NationStates Jolt Archive

(OOC: Original threads can be found here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=40381) and... uh... we'll say here (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=66585). Those without at least a slight working knowledge of what happened in these events probably should stay away, but explanations will be given for the uninitiated. This event takes place one month after the Il Adib/Brethren invasion of Kelder.)


The SLAGLandic News Network, SNN, cuts to the inside of the Nonagonal Office, in front of the large glass window that overlooks the mountains to the east of SLAGTown. At her desk, Prime Minister Marlena Vera Cantrell sits with a cool smile, her blonde hair tied back into a bow. She is beginning to fill out as she enters the third month of pregnancy, but she nonetheless retains her happy demeanor and appearance of good health.

"Good afternoon, my fellow SLAGLanders... Triumvirate of Yut and SATO allies... and friends around the multiverse," she begins.

"As you are all no doubt aware, last month, The SLAGLands was the victim of an unprecedented attack by a tremendous army of mystical creatures, creatures who called themselves The Brethren of Shade and Il Adib--or, in modern English, The Blind. These armies were led by the mysterious Esmerelda, an ancient and powerful protector of The SLAGLands who was more than a little bit dismayed to find Enrick von Slagalotz attempting to settle the land she called The Emerald Heights. Now, however, thanks to the brave effort of an archaeological team, this situation has been resolved, and peace between The SLAGLands and her former guardian has been attained at last.

"In meetings with Esmerelda these past few weeks, both she and I agreed that her place was within neither the government of The SLAGLands or the citizenry of The SLAGLands. Our nation has come a long way in the past century or so, and unfortunately, we have long since passed the years of old. This is not to say, however, that we cannot enjoy a fruitful relationship with Esmerelda, Il Adib, and The Brethren of Shade.

"As part of a compromise situation, Esmerelda will be seceding the birthplace of SLAGLandic civilization, The Outset Islands, home of Il Adib and The Brethren. She will reside over these lands as Queen, fit to rule them as she sees fit. The Outsets, however, will remain in close ties with The SLAGLands, as our two nations will maintain similar currency and will enjoy the benefits of free trade and travel between our two states.

"In addition, in a symbolic gesture of this eternal relationship, I am pleased to announce that from this day forward, our nation will be known as The Emerald Heights of The SLAGLands, a reflection of our grand nation's former name under the protection of Esmerelda. By embracing our past and preparing for our future, The Emerald Heights of The SLAGLands will be able to reach new heights that previous peoples would have deemed impossible."

She pauses for a moment to clear her throat.

"I am also pleased to invite all friends and allies of The SLAGLands, within and without SATO and the Triumvirate of Yut, to a banquet and summit regarding the affairs of The Outset Islands. This summit will be held in beautiful Murphy Hall, the largest and most elegant banquet hall in The SLAGLands. At this ceremony, Esmerelda will enlighten us about the rich history of herself and her followers, and she will announce her plans for the future of The Outsets. Furthermore, this ceremony will honour the brave men and women who entered the caves beneath The Outset Islands and saved our beautiful nation from calamity. Each and every one of these brave people will receive The Golden Arrow... the greatest award for valour in The SLAGLands.

"Friends, this is a wonderful time to be a SLAGLander. We are reaping the fruits of our past and moving ahead into the future with a newfound understanding of who we are and where we come from. I thank you all for your attention, and may the Great Camofrog bless you."

http://invisionfree.com:54/40/9/upload/p1285.jpg
Marlena Vera Cantrell
Prime Minister
The Emerald Heights of The SLAGLands

I am more than a bit relieved that this situation has finally been resolved, and I encourage all friends and allies of The SLAGLands to attend this summit. I'll be telling a lot about the nature of Il Adib and The Brethren and what I have planned for them, yet I must admit that I'm sort of an outdated old hag. I could, of course, use insight into the workings of modern political systems... and for that, I would appreciate the input of any and all friendly and open-minded peoples.

I await your responses.

http://invisionfree.com:54/85/115/upload/p1106.jpg
Esmerelda
Queen of The Outset Islands
Goddess and Protector of The Emerald Heights of The SLAGLands

Arpean Historical Society HQ, Arpia

"Whaddya mean Tsu and I aren't going to the dig in the Valley of Dragons?!" Kiara slams both fists down on her supervisor's table. "I mean, yeah, Tsu and I took a month off after we got back from the Outset Islands, but you SAW all the crap on the news about what the hell went down THERE!"

Tsunami, her armor vibrantly clean and polished (she'd been bathing almost obsessively since her return from the dig) watches her partner's display of temper with some amusement. The two had planned on a major dig back in Aquamarine after taking some time off to recover from the events in the SLAGlands a month ago.

"You won't be able to go to the Valley of Dragons site for awhile, and that is that." The pair's supervisor notes flatly.

"Well why in all the hells not?!" Kiara paces the room furiously.

"Because..." The supervisor drawls, enjoying Kiara's frustration. "You are both to report to the Pearly Gates shipyard, as you are to accompany Queen Firefury, Tsume Dragonis, and the Queens of the Sky on board the Zeroel to attend a rather large formal affair in the SLAGLands at the request of Prime Minister Marlena Cantrell."

Kiara fell forward face-first at that. "Yer kidding me, right?"

"On board the Zeroel? Queenie's bringing him along?" Tsunami chirps up.

"I dunno the details. That's just what I got in the memo from the brass. Now go get yerselves ready!"


Pearly Gates shipyard, Space Taxi complex

"Well, I guess all tests had stellar results." Sierra notes, reading over a readout of repairs and stuff on the Zeroel. "Y'did damn good for yer first fight." She glances at the reploid avatar standing next to her in the room.

"Certainly tested the thaumatological condensers and systems out." Zeroel nods. "It's still a shame that so many were killed in the battle however."

"Eh, don't worry yourself about it, Zeroel. People go to war. People kill in wars. People die in wars. That is the reality." Sierra eyes the slightly despondant EI. "If not for your powering up the point defense screens, we'd all be dead, too. You saw what that blast did to those other ships." She eyes the readouts. "All things considered, given what we were all up against, it's a damn miracle that so few were killed. In any case, your first big diplomatic skirmish is coming up."

Zeroel nods again. "So I heard. We're to transport the Queen and her staff, as well as the two thaumatologists who participated in the Slaglandic dig that led to the entire affair to SLAGTown for some big to-do involving Esmerelda."

"Righto. So let's go get all prepped to go, ne? They ought to be arriving-"

A sonic boom rattles the complex.

"Correction-" Sierra rolls her eyes at the noise. "Queenie's here."

The Pope-Elect sends his best wishes to both PM Cantrell and Queen Majesty. He asks if he might open diplomatic links with the new queen?

Campbell McInnes
Ambassador to the SLAGworld (inc Lands)

The Pope-Elect sends his best wishes to both PM Cantrell and Queen Majesty. He asks if he might open diplomatic links with the new queen?

If you would be interested in meeting with me following the summit, I'm sure something can arranged. I'd be more than happy to hear the input of a holy man such as yourself with regards to how I should take care of my own people.

-Esmerelda

The SLAGLandic local S.H.O.D.A.N. avatar, permanently attached to Bodyguard Barry of the SLAGLands, smiles happily up at her husband. "Well... this has all been extremely interesting. The supernatural has never been one of my strong suits, and I've learned quite a bit. As a friend and ally, I'd like to attend the upcoming summit... as a potential student learning from the situation, I'd love to attend.

"And besides," she grins impishly, "I introduced you to my parent/self. I suppose now you can finally reciprocate the favor."

Gregor Pandousco rests in his office, head rested on folded arms lying on the desk. The usual green officer's cap and cape hang from an antique wooden coatstand in the corner; the room is softly lit by a single dimly-glowing LED bank in his desk-lamp. The simple-lined room has a collection of utilitarian but comfortable furniture; a painting of the angular Aspidochelone cruising past Saturn takes up the wall behind Gregor.

It's been a quiet month since the Outset Incursion, filled mostly with the bureaucratic brain-work that follows such things. After-action reports, efficiency analyses, policy analyses, investigations into the effectiveness of X weapon against Y target. All very much necessary, and all very much useful, but all skirting around one vital question: Was it the right thing to do? Over a hundred capital ships arrayed themselves over the SLAGLands, ready to cover the operation and support a campaign; over ten thousand soldiers arrayed themselves on the beaches, at chokepoints, in border towns, ready to look the 'enemy' in the eye and kill. A thousand aerospace fighter-bombers swarmed to strafe and bomb the 'enemy,' and hundreds of Lokis formed up to either orbit around and spew death or act as the supply link between the orbiting ships and the ground forces.

And who was the 'enemy?' A mob of confused minions following an incomplete leader. A leader that five, maybe six people fixed in a subterranean cave, making all that force arrayed above... irrelevant. Sure the Third Expeditionary along with the Sentient Peoples and Cetagandan fleets had provided insurance; sure, the Third Expeditionary's ground-attack runs along with Archangel had bought some time, but in the end, did it matter? A whole fourty-five minutes of over-ocean carnage and one simple little ring fixed everything. A few grams of semiprecious stone overweighed millions of metric tons of steel, armor composites, and the multiplicitous forms that violent, aggressive death takes.

Sure, the Outset Incursion made some historic firsts. First combat engagement of the Third Expeditionary--if bombing and strafing a nonresponsive 'enemy' counts; first combat deployment of HELLSING forces; first effective combat coordination between TYCS and OPO assets. But what had all that really accomplished? The efforts of tens of thousands, ground-pounders and ship-crews, marginalized by a handful.

Of course... the 'enemy' was fighting against its own will, really, or--more accurately--with a flawed will. A mere memory, according to the reports from the archaeology teams, fixed everything.

And made Gregor, his fleets, his troopers, all completely pointless. It really makes one think, doesn't it?

There is a soft knock on the door. Without lifting his head or opening his eyes, Gregor responds automatically in a voice loud enough to be heard from outside the armored door. "Enter."

The soft pneumatic hiss as someone swings the door open and shut--none of this automatic door silliness for the TYCS--and a pair of boots softly crosses the padded floor. Gregor smiles quietly to himself. "Hey there, Joe. What can I do for you?"

Admiral Joseph Charles, executive officer of the Third Expeditionary and commander of the TYWS-SCV Aspidochelone, grinned. "Workin' hard, sir?"

Pandousco taps his head just above his curly hairline, eyes still closed. "In here, ya."

"About that meeting with Esmerelda?"

"Quite." Pandousco chuckles slightly and affects an overly chipper voice. "'Hello, ma'am, I'm the butcherer of your children.'"

Joseph coughs. "We were just doing our jobs, sir." His mild irritation shows in his voice. "You know that. What if that team had failed, hmmm? We were the line of defense between the Outsets and the mainland. If we weren't there..."

"I know, I know..."

"Would you have preferred that, sir? We were successful, the invasion was prevented. Enemies have become friends--the best possible postwar result has come about--so stop moping and get working."

Grinning, Pandousco leans back and smiles wryly at his XO as he clips his uniform's duty flap back underneath his right shoulderboard. "Okay, okay, point taken."

"Besides, you know the situation--none of the higher-up Scolo IRSect people are available, with Advisor Speaker on vacation; Razak's with him, so there goes the head of Scolo FtA... and besides, as this was a Trium op, they want a Trium official. All the desk jockeys back at HQ don't know the sitch, so..."

"It's my job." Pandousco chuckles, running a hand through his curly brown hair--very Mediterranean--and taps the contact for his desk communicator. "Hey, I'll show up, and hopefully not blow the whole thing."

"That's the spirit, boss." Joe grins, then stands quietly as Gregor makes his call.

***

Prime Minister Cantrell:

I've been informed that I'm the official Triumvirate contact for the local area and thus have been directed to attend the summit, if this is acceptable. As the commander of the Triumvirate forces during the Outset Incursion, it only seems appropriate.

If my presence is... undesired or would be... ill-advised, please advise.

Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco
Commanding Officer, 3TEF
TYWS-SCV Aspidochelone

Sky Marshall Pandousco:

What happened over the Atlantic one month ago does not concern Esmerelda, I assure you--even Esmerelda agrees that you did the right thing. Had you not stalled the invasion force, what would have prevented it from marching into Kelder and laying waste to everything in its past? More importantly, would the monstrous shadow of the goddess in that war have invaded the land herself had she not been distracted by your forces.

You needn't feel a pang of hesitation about making an appearance at this summit. Esmerelda, I, and all of the free peoples of The SLAGLands and The Outset Islands alike are indebted to your bravery.

-Marlena

Admiral Charles smiles as Gregor taps off his communicator. "Well, sir, there you go."

"Hrm." The Sky Marshall fiddles with a pen, tapping it lightly on his desk. "I'll believe it in full when I hear it from the demigod herself." He shakes his head. "Oy... Y'know, there was a time in the past where I would've been kidding if I said that."

"It's an odd multiverse we live in, sir."

"Yeah, well, it's ours." Pandousco grins. "Clear your calendar, Joe, 'cause you're going to take the reins of the Third Expeditionary while I'm on the surface."

"I'll do you proud, boss."

"Well, I'd better make my attendance official." Gregor taps his desk communicator control again.

***

Prime Minister Cantrell:

Thank you. I look forward to attending once a date and time are established and look forward to meeting you and your Outset Islands counterpart. Hopefully my diplomacy training will come through... running a main-line battlefleet tends to make one less tactful for some unimaginable reason.

If you need any assistance with security, just let me know.

Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco
Commanding Officer, 3TEF
TYWS-SCV Aspidochelone

***

There is another knock on the door; following Gregor's nod, the admiral opens the door, revealing Field Marshal Delacroix, an extremely bald, short man built like something between a barrel and a main battle tank. Watching his movements, it's obvious none of that mass comes from anything even closely resembling a lipid... so he has to be rather near one hundred and fourty kilograms.

Gregor stands up, smile set under a surprised set of brows. "Field Marshal... what a surprise."

"Why was I not TOLD there's a summit?!" Delacroix blares in a voice resembling an English-speaking pit bull with a thick French accent.

Because you're a boisterous, ground-pounding, mother-- "Didn't think you'd be interested, Delacroix."

"Like HELL I wouldn't be! They were my troopers down there that your zoomies decided to splash tsunamis on... my troopers waiting for the horde..."

"Yes, and the members of that very horde are now our dear, dear friends." Gregor shrugs. "We're trying to establish a rapport, Delacroix, not threaten them with the crushing might of HELLSING."

"I'll let you know, dear Sky Marshal, that you only technically outrank me because your battlespace is bigger. However, I'd love to attend this little party, and there's very little you can legally do to stop me."

"Umm... I've got to go run the ship. Good evening, gentlemen." Admiral Charles slips out the door.

The carbons working together, befriending each other? We would like to meet those who have done this. We are impressed.

G'rah'laud

Pearly Gates shipyard, Space Taxi complex

The seven Elite Victory fighters- the six Queens of the Sky, and their Queen- were all loaded on board Zeroel's hangar bays. Various cargo was loaded and organized.

A jeep pulls up next to the thaumatological attack carrier, its two occupants openly gaping at the ship, having never dreamed of attaining such prominence.

"And... we're going to be hopping a ride on that thing?" Kiara manages to say as the jeep drives around the rear of the ship, past the massive engines, to a loading ramp.

"Yes'm, you are." The driver nods as he parks.

"We're not... gonna be flung out of that thing, are we?" Kiara points at the Space Taxi, stretching into the distance.

"No ma'am, that's for space launches. This is just a short atmospheric trip over to the SLAGlands. S'what the g-diffusers are for." The driver hops out and picks up Kiara's suitcase. Tsunami perches on her partner's shoulder, a very small travel bag her only luggage.

"Well, shall we go board then? They look like they're just about ready to go." The little dragon hops off Kiara's shoulder and flaps over to the ramp. "I spoke so much with the ship's EI during the entire Outset affair- I rather look forward to meeting him in person!"

A few hours later, the launch pad was cleared and Zeroel's gravity diffusers kicked into gear, humming loudly as the ship lifted into the air before the main engines kicked in, sending the carrier off across the sky.

The carbons working together, befriending each other? We would like to meet those who have done this. We are impressed.

G'rah'laud

Perhaps the better time for such a meeting would be after the summit. As our nations have had no dealings in the past, I cannot be sure of your intentions.

-Marlena

Perhaps the better time for such a meeting would be after the summit. As our nations have had no dealings in the past, I cannot be sure of your intentions.

-Marlena

We understand, carbon Marlena.

G'rah'laud
Speaker of the Silicate Alliance

"Why the hell did I get stuck with this? I was the one that sent so many of the critters to the depths to not return."

"Well, sir. As the President is gone right now, Minister Currey thought it would be best to have someone with experience in the situation."

"Yeah, but why me? Why not you Commander?"

"Cause you're the CO, sir."

"Damn. Figured it was something like that."

***********

Admiral Farragut, Commanding Officer of the Sentient Peoples Space Naval Forces, will be attending the conference on behalf of the Federation.

http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/currey.gif Johnathan Currey, Minister, International Relations Directorate
The Federation of Sentient Peoples (http://people.vanderbilt.edu/~darion.c.smith/)
Federation Roleplay Policy (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=55186)

On board the Archangel-class thaumatological attack carrier Zeroel...

"The seven Elite Victory fighters I can understand having on board... but... why are we bringing this oddly modified Bandit Mark-Two motorcycle?" Zeroel's reploid avatar examines the blue and silver motorcycle sitting in the hangar bay.

"You know that bodyguard Barry of the SLAGlands and S.H.O.D.A.N. of Zero-One are married, right?" Queen Firefury glances over from where she's waxing her orange and yellow fighter.

"I was aware of that, Highness." Zeroel nods. "But... that doesn't answer the question."

"That bike is my somewhat belated wedding present to the happy couple." Firefury meanders over. "Twin air-powered TP launchers, twin air-powered tennisball launchers, twin potato machinecannons, stinkbomb launcher, and paintball autocannon." She grins wickedly.

Zeroel eyes the Queen with an expression bordering on outright disbelief. "How... is that an appropriate wedding present for two highly-respected dignitaries? It sounds like something some heading for juvenille hall would be driving!"

Firefury shakes her head in amusement. "Zeroel, my dear EI, you obviously haven't read up on Shodey and Barry's... hobbies. I'm sure if you go read up on the Prank the Galaxy tour, my choice of wedding present will make much greater sense."

On the bridge...

"Captain, we're about an hour away from Slaglandic airspace. Shall I ring up SLAGTown ATC and find out where we can set down?" Zeroel's CG avatar inquires.

Captain Sierra nods. "Yeah, let them know that we're en route."

"Captain, the Queen also requests that we inquire when we can meet with Barry and S.H.O.D.A.N. to deliver a gift." The EI notes.

"Well, I'm not going to tell Queenie 'no', are you? Send off the message." Sierra grins wryly.

"Roger that." Zeroel sends off word.

Slaglandic Air Traffic Control, this is thaumatological attack carrier Zeroel. We are carrying diplomatic personel and the Arpean thaumatologists from the Outset Islands affair. Requesting permission to enter Slaglandic airspace, as well as directions to where we can set down. Queen Firefury Amahira also requests a meeting with bodyguard Barry and S.H.O.D.A.N. prior to the big meeting, if it is at all possible. Please respond. Over.

Admiral Farragut, Commanding Officer of the Sentient Peoples Space Naval Forces, will be attending the conference on behalf of the Federation.

According to Prime Minister Cantrell... you were the unruly degenerates who thought putting a gigantic naked man in front of me was a good idea. I look forward to meeting you...

...oh, drat, I hope you don't take that as I sign that I mean to do something destructive. I am not at all angry about what happened.

Diplomacy is indeed quite difficult...

-Esmerelda

Slaglandic Air Traffic Control, this is thaumatological attack carrier Zeroel. We are carrying diplomatic personel and the Arpean thaumatologists from the Outset Islands affair. Requesting permission to enter Slaglandic airspace, as well as directions to where we can set down. Queen Firefury Amahira also requests a meeting with bodyguard Barry and S.H.O.D.A.N. prior to the big meeting, if it is at all possible. Please respond. Over.

Zeroel, this is Major Tom on Ground Control. You are cleared to land on the airstrip behind Murphy Hall... coordinates relayed.

I shall inform S.H.O.D.A.N. and Minister Barry of your request. Over.

Admiral Charles reaches out and adjusts Pandousco's green officer's cap slightly. "There you go sir, perfect."

Pandousco grins as he gently tilts the cap back to where he'd left it, slightly off kilter. "We're far from perfect, Joe, and I'm not about to try and project that image."

"Understood, sir."

"Hurry up, Pandousco!" Field Marshal Delacroix, wearing simple smoke-cloud patterned utility fatigues, waves from the inside of the shuttle, back of his hand flapping towards and away from Gregor. "We don't want to miss the insertion window, now do we?"

Gregor looks down, shakes his head with a wry smile, and looks back to his executive officer. "Take care of the Third for me, Joe."

"Will do, sir."

Grinning, Sky Marshal Pandousco whips his green cape around with one arm and hops into the coleopteran S-3 shuttle, settling into his seat and snapping on the simplified crash harness. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Field Marshal."

"Eh. You spacers have a natural obsession with timing... so where is it?"

Gregor chuckles. "Work hard, play hard, Marshal."

After cycling through, the beetle-like Scarab shuttle slips out of its depressurized airlock and slips down to the planet below.

***

"SLAGLandic control, this is Shuttle Three-Tango-Echo-Foxtrot One-Alpha-One, carrying Marshals Pandousco and Delacroix. Requesting landing clearance and vector."

Roger that, Major. Estimated time to arrival is two-point-five hours. Thanks for informing the Minister and S.H.O.D.A.N. of the Queen's request. We'll be seeing everyone on the ground. Over.

A flame cut the air of The Emerald Heights of the SLAGLands.

Rapier, the Admiral's personal fighter, pierced the SLAGLandic airspace.

"SLAGLandic Aerospace Traffic Control, this is Federation Admiral Farragut, requesting landing coordinates and clearance."

Marovich Government Building
11:32 PM OST, Oglethorpia City, Oglethorpia

"Mr. Bolton, the...events in the SLAGLands have seemed to have settled down," his secretary said.
"Right," Charles Bolton replied.
"An invitation is extended towards us."
"Right," he said, pausing. "Arrange for Foreign Minister Gordon Newell to represent us. Oh, and send Kevin Green and Kurt Jenson, the archaeologists who endured the most...peculiar events that transpired."
"Got it," the secretary replied.
"Oh, and a short memo," he said.

--------------------------------------------

To: Appropriate officials within the SLAGLands
From: Ministry of Foreign Relations, Oglethorpia

We'd be glad to send the archaeologists involved, and Foreign Minister Gordon Newell.

Evangelista Ravanelli bit her lip as she reviewed her notes concerning the SLAGLands incident, her instructions from Nathicana, and intel on both the hosts and the attending nations. This was to be her first foreign visit in a diplomatic capacity, and she was nervous.

Considering the fates of her two predecessors, it wasn't suprising. Both had seen fit to turn on the Lady in the course of their duties. Neither had survived it. Were she a superstitious person, she'd almost think this particular post was cursed.

It had been made clear on her appointment that Nathicana expected a high level of tact and diplomatic skill from her, in addition to unwavering loyalty. There was no problem there - she was no fool. Despite having a healthy hunger for power, she knew not to overreach herself in her quest for it. She had worked her way up the ranks in a carefully measured methodic manner, never compromising herself or her own little set of morals to achieve it. It may have taken her longer than some, but then, she was still here, while others ... she shivered inadvertantly at the thought.

She put the notes aside and stood up, walking over to the full-length mirror and considering her choice of outfits once again. A dark grey business suit combo of Italian design fit her in a complimentary manner. The jacket was worn over a neatly-pressed white silk shirt, with tasteful heels, and simple gold jewelry completed the picture. Simple, business-like, and proper for the event.

Nodding in satisfaction, she took up her small handbag, tucked the notes inside, and called to have her baggage delivered downstairs. As she left, Marik stood up from his lounging position against the wall and quietly fell into place behind her, taking up his duties as bodyguard with a practised, seemingly unconcerned ease.

http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/evangelista.jpg
Evangelista Ravanelli - Minister of Public Relations

http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/Marik.bmp
Marik (no other info available)

-----------------------------

Leandro Pacci smoothed his tailored jacket over the top of his thin, black turtleneck shirt, then ran a hand through his recently cut hair - what little there was of it. His neatly trimmed goatee matched the white of his hair, his brows the only parts that still showed a darkness from his younger days.

The last month had been an interesting one. Upon arriving home, he had been informed of the recent upheavals in the country, and had been briefed on just where things stood now. It made no matter to him. He had always been more interested in his work and monitoring that of the other Dominion scientists to be that caught up in the politics of the others. He'd yet to run afoul of Nathicana, and planned on keeping it that way. His meeting had begun on a stern note, but had been a pleasant one. Nathi, it would seem, was rather pleased with the results of his little jaunt.

Admittedly, so was he.

It had been a long, intriguing, yet utterly mind-boggling experience. He had yet to finish going over all the notes he'd taken, and looked forward to learning more from a direct source - Esmerelda. He shook his head at that somewhat. It was hard to believe such a vision of beauty had once been half ... well, Mother.

This thought, as always, elicits a strong shudder and a tightening of the eyes. No amount of therapy had been able to cleanse the images of that ... monstrosity giving birth to those horrible, toothy creatures ... He shuddered again, scrubbing a hand down over his face, then shook his head as if to clear it.

Il Dio, the horror ... the horror!

He picked up his small suitcase, and made his way down to the waiting car, locking his office behind him. He supposed it would be good to see the other members of the little crew, however odd they were. Perhaps, in a more civilized setting, without the threat of war and death by various unpleasant means, they could sit and chat like normal folk. Even those odd Cetagandans with their powers and tech.

The Treznor connection seemed to make more sense now, having heard the rumors that were abounding in certain rather quiet sectors. Of course, it could have all been attributed to an effort to make the alliance in the first place ... though the boy had seemed to know a bit more about him than would have been usual. Interesting. He made a note to thank Ben again for having so readily put his life on the line for his ornery old carcass. Good lad, that, regardless of motivations, in his opinion.

Pacci supposed there would be little need for the fumbling, distracted act at the conference. It served its purpose on more than one occasion, and had been useful at keeping himself out of many an argument or sticky situation. He'd blown it at the end with the dig teams however, once it was clear they were muddling through it, and were likely to get him killed in the process.

No sense of tactics or diplomacy ... not one of the bunch, so help me. Always escalating, always baiting ... Gods, we're lucky to have gotten out of that whole mess in the shape we did.

He straightened himself as he reached the limo, nodding respectfully to Evangelista, and waiting for her and Marik to get settled in before handing his bag off to the driver, and getting in himself.

"Minister Ravanelli," he said, smiling warmly enough.

She nodded, and smiled back in return. "All set for your big debut on the world scene?" she asked, a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.

"Bah, I've been around for a good long time, Minister. My work has simply been more quiet than some. Still ... it will be pleasant, I suppose." He chuckled softly, absently toying with the simple gold band on his ring finger.

Ah, mi amore ... how I wish you could be here with me now. You always did want me to be recognized for my accomplishments. I think you'd be pleased with this one.

http://home.mchsi.com/~ketri/wsb/links/leandro_pacci.jpg
Leandro Pacci - Minister of Science

-----------------------------

The two ministers chatted as the limo made its way to the airport, with Marik, as usual, sitting quietly, seeming to take no particular notice of anything, though managing to keep an eye on everything. They arrived without incident, boarded the plane, and from there, were escorted to just outside SLAGLandic airspace by two fighter jets.

Requesting clearance, the pilot awaited confirmation and coordinates.

(OOC: Rather than bogging this thread down with a bunch of posts providing clearance for landing and responses to RSVP's, I'm just gonna get on with the damned thing already.)


http://www.jungianseminars.org/8zurich%20opera%20house.jpg

Murphy Hall glitters as if made of gold in the early morning sunlight of the day of the summit, its grand marble columns and sculptures rising tall and proud. It has been rebuilt well since the attack by Ben Land some years ago, and this once-grand facility now shows no signs that it was ever the victim of anything other than a thorough dusting.

Behind Murphy Hall, a cement airfield large enough to hold a few small fleets rests, a SLAGLandic addition to the hall designed for ease into the hall, which doesn't sit far from SLAGTown International Airport. Shuttles have been arranged to transport citizens from their vehicles to the hall itself.

Outside the hall, in the sweltering heat of the late August sun, two individuals wait at the back door to the hall to greet the guests. The first is clad in long white robes with a blue sash, his white beard fluffy about his neck and chin, his bald head glistening with sweat, a walking staff in his right hand. The taller one stands about eight feet tall, his purple fur glowing just a bit, his cat-like face decorated with intricate markings of red, orange, and yellow. The creature's leonine physique is muscular and intimidating, and his aura eminates pure power.

"How long do you think it will be until they arrive?" the tall cat asks. Wololo wipes the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe.

"Marlena said they've already been granted clearance to land," Wololo answers. "I suspect any time now." He looks up at the cat with a smile. "This is your first big move on the international scene... are you nervous, Mr. Portent?"

Portent looks back down at Wololo for a minute, then resumes gazing out onto the airfield. "Only that they will judge us..."

The Rapier slowed to a stop, a meter or so above the landiung area.

It settled serenely onto the landing pad, and the cockpit unsealed.

Admiral Farragut stepped out, then reached back inside to grab his sword, which he clipped to his bandolier. He wore a full mess uniform.

The 750 meter long Archangel class ship sets down on the airfield, a loading ramp on the side of the elegant vessel sliding open with a hiss. Queenie and Tsume are the first down the ramp, the former clad in her orange, gold, and silver 'formal' armor, Tsume looking awkward in a black suit tailored to fit his draconic frame. The two thaumatologists are next, Kiara looking a tad uncomfortable in a classy black dress, Tsunami not wearing anything, being that she's covered in armor like Tsume. Zeroel's reploid avatar is the last to emerge, clanking down the ramp, narrowly avoiding thwaping other crewmembers with the pair of transmitter antennas that are attached to the avatar's back like a missized pair of wings.

The small party is led to Murphy Hall, where the usual meet and greet protocols are done.

Kiara manages a wry grin when she sees Portent. "Long time no see! How've things been goin' the past month?" She gestures to the blue reploid dragon sitting on her shoulder. "Don't think y'ever met my partner, Tsunami. She was mucking around the back tunnels evading the Il Adib while the rest of us were doin' all the hocus-pocus."

The little dragon performs a formal little half-bow. "I'm honored to finally meet you- Kiara wouldn't shut up about what she was doing while I was running around the caves."

There's the sound of an engine revving up, and a pickup truck rolls down the Zeroel's cargo ramp, a blue and silver motorcycle visible in the back. It pulls up to the group, and the driver leans out the window. "Got a delivery for minister Barry an' Shodey! Somebody care t'point me t'where I should take it?"

Shuttle 3TEF-1A1 lands as directed, opens its portside central unloading door, and disgorges the Marshals. Following the directions of friendly local SLAGLandic controllers, the two make their way to Portent and Wololo. As they walk up, they carefully size up the two.

Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco is a man of average height, about 180.3 centimeters tall (71") and a relatively slight build. His clear-complexioned, clean-shaven face is set under a cap of very curly brown hair, well organized in mass but completely out of control in detail. Bushy eyebrows and slightly sunken cheeks fill out his description; he wears a standard TYCS uniform, black with a green section inbetween its double-breasted lines, steel insignia and nametag on the right breast laying on a duty flap hooked up under the right shoulderboard; ribbon tree on the left breast. A simple segmented utility belt lies on top of the wide red fabric belt that separates the tunic from the slacks, which are tucked into regulation boots. In addition, he wears a standard green officer cap, complete with winged Triumvirate insignia on the front and steel lightning bolts on the glassy black brim, along with the green Sky Marshal's cape, going over his shoulders and ending at about the mid-calf.

He nods to Wololo and takes in Portent carefully, but with no image of judgement or disrespect--only curiosity. Odd creature... beautiful, though. I wonder what it thinks of us.

Field Marshal Gerard Delacroix is a short, stocky man 165 centimeters (65") tall, blindingly bald with a scruffy grey mustache and goatee covering the front of his angular face. He is built in a manner similar to professional wrestlers and barroom bouncers, his barrel-like frame coated in slabs of muscle, yet he still seems to move gracefully. He wears a set of standard smoke-cloud patterned digitally-pixellated camouflage, currently in shades of grey. "DELACROIX" is emblazoned over the patch pocket on his right breast; "MOBILE INFANTRY" appears over the one on the left. Dull metal insignia, hexagons with single greater-than and less-than sign brackets around opposing sides, lie pinned to his epaulets. The pocket-covered pants of his fatigues tuck into standard-issue combat boots; the canvas utility belt wrapped around his waist supports a prominent and large standard-issue powergun pistol firmly locked in its breakaway holster.

As he walks up, he eyes both Wololo and Portent, sizing them up as potential adversaries, seeming to take in their strengths and weaknesses at a glance. He does look longer at Portent from under his beetle-brows, but without malice--only calculation.

Pandousco steps forward and bows shortly to both Wololo and Portent. "I am Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco, commander of the Third Titan Expeditionary Force, and this is Field Marshal Gerard Delacroix, commander of the Third's ground forces. We're glad to be here." He extends a hand first to Wololo, and then to Portent.

Oglethorpia Int'l Airport
6:17 PM OST, Oglethorpia City, Oglethorpia

"I've never flown on a private jet before," remarked Kurt Jenson, holding a single duffle bag at his side, the brown-haired man of 32 wearing a tan-colored suit.
"Neither have I," replied Kevin Green. Kevin had decided a colored shirt was enough, the 27 year old not caring for dressing fancy-like. Behind them a black sedan pulled up, two bodyguards stepping out before the Foreign Minister himself exited the car.

"Greetings, gentlemen," the Foreign Minister said. "I'm sure you've heard of me, but i'm Gordon Newell, Foreign Minister for the government. Kevin Green, correct?"
"Correct," he said.
"And Kurt Jenson," Newell said.
"Pleased to make your acquintance, sir," Kurt said, shaking Newell's outstretched hand.
"Please, gentlemen, make yourselves at home," he said after leading them into the Harukaze-45 on the tarmac making preparations to take off.

"Would you be so kind as to fill me in as to what happened down there on that archaeological dig?" Newell asked, taking a sip from a White Russian.
"We were fairly close to the Outsets," Kurt started.
"Where all of that went down," Newell remarked.
"Yes. Some artifact we discovered gave us a free trip to the Outsets."
"At least, underneath them," Kevin Green said.
"Right. A bunch of cat-like creatures called the Brethren of Shade...nice folk, besides the fact that it seemed like some twisted dream," Kurt said.
"I understand there was fighting down there?," Newell asked.

"Yes. A bit of magic, robots-" Kevin began, interrupted by Kurt.
"Reploids," Kurt interjected.
"Reploids, Kevin said, glaring at Kurt.
"And an old oriental man," Kurt said.
"Ah yes, Mr. Dee. Very...excitable," Kevin said with a smile. "Soon we had been trained in the art of...well, spontaneously creating fire." Kevin took a cigarette from a pack to his right, lighting it with his finger, only to put it out, having quit when he got back from the Outset Islands.
"Soon these Brethren were battling with the horrid looking Il Adib," Kurt mentioned.

"Two warring factions made by god of the SLAGLands, Esmerelda." Kurt paused. "Well, Marvel and Mother to look after them respectively."
"Very very interesting. Now, you said you had no weapons?" Gordon Newell asked, his curiosity genuine.
"Yes. Well, if you call a small pick a weapon," said Kevin.
"Kevin, anything sharp in your hands turns into a weapon."
"Well, i'd love to hear more, but we're about to land in Kelder," Gordon Newell said.

The Harukaze-45 was soon on the ground, a large airstrip behind Murphy Hall. "Right, now you guys can just follow me inside," Newell said. Kevin looked to his left, seeing a very matter-of-fact bodyguard keeping watch, his eyes hidden by black sunglasses.

"That's just Ian. Don't mind him," Newell said, Ian raising his hand in acknowledgement of Kevin. "Nice to meet you too," he said, following Gordon into Murphy Hall.

A medium-sized personal Gravship lands at the Murphy Hall Airfield, bearing Khenalian and Triumvirate of Yut insignias upon it. From within it steps Deputy Prime Minister of the Khenalian Empire Selythe Moonshadow.

After a few quick clearances showing she is responding to the RSVP sent out by Prime Minsiter Marlena Cantrell to Triumvirate Member Nations, she is whisked away to Murphy Hall for the beginning of the summit.

Admiral Farragut stepped out, then reached back inside to grab his sword, which he clipped to his bandolier. He wore a full mess uniform.

As Admiral Farragut steps from the vehicle, a bright orange golf-cartish shuttle pulls up next to him, its driver in a black tuxedo sans jacket. He motions for Farragut to take a seat in the shuttle.

Kiara manages a wry grin when she sees Portent. "Long time no see! How've things been goin' the past month?" She gestures to the blue reploid dragon sitting on her shoulder. "Don't think y'ever met my partner, Tsunami. She was mucking around the back tunnels evading the Il Adib while the rest of us were doin' all the hocus-pocus."

The little dragon performs a formal little half-bow. "I'm honored to finally meet you- Kiara wouldn't shut up about what she was doing while I was running around the caves."

Portent smiles politely, nodding to Kiara.

"Things have been going well, I must say," he responds. "Esmerelda has granted me an advisory role regarding Brethren affairs on The Outset Islands. It is truly an important position, one with grave responsibility. While I am indeed quite nervous about my own ability to take such a position, I believe I am more than capable.

"The pleasure is certainly mine, Miss Tsunami... I must say that you are quite a legend among The Brethren. Apparently, word got out that you burned through your own mouth just to stop Esmerelda from... well..."

He hesitates, partly out of nervousness and partly because Wololo is motioning with his staff toward the door.

"Ah, forgive me..." Portent says. "There will be much time to discuss more later. Please, go inside. We will join you momentarily."

"Got a delivery for minister Barry an' Shodey! Somebody care t'point me t'where I should take it?"

Wololo points his staff toward the side of the building.

"Take that path to the front," he says. "They're waiting for you there."

Pandousco steps forward and bows shortly to both Wololo and Portent. "I am Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco, commander of the Third Titan Expeditionary Force, and this is Field Marshal Gerard Delacroix, commander of the Third's ground forces. We're glad to be here." He extends a hand first to Wololo, and then to Portent.

Wololo takes the hand and offers a firm, warm handshake, as if the two had been long-time friends.

"Wololo, Minister of Foreign Relations," he says. "An honour to finally meet the brave Scolopendran soldiers to whom we in The SLAGLands owe so much." He motions his staff toward Portent. "And this is Portent, advisor for Brethren affairs on The Outsets." Portent looks down at Pandousco's hand, then cocks his head. He glances back at Wololo, then back at the hand. The old man rolls his eyes. "Either take it or don't." Portent nervously lifts a paw and places it in Pandousco's hand, his grip warm, as if Pandousco is touching a light bulb that has just been turned off.

"Forgive me..." Portent says quietly. "Diplomacy is... new to me. In any case, I am quite pleased that you have chosen to attend this summit. While in the past our people met as enemies, I am certain that we can move forward to the future in peace as truest allies." Portent forces a weak smile, standing statue-still before looking down at Wololo once again. The minister rolls his eyes again and forcefully removes Portent's paw from Pandousco's hand. "Ah... uh... okay."

Wololo shakes his head and points his staff inside. "Please... you are expected."


"That's just Ian. Don't mind him," Newell said, Ian raising his hand in acknowledgement of Kevin. "Nice to meet you too," he said, following Gordon into Murphy Hall.

Wololo and Portent watch as Newell, Green, Jenson, and Ian walk toward the door.

"Ah, gentlemen... good..." Portent begins; however, the three walk right by him into Murphy Hall. Portent stands dumbfounded, then looks down at Wololo. "Well, that was certainly different..."

Wololo snorts, shaking his head. "That Gordon..."

After a few quick clearances showing she is responding to the RSVP sent out by Prime Minsiter Marlena Cantrell to Triumvirate Member Nations, she is whisked away to Murphy Hall for the beginning of the summit.

Minister Wololo kowtows as DPM Moonshadow approaches, looking her over.

"Ah... the Khenali delegation," he says. "Wololo, Minister of Foreign Affairs. An honour to finally meet you in person." He motions up to Portent. "This tall fellow is Portent, advisor of Brethren affairs of The Outset Islands. I am certain you are familiar with these happenings, yes?"

Portent nods politely. "I must once again apologize... I assure you now that all ill will between our peoples has indeed been rectified. Today, we are allies, my friend..."

Wololo motions Moonshadow to the door, muttering "Better..." to Portent under his breath.

"That's just Ian. Don't mind him," Newell said, Ian raising his hand in acknowledgement of Kevin. "Nice to meet you too," he said, following Gordon into Murphy Hall.

Wololo and Portent watch as Newell, Green, Jenson, and Ian walk toward the door.

"Ah, gentlemen... good..." Portent begins; however, the three walk right by him into Murphy Hall. Portent stands dumbfounded, then looks down at Wololo. "Well, that was certainly different..."

Wololo snorts, shaking his head. "That Gordon..."

OOC: I guess it's my turn to feel dumb, using that against me :P

Kurt allows the two to enter the Hall, instead walking back to Wololo and Portent. "I guess they were um, well, we just, and uh..." Kurt pauses. "So, how are you Portent?"

OOC: :wink:

Firefury grins and hops into the back of the truck. "You guys go on in, I'll catch up. It'd be rude not to deliver a present like this in person!" She motions to the driver to go on ahead, and the truck swings around and heads for the front.

Zeroel shakes his head at the Queen's antics. "Pleasure to meet you, Sir Portent." The reploid avatar fidgets a little. "I'm Zeroel, the EI of the thaumatological attack carrier of the same name. I was... ah... part of the counterattack."

Tsunami glances back over her shoulder at Zeroel. "Don't fret about it, hmm? We were told to head on in, so let's go." She grins, showing her fangs. "There'll be plenty of time for the awkward conversations and such in a little while!"

Kiara grins and nods agreement, leading the uncertain EI into the hall. "C'mon, no sense fretting over whatcha can't change!"

Meanwhile, around the front, the driver (who was going way too fast) spots Barry and slams on the brakes. Firefury, who was standing up in the back of the truck with no seatbelt, needless to say goes flying over the top of the vehicle with a yelp. Showing just why she's nicknamed 'The Queen of the Skies', the airborne dignitary twists around and hits the ground in a half-crouch, looking for all the world like she'd planned it that way. "Special delivery!" She smirks as she stands up.

The door leads to a short entrance hallway, red-carpeted and decorated with the finest in impressionist art by the most famous of SLAGLandic painters. The visual arts in The SLAGLands never got much beyond this era, and the influence of van Gogh, Monet, and Degas rings true in the pieces here as they spring to life in the yellow lamplight of the hall.

The hallway finally opens up into the Grand Chamber of Murphy Hall. The room is lit by the light of a large jewel-encrusted chandellier that hangs from the high ceiling. Large illustrious tapestries decorate the walls with traditional tales of SLAGLandic legend, including the slaying of the bear by Enrick von Slagalotz, the muse myth of the Great Camofrog, and the long-time protection of the spirit called Mason.

The round table in the Chamber's center features an intricately woven lace tablecloth and ample seating for the whole of the delegation. Places have been set for each individual attending, with seats of honour reserved for the archaeologists who would be Arrowed on this day. These seats are marked specifically by silverware and plates decorated with perfectly crafted Golden Arrows.

The room is bustling with the help, who are rushing from the long series of buffet tables back into the kitchen, filling the empty containers with just about any sort of food imaginable. A sign before the buffet reads "SUBMIT REQUESTS TO CHEF"--a part of The SLAGLandic tradition of friendship through food, a tradition evident in the unusually high obesity rates among SLAGLandic citizens.

Notables at the party include a few of the typicals, the most obvious of which being Prime Minister Marlena Cantrell. The short, blonde-haired woman is beginning to show obvious signs beneath her dark green dress of her three months of pregnancy, and while there is an exhaustion behind her spectacled blue eyes, there is a great sense of relief. She is discussing something over a glass of white wine with the bald, goateed SLAGLandic Minister of Community Allen "Al-Al" Brodine and his chubby, apparently shy husband Verc.

Nearby, two short creatures in sunglasses and black suits are discussing some other topic with General Red Groening and his lovely wife, Princess Ludmilla of Edolia (OOC: Back when "MARRY THIS PRINCESS!" threads weren't a dime-a-dozen, this was a big deal... grumble mumble...). The two shorter men have their long black hair tied back in ponytails, and the conversation they are having with Red and Ludmilla seems to be quite lively, augmented by bombastic arm movements and hearty laughter.

Bodyguard Barry and S.H.O.D.A.N. are off... somewhere.

At the far end of the room, standing relatively alone, is a woman so beautiful, she seems to exist in a realm outside of Murphy Hall and the trappings of the mortal world. She is very tall--obviously over seven feet--and her figure is perfectly formed, each curve flowing into the curve before it in a symphony at once peaceful and powerful. Her long blonde hair hangs full and free about her, and her shimmering white dress, while simple in form, only serves to complement what is already unnaturally close to perfection. She holds in her pale hands a small glass of red wine, which she sips slowly.

Anyone who knows anything about world history knows that this is the reason why everyone is here today.

The Dominion group disembarked from their jet and made their way towards the two hosting delegates. Pacci, in a gentlemanly manner, escorted Evangelista, occasionally murmuring a few soft words of encouragement and advice in their native tongue. Marik trailed a few paces behind, his gait casually arrogant. His eyes were alert, though he seemed for all the world to be idling away without a care in the world.

Il Dio ... he really is a giant cat! The thought gave her more than a little pause, and her eyes widened as she approached the two. Still ... duty was duty, and Nathicana had been most insistent that she represent her nation well.

Pacci seemed oddly at ease - quite different from his first introduction to The SLAGLands. He smiled warmly at Portent, though he shivered slightly, remembering waking up to one of the Brethren looking about to eat him. He nods respectfully to Wololo, and extends his hand to both of them.

"Portent, Minister, a pleasure." He turns sightly and introduces the lady on his arm. "If I may present Minister Evangelista Ravanelli, recently appointed head of Public Relations."

She nods and smiles to them both, extending her hand with a only a slight shake.

"Very pleased to meet you both. The Lady, Nathicana, sends her regrets that she could not attend personally, as she is currently wrapped up in other matters. She also sends her wishes for the continued excellent relations between our nations, and hopefully, introducing the same to the Outset Isles."

Big cat. Huge.

Kiara let's out a low whistle as she finds her seat in the hall. She absently scratches an itch on her upper arm and stares about. Formal international affairs never had been a major part of being an archaeologist- especially one specializing in 'fringe' studies like thaumatology.

Zeroel clanks up to Marlena and Allen to get all the introductory stuff out of the way. Kiara and Tsunami tag along, surveying the room for familiar faces from the dig.

"Pardon the interruption ma'am." Zeroel breaks into the conversation with a polite, if awkward looking, bow. "As Queen Firefury is otherwise occupied, it's my job to handle the diplomatic protocols-"

Tsume meanders over and interrupts the flustered EI. "Ah, there you guys are! Running off like that!" The black mechancial dragon bows formally, the manuver appearing much more elegant on the dragon. "Queenie's out delivering something to Barry at the moment. This is Zeroel, the EI of the Archangel-class carrier and future diplomat to Titan." The smartly dressed dragon turns to indicate Kiara and Tsunami. "And these are the two Arpean thaumatologists from the dig- Kiara Alson and Tsunami Drakos."

"Uh... hi." Kiara pales slightly, having had no formal experiance in diplomatic stuff. Tsunami mimics Tsume's formal bow, only in miniature, appearing somewhat more relaxed than her partner.

"Pleasure to be invited. I'd heard stories about Murphy Hall, but it is truly something else to see pictures and to actually see it in person!" The little dragon notes from her perch on Kiara's shoulder.

Minister Wololo kowtows as DPM Moonshadow approaches, looking her over.

"Ah... the Khenali delegation," he says. "Wololo, Minister of Foreign Affairs. An honour to finally meet you in person." He motions up to Portent. "This tall fellow is Portent, advisor of Brethren affairs of The Outset Islands. I am certain you are familiar with these happenings, yes?"

Portent nods politely. "I must once again apologize... I assure you now that all ill will between our peoples has indeed been rectified. Today, we are allies, my friend..."

Wololo motions Moonshadow to the door, muttering "Better..." to Portent under his breath.

Selythe Moonshadow approaches both Wololo and Portent, bowing slightly in greeting. She is tall, statuesque and regal looking in appearance, with jet black hair hanging down to her shoulders, with her bangs overhanging her clear blue eyes.

"A pleasure to meet you both, gentlemen. I have been made aware of the circumstances leading to this summit and I bring hopes from my nation that any "ill will", as you say, can be put behind us so that we may look to the future. I represent Khenala as a friend, if you, too, will do the same."

Bowing slightly once more in deference to both of them, she makes her way towards the hall.

As the shuttle arrives at Murphy Hall, Admiral Farragut steps out of the shuttle.

Orange. What a horrible color.


He steps up to Wololo and Portent, and inclines his head by way of greeting.

He wasn't exactly sure what Wololo's actual status was, and he'd be damned first if he bowed to a big cat of even more uncertain status.

After all, he only had three direct superiors in the Federation, so it was logical to assume that would be true here. Well, there'd be four, counting the goddess.

"Greetings, Minister Wololo, Portent. I hope this event will be enlightening and informative for us all, and that much shall be decided."

Pandousco's handshakes complete, Field Marshal Delacroix follows them up with a curt nod to both dignitaries before following Pandousco into the Hall. While it is evidently a bit less postmodern than most Scolopendran architecture, they still seem comfortable enough in their surroundings.

Pandousco folds his arms and looks at the paintings appraisingly. I dunno... but I've always found impressionism to be quite calming.

Delacroix takes one look at the blurred paint and rubs the bridge of his nose with a shake of his bald head. Damned Monet... needed a pair of glasses.

Following standard procedure, the two find their seats and then stand behind them at rest, casually taking in the rest of the scene. Finally seeing Esmerelda, the two men respond quite differently. Pandousco sees her, then immediately finds a fork on the table infinitely interesting, blushing slightly in shame. Delacroix, on the other hand, continues analyzing, not so much a leer as someone looking at a wall, gauging its structure and searching for weak points. Noting the Sky Marshal's discomfort, Gerard leans over slightly. "She is alone; it would be gentlemanly to strike up a conversation, no? Maybe I should do so."

Oh, bloody smegging hell no. Last thing we need is an obnoxious gropo making first diplomatic contact... "Well, if you'd like... but as overall commander of the Third maybe it would be more appropriate if... um... I did."

Gerard shrugs with an odd little smile, basking in the success of his ploy. "Of course, Sky Marshal... I shall hold your seat for you until you return."

Adjusting his green cape with a nervous little twitch after laying his cap down on the table (no cover inside the building!), Pandousco traverses the room towards Esmerelda, unconsciously using other guests as cover. Reaching a point just outside engagement range, he sighs, composes himself, and steps forward. Bowing shortly--maybe a little too quickly--he looks up at the demigod. "Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco, commanding officer of the Third Titan Expeditionary Force... ma'am. Um... I'm gla-- er... honored to be here. Ma'am." He looks about to extend a hand, then folds them behind his back.

Forcing a smile, his eyes tighten somewhat around the corners. Well, that went inordinately poorly. Good job at blowing it, Greg.

Meanwhile, around the front, the driver (who was going way too fast) spots Barry and slams on the brakes. Firefury, who was standing up in the back of the truck with no seatbelt, needless to say goes flying over the top of the vehicle with a yelp. Showing just why she's nicknamed 'The Queen of the Skies', the airborne dignitary twists around and hits the ground in a half-crouch, looking for all the world like she'd planned it that way. "Special delivery!" She smirks as she stands up.
S.H.O.D.A.N. unhooks her arm from Barry's with a kiss on his cheek then steps forward, smiling with a soft chuckle at Firefury's unintentionally spectacular entrance. "If it's cash-on-delivery, I'll have to send it back," she grins, eyes glowing blue-green, "unless you allow me to run off to the bank for a moment. How are you, Queen?"

Firefury grins. "Pleasure t'finally meet in person, S.H.O.D.A.N., Barry. Hope I wasn't interrupting anything." She snickers, wandering back to the truck and kicking the tailgate and ramp open. "Figured I'd let Zeroel and Tsume handle the diplomatic stuff and junk inside- Zeroel needs the experiance. 'Sides, I wanted to see the looks on your faces when you finally get to see the Prankmobile in person!"

With that, Queenie carefully rolls the blue and silver motorcycle off the truck, making sure that the big white ribbon tied to the rear-mounted air cannons is still in picture-perfect condition. "Late wedding present, but better late than never! By the way, my offer about Nekoa Bay still stands." The orange-clad reploid winks knowingly. "Zeroel didn't believe me when I explained why the Shogunate's official gift to foreign dignitaries was 'something that someone headed for juvenille hall would drive'."

"The pleasure is mine, Firefury." S.H.O.D.A.N. shakes her head, chuckling. "Always been curious... but that's my nature. Hm? Prankmobile?"

Watching the orange Reploid wheel out the ultimate expression of devious mischief, S.H.O.D.A.N. smiles wider and wider. Never one for fits of joy, she is still obviously pleased--the mischievous glimmer behind the eyes almost blare the machinations of her imagination, visualizing exactly what she could do with such an effective tool. "Why... thank you, Firefury. It is most appropriate... and, whenever Barry manages to find time, I'm sure Nekoa Bay will regret it."

She laughs impishly at Zeroel's disbelief. "It is rather odd, isn't it? A hyperintelligent electronic intelligence with an inordinately low sense of humor. I hope to meet Zeroel during this summit... ah, so many people to meet... right, dear?" She hangs onto Barry again, smiling mischievously at him.

Firefury nods, dusting her hands off. "Yeah, Zeroel's still a total n00b. Nice of him to be keeping a blog though for all the world to see." She chuckles. "He's taken to refering to one of our test pilots as being 'totally and completely rampant', if that says anything. But he's a nice enough guy, smart and all, just doesn't have the real-world experiance yet."

She turns to head inside. "Well, I should go get all the meet 'n greet stuff outta the way. You two coming?"

A tall, raven-haired young man comes up behind Pandousco. He bows elegantly to Esmerelda, and says, "Lord Kyle sa'Diason, Archmage of Cetaganda. It is a pleasure to meet you, m'lady Esmerelda." He turns to Pandousco, and continues,"Good evening, Sky Marshal."

{OOC: Assume my other Dig characters are circulating. Another post should be coming sometime soon.}

"Huh?" Pandousco is pulled out of his self-loathing for an instant and turns to the Archmage. "Um, good evening, uh..." Um... a lord in relation to a Sky Marshal... or an archmage... form of address is... ahhh, screw it. "...sir."

(OOC: Damn... a long one...

I'm going to try to get the meat of this summit going soon, so I'm sorry if your characters are going to seem a bit rushed along if they're still outside and such. Just trying to get this damned thing going after a long lack of update.)

"Very pleased to meet you both. The Lady, Nathicana, sends her regrets that she could not attend personally, as she is currently wrapped up in other matters. She also sends her wishes for the continued excellent relations between our nations, and hopefully, introducing the same to the Outset Isles."

"Greetings, Minister Wololo, Portent. I hope this event will be enlightening and informative for us all, and that much shall be decided."

Wololo and Portent smile, ushering the two groups inside with a bit more diplomacy than that apparent in this sentence.

"Pardon the interruption ma'am." Zeroel breaks into the conversation with a polite, if awkward looking, bow. "As Queen Firefury is otherwise occupied, it's my job to handle the diplomatic protocols-"

Marlena smiles sweetly at Zeroel's approach. She profers a hand to Zeroel.

"So you're the legendary Zeroel..." she says. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm Prime Minister Marlena Cantrell, as you know, and this is Minister Al-Al Bordine and his husband, Verc." Al-Al offers a small salute, and Verc waves meekly. "I've heard a lot about you; it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

At the approach of Tsume, Kiara, and Tsunami, Marlena, Al-Al, and Verc go through the usual menutia of diplomatic greeting.

"The heroes of The Outset Islands... at last, we meet!" she says. "We in The SLAGLands are eternally grateful to your courage and fortitude, for without them, I have reason to believe none of us would be standing here today. We owe much to you, and I doubt that in a thousand lifetimes we could thank you enough."

Reaching a point just outside engagement range, he sighs, composes himself, and steps forward. Bowing shortly--maybe a little too quickly--he looks up at the demigod. "Sky Marshal Gregor Pandousco, commanding officer of the Third Titan Expeditionary Force... ma'am. Um... I'm gla-- er... honored to be here. Ma'am." He looks about to extend a hand, then folds them behind his back.

Esmerelda smiles calmly at Gregor's approach--her charm and poise do not seem at all thrown off by his obvious nervousness. There is an aloofness about her that seems at once worthy of veneration and a small amount of disquiet.

"Esmerelda, Queen of The Outsets... but I am certain you knew that already," she replies. She raises her glass and tilts, sipping the wine gently, slowly before lowering it once again in front of her. "So you are a member of the infamous Third Titan Expeditionary Force. I must apologize for my actions one month ago... I was blinded by a rage I cannot possibly explain in a way you will understand. I suppose you could call it a perverse sense of duty, from a military standpoint; nevertheless, it was brutally misplaced. I hope you can forgive me for what I did one month ago and that our people can join hand-in-hand as allies and... as friends."

She takes another drink of wine, this one much quicker than the last, as if something has thrown her off.

"Forgive me... I am not very good at... diplomacy. It is not why I was created."

She seems to sigh a bit as the Cetagandan man approaches. With a smile, she takes a step back from the conversation and returns to her thoughts.

<snip the big long conversation with Barry and Shodey>

She turns to head inside. "Well, I should go get all the meet 'n greet stuff outta the way. You two coming?"

Barry's jaw drops as the bike is revealed... and he doesn't move. The SLAGLandic Minister of State is in utter awe at the beauty of the vehicle. He slowly steps toward it, looking it over from end to end, top to bottom, bumper to bumper. Then, with a slight sniffle...

"Thank you..."

He returns to S.H.O.D.A.N. and leads the group inside.

Zeroel shakes hands with Marlena before politely excusing himself to go meet Esmerelda. The EI looks rather unnerved, but Tsume shurgs it off as a lack of experiance yet.

Kiara blushes at Marlena's praise, and from the odd sort of way Tsunami's head is angled, if the little reploid were capable of blushing, she probably would be. "Eh... I didn't really do all that much- it was Tsu and the others that are the real heros."

Zeroel clanks his way over where Esmerelda and Gregor are talking, apologizing profusely whenever he accidentally thwaps someone in the room with the transmitters. It's evident that the EI isn't quite accustomed yet to operating a humanoid avatar rather than a large spacecraft. "Ah, Sky Marshal Pandousco, good to meet you in person. And... Esmerelda, I presume?" The short avatar looks up at the demigod. "I'm Zeroel, EI of the thaumatological attack carrier of the same name. I... wanted to apologize- while the losses of the Il Adib occured by the actions of the entire counterattack... Virtually all the losses among the Brethren are my doing, as I was the only ship carrying thaumatological weaponry." The reploid bows almost to the point of losing his balance. "For that, I am truly and terribly sorry."

Farragut looks around the inside of the hall. Seeing numerous people he recognizes only from holos and still photos, he has some trouble putting names to faces.

In most cases.

Bodyguard Barry and S.H.O.D.A.N. are quite obvious. As is Prime Minister Cantrell.

And another whom he recognizes, despite the presence of clothing, is Esmerelda.

He stretches his neck slightly, then adjusting his uniform, he proceeds over to meet Prime Minister Cantrell. He's not yet ready to speak with Esmerelda.

Unsure of the exact form of address in the SLAGLands, he speaks, "'Ello, Prime Minister. I am Admiral Farragut, of the Federation Space Naval Forces."

"Thank you..."

He returns to S.H.O.D.A.N. and leads the group inside.
S.H.O.D.A.N. smiles warmly at her husband's reaction, finally looping her arm in his and following him along. Looking about the hall, she nods with a smile to those she knows and notes the presence of those she doesn't. This should be entertaining... so much to learn, so many to meet. She chuckles softly to herself. Whoever would have thought that the infamous S.H.O.D.A.N., loner late of Citadel, would become a social animal? Life is certainly interesting that way. I have a beloved--she squeezes Barry's arm slightly--a sister of sorts... an odd family, but it'll do.

Speaking of family...--her face remains happy but her eyes lose just a shade of blue--I wonder what Unity is up to nowadays.

"Esmerelda, Queen of The Outsets... but I am certain you knew that already," she replies. She raises her glass and tilts, sipping the wine gently, slowly before lowering it once again in front of her. "So you are a member of the infamous Third Titan Expeditionary Force.
Gregor winces at the word 'infamous.' "Um, yes, ma'am... I'm the commander... I'm quite sor--"

I must apologize for my actions one month ago... I was blinded by a rage I cannot possibly explain in a way you will understand. I suppose you could call it a perverse sense of duty, from a military standpoint; nevertheless, it was brutally misplaced. I hope you can forgive me for what I did one month ago and that our people can join hand-in-hand as allies and... as friends."
"Yes... consider everything forgiven. I'm just..." He grimaces at himself. C'mon, dammit, just say it. "I'm just very sor--"

"Forgive me... I am not very good at... diplomacy. It is not why I was created."

"Heh, I'm horrible at it... not the emphasis of my training, obviously. Anyway--"

Then the Cetagandan Archmage inserts himself, Esmerelda steps back, and Pandousco thinks very mean things about himself. Delacroix, from across the room, simply grins.

Realizing that Pandousco seemed a bit distraught, Kyle quickly excuses himself to Esmerelda and quickly heads over so that he's walking alongside Pandousco.

"Sorry about butting in, Sky Marshal," Kyle says appologetically. "It just seemed like you were a bit overwhelmed. I know how you feel, I reacted much the same way when I met my first demigod. Happens to most people, especially when the preternatural being in question is the opposite sex."

Let's just hope that he doesn't think on it enough to realize I'm little more than half his age.

"Oh, no problem, sir... say what?" Pandousco blinks, looking at the younger man as if he were wearing a duck on his head. "Met your first demigod? No, no, no, that's not it"--he shakes his head quickly--"It doesn't matter what she is..."

Looking over his shoulder quickly at Esmerelda, he drops his voice. "She could be a Kzin-ret, or a Orc, or any other number of odd things. Dealt with 'em. Don't care. You see, I lead the Three-Teef against her... I am in the end responsible for the death of thousands, and she's the one being apologetic. Think about it." Pandousco goes silent for a few long moments. "It weighs on one."

"I see." Kyle paused to think for a moment, being asking, "Have you considered the possiblity that it doesn't matter that they died, seeing as how the Il Adib and likely the Brethren would just reincarnate? On the other hand, if they had been able to reach the SLAGLands, you can't say the same about the humans you were protecting."

Pandousco pauses for a moment. "Hrm... no... it's just been my experience that dead things tend to stay dead. Either way... it's nothing good, no matter the necessity. I just don't want to look like an ingrate--and would like to apologize in kind. It's hard, though." Pandousco looks down at his boots.

Pacci & Evangelista enter the room quietly, both looking around appreciatively at the ambience of the entry hall. Marik, shadowing them, doesn't seem to be moved by any of it. What does catch his eye is the people, the room layouts, exits, saftety precautions and the like.

True to form for many Dominion folk, they take their time touring the paintings, soaking in the foreign culture, and speaking in quiet tones, often in their native tongue. As they make their unhurried way into the Grand Chamber, they both smile at the tasteful splendour of the room. They tour the room, examining the tapestries, with Pacci explaining to Evangelista what he knows of the history, and further illustrating points from his recent adventure as relevant bits come up in conversation.

The food looks fantastic, and even Marik is seen to take note of several of the dishes with a flicker of interest - the most emotion he seems to register - as he casually looks them over. Being a society that considers food almost a neccessary part of most gatherings, business transactions, and glad occasion, they find the lay out quite to their liking.

Evangelista notes that Pacci's place is rather away from hers, and her brow furrows for a moment. He takes note, and pats her arm gently.

"No fear, my lady Minister. Besides, this is a good opportunity to mingle, make yourself known. And, unless I miss my guess entirely, a good group to do it in. Be wary, but also remember - these people are much more ... well, not 'simple' folk, but shall we say, more straightforward than those we are used to dealing with? I believe you'll do just fine."

She nods, giving him a brief smile. "Of course, Leandro. And I thank you. Perhaps it is time to do a bit of that mingling, yes? I think speaking with Prime Minister Cantrell would be the proper first move."

And with that she gives his arm brief squeeze of thanks, and makes her way across the room to greet Marlena.

"Prime Minister, if you will allow me," she says, putting forth her hand in a delicate manner. "Evangelista Ravanelli, Minister of Public Relations for the Dominion. Nathicana sends her best, and hopes that you've been well. We also wish to thank you for both the gracious invitation, and for so honoring one of our own."

Pacci in the meantime, watches her walk off, smiling to himself. Marik, of course quietly tails her, keeping completely out of her way, and not drawing attention to himself, but always watching in the nonchalant way he has about him.

As is his nature, he studies the other people in the room, his fingers nearly twitching as if anxious for his pen and notebook. Seeing Esmerelda, he nods, walking over with a purposeful yet measured stride, and upon reaching her, making a respectful bow.

"Esmerelda, you look simply ravishing tonight," he says with a smile. "I wish to congratulate you on your recent agreements with the Emerald Heights and its people. And, may I say, I look forward to hearing your history first hand. It will be an unparalleled honor."

Pandousco pauses for a moment. "Hrm... no... it's just been my experience that dead things tend to stay dead. Either way... it's nothing good, no matter the necessity. I just don't want to look like an ingrate--and would like to apologize in kind. It's hard, though." Pandousco looks down at his boots.

"Its just two words, Marshal. The worst that could happen is that she wouldn't accept the appology," Kyle says sympathetically. "And quite frankly, anyone with half a brain can see how agonized you are. If that's not good enough for her, then she's not worth appologizing to."

(OOC: Switching up the order so this makes a bit more sense chronologically...)

"Prime Minister, if you will allow me," she says, putting forth her hand in a delicate manner. "Evangelista Ravanelli, Minister of Public Relations for the Dominion. Nathicana sends her best, and hopes that you've been well. We also wish to thank you for both the gracious invitation, and for so honoring one of our own."

Prime Minister Cantrell shakes Minister Ravanelli's hand--almost immediately, the Dominion resident can notice a weakness behind the handshake. She seems exhausted--and perhaps rightfully so.

"Thank you, Minister Ravanelli," she says. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here in The SLAGLands, and I look forward to hearing your insights into the future of The Outsets."

Unsure of the exact form of address in the SLAGLands, he speaks, "'Ello, Prime Minister. I am Admiral Farragut, of the Federation Space Naval Forces."

Prime Minister Cantrell kowtows and goes through the normal diplomatic routine of introducing Al-Al, Verc, and Ravanelli.

"We cannot thank you enough for your bravery one month ago," she says. "You managed to hold off the wave of attackers just long enough for our archaeologists to finish the job. Without your help, who knows how far that army would have gone? We owe our lives to you."

"Esmerelda, you look simply ravishing tonight," he says with a smile. "I wish to congratulate you on your recent agreements with the Emerald Heights and its people. And, may I say, I look forward to hearing your history first hand. It will be an unparalleled honor."

Esmerelda's eyes light up as Pacci approaches. Not satisfied with the simple bow, she takes his hand and kisses it lightly.

"Pacci..." she says. "I owe you my life, and my people owe you their lives. Had you not placed that ring on my hand... I shudder to think what would have happened to me, my people... the land I protect and love. I owe you everything; how can I ever repay you?"

"I'm Zeroel, EI of the thaumatological attack carrier of the same name. I... wanted to apologize- while the losses of the Il Adib occured by the actions of the entire counterattack... Virtually all the losses among the Brethren are my doing, as I was the only ship carrying thaumatological weaponry." The reploid bows almost to the point of losing his balance. "For that, I am truly and terribly sorry."

Esmerelda chuckles as Zeroel regains his footing. "It is nothing, my friend," she replies. "You did what you had to do, and I am not at all dismayed. It was a war, and there were casualties... such is the way of life. You did what was right, and I am grateful for it."

<snip, heading inside, talking about Unity and stuffs, etc.>

Barry's face lights up as he enters the hall and catches sight of one particular woman. He looks at Shodey and smiles.

"Come on," he says. "You have to meet someone."

Not surprisingly, Barry leads Shodey to Esmerelda, who is still staring in silent contemplation at the rest of the group and sipping a glass of wine. A quick, "Oh, Mother!" is all it takes to get her attention. Esmerelda smiles as her son approaches, and the two exchange kisses on the cheek.

"You look well, Bari," she says.

"And you," Barry replies, nodding toward his wife. "Mother, I'd like you to meet your daughter-in-law and my lovely wife... Sentient HyperOptimized Data Access Network. You can call her S.H.O.D.A.N.... or just Shodey if you like." Esmerelda smiles warmly and embraces her daughter-in-law.

"I have heard much about you," Esmerelda says. "I know you are taking good care of my son; he seems very happy now. I merely have a few things to say to you." She takes a small sip of her wine. "First of all, I will be stealing Bari from you soon for a month. He is unaware of the potential of his abilities, and I wish to make him realize this potential. As such, I will be taking him into the caves of The Outsets to hone his abilities. He will return more focused and powerful than ever before."

Barry nods, squeezing Shodey's hand in his. "I know this is sudden... but I won't be gone for long. I wish you could come along, but Mom says it's for the best that you stay here... wouldn't want me to be distracted, after all."

After Shodey's response, Esmerelda continues, this time a bit more slowly and awkwardly. "The other thing I wish to discuss... I have heard that it is the custom of the parents of mortals to request... grandchildren. I... am not certain why this is; however, if I am to understand humans better, I must begin to think like them. Thus, I ask you..."

She places her left hand on her hip and tries to force a nagging tone, but ends up coming off as pathetic--almost apologetic.

"...when am I going to have grandchildren?"


(OOC: Gonna give everyone a chance to look... wrap things up in the small groups quickly. I plan to start the actual summit sometime tomorrow, so start thinking about how you think The Outsets should be run.)

Farragut blushes slightly at the Prime Minister's words. "Ah thank you. Just doing my job, ma'am. Glad to be of assistance." He wanders off, and picks up a drink, one that looks non-alcoholic. He still wants to say something to Esmerelda, but doesn't know what.

So he kinda wanders in her general direction. Maybe if he gets close enough, she'll say something to him first.

Maybe.

"Thank you, Minister Ravanelli," she says. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here in The SLAGLands, and I look forward to hearing your insights into the future of The Outsets."

Evangelista smiles, and voices her thanks at the gracious welcome, however, she looks concerned.

"Prime Minister Cantrell, perhaps we could have someone bring you a chair? Certainly no one expects you to stand around and wait on the rest of us like this. I'm certain no one would take it amiss if you were to take your ease here for a moment."

Upon the arrival of Admiral Farragut, she nods, and shakes hands in greeting as they're all introduced, making the proper gestures and expected pleasantries with ease.

Slowly, she begins to relax into her normal routine, the ambience and the people making it that much easier for her to remember what it is she's here to do - mingle and make with the nice.


Esmerelda's eyes light up as Pacci approaches. Not satisfied with the simple bow, she takes his hand and kisses it lightly.

"Pacci..." she says. "I owe you my life, and my people owe you their lives. Had you not placed that ring on my hand... I shudder to think what would have happened to me, my people... the land I protect and love. I owe you everything; how can I ever repay you?"

Her warm greeting blows all the properly prepared greetings and niceties from his head. Those who remember his early days on the dig would recognize all too well the stuttering, fumbling, utterly distracted man standing wide-eyed in front of the demigoddess of the Emerald Heights.

Pacci had tried, God knows he had tried, to keep from his mind the image of her perfect form emerging from the light that had enveloped her two halves only a month ago. Standing there as she had, with her flashing eyes, smooth skin, and flowing golden hair. He had dropped to his knees then, not only in an effort to save his own skin, but because he had suddenly found them weak at the sight of her. The eloquent speach that had tripped so lightly off his tongue had more related to his love for poetry than his skill at statesmanship, and for a moment, he recalled with suprising clarity, he had truly worshipped her.

Heresy! his mind calls out, even as he blushes and stammers an answer.

"Th--thank me? Well, I ah ... that is to say ... Il Dio. No! I mean, yes of course you are, but not m--" He attempts to regain his composure as he had that day back in the cave, unable to meet her gaze now that his calm facade had been shattered.

"I ... I did only what seemed ..." Nervously clearning his throat, his eyes downcast and studying the floor, he finishes quietly. "Please. There is nothing to repay ..."

He trails off, a shaking hand closing over hers for a brief, bold yet gentle squeeze as he raises his gaze to meet hers again.

And then my state
Like to the lark at break of day
From sullen earth arising, sings hymns at heaven's gate.

Such perfection ... such beauty. Ah, my sweet Lucia, forgive me my traitorous thoughts.

It is with no small relief that he steps back, quickly releasing her hand at the approach of Zeroel. He quietly observes the interaction, his mind, and heart, racing. He withdraws further still at the approach of Barry and S.H.O.D.A.N., giving them the private space they deserve.

He is caught up enough in his musings that he forgets for the moment his penchant for taking notes. It would seem, even the opportunity to observe such legends as themselves falls by the wayside as he watches Esmerelda greet the odd couple.

"And you," Barry replies, nodding toward his wife. "Mother, I'd like you to meet your daughter-in-law and my lovely wife... Sentient HyperOptimized Data Access Network. You can call her S.H.O.D.A.N.... or just Shodey if you like." Esmerelda smiles warmly and embraces her daughter-in-law.
Shodey accepts the embrace and returns it, surprising herself with its sincerity. Hmmm... my odd family increases and maintains its oddity... how curious, and yet how pleasant. She laughs warmly, unusually lacking in the sort of distant reserve that she generally maintains. "Now I'm related to a goddess... I'm honored."

"I have heard much about you," Esmerelda says. "I know you are taking good care of my son; he seems very happy now. I merely have a few things to say to you." She takes a small sip of her wine. "First of all, I will be stealing Bari from you soon for a month. He is unaware of the potential of his abilities, and I wish to make him realize this potential. As such, I will be taking him into the caves of The Outsets to hone his abilities. He will return more focused and powerful than ever before."

Barry nods, squeezing Shodey's hand in his. "I know this is sudden... but I won't be gone for long. I wish you could come along, but Mom says it's for the best that you stay here... wouldn't want me to be distracted, after all."
S.H.O.D.A.N. blinks. "Yes... it is sudden..." She quickly exchanges her surprise for a soft smile, and continues: "Who am I to keep apart a mother and her long-lost son? I'll wait for you back here, Barry... and look forward to your return." She chuckles. "Besides, I know what a long vacation can do towards making one whole."

After Shodey's response, Esmerelda continues, this time a bit more slowly and awkwardly. "The other thing I wish to discuss... I have heard that it is the custom of the parents of mortals to request... grandchildren. I... am not certain why this is; however, if I am to understand humans better, I must begin to think like them. Thus, I ask you..."

She places her left hand on her hip and tries to force a nagging tone, but ends up coming off as pathetic--almost apologetic.

"...when am I going to have grandchildren?"
S.H.O.D.A.N. first blinks again, partially at the question and partially at Esmerelda's demeanor... then laughs. "You shouldn't feel so odd; my own parent/self did much the same thing for much the same reason. We're odd ones, your son and I." She wraps an arm around Barry's shoulders and playfully holds him closer. "We've been working on it... just debating when exactly would be right. Not really having a biological imperative myself, I'll generally follow Barry's lead on this one." She grins at her husband impishly.

"When in doubt, dodge and pin the blame on someone else." She winks.

Firefury catches up to Tsume and the two thaumatologists, quickly greeting the SLAGlandic Prime Minister.

Zeroel, meanwhile, is thrown somewhat off from Esmerelda's calm rebuttal of his apology, and the somewhat flustered EI excuses himself to go mingle with the 3TEF people in attendance.

Tsume, meanwhile, is helping introduce Kiara and Tsunami to various people, looking quite relaxed and friendly, considering he's a 6-foot tall mechanical dragon with large talons.

((OOC: Just sorta a catch-up post to get all my people accounted for =p))

Sky Marshal Pandousco nods, looks up, and sees a face he's only seen in computer-generated form over a monitor hacked through Aspidochelone's communications station. "Ah, hello there, Zeroel." He seems somewhat more comfortable along with another member of the Triumvirate forces. "How are you this fine evening?"

Sky Marshal Pandousco nods, looks up, and sees a face he's only seen in computer-generated form over a monitor hacked through Aspidochelone's communications station. "Ah, hello there, Zeroel." He seems somewhat more comfortable along with another member of the Triumvirate forces. "How are you this fine evening?"

The EI bobs his head in acknowledgement. "Good to see you, Sky Marshal. Physically speaking, I'm fine this evening. All damage from systems tests and the battle have been taken care of." Zeroel glances in Esmerelda's direction. "Though I admit I'm confused by Esmerelda's reaction to my admission of being responsible for the slaughter of the Brethren. That doesn't sit very well with me. She is their mother in a sense, and any mother I can think of would probably have a far more violent and emotional outburst at such an admission."

Kyle narrows his eyes. "You know, even with the reincarnation thing, I think you're right. She does seem to be taking it a bit too well. If only because you've made her pregnant with thousands of critters."

Pandousco grimaces sympathetically. "Damn... well, now I know what kind of response I'd get from my attempt at apology." He looks down at his polished boots, then back up at the avatar. Glad to hear that you proper have been fixed up." Thank goodness for working with Zero-One vessels and their central intelligences... odd though, I'm finding this down right comfortably normal after talking to some sort of demigod. "Still, if you don't mind my asking--what was her reaction?"

Zeroel shrugs. "She said is was alright, that we only did what we had to do, and that she was grateful that we did. It doesn't make it any more right in my opinion, but..." The EI shrugs again, at a loss.

Pandousco nods. "That is odd. She may just be looking at it rationally... but grateful? That just doesn't grok, my friend." Pandousco looks over at Delacroix, who simply stands behind his chair, beaming. Bastard. I bet this is one of his little pranks.

Zeroel follows Pandousco's gaze and notes Delacroix. "If she ought to be grateful to anyone for halting her actions, it would have to be the archaeologists. All we did was stall for time at the cost of so many lives." The EI briefly studies Delacroix, and glances back to Pandousco. "Your pardon, but who is that? I don't believe I've spoken with him before."

"Oh, him." Pandousco smirks wryly. "That's Field Marshal Delacroix, commander of the Three-Teef's ground forces. He's an..."--his face tells that he wants to say something like 'obnoxious'--"...strong-opinioned one. We have a healthy little rivalry between us... nothing too bad."

Delacroix, noticing all the sudden interest in him, smiles and waves cordially, with a hint of smugness.

Zeroel gives the Ground Marshal a stiff half bow (stiff not so much out of formality, but more likely to keep from falling over). "He does appear rather... haughty... doesn't he?"

Pandousco chuckles. "That's not the half of it. Honestly, he has to be a recarnate form of some brilliant Napoleonic general--astounding in ground tactics and absolutely no grasp of airpower outside of ground-support roles and mobility. He's also not the Universe's greatest diplomat... but that's neither here nor there."

Zeroel lifts one eyebrow at that. "The ground forces never even got involved in the battle- Esmerelda was stopped before they had the chance!"

Lowering his voice a little more, the EI continues. "And... ah, pardon my asking, but if he's not terribly adept at diplomacy... why is he here? From what I've read, saying the wrong thing in a place like this is what leads to international incidents."

Pandousco shrugs. "Whether he saw action or not is really kinda irrelevant. He had the coastline held right. Forces on the beaches to engage, rapid response units to reinforce, chokepoints locked... he's a bright one, I have to admit.

"He's here because he pulled perogative--I'm the one with the orders, but there's nothing I can do to prevent him from coming along as a 'liason.' And though he isn't the most diplomatic... he isn't an idiot. I'm rather sure now that he 'offered' to talk to Esmerelda to force me into it; he knows how my conscience has been weighing."

Pandousco stops suddenly, obviously saying more than he'd meant to.

The instant she gets a free moment, Prime Minister Cantrell does a head count. Wololo and Portent join the group inside, shutting the back doors behind them. All of the archaeologists have arrived, as have all anticipated foreign delegates. The members of the press had arrived and were, as requested, leaving everyone the hell alone.

Time to get going...

Marlena steps to the center of the room, near the head of the table, and raises her hand.

"Attention, everyone!" she shouts, hesitating patiently for the room to get silent. "Thank you. I would like to once again welcome you all to beautiful Murphy Hall here in our capital city of SLAGTown. It is truly an honour to see such wonderful people representing such excellent allies... and it is especially an honour to welcome the brave archaeologists of what has officially been deemed Operation: Outset."

Al-Al and his husband Verc execute a round of applause, and the remainder of The SLAGLanders and Outsetters join in as well. Marlena joins in, reading the crowd perfectly and timing her reentry into her speech just as perfectly--even in exhaustion, she is a master of reading the crowd.

"We will be beginning the summit shortly, so please... help yourselves to some food, and take your seats."

Gordon Newell arranged to sit by the dig archaeologists Kurt and Kevin.

OOC: Wow, that was a lame IC post. :P

Farragut decided he could talk to Esmerelda later. Or not. He wasn't really looking forward to it.

So instead, he grabbed a plate, filled it with food, then a drink of some kind. He didn't know what most of the food, nor the drink, was, but they looked good.

He went to a likely looking chair, and sat down.

At Marlena's announcement, Queenie tracks Zeroel down and hustles the uncertain EI to his seat, resulting in a semi-comical little fiasco for the reploid avatar. Tsume joins the pair shortly thereafter, and Kiara and Tsunami take there seats (Well, Tsunami perches carefully on the back of her chair, at any rate.)

"Geez... makes it sound all military an' all. Was just a giant fluke, really." Kiara whispers to the little dragon.

"Ssh, things are starting, don't be rude!" Tsunami hisses back.

((OOC: Whoo! Let's get this thing in gear! =D ))

DPM Moonshadow helps herself to several homestyle confections courtesy of Granny Slag, and seats herself, patiently awaiting the start of the Summit.

Pandousco rubs his forehead, grimacing as he shakes away the pain. Nice kid, but those antennas... whoever had that idea... Grumbling, he collects random bits of food and sits down. Delacroix follows him through the buffet line, chuckling to himself.

Pacci gratefully slinks away, making a beeline for the food. He meets up with Evangelista, who is in the midst of insisting that Marik eat with them and relax for a bit. He of course, is taking it all in with his usual nonchalance, though he does finally accept the plate she's shoving at him.

They chat quietly, filling up their plates, comparing notes on people they've met and observed so far. Pacci assures Evangelista that she's doing a wonderful job so far, and gives her a brief, friendly pat on the shoulder before they part, making their way to their respective places.

Both have a habit of looking around, observing. Pacci however, seems to let his eyes drift towards Esmerelda a touch more than perhaps might be warranted ... perhaps not. She is, after all, a goddess.

(OOC: FINALLY!)

The remainder of The SLAGLanders take their seats around the table, Red and the two Il Adib still chatting it up. Al-Al, Verc, and Barry all take seats, and several of the seats of honour are soon filled--one by Dr. Shana Grambling, one by Dr. Remmington Vivaldi, and one by Tanya Jefferson of The SLAGLandic News Network. Wololo and Portent also make their way to the table after venturing in front outside.

Esmerelda, meanwhile, glides into another seat in the center of the guests of honour--Kiara Alson on her right, Leandro Pacci on her left. She turns to her friend Leandro and offers a gentle smile, placing her hand on his knee and squeezing it affectionately.

Prime Minister Cantrell, still obviously exhausted from her pregnancy and the stresses of late, makes her way to her designated seat. A long table is laid out behind it, upon which rest fourteen elaborately decorated vermilion pillows. Upon each pillow rests a small gold pin in the shape of an arrow no more than two centimeters long. Upon each arrow is an inscription:

Il esputan e il diprontan

She looks out to the group, forcing a smile that is at once entirely sincere and entirely tired.

"Once again, I bid you all welcome," she says. "I'm certain all of you are aware of the events on the surface that in part spawned this event. One month ago, The SLAGLands fell victim to a potential surprise attack by creatures mystical in origin. The international response was incredible--defensive forces from within and without the Triumvirate of Yut immediately rushed to our aide in an attempt to quell this threat. For this all of The SLAGLands is eternally grateful; however, there was more to this event than meets the eye.

"Beneath The Outset Islands, fourteen brave men and women faced the dangers of these tribes--and truly of the caves themselves--for the sake of science and the safety of all humanity. These people came from a variety of backgrounds--some were scientists, some were government officials, some were normal people... one was even a young girl who could not come to the ceremony today. However, even in spite of their differing backgrounds, mindsets, and motives, these fourteen brave people banded together for a common goal: to assist The SLAGLands in quelling a potential threat to its safety and sovereignty."

Marlena steps behind the table here, motioning to the small arrow pins before her.

"The Golden Arrow is the highest honour a SLAGLander can receive for valour, bravery, wisdom, and knowledge. In the past, this grand award has only been bestowed upon SLAGLanders; however, the selfless courage of these individuals whom you see before you makes them just as much SLAGLanders as anyone in this room. They are not just lovers of discovery; they are heroes. For this, the Arrow will sleep near their hearts for the rest of their lives and beyond."

Marlena nods to the archaeologists.

"Please rise."

One by one, the archaeologists walk to the front of the table, Dr. Vivaldi and The SLAGLandic contingency leading the way. As their names are called, they step forward before the table, receive their pin, and accept a handshake and congratulations from Marlena Cantrell... as well as a flurry of flashbulbs.

"Remmington Vivaldi... Shana Grambling... Tanya Jefferson, all of The SLAGLands. Benjamin Vitner, from Treznor. Javin Katana, from Larkinia. Tsunami... Kiara Alson, both from Reploid Productions. Leandro Pacci, from The Dominion of Dread Lady Nathicana. Mr. Dee, from Ur an ass. Kevin Green... Kurt Jenson, both from Oglethorpia. And finally, from our friends in Cetaganda, Lisa Streikmore... Sean Aldars... Nita Fingan."

As the last scientist receives her arrow, the crowd bursts into applause for a solid three minutes. Esmerelda continues to smile, particularly at Pacci... she seems to have taken quite a liking to the man.

(OOC: Still feel free to post your characters' reactions to the Arrowing, but in order to keep the thread moving, I'm going to sit yer asses down.)

"And now, by virtue of the deeds of these brave men and women, I am pleased to bring before you the Goddess and Protector of The Emerald Heights of The SLAGLands... and the reason we are all here today. Listen as she tells her story, as she relays her history to us all that we may be enlightened from it. I give you... Esmerelda."

Assuming that the rest of the crowd will clap, Farragut begins to clap as Prime Minsiter Cantrell introduces Esmerelda.

Not, he was sure, that anyone there did not know her....

Firefury and Zeroel applaud politely at the pinning and at Esmerelda's introduction, while Tsume carefully bangs his talons together in the closest thing to applause the reploid dragon can manage. "You guys rock!" The Shogunate's queen exclaims, earning her an exasperated look from both of her companions.

Kiara looks somewhat stunned at all the attention, while Tsunami- sitting on Kiara's shoulder, is actively resisting the urge to preen herself and ham it up for the cameras.

Who'd've thought a little dig would turn into such a gigantic international incident?

Pacci's eyes open wide, looking mildly panicked as Esmerelda gracefully takes a seat next to him. He fumbles for something appropriate to say, but the words are driven straight out of his head as she gives his knee a squeeze. He jumps slightly, and his face reddens. He takes several long gulps of his drink to settle himself before looking over at her with a lopsided smile. All the same, his own hand reaches down to give hers an awkward, tentative squeeze in return.

Oh my God, omigod, omigod, oh my Goddess ...

Several thoughts fly through his mind. Some silly, some serious, several inapropriate, for which he mentally kicks himself. Thankfully, he's saved by Prime Minister Cantrell's speech.

He looks rather self-conscious as Marlena speaks, and focuses mostly on his plate and his drink - the latter of which he partakes of often. His eyes occasionally slide towards Esmerelda however, and each time a look bordering on amazement and awe creeps over his face, along with a hint of that lopsided smile.

Pacci rises with the others, and accepts his award with a quiet dignity, murmuring a soft thanks to Marlena. Again, he seems uncomfortable at all the attention, and applause, though he takes the time to nod, smile and whisper brief words of well-wishes to his companions.

Ah, my dear ... if only you were here now to see all this, he thought with a chuckle, then grinned wryly. Then again ... you'd have killed me straight out for looking all moon-eyed at another woman.

Noticing Esmerelda's eyes on him, he stammers anew, again the fumbling distracted man from that first day on the site. Making his way back to his seat, he sits down quietly, obviously deep in thought. As the goddess is announced, he rises to his feet out of respect, and offering to help her from her chair.

Il Dio ... she's beautiful.

The Marshals respond as can be expected, applauding when appropriate. Pandousco stands with a forced smile, stare indicating that he is thinking of something quite different... or at least not of the current proceedings. Delacroix continues to scan the room, looking like some sort of wary bulldog. A soft secret smile hovers on his lips; the machines in his head are obviously running like clockwork... but what he's thinking about is anyone's guess.

Evangelista sits contentedly, enjoying the food, the ambience of the place, and quiet conversation on light matters with those sitting near her, more and more enjoying herself and feeling at ease. Marik eats quietly, murmuring brief responses when spoken to, keeping a careful eye on the crowd. He notes in particular Delacroix, his eyes narrowing once in thought.

She rises to her feet to applaud the archaeology team, beaming proudly at Pacci, mouthing 'bravissimo' to him from her spot at the tables. Marik rises as well, politely clapping though still seeming somewhat aloof.

After sitting down again, Evangelista turns her attention to Esmerelda, anxious to hear more firsthand the history that has brought them to this point. Marik, continues to watch.

Jenson was elated with joy to have been given such an award from the SLAGLandic government. Green was more concerned with eating the meal before him. "Congrats," Gordon said, before taking a drink.

Queenie, Tsume, and Zeroel murmur their congratulations as the archaeologists return to their seats. The reploids in the Arpean delegation don't need to eat, but Kiara sets to her plate of food with a vengence, though she steals glances at Pacci and Esmerelda from time to time.

Oh good Goddess, am I the only one who sees he is totally and completely smitten? She raises an eyebrow as she thinks on the subject. They'd make a cute couple... but how does a lowly archaeologist court... well, literally, a goddess?

A scheming look crosses the woman's face as she ponders on that, while the others eagerly await the summit to actually commence.

(OOC: I apologize for the long wait... a lot on my plate and a lot on my mind lately. Those players with whom I am particularly close will know what I'm talking about; for the rest of you, let's just say it's college stress, eh?

In any case, here's part one. I'm expecting to have at least part two out tonight as well, so hang tight.)


The goddess slowly rises, accepting her applause with an unmatched grace and savoir-faire. Her smile is warm, gentle, and it seems that all who look upon it feel an almost instantaneous calm. As the applause die down, she closes her eyes. Those near her can feel a cool draft flowing towards her, as if she is drawing energy from the very air around her. The lights begin to dim, and all at once, images begin to fade in on the center of the table, three-dimensional models of perfect scale and accuracy.

"In the beginning, The Emerald Heights were the canvas of the gods."

The image on the table forms The SLAGLands itself--and the entire surrounding continent. Each individual tree of the Shazamazon Rainforest seems perfectly represented, each imposing rocky crag reflected down to the pebble. A careful observer would notice wildlife; brightly-coloured birds soar over the forests, mountain goats bay on the cliff walls, dolphins breach from the water moments before returning to the sea again. Only one creature, it appears, is missing from these islands.

"I suppose you could say that if there is any semblance of a Creator--and while I can remember something, I cannot say what it is--this is the place where He attempted to create beauty over order. It was a beauty for none to observe but Him... yet this was not enough. He wanted to share it with the other creatures on the planet who could appreciate such a land. It was then that He placed the First Tribes."

All at once, new creatures begin to appear on a dusty group of islands a few kilometers to the west of the continent--The Outset Islands. They slowly make their way to the mainland, scouting out the beach. The bipeds first wander in the forests and mountains, following the herds. As time goes on, grass huts begin to appear, and tiny villages spring forth. The plains near the forest are cultivated and farmed, and the villages within the forest sustain themselves both by hunting and gathering from the rich natural garden.

"This was, however, not a place for man. The Creator had placed dangers within The Emerald Heights, dangers which He felt would at once contrast and complement the great beauty He had created. Storms ravaged the continent on an annual basis, the First Tribes were threatened by sweltering heat and disease, and all too often, the proverbial hunters became the hunted. He knew then that if He was going to allow man to continue to exist here, man would need protection."

Two new creatures appear now, larger than the others, vivid in their tremendous detail. The first is a familiar one: a perfectly formed woman, her straight and full blonde hair hanging just past her shoulders, her deep grey eyes at once tender and mysterious, a shimmering white gown embracing her form. The second is nearly equal in its perfection: a young and powerful man, his deep black hair hanging to his neck, his robust chin flecked with facial hair, his eyes passionate and deep blue, a white robe about his form.

"I do not remember the exact moment when my husband Mason and I were created, nor do I remember much of the One who created us. I suppose I can equate it to being born: one does not remember the hour of one's birth after years have passed. Prime Minister Cantrell has informed me that anthropological research places my appearance at least 95,000 years ago, but I may indeed be much older than that. In any case... we had arrived, and we had been blessed with a power only matched by our grand duty: to protect The Emerald Heights and the Tribes who dwelled within her."

Time passes--villages begin to grow into cities, grand structures are built both within and without the mainland of The Emerald Heights. Through it all, Mason and Esmerelda keep a constant vigil from The Outset Islands.

"For centuries, Mason and I ruled these lands, bound by our infinite love for one another and our subjects and followers. We were revered; we were worshipped; great monuments were built to our glory. Everything was perfect..."

Her voice suddenly turns darker, deeper.

"Everything was too perfect."

(OOC: Part two!)

"I was bored... and for one with my power, boredom can be a very dangerous bedfellow."

The image of Esmerelda standing on The Outset Islands begins waving its arms in the air, performing a bizarre--yet strangely enchanting--dance. All at once, a creature appears before her: a large cat. Comparatively, the cat is approximately Esmerelda's height, its robust frame covered by thick purple fur, its face elaborately decorated. Several more of the creatures, these with white fur, begin to appear... and they begin to multiply, covering The Outset Islands.

"Portent was the first of The Brethren of Shade I created. I had grown tired of watching the petty squabblings of the human beings on the mainland, and I wished to have my own tribe of perfect creatures to glorify me. The Brethren were--and still are--a peace-loving race, seekers of enlightenment and wisdom above all else. I was their Mother, their marvelous Creator and Goddess, and they worshipped and revered me as such. It was just as I had planned, and I enjoyed living in their company. Mason, meanwhile, took up my duties protecting the mainland--I am so fortunate to have had a man such as him by my side; otherwise, I fear for what would have happened to the First Tribes without me. In my mind, I was a Brethrenite. I was their Master... their Marvel."

Suddenly, the image of Esmerelda throws its arms into the air, turning its back on The Brethren.

"But even perfection can seem... drab after a while. I was young, foolish, and irresponsible, a child granted the power of a goddess. I needed a new toy."

The image of Esmerelda initiates the same dance, and a new group appears, dark-skinned and short Cro-Magnon-looking humanoids with mangy black hair, dark and dirty flesh, and only a thin piece of loincloth covering their netherregions. Their faces are normal, aside from the fact that they are devoid of eyes.

"In the language of the First Tribes, 'il adib' means 'the blind.' My next grand imitation of the Creator was this group. Unlike The Brethren, they did not base their beliefs on silly things like philosophy and enlightenment. Il Adib were the very incarnation of what modern psychology refers to as the id. They were an impulsive, violent lot, creatures who gained a thrill in death that other creatures only achieve through sexual conquest. And in a rather unusual way, death... was akin to sex for them. In part of my... bizarre artistic motive, I created Il Adib to fertilize me or the nearest female creature upon their deaths. There were no females among Il Adib at this time; procreation only came through creation. I bore them for many years, living among them, observing them.

"And then... they found The Brethren."

As if on cue, Il Adib in the model turn around, facing The Brethren. There is very little time between the first glance and the reaction, and the reaction is as expected.

"The two New Tribes were direct opposites of one another--I had created them that way. Their philosophies, their ideologies, their motives... all was contrast between them. Not surprisingly, war raged on The Outset Islands."

The model Esmerelda hovers over the two New Tribes as they charge at each other, Il Adib brandishing crude pickaxes. The two creatures demonstrate their obviously mystical natures, blasting each other with magical energies, levitating objects, turning noncorporeal... it is a battle unlike any other witnessed in human history, and a confused Esmerelda floats over it, Mason beside her, desperately attempting to console her, to speak to her, to get through to her... anything.

"At this point, to me, there were no Emerald Heights--that land had vanished. Even as Mason tried to talk me back from the brink of madness, my only loves had become my Tribes... MY creation. Why was I to care about what some fool had instigated some time ago? The Emerald Heights were not MY responsibility; why did HE not take care of them? I had to help Il Adib... I had to help The Brethren of Shade... my allegiances shifted on a daily basis. Mason no longer existed now--all were my Tribes. Then, when I had reached my lowest... I severed myself from my husband, my duty, and my land."

The disc of light sweeps over The Emerald Heights like a ripple in a wave, ever-expanding from its source on The Outset Islands, the flawless and beautiful goddess who was now shattering before it. Even as she tells this portion of the story and creates the image of it, Esmerelda herself appears to be in a great deal of pain as she recalls being rent asunder those many centuries ago.

"I was to become Il Adib... I was to become Brethren."

The flash of light temporarily blinds everyone in the room, and as it fades, a new image comes into focus on The Outset Islands... more specifically, two images. The first is physically identical to Esmerelda in nearly every way save one: the creature is extremely tiny. Esmerelda zooms in the image on the model to the tiny creature, who stands little taller than an inch. In grave contrast is the creature next to her, a tremendous and hulking monster nearly thirty feet tall and equally as wide. She appears to be a monstrous version of Il Adib, a few fortunately placed pieces of cloth providing her only clothing.

"My tiny form was called Marvel, and she reflected the ideals of The Brethren of Shade: delicate, contemplative, and beautiful. On the contrary was Mother, the sickening and ruthless fertility goddess who was to rule Il Adib. They were two, and yet they were one, as my own persona was ripped in twain and forced into these two new forms."

The two sides square off on opposite sides of The Outset Islands. Mason, meanwhile, slips into the background, face buried in his hands.

"Esmerelda was lost. Mason had failed."

Kiara and Tsunami both listen intently, Kiara having forgotten her food and her scheming, at least for the moment.

Zeroel stares in wide-eyed, slack-jawed amazement, and glances around the room to see if there are some sort of holographic projectors planted somewhere.

Tsume listens politely, and discreetly thwaps Zeroel with a flick of his tail, directing the EI's attention back to the tale, and not the methods the images are being projected with.

Firefury leans with her elbows on the table, chin resting on her upturned palms, listening to Esmerelda's story, an expression of deep thought written all over her face. If one looked closely, they might notice that when lost in thought, the Queen of the Shogunate appears much older than she normally acts. Maybe even a hundred or so years older. I wonder if the entity that created her is the same as the Goddess that we call upon? The same one that brought the world as I knew it crashing to the ground...

Esmerelda's voice begins to slow, to deepen; she sounds very troubled at the mention of this point in her life, the years immediately following the Split.

"It was fortunate for the First Tribes that these New Tribes despised each other so much; otherwise, I fear that their war would have spilled onto the mainland. I had lost my will to protect them, and Mason--ah, poor darling--was forced to devote most of his energy to keeping me off of the mainland. He was so busy, in fact, that he did not see the large schooner sailing in from the west in the year you people have named 1888."

The model reflects the coming of the vessel called the Transcontinental as it cuts through the waters to the west of the continent, weighing anchor just off the shore. Moments later, small rowboats drop from the vessel's side and head toward the land. The image zooms in on one to reveal a robust-looking, muscular man in his thirties, his leather cowboy hat and denim jeans perfectly accenting his long red moustache.

"This is Enrick von Slagalotz. To the typical resident of The SLAGLands, this is the man responsible for uniting the First Tribes under one flag--and remarkably enough, doing so without firing a single shot. He was an explorer and a philosopher, not a conqueror. However, I was foolish, and the moment I saw him, my sense of duty toward The Emerald Heights flooded back, this time in a perverse, blinded version of its former self. I had to destroy this man, and I had to destroy his followers. Both of my halves realized this, and Il Adib and Brethren forces were independently organized to invade the mainland."

The zoomed-in image now shows Enrick von Slagalotz in the forest grappling with a bear, the famous il puntis by which the four First Tribes united under the flag of Enrick von Slagalotz. As the bear is defeated and sent into the woods, a celebration ensues in the camp. The SLAGLands is formed.

"Unfortunately, by this point, the followers of Enrick von Slagalotz included all of the First Tribes. I did not care. If they were foolish enough to follow the ways of this outsider, they were going to bleed with him. Nothing was going to stop me now--nothing, that is, except for Mason."

The image shifts back to The Outsets, where Il Adib and Brethrenite forces are gathering. All at once, Mason appears above them. There is a flash of light, a sparkle... and then nothing. All of them are gone: Mason, Mother, Marvel, Il Adib, Brethren... all have vanished.

"So he sealed us away. He had been meditating on the subject for years: if the gods had become a danger to the people they were created to protect, should the gods remain above? Mason finally reached a conclusion, and Il Adib, The Brethren of Shade, and Mason--who became known in both circles as 'The Forbidden One'--were sealed underground beneath The Outset Islands. Mason hid himself away, using all of his strength to maintain the seal and keep us from destroying The SLAGLands. On the surface, time went on as normal..."

Time suddenly begins to accelerate. On the mainlands, large cities begin to appear. Huge seaports spring up along the coast, and massive metropolitan areas ranging from commercial havens to tourist traps spring up like toadstools throughout the land.

"...but beneath The SLAGLands, we schemed. The seal Mason had placed over Marvel and Mother was a strong one indeed, and Mason had sufficiently separated the two Tribes to prevent cooperation and encourage occassional squabbling between them. Marvel and Mother lost correspondence and took to studying the seal.

"It was then that we both discovered the rift. It happened almost simultaneously for both Tribes: the discovery of a brief flicker on Het Amid. It was not enough for Marvel or Mother to slip through unnoticed, but a few members of the Tribes could probably do so as long as there was some sort of distraction. Thus, The Brethren went to work... and created the artifact."

http://invisionfree.com/forums/NSU/index.php?act=Attach&type=post&id=832

The image of this artifact appears above The SLAGLands. Its squares blink in a rather regular pattern, and the archaeologists immediately recognize it.

"This relic was a product of Brethren mystical engineering that soon fell into the hands of Il Adib as well. It was slipped through the rift and onto the surface and, when activated at a specific point, would transport the creature that activated it into the caves, replacing that person with a Brethrenite or Il Adib. Over time, we managed to accumulate quite a team... among them the brave explorers whom we are honouring today."

Esmerelda motions to the people around her, looking over them all with a smile. She lingers a bit on Pacci--she seems a little taken with him, it would appear.

"Il Adib and The Brethren resumed the war at the command of their respective leaders; this time, however, the conflict was a facade. The goal of both sides was simple: keep the humans busy as those on the surface went to work on enlarging the rift. Mason, meanwhile, was hidden away, and while he kept tabs on both sides with a creature of his own machinations, the strain of maintaining the seal made him begin to age quickly, to grow weak... and just as our friend Tsunami here found him... to pass on."

Esmerelda lowers her head, wiping her eye with her thumb.

"And I was not there to mourn him. When Mason fell, the seal fell with him, and as clouded with my goal of destroying Enrick von Slagalotz's invading forces I was, I had to capitalize. The archaeologists worked perfectly into the plan, bringing Marvel to Mother's front gate. The two reunited. The Tribes reunited."

From the great cliffs of Het Amid, the familiar sea of pale sienna bursts forth. Coalition forces appear in the air and sea to attempt to quell the invasion, but they seem virtually unable to slow it. Meanwhile, the image of the gigantic nude Esmerelda appears, monstrous, calculating, at once beautiful and terrible, her powers ravaging the fleets sent to save the land she once protected.

"I... cannot apologize enough for my actions here. My rage had blinded me. I had forgotten my purpose and my duty as I saw my lands taken by the invading forces I had wished to stop so long ago. There is no doubt in my mind that had I not been stopped, I would have destroyed The SLAGLands... and perhaps a fair portion of the world in the process."

The image on the table disappears, and the lights return to normal in the room. Esmerelda looks down at Pacci, placing a hand on his shoulder. A small and simple gold ring embraces her ring finger.

"It is thanks to this brave man, Leandro Pacci, that I am standing before you today. He placed upon my finger an enchanted ring, a ring forged by Mason himself as a reminder of my duty. I stopped the assault at that exact moment... and as the memories of what I had done returned to me, I realized that I had spent hundreds of years as a fool. I killed many of your friends and comrades on the day I reformed... and I hope that someday, I will find a way to repay you all for what I have done."


(OOC: Final post in this series coming soon... thanks for toughing it out, everyone.)

Leandro Pacci watches Esmerelda speak with an expression of quiet wonder. He is amazed at the images she so easily brings forth, incredible in their depth and detail. Even so, it is her that continues to draw his eye, hide it though he may.

His brow furrows as she describes the beginnings of her madness, and espression not of scorn, but of concern. As she continues on, his hands twitch atop the table, reflexively wanting to reach out and attempt in some lame way to comfort the beautiful woman - aye woman, though goddess she be - as she describes with obvious pain her division, her struggle, and eventually, her loss. He folds hs hands tightly together, feeling at a loss, and not wishing to presume.

At her lingering glance, he blinks, arching his brows ever so slightly. Was that ... no, no ... simply a smile, for all of us. The thought is soon driven from his mind as she wipes away a tear. Quietly reaching into his pocket, he takes out a clean white handkerchief, offering it without calling too much attention to himself, his look of concern increasing.

The images wink out, the lights come up, and he tenses, looking up at her in suprise as she places her hand on his shoulder. Her words seem to come from a distance as the noise of his own heart pounds heavily in his ears. He looks, quite frankly, shocked, humbled, and deeply honored at her praise, and his face reddens several shades in obvious discomfort. He drops his eyes, and quietly clears his throat, avoiding looking at her, and the crowd, studiously examining a spot on the tablecloth where his wineglass had left a ring.

--------------------------------

Evangelista Ravanelli, newly appointed Minister, has no experience with magic, and stares in nearly open-mouthed amazement at the display. She also glances about the room, looking for projectors or a more logical explanation, for her own peace of mind.

Of course, there are none.

She listens with unfeigned interest at the story Esmerelda tells, her eyes occasionally flickering to Pacci, noting with no small measure of amusement the interplay between the two.

Oh surely not. Pacci, you old fool ... My god, is she ... She blinks as well, schooling her expression to one of quiet interest, and holding it there.

Inside, she's terribly amused.

---------------------------------

Marik shows some emotion at the display, his face flickering back and forth between amazement and mild discomfort. Magic has been completely outside his experience as well, aside from his brief stint in SilverCities with Nathicana so long ago.

They weren't kidding about this whole goddess business?

He notes the looks between Pacci and Esmerelda, and grimmaces.

Oh hell no. Pacci, you idiot, what are you thinking?

Farragut is quite impressed by the display. He was fairly certain it was not holgraphic. He knew that a Holodisplay could do this, but it would have to be preprogrammed.

He got the impression that this display was controlled Esmerelda's voice, as opposed to some program, though.

While Queenie, Kiara, Tsunami, and Tsume all raise eyebrows at the counterattack portion of Esmerelda's explanation, Zeroel finds himself stunned again at the details of the image. Every dropship, every naval vessel- even himself- all represented in astounding detail. Even the three black and orange Queens of the Sky ships zipping around above the battlefield.

His amazement dims as the image replays images captured forever in his data banks- thaumatological cannons blazing perfect lines of destruction effortlessly through the phased Brethrenites, Esmerelda's beam attack slicing eeasily through several Loki dropships and nearly himself, had he not activated the thaumatological point defense screen in time. Maybe there is something to this deity stuff after all... The EI notes to himself.

"So that's where all these reports of goddess porno fanclubs came from." Firefury notes with a annoyed tone in her voice. "Your pardon, Esmerelda, at least within the Shogunate, I'll see to it that footage from the battle stays within military databanks only. I'll never cease to be astounded by the new lows perverts will stoop to."

Tsume and Zeroel say nothing, but the looks on their faces would imply that they just don't understand the organic obsession with naked bodies.

(OOC: FINALLY!)

Esmerelda looks back at Firefury with a somewhat bemused smirk, then rolls her eyes.

"Yes... shortly after that event, I was informed by Prime Minister Cantrell that there is a rather large counterculture--some would argue 'culture'--that embraces lust as a pasttime. I find this more than a bit curious, but it is not something about which I am concerned. There is no need to curtail the spread of those images."

At this point, she motions for Portent and the two Il Adib to join her at the front of the room. They comply, taking their places next to her.

"And now we come to the present. I have returned to my senses, and under the counsel of Prime Minister Cantrell, I have made a few necessary changes, the most obvious of which revolves around the basic biological structure of The Brethren and Il Adib. In the past, these creatures would, when killed, return to fertilize their creator. In the event that the creator was too far away, they would choose the nearest suitable host." Here she motions toward Prime Minister Cantrell. "The child that Prime Minister Cantrell is carrying is indeed my son, Ortcan, of Il Adib. Like the others, he has been granted the ability to procreate on his own, an ability he will gain when he is grown."

Cantrell motions to the two Il Adib in front of her, both of whom are decked out similarly to Barry.

"These are Mordiar and Shterpa, two of my wisest children... Greater Il Adib, as they are known. In the past, all Il Adib were considered male; now, however, I have split them between male and female in a 50-50 ratio. Shterpa here is now female, while Mordiar remains a male. Those who... uh..." She falters a bit, blushing. "...witnessed Mother's birthing in the Hollow will know quite well that this will be a welcome change."

Regaining her composure, Esmerelda continues.

"Colonization of The Outset Islands at large has gone smoothly as well. The caves that housed the Outsets Incident have been opened for purposes of both tourism and housing--many of The Brethren still choose to live within the grand jeweled city of Elysium, while many Il Adib still hide out in the cacophanous Hollow. This is their perrogative.

"In addition, Il Adib and Brethrenite cooperation is going along smoothly. For the moment, I have placed Il Adib in the roles of skilled labourers, gatherers of food and craftsmen for all of The Outset Islands. The smaller Brethren Tribe, on the other hand, is responsible for overseeing these tasks on a day-to-day basis. While things are being worked out here, I have not yet offered them a choice in their role."

She clasps her hands together here. Portent, Shterpa, and Mordiar return to their seats.

"And that is why we are all here: my choices. This is, quite frankly, my first attempt to rule a sovereign state, and I am rather lost as to how I should rule my state. Should I make The Outset Islands a democracy, or should I recognize my own authority as superior to all others? Should I industrialize this state, or should I rely on the primitive methods that have served us well so far? Should I embrace capitalism? Socialism? Is that oft-sought dream of communism a possibility within this state? Should I militarize? Should I join an international coalition of some sort?"

With a sigh, she quickly drops back into her seat.

"You all are wise people--were you not, you would not be here today. I trust that your counsel will be most helpful in assisting me in this, the beginning of The Outset Islands' status as a sovereign state."


(OOC: ...and the floor's open. Go ahead and take this any way you want. If you have ideas, bring them up. If you have questions, ask them. This is a chance to get you guys thinking, and I know you're all damn good at using your noggins. Thanks for your patience, everyone!)

At the conclusion of Esmerelda's explanation, Firefury is quick to open her big mouth again. "Well, I imagine this would go without saying, but maintaining close relationships with the Slaglands would be likely the best place to start. I personally don't see the islands as becoming an industrial state- perhaps more of a scholarly one? The methods by which the two tribes have lived thus far have served well, and it'd be a shame for the islands to turn to industry. Any modern doodads could be traded for or purchased, and I suspect, given the display during the battle, that you've hardly any need to formally militarize."

Zeroel nods his agreement to that last statement. "Defense is most certainly one of the Outsets' least concerns."

Tsume bobs his head. "I'm most certain you have the support of everyone here in bringing the islands up to date and so forth. I would imagine the Brethren would be excellent scholars or ambassadors, given a little training." The reploid dragon grins slightly, showing his fangs. "On that score, I'm sure Queenie wouldn't object to a few of either tribe participating in the training course the Shogunate's ambassadors are put through."

Admiral Farragut stands. "While I not versed in manners of politics, I am versed in Military Operations. And while I am not sure I speak for my collegues, should you choose to militarize your state, you will have the Federation's assistance, and should you not choose to do so, you shall have the Federation's protection."

"That said, democracy is a favored form of government here, in this time, but I doubt it would work, because of your special situation. In your nation, expecting a democracy to function would be like expecting a the Roman Catholic Church to democratically choose the Pope if Jesus was an available canidate. I don't think democracy would work, but that might be my Military Training talking."

He blushes slightly, then sits down.

Delacroix's secret little smile gets slightly larger at Esmerelda's request for suggestions. Seeing this, Pandousco raises an eyebrow and leans over. What the hell is he thinking? "What the hell are you thinking," he whispers, "in that odd little mind of yours, Delacroix?"

The field marshal simply chuckles softly to himself, adjusting his posture in his seat. "In good time, Sky Marshal. Let us listen to the responses to our good Queen and noble Admiral... wouldn't want to interrupt, would we? Would be dreadfully rude, especially to someone who has, most graciously, shown us old soldiers a great deal of... forgiveness?"

His lips curl as Pandousco blanches suddenly and sits back, staring off into his water glass.

Pacci nervously clears his throat, straightening in his chair, yet opting not to rise. He clasps his hands in front of him to keep them from nervous twitching and toying with his fork, then speaks in a suprisingly clear voice - thanking silently his years lecturing at the Collegium in Devras.

"I concur with some of the views of the other representatives here, however, allow me to clarify."

"I would suggest a rather unique situation exists here, and this being the case, a unique solution is in order. A theocracy, I believe, is the answer. You, Esmerelda," here he gives her a smile, though it's more shy than confident, and for some reason his cheeks color slightly.

"Your people have recognized you as the absolute ruler from the beginning, in whatever incarnation you have existed in." He gives her a sympathetic look, obviously regretting bringing the unpleasant past.

"The needs of your people may be very different to those of our own. I suggest tailoring a system around that, with you as the undisputed head of state. I would also hate to see the beauty of your lands despoiled with too much industry. Of course, I am rather biased there."

He colors again as he realizes he's upstaged the public relations minister, and he shoots her an apologetic look.

Evangelista merely smiles, lacking the temper and need to scramble for the top that so many of her associates have. She nods to him, then rises gracefully to her feet.

"Let me second the thoughts put forward by our dear Minister. A theocracy then. Given your history, I believe it would work smoothly. Unlike so many other religions, here we have indisputable fact to work with, and indeed, the creator Herself, in the flesh, to lead the people. And I can think of no better person to rule over them than yourself, Esmerelda. And a close bond with the good people of the Emerald Heights," here she nods respectfully to Marlena, "I agree would be in order - something that you seem to already have a marvelous start in."

"I note that given the technology of many here, if you wish to move in a more captialist direction, such would be possible without too heavy an impact on the environment, so I don't see that as much of a problem. What things you may need to put yourselves on whichever track you choose, I'm certain many nations will be willing to provide. I can speak for the Dominion as being more than willing to assist in such endeavors, in whatever capacity is most needed. We have done well, and have been asisted in our time. It is only right that we return the favor."

"On behalf of our nation, and of course, Nathicana, I wish you well in your endeavor. Don't hesitate to call on us should assitance be desired or needed."

She nods respectfully to Esmerelda, then retakes her seat, Marik silently reaching out to help her with her chair. His lips hardly move as he surprises her with two words once she's settled in.

"Well done."

Firefury keeps glancing at Delacroix out the corner of her eye, her expression carefully neutral. Zeroel notes this, and when he gets a chance, whispers an inquiry as to what is wrong.

"I don't trust that man." Is the Queen's hushed response. "I know that look he's wearin' all too well. He's plotting something, I'm sure of it."

Zeroel blinks in confusion and glances at the field marshal briefly, opting to converse with the others in the Arpean delegation via internal comm.

Tsunami, Tsume, this is Zeroel. Queen Firefury seems to be disturbed by Field Marshal Delacroix. She suspects he's up to something.

I'm well aware. Should he try anything... untoward... he will be in for a rude surprise. Tsume responds in the same manner. Zeroel glances at the black machanical dragon and notes that the Secretary of Foreign Affairs is idly tapping his talons on the table- the sound muffled by the tablecloth. I would recommend you inform your crew to be on guard in case something does happen.

I'll keep an eye on him. Tsunami replies a moment later.

On board the Zeroel, parked outside...

"Captain Sierra, the Secretary of Foreign Affairs recommends we raise battle alert to level 2. The Queen suspects something untoward may happen." The EI's CG avatar suddenly comments.

The captain raises an eyebrow at the news. "Alright. Zeroel, why don't you patch through what's going on inside Murphy Hall so we can keep better tabs on what's going on."

"Not a problem, Captain Sierra." The CG image of Zeroel is quickly replaced by the view from the EI's reploid avatar.

"All units, we are moving to battle allert level 2!" The Captain's orders resound through the various sections of the carrier. "All pilots to standby, be ready to liftoff on my mark!"

A chorus of "Ryoukai!"s and "Roger!"s come back via the ship's PA as the various crews go on alert.

"Sir... this is odd."

Admiral Charles walks across the command deck of Aspidochelone and looks up at the radar technician. "What's odd?"

"Well... the First SDF attached to the Three-Teef..."

"What about it?"

"They're heating up, sir. Energy signatures are changing, reflecting bringing combat systems to standby."

"Odd." Admiral Charles raises an eyebrow. "Comms, hack me into the First SDF."

The communications technician fiddles with her console and depresses a button. "Transmitting, sir."

"Archangel, Aspidochelone. You're entering combat-standby status... is something wrong?" Slicing past his neck with a flat hand, Charles signals for the tech to mute the feed.

"Sir," the weapons officer suggests from his console, "should we follow suit?"

"No, not yet. Let's get a reason first. They are on our side, you know."

***

Finding the area appropriately quiet, Field Marshal Gerard Delacroix stands up, folding his muscular hands behind his broad back. "It is excellent to hear that all has been going well since the... unpleasantness of the past." His voice, not too loud, still carries across the hall, thick accent only hightening his peculiar enunciation. "Yet past results do not predict, far less ensure, future progress, and with that idea in mind, I'd like to propose an idea."

He give the room another quick, piercing look. This will be unpopular. So be it. "To ensure that your nation makes its way peacefully onto the world stage, I suggest that we make it a military protectorate of the Triumvirate of Yut." He stands for a moment, expecting at least a modicum of consternation. "As it has been said by the esteemed Admiral Farragut, the defense of the Outsets is a concern; also, while things are currently well internally there is still the concern of how is the government to be run? Until that time, we should be willing to... assist the Outsets in their natural evolution as a state."

Pandousco blanches again, looking down at his plate.

"This is Captain Sierra of the Zeroel. According to Zeroel, the Queen has reservations about Field Marshal Delacroix and has advised we move to level 2 alert. She feels that he's up to some- Oh good Goddess!" The transmission switches to video, replaying Delacroix's proposal as witnessed from the EI avatar's viewpoint. "Should anything develop that requires military intervention, we've moved to standby just in case. Of course, the Queen is somewhat reknown for her paranoia at times. Over."

The Captain shoots a dirty look at the monitor. "Honestly, what is he trying to pull?"

Inside...

"Your pardon, Field Marshal, but if you were paying even a modicum of attention during the battle, I imagine that if it came down to war, the Outsets could take on anyone up to and including Arda without much of a problem." Zeroel notes with a frown.

"You say protectorate, but I hear colony." The Queen notes in a very low voice. "Is the Outsets being allied with the Slaglands not good enough, or would you rather the Triumvirate act as an overprotective watchdog and 'evolve' it as you see fit?"

"Queenie, cool it!" Tsume whispers hurriedly to the obviously dissatisfied official.

"Under your careful guidance, I suppose?" says Pacci, suprising himself by standing up rather abruptly, scowling darkly. "I think the lady has been through quite enough without your veiled insinuations, Sir. That, and last I noticed such a proposal would be more appropriate had it come down the line as a joint venture rather than the thoughts of one representative among many."

He remained standing for a moment, unconsciously reaching over to place his hand lightly on Esmerelda's shoulder, glaring quite pointedly at Delacroix.

"I see no need for the 'assurances' you speak of. What you suggest is an insult, and goes against the very spirit of this conference. We all wish to be of assistance here, however know that the Dominion with not support external meddling in the affairs of this new nation."

At his proclamation, Evangelista groaned, closing her eyes for a moment and rubbing her forehead.

Leandro for the love of God, sit down and shut up.

She rose quietly from her seat and cleared her throat, causing his eyes to whip around to her. Oddly enough, he didn't drop his gaze as she expected. She opted for a stern look of her own in return.

"While it is the policy of the Dominion to support the sovereign right of nations to govern themselves, let us note that Esmerelda has requested our input here. What the honorable Scolopendran delegate has to offer is just as valid as any other opinion given thus far, regardless of our personal opinions on the matter. I would suggest that we continue to hear out what the other delegates have to say, as well as any additional points Esmerelda may have."

Evangelista never breaks eye contact througout the entire speech, ending with a clear look of 'sit down, now' to the man as she takes her seat once again, grabbing up her dring and sipping to calm herself.

Suddenly, Farragut's pocket buzzed.

More accurately, a small signalling device buzzed in his pocket. Farragut pulled it out, recognizing an emergency signal.

Triumvirate vessels powering over location. Request Instructions.

He subvocalized a response. Power shields and drives, leave weapons down. Move in a low powered orbit between the Trium ships and the SLAGLands. Close up as much as you can. Face broadsides outward. Do not fire with my direct authorization. Stay between the 3TEF and the ground.

Then Farragut stood up. "Field Marshal, forgive my bluntness, but have you lost your mind? We're here to help, and guide from a position of distance, not rule. I was also not aware that it was the policy of the TYCS to allow senior officers to set the Triumvirate's Foreign Policy, either." His hand drifted towards his sword.

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

High Above the Atlantic, the Federation Battle Fleet roared into the atmosphere. The gunports were closed, but the shields were online and charged, the drive fields were at full power as the fleet charged in, ripping the atmosphere apart with the power of their drives. Fortunately at their altitude, they were too high to effect the weather below.

The ships rolled, exposing their broadsides to the 3TEF above. Their drive fields were seperated by mere meters, in the air between them highly charged. The move was controlled completely by the onboard AI's as no human could have pulled it off without practice.

Hopefully the formation was tight enough to prevent anything from getting through to the Earth below, but hoping they wouldn't have find out.

"Awwwww... shit." Admiral Charles looks at the ships coming up on the strategic indicator board. "That doesn't look good. Comms, open frequencies, all incoming vessels."

"Transmitting, sir."

"All ships, Admiral Charles aboard Aspidochelone. Well, it's nice to see we're being friendly. Has it occured to anyone that we're under Pandousco's command and not Delacroix's? I suppose it's noble to be protecting the Outsets, but the Three-Teef and I aren't going to do anything. Now would you all like to calm down for a moment?"

***

Pandousco grumbles from his seat. "It is not Triumvirate policy for the military to make diplomatic decisions. We are here as representatives, Field Marshal," he looks up at the man in fatigues coldly, "so I suggest you start representing what we stand for instead of pretending to be a Victorian colonialist."

Delacroix looks down. "Oh, what? You wouldn't care to have all those that died to have made their sacrifice in vain, now would you? The Outsets need protection... and there were losses on both sides..."

Something in Gregor clicks. "That... is enough, Delacroix. Please be seated or we will be forced to discuss this matter elsewhere. Maybe, if you sit down now, we can salvage this without looking like imperialists."

"Ah, but we haven't heard the opinion of our hosts yet."

"All 3TEF and SP ships, this is the Archangel class carrier Zeroel. At present we are on the landing pad near Murphy Hall where the Outsets summit is currently underway. Due to our Queen's somewhat paranoid nature, we have received orders to move to battle alert level 2 as a precautionary measure-" Zeroel hastily sends a transmission, even as he hears from Tsume.

Zeroel, this is Tsume. I think the situation is under control for the moment and will not require any sort of military assistance. Return to regular standby.

"-Correction, we've just received the order to cool our jets." The transmission to the other ships finishes lamely. Organics... totally rampant.

Quite hastily the order goes out to the crew that the fun's over, back to lounging around doing nothing.

Inside...

"Cry me a river, build me a bridge, and get over it." Queenie shoots Delacroix a suitably irate look. "If you want some sort of reparitions, I'll bloody handle those, rather than let a new nation be taken advantage of."

Zeroel looks moderately distracted, but then, the EI is multitasking, serving as a link to the ships outside and the events inside.

"Field Marshal, I would recommend sitting down and settling down. At the moment, and this is just me, but you are severely tarnishing the reputation of the forces and organization you're here representing." Tsume says, his voice quiet, yet stern. "I would rather not have to call for your removal from this summit."

"I'm most certain you have the support of everyone here in bringing the islands up to date and so forth. I would imagine the Brethren would be excellent scholars or ambassadors, given a little training." The reploid dragon grins slightly, showing his fangs. "On that score, I'm sure Queenie wouldn't object to a few of either tribe participating in the training course the Shogunate's ambassadors are put through."

Esmerelda's smile fades at the mention of the invasion and the "display during the battle."

"That is by far my most potent ability," she says, nervously rubbing her right hand up and down her left arm. "It draws a great deal from the environment around me and from my own energies, so under normal circumstances, I do not use it. You all are quite lucky that the second wave did not go off; that attack is far more devastating, and I fear most--if not all--of your fleets would have been lost had I used it. It is a peculiar ability with matching effects on my body; after using it in the past, I have found myself taking on a different physical form, changing colour, doubling in size, losing the use of my senses..."

She shivers a bit.

"I pray you will not see me use that accursed power again, and I apologize for speaking so long on it. In any case... you do present some valid points."

"I don't think democracy would work, but that might be my Military Training talking."

Esmerelda nods.

"This is something I also have considered. I hate to call it my 'birthright,' as such things are largely considered primitive in the modern world. However, these creatures are naturally ingrained with both an undying love for their creator and--as of recently--the wisdom to question her will. I believe that this is enough."

"I would suggest a rather unique situation exists here, and this being the case, a unique solution is in order. A theocracy, I believe, is the answer. You, Esmerelda," here he gives her a smile, though it's more shy than confident, and for some reason his cheeks color slightly.

Esmerelda rubs her chin and clucks her tongue thoughtfully.

"Dear Pacci, I believe your idea summates those expressed by the whole of the group... and is indeed the most viable option. I will certainly take this into consideration."

<snip, big discussion about protectorate state>

Something in Gregor clicks. "That... is enough, Delacroix. Please be seated or we will be forced to discuss this matter elsewhere. Maybe, if you sit down now, we can salvage this without looking like imperialists."

"Ah, but we haven't heard the opinion of our hosts yet."

Esmerelda listens silently to the whole of the protectorate discussion with a rather bizarre interest. She seems almost immediately dismissive of Delacroix's idea, but she says nothing, choosing in silence to watch the remainder of the group battle it out. At one point in the discussion, she leans over to Pacci, whispering to him while attention has been diverted from the two of them.

It amazes me what you all will argue over... perhaps I should put this to a stop. Worry not for me; I have no intention of following through with his plan.

When the argument reaches its most heated, Esmerelda stands, raising her hand for silence... and indeed, silence does not come. Marlena struggles to regain the peace as well, but her efforts fall in vain. With a sigh and a shake of her head, Esmerelda shouts, her voice filling the room, the hall... indeed, all of SLAGTown seems to reverberate with its ferocity.

"ENOUGH!"

Marlena winces, ducking away from the creature. Esmerelda is nearly fuming, her shoulders rising and falling with the anger that has consumed her. She takes a deep breath, then speaks again, her voice returned to at least a sane level.

"Honestly, I cannot understand you people. One moment, you are unfailingly altruistic in your wish to assist me and my people, and the next, you are at each other's throats. I am even sensing the presence of military vehicles above us!" She scoffs, arms akimbo. "Military vehicles, everyone! This is a peaceful summit; keep your guns and space vessels elsewhere!"

With a slow sigh, she turns to Delacroix.

"Good sir Field Marshal... while I do appreciate your concern, I can assure you that I do not intend to make my state neither a subservient of nor a liability to the Triumvirate of Yut. We are not a threat, and we are not about to make ourselves one. Your idea is duly noted, but I believe we will do just fine without the full guidance of the Triumvirate of Yut."

With a final sigh, Esmerelda drops back in her seat. The SLAGLandic coalition seems... speechless.

Queenie shuts up quick, a look of mildly stunned surprise on her face. She murmurs an apology and then stoutly proceeds to ignore Delacroix.

Tsume coughs once. "Our apologies, there was a bit of a misunderstanding through our chain of command which led to the vessels overhead getting antsy. Unfortunately, arguements, sometimes quite heated, are the norm in diplomatic discussions such as this. Our apologies, Esmerelda."

Zeroel finds the tablecloth extremely interesting.

Kiara and Tsunami both sit somewhat wide-eyed at the entire proceeding, though Kiara's entertaining all manner of ideas about playing matchmaker.

The situation has been resolved. Return to base. Farragut subvocalized his orders to the Battle Group high above.

With the abruptness of the inertialess drive, the Federation Battle Fleet changed direction. More force was applied, and the fleet clawed its way out of the atmosphere.

Boredly, Vice Admiral Lucas ordered the fleet to lock up the the Aspidochelone as they went by. But all the weapons were powered and locked down.

The Battle Fleet returned to a stationary orbit over Dor Lomin, but HA-348 swung to cover the 3TEF. The situation would be monitored.

Farragut returned to his seat, moving his hand from his sword.

Selythe Moonshadow calmly watched as the situation appeared to escalate and then de-escalate with Esmerelda's outburst. She chose this moment to make her statement.

"Friends, I suggest we take a moment to calm ourselves, and return to the auspices of calm, rational thought. We are united here today at the request of Esmerelda, and as leaders and dignitaries of various nations she has requested our advice. Instead, we have resorted to bickering among ourselves and irrational outbursts. This action does not serve to help the Outset Islands nor its leader."

At this, she turned to Esmerelda. "My Lady, the birth of a nation is similar to the birth of a child. It is shaped by the world around it. It learns by example, and by the experiences it gains throughout its life. Ultimately, the path that a life takes cannot be decided by forces from without, but by forces from within.

"The delegates from Sentient Peoples and the Dominion of Dread Lady Nathicana make valid points.", she states, nodding to each delegate(s) respectively. "A theocracy would seem most fitting. You are a wise leader, and with the conclusion of the events of the archeological dig, have proven yourself to care for your people. They, in turn, care deeply for you. They trust in your judgement. In my humble opinion, it is only fitting that for now, until the future of your nation is shaped and a decision or events cause need for change, that you lead as their Matriarch."

"As fellow nations united in friendship at this summit, I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that we will assist you in whatever way you might need. Whether it be through economic ties or military assistance, but ultimately the path you take can be yours, and yours alone, and you must not depend too heavily on the charity of others lest they try to supersede their interests over yours."

"In any event, Khenala extends the hand of friendship to the Outset Islands, and as a friend, will assist in any way you request with utmost respect to your soverignity as a nation."

With a quiet nod of acknowledgement to Esmerelda, she took her seat.

Pandousco not-so-gently 'assists' a mildly stunned Delacroix back into his seat. "I would like it to be known," the Sky Marshal fumes, a bright shade of red, "that the Field Marshal's little idea has absolutely no support from higher up and was probably a misplaced example of... initiative."

Sensing that Delacroix's little statement had made him and, more importantly, his troops look rather bad, he felt the need to go on--no matter how much the other side of his mind fought against it. "In fact, I'd like to apologize personally for his indiscretion, as well as for actions a few months ago that have already apparently been forgiven." He continues, eyeing the crowd nervously. "I want it to be known that the TYCS and the Triumvirate as a whole do not condone such silliness as 'military protectorates.' Our job is to defend our friends, not rule them." Gregor shoots an angry glance at Delacroix. "I only hope that one man's ambition has not totally ruined the chance for normal relations between our peoples."

Looking around a bit nervously, Gregor makes a mumbled 'thank you' before sitting down, staring at his plate, deep in his own thoughts. Under the table, his leg jogs nervously.

OOC:

Thanks to all who participated, but I think this one's pretty much come to a close. To summarize protocols adopted:

-Theocratic government
-Education a state priority
-Industrialization not necessary
-Outsets will not become Yut protectorate

Thus formally concludes the archaeological dig saga.

...AND RELATED BUMP #3!