NationStates Jolt Archive

Liberty Square, Sumguaia:

The hint of a smile crept onto the face of Mary Basset as a light breeze caused the veil she was now wearing to flutter. She sat looking at the newly erected statue that now occupied the center of Liberty Square, a memorial to the revolution of decades past that was located in the middle of the nation's capitol. The area was deserted but for herself and half a dozen men gathered around the bench she was occupying. All but one were dressed in black, and likewise admiring the polished marble that had been formed into a stunning likeness of the late former Hegemon.

After several minutes, Dr. Frank Booker, the foreign secretary, broke the silence. "It is such an accurate likeness of him." The man said, taking his glasses off and cleaning them. "I can almost feel that....that sense one got when he was around, that aura of his. Often that was what kept me from going mad with worry, his infectious calm. It was as though he would walk into a room, and all the fear would evaporate." He put his glasses on again, peering at the statue. "For two decades, we've been in a golden age of sorts. When he took office this nation was little more than a pile of rubble. He brought us out of those depths, and look at us now. From ruins to unrivaled wealth, under his guiding hand. Though we were from the start beset by foe after foe, he brought us through, and we grew only ever stronger." He sighed. "God help us now, I fear those days may be gone."

General Mcalpin coughed, leaning against the bench and lighting a cigar. "You are far too pessimistic, Frank. Do you think the man did it all by himself? He was great, yes, but great leaders are products of great nations, of a great people. The good in our countrymen was there all along, he merely brought it out."

"I think perhaps, General, he is not pessimistic enough." The man standing beside Booker said. He alone among the six present was wearing a hooded white coat, staring at the statue with a bitter expression. "Yes, we loved the Hegemon, and yes under him we rose to greatness, but there are many who hated him with a malice that could now undo all that he fought and worked to build and protect." The man spoke with a rasp, his throat and much of his face covered in hideous burn scars. "It is now our duty to see that their wickedness is thwarted. We no longer have the Hegemon to guide us, to protect us. We are the new guardians of this nation, and we must seek to fulfill that task with the entirety of our beings. None of us may hold a candle to his greatness, we must but hope that together we are able to approach the level of wisdom and ability with which he led. He was the spark that created a flame of light, we must ensure that it does not flicker out."

"Well said." Mcalpin commented, puffing on his cigar for a time before speaking again. "I almost can't believe that he's gone. For the past twenty years he's been one of the few constants in this nation. I didn't realize it until he was gone, but that man was far more than just a good administrator and competent executive. I always felt tiny whenever he was around, as though everyone was just an ancillary to him, insignificant in comparison."

The Archbishop George Claxton stood up, adjusting the pendant he wore. "Indeed." He said, smiling as the sun moved behind the statue and it shaded the group. "We were all but in the shadow of the Hegemon."

_________________________________________________________________

As the clocks in the city struck two that afternoon the Sumguaian Royal Guard began to assemble, lining the street through which the Hegemon's casket would be carried. The funeral itself would take place on a hill near the outskirts of the city, in the center of a small grove of trees. More than a million people packed the streets around it for miles, tens of thousands more lining the path that the casket would take from the national cathedral. A notice had been sent to nations all over the world several weeks in advance, inviting any foreign officials that wished to attend.

Outside of the cathedral stood nearly a hundred officials of the Sumguaian government, awaiting the first arrivals.

OOC: its kinda short, I'm tired. just have your delegate arrive at the national cathedral, no need for telegrams and the like. Also, no terrorist attacks, missle strikes, assassination attempts, or other such nonsense.

http://i213.photobucket.com/albums/cc61/LordBelacqua/NationStates/Imperial%20Barronia/ODC.png

It is with great care that I send my condolences to the Sumgaians on this day. Whilst peace is not at the forefront of the Barronian mind, we are implementing a ceasefire by our troops on this day, until remembrance ceremonies are complete.

With Regards

Amelie Carpentier-St Claire

OOC: tag for later

OOC: Post up soon.

Though we have not been around very long, the Republic of Laileto extends its condolences on this day.

Outside Sumguaian Cathedral

Emperor Irasur Seawind and Lord Blackfield stood under their hooded cloaks behind three rows of Sumguaian officials. Under the cloaks they wore full honorary regalia, Blackfield going so far as to don his clan's kilt, which was rarely done for the funerals of non-relatives. Former Emperor Kexarin Raincedar stood alone, further away.

All three men carried lumps in their throats and a weight in their hearts. All of them respected the Hegemon, probably more than any other foriegn leader. He was strong, principled, and reserved. He had led his people farther than any Kiravian Emperor ever had. Yet, after all the years of diplomatic association, of being on the same side of conflicts, none had ever met this great man.

Of all of the Kiravians present, only Blackfield had seen Lord Sumguy in person, and that had been as he kneeled beside the fallen hero, praying desperately for his survival.

Politics also burdened the three Emperors, former and otherwise. Seconds before Sumguy's death, they had turned their backs on him and left the Hegemony, walking out with the Barronians.

Technically, they continued to befriend the Hegemony and her members. Technically, they had nothing to gain nor lose from the conference, and had every right to leave. But to a Kiravian, there was always a wrought-iron honour that escaped all logic. They had dishonoured the Hegemon before his death. It was time to make amends.

Lady Luana arrived at the Cathedral, feeling a sadness she had not felt in many years. It was always sad when a person died, more so when they were a respected leader.

Things had moved so rapidly, so quickly and without remorse in the last few days and weeks a random lottery had been set up to pick the delegation to the Hegemonic funeral amongst the priesthood. Dench, Throm, all those who had fought beside the Hegemon and their armies across the world for the War of the Grand Alliance were detained with their official work. So through a varying degree of excuses and replacements the task had finally fallen to Basil Wiktor a minor lecturer of theology and by all accounts nobody.

Still the official robes of the legate clung to him, freshly stitched together and glinting of gold embroidery and more bejeweled cuffs and lacy frills than was appropriate for a man. They were meant to be impressive, grandiose, and above all flowing, on Basil they merely stuck to his spindly body and draped across his stretched frame. On account of his position, and for the occasion, an elderly porter, who was even spindlier and considerably deafer, had been appropriated to carry baggage and drive the official state car about and occasionally get out to push the hulking monster.

When Wiktor and his small entourage arrived at the national cathedral he could not stare up at its grandeur, or view with awe the arrayed diplomats and men of power, as he was riffling through his pockets furiously for a handerkercheif to pat his running nose and, pat under his eyes. The temperature here, so recently after coming of the burning High Deserts was nearly intolerable and though the priest tried to reassure himself of his bodies homeostatic abilities, he could not help but shiver and grasp the robes tightly to himself. With hurried steps and brushing off any attempts to greet or meet him, Wiktor pushed forward to the nave to get out from under the lashes of the light breeze that riffled the flags of state cars, and stirred his robes about his feet.

It truly was, for the man a hellish assignment, who spent most of his days nose deep in cannon law books and in the presence of dusty manuscripts and, amongst the abbeys of the High Desert. It wasn’t a taxing life and his supervisor barely acknowledged his existence never the less read his papers or cared for the department. It was for this, and for the last fifteen years he had lived quietly, though he was by technical definition a young man he was plagued by asthma, arthritis, a weak chest, constant infection and muscle weakness that generally lead any person talking to the priest for more than ten minutes the impression that they had just had a rather dry conversation with a self propelled toast rack. There were better men for the job, nearly everywhere, more diplomatic, more intellectual, less contagious, but in by lottery, and by chance it had been Wiktor who had received the dark embossed envelope from the Cenobiarch, the erstwhile leader of the Holy Church and ambiguous ally of the late Hegemon, to hand, with the regard of a grateful nation to his successor, and repay the debt that the nation owed to the Hegemonic state and all its whiles, allies, and native virtue.

Nicolas Villa sat with his brother in the Cathedral. Both came to show respect for the late Lord Sumguy. Though they had only known him a year or so before his death it was their duty to be present at his funeral. The brothers had been to hundreds of funerals together, ever since their father's death. However this one was not in a field, but in a great Cathedral, with both dressed in their finest suits. No medals, no identification of honor, they came to be humble, and honor the fallen Hegmon the way they were raised to.

Yield the honor to the dead, and let them to do the talking for the night.

Joseph Keupir, President of the Allied States of New Kereptica, did not personally attend many funerals. His office sent official condolences of course, but he was not present. This case was different however.

I wonder how the Hegemony will continue Joseph mused to himself as he sat in the back of the black SUV which was heading, rather quickly, toward the funeral. He looked out of the window, and saw the dead husks of leaves swirl about in the air currants made by the passing vehicle. Outside, the city was somber, obviously morning the death if it's great Hegemon.

As the car pulled in front of the Cathedral, Joseph got out, marveling at the pure majesty of the structure. Retrieving his mind from it's flight above those lofty Gothic arches, he walked, smoothing the wrinkles out of his black suit.

New reelected President Martin Watson, Will Riddle, Minister of Foreign Affairs Raul Riddle, and even Sarah Watson were to attend the funeral. Will felt saddened by Lord Sumguy's death and wondered how the Hegemony would go on.

Ingram sighed deeply, crushing his finished cigarette in the limo's ashtray. He reached for another one, but abruptly decided against it. The driver looked at him, and then down at the ashtray before turning his focus back to the road.
"Is there a problem, President Hasley, sir?" Asked the driver
"No. I'm fine" Ingram answered "Carry on driving."
The driver did what he was asked and continued driving. Ingram looked out the window at the thousands of men and women who had come to honor Lord Sumguy. He had never seen this many people attending a funeral in his life. He continued to look, and he swore he saw several Cazatanian servicemen in ceremonial dress.

"That's quite a crowd." commented the driver as he looked out the passenger seat mirror. Ingram turned his head and looked at the driver. He turned back towards the window and continued to stare at the ever increasing number of people.
"I expected no less for a man like the Hegemon. God bless his soul, wherever he is." said the President sadly "For without him, we would both be bound in the shackles of oppression and tyranny." He stated "It could take nothing other than an act of god to create this man, yet he was struck down by something as crude and simple as a bullet." He looked at the driver "Do you believe in God?" He asked
"Yes I do, President Hasley. I was born into a Protestant family in New Berlin." The driver replied
"Good to hear that." said Ingram. The car came to a stop slowly. Ingram reached for his Colt 1911 and tucked it into his suit
"Just in case." He reassured the driver. He opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, quickly notiuced the Sumguians and the Cathedral. He walked towards them, trying not to attract attention to himself.

OOC: alrighty, lets see how well i can take on multiple conversations at once.
IC:

Things had moved so rapidly, so quickly and without remorse in the last few days and weeks a random lottery had been set up to pick the delegation to the Hegemonic funeral amongst the priesthood. Dench, Throm, all those who had fought beside the Hegemon and their armies across the world for the War of the Grand Alliance were detained with their official work. So through a varying degree of excuses and replacements the task had finally fallen to Basil Wiktor a minor lecturer of theology and by all accounts nobody.

Still the official robes of the legate clung to him, freshly stitched together and glinting of gold embroidery and more bejeweled cuffs and lacy frills than was appropriate for a man. They were meant to be impressive, grandiose, and above all flowing, on Basil they merely stuck to his spindly body and draped across his stretched frame. On account of his position, and for the occasion, an elderly porter, who was even spindlier and considerably deafer, had been appropriated to carry baggage and drive the official state car about and occasionally get out to push the hulking monster.

When Wiktor and his small entourage arrived at the national cathedral he could not stare up at its grandeur, or view with awe the arrayed diplomats and men of power, as he was riffling through his pockets furiously for a handerkercheif to pat his running nose and, pat under his eyes. The temperature here, so recently after coming of the burning High Deserts was nearly intolerable and though the priest tried to reassure himself of his bodies homeostatic abilities, he could not help but shiver and grasp the robes tightly to himself. With hurried steps and brushing off any attempts to greet or meet him, Wiktor pushed forward to the nave to get out from under the lashes of the light breeze that riffled the flags of state cars, and stirred his robes about his feet.

It truly was, for the man a hellish assignment, who spent most of his days nose deep in cannon law books and in the presence of dusty manuscripts and, amongst the abbeys of the High Desert. It wasn’t a taxing life and his supervisor barely acknowledged his existence never the less read his papers or cared for the department. It was for this, and for the last fifteen years he had lived quietly, though he was by technical definition a young man he was plagued by asthma, arthritis, a weak chest, constant infection and muscle weakness that generally lead any person talking to the priest for more than ten minutes the impression that they had just had a rather dry conversation with a self propelled toast rack. There were better men for the job, nearly everywhere, more diplomatic, more intellectual, less contagious, but in by lottery, and by chance it had been Wiktor who had received the dark embossed envelope from the Cenobiarch, the erstwhile leader of the Holy Church and ambiguous ally of the late Hegemon, to hand, with the regard of a grateful nation to his successor, and repay the debt that the nation owed to the Hegemonic state and all its whiles, allies, and native virtue.

Claxton suppressed a chuckle as he beheld the small priest, who was garbed in robes that made even the Archbishop's look simple and modest. He approached the man, who seemed to be be shivering, despite the above-average tempurature. "You must be Basil Witkor." He said as he reached the man, giving him a brilliant smile and extending a hand to be shaken. "I am George Claxton, it is a pleasure to make your aquaintance."


Emperor Irasur Seawind and Lord Blackfield stood under their hooded cloaks behind three rows of Sumguaian officials. Under the cloaks they wore full honorary regalia, Blackfield going so far as to don his clan's kilt, which was rarely done for the funerals of non-relatives. Former Emperor Kexarin Raincedar stood alone, further away.

All three men carried lumps in their throats and a weight in their hearts. All of them respected the Hegemon, probably more than any other foriegn leader. He was strong, principled, and reserved. He had led his people farther than any Kiravian Emperor ever had. Yet, after all the years of diplomatic association, of being on the same side of conflicts, none had ever met this great man.

Of all of the Kiravians present, only Blackfield had seen Lord Sumguy in person, and that had been as he kneeled beside the fallen hero, praying desperately for his survival.

Politics also burdened the three Emperors, former and otherwise. Seconds before Sumguy's death, they had turned their backs on him and left the Hegemony, walking out with the Barronians.

Technically, they continued to befriend the Hegemony and her members. Technically, they had nothing to gain nor lose from the conference, and had every right to leave. But to a Kiravian, there was always a wrought-iron honour that escaped all logic. They had dishonoured the Hegemon before his death. It was time to make amends.

Mary was awakened from her absorption in thought by a finger tapping on her shoulder. She turned to see Dr. Booker gesturing to a the three men wearing cloaks. "The Kiravian Delegation is here, ma'am." He said, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps it would be best if you spoke to them."

"Right! Of course!" She said, laughing at herself. "I'm afraid you caught me daydreaming, Frank." She made her way through the crowd to the Kiravian emperor. "Your majesty," She said, bowing to him. "We are honored by your presence."


Dr. Booker laughed quietly to himself as he watched Mary. She's young and has a lot to learn, but she will do fine. You've made a good choice there, sir. He thought as he walked to greet the Mokastanian delegation. "Greetings to you sirs. I am Frank Booker, foreign secretary to the Hegemon. I trust your flight was enjoyabvle and your accomidations are to your liking?"

Ingram sighed deeply, crushing his finished cigarette in the limo's ashtray. He reached for another one, but abruptly decided against it. The driver looked at him, and then down at the ashtray before turning his focus back to the road.
"Is there a problem, President Hasley, sir?" Asked the driver
"No. I'm fine" Ingram answered "Carry on driving."
The driver did what he was asked and continued driving. Ingram looked out the window at the thousands of men and women who had come to honor Lord Sumguy. He had never seen this many people attending a funeral in his life. He continued to look, and he swore he saw several Cazatanian servicemen in ceremonial dress.

"That's quite a crowd." commented the driver as he looked out the passenger seat mirror. Ingram turned his head and looked at the driver. He turned back towards the window and continued to stare at the ever increasing number of people.
"I expected no less for a man like the Hegemon. God bless his soul, wherever he is." said the President sadly "For without him, we would both be bound in the shackles of oppression and tyranny." He stated "It could take nothing other than an act of god to create this man, yet he was struck down by something as crude and simple as a bullet." He looked at the driver "Do you believe in God?" He asked
"Yes I do, President Hasley. I was born into a Protestant family in New Berlin." The driver replied
"Good to hear that." said Ingram. The car came to a stop slowly. Ingram reached for his Colt 1911 and tucked it into his suit
"Just in case." He reassured the driver. He opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, quickly notiuced the Sumguians and the Cathedral. He walked towards them, trying not to attract attention to himself.


Despite Ingram's efforts, the man wearing the white cloak noticed his arrival, and slowly moved through the crowd towards the Cazelian. As he caught up, he stepped into Ingram's path, and arm shooting out to block the president from passing him. "Ingram Hasely, we meet at last." The cloaked man said, a smile barely visible under the hood. "I heard much of you from the late Hegemon." He extended a hand to be shakken, which was covered in burn scars and missing a finger. "It is a pleasure to at last make your aquaintance."

OOC: I apologize for my lateness here, it really was my intention to post sooner...expect my post within the hour.

OOC: I apologize for my lateness here, it really was my intention to post sooner...expect my post within the hour.OOC: its fine, my last post was made three days after i intended it to.

Martin arrived at the funeral quickly. His bodyguard opened the door for him, and everyone left the limo, heading toward the group of Sumguians that were engaged in a conversation. Close behind were Will Riddle, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Sarah. They had all came to pay their respects one last time.

Mary was awakened from her absorption in thought by a finger tapping on her shoulder. She turned to see Dr. Booker gesturing to a the three men wearing cloaks. "The Kiravian Delegation is here, ma'am." He said, adjusting his glasses. "Perhaps it would be best if you spoke to them."

"Right! Of course!" She said, laughing at herself. "I'm afraid you caught me daydreaming, Frank." She made her way through the crowd to the Kiravian emperor. "Your majesty," She said, bowing to him. "We are honored by your presence."


Seawind bowed in return, as did Blackfield.

"And we are most honoured to be here, Sèra Basset. The Hegemon was a great man to which the civilised world owes much. He looks down, now, upon a Sumguaia more peaceful, stable, and right of mind than the one he was born into."

Lord Blackfield nodded, then asked, "Sèra Basset, do you know where I might find the family?"

“Indeed Wiktor took the hand with only a small amount of hesitation, and a discreet and practice hiding of his handkerchief, “allow me to express my deepest sorrow with the passing of the Hegemon, and the deepest regrets of both Colonel Dench, and His Grace the Archbishop Throm of their inability to attend.” At this point Wiktor’s small talk ran out and he began to stutter rather sharply. “If you would pass on the word to Ms. Basset at some point I have a letter for her,” he reached into a pocket and through a cascade of used Kleenex waved a heavy looking letter before Claxton. “I understand it of some importance, as I am to deliver it to her personally. Rather cold in here isn’t it? Perhaps I shall go and find a corner to huddle in.” With a stiff bow and a sniff Basil waded away from Claxton while attempting to not make eye contact with anyone else.

This of course was an incredibly simple task as news spread. What had happened to the Leistungi, and some rather frightening rumors of the peace conferences at Bad Amberg not even two months ago, gave the international world a crystalline pattern. No matter the affability or apparent pathetic state of the Waldenburger ambassador some rather gloomy tales were being associated with the miter, and even if Basil had wished conversation it seemed that would be rather difficult with any but the most diplomatically minded.

2:21 PM
Liberty Square, Sumguaia

The selection process for who would travel to Sumguaia for the funeral of the Hegemon was brief, and its conclusion was basically forgone. Evan Bachmeier, the former Minister of LION Affairs, current President of ODECON, and the delegate at the Hegemony-LION peace conference had volunteered to go, and his request was honored by Chancellor Ringkampf, who had decided to travel to Leistung's newest ally as well.

The first thing the two men noticed upon reaching the cathedral (and indeed the same thing Leistungi delegates always noticed when traveling to warmer nations) was the stifling heat, which caused even the punctual Bachmeier to loosen his tie.

"Evan, look over there," the Chancellor muttered with a smirk, pointing at a positively miserable robed man hurrying inside. "Ten bundesmarks says that's the Waldenburg delegation."

Bachmeier chuckled. "I'm surprised they showed," he replied. "I would have thought they were busy with more important things. Burning Grestonian babies and whatnot."

The two men walked briskly up to the steps of the cathedral, nodding at several of the delegations on their way up until they reached what appeared to be a line of very solemn Sumguaian officials.

OOC: That was horrific. I've been around Ryou for too long.

Over Sumguian Skies

The Zoingonian Delegation, consisting of Martin Dalons, the Prime Minister, as well as the Royal Family, were speeding off in their Concorde Air 001, to make it to the funeral of the most well respected international man in Zoingo. It had seemed like forever untill the funeral of Lord Sumguy would be held; and even now for Martin, it seemed that no matter their speed, the jet would still take in his mind, forever to reach the Liberty Square.

Martin was very anxious to arrive, and constantly checked outside of his window to see how far they had come and how far they had left.

Martin, I cannot make the plane go any faster than it is built for...patience is a virtue. King Ragnald said as he took off his glasses and turned to him.

Its just.....the last time we were not around, a war happened between LION and the Hegemony. How can I ignore that? And then at that peace conference, Lord Sumguy was assasinated....which caused Roland to feel so much in pain that he died...How can that be ignored? If we were there history might have been different. Martin explained as he turned towards the King.

I know, you knew Roland J. Massaquine, as well as I. But what could we have done? The country was in shambles at that time, there was little we could do as a 3rd party. What begins in anger ends in shame...out of anger, this war happened, and now the shame part is just begining. As the head of state, I do not want another war anytime soon. The King said stiffly but compasionately. Think, if we were involved in another war over this....and we were invaded...what would happen to my wife and children? The Archbishops? Not to mention....as well as Priests of our countries religions? But also, every one in the Commonwealth? I don't want to think that...

Martin glanced at the across to the seats beyond his and King Ragnald. There, over by the other window, was Marie Ragnald, the Queen, reading to her 9 year old daughter, Anne.

What story do you want to read next honey? She asked her daughter sweetly.

Cinderella! I like that story. Anne said and bounced in her chair.

Well, once upon a time.... The Queen started to read.

Martin looked away and then glanced at William, the prince of Zoingo, talking to the Archbishop of Corpus Christi.

I guess I see your point, what could we have done?...But this is still a terrible loss... Martin responded quietly.

As he said that, the plane quickly landed on the runway of the airport.

-----------
ooc: speed things up a bit
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Liberty Square

The Royal Family, Martin, 3 Archbishops, and a few Intelligence Agency agents stepped out of their taxies and proceeded into the crowd to meet the Sumguian delegation.

Seawind bowed in return, as did Blackfield.

"And we are most honoured to be here, Sèra Basset. The Hegemon was a great man to which the civilised world owes much. He looks down, now, upon a Sumguaia more peaceful, stable, and right of mind than the one he was born into."

Lord Blackfield nodded, then asked, "Sèra Basset, do you know where I might find the family?"

Mary looked slightly taken aback. "I am afriad that he has only one surviving blood relative, his son, Nathan. The boy is seventeen, and currently under the care of my predecessor's former bodyguard. Do you wish me to show you to him?"


The selection process for who would travel to Sumguaia for the funeral of the Hegemon was brief, and its conclusion was basically forgone. Evan Bachmeier, the former Minister of LION Affairs, current President of ODECON, and the delegate at the Hegemony-LION peace conference had volunteered to go, and his request was honored by Chancellor Ringkampf, who had decided to travel to Leistung's newest ally as well.

The first thing the two men noticed upon reaching the cathedral (and indeed the same thing Leistungi delegates always noticed when traveling to warmer nations) was the stifling heat, which caused even the punctual Bachmeier to loosen his tie.

"Evan, look over there," the Chancellor muttered with a smirk, pointing at a positively miserable robed man hurrying inside. "Ten bundesmarks says that's the Waldenburg delegation."

Bachmeier chuckled. "I'm surprised they showed," he replied. "I would have thought they were busy with more important things. Burning Grestonian babies and whatnot."

The two men walked briskly up to the steps of the cathedral, nodding at several of the delegations on their way up until they reached what appeared to be a line of very solemn Sumguaian officials.

As Witkor ambled off Claxton smiled to himself. Odd little fellow. he thought, wondering with slight curiousity as to the possible nature of Basil's letter. As he scanned the area, he noticeed the Leistungi delegation, and seeing that they had yet to be greeted approached them. "Mr. President," He said, walking up to Bachmeier and extending his hand with another broad smile. "It is an honor to meet you sir."

OOC: some of you (Greal, Zoingo) will not have characters of mine coming up to greet your delegates (as i dont have enough) and so your characters will have to approach mine or one another for conversation. Alternatively you could wait until my characters become free, but that could take time.

Cookesland had not had the best relations with the Hegemony, and had even criticized the late Hegemon for his seemingly autocratic rule over it. Still, what had happened happened, and nothing could change that. President Foxswift felt it fitting that he attend the state funeral and pay his respects to one of the most influential world leaders he could remember.

The Cookeslandic Delegation consisted of President Alan Foxswift, First Lady Angelique Foxswift, Vice President Bertrand Ghastonet, and Secretary of State Steven J. Andolor. The arrived promptly and headed up the steps of the cathedral and waited behind the other various national delegations that had arrived before them.

OOC: some of you (Greal, Zoingo) will not have characters of mine coming up to greet your delegates (as i dont have enough) and so your characters will have to approach mine or one another for conversation. Alternatively you could wait until my characters become free, but that could take time.

OOC: thats perfectly fine, Im shure Greal and I could think of something...

OOC: Zoingo, while we wait for LS, why don't we have a conversation?

"And you are?" asked Ingram, shaking the man's hand "I certainly hope that what you've heard from the late Hegemon is not all bad."

Mary looked slightly taken aback. "I am afriad that he has only one surviving blood relative, his son, Nathan. The boy is seventeen, and currently under the care of my predecessor's former bodyguard. Do you wish me to show you to him?"

"That would be most kind of you, Madam. I have an important message for the lad."

Meanwhile, Kexarin Raincedar, the Emperor who had brought Kirav onto the world stage, stood alone. He was here as a private person, to pay respect to the Hegemon on his own.

After leaving the Imperacy, Seawind had returned to his humble plantation in Indona Province, Great Kirav. With the generous salary of an Emperor carefully invested, and his lands managed by his nephew, Raincedar decided to explore the world that he had made his nation a part of. He imported books from abroad, reading the histories of myriad nations, the spinnings of various foriegn men of lettres, and, of most concern, the lives of the great men beyond the Empire. He had taken an interest in Lord Sumguy, devouring all penned by him, and all penned about him. Sumguy inspired the retired leader, as a politician, and as a human.

OOC: I'd just like to clear up that while Bachmeier is the President of ODECON, he no longer holds any power in the Leistungi government. Ringkampf is Chancellor.
As Witkor ambled off Claxton smiled to himself. Odd little fellow. he thought, wondering with slight curiousity as to the possible nature of Basil's letter. As he scanned the area, he noticeed the Leistungi delegation, and seeing that they had yet to be greeted approached them. "Mr. President," He said, walking up to Bachmeier and extending his hand with another broad smile. "It is an honor to meet you sir."
2:23 PM
Liberty Square, Sumguaia

Bachmeier took the man's hand and smiled, plastering the sort of look only a politician could make on his face. "Really now, the honor is all mine," he said. "Allow me to express my condolences at the loss of the Hegemon--he will be sorely missed in Leistung." He was uncertain as he set off from Leistung with the Chancellor, especially considering the status of the Leistungi-Sumguaian relations at the time of the Hegemon's demise. In truth, neither men had felt any sadness at the time of his death, and in fact, the general consensus in Leistung was that his death was tragic, but ultimately did not concern them. Changes in alliances changed people's perceptions of events, evidently.

In reality, the Leistungi delegation had traveled to Sumguaia out of political duty alone, considering Sumguaia's (and Mary Basset's) place in ODECON, and no one was looking forward to the prospect of being in the same room with so many former enemies. In a recent poll conducted by the Federal Republic, 76% of Leistungi citizens still believed the Waldenburger handling of the attack on Hafenstadt to fall under the category of "war crime," and scars from the attack still marred the countryside.

Chancellor Ringkampf shook the man's hand next, offering similarly hollow words of comfort, and side-by-side the two men walked into the Cathedral, mingling into the crowd.

"And you are?" asked Ingram, shaking the man's hand "I certainly hope that what you've heard from the late Hegemon is not all bad."

"I was the Hegemon's bodyguard for a number of years." The man rasped. "You may call me Wall." He lifted his head up, revealing what had once been a handsome face, but was now half covered by hideous scars that distorted the man's features. One of his eyes was glazed over with white scar tissue and sightless. "As you can no doubt see, I am somewhat the worse for wear." He said, attempting a friendly smile that instead appeared a monstrous grin. "Come to pay your respects, have you?"

"That would be most kind of you, Madam. I have an important message for the lad."


"Of course." Mary said. "Right this way." She led the men through the crowd to a boy sitting on the cathedral steps. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be contemplating something. He opened his eys as the group approached.

"Here he is." Mary said. "I will leave you to speak with him privately." She turned and began walking away.

The boy stood up, straightening his jacket as he waited for one of the men to speak.

OOC: there is no service in the cathedral, so nobody needs to sit there. At this point people are just gathering for the procession to the hill where the funeral will be held. The casket is in the cathedral, but the doors leading inside are currently closed. Also, mokastana, look back at my second post, Dr. Booker greeted your delegates.

Keupir stood against the wall of the massive stone cathedral. Idly, he stared around at the foreign nationals that crowded the cavity. Every few feet stood an internationally recognizable figure, most conversing in rather pleasant tones with those around them.

"I wonder when this thing is going to get started." He thought impatiently to himself.

After a few more minutes repose against the cool stone, he leaned forward and stood straight. He made his way into the throng of people, vainly searching for some form of refreshment.

OOC: sorry I missed that...also, crappy post....

IC:


"Greetings to you sirs. I am Frank Booker, foreign secretary to the Hegemon. I trust your flight was enjoyable and your accommodations are to your liking?"

Nicolas looked up to see Dr. Booker standing near them, he sat down the blue rose he held and stood up to shake hands with the man.

"Yes, it was a nice flight, but I can only wish it was under better terms."

His brother spoke up as well..

"When will the funeral precession start?"

"I was the Hegemon's bodyguard for a number of years." The man rasped. "You may call me Wall." He lifted his head up, revealing what had once been a handsome face, but was now half covered by hideous scars that distorted the man's features. One of his eyes was glazed over with white scar tissue and sightless. "As you can no doubt see, I am somewhat the worse for wear." He said, attempting a friendly smile that instead appeared a monstrous grin. "Come to pay your respects, have you?"

Ingram looked at Wall for a short second. His face brought back memories of war, and he tried to purge it from his mind. He managed to hold back his tears but not a sudden feeling of sadness and guilt.
"Yes." He answered sadly "It's just so hard to believe that he's actually gone."

"Should we speak with the Sumguian delegation?" asked Will Riddle.

"Its Lord Sumguy's funeral. We have to speak with them. I have a few words for the Hegemon also." said Martin, looking at the crowd. Lord Sumguy truly had an effect on all these people.

"I'll offer my condolences first." said Will.

"Alright, go ahead." said Martin.

Will turned away and walked toward the Sumguian delegation slowly.

26 Years earlier:

The lone pickup truck bounced and rocked as it made it's way up and down a snaking gravel road, leading to a remote village in the nation's northern mountain ranges. In the back of the vehicle sat a small group of men, each holding some sort of firearm and all looking half-starved. Two of these men, both seemingly in their early twenties, stood looking at the road ahead of them, their figures silhouetted against the setting sun on the horizon.

The man who would one day be Hegemon smiled , gazing at the sunset, his eyes gleaming with the vigor of youth and the fire of idealistic drive. He wore a red coat, with a white sash around the waist, and an AK-47 assault rifle was slung across his back. He sighed, leaning on the truck's roof, and smiled. "Oh, how beautiful it all is."

The man beside him chuckled. "For someone who loves life so much, you are rather quick to risk yours." He said, riffling the future Hegemon's hair with a massive hand. "What's got you so cheerful then?"

"It's...a sort of feeling" The first man said. "This is what we were meant to do. I know it."

"Oh so you are not only a revolutionary, but a prophet as well now?" His friend asked jokingly.

"Just think about it for a moment." The man who would be Hegemon said. "If God wills it, we could help bring freedom to our countrymen at last. We could actually help overthrow the Dominion."

"Maybe," His companion said. "but right now we have more immediate things to focus on, like the fact that we haven't eaten in two days and what our plan will be if there are government troops at this town."

"Don't worry, my cousin lives there. I contacted him before we left, and he tells me that there isn't a single Dominion soldier anywhere nearby. A also said that the local police force might be willing to join our cause."

"Did he? Good." The man who would later become the Hegemon's bodyguard and commander of the Sumguaian Royal Guard smiled. "Perhaps you are right, perhaps we will succeed, perhaps we can help bring about the fall of the Dominion and communism in this country."

Both men fell silent, dreaming of the possibility of a brighter future. Neither could have imagined the paths their lives would take.

"Yes, it was a nice flight, but I can only wish it was under better terms."

His brother spoke up as well..

"When will the funeral precession start?"

"The procession will ebign in a few minutes, once all of the guests have arrived and are settled in." Booker said, smiling.

Ingram looked at Wall for a short second. His face brought back memories of war, and he tried to purge it from his mind. He managed to hold back his tears but not a sudden feeling of sadness and guilt.
"Yes." He answered sadly "It's just so hard to believe that he's actually gone."

"Indeed, it is." Wall replied, patting Ingram's shoulder with his good hand. "Who is to say however, that he is gone? Surely the man will live on: in those who carry on his ideals, in his role as founder of this nation, in the eharts and minds of his people. No, the Hegemon will never truly be gone from this world, he has attained perhaps the closest thing possible to earthly immortality." He leaned close to Ingram whispering in the man's ear. "Mourn ye not friend, for his return shall not be long in coming. Soon he will again appear among us, sent back to finish the task which he has begun."

Wall backed away, smiled, and turned to disappear into the crowd of government officials.

OOC: procession should start in a few more posts.

"The procession will ebign in a few minutes, once all of the guests have arrived and are settled in." Booker said, smiling.


"Thank you," Nicolas said: "The Hegmon was a great man, it is only a shame I never got to know him better as the man he was. If you don't mind me asking, what was his past, where did he come from?"

Behind him his brother's PDA went off, and after a few quiet words in spanish between the two Charles told Booker good bye and that pressing matters back home were calling, after a quick apology he turned with his guard and left.

"I'm sorry something is going on, not sure what, but I can only hope it ends well...So where were we?"

"Of course." Mary said. "Right this way." She led the men through the crowd to a boy sitting on the cathedral steps. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be contemplating something. He opened his eys as the group approached.

"Here he is." Mary said. "I will leave you to speak with him privately." She turned and began walking away.

The boy stood up, straightening his jacket as he waited for one of the men to speak.


"Sèr, it is an honour to make your acquaintance. Your father served civilised society in countless ways, and we are in his debt. But I am here to address you on a more personal note.

Your father, had he spoke the right language and been born in the right country, would have been everything that my people see as the model Kiravian. That is why my cheiftain, Rein Voritgur, has decided to admit you to our clan, Eþesra."

Blackfield's tone fell and his gaze turned icy.

"Now, do not take this gift lightly. We have seen how Westerners liberally dispense offices and titles as mere frivolities, even in government. This is no trinket of courtesy. It makes you a full member of a clan, the most important institution in our society. It makes you a de-facto Imperial citizen, with the right to vote for a Cheiftain, and, indirectly, the Imperacy. It makes you kin to myself and about ten-thousand others.

Also, as Lord Sumguy's eldest male heir, you are also Patriarch of the House of Sumguy within our clan. Your family shall belong to the clan in full as well."

Blackfield then reached into his robe, revealing a folded kilt identical to his own, and presented it to the newest member of his clan.

OOC: Zoingo, while we wait for LS, why don't we have a conversation?

OOC: Good Idea, but at the moment can you come up to me? As I find myslef with a shortage of time.