. Apparently she wasn't on pain killers. Hence the very slight limp, most likely. "I am Empress Volsung, of Crimmond. Apologies for my appearance... I was thrown twenty feet through the air into a marble banister during my first speech." She chuckled and winced.

The sergeant was right with the Empress the whole time, but the Colonel was less interested in meeting new people it seemed and hung back a dozen or so steps. He looked bored to death already and they had only just arrived.

HM Oceanian Embassy
ULE City, Automagfreek

The chancery was spacious enough, but as Frederick Callahan looked down once more at the grey titanium watch on his wrist, he could not help but tug at his collar once again with his free hand. Some forty-five minutes ago, the ambassador had departed to meet Gavin Astley, the Foreign Secretary, thus leaving the building and grounds in Callahan's charge. He looked at his watch again.

He remembered being this nervous some time ago, when Lord Salisbury ran the government back in Georgetown. Callahan had met Tetley once before, upon his arrival for the Freek Bloodlust. The change of government had, of course, brought about a new ambassador—but Callahan had remained in ULE City, though with a promotion to his new position as Head of Chancery. Finally, one of the diplomatic security personnel nodded to Callahan, the signal that the convoy was rolling through the gates and into the compound.

"To your stations, ladies and gentlemen," he announced rather quickly. The assembled staff and Royal Marines—dressed in ceremonial attire—performed as asked and found their places. As if on cue, the set of front doors opened revealing the Foreign Secretary and the Ambassador, both smiling and the Foreign Secretary offering a polite wave of greeting to the staff.

"Mr. Foreign Secretary," Callahan began, stepping forward from the ranks, "may I present to you His Majesty's Chancery."

Gavin Astley smiled broadly. "Thank you, Mr. Callahan. From the drive in, without even seeing anything but the landscaping, I can see His Majesty's Embassy is in the best of hands."

"Why thank you, sir," Callahan replied. "If your aides should follow me, I shall have your belongings settled for you upon your return."

Astley nodded towards his aides, who carried his luggage and belongings in a small convoy that trailed Callahan to a suite elsewhere in the chancery. Astley then followed the ambassador up the main stairway to the ambassador's office on the second floor. They walked in silence until the door was quietly shut and the two sure of being left alone.

The ambassador, Leonard Clayton, walked behind his desk and withdrew from a concealed panel a bottle of whisky. Next came two glasses and Clayton poured his superior a drink. "This is all about that business in Haven, no," he asked, handing Astley his drink.

Astley cracked a smile. "Georgetown has taken an interest in the developments in Haven, as have many other nations with commercial and security interests in that region."

"NATO? And how much longer might that commitment last?" Clayton finished pouring his own drink and took a sip, motioning for Astley to take a seat in one of the two leather chairs facing each other. "One need not be on Wellington to know what exactly is going on back home."

"We still have strong ties to NATO—despite the departure of one our more stalwart allies—"

"Laurana…" Clayton added, then trailed off.

Taking a sip for himself, Astley nodded. "Not too long ago, Leonard," he began, pausing to take another sip of his drink. "NATO was engaged in a high-intensity conflict in Haven. We lost a lot of good people over there, all to hold onto a Cravanian territory threatened by the Doomani."

Clayton raised his glass to interrupt Astley, "I thought the primary threat consisted of the Questarian-backed Northfordians? If I recall we were staring them down from across the border."

Astley nodded. "Yes. And no. While this has not been released into the public domain—and shall not for quite a while—we were confident of negotiating a peace or non-aggression treaty between Northford and Cravan. The threat was primarily Doomani in nature."

"And now," Astley continued, "Haven is embroiled in another conflict focused upon the Doomani. This time, however, the rally cry for the liberals is slavery. This time, our united enemy of yesteryear is fractured and set to bleed each other dry."

Slowly, Astley straightened his back and leaned in towards Clayton. "Your task, Leonard, during and after this conference, is to reassure the Freeks that despite the natural inclinations of the Oceanian people we shall remain on friendly terms so long as they do not commit any egregious offences against Oceanian interests or inclinations."

Great Hall
ULE City, Automagfreek

Astley walked into the vast structure along with Clayton, who had been fully briefed to represent the economic interests of the United Kingdom for the evening. Astley, the taller of the two, wore a sharply-tailored woolen dinner jacket along with a satin cummerbund. Clayton wore a waistcoat with his dinner jacket and as they entered the crowd, the ambassador leaned over and whispered to the Foreign Secretary, "I should like to think that if this lot appeared in Georgetown—"

"No need to be so vulgar, Leonard," Astley quipped. He then smiled to the ambassador, "but at least His Majesty shall be well represented."

The last few months had been hell for the High leader. With the joining and leaving of Hegemony, almost having to fight the Corparate Alliance, and firing there first nukes at another nation had started to take a toll on the sixty-two year old man. Still though he refused to show his pain. He would have enough time for that when or if he retired from his leadership postion.

He sat quietly in his limo, not having his advisor Kel to talk to. Kel had retired a month ago and the High leader was having trouble finding a new advisor. He rubbed some of the sleepiness from his eyes. It had been a long trip and a rather bumpy plane ride, preventing Aimless from getting any rest at all.

But this was a rare chance. He was going to meet the man Dreadfire, one who inspired fear all over the world. The person everyone singal leader wanted to be like, whether they admitted it or not. The city sure was amazing and not expected. One might think that people like the Freeks would not be civilized and must live in some sort of twisted society. Once you got to know the Freekish people though, they are not the demons portrayed in movies on on the news. Just people, who when angered become what they are thought of.

He snapped out of his thinking, as his limo arrived at the Great Hall. He thanked his driver and carefully stepped out of his limo. He grabbed his cane began to walk.

Dyelli Beybi...

It was the unstable regime that caused havoc and then sheltered behind Vrak and Alcona and Hubris when the going got tough. But not so anymore. The Federation of Klatch was in decay, but Dyelli Beybi stood strong along with far too few other Klatchian States. It was like a big brooding, totally unpredictable crocodile hunched over the blasted southern landscape, shoving it's snout into all aspects of Klatchian Internal Affairs. The President of Klatch was now a Dyellian, and one with their own personal army that answered to noone, something expressly forbidden by the Klatchian Constitution (which was why it was officially a Police Force)... this helped somewhat.

The news that Gholgoth was still alive was greeted by the Cheka, Dyelli Beybi's not so secret secret police, with a mixture of concern and sadistic glee. Tersanctus had tried to invade them, something the Dyellians had not forgotten. The news was relayed to Klatchian Parliament, where the decisions were supposedly made, along with a recommended course of action for the Federation, a course which was, as usual, approved.

In contrast to the Vrakians, the Dyellians were not a direct people, (nor was it in their nature to be honest).

-----

From: The Offices of the President, Port Olympus.
To: Minister Hartman, Automagfreek
Subject: Diplomatic Relations

The Federated Klatchian Coast, as represented by the Baroness of Penrose, Lady and President Elect Caroline ab Iaeuf of the Blessed Kingdom of Dyelli Beybi, mouthpiece of the Federation sends greetings.

The Federated Klatchian Coast is aware of the invitation for diplomats to attend a conference in order to meet with Gholgoth's leaders and establishing ties. As such, it would be our honour and duty to accept this invitation in the name of the Federation and to dispatch with immediacy Brigadier-General L. Dent and associated staff to negotiate on behalf of the Federation of Klatch.

Strongest regards,
I. Delgado,
Secretary to the President

OOC: Well, here goes. I hope I read right and this isn't Gholgoth only.

IC:

Halvar Bengtsson sat in his office, looking at the thick wad of papers in his hand. As Prime Minister, he was the seniormost ruler in Antigr, save the royal family. The papers were adorned with the usual assortment of ink stamps reading sinister things like 'highly secret', but it was just a copy of a communique, along with some other papers telling him all the worst things that could possibly happen. His hands were sweaty and he emitted a yawn as the papers were rested on the table. It wasn't this he was concerned about, though; the King was coming to see him. Usually he'd go and see the king, but he'd insisted and would be here within ten minutes, looking at his watch. As it seemed, the King wanted a piece of the action - Antigr, a lone nation of little over four and three-quarter billion, was never going to be as grand as the Gholgoth. Joining them would be politically unnaceptable due to the current ties with ADAN, or ASGARD as it was fast becoming.
His mind was working overtime and he must have got carried away, for the next he knew the Grenadier Guardsman at the door had saluted stiffly and opened the door, and the King strode in. Why he insisted in seeing him in his mildly stuffy office all the time, Bengtsson never knew, but it was of little consequence as the suited figure of King Fredrik Hallen-Ottestad sat down on one of the grand chairs opposite his desk.

"Your Majesty"

Began the Prime Minister, standing up and taking an elegant bow.

"There's no need for that, I get enough of it in the street, and we're in private. Now, you know of the Gholgoth diplomatic meeting. I'm sure your intention was not to go, as is the policy"

"Yes"

"I'll be going"

"Sir?"

"The Gholgoth is one mighty group, and it wouldn't hurt to further our relations with them. There might be something in it for us, you know, never hurts to get in their good books. You can come, if you like"

"If you go, I'd better stay and run the country"

The King laughed, briefly.

"Very well. See that a reply is sent, I'll be there. If any of your cabinet want to come, they can"

"I'm sure my Foreign Minister would enjoy the food"

"Then it's settled"


______



ANTIGRAN DIPLOMATIC TRANSMISSION
The United Royal Kingdom of Antigr







- -- - --- Encrypted, 422, 347 - --- -- M1247339StrdsVgn ---- 993 --- - -- -




To: Minister Hartman, New Gothic Empire of Automagfreek
From: Prime Minister Halvar Bengtsson


Sir,
Honoured we are by your invitation to this grand gathering, the King, His Majesty King Fredrik Hallen-Ottestad, wishes to attend to further our relations towards the greatest good, along with my Foreign Affairs Minister. It is my sincerest wish that this conference ensures benifits for both of us, and we shall be there.



__________

As he walked down corridors towards the Offices of Damien Dreadfire having his Secretary quietly and quickly bringing him up to speed on the situation. Dreadfire was expecting him. Drakonian Imperium and Pantera may or may not make it. The Klatch was here.

Shijin stopped short nearly causing his secretary to trip. "The Klatch? Have the had any diplomatic ties with the Gholgoth region since our departure?"

"Little too none. Certainly not attending any international summits. Sir? Do you think they're here because of us?"

Shijin smiled. "Now, now. That would be immodest and rude. Certainly they have their own reasons for being here. Let's say hi!" Shijin said changing his direction and stride.

"Who are the representatives?"

The secretary looked over his PDA."From Vrak?..no name. Just look for a Walrus, I guess...from Dyelli Beybi...Brigadier-General L. Dent, no idea what the 'L.' stands for. There's been political change in the Coast, the President is now a Dyelli Beybian."

"Vrak doesn't worry me. Dyelli Beybi running the show, now that worries me."

"Sir?"

"They still resent us for the failed invasion."

"Sir! Everyone knows that what the work of Christopher Dantes, and everyone knows that it was in response to the fact that they nuked Drakonian Imperium, and everyone knows that you attempted to make reconciliations with the coast."

"The word of the Executor, becomes the word of his nation. The 'response' was a few years late. And I doubt that me walking over there saying 'I'm sorry' really changed anything. Just made them a little less publicly resentful towards us."

"Then why do you want to say 'hi' to the Brigadier-General?"

"To let him know I meant it."

Seeing an official that matched the description of 'L. Dent' Shijin made his way to extend greetings.

Well, 'Goan's tended towards understatement, it was a national trait. Perhaps it was because they could be so excessive in everything else. But as that may be, they had found the information that General Pace had finally learned to smile in a most unconventional fashion and in such a place rather -- dramatic. Really.

Most 'Goan's favored the dramatic, but none of the Ruling Triad did.

But then again when one of us is a functioning sociopath, another is possessed of a fully diagnosed antisocial personality disorder and both of them are mine to command. It's so good that they love me. It makes it all so very convenient. Sam mused idlely with a wry smile as his enhanced auditory capabilities let him overhear Empress Volsung's self introduction to the representatives from Novacom. Another group the 'Goan's had had no intercourse with, and knew only by reputation.

Tai and Vic had given the Crimmond Empress only a once-over, before turning their interests elsewhere. Other than each other they far preferred men, and besides the Empress's voice wasn't interesting enough to hold Lady Victoria's attention.

Though Tai caught Vic looking a second look at a passing dignitary who's uniform the she didn't recognize. That brought an open, if but split second frown to Tai's expressive face. As head of the notorious Maskirovka, the nation's intelligence and black ops Directorate, she should have had a full dossier uploaded for each of the nations that would be in attendance. She would have to have that oversight corrected in the future. Once she determined exactly who was responsible for that error. Tai could not abide error in her Directorate. The fact that numerous nations of no significant international reputation were sending delegates was of greater interest that assigning blame for the nonce though. Tai turned her attention from possible prevention of Vic's need to collect voices to intelligence gathering. Something she enjoyed far more.

The other was Sam's provenance.

Then she spotted High Leader Aimless von Strangaild, of Zacharoth, and she broke into a smile. ”Sam, Vic, it’s Aimless” She said in her ghost of a voice, then without waiting, she headed his way. Tai Liked the High Leader.

As it turned out the 'L' before Dent stood for "Llewellyn". He was a typically short, slim Dyellian, with delicate, aquiline features which gave him a somewhat effeminate appearance, one that was somewhat counteracted by a long scar on the Brigadier's left cheek.

The man had chosen to appear in military uniform; field grey with black webbing and jack boots with all it's Fascist overtones. The unit patch was a red greek cross with fleur-de-lis at its ends on a white background. To those familiar with the emblem, it marked the man as one of the 'Order of Calatrava', the personal bodyguard of the Tzarina, although on this occasion he was supposedly representing the Federation as a whole.

There appeared to be another Dyellian with him, a middle aged blonde woman with striking blue eyes (quite a rare trait among Dyellians). This one was presumably acting in an advisory role and was wearing a crisp grey business suit.

The approach of Shijin was noted by the Brigadier, who clicked his heels together and inclined his head politely, "Good day."

Returning the head bowed, Shijin generated a true aura of warmth.

"Good Day, Brigadier-General. It is good that we are now able to speak to one another in international gatherings such as these."

"I wanted to extend my welcome to you and the Klatch in attendance to the summit, as your Region received me with open arms, I am glad that Gholgoth has extended you the same courtesy. And some business I was unable to finish during my last visit to the Klatch, which we can discuss at a later time, if such a thing is under your authority of course, involved a proposition of trade between Tersanctus and the Klatch, with terms favorable to your Region, as a sincere form of apology for the wrongs my nation has inflicted on the Klatch in the past." Shijin spoke with a warm voice, and switching eye contact slowly between the BG and what seemed to be his adviser.

"Forgive me, Miss. I get so caught up in formality and national business, I often forget my manners. I am Executor Shijin Kotomari." He said introducing himself to the woman that accompanied BG Dent.

A pair of the Novans, Denteth and Izalien inclined their heads politely, Hugoro, had padded off elsewhere, a pair of enforcers in tow, “I am Suprainister Denteth Tolion, and this is War Minister Izalien Jhanhus, my recent,” Denteth paused for a moment, as he gathered his English vocabulary, “Fiancé, and we didn’t see an issue for excessive pomp and ceremony, we are here to discuss issues of significance, not participate in a festival or a carnival, our normal attire is formal and proper for such occasions” he finished smiling, as he gestured to the lady, who shifted from her conversation with one of the two Enforcers who wore their service cap opposed to helmet, her blonde ringlets shifting gently over her shoulders as she smiled, “A Pleasure to meet you Lady Empress and for an encounter with a demon, you look to be in remarkably good health, it is a testament to your personal fortitude.

“Indeed it is, and I must congratulate you on having the required personal and national fortitude, in addition to the personal and national will and ingenuity to deal with your inner problems and lead your people in accordance with your ideals, you have our admiration for this,” Denteth brought his left arm up and back upon itself, elbow at shoulder length palm held in plane horizontal to his arm over the heart in a form of salute, his words were plain and to the point, the accent was strange, and naturally Novan, but his words were respectful and betrayed no hidden meaning, for there was none.

“Vistakal Lotorien, you are sure of this?” Hugoro enquired in Novan, his expression neutral with a slight tinge of something secret, but then, the Novans usually wrapped themselves in so many layers of secrecy and enigma to be a cultural trait, evinced by no outsider knowing their language, or even able to lay hands on a map of their enigmatic and undeniably ancient home isles.

“Indeed Minister, I am sure,” returned the Vistakal, who although he wore his Service Cap, like the other unhelemeted enforcer favoured a red visor-like pair of eyewear, and other equipment, which were normal parts of his uniform.

Hugoro pivoted gently, lowering his head slightly, one hand rubbing his chin apparently deeply in thought, while the Vistakal nodded his head, there was a second conversation in progress that no-one else could see, nor detect, the Novan Shadowfeed utilised technologies that they naturally had not shared, it was however known to the other Gothic Lords, that when the Novans offered to function as communications handlers for a theatre, there would be no leaks, nor would signals be intercepted, but then, the Novans were one of the more Technologically inclined of the region.

“You have confirmation Vistakal?” pressed Hugoro, the double meaning evident, the second conversation continued in addition to this one, and it would appear no more as a Minister speaking with his guard, for the second layer couldn’t have been found out even if someone had been looking for it less than inches away…

Yes I do, nothing serious as of yet,” replied the Vistakal, his face expressionless and his eyes obscured behind the thick translucent red material of the visor, perched beneath the brim of his cap.

“But?” he continued pointedly tilting his head smirking knowingly.

“The Itzerican requests Authorisation,” he returned Pointedly, an observer would be confused but then, no observer knew Novan, and wouldn’t understand the conversation anyway, “it is best mentioned now, better prepared for anything that may happen,” the phrase had several meanings, and Hugoro nodded, understanding both, as did the Vistakal, for all had some form of protection whether visible or not, but there would be no trouble, and the hosts need not be informed, the Freeks were more than competent, and woe betide anyone who attempted anything stupid here, and other matters could be dealt with in the mean time thought Hugoro as he returned to the center with the Enforcers in tow.

“Excuse me please Lady Empress, but duty requires I have but a short word with the Suprainister,” interjected Hugoro into the conversation, before continuing in Novan, “The Itzerican requests Authorisation,”

“I heard, relay it immediately,” returned Denteth as like nodding at Hugoro pointedly, patting him on the shoulder, before turning once more to Sonya, “Excuse the interruption, Now where were we…..

Returning the head bowed, Shijin generated a true aura of warmth.

"Good Day, Brigadier-General. It is good that we are now able to speak to one another in international gatherings such as these."

"I wanted to extend my welcome to you and the Klatch in attendance to the summit, as your Region received me with open arms, I am glad that Gholgoth has extended you the same courtesy. And some business I was unable to finish during my last visit to the Klatch, which we can discuss at a later time, if such a thing is under your authority of course, involved a proposition of trade between Tersanctus and the Klatch, with terms favorable to your Region, as a sincere form of apology for the wrongs my nation has inflicted on the Klatch in the past." Shijin spoke with a warm voice, and switching eye contact slowly between the BG and what seemed to be his adviser.

"Forgive me, Miss. I get so caught up in formality and national business, I often forget my manners. I am Executor Shijin Kotomari." He said introducing himself to the woman that accompanied BG Dent.

Dent inclined his head courtesously, "I must say I am somewhat unsure as to what exactly happened under the previous regime." he confessed, his Dyellian accent (Irish? Welsh?) was more obvious now that he was speaking in full sentences, "Before we took command Klatch had fallen into some degree of disarray, and prior to that we in the South had very little input into the affairs of Port Olympus." he shook his head sadly, "But Lord willing we will rebuild Klatchia into the power she ought to be."

"How fares Tersanctus?" he asked politely, "It has been a long time since we came for close to blows. Had the Tzar not been murdered and that creature Himmler not been so keen on appeasement, we could have met on the field of battle instead of in these polite circumstances... instead I lost half my jaw fighting rebels." a short barking laugh, "One hopes we can put aside the unfortunate events of that year. After all, the universe is full of far greater threats to our continued existence than Tersanctus or Dyelli Beybi respectively."

He was obviously not a particularly accomplished diplomat, but there was no sign of any animosity in his words, just a sense that he came from the old school of Tzarist soldiers who viewed war as a 'Glorious passtime'.

The somewhat disparaging comment regarding rebels had drawn a glance from his companion (possibly she had been one?), "Marina Vladicovitch." she introduced herself, indicating from her name and accent that she was from that part of Northern Klatch that claimed to be Dyellian, "I am a Cultural Analyst with the Department of External Affairs. Nothing too exciting I'm afraid Executor. Just one of the staff."

A comment which was somewhat reliant on the Executor not knowing what the Department of External affairs was... In recent years the omnipresent secret police, or Cheka in Dyelli Beybi had overgrown their jackboots and staged a successful coup. After months of intermittent warfare, a peculiar Alliance of convenience between 'Red Faction' and Tzarist insurgents had managed to retake control of the country, ushering in the latest regime to take control of the notoriously unstable country. The first move had been to split the Cheka into a number of large overlapping Intelligence departments to keep the spies in check, one of which was the department of External Affairs.

Sonya nodded in response to the compliments. "Delta was weak. I had planned for his attack... though i don't recall it including the part where he almost kills me." She shrugs slightly and winces again. "Plans never work the way they should on paper."

She remains silent during the interruption and shakes her head to dismiss it. "No apologies needed." She motions behind herself at the rotund Commando. "This mountain in a uniform is Colonel Ian Daunt. One of my most trusted Marines." The colonel looked over and nodded deeply, but didn't seem interested in approaching to take part. "And the Marine that's shadowing me is Sergeant Adler, a member of my traveling staff." The sergeant doesn't react at all for a second too long, but then bows his head respectfully.

Sonya turns a bit to look at the other leaders, then back at the Novans. "The way I came to power is going to be a point I intend to bring up during this meeting. My words will probably sound harsh, but please do not be offended by them. I have to say them, to properly shift to my main goal at this meeting."

"Well. Many unfortunate things happened in the past I'm afraid. Things that Nations do when they perhaps should not. We as the decedents bear the burden of our fathers' sins."

While Shijin might have agreed, as War was the way of the Kungshaoist Temple. The eternal dance of the Dragon and Tiger, Everthing and Nothing forever in a Divine Dance, one feeding off the other, he was ever the modernist, the believer in peace, and argued the old texts of the Kungshaoists. 'War' was misinterpreted as 'Defense' from old Tersanctan.

Shijin returned the smile. "There is little exciting about government work. But in service to our peoples we accept the mundane tasks." He realized that 'External Affairs' meant outside events. The equivalent in Tersanctus would be Acumen, the Intelligence Agency. But, who was he judge, thats what nations did, they spied on one another, always wrestling for dominance over the other.

While a bit more comfortable dealing with the spy, who obviously had a bit more training in dealing with people, or rather, just simply had a normal upbringing, Shijin nonetheless would defer to tradition and address the General, as he had the most rank in terms of National Visiting Dignitaries.

"But, please, do consider my offer. If you are indeed 'rebuilding' the Klatch, then the trade proposal would benefit greatly the both of us. I will of course extend a formal proposal between our governments, but I also realize that the Klatch is...xenophobic? if you'll forgive my blunt description? and would like as many proponents on your side as possible."

"And now, if you will excuse me? I am meeting with another dignitary, and I am running late already. Brigadier-General Dent, Miss Vladicovitch, it has been a pleasure! Perhaps we may speak again after this?" the Executor politely excused himself.

President Mooty, after reviewing the letter sent to him by Damien, was to say the least, hesitant. Of course he wasn't afraid, and he had given AMF a gift of 30 Galaxy Class submarines in the distant past, so he wasn't expecting coldness, but something about that nation just made him paranoid. Nevertheless, Mooty sent a response to Lord Damien stating he would come to discuss an alliance, albeit with 20 of his closest men and as armed as always.

.:From The Desk of The President:.

Lord Damien,
It's been a long time since I've been active in international politics, but I plan to come discuss matters of a future alliance with your great region, Gholgoth. The Generic Empire and my nation were allies before this horrible civil war that caused me to lose connection to the rest of the world, and I desire to strengthen my alliance not only with them, but also their allies. I will arrive in your great nation in a few days, accompanied by twenty of my most well-trained men. If you have any requests concerning my men or myself, please let them be known before I arrive.

President Mooty
Leader of The Wickit Klownz

.:End of Letter:.

OOC: My next post will be up tomorrow for sure, way too much stuff going on for me to finish it today.

OOC: yeah ill be gettin drunk as shit tonight so don't expect the best from me tomorrow... lol hangovers=fail

Provisional Ruling Establishment
Damford

A light breeze blew loose dirt into the olive-drab tarp that served as the quarters for James Gatsfield, the President of Damford. All things considered, it was quite a roomy tent, with a cot, a desk, a chair and a lamp. The situation for those outside the Provisional Ruling Establishment (known as the 'pre' to all those who had no inclination to pronounce ten syllables) was far more bleak.

Along with the breeze arrived a male aide (read: able-bodied survivor who could read), and, with him, a typewritten dispatch with Minister Hartman's letter.

Gatsfield scanned the letter. Then he read it again, a bit more closely. Peering up above his rimless sunglasses at the aide, he asked if the young man was sure the dispatch was meant for Damford.

The aide replied that no, he was not sure, but suggested replying to it nonetheless.

Gatsfield agreed, and searched his spartan quarters for a Bic.

The following was transmitted via e-mail.

From: James Gatsfield (mailto:jgatsfield@pre.gov.dfd)
To: AUTOMAGFREEK (reroute accordingly)

My most esteemed Minister Hartman,

I bid you good tidings from the Republic. I have recently recieved a letter by your hand at my camp; I am unaware whether this communication was actually meant for me or not. Surely the Minister realizes how dire (or maybe he does not, considering Damford's relative importance on the international stage) the Damfordian situation is.

However, if this message was meant for us, may I speak for the entire Republic when I say how honored we are to be invited to such an event. I will attend it personally.

Signed,

J. E. Gatsfield
James Eric Gatsfield
President
The Republic of Damford

______________________

Great Hall
ULE City
Automagfreek

President Gatsfield stepped out of a taxi and walked up the steps to the Hall. He straightened the bow of the reserved (but stylish) tuxedo he had bought at the airport, and left his bag (containing the fatigues he had worn previous to said purchase) with a steward at the door. Seeking someone regal-looking, he walked over to Emperor Ishamael, and attempted to strike up a conversation with him and the Freek.

"So, which nations do you gentlemen preside over?"

(OOC: Arrival.)

Speaker Drew Haltom (http://www.orange.co.uk/images/editorial/colin_farrell_aug06_170.jpg) stepped out of the FalconJet used as Blue Force Six, the Speaker's preferred form of aerial transportation. The ramp was full of various aircraft from other nations' leaders, and the area was still showing signs of various incoming aircraft. It was midday, and the sun cast its yellow beams directly into the face of Haltom, who slowly donned his Oakley sunglasses and wiped his lips. He walked down the steep steps, down to the asphalt below. He wore a dark blue sports coat, a green v-neck shirt, a pair of stonewash blue jeans, and a pair of brown, suede moccasins. He waited, lighting a kretek cigarette as he watched a black limousine pull up. He stepped in, cracked the window, and took another long drag from his cigarette as the car sped off to the great meeting place in ULE City. Haltom, to his recollection, had never met Dreadfire face-to-face, but he remembered the actions taken by both the Senate and Freekish officials to get him into office. Of course, nothing would be spoken of the events, but Haltom was undoubtedly thankful.

Only one question kept occuring through Haltom's mind as the car rumbled through the large city. What am I doing here? he thought to himself, and sometimes audibly. Of course, he would be rubbing elbows with the greatest of national leaders, but other than that, was there a real reason he was there? Sniper Country had little to offer as far as huge military assistance (aside from possible foreign nation training programs), it couldn't financially support anything outlandishly major, and as far as its stature and clout, well, that had dissapeared years ago. He was almost burdened about being in this country, with all these people. He had only been Speaker for little over a year, while most of these other leaders had been the heads of their nations for what seemed to be decades. One thing was certain: he was not here to kiss anyone's rear-end.

The car pulled in to let Speaker Haltom out. He pulled out several bills and handed them to the driver, placed what was left of his second kretek in the ashtray, and stepped out. Looking around the massive building, he wiped his coat off, took his Oakleys off, and squinted, looking toward the large door in front of him. Slowly, he walked inside, attempting to find his way throughout the massive halls and corridors. Finally, finding a large meeting hall, Haltom saw many seemingly esteemed men and women standing around, entertaining themselves with small-talk. Taking a deep breath and slowly sighing it out again, he stepped in.

IC:

King Ottestad was in a smart pinstripe suit rather than his royal finery, and he looked more a businessman than a king. Nonetheless, he expected they'd know who he was. His black, polished shoes emerged from the door of the jet and he started to walk down the steps. The Jet was big, and the model number 940 was painted on it's side. It was of a similar scale to that of the infamous Air Force One, and like it, the King's aircraft had it's very own set of steps which it carried around. Behind the King emerged the Prime Minister's Foreign Office Minister, Sten Eriksson. They were to be alone, their army of attaches being left on the plane. King Ottestad looked round - the airport apron was full of aeroplanes, and he saw another touching down. Whether diplomatic or not, it was big, very big. A black limousine was waiting for him. It looked like something a Mafia boss might go shopping in - it had chrome everything and blacked-out windows. Heaving himself into the grand car, Eriksson sat down next to him and closed the door. The vehicle began to accelerate.

The car was making fairly good speed through ULE city. The King had never been here, and nor had the Foreign Minister. It was a city, certainly, with towering structures and old an new amix. He was not so much observing as glancing around, while in deep thought. Like most that would be here tonight, the topic that was truly in his mind was what would be in it for us? Alas, he knew not; Antigr was a couple of billion below half the size of Automagfreek, and although possessing large land claims and a large navy, it wasn't such a consequential force in the wider world. Nonetheless, they had their share of things to offer, militarily anyway. Having several overseas territories seemingly positioned in just the right places, Antigr maintained worldwide naval patrols and could respond to a threat accordingly. The Navy, like the rest of the Royal Armed Services, had a comparatively tiny professional 'full-time' contingent, but it's reserves were front-line reserves, which could be mobilised quickly and trained as the regulars.

He felt the adrenaline going as he arrived; new faces everywhere, each and every one meaning a lot to a certain nation and in all likelihood important as he. He opened the door and exited the limousine, followed by ever-faithful Eriksson, and proceded into the congregation of world leaders. I wonder if anyone will recognise me.

Emperor Nikolai had been silent for the majority of the trip, lost in thought. To be fair, he was travelling alone and it would have been improper to strike up a conversation with a servant or chauffeur. There were, however, deeper reasons for his silence.

It was a bizarre choice, opening a gathering of Lords to outsiders. The Holy Emperor couldn’t claim to disagree with the move. He had come to view Gholgoth’s isolationism as a crutch, and as Generians were diplomats as much as they were warriors, he was never opposed to talking to strangers. Still, it struck him as unusual that such a move should come at this time. It rang with the sense of a last attempt by his alliance to make itself relevant in the world; relevant as something more than a nemesis to the Haven states and a terrible boogeyman in the distant memories of old kings.

Perhaps Dreadfire was feeling the squeeze; feeling his own age. He had doubtless seen many Gothic nations falter and disappear into obscurity in the past. Was this his preoccupation at the moment? Nikolai couldn’t be certain. He didn’t know the man; had never met him. Only his reputation as a dreadful serious individual and a strong king preceded him. It would be a fascinating experience. No Generian minister or Emperor had ever met the Freekish Lord in person.

Nikolai was the second man in Imperial history to hold the title of “Lord of Gholgoth,” the first being his father Kazatmiru. The collapse of Generia into disarray during his father’s reign, however, had rendered the title relatively useless. Having revived the Empire almost singlehandedly, Nikolai intended to make the most of this ceremonial name. Powerful friends were not to be wasted, and the Empire had never been known to skip out on her obligations to her allies. With the situation in the world looking rather grim at the moment, building personal loyalty among the Gothic lords seemed a worthwhile task. The presence of outsiders perhaps would detract from this. Who could know.

As the car pulled to a stop in front of the most magnificent building in ULE city, the Holy Emperor of Generia flicked his cigarette out of the window, and stepped out. Walking briskly without waiting for his personal bodyguard to catch up, he found his way inside. He paid little attention to the grandeur surrounding him, though had he been less preoccupied, his aesthetic mind would have drank in the architecture greedily.

OOC: If you haven't arrived yet but would like to, feel free to assume you're already here. I've been sick the past couple of days so everyone will have to excuse the poor post quality and length.

********

The morning clouds had been lifted by the piercing rays of the rising eastern sun, which cast great pillars of light down upon ULE City. The Great Hall had been filled with dignitaries from both near and far, though the Lords of Gholgoth would stand in the majority, though even they were outnumbered by the sheer volume of cooks and servants who tended to their every need. The interior of the Great Hall's main chamber was a sight of awe; large black and crimson banners that stretched from the ceiling to nearly the floor, the colors of House Dreadfire. An enormous oaken table made from the ancient Mourning Tree when it was destroyed by artillery in years past, which could easily seat dozens. Polished marble floors that ever so slightly reflected the shining majesty of the rising sun.

But all the pomp and slendor was soon interrupted by the blare of silver trumpets, which immediately drew the attention of everone present within the main hall. From the giant staircase across the room came two rows of Sentinels clad in ancient ceremonial attire, carrying high the banners of the Lord and marching in perfect unison as they decended all the way to the bottom. After a brief pause Minister Hartman was the first to file down with the Sentinel honor guard on both sides of him, and stopping at the base of the stairs he then announced in a booming voice, May I present to you all, Lord Damien Dreadfire. Taking his place at the right side of the landing, he looked upwards as the echo of boots resonated throughout the room.

With his crimson cape fluttering ever so slightly behind him and with the sun casting a sharp glare on his polished breastpiece, the towering Warlord decended slowly towards the waiting company below. He glanced from left to right at his Sentinel kin standing rigidly on either side of him, but then immediately turned his attention to the waiting delegations before him. On behalf of Automagfreek and greater Gholgoth, I bid you all welcome. Please, let us be seated. He then gestured to the long table which was set in the middle of the room before starting off towards it, and mere seconds later scores of servants began to fill the room with exquisite platters of the finest Freekish and Gothic cuisine.

With bottles of Freekish whiskey also being poured into tall glasses and tankards, the fiery Lord arose from his seat and offered a toast to friends old and new, and to a successful gathering. He then returned to his seat and began to dine on the fine foods before him, until such time that he and his guests had eaten their fill. After having the table cleared and readied for the meeting that was to take place, Dreadfire spoke first and kicked off the dialogue between his Gothic brothers and those who were visiting for the first time.

I'd like to welcome all of you, and thank you for attending. I look across this table and see many faces, some familiar, others new. I see Goth, Antigran, Klatchian, and more. I would first like to express to everyone our eagerness as a region to better relations with our foreign guests, and the Lords of Gholgoth would be happy to speak to any issue in your minds.

Having said that, he returned to his seat and looked across the table for the first dignitary to speak.

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

OOC: Ok, here's how this is going to work. In order to avoid having people sitting around waiting to post until the IC conversation gets around to them (and to avoid people being forgotten), I'm going to just post all of the appropriate replies all at one time, or as they are posted. So feel free to make your next post(s) without fear of mesing up any kind of order.

The Emperor had been conversing politely with the Freekish minister on the issue of the Gothic economy when he noticed a sharply-dressed but unfamiliar man approaching the two of them. Tossing back the last of his scotch, he stared as the man came closer: this one hadn't batted an eye upon seeing the steel masks of the Immortals behind Ishamael, elaborately wrought in the image of skulls, a sight that generally forced the smile, if only for an instant, from a statesman's face. A stoic, then. The other man wasted no time walking straight up to the Emperor and inquiring of him and the Freekish minister, "So, which nations do you gentlemen preside over?"

"My name," Ishamael replied, putting heavy emphasis on the second word to remind this man that he had overlooked the niceties, "is Ishamael the Second, By the Will of the Gods, the Most Imperial Highness, His Divine Majesty the Emperor of Kregaia, King of Sarmatia, Cadia, and Volscia, Lord of Gholgoth, Lord of the North, Prince of Korronis, He of the Thousand Titles." He smiled and took a breath after reciting his formal style before continuing, "I hope that answers your question. As for my companion, I fear you mistake him; this is one of Lord Dreadfire's ministers." Handing off his empty glass to a passing servant, the Emperor crossed his arms and regarded the newcomer with a mixture of challenge and amusement. "And who do I have have the pleasure of addressing?"

Ishamael dropped his quasi-mocking manner, however, upon learning that the man was President of Damford, a newcomer to the brotherhood of Gholgoth, and thus his equal in rank. He didn't apologize outright (Kregaian etiquette frowned on the Emperor apologizing for anything), but he tried to make the sentiment clear to President Gatsfield by the difference in his demeanor. The two talked for a while politely, but Ishamael soon saw the Generian Emperor Nikolai striding in ahead of his guards. Excusing himself, the Emperor went and talked for some time with Nikolai: Ishamael personally owed a great deal to the Generians, whose collaboration with him in the Succession Wars had ensured he took the Iron Throne.

All conversation ceased, however, when the trumpets announced the arrival of their legendary host. A moment after Minister Hartman proclaimed his imminent entrance, the Lord of the Freeks strode down the steps toward his guests. What surprised Ishamael was the man's sheer size; the Emperor was a tall and powerfully-built man, but Dreadfire towered over him by several inches at least.

The company was seated, and Ishamael took pleasure in sampling both the fine (albeit very strong) Freekish whiskey and the wide array of foods. Some said the morning was no time for liquor, but in as alcohol-soaked a culture as Kregaia's, strong drink was acceptable any time. After the meal was finished and Lord Dreadfire had opened the floor, Ishamael waited a few seconds for the sake of courtesy and then rose.

"I would first like to thank our host, Lord Dreadfire, for his hospitality and the honor of being invited to attend this occasion." Ishamael glanced around the table at the seated representatives, continuing, "If I may be so bold as to use our host as an example, Lord Dreadfire is an excellent symbol for what I wish to speak about. He is well-reputed for his strength and ferocity in time of war; and yet, the current circumstances show he understands friendship, hospitality, and the niceties of international relations. He is far more than what most people know, and the same must be said of Gholgoth itself.

"I speak primarily for the benefit of those who do not bear the title 'Gothic Lord', for in ways, this occasion is for you. You had all heard, of course, of Gholgoth before you received Lord Dreadfire's invitation, but there is no guarantee that what you heard was true. Greatness can lead to envy, fear, resentment, and a host of other feelings, all of whom have the power and inclination to spawn lies. Even if what you have heard was true, it was likely not the whole truth. Gholgoth is well-known as a place of strength, of primal power, cruelty, and tyranny. But for the first, this, ladies and gentlemen, is resoundingly off the mark.

"Gholgoth is not good or evil. Gholgoth simply is. Gholgoth is a rock of strength, standing above the nations that form it. Gholgoth is a bond of indomitable brotherhood that stands against the pressures of the world. Gholgoth is more than black and white, and the generalities that other nations describe it in utterly fail to express these truths. I personally hope, and I feel that my fellow Gothic Lords hope, that this occasion dispels any illusions you might have about us. This," he continued, gesturing to the table and the vast hall around them, "is the face of Gholgoth, and it is a constant. It is strength, neither good nor evil; it is eternal, and how you perceive it is up to you."

Bruno Hudson was out of place, and he knew it. He sat in the midst of the Gothic Lords, but despite his place at the table marking him as one of their own he seemed horribly mismatched when viewed together with those around him. Where they were tall, powerfully-built men, he was small, dressed in a suit, and at times visibly nervous. He had not found it easy to mingle among the guests and his peers of Gholgoth following his arrival, and had remained almost entirely silent through dinner, eating his food quietly and trying not to attract attention, for fear of someone questioning his place with the other Lords. He had drunk as much of the Freekish whiskey as he could stomach, but his glass remained mostly full and his throat constantly burned even as he sat in silence listening to the short speeches by Dreadfire and Ishmael.

Thinking about it logically, he knew there was no reason to be afraid. He was the leader of a nation of Gholgoth, a Gothic Lord, and in the presence of some of the most powerful men on the planet. He was in no danger, and was probably in one of the safest places on the planet. As these thoughts crossed his mind, he shook them away. He was not afraid. That was not the right emotion to describe how he felt. He was simply nervous.

It came from inexperience and a slight amount of intimidation. To deal with these men from afar, with words on a page or typed on a screen, was easy. He could reduce them to names and titles, and although his titles were by no means as impressive as most of theirs, he could hold his own diplomatically, and he knew that his was one of the strongest Gothic nations in such a respect. It was being here, in their actual presence, that rattled his nerves so. They were physically more imposing than him in every respect, and although they had never said it he had an unvoiced concern that they looked down on him as weak, possibly because his strength was in words, or possibly because his was among the least militaristic of the Gothic nations, or perhaps simply because to some of them he was no more than an elected official, the title Lord of Gholgoth something that was bestowed on him for a few years before he was defeated in a popularity contest of the ignorant masses. Again, he thought, these were concerns that had never been brought to his attention except by him.

But he could not afford to appear weak in front of these, his strongest allies. He would have to find some way to appear stronger when meeting the other Lords face to face. This was his first time doing so for most of them, although his predecessor had met most of them on numerous occasions, and with his unspoken confidence and powerful build he had fit in here much more than Bruno knew he could ever hope to.

As he sat, his elbows resting on the edge of the table, his hands clasped together, and his chin resting on the tips of his thumbs, he looked out over the others in attendance - an assortment of king, emperors, and other governmental figures - and realized what he needed to do. As he sat there, in silence, waiting for the next speaker, he resolved that upon his return to Haraki he would make a visit to the home of Prince Alek Haraki, the heir to the disinherited Harakian monarchy, and see if he would be willing to accept a diplomatic role as official liaison to Gholgoth, or a similar role in some capacity. Bruno could not help but feel that the presence of a title, even just that of Prince, before the name of the Harakian delegation, would go a long way.

And so Bruno Hudson, Prime Minister of Haraki and Lord of Gholgoth, sat among his peers, and let brooding thoughts cross his mind as Ishmael spoke. Despite his wish to make a strong impression, though, he stayed silent. He had nothing of note to add at the time, though he was sure his moment would come.

Tai, Vic and Sam once the had greeted the High Leader and others they knew from their time as a part of Gholgoth Minor, they had contented themselves with purely observing, and using enhanced senses to over hear without coming too close to others. But then again 'Goan's weren't noted for their friendliness even among themselves - but few outsiders ever got to see the inside of 'Goan society.

They introduced themselves quietly to the people on either sides of them at the long feast table and ate neatly. They tossed back the strong Freekish whiskey with pleasure and no need to worry about how it might affect them. Nihongo has spent several generations doing a tidy bit of genetic modification - Sam had some private thoughts about just exactly how human his fellow countrymen were any longer, but since they were private he hadn't shared them with any one other than Tai and Vic. Nothing brewed by the Freeks and served for general consumption would bother them.

Lord Dreadfire was impressively built, and he could see from the light in Vic eye's that his voice had found a fan And no she can't have it. One does not start wars of that magnitude over obsessions. Then he looked around at the Gothian rulers and gave a mental chuff of denial - especially when his gaze landed on the new Empress of Crimmond.Or at least we don't

Tai tuned out the Emperor of Kregaia's little speech. She knew what Gholgoth. Her job was to find out what it wasn't, and where its weaknesses lay. She sat very still – all three did with nothing in the way of extraneous body movements, nothing about them gave away any clues. At one point as she nodded her head in response to a sotto voced comment by Sam,a faint but distinct, white scar line of an old but near fatal wound could be seen encircling her throat. Normally it was hidden by the wide crimson silk choker she wore about her neck, but the movement had dislodged it slightly and until it settled back into its accustomed place it could be seen by those she was facing. That accounted for the silken whisper. It was not an affectation.

Victoria too tuned out Ishmael’s little overstatement. His guardbodies with their skull masks hadn’t even merited a whisper of a smile. Someone had been watching too much 300. None of the various spates of titles tossed by those about impressed her, nor had military uniforms - much less numbers of guardbodies. Lady Victoria Dominique McMasters, of the Ruling Triad and that made her the more than equal of any here. Her brilliant blue eyes rested on the true power, the sole enduring power here, and that wasn’t one nation, but one man. Lord Damian Dreadfire. And she wondered, as doubtless every one else was wondering – the true why.

"Well. Many unfortunate things happened in the past I'm afraid. Things that Nations do when they perhaps should not. We as the decedents bear the burden of our fathers' sins."

While Shijin might have agreed, as War was the way of the Kungshaoist Temple. The eternal dance of the Dragon and Tiger, Everthing and Nothing forever in a Divine Dance, one feeding off the other, he was ever the modernist, the believer in peace, and argued the old texts of the Kungshaoists. 'War' was misinterpreted as 'Defense' from old Tersanctan.

Shijin returned the smile. "There is little exciting about government work. But in service to our peoples we accept the mundane tasks." He realized that 'External Affairs' meant outside events. The equivalent in Tersanctus would be Acumen, the Intelligence Agency. But, who was he judge, thats what nations did, they spied on one another, always wrestling for dominance over the other.

While a bit more comfortable dealing with the spy, who obviously had a bit more training in dealing with people, or rather, just simply had a normal upbringing, Shijin nonetheless would defer to tradition and address the General, as he had the most rank in terms of National Visiting Dignitaries.

"But, please, do consider my offer. If you are indeed 'rebuilding' the Klatch, then the trade proposal would benefit greatly the both of us. I will of course extend a formal proposal between our governments, but I also realize that the Klatch is...xenophobic? if you'll forgive my blunt description? and would like as many proponents on your side as possible."

"And now, if you will excuse me? I am meeting with another dignitary, and I am running late already. Brigadier-General Dent, Miss Vladicovitch, it has been a pleasure! Perhaps we may speak again after this?" the Executor politely excused himself.

"And a duty to uphold their legacy." the Brigadier supplied. He sounded proud, he was after all, an Uchelwr (or knight to anyone else). Unlike in most countries this sort of thing still mattered to Dyellians, even if there was now a large degree of social mobility and the hierachies were not so strictly observed.

Vladicovitch smiled at the remark on Government work, but restrained herself to "Indeed Sir." by way of reply.

"A trade deal is a posibility." Dent acknowledged, "Although the exact nature of what tariffs although personally I am not qualified to comment on what tariffs we would consider dropping or reducing." it was a fairly neutral response, one that did not rule out a trade deal, without expressing any enormous enthusiasm in that regard.

"Goodbye Sir." it was indeed a pleasure he responded finally, his sentiments echoed by Vladicovitch, "I believe that further talks of a more focused nature could be beneficial for us."

The pair watched as the Tersanctan disappeared. Dent was not averse to people approaching him, but personally did not feel the need to run out and converse with the multitude. In truth, apart from Tersanctus there were few States present that Klatchia had any particular interest in, they were here more to show the flag than anything else.

"LLewellyn, what were you playing at?" the spy growled when nobody else was in earshot. Dyellians were not noted for adhering to titles, even if they were acutely aware of their existence.

"Fighting talk my dear, strength is what keeps the wolves at bay. I am the lion and you can be the fox... Machiavelli would be proud." he responded.

"Huh." she scoffed in reply, but didn't otherwise argue, instead scanning the room for anyone else who might have an interest in the Federated Klatchian Coast... The scanning didn't last long as soon the delegates were being ushered into the more formal meeting, "Okay, Llewellyn, behave yourself and remember, today you aren't just a Dyellian, you're also a Klatchian." the Intelligence Agent growled as she departed.

As the meeting began, Brigadier Dent was silent. There was no need to say anything yet. He wanted to hear what everyone else had to say first... idly he wondered if it was ok if he smoked. He cast an eye around for others, but not seeing any, refrained from producing a cigar from his pocket. Foreigners often had views on smoking and drunkeness.

The King took another gulp of whiskey. It was fine and well-aged, and it relaxed him to know his true stance again; the royal family had been reinstated after nearly thirty years of forced exile. Ejected to the wastes of what had seemed to be another world. The civil war, yes...he'd been only five and a half when the republicans stormed the palace and his mother and father had been forced out. He remembered the face of the guardsman as he covered their escape. He was married, yet he sacrificed his own life for him. That would never have happened had the Kingdom not been so weak; the republicans were based in another nation. As king, he didn't know what that nation was. The prime minister destroyed the documents when he had been cornered by the rebels, and killed thirty-seven before being taken himself. His father had given the throne to him. The kingdom had been too weak. Their one ally had refused to help, if only...

Maybe that's why he was here. It seemed everything reminded him of his past...the congregation, all the politicians of some sort. The whiskey. Enough. Now was a new time, a new age; a time where economical power seemingly meant everything. The illusion it gave was false, for the military reign supreme and would for his future and all the future he could foresee, and that was the reason. To forge alliances. He needed friends and so did the state. His past should not become the future too; Gholgoth's fabrics were becoming torn. This, presumably, was to sew it back together again, possibly to pick up extra in the process. To be considered favourable in any sense by what must be one of the greatest 'alliances', if Gholgoth was to be called that, was an honour for a nation much smaller than most of the nations in Gholgoth, save for a select few. Yes, that was his mission.

To 'sneak in' under the wing of this bird, forging some sort of anything would be good enough. Preferably military, he was of fairly limited insurance to Gholgoth but Ghologth was quite a lot to many nations. Find weaknesses and strengths, strengths and weaknesses. After all, it was what everyone is here for, surely? His english vocabulary was good, especially seeing as Antigrans spoke Antigran, an north Germanic language. Enough to sum up what was being spoken. Gholgoth is not good or evil. Gholgoth simply is. Gholgoth is a rock of strength, standing above the nations that form it. Gholgoth is a bond of indomitable brotherhood that stands against the pressures of the world. An impressive speech. For a rock which seemed to be cracking, it still had immeasurable strengths. After this, their strengths would be greater still. All this, all his chances came down to one thing: hope.
He listened closely, wondering when would be the right time to register his intentions.

Approaching ULE City
Freekish Airspace

The Emperor had not been co-operative with Dr. Byrne's trip to Automagfreek, and so Agrandov's new emissary had been forced to make his own travel arrangements. Neither he nor his bodyguard stood out on the long-haul Alkra-ULE flight, but this was to be expected. In the harsh light of the jet's interior, the doctor was exposed as a fairly tall man with dark hair shaven a centimetre from his head, with prominent cheek-bones and large, brown eyes. His bodyguard had also been hired personally, as the candidate insisted on by the Emperor was an Army reserve with very little experience. The man Byrne had chosen for the job was an old friend, of dubious credentials and shadowy acquaintances. At two metres in hight, and filling the full breadth of the First-Class seat, Mr. Dane was an intimidating figure. He had a granite complexion and passive grey eyes, clean shaven for the special occasion.

Both were dressed in dark three-piece suits of significant expense, which were considered the epitome of formal fashion in Agrandov. Mr. Dane had a short-brimmed black fedora hat in his lap, and was reading the sports section of an Agrandan broadsheet. Dr. Byrne was staring out of the window, contemplating the words of Mr. Ronnal and his unexpected trip to Automagfreek. As the seatbelt sign appeared with an insistent ping, the plane began to descend on the airport at ULE City. The plane was less than half full, as most travellers between Agrandov and Automagfreek were businesspeople or government emissaries. To the best of Dr. Byrne's knowledge, neither nation was a particularly attractive holiday destination.

---
Great Hall
ULE City, Automagfreek

The pair had travelled to the Great Hall with a hired driver, one of Mr. Dane's many acquaintances. The man, introduced to Dr. Byrne only as 'Mike', would arrange accommodation for them while they were with the other dignitaries, and he would collect them from the Great Hall when needed. They had arrived only minutes prior to the speech from Damien Dreadfire, and so had no time for early introductions. First impressions spoke volumes however, as it was clear that the vast majority had sent the pinnacle of society to this gathering. Dr. Byrne on the other hand was a Councillor and Senator, but held no rank within the Foreign Office. He was not certain that he had explicit permission to be here, although he had informed Minister Hartman before his departure and assume that he would have been notified of any problems.

Dr. Byrne was impressed with the arrangement, although this was his first major diplomatic event outside of Agrandov. He could see that security had been well taken care of; anything unsavoury at such an event could well destroy the reputations of many powerful people. Dr. Byrne was not worried for his own safety, as - even if he was a target of any value - he trusted Mr. Dane completely. Both of them were unarmed however, despite Mr. Dane's insistence, as a sign of respect to the Gothic Lords present at the event. Dr. Byrne was not keen to present himself as an equal to them, and indeed did not expect an audience at all. He was interested, however, in finding the influential if ordinary figures of government and talking to them, getting their perspective on Agrandov, Gholgoth and the world.

He took a seat gratefully at the enormous table, but declined the Freekish whiskey that seemed to be such a hit with the other dignitaries. He opted instead for water, and settled in to observe his social superiors, Gothic or otherwise. Although he speculated that he, as a representative of Agrandov, might hold some weight in a discussion, he would keep quiet for now. Mr. Dane seemed comfortable enough, despite the various exotic escorts the other guests relied on for protection. He stood a short way behind the doctor, observing his extravagant opposites. In other quarters he would be considered intimidating, and in the context of Dreadfire's Great Hall, adorned on all sides by the finest Gholgoth and it's guests had to offer, he appeared as an embodiment of understated efficiency.

---
Ministry of War
Alkra City, Agrandov

Simon Ronnal was in a cold sweat, having just emerged from a meeting with the Emperor. Since his talk with Dr. Byrne the day before, a plan had begun to hatch in the back of his mind. The Emperor - who had today ordered that efforts should be intensified in the war for Bullhornia (a war that had been won weeks previously without a single Agrandan casualty) - was clearly insane. He was fast becoming a liability to the Empire he had created, and a growing murmur in the background implied that Ronnal was not alone in wanting a shift in power. The Emperor still had allies however, such as almost half of the military Commanders and the entire intelligence service. A violent coup would almost certainly result in civil war; which Ronnal was adamant on avoiding. The Emperor could not be deposed by political means, and any hints of a popular uprising would be stamped out immediately. Ronnal, the nation's Minister of War, knew that any act would have to be as swift as it was decisive.

Although he had maintained his composure in the Emperor's presence, Ronnal was worried that even at this stage the NCI was aware of his ideas. He could count on the support of the Central Ministers, who headed each department of concern to the government, but the NCI was something else. The leader's identity was concealed until retirement, and it was only recently that the government had acknowledged the agency's existence at all. It could have anywhere between a thousand and a million operatives, and Ronnal and his conspirators would have no idea. No idea at all, until - he suspected - he would come home one day to find an agent waiting in his living room with a loaded gun.

"Gholgoth simply is." Came the soft echo of Ishmael's words as Sonya leaned forward in her seat. "Yes, it is a constant... but what sort of constant? A constant shadow in the dark? A constant nightmare for old soldiers? Gholgoth's reputation has faded... as any of the non-Gothic leaders will be able to tell you. They once held a great fear of the name Gholgoth. Now they are merely moderately intimidated."

Slowly, she stood and looked over the gathering, sucking in a pained breath. "The following words have already been said in private to Damien, but you all need to hear them... as they provide a case in point of what I see as a major problem with Gholgoth. A problem which, when rectified, will wash away almost all the criticisms leveled at us.

"Several years ago, the Brotherhood of Nod seized power in Crimmond, killed all opposition and brutally subjugated the people. This internal change in leadership was seen as one more sign of instability in Crimmond... another was the leader of the Brotherhood, General Pace, demanding Blood Pact with Damien Dreadfire and Dayne the Evenstar in his first message to them. The psychotic behavior did not end there, as the Brotherhood removed nearly every powerful Crimm in the government and military and marginalized the rest.

"Almost a year and a half ago, I gathered together the most powerful and capable Crimm I could find and together we planned to take back the nation from Omar and Nod. I quietly contacted several Gothic leaders personally and asked for their political assistance... all I wanted was a simple statement of support, when the resistance took action. Instead, I received silence from the entire alliance. I had to go outside Gholgoth for that political support... to the Californian Commonwealth. This apathy on the part of my allies has disturbed me greatly. This alliance is supposed to be of equals, standing side by side and supporting one another... by staying silent, you supported Nod, not Crimmond."

She paused and looked at Colonel Daunt, who was behind her. He nodded slowly. "This incident highlights a problem that the Crimm have seen in Gholgoth for some time. Each nation stays to itself... does what it has to and lets one nation do all of Gholgoth's work itself." He gestures to Damien. "We have allowed Damien and the Freeks to tow the line for all of us. Where Damien leads, we follow. That is not how this alliance was founded... I know, because I was there at the start of it. I was there, with Davion Varchak, when he agreed to be in this alliance... it was to be an alliance of brothers and sisters in arms. Not the oversized Freek Empire it has become. Now, I mean no disrespect to Damien or his nation, for I have always wished to march into battle beside Sentinels... but we have given Damien far too much dominion over all our nations."

Sonya took over again. "What the Empire of Crimmond proposes is a return to the start of this alliance. A return to what made us unique... what allowed us to function without the need of a frilly worded charter or massive amounts of agreements. This alliance was founded on a principle that no other alliance has ever made work. Every Gothic Lord is a leader of Gholgoth, not a follower of Gholgoth. I say we start acting like it again."

Shijin Kotomari, the Leader of Tersanctus stood up. His face was as dark as his suit.

"This is not the time or the place. Perhaps your words were meant for me? For the Rulers of Pantera? Does the Blood Pact scare even the most loyal of the Gothic Lords? You wish to call us 'followers' noone in Gholgoth 'follows'. Are we reduced to the level of children now? Nations forged in the fires of war, loyalty, bickering amongst themselves in front of foreign rulers?"

"You say our reputation wanes, well you sure as hell helped to drown it right about now. But Gholgoth does not rely on reputation, it relies on strength."

"Now." He looked at her with a seriousness of a samurai prepared for death. "Sit down, and keep silent."

Great Hall
ULE City
Automagfreek

President Gatsfield had also declined the Freekish whiskey. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a drink; rather, it was that he did, and knew its effects. He surmised that Freekish whiskey was not piss water, and simply requested coffee when offered a glass.

He had listened to the exchange between the Colonel, Sonya, and Kotomari. Leaning back in his seat, he recalled the prompt Dreadfire had offered to the assembled.

"I would first like to express to everyone our eagerness as a region to better relations with our foreign guests, and the Lords of Gholgoth would be happy to speak to any issue in your minds."

He did not rise, but simply leaned forward in his chair. His normally piercing sky-blue eyes seemed to tint to a darker green. Looking directly at the Empress, he spoke in a dark, even tone, which although not as deep and resounding as the other Lords, was unmistakably clear.

"If I understand correctly, Empress, every Lord is deserving of the same respect as every other. Lord Dreadfire called this summit, and has addressed the visiting nations. Had you hosted it, I am unequivocally convinced that we would afford you the same latitude, Lord Dreadfire included. Shijin Kotomari is correct - this is neither the time nor the place. Gholgoth is to show only a united front, an unmovable rock, an unstoppable force. Your grievances are best addressed behind closed doors."

He raised his head slightly.

"However, they are in no way insignificant. What you are saying is that the assembled members have violated one of our basic tenets - that of loyalty. I respectfully submit to the assembled that we acknowledge the Empress's point, and resolve to address it when we are in a less public atmosphere."

Indeed. Cracks in the "united front" of Gholgoth? thought the junior minister. He scarcely could conceal a grin, but managed to do so. After all, an outward show of amusement would hardly endear him to the hosts. As well, it would hardly be surprising that any large region wouldn't have differences. Certainly all alliances and regions were not always united all the time. One had to look no further than the topsy-turvy Klatch. He paused a moment to reflect on the earlier words made by Dreadfire, "...happy to speak to any issue in your minds" when addressing the foreign dignitaries. What, pray tell, were on the minds of the Vrakians? Certainly no one in this room knew, not even the Dyellians, although the latter would probably have a more accurate idea than most being fellow Klatchians and all. The walrus shifted his two ton bulk slightly and grunted.

And what of the other words spoken by the delegate from...ah what was it, the peculiar nation name called "The Warmaster". That this conference was, in ways for the foreigners that arrived? Well, so far it has been a puffing of chests as to how great Gholgoth was which, upon reflection to the junior minister, a recount of past glories. An auspicious way to begin a conference he thought. Time would tell, and settled himself to do the role he was assigned to do.

The walrus listened intently to the Crimm, for what the VIS had been able to determine, that nation seemed to be more senior in the ranks of Gholgoth. Some of the newer nations to the regions seemed to be more followers, which was not surprising. By Bok's Maw, some of the nations currently in the region were never on Vrak's radar until today.

The junior minister hrumphed noisily and eyed the bowl of whiskey staring back at him. He tilted his shriner-looking hat and adjusted his richly decorated vest. The older walrus from the Diplomatic Corp nodded back, indicating that he shared the minister's general sentiments on the situation so far, yet as an experience pro, paid careful attention to Dreadfire's possible response. This walrus, wearing a vest and hat as befit his kind, looked about the room with a lazy eye. Upon the Tersanctan outburst, an eyebrow slightly arched.

Positioned behind the two large walruses stood a seven food Inuit bodyguard. He gave the impression of a lumpy sofa stuffed inside a suit two sizes too small, such were the immensity of his musculature. Someone in the Ministry of Rites ought to increase the clothing budget for the bodyguard detail. His one glossy braid fell halfway down his back and tattoos of spiders, wolves, and killer whales were clearly visible on the back of his hands. Next to him in a crouching position, resembling a large dog or small bear was a skeletal looking SOAT-bot. This one had its weaponry removed save the metal claws that could be extended from each hand and foot to slash and maim.

To the right of the minister sat a medium-built older man wearing a formal suit but nothing that would attract overt attention. He merely smiled back when smiled to and made pleasant small-talk to any nearby dignitary but otherwise he wore a mask of inscrutability. So far, no one of the Vrakian delegation introduced themselves to the general assembly.

"I say nothing that is not obvious to anyone who takes a good look at this alliance and compares it to the days of it's founding, sirs. You misunderstand my words as dissent... I am not a dissenting voice. I speak these words in front of the outside world because I want them all to know that at least one nation is prepared to take a stand against the criticisms leveled at us." She pauses and leans heavily on the table for a short moment, eyes squeezed shut. It was obvious that someone with her injuries should be on heavy medication, but that she was most likely on little to none. She recovers quickly.

"Gholgoth was once something special. But... I have watched it turn into a normal alliance, instead of staying what it was founded as. I held no sway over Gholgoth then... I now have the power to reverse this course and I shall. Gholgoth is a NATO style alliance now, but that is what it was never meant to be. It was meant to be... a Proeliator Prosapia. A family of warriors. Not a gathering of politicians like most alliances... Gholgoth started with the Blood Pact and my Empire. Four of the most powerful nations around... and all built on military might. I do not care if you think it impetuous for a newly crowned ruler to be speaking like this... for it must be said and it must be said in a way that ensures all understand it's importance. To ensure Gholgoth remains a feared name in the hearts of any who dare cross us, we must go back to what made us feared at the start."

Sonya retook her seat and leaned back, sucking in another pained breath. Daunt leaned in close and spoke to her softly in a mix of European languages, but she waved him off. "Gholgoth is not dying, gentlemen... it has simply changed into something other than what it started as. Something that the world understands well. They feared us because they could not comprehend an alliance that had no one single leader... no charter... no ministers. And not understanding something leads to fear of it. If we stay the course we are on now, we shall survive countless generations... but we will not be feared as we once were. And that is all I shall say on the matter, unless asked to speak more. It is now up to the rest of you to decide what form Gholgoth takes. A normal alliance... or a Proeliator Prosapia."

Astley walked amongst the assembled Gothic lords and foreign leaders and dignitaries, offering polite nods and brief hellos to those who noticed. Clayton walked alongside, assenting and concurring with all of Astley's notes and observations. As the two stood near the oaken table, Astley's eyes found their way gazing upwards at the top of the tapestries bearing the colours of House Dreadfire.

"I think it a rather…" Astley mused. He trailed off and tilted his head to gain another perspective.

"A rather distinctive design, sir," Clayton observed. "Personally, I find it—"

Their artistic critique of the banner came to a sudden end as the trumpets blared and the pageantry of Dreadfire's entrance took centre stage. The two men sat at the table and ate the prepared food. Clayton enjoyed his serving of the whiskey, having acquired a taste for it since his posting to ULE City. Astley, markedly less than thrilled with imbibing before late afternoon, politely took several sips before leaving the glass half finished upon the table.

Astley, the assigned representative of the Oceanian government, listened attentively as each of the Gothic leaders spoke and took careful note of the criticism levied by [name]. And then the sharp rebuke from the Tersanctan. After the remarks by the Antigran monarch, Astley took the opportunity to address the assembled leaders.

"My name is Gavin Astley and, as Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs for the United Kingdom, I represent both Prime Minister Rodney Ingrahm and His Oceanian Majesty King George in these discussions." His brief introduction complete, the minster turned towards the head of the table and the host. "Firstly, I should like to thank Lord Dreadfire and the Freekish people for hosting this event in what is a truly splendid example of high Freekish architecture."

"Now, to the drier aspects of my remarks," Astley continued, looking around the table to make eye contact with each individual, "the United Kingdom is not a member of Gholgoth and despite earlier invitations, His Oceanian Majesty's Government remains disinclined towards Gothic membership. For Gholgoth is, as you so stated Your Most Imperial Highness," the minister turned towards Ishmael to acknowledge his earlier characterisation, "not easily summarised other than, perhaps, to say a diverse collection of states." Astley made certain to put a subtle emphasis on his word 'diverse.'

Turning back to all assembled around the table, Astley continued, this time a bit stronger in his speech. "Gholgoth is indeed a rock of strength, if I may borrow another characterisation, Your Most Imperial Highness," Astley offered a slight, but still deferential bow to the sovereign before continuing. "But towering, indomitable mountains become the plateaus and plains which are tilled by billions for sustenance. Transformation is the true constant."

"I ask forgiveness now," he continued, asking as an aside, "for I need be rather blunt in this moment." He took a one second pause to add some weight to what would follow. "While all sovereigns, be them in the form of a monarch or a parliament, have a responsibility to provide the basic securities necessary to ensure life, liberty, and property, many of those here do so without the consent of the people. Some of you may rule lightly, others harshly. Some may rule for the benefit of those you rule. Some may not. On the other hand, some of us, myself and my party included, represent in a more direct fashion the wishes of the people, as such wishes are vested in the elected political parties and leaders of a government. And we must answer to the people from time to time."

"And these people, not just in the United Kingdom but in foreign electorates as well, see Gholgoth not for what it is, for its strength through its diversity, but for the strength of a single state. For the strength of a single person." Astley looked directly at Dreadfire, assuming all understood about whom he was speaking and that he would need no words to characterise the public perception of the man and his rule. "And this strength of a region built upon a single person is a testament to the strength you noted Emperor," Astley shifted his gaze towards Ishmael, addressing him directly. "However, in a world increasingly polarised along the fault line of liberty, this perception of a monolithic Gholgoth helmed by a select few is increasingly untenable."

"The missive I received from my peer, Minister Hartman, indicated that this meeting would focus on foreign nations improving their ties with Gholgoth." The Secretary of State now shifted his tone. While before speaking loudly and in broad strokes appropriate for perhaps a sovereign—but not so for what Astley sensed the Gothic Lords perceived as a mere minister—he returned to a quieter, but still clear tone of a friend, but a friend from the outside looking inwards.

"His Oceanian Majesty's Government is interested in retaining the ties it has established with Gholgoth over the years, at the diplomatic, economic and security levels. Indeed, if possible, the United Kingdom would like to see Oceanian firms increase their penetration of Gothic markets along with the reciprocal. Perhaps even a series of free trade agreements with the various nations represented here could be concluded in the near future."

"However, maintaining relations with what Oceanians and the world perceive as the monolithic Gholgoth costs a tremendous amount of political capital, especially in Georgetown. My office had no indication that this meeting would deal with the relations amongst Gothic states; but, as Empress Volsung has brought such matters to the table, the United Kingdom would certainly welcome a change in Gholgoth. A united Gholgoth that embraces its multiple facets and disparate elements would be far easier to deal with diplomatically, from the perspective of a liberal state such as the United Kingdom. Issues would naturally remain. But such differences as they exist between the United Kingdom and particular Gothic states could be expressed on a far quieter, more bilateral level."

"But," Astley took the opportunity to slow down his speech. He needed every moment to choose the most neutral words, knowing his forthcoming comment could prove irksome to some of those assembled. "As Foreign Secretary of a state whose ideologies, along with form of government, naturally lends itself to the UK's increasing shift towards those states with whom Gholgoth is increasingly quarrelsome, continued relations with a Freekish-dominated Gholgoth will be practically impossible to maintain in the more intermediate future."

Satisfied that he had conveyed the urgency of that matter in as diplomatic a way possible, the Foreign Secretary returned to his earlier tone. "And so it is my personal hope, along with that of the Government I represent, that Oceanian-Gothic ties can be strengthened if not maintained as a result of this meeting."

Having never stood, having never seen the need, Astley simply leaned back into his seat and reached for his whiskey. It was not quite his preference, for either flavour or the fact of morning consumption, but he needed something.

The Dyellian supposedly representing Klatch seemed to be enjoying the show. The Dyellians were not traditionally what anyone would call a Warrior people... probably Byzantine was a better word, however they had sent a soldier to the meeting, for reasons known only to the President and presumably the Dyellian Tzarina as well.

He took a swig at his whiskey as he listened to the speaker from Azazia. It was good... certainly in comparrison to the Dyellian variety which was more akin to floor polish. It seemed everything in Gholgoth wasn't a bed of roses after all. Were there perhaps opportunities for the Federation to exploit any weaknesses? Forge alliances? Time would tell.

He clicked his neck, then leaned forward to jot a brief note down on a small piece of paper. Folding it neatly in half Dent slid his hand along the table, giving the note to the Walrus (OOC: I'm assuming Klatchians are seated together as we are technically the same country).

There was really no reason for it to be a note, certainly no reason for the secrecy of folding it, considering the single word inside was scarcely going to cause controversy; Thoughts?

"We in Kregaia are not well acquainted with the functions of democracy," the Emperor remarked, smiling wryly. Beneath their masks, his Immortals smirked as well; that was the understatement of the century. "However, I understand Secretary Astley's point. The ignorant, who may, regrettably, be found at any and all levels of society, look at Gholgoth, and they see only the followers of the Freeks. They look at the Gothic Lords and they see only the thralls of Lord Dreadfire.

"This, ladies and gentlemen," Ishamael went on, his voice growing in intensity, "is the result of foolishness at best and malicious deceit at worst. Gholgoth is a whole, but the whole is not Freekish, and it does not belong to Lord Dreadfire. For example, I myself have never consulted with Lord Dreadfire, Minister Hartman, or any Freekish official in the five years of my reign. Automagfreek is an old empire, well-known for its power, and we accord it respect; but I give the same respect to my old friend Emperor Nikolai and the Generians, and to the newest Gothic Lord, President Gatsfield." Ishamael turned to Secretary Astley and continued, "I thank the Secretary for his courtesy in broaching this subject. A man of lesser training, as I have seen before, might have stooped to outright insults when discussing such a controversial matter. But let me assure you, Gholgoth is not commanded by a single man or a single nation. Hopefully this meeting will persuade any of you who do not believe this of the truth, and if so, I ask you to bring that truth back to your respective nations, and help it be made widely known.

"As for lighter matters," Ishamael said, smiling a little to dispel tension, "Kregaia would be glad to break down trade barriers with any of you; we are confident of our ability to compete in a fair market, and increased trade will breed understanding and wealth for all parties involved."

King Ottestad heard a pause. Well, he mused. Now or never. His English was not perfect, but was respectable alongside someone brought up on the language. He rose in his seat, and felt the eyes in the grand hall fall upon him. He allowed himself a small pause, before speaking in his distinctly thick, soft Antigran accent.

"Some of you today may know me. Some of you may not. I shall not trouble you all with an hour-long speech today. I am King Fredrik Hallen-Ottestad of Antigr. Some of you may have heard about my royal family being recently reinstated on the news. I'm here tonight for the purposes, mainly, of gain for my country, as I'm sure most of you are. I shan't make a long introduction either, for my goal is to establish links with any nations of Gholgoth willing to partake in this.
I hear of economical trading freedom and of political connections. I wish to establish the same. Antigr is an outside nation to Gholgoth, our only dealings maybe being brief diplomatic sorts with some ministers. I remember, under the lead of the rebel free republicans, that we had a brief conflict with Haraki years ago in Danteri"

He glanced at the shy-looking Bruno Hudson.

"However, my country is under new leadership, and I imagine Haraki has gone through changes in that time. As such, I wish to make acquaintances with Gholgoth, at the very least. Gholgoth is a truly massive region in comparison with my nation of four and three-quarter billion, but nonetheless I feel we have a lot to offer. I shall not press for anything, but if anyone was to express interest in diplomatic, economic, or even military relations with Antigr, then I am sure we will honour that agreement to the best ability that we can. Thank you"

The King sat back down in his chair, and took another sip of the whisky.

Gatsfield smiled at the irony of his title. The Gothic Lord, James Gatsfield. He had struggled to keep a straight face when Emperor Ishamael acknowledged him as such. The rest of the Emperor's comments were obviously directed at the older nations, but Gatsfield paid careful attention to them nonetheless. These were all things that he had been told when he joined Gholgoth. Brotherhood, loyalty, equal respect for all. These were values that he truly believed, and truly held. The things said made sense to him, and he nodded at the Emperor's words. I ought to invite him for golf one of these days, he said to himself. Seems an intelligent, agreeable fellow.

He then, taking a sip of his coffee, listened to the Antigran King. The man brought up honest points, and seemed genuinely here to foster relations between his nation and Gholgoth. Gatsfield spoke up.

"The nation of Damford would have no issues with some sort of free-trade agreement," he said simply.

Nikolai nodded as the Antigran finished. This was what he had come for. It did great things to wash away the sour taste in his mouth left by the bickering between his fellow lords. A public conference was certainly not the best place to display dinnertime arguments amongst family members. He threw back the half-glass of whiskey that remained, and spoke up without rising. He knew that his English was passable, but he decided to speak Generian and allow the translators to do the work for him.

“The Empire likewise has no qualms with negotiating personal economic agreements with Antigr, and would like to open diplomatic relations as well. However, as this is a conference among many nations, and we, the Lords of Gholgoth, have but a few guests, perhaps it would be prudent to look towards a joint free-trade agreement between Gholgoth and the others who join us today. I doubt that any of my Gothic brethren would object to something so simple and so obviously beneficial as that. The point of this gathering is, after all, to facilitate openness and friendly relations between the nations of the world and our own Pact, is it not?”

The comparatively young autocrat looked around the room, meeting the eyes of his peers. It seemed like a reasonable first step away from the chest beating that had dominated the conference thus far, and might serve to show the guests that the Gothic rulers were not entirely neurotic.

The experienced diplomat paused as the note was slide across the table. He made a brief noise in the harsh Vrakian tongue to the junior minister who inclined his head and replied in one brief phrase, "Pakrahs for now." The diplomat, also known as Orith Hagwonak who served as chief ambassador during the torturously long Nekoa Bay negotiations with the Drakonians, scribbled on the pad in Vrakian, "Nothing impressive yet. Long conference to go."

With a subtle motion of the flipper from the junior minister, the medium built older man who would have introduced himself as an attaché to the minister stood up after Nikolai finished and said,

"I am Min-ho Kerak, attaché to Junior Minister Kuril of the Ministry of Rites. We of Vrak are, of course, interested in establishing economic relations with any Gholgoth nations present. Those that are not here, well,” he grinned,” we are interested in them as well. As well, since we are a part of the Federated Klatchian Coast, we do support the overall efforts of our Dyellian colleagues. I would be remiss, however, if I did not reply to the point made by the Emperor of the Warmaster, which is that foolishness if to view the nations of Gholgoth in the thrall of Lord Dreadfire. If I recall, it was Dreadfire that founded this region and, unless someone can correct my reading of international events, certainly most if not all the nations of Gholgoth flock to his banner when he summons them to go forth and make war. Now, I'm not here to say why Dreadfire may go out and make war, only that many nations in Gholgoth do offer him their support. I think it is precisely because of this that many others fear or have a healthy respect for this region. I also don't recall any other nation within Gholgoth that go to make war and enjoying the same level of respect and support that Dreadfire does. I could be wrong, however, and welcome the opportunity to be corrected. Having said that, I again reiterate the position of the Vrakian government in that we welcome an opportunity for trade with Gholgoth, be it as a whole or bilaterally."

The junior minister, seemingly in a manner of affirmation to his attaché’s words, picked up the bowl of whiskey, gulped a massive draught, and then slammed it on the table and let out a loud belch. As those at Nekoa Bay and other conferences when the Vrakians were in negotiations, the Vrakians were notorious drinkers and tended to become outrageously drunk if time permitted. Was it any wonder why the walrus handlers were extra large humans?

Gatsfield narrowed his eyes, looking at the Vrakian with palpable disdain.

"I am unequivocally certain that if any of us were attacked, whether it be the weakest or the strongest, the antagonist would feel the retribution for centuries to come. Would you care to test your words?"

You pompus son of a bitch, he thought.

Kerak merely smiled as he turned towards the Damford party.

"I feel that you have misinterpreted my words, ah...Gothic Lord Gatsfield? Forgive me if that is not the proper address. No one mentioned about anyone attacking anyone here. What I said was that I don't think it is necessarily foolish for outsiders, Vrak included, to surmise that the Gholgoth region is, how shall I say this, more of an extension of the nation of Automagfreek rather than it being a collection of equal nations with their own proud warrior heritage that does not necessarily feel beholden to Lord Dreadfire whenever he engages in war for whatever reason. At least, if history is any judge I submit to you, Gothic Lord Gatsfield, that the outside world does view Gholgoth more of a collection of followers of Lord Dreadfire due to the fact that Lord Dreadfire does seem to have a considerable level of support from the Gholgoth nations when war occurs. I haven't seen any other nation in Gholgoth enjoy the same level of support when they engage in conflict but again, I could be wrong. Still though, one also could wonder why would that really bother your region in the first place? Do you feel that this 'outside' appearance may affect trade or diplomatic relations with other nations?"

The attaché then bowed to Gatsfield and sat down.

Ishamael smiled again at the representative from Vrak, but it seemed almost as if he was baring his teeth, and when he spoke, although his words were polite, there was steel behind it. It was the height of discourtesy to speak this way, directly contradicting the Emperor himself and bordering on insulting their host.

"The honorable representative is mistaken: it is, in fact, foolish to surmise that Gholgoth is not a collection of equal nations with their own proud warrior heritages. I have said as much, and I have more honor than to lie before our host in his own hall. One of the reasons this meeting was called is to dispel such illusions as you refer to. Apparently it falls short of this goal. What, then," he said, leaning forward and fixing the delegate with a glare, "would you accept as sufficient proof of our statements?"

"If I may, Emperor," said Gatsfield, after Ishamael had seated himself. He turned to the minister from Vrak.

"Are you suggesting, sir, that the other Gothic nations ought to start wars, simply to prove to the international community that we are not Lord Dreadfire's lackeys? I, for one, could give less of a damn what the rest of the world thinks. This meeting - before you ask the question - is a courtesy, a press conference. It is not so Gholgoth can improve its public image.

"As for the point raised about Automagfreek receiving considerable amounts of support - Lord Dreadfire asked his brothers for this support. They gave it to him. I can think of one instance explicitly when he did not have the full backing of Gholgoth. That was the invasion of The Burnsian Desert years ago. Now, it's no question that TBD was a militarily powerful nation, armed to the teeth with nuclear weapons. Still, Lord Dreadfire did not find the necessity to ask for help. To level the entire might of Gholgoth against such a comparitively small threat is, to put it a way, overkill.

"Now, had, say, Novacom found the need to attack Praetonia - as a completely hypothetical example - Lady Tolion most likely would ask for support, and we would render it unto her. Do not mistake our passiveness compared to Lord Dreadfire as servitude. It's an underestimation which can only lead to dire consequences. Call me Jay, by the way," he said, returning the man's smile and sitting down.

OOC: Dang these forums and their slug-like qualities.

IC:

"Your honour is not in question by us, Gothic Lord Ishamael, and believes us when we say that we shall take your word in explanation of the truth of Gholgoth back to our masters. However,” and with a pause,” it is not only words that interest us, but deeds. For there are those who have had a...skewed...perspective of the Klatch and tried to impose their agenda upon us. They failed of course. So we, and here I shall speak of Vrak only, have been wary of the outside. Not because we, like you, care what others think, but we are aware of the power of perception in that it can sometimes be an impediment when it comes to international relations. Certainly, every nation suffers from some degree of false perception in various degrees. Single-minded declarations or proclamations though from one side, we have found at least in our experience, have proven to be insufficient to sway the other side to be more accepting of who we are. We found that we had to do more than just say who we are, such is the nature of the beast. As for proof of your statements, I shall address them momentarily."

Kerak bowed to the Warmaster party and then turned once again to those from Damford.

"As is our custom in protocol in our nation, we abide by formal titles at least in formal gatherings. We recognize this to be as one, although we also recognize the fact that some cultures do have a protocol of letting others address them by their first name in order to make the other feel...ah...more at ease. Thus, if I understand you correctly, Gothic Lord Gatsfield, you wish me to address you as Jay? In the spirit of goodwill, I shall acquiesce to your request."

"Now, Jay, in regards to your proposition of having various nations of Gholgoth to begin making war, I think that such a demonstration would only serve to heighten the perception that Lord Dreadfire is in charge and that others in Gholgoth are merely his lackeys. As well, supplying an example of Lord Dreadfire in not asking for help is not proof that he doesn't enjoy considerable support. All it means is that he felt that he had enough military might to accomplish that particular goal. We Vrakians also understand the concept of giving aid and support to our friends and allies, of which we have done so in the past and shall continue to do so if the need arises. Also, we did not suggest that your...ah...passiveness equates servitude. In fact, a measure of proof that you are independent and thus equals as Gothic Lords, I think from an outsider's perspective, would mean that each nation in Gholgoth be less adoptive of the warlike practices of Automagfreek. I suppose it is difficult to show that you are independent when there are so many, dare I say inherent, similarities? As well, we do recognize that this conference is an invitation from Lord Dreadfire which said,...,”a brief look at his notes,” and I quote, ‘I would first like to express to everyone our eagerness as a region to better relations with our foreign guests, and the Lords of Gholgoth would be happy to speak to any issue in your minds.’ Well, it does seem to be an issue, if I’m not mistaken as to how Gholgoth is perceived. As well, Jay, you are finding out one part of our nature. We are direct and we speak our minds.”

Again, Kerak bowed to the Damford party and sat.

High General Snowlander sat amongst his fellow lords and the outsiders. As was natural of a Sigman, he was suspicious of them, a feeling that had long ago been pounded into his people. He did understand, however, that this gathering was a call to the world that Gholgoth was not dead, that they were as alive as ever.

As the Vrak delegate bowed and sat, Snowlander opted to throw in his thoughts on the matter at hand. He waved a little, not really accustomed to settings like this, being a warrior.

"High General of Sigma Octavus, James Snowlander. Hi. Yes, there are many warlike similarities amongst our nations, it is one of the reasons we drew together. Due to our showing of strength when it is called for and the fear it gained us, we have enjoyed a very fruitful trade network as well as an enriching cultural exchange. It is a main reason that several of us are content to sit back as the world moves past us. It is in that same comfort that we go to war under the Freekish banner. We jump en mass to the Freekish banner when it is called for as he is possibly the most visible member amongst us, and if a group of nations rise up to threaten our rather comfortable situation, they target him first. If we stop them while they are aiming at Lord Dreadfire and his nation, then we stop them from upsetting our ways of life."

He removed his hat as he talked and sat it down before leaning back in his chair.

"I can see how this would cause others to believe we are the obedient lapdogs of a vicious warlord, but that view is very skewed as you are correct to understand. If we did nothing, Gholgoth as a whole would end. It is an absolute necessary at times."


(OOC: If this all seems unnecessary, it is because I'm exhausted and not all here.)

The King spoke again. Now, after all had introduced themselves and made the short speech probably prepared for them, he surmised that it would descend into some sort of politically classified chat.

"A free-trade agreement sounds most gracious, sirs. It would allow a more generous import of this excellent whisky, if I were to have my way. I would like to turn now to a simple point, however, that is pressing onto my mind. Lords of Gholgoth, this grand hall and the conference being contained within it are most impressive. However, I strive for the core point and purpose of it. Is it for Ghologth or nations aspiring to it, lords? I myself, and my nation, like so many other, seek control, alliances. Power. It interests me as a person and a leader, as I'm sure does it many of my counterparts and peers here. Is this what this meeting is to provide?"

Humans forget, that is their nature. If you don't keep renewing the fear, can you blame them for not treating you as you were? You, yourselves, are forgetting what you once were Tai thought, cold eyed, as the Empress of Crimmond sat down heavily. She and Victoria exchanged glances. Their meeting with General Pace had been more interesting than this one - but the Brotherhood of Nod had not truly been Crimm...And what will it take to remind you?

Vic's thoughts weren't much different but she tended to be more aristocratic in her thinking. To her Gholgoth had lost it's exclusivity, it’s unique nature and took in all most any one. She was no believer in democracy. And she held nothing but distain for many of those there.

Sam listened with open ears, and closed thoughts, suppressing a snort at the last comment by King Ottestad. Gholgoth neither gives, gifts, loans, trades, or sells power to any but itself Was the thought behind Sam's unreadable eyes. Nor does turning inward for a time equal inability or death. Any one with the wits to observe knows that.

He would be interested in open trade, who wouldn’t be, his nation could match any one here head to head and hold their own in that arena, just as they could militarily. But The Unity had entrusted him with more than the say of just his nation.. He would listen more before he spoke, for the one he was most interested in hearing from had said little.

Sonya remained silent for some time, listening to the various dignitaries. The walrus was reinforcing her earlier statements well. As much as that helped her, she wished it was a flat lie.

She leaned forward again. "The Empire of Crimmond would be open to some sort of trade agreement, but there is a longstanding imperial tradition of only trading freely inside of Gholgoth. This is done to ensure that an outside influence cannot drain away the alliance's resources... or use them to fuel a war machine that is then turned onto us. While I doubt that the Federated Klatchian Coast will turn around and assault Gholgoth, there is always the possibility of seeing our own resources turned against us in some manner or another."

She paused for a second and eyed the walrus. "Any agreement I sign would depend wholly on what exactly you would request from our stockpiles... and how much."

"I doubt we would attack any nation of Gholgoth, Lord, to do so would be foolish. I do not see commercial trade supporting a war machine. Small amounts of imported alcohol does not fire rifles, and pencils with memos drawn onto them do not fuel battle tanks.
My mind tells me that this meeting is to strengthen Gholgoth, because it is has...lost some power over the many years. I do not see how isolationism will strengthen any of you, nor shielding yourselves from the outside world. This modern age is dominated by the economy, and so to be forever powerful Gholgoth will have to adapt to some degree. Change is the way forward, change is what I am trying to induce. Change is power, power is change"

With that, he sat down once again. I'll see what the responses will be. Gholgoth appears to be reluctant to the modern world.

..::Class 1 Diplomatic Communique, 5012Qkb Encryption::..

TO: Lord Damien Dreadfire
FR: Dame Adolpha Scipio
SUB: Current and Future Relations

My Lord Dreadfire, I have been delivered a message from my Empress instructing me, in my capacity as Her Imperial Majesty's direct representative to your nation, to discuss relations between our parties. As I know that you feel personally betrayed by several nations who have declined to remain within the fold of NATO, I feel that this discussion would best be conducted face to face.

I await your response at your earliest convenience,
Adolpha Scipio
..::End Class 1 Communique, End Encryption::..

"I doubt we would attack any nation of Gholgoth, Lord, to do so would be foolish. I do not see commercial trade supporting a war machine. Small amounts of imported alcohol does not fire rifles, and pencils with memos drawn onto them do not fuel battle tanks.
My mind tells me that this meeting is to strengthen Gholgoth, because it is has...lost some power over the many years. I do not see how isolationism will strengthen any of you, nor shielding yourselves from the outside world. This modern age is dominated by the economy, and so to be forever powerful Gholgoth will have to adapt to some degree. Change is the way forward, change is what I am trying to induce. Change is power, power is change"

With that, he sat down once again. I'll see what the responses will be. Gholgoth appears to be reluctant to the modern world.


Shijin Kotomari, the Executor of Tersanctus took note of the Antigr's statement.

"Your Most Gracious Majesty, I must respectfully disagree with these words, for they speak only half of the truth. While it is logical that the objects being traded do not fuel or fire militaries or weapons in a conventional sense, they fuel the Economies that fuel the Militarys in a metaphorical sense."

"When you consider that the raw materials that one nations does not possess, for say a nuclear weapon is imported, then used on the nation that supplied the material. One calls that the double edge of free trade. Being careful with whom we choose to trade with, is not a sign of isolationism, rather of wise counsel, and sagacious caution."

"We trade with one another to keep our region's economy strong. This is one of the most basic tenets of economy. You speak of waning power. Power wanes and waxes, alliances come and go, this meeting was not to increase our region's influence, rather it was welcome back for Tersanctus to the international scene, and I am indebted to the Lord Dreadfire for the reception." Shijin raised his glass to Damien and took a sip of the Freekish Whiskey.

"Change and Power. Power changes the nature of a man. Man cannot change the nature of power, what it asks, the sacrifices necessary to maintain it. If your Majesty will forgive my words that follow: I wonder if you truly have known the Horror of what you speak of. Now, change will occur in many ways, I cannot order my armies to fight a Typhoon, for nature is greater then I. You speak not of power, or change, or anything you know of. You speak of Chaos, Desire, unbridled passions. You speak the notes, but you cant hear the music."

"Being particular about trade partnerships is not isolationism... it's ensuring that the economic strength of one participant is not drained away while the other builds with little impediment. Gholgoth has amassed many rivals politically... and economically. If another power was clever enough, they could twist a free trade agreement to bring more out of Gholgoth than is put into it." Sonya tilted her head. "It is not that I do not trust you, in particular... it is that I do not trust anyone outside of Gholgoth, save for a scant few loyal allies."

The Empress looked at Shijin and nodded. "You also speak of the most powerful agent of change... Fear, which is the lurking cause of Chaos. If free and unbridled trade is allowed, we place our markets at the mercy of a world we have quite regularly angered. I can see more than enough treachery in my years to know that treachery is everywhere. We have no way to know if any of you are here in earnest or are here to scout this alliance for something to exploit. And economics is a very powerful thing to exploit. What assurances could you give that you would not attempt to use an open trade agreement to bring fear and chaos to our people? And before you ask teh counter question, I shall ask it for you. And answer it. How do you know that the lurking giant of Gholgoth might not try to decimate your own economies? Hmm? You don't. Oh, it is highly unlikely that we would do such a thing... but you have no way to know if it will happen or not, until it is too late. The same for us. That is why I see it as beneficial for all sides to start with limited trade. To just fling open doors that have remained closed for generations... is unwise."

"You both speak wise and sincere words, and I see you have thought this through clearly. I am here in earnest, to earn whatever a man can for his country. Limited trade will be sufficient to start some kind of diplomatic and economical relations, which is what, by my presence and the presence of an important member of my government here tonight, I am trying to achieve. I feel that my words have been spoken, and that what has been said, and what will be done, will be benificial for all parties concerned. These relations will mature over time, with persistance and goodwill, so I have succeded, partly, in my purpose. Now, shall the conference continue"

He felt a bit more at ease in his seat. King Ottestad did not know how long the conference would go on for, but he would study every moment of it with intrigue. He was here, after all, not only for whatever international relations that he could hope to achieve, but also to learn. His eyes portrayed a man of study, as his brain worked to further his ends.

"It is our desire to better relations to outside nations. That is why we are here. The esteemed dignitaries from the Federated Klatchian Coast know this. I, Shijin Kotomari, walked your lands in peace, with a message of peace, not too long ago."

Shijin gaze passed over the Brigadier-General from the Dyelli Beybi nation briefly. "And esteemed Vrakians, make no mistake. Every nation that sits at this table now has its sins, to sit and call us 'warlike' is the old saying: 'The pot calling the kettle black.' When regions and nations fear us, and band together to oppose us, silently, or openly, are becoming the thing they fear and hate. They no longer have a basis to justify their grievances with us. That does not go too say that we ourselves are guilty. No. We are neither angels nor demons, you will find the nations of Gholgoth, to be of every shade."

"Now as to your requests for trade, I myself have been looking to open a mutually beneficial Trade Route with the Klatch. As further evidence that the peoples of Tersanctus can rise above grievances of the past. I too look for deeds over words. And am willing to turn what is little more then what is a ceasefire at worst, and a tense neutrality at best, into a genuine friendship."

"You speak your mind, and I honor you for that. So I will speak mine. I desire peace with the FKC. Not everyone in my nation or alliances do, but they do not see the pointlessness of such a....ongoing conflict. I believe that the same condition exists in the FKC, there are those who desire war, for sins past, on both sides..." The Executor glanced again at BG Dent.

He continued. "...and there are those such as myself who would see peace, true peace, in our lifetimes." He said looking to the Walrus.

"With that being said, here for all to see, and hear, and whisper behind our backs about, and for international media to speculate on, I have declared, Tersanctus' intentions towards the Klatch. What you do with it is yours. And for the duration of this meeting, I have said my peace regarding our matters. I will address any other questions as well."

Dreadfire had been quite content to sit and listen attentively as dignitaries from Gholgoth and those visiting exchanged words, although he found it particularly irritating how Sonya's initial comments concerning her opinion of the current state of Gholgoth were set before the entire audience. In fact he had considered removing her head but for a moment, for such remarks would likely be perceived as weakness or some kind of dissent within the Gothic union. However his reason stayed his hand, and with a glare he focused his attention to Sonya and said in his head Such comments are best shared in private company.

What caught his attention was the back and forth between the Gothic lords and those of the Klatch, some of whom had histories dating many generations back and were none too friendly in nature. He interrupted in a booming voice as comments were being tossed back and forth:

Allow me to address some of these concerns. First off I would like to thank the representative from our friends in Oceania, for your friendship has always been and will always be cherished. The concerns stated are also shared by our Klatchian guests, so perhaps it would be best for me to clear the air now.

Gholgoth always has and will always be a brotherhood, a joint union of equals. This regional alliance was not built solely by my two hands, oh no. It would be unfair to not acknowledge the hard work and dedication from my other Gothic friends in establishing this union and building it into its current state. Since the days of President Kaye, Automagfreek has been a prolific force in this world, and little we do goes unnoticed by anyone. As a result whenever Gholgoth does, well...anything, people tend to focus entirely on AMF and largely ignore our Gothic brethren. This is of course no fault of my own nor the fault of anyone within this grand union, for we cannot help the assumptions of foreigners nor their perception of our brotherhood.

Truth be told, whenever Gholgoth decides to make war, be it defensive or offensive in nature, every single Gothic Lord is consulted and his opinion weighed and taken into great consideration. I do not simply wave my hand and magically direct the Gothic war machine to do my bidding, oh no. In fact, suffice it to say that Gholgoth itself has done more in terms of military engagements 'without' Automagfreek involved. I understand that Automagfreek's reputation can often make things more difficult for our friends, and sometimes the decision is made either by them or in their best interests for us to remain silent. However what I think this boils down to is a failure by the rest of the world to acknowledge the weight that our Gothic brethren hold in this regional alliance, as well as a failure to acknowledge their accomplishments on an individual basis, as well as a collective basis.

Therefore to help remedy this long lasting misunderstanding, I personally would be willing to grant trade and diplomatic relations with those here, and I leave it to each Gothic Lord to make his own decision on this matter. I hope that with time you all will see what Gholgoth truely is and how it truely functions. However I ask that in the spirit of Gothic brotherhood that all past grievances and trespasses be forgotten and forgiven, for now begins a new era for us all.

He then glanced at the clock, realizing that the hour was beginning to grow late. His attentions then turned to those at the table and attempted to gauge their reactions.

Kerak was abou to rise but with a single wave of his flipper, the junior minister signaled him to sit down. Up until this time, the human in the party did the speaking while Junior Minister Kuril and Orith Hagwonak watched. Now, it was time for a walrus to speak for it appeared that some of the delegates thought they could actually, well, intimidate the Vrakians? At least, thought Kuril, some seem to misconstrue his attache's words. Now, after nearly finishing the bowl of whiskey, he shook his great head from side to side and then, after a snort, began to speak in a low rumble.

"I am Junior Minister Kuril of the Vrak Ministry of Rites. You have already met my capable attache Min-ho Kerak. My colleague, Orinth Hagwonak, is one of our chief diplomats having first served in the Nekoa Bay negotiations."

At this, a glance at Shijin Kotomari. Another snort.

"We thank Lord Dreadfire for his words and, to echo earlier words, we shall take them back to our masters. As for trade and whatnot, we are willing to entertain negotiations with any Gothic nations be it wholly or bilaterally. I should add that the FKC constitution does allow the states a great deal of latitude with respects to agreements with other nations, but of course," at this he bowed to the Brigadier,"subject to clauses that the central government may enact."

He growled and heaved his two ton bulk, raising his head so that he could get a better view of all present. Orinth let out a snort as well, as if in agreement and rolled his eyes around the room. They both wondered as to whether Dreadfire's words about a new era included those that weren't present and those that have a long history with the Klatch, such as those blokk pakrahs the Drakonians. At least the words from Kotomari seemed promising.

Kerak merely smiled as he listened to his "boss". Lucky for him he had a photographic memory which came in handy during debriefing sessions with the VIS. He also remembered that he, along with the brooding Inuit named Tornarsuk, were to remain sober.

The Emperor quickly and fluidly checked his watch. Time was ebbing away, and the discussion seemed to have devolved somewhat; many foreign delegates were remaining silent, and this conversation seemed to have reached its logical end. Either those present would believe that Gholgoth was a cooperative and prosperous place, or they would not, and little more could be said to sway them one way or the other. Besides which, there was important regional business to attend to, particularly important to the Imperium, and the Emperor did not intend to see that forgotten. So, waving an Immortal over, Ishamael whispered a message in his ear, and sent the soldier discreetly off to Lord Dreadfire, to whom he murmured in turn, "My Lord, I apologize for the interruption, but perhaps it would be best if we dismissed the foreign delegates; little is being accomplished, it seems, whereas there are clearly issues here that are best discussed amongst the Gothic Lords."