NationStates Jolt Archive

Breathing. Steady, quiet breathing. Darkness behind eyelids. Gentle, total serenity.

The ornate gardens perched daintily outside the Royal Palace were blossoming with flowers and plant life in the warming rays of the afternoon sun, basking across its creation like a proud father surveying its children at play. The cobbled paving weaved its way cautiously between banks of crimson red and shining gold, softening blue and ribbons of pink. The garden was enclosed on three sides by ivy-covered stone that stretched twenty feet high, yet the sun directly overhead spared no shade for the oasis of tranquillity, giving the place a feeling of enclosed peace.

Park Jung could see none of this however. She stood on an ornately decorated area of stone at the centre of the garden, the sunlight filtered in a criss-crossing pattern through the partial shade of a gazebo, eyes closed, breathing steadily. The Yedo sword hung loosely from the brown leather belt surrounding the royal blue of Jung’s robes, the stitching lined with intricate patterns in gold leaf. A slight breeze defied the towering walls overseeing her and caused her long, oak-brown hair to rustle slightly. She made no movement.

From the pathway, Park Suk watched his sister with a mix of amusement and fascination. He took gentle steps along the paving, keeping his breathing to a quiet minimum. The girl made no motion, showed no indication of noticing his presence. A childish grin spread across the face of the twenty-four year-old Suk as he reached the edge of the stone on which Jung stood, coiled his legs, and sprang forward at her.

There was a flash of movement, and Suk felt the air leave his body. He flailed sideways as something grabbed his arm, and the world turned upside down momentarily. Before he knew it, Suk was on his back, looking up at the vaguely amused expression of his younger sister holding one arm above his head, sword hand stretched out behind her.

Suk took a moment to breathe, and then did his best to look irritated. “How do you always do that?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Jung let her brother go, standing again to her full height and sheathing the sword through her belt. “Practice,” she said simply, and smiled in an innocent, slightly mocking way. She held out a hand.

Suk clambered to his feet, ignoring Jung’s offer of assistance, and took a moment to brush off his coat. “Yeah, well,” he grumbled. “Anybody could get that good if they had so much time do nothing.”

The remark stung, and Suk took a little pleasure in his sister’s momentary flash of hurt behind her eyes. Jung folded her arms, adopting an expression of weary annoyance. “What do you want, brother?” She said with a sharp tone. “Shouldn’t you be off bribing some border guards or something?”

Suk ignored the comment and scratched his head, looking around the garden with vague interest. “I don’t know why you spend all your time here,” he said airily, kicking at the stone in a bored manner. “It’s so dull.”

Jung sighed, glancing at the floor momentarily before back up at her brother. “What do you want?” she said pointedly.

Suk looked back at her, and smiled in a manner that made Jung want to slap him. “Father wants us present for the television broadcast,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him. “Good show for the nation and all that.”

Jung rolled her eyes, and for once Suk agreed with her. “I know,” he acquiesced, “its damn irritating, but we’ve got to keep the old man happy. Besides,” Suk shrugged. “It’ll only take a few minutes, and if it keeps him out of my…our hair, then its pretty good.”

Jung closed her eyes, taking a breath. Being around her older brother for any period of time gave her a headache. An insect buzzed past in the momentary respite, its wings echoing like an aircraft in the silence. “Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Suk smiled. “Good girl,” he said patronisingly, before making his way past her and towards the Palace. “Cameras are setting up already.” He set off down the path, whistling tunelessly.

Jung waited a few minutes for him to go, and snorted in frustration. Taking the sword from its sheath, she studied its blade for a moment, and without warning swung around in a slicing blow, a cry of effort escaping from her lips. Several tall stalks of plant life fell decapitated to the ground. She took a moment to breath, panting a little from the exertion as her heart rate slowed, before sheathing the sword and turning towards the Palace.

The sun sat overhead, watching everything, saying nothing.

---<>---

The Kingdom of Sin-eui Ttang occupied a peninsula stretching down from the Asian mainland. Formed as a single nation-state sometime around the 12th century, the Kingdom had a long history of bitter struggle and warfare, both within and exterior to its borders, and had sat inside a bubble of isolation for much of the last century, trading only with its northern neighbour, the economically powerful Republic of Zhuanxu, and intermittently fighting its southern rival, the Republic of Hye. Regarded as of little value by most of the outside world, the Kingdom was seen by those few intelligence services who had studied it as politically backward, somewhat corrupt and a nation to be avoided rather than involved in any kind of vague policy.

---<>---

The Throne Room of the Palace was over a hundred metres in width, nearly twice that in height, and decorated in ornate gold over lavish chestnut panelling. Ceremonial blue banners hung from heavy poles along the length of a carpet the same colour, all denoting the blue-and-gold colours of the Royal Family. Sunlight glistened from the wall-length windows of the eastern wall, lighting the portraits of past Kings and Queens hung on the opposite stone. The entire setting was incredibly formal, highly regal and incredibly opulent. The photographers from the Royal News Bureau loved it.

King Park Haneul, holy ruler of the Kingdom of Sin-eui Ttang, God’s representative on Earth, Supreme Commander of the Royal Army and ‘High Amongst Those Who Serve’, looked with disdain around the journalists and television crews of the Kingdom’s state owned news agency. He reached up and rubbed his chin absently, freshly shaved by bowing and ingratiating servants that morning for the occasion. His ceremonial robes, blue with gold leaf as the banners lining the room, hand-washed and dried, rustled as he shifted in the throne.

He despised the press. A private man, he was constantly at odds with the intrusion of privacy being the ruler in an autocratic state such as this brought upon it. The people loved him, worshipped him with religious fervour. Not all of them, the King conceded, and that was part of the problem, but a large enough element of the population to make his rule stable. Unfortunately, that meant dealing with the press. State controlled as they were, ingratiating as they were paid to be and fanatical as many of them were to the monarchy, Haneul still hated these public shows.

He looked up as the doors to the room opened, and grimaced in irritation as his second-eldest son – eldest son now, the King reminded himself with momentary sorrow - walked through the door, flanked by his daughter. The cameras turned, flashes and shutters snapping as they recorded the entrance of the Prince and Princess, each walking down the blue-and-gold carpet in formal ceremonial gowns similar to the King’s own, and they stepped off to either side and stood next to their father’s throne, adopting well-practiced looks of aloofness and austerity for the cameras.

“And where have you been, my son?” The King said in a low voice, not taking his eyes off the cameras.

Suk glanced sideways at his father, keeping his expression neutral. “I see,” he said in a low voice. “I get the third degree, whilst little Miss Favourite over there gets preferential treatment on where she can spend her day.”

Haneul bit an angry comment back from his lips, and took a breath. “Your sister,” he said in as calm a tone as he could muster, “has not given me any cause to be disappointed in her.”

Suk turned to his father, mouth moving to form a retort, but spotted the dangerous look in Jung’s eyes from across the other side of the throne. Instead, he asked, “Will Yong or Isuel be joining us for this little event?”

The King shook his head. “Yong’s regiment is part of the training exercises south of Sariwon,” he said, with a hint of pride in his voice that made Suk want to retch. “Isuel has been called away on state business with her counterpart in Hye.” Haneul leaned back slightly, his weary frame aching. “They will be informed at a later time.”

Suk and Jung exchanged a look. The photographers from the Royal News Bureau continued snapping. The pictures would be analysed by the King’s staff later and selected for printing or destruction. “Informed?” Suk asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. Haneul only smiled, which made neither of them feel any better.

Someone signalled from the side of the room, and the cameras went live. Haneul smiled stiffly into the lens, trying his hardest not to look uncomfortable at the attention. “My loyal subjects, my children of the eastern sunlight,” he said, spreading his open palms. “I wish you peace, luck and happiness in your endeavours.”

Suk rolled his eyes. Jung shot him a warning glance.

“These are changing times,” Haneul continued, as camera flashes continued snapping. “Our country is strong, our economy is robust and our society is flourishing. The Kingdom is in its longest period of peace this century, forty years on from the War of Southern Aggression, and we are safe in our homes from attack.”

Jung wondered how long the rhetoric was going to continue. Not that any of the King’s statements were untrue, just somewhat generalised. The economy was strong, that was true, but the minority with all the cash were starting to get a little worried at the large amount of labourers and industrial workers that were seeing much less benefit. Whilst most of the country laboured along under their good, Christian beliefs in their place in society, there was a growing unrest in certain circles. And the Kingdom had technically lost the War of Southern Aggression, which it started, and had managed to persuade the Hye Republic to go back to the original borders simply because the Hyese government did not want the hassle of an occupation. She forced herself to maintain the same level, austere expression as the cameras whirred.

“We have sat in the shade too long,” Haneul was saying, bringing the two royals back to reality. The King leant forward for emphasis, looking directly into the camera. “We have been isolated from world affairs for too long. The Kingdom could be better. It could be stronger. It could be more respected.”

Haneul leaned back. “This morning,” he said reverently, “I decreed that the Kingdom would reopen its diplomatic office and seek relations with foreign states other than our direct neighbours.”

The cameras flashed twice as many times as the statement filled the room. Suk and Jung stood in dead silence, completely taken aback by the sudden change of heart.

They did not have long to catch their breaths. Haneul continued. “As of today, I will also be stepping down from several of my roles as King. Age and ill health have not treated me well in my retiring years, and I look to my children to help in my time of need.” Haneul smiled, looking at both of the young Royals before turning back to the camera. “That is why I shall be forthwith instructing my son, Prince Park Suk, to take over duties as my new Minister of Defence.”

Suk blinked, looking at his father. Jung caught the look of horror from spreading across her face, struggling to keep an even expression. Suk smiled, bowing his head in reverence to his father. “I shall do my utmost to serve, my King,” he said with the necessary formality, trying to keep the smile of his own features.

Haneul smiled back, but in such a way that caused Suk a degree of worry amidst his joy at being given such a position. “Thank-you, my son,” The King said with warmth. “I am sure you will serve me well.” Then he turned to Jung, and held out his hand to his daughter. “As I am sure you will, my daughter, as my new Minister for Law and Order.”

This time it was Suk’s turn not to look horrified. Jung looked bewildered for a moment, taking her father’s hand. “Thank-you, my King,” she said with a halting tone. “I shall do my best to serve.”

The King smiled at her, and looked back to the cameras. Suk caught the look in his eye. And realised what was happening. ‘You bastard,’ Suk thought bitterly. ‘You cunning bastard.’

Suk knew what was coming before the King even began speaking again. Haneul smiled again. “I regret my daughter, the Princess Isuel, is unable to attend my side at this moment due to affairs of state. However, upon her return, I will be directing her to take up office as my new Minister for Internal Affairs.”

Suk bit his lip. The King had just taken the three most important positions in the Kingdom and divided them between his children. His children that utterly hated at least one of their siblings. His children that had been dying to hear the word ‘successor’ since the King had been diagnosed with a heart condition only last year. And their father had just completely out-played them to secure his own position by giving each of them only a piece of a larger prize. The only one without a position in government was their youngest sibling, Yong, who held a Captaincy in the Royal Army. This made Suk somewhat nervous; why had Yong been left out? The King was holding an Ace, and from the look on their elderly father’s face, he was going to keep it hidden.

The cameras continued rolling for a few minutes longer as the King delved back into the usual patriotic rhetoric. When the lights finally winked off and the press had been ushered from the room by members of the Palace staff, King Haneul got to his feet slowly, stretching his ageing muscles carefully. He then looked to both of his children, and smiled. “You should know, my children,” he said carefully. “I have survived sixty-three years of my life, and forty of those as ruler of this country. I do not intend to quit yet.” He looked pointedly at Suk and smiled. “Let’s see how this rolls, shall we?”

With that, the King turned and stepped out into his private chambers, leaving a bewildered pair in an otherwise empty throne room, standing in the silent, enlightening rays of the sun.

(Intro for my nation. Sin-eui Ttang is supposed to occupy the same geographical position as North Korea, with the Hye Republic replacing South Korea and Zhuanxu replacing China as its neighbours. As I am more interested in character development to keep my writing skills in practice, I intend to lock my RP population at 23 million once it is achieved, which roughly equals the current population of North Korea, freeing my time from, among other things, the time-consuming process of recalculating military numbers. This thread will continue for a while developing backstory around some of the characters, so feel free to post general reactions from your own governments at this time if you wish. I hope you enjoyed the post.)

(outstanding narrative...you a writer?)

(outstanding narrative...you a writer?)

(Not professionally, although I hope to publish work in the future. Writing on here is kinda intended to help me keep my skills sharp, so to speak. And thank-you very much for the high compliment. :))

OOC: Very good, much better then I can do, despite being here for several years.

IC:
Official Statement from TSRT Government
"The Totalitarian State welcomes the Kingdom of Sin-eui Ttang to the world. It is always refreshing too see a new face emerge onto the international stage. With permission, we can initiate full diplomatic relations and posible discussions for furthering such relations."
End Statement

OOC: Halfway through a second post now, will put it up tomorrow. Until then, bump.)

(OOC: Bump)

OOC:

Excellent stuff! I wish that I could write half as well...

How does my nation apply for an Embassy? I am interested in having it involved in palace intrigue.

The sunlight filtered grittily through the windows of the public house, levering itself through the metal shading reluctantly, as if trying to avoid the furniture inside. The rays bounced off various metal and wood surfaces, gritty with dust and grime, and proceeded to huddle in an irritating fashion on the corner of the television screen above the bar, making those watching the television squint.

Kim Cho had long given up watching the television, the Royal News Bureau’s constant analysis of the new appointments having become repetitive and weary after half an hour. The slicked-back lackey on the television screen seemed to be attempting a world record at praising the monarchy, Cho thought wryly, as he listed to the newsreader once again use the phrase “wise and sage appointments by our beloved Patriarch” and wiped a diagonal mark through four others on the bar. Now bored with his game, the middle-aged fisherman turned back to his locally-brewed rice wine and began pondering, quite literally, the price of fish.

In one corner of the room, a heated argument was getting warmer. Cho had been ignoring it up until now, as it seemed to be merely a pair of Royalists arguing over the meanings behind the King’s latest decision. Now however, as a chair scraped away from a table, Cho turned to watch with idle interest, as did many other patrons. The bartender eyed the two nervously and put a hand under the bar.

The two men were young, no more than mid-twenties each, Cho reckoned, and had Royal Army stamped all over them in their demeanour. They were quite clearly drunk, and one had risen to his feet with a look of anger on his face that bordered on excruciating.

“Our King would never do such a thing?” the young man snarled at his companion, fists clenching. “He is the father of the nation, and that bastard son of his would never be allowed power.”

His companion, who was by now also on his feet, looked positively livid with fury, shaking slightly in his rage. “Better His Royal Highness than that whore of a daughter he has,” the other snarled back.

Cho rolled his eyes at the spiritual pissing match. He was unable to stifle a small chuckle, which caught the attention of both parties, along with the rest of the bar. The first man glared at Cho. “What’s so funny?” he demanded icily. His companion, distracted from the matter in hand, had also turned to watch the fisherman.

Cho smiled in a weary manner. “Political naivety,” he remarked, rapping the bar with his knuckles. “And coming from two members of the Royal Army as well.” He glanced at them both. “I take it they don’t give basic lessons on real politick at the Pyongyang Academy?”

The two of them stood speechless. Cho knew he was pushing his luck with two drunk, angry and rather physically built individuals. But the bartender was a friend of his, and already Cho could see him reaching under the bar with a cautious manner. So Cho continued, looking between the two soldiers. “Why do you think he’s given the three most powerful positions to different people?” He asked in a patronisingly simple tone. The two looked momentarily confused, so Cho took the time to draw from his glass before continuing. “Quite simply, the old man knows he’s on the way out and doesn’t want bumping off before he’s ready.” Cho shrugged, setting his glass down again on the bar. “He hates his kids, and likes being in power, so he’s not going to make it easy for any one of the them to take power after he goes. Call it a final revenge on his loving children.”

The two soldiers seemed to have totally forgotten their feud, Cho observed, and were now focusing their anger on him. One of them took a step toward the bar. “How dare you,” he spluttered. The other reached for his pocket.

A mechanical click froze them all in position. The bartender levelled the handgun across the bar directly at the second man; hand understandably paused in its journey to his pocket. “Time, gentlemen,” the bartender said calmly. “We’ve all said our peace. Now let’s go home and get some sleep, shall we?” The emphasis on the ‘we’ could not have been clearer.

The first man stood where he was for a moment longer, as if judging his changes. Sensibly deciding against irrationality, he glanced at his seated companion and jerked his head towards the door. The other man stood, and they both left quietly, glaring at Cho.

Cho breathed an inward sigh of relief, and turned back to the bar. Tipping his drink to his long-time friend, Cho knocked back the remainder of the glass. “Y’know Li,” he said after the rice wine had burned down his throat, “we were both supposed to hand in our side-arms when we left the Army.”

Li grinned, flicking the safety on the old service revolver back into position and putting it under the bar again. “We were supposed to do a lot of things,” he said with a shrug.

Cho chuckled, looking back at the television screen. The topic had not changed. Cho sighed, tracing lines in the dirt of the bar. Now he had thought about the situation, something was bugging him. True, Haneul was quite clearly playing politics with his kids to stop any of them bumping him off before the time came, hence not directly appointing an obvious successor with the majority of the power. The old man had needed to transfer duties away since being diagnosed with heart disease last year, but he was obviously unwilling to give up the trappings of power just yet. But obviously he must have a preferred successor, if not at minimum a least-hated. Cho looked back up at the screen once more as the news replayed for the seventeenth time the broadcast from the throne room and the old fisherman stared into Haneul’s eyes. ‘What was the cunning bastard up to?’ he wondered.

==<>==

The Council Chamber had a frosty, tense atmosphere to it in contrast to the warmth of the weather outside, and many of the Ministers found themselves shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Located on the west side of the Royal Palace, the Council Chamber was an oval room of stone walls and oak panelling, carpeted in thick blue and gold and centred around a large, circular oak table at the centre of the room. At the northern-most side of the table, the King’s seat oversaw the rest of the room from a raised pedestal, looking directly across at the ornate stone fireplace on the opposite side of the room. That fireplace was now cold, reflecting the general atmosphere in the Chamber.

Central to this issue was the cold looks each of the Royal children were giving each-other from their seats. Jung and Suk held a frosty staring match, sitting virtually opposite one another across the large table. Further down the table, the seat of the Minister for Internal Affairs was vacant, further causing the other members of the Cabinet a degree of worry, knowing that this entire soap opera would only be just beginning when the third royal appointee arrived.

Han Li was the newly-appointed Minister for Foreign Affairs, and not entirely happy with the position. Regarded as a poison chalice in a country largely held to be unfriendly to outsiders, Li had hesitated in taking the position when it was offered. Undoubtedly a promotion from his former position as Vice-Minister of Trade, the 33 year-old civil servant worried about the prospects this position held for his longer-term political career. The paint was barely drying on his office door before interest was starting to arrive over the Ministry’s dilapidated telecommunication systems, largely leant by the Royal Army from their reserve surpluses and routed through a hastily-erected Communications Room in one corner of the Palace. Gauging the overall feeling in the room, Li was not necessarily looking forward to bringing that news at this particular council meeting.

The door opened at the far end of the chamber, and all eyes turned to the new arrival. Jung and Suk both maintained neutral faces as the young woman strode through the door with a sense of purpose to her manner. Dressed head-to-toe in blue ceremonial gowns, she wore a silver cross around her neck that flashed in the sunlight from the opposing windows. She paused at the edge of the table, and glanced around the room from behind mid-length black hair and hazel eyes. She allowed a small, curt nod to the two royals sitting around the room, ignoring the other Ministers whom ceremoniously averted their eyes.

Suk was the first to speak. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled in a vaguely patronising manner. “And good afternoon to you, my sister. And how is the God-bothering business recently?”

Park Isuel gave her brother a look mixed between pity and contempt. “Well enough, brother,” she contended, strolling around the table to take her seat. “And certainly well enough to save my soul and not your own wickedness.”

Suk snorted and leant forward in his chair, his hands in a steeple on the desk. “My soul?” he echoed with a hint of amusement. “I see. My soul is the wicked one.” The Prince leant back again. “And how is our dear friend the Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Hye Republic?”

Isuel’s face gave no change of expression, but Suk noticed a slight flush in her cheeks. His sister opened her mouth to retort when the door opened once more. Relieved, all other Ministers were on their feet before the royal children had even turned their heads.

King Haneul smiled, looking around the room from the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. He was dressed in a more casual, albeit business-like manner, forgoing ceremonial robes for a shirt and tie. A small pin of the Kingdom’s flag adorned his lapel. Haneul stepped into the room, and walked around the desk. His children were by now on their feet as well, adhering to custom and tradition. “Well now,” Haneul said as he took in each member of the Cabinet, his eyes pausing a little longer on each of his children than the others. “It’s nice to see a full house since my recent changes in appointments.” The King stepped onto the pedestal maintaining his chair, and settled into the soft cushions and crossed one leg over the other, looking around the table in front of him. “Let’s get down to business.”

The first few matters were quite routine; Ministers provided reports on the economy, current home events, and other matters deemed worthy of royal attention. Key issues were stressed regarding the growing inequality in wealth distribution and the related unrest that was beginning to develop accordingly, culminating in recent protests around local government offices.

Suk settled back into the chair, paying little attention to such matters. His left hand tapped constantly on the dossier sitting on the table in front of him, outlining his own issues. He took a glance around the table at his siblings, and grimaced. The old man had definitely done a number on them. Placed in the positions they were, none of the children had a definitive base from which to usurp power easily. As Minister of Defence, Suk himself was nominally placed in charge of day-to-day control of the Army, as well as constitutionally making him Vice-Commander-in-Chief, second only to his father. This was aside from the links he already had with certain military men through his ‘private’ financial ventures in the country. The young Prince smiled, reflecting on how his new position would make old difficulties with the Border Guards effectively disappear.

However, Suk had far from a free ride to the throne. As Minister for Law and Order, Jung was Vice-Commander of the Royal Police, again second only to their father. Although the police force had little in the way of armament compared to the military, there were a lot more of them, and Suk reckoned that his younger sister could definitely use this organ of power to help with her own plans, although what they may be were questionable at best. Suk had never taken his sister for being particularly ambitious. Besides, the Prince smiled, she had her own issues to worry about, issues which gave Suk a degree of leverage over Jung.

Isuel on the other hand, Suk knew to be a player. Strong-willed, politically shrewd and religiously devout in appearance to anyone who did not know her, Sung looked on his other sister, the same age as himself, as his main rival. Although deprived of any large amount of manpower resource such as himself and Jung, Isuel’s position as Minister for Internal Affairs brought its own advantages. As well as basically putting her in nominal charge of several other ministers here and therefore basically controlling the civil service, Isuel was also Vice-Director of the Royal Secret Service, the organisation that controlled both espionage and intelligence inside and outside the Kingdom for the civilian government. True, Suk had access to the Royal Army’s own intelligence division, but the R.S.S. were the nominal intelligence group within the country, and had access to a wider range of resources than the Royal Army’s own Defence Intelligence Bureau. Suk knew what the first thing was he needed to do, and that was build his own power base.

Unsurprisingly, the others had worked this out to. So, when Isuel and Jung in turn got to their feet and set forward plans for increasing the budgets to both the R.S.S. and the Royal Police respectively, Suk was far from astonished. He in turn had a proposal to boost the budget for the Royal Army, to “build our defences against threats to national sovereignty”, in the jargon of his phrase. In the end, the Council decided to maintain the current budgetary levels until more debate could be undertaken. Suk looked around the room, trying to ascertain which Ministers could be coerced in a vote.

At the head of the table, Haneul smiled inwardly. His initial plans appeared to be working perfectly, with each of his three children scrambling to build their own positions and decry each-other. This left himself free to oversee everything the royals were doing whilst remaining in command of everything he had given them. After the initial squabbles over budgets had been put to one side, Haneul turned to Li and smiled. “Minister, how is your new position?”

Li swallowed visibly. “Well, my King,” he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. “In fact, we have already had a request for diplomatic relations from one state.”

Isuel snorted derisively, glaring across the table. “I object to the notion of the Kingdom having to tug its forelocks at foreigners,” she said contemptuously. “We have done well enough up until now without foreign interference. What’s more,” she leaned forward, “Your Highness would do well to remember that many of his subjects feel the same.”

Haneul smiled at his daughter, albeit frostily. “Thank-you, my daughter, for reminding me of my royal duties,” he said icily. Isuel bit her lip involuntarily, realising she had crossed a line. Suk and Jung eyed her with a degree of cruel amusement. The King continued. “However, these are changing times. The Kingdom cannot sit alone forever. If it does, it will stagnate.” Haneul tapped his arm-rest for effect. “Controlled development of foreign relations, properly regulated, will make the Kingdom stronger in the long-run.” He looked pointedly at his daughter. “Or do you wish to disagree once more?”

Isuel stayed silent. Haneul smiled. “Good,” he said, and then turned back to Li. “You may give permission to begin developing basic diplomatic relations with the nation in question,” he said pointedly. “As for the budgetary debates, I expect you all to come back to me at next week’s cabinet meeting with well-prepared arguments for your cases and a vote shall be taken.” The King rose from his chair, as did the others. “Good day to you all.”

The meeting dispersed. Each royal relative left a different way to their chambers.

Within the next hour, a message left the Ministry of Foreign Affairs thanking Red Tide for its interest in diplomatic relations and welcoming the establishment of a diplomatic envoy within the capital city.

(OOC: Next instalment. Hope you enjoyed.

Red Tide: Thanks for the interest, hope the reply is sufficient.

New Chalcedon; thanks for the interest. Simply post here with a desire to start diplomatic relations. Look forward to RPing with you.

All others; bump.)

OOC: Bump

OOC: Bump

The atmosphere in the sunlit room was calm and efficient. The Imperial Council was just finishing its weekly meeting.

"Are there any other issues?" The voice issued from a face apparently too young to be so in-control. Within, Michael Iastos Basilios Doukas-Palaiologos, Emperor of New Chalcedon, desired desperately that this meeting be over. He had appointments with the Palace tailor and a dinner with the latest woman to attempt to win his hand in marriage. Whilst he could not fault his various subordinates for trying to find him a wife - the succession must be assured, after all - he had no heart for the matter since Larissa’s so-accidental death years ago. He still had no idea who had killed her, and did not wish to expose an innocent woman to the same risks.

Besides, his heart wasn’t in it.

Andras Lasarkis, the Secretary to the Crown and the oldest servant to the Emperor, saw the carefully-hidden signs and mourned, again, that a young man so full of life should have to bear so much grief. His father, and his mother, sister and fiancé, all so quickly taken. And it still hurt him. The young man still thinks that he’s the only one who knows about his nightmares. Well, little enough that I can do – he will learn one day that achievement won’t soothe personal demons. But, there is something….. "One, Majesty."

The Emperor looked at Lasarkis with all the patience he could muster. “I thought that we had covered the latest foreign affairs.” “Not quite all, Majesty. There is a state knows as – let me see the notes – the Kingdom of Sen-eui Ttang. It has been in an isolationist position for many years, and the King of the land has decided to cautiously re-open his borders a little. He has invited states to send requests for diplomatic representatives.”

“I propose, Majesty, that this example is an excellent chance for the Empire to act for the benefit of the world. By becoming the friends of these people, we can acclimatize them gently to the realities of the world, helping them become the best of what they can be. Further, if we are to act, we must act soon. Whilst we have enough firepower to discourage entities such as Blackhelm, the Maldorians or Greston from getting involved for fear of offending us too badly, if they are already there, we won’t be able to get them out.” The roomful of people silently considered the horrific potential for this remote Kingdom to fall under the control of the Blackhelm Confederacy or the Republic of Greston, both known for old-fashioned imperialist treatment of their “associates”. And the Maldorians were even worse. Proud, belligerent and xenophobic, they were not content unless all were bowing and scraping to them.

“With your approval, Majesty, I will send to the kingdom our finest young diplomat, Carolus Kourkouas, in order to make the best impression we can.”
“Granted, Andras. Draw up the papers in my name and send them to me for signature before sending them to the Kingdom. If they’re that cautious about opening relations, we should make it abundantly clear that we respect them.”

“Aye, Majesty.”

“Anything else? No? Then, I declare this session of the Imperial Council to be closed. Remember, if anyone has anything in particular to be brought up at the next meeting, inform everyone else by email.”

With nods and bowed heads, the twenty-one most powerful people in the Empire left the room.

***

FROM THE DESK OF THE EMPEROR
To: Park Haneul, Holy Ruler of the Kingdom of Sen-eui Ttang, Supreme Commander of the Royal Army of Sen-eui Ttang, High Amongst Those Who Serve; and to Han Li, Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Kingdom of Sen-eui Ttang.
From: His Imperial and Serene Majesty, Michael Iastos Basilios Doukas-Palaiologos, Sixth of his Imperial name, Emepror of New Chalcedon, Grand Duke of Constantinopolis Secundus, Defender of the Realm.


Your Majesty,

It is with great joy that We received the recent news that the most noble Kingdom of Sen-eui Ttang has decided to step onto the world stage after so many years of isolation, and We would like to take the opportunity to request permission to establish an Embassy with your nation, that your leaders and people may become more familiar with foreigners and their ways. We believe that such understanding would help your fair Kingdom immensely, and further request that the Kingdom consider sending an Embassy to the Empire of New Chalcedon. If such proposals meet with approval in Your councils, then We would propose that Our initial Embassy consist of ona Ambassador, two Secretaries and an Honour Guard of nine members of the elite Varangian Guard, led by an Officer of the same.

We await your reply with interest.

Yours in friendship,

Michael VI Doukas-Palaiologos

Emperor and Lord of New Chalcedon,
Grand Duke of Constantinopolis Secundus,
etc., etc.

-TAG-
OOC: Very, very nice. Props to ya!

(OOC: Post later today. Hungover. Until then, bump.)

The dim lighting of the room set a sombre tone, the shadows cast from the ceremonial candles flickering across the wooden wall panelling and plush furniture, the paintings of long-dead ancestors gaining an eerie demeanour as they stared down disapprovingly from the walls.

Jung sat sprawling on the floor, her head resting against the side of the four-poster bed that held her upright frame. Her tear-streaked eyes were cast down, staring sombrely at the ground, largely devoid of expression apart from a dull sense of pain. One hand lay limp across a wooden board, a plastic tube rolling between her thumb and forefinger absent-mindedly.

She had never wanted to be part of this intrigue. It was unfair, Jung thought bitterly through a hazy sense of numbness, leaning her head back against the wooden frame with an impact she barely felt. She raised her eyes slowly to look along the portraits hanging across the opposite wall, each staring down in haughty elitism at the huddled girl on the floor. “It’s unfair,” she whispered through a thick, clumsy voice. The portraits said nothing.

Glancing over to her hand, she barked a laugh, short and bitter, and lightly ran her finger through what remained of the angel white powder on the wood. This was all she was; this was all that would consume her. Jung glanced over at her sword, sheathed and hung against the wall next to her bed and smiled sadly. This was where she should die.

Their mother had died during Jung’s childbirth, and the young Princess did not truly believe her father had ever fully forgiven her for that, despite being the closest to what would pass as a favourite in the Monarch’s direct family. Their childhood, as bitter and tense as it was, had affected all of them in different ways. When Jung was fifteen, she had taken her own way out, and had accepted an invitation of her elder brother to “try something new.” And the bastard had been holding that over her ever since.

And now she was in the game. Jung sighed quietly, dropping the tube onto the wood with a small clatter that sounded deafening in the oppressive silence of the room. Despite everything, despite all the petty bickering and competition her father had encouraged between his children, she still loved him dearly. That was why she was finding it so hard to understand his logic. Jung had never held any kind of official position at all, preferring her unofficial role as the shy, quiet darling of the Royal News Bureau and concentrating on her sword practice and semi-professional martial arts competitions.

‘Why?’ Jung raised a hand to her face and wiped it gently across her cheeks as the word echoed in her head. Was he trying to make a point to her? Did her father truly think she had the ability to play the political game? Jung had managed to avoid entering the game mostly because she had never shown any interest in the political spectrum, beyond the personal politics of siblings fighting for their father’s attention. And now she was being thrown into the deep end.

And the bitterest part of the situation, the Princess thought with black humour, was that she had no choice but to play. Her father had given her the position, and at the very extreme a refusal of the sovereign’s divine authority could result in arbitrary death. Jung doubted that this would ever happen, but it was always there. And as a result, she would have to work to build her own base of power, simply for her own protection. Her siblings, power-hungry and competitive as they were and with steady gazes on the throne, would want to remove her from the position to secure their own rule, and Jung needed the Royal Police just to protect herself.

Regardless of all this, she could not refuse her father’s will, for the same reason she had held the tube in one hand this night and not her sword.

She should die tonight.

But she was a coward.

==<>==

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was housed in one wing of the palace in a set of small offices that had been left unused for several years since its last occupancy, and to Han Li still seemed to look as dilapidated. The entire department filled five offices linked off a central reception area, one of which being his own and commanding a panoramic display of the Pyongyang Sewage Works in the distance of the city’s northern suburbs. A staff of around thirty comprised the typing staff, messengers, telephone operators and other civil servants, whilst a four-man radio team seconded from the Royal Army operated a telecommunications array on loan from the Royal Secret Service. On the whole, Li did not feel particularly privileged to hold this ministry.

Sitting behind his worn desk, Li studied the latest diplomatic request to come in, the second in as many days. The Empire of New Chalcedon proposed sending a small diplomatic mission to the Kingdom, and invited one in return. Li felt vaguely uneasy; the idea of foreign soldiers of any kind stepping onto Royal territory went against thirty years of political and religious education in the Kingdom. No foreign soldiers had stepped onto Sin-eui Ttang territory since the War of Southern Aggression forty years earlier, and they had not exactly dropped by to smell the roses. Nevertheless, Li was practical enough to recognise such presence as unavoidable in certain situations such as these, and a necessary evil to deal with.

Obviously the King thought so as well. Li redirected his scrutiny to the King’s written reply, sent through earlier that day in reply to Li’s own report that morning.

‘To His Imperial and Serene Majesty, Michael Iastos Basilios Doukas-Palaiologos, Sixth of his Imperial name, Emperor of New Chalcedon, Grand Duke of Constantinopolis Secundus, Defender of the Realm, we extend greeting and wish peace, fortune and long life upon you and your family.

We are delighted to have the honourable Empire’s interest in forming diplomatic relations with the Kingdom, and would welcome the proposed envoys with open arms and hearts. The Kingdom has stood alone for a long time, its isolation self-imposed for matters of national, political and social stability, but those times are coming to an end. We hope to see this as the formation of further good relations between our two divinely appointed, holy nations and houses of lineage. We will furthermore be organising a diplomatic mission to the Empire of equal size to your own, and will contact you further regarding the specifics of this mission.

With much salutation and goodwill,

His Most Royal & Serene Highness King Park Haneul, High Amongst Those Who Serve.

Han Li, Minister for Foreign Affairs by Royal Appointment.’

Li nodded to himself, co-signing the document underneath his own name. With one hand, he reached over and pushed a buzzer on his desk, and an assistant appeared at the door moments later. Li held out the documents. “Take these for immediate transmission,” he said briskly.

“Yes sir,” the assistant nodded, taking the papers and disappearing through the door, closing it behind him as he left and enclosing the Minister in relative peace from the chattering of keyboards and conversation in the main office.

(OOC: Sorry for the delay, was dead tired and just dropped off.
Fortunately, having a boring job with little to do on some days does give
me ample hours to sneakily write my reply.)

(OOC: Bump)

(OOC: Bump. Will work on a following post tomorrow.)

As was typical for the sun-bathed city it serviced, the Basil I Memorial Airport was bathed in golden sunlight as the procession checked their orders and equipment in hte last minutes before departure.

The stick-thin old Secretary was seeing this group off personally; he felt that there was the possibility of gain in the re-entry of Sen-eui Ttang onto the international arena.

"Remember, boy: you are not to bind the Empire to an agreement with anyone but the King. Our Cultural Department has given you their best guess of the culture of the Kingdom, and Imperial Intelligence has reported that they believe there to be a rivalry between the three children of the King. Be careful, boy. We've invested too much into your training to have you get your throat cut now."

"Yes, sir. Can I go now, Papa?" The handsome young Ambassador's face was all sarcastic good cheer and little-boy innocence.

"Oh, get out of here."

"Yes, sir."

***Fourteen hours later***

At the pre-arranged border city, the small chartered airliner started its final approach.

Carolus Kourkouas, newly-appointed Ambassador to the court of King Park Haneul, watched the landing strip slowly grow out the cabin porthole.

I wonder, why me? Is it because that ruthless old man really sees an opportunity, or is it because I'm expendable? Oh well, that's part of the fun, I guess...

His musings were cut short, as his aide gave him the signal that meant that he could expect to be observed from this point forward. The airliner dipped its nose, and headed towards its assigned landing area.

(OOC: Sorry for the lack of reply, will post later. Was in Germany for Halloween so a bit fried in the brain right now.)